Political Theology

I believe deeply the Church of Jesus Christ is called to embody and alternative politic.  Politic defined as, simply, the way human beings live with each other.  The Christian politic needs to follow the example of Christ, who, borrowing liberally from Philippians 2, did not consider power something to be used, but lived in weakness, suffered, and died.  Through this counter-intuitive process, he was resurrected, vindicated, glorified.  Christians believe this model is the purpose and intention of creation.  Our politics must look like Christ.

It's also become pretty clear to me that Christians cannot faithfully critique any system they are trying to control.  That doesn't mean we can't participate in systems of power, but we must be very careful not to attempt to control those systems.

Practically, that means in deliberative bodies - places like local or federal parliaments of one kind or another - that are genuine attempts to seek consensus and work together, align well.  I'm comfortable voting for a representative of my community, if I feel they'll honestly engage this process and not seek to dominate or unduly influence the process.

When it comes to donating towards or working for the election of representatives from other constituencies, that's a clear attempt to control the process and, I don't believe, can be compatible with Christian ethics.  The same goes for participation in "party" politics, where blocs of like-minded representatives seeks to influence the process.  Any deliberative body must seek consensus - simple majorities overruling unwilling minorities are incompatible uses of power.

With regard to executive positions, where one person is expected to make unilateral decisions, I'm unable to envision a way to do this in imitation of Christ.  If you had a genuinely compassionate, selfless human being, they would either be corrupted or fail as a government executive.  Those jobs are not designed to be done in line with Christian ethics.  I can't, in good conscience, put any human in a position where they cannot succeed.

Now, all of this does not mean I'd advocate disengagement from the process.  Christians can and should still protest and express their views on how people should treat each other.  The line must be drawn, though, in using threats or coercion to convince others of our positions.  The example of our actions, we must believe, are capable of "winning converts," rather than the strength of our arguments.

It comes down to control.  Am I attempting to get my way against the will of another.  That's not how Christ operated; it's not how the Kingdom works; it's not how Christians can ethically engage in politics.

Our priority must be on the politics of the everyday.  How do we treat our neighbors?  Feed the hungry?  Advocate for justice - not with threats, but with pleas to our common humanity?

If the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ has both showed us how and enabled us to be truly human, capable of reaching our creative purpose; we must believe a Church, living in imitation of Christ, can facilitate the same transformation for the world at large.

God is in the business of redeeming creation.  It does not come through force or coercion, but through humble, selfless love; a willingness to suffer; and a commitment to engage politics with an open hand and not a closed fist.  It may also come in refusing to exercise "rights" we've been given as citizens of the world, because they violate the duties of citizens of Christ's Kingdom.

Minding the Gap

I believe life and faith is mostly about the gap between our beliefs and our actions. Most tension in life comes in the disconnect between what we know (or believe at the moment) to be true and the reality we see around us. When we feel underappreciated, abused, or put-upon, this is the tension between the belief in our inherent value and the value others’ actions are ascribing to us. Our search for meaning is often a recognition that our choices are not producing the contentment we believe we deserve.

As a Christian, I allow the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ to be the measure of my beliefs. I try to be challenged by scripture and the work of God’s Holy Spirit to align my life (my actions) with the life (and actions) of Jesus. The struggle comes in exploring the distance between those beliefs and my reality (both my actions and the actions of others that impact me).

But you don’t necessarily need a “faith” per say, to engage in this exploration. I’d argue no one has a choice. Willful ignorance or obliviousness might minimize the tension or limit your discomfort, but you can’t ever eliminate it entirely.

Even an extreme nihilist, driven by the belief that nothing matters will, on occasion, encounter some experience, some moment of meaning, that challenges this core assumption. Life will give you pause to doubt its ultimate meaninglessness the same way it will give a person of faith and belief pause to doubt its purposefulness.

I’d argue Jesus’ life and teaching were not intended to start some new religion, but to challenge the concept of religion. He deftly illustrated that a system of beliefs and practices cannot be the solution to our existential angst. We may ultimately come to find ourselves within a particular religious tradition, but that only happens because we’ve come to believe those beliefs and practices are worthwhile in our search to reconcile the truth in our heads with our reality.

This is why I can say our “church” is a gathering of people with no required set of beliefs. If whatever Christian perspective on life and belief I happen to have is actually true, others will be convinced on the merits, on its practical value in making life bearable (if not enjoyable), not because of some inherent authority or coercive fear.

I’d argue those religious leaders who appeal to authority or fear as the basis of belief don’t really believe in anything except power. They are religious leaders, but theirs is not the religion they claim to represent.

This is the perfect example of how a “church” built on this tension between belief and reality can be beneficial. It allows us to think about our own beliefs and our own actions and the relationship between them without the shame of having to live up to some imposed religious standard. The very religious standard, I’d argue, Jesus came to topple.

The twin questions of “Why do we do what we do?” and “What do our actions say about our beliefs?” allow us to examine this gap in ways that lead to growth. It doesn’t require us to have the same answer to questions like “What is true?” or “What is right?” in order to be supportive and helpful to each other.

I know this all sounds very relativistic, as if all beliefs are equally valid, but that could not be further from the truth. It’s merely a recognition that our beliefs can only truly change when we’re convinced they need to change. It’s a belief that truth wins out in the end. If my beliefs are right, that will become apparent. If my beliefs are wrong, that will become equally apparent.

The job of the “church” is then not to convince someone to change their mind, but to help people explore that gap between belief and action.

That gap gets exposed in two ways. The first is when we’re made aware of a gap that exists. It’s quite likely we’ve got beliefs that aren’t reflected well in our actions, but we simply don’t notice them because they aren’t supper impactful or they’re so commonly accepted as to never be questioned.

The “church” should be a place where we’re sometimes awakened to belief-action gaps we never knew existed. “The way I treated my co-worker this morning does not reflect the value I believe she possesses.” You may not have been aware of that gap at the time – she messed up, you got angry, it seemed appropriate – but when that awareness comes, either through your own self-reflection or the loving words of a friend, the “church” can be a place that helps you work through it.

The second way our belief-action gap is exposed is through a challenge to our beliefs. Ideally this wouldn’t be a direct confrontation – “Your belief is wrong” – although that happens all the time in life, but a realization that our belief just doesn’t add up. This is the stereotypical mid-life crisis: “I thought job success and money were supposed to make me happy and they don’t, am I missing the point of life?” It’s a question you need to work through for yourself, but a process you shouldn’t do alone.

Where “church” has failed in the past is where it’s heaped shame and scorn on the recognition of these belief-action gaps, rather than comfort and acceptance. We feel a natural shame when we recognize our beliefs and actions don’t match-up. We feel inadequate, guilty, sinful, even though what we’re experiencing is both deeply human and deeply healthy. Until and unless we face up to these belief-action gaps we’re never going to be able to grow.

Too often the “church” adds to the guilt, making us feel like these gaps, these tensions and discomfort are wrong. Let’s say you believe generosity is important, but find yourself saddled with debt and obligations that making giving generously impossible. Recognizing that gap brings with it a sense of failure and hopelessness. Too often the “church” compounds this with guilt and feeds a cycle of regret that prevents us from addressing the gap.

What if “church” were a place of comfort? What if the “church’s” response to this generosity gap was mourning and reassurance. “I’m sorry you’re feeling this discomfort and tension, but it’s an opportunity to grow. There may not be readily available solutions, but we’ll walk through this tension with you, and support you as you try to find balance.” What if “church” were the place you could go when you’re feeling lost and find assurance that you’re not lost alone?

This requires us recognizing the difference between internal and external pressure. It’s easy, especially in a religious setting, to feel pressure to change beliefs we’re not ready (and maybe don’t need to change). If everyone else thinks drinking alcohol is wrong and you don’t; it’s easy to feel an imposed shame, a challenge to your belief that is entirely external. This is bad and unhealthy.

At the same time, we pay feel a tension between our beliefs and the beliefs of others that is genuinely real within us. We might be convinced that our belief really does need to change – maybe it’s because we’ve been exposed to the alternative beliefs of others, but not because they’re imposing those beliefs upon us.

It’s a tricky thing to parse, of course, whether your tension is real or imposed. The “church” should be constantly policing itself in this regard. This could easily lead to a timidity that finds to discussion of beliefs at all out of fear we’ll make someone uncomfortable. The problem, of course, is not the discomfort, but the source of that discomfort.

There’s a real difference between saying “violence is evil and must be avoided at all costs,” and saying “I must avoid violence; I don’t like what it does to me.” When we can consider a belief outside of ourselves, it gives us the distance necessary to maybe consider it for ourselves. Does Ryan’s rationale for this belief make sense in my life? A healthy “church” is one where either answer to that question is genuinely acceptable.

I keep using quotations around the word “church” and I do that for a very specific purpose. We have a lot of ideas that come into our heads when we hear that word “church.” It means vastly different things to people. Usually it has some specific religious context. “Church” is the Christian version of the word; other religions use different terms: temple, mosque, gurdwara, etc.

I think, at their heart, all of these are attempts to be communities of care and concern. You don’t need to be affiliated with any particular religion to do this, either. As human beings we’re all searching for communities of radical acceptance, where we can be loved and valued regardless of our actions and beliefs. To me, this is what “church” means. I don’t think it has to be a place of songs and pews and preaching, although I don’t think we should necessarily throw those things out either.

If Jesus came to show us and call us to radical love – a love that is willing to die for its enemies – than any community can be a “church,” if it has this practice as its goal. Honestly, you don’t even really have to be willing to love your enemies; you really just have to be willing to love the people in front of you.

I know all of this requires some underlying beliefs that not everyone will agree with: a belief in radical love, in the ultimately victory of truth, in the importance of other people, etc. Someone who specifically disagrees with those things might not be capable of participating in “church” as I see it. That’s regrettably true.

Of course, if beliefs in love and truth and ultimate reality are in fact real and true and ultimate, those people incapable of participating won’t necessarily always be incapable of participating – in the very same way none of us are really capable of participating and never will be. That doesn’t mean we don’t try.

After all, we’re stuck with that gap between our beliefs and our actions whether we like it or not. Whether we embrace love and community or self-interest and individuality, we’re all going to face doubts and challenges and discomfort. If you want to do that alone, it’s fine by me. I’d rather do it together.

Have We Given Up on Change

I was born and raised in a Christian environment, specifically a Wesleyan, evangelical environment. One thing for sure about us, we're all about change. Conversion and transformation is at the core of Wesleyan theology and evangelical faith practice. The idea that people can become fundamentally different than they were before is an assumed and accepted foundation of my life. This is the Saul/Paul story in the Bible - super hardcore Jewish purist, killing Christians one moment and becoming the leading voice of the movement the next (well, it took a couple decades, but it feels very immediate in scripture).

I had a realization, today, though, that this foundation is far from universal. I wonder if our society at large has given up on the notion of change. When I say that, I mean real change - from being one thing to being another. We're big on change in the sense that some facade we put up can come down to reveal our true selves on the inside. This is both the beauty and the tragedy of the movie Green Book. You've got an overtly racist guy who's really got a heart of gold underneath and this friendship, portrayed in the movie brings it out of him. He didn't change, he just got more comfortable with who he is.* We love those stories, I think, in part, because we don't actually believe in change. We believe people are who they are and that they're basically good. The only change is not substantive, but perspectival.

I got thinking about this because a guy at the gym today had a shirt on that said, "If you don't respect this flag I'll help you pack." I spent the rest of my hour on the elliptical playing out the conversation we'd have if we were able to unemotionally talk through that line of thought - if I went up to him and said, "Where am I supposed to go?" He might ask what country I'd rather live in and I'd reply that there isn't necessarily another one, I'd just like this country to be better.

At the core of this notion - like it or leave it - is the idea that change isn't possible. Reform might be possible - we can get slightly better or slightly worse based on hard work and circumstances, but deep down it is what it is.

We take this same approach to relationships, a lot of the time. This situation isn't working for me anymore, so I'm out. We don't expect another person to change, because we wouldn't accept them expecting us to change. What's more, we don't think change is possible - either for ourselves or someone else. We might have hope that our true selves can come out more clearly, but we may also be delusional about what our "true self" actually is.

In my marriage, some of the most difficult, important, and ultimately positive periods have been those where either myself or my wife says to the other, "this situation is untenable going forward; something has to change." Those are difficult conversations, because we're imperfect and self-conscious. We get defensive and we argue and feelings are felt and stepped on, but we come out the other side and we change. We had a brief argument yesterday where my wife reacted in a way that would've been appropriate ten years ago. She expected something out of me that would've been dead on in 2007 or 2009. My reply to her was, "Don't act like I haven't changed."

It didn't seem like much in the moment, but in retrospect, today, it was important. Both because I think she understood and accepted that response, but also because it's true. We're such different people than we were - not just because we've been married almost fifteen years, but because we've both changed (I'd say, demonstrably, in both cases, for the very much better). Yes, we're both more our true selves than we were before - which hopefully happens in any long-term relationship, but also because we've fundamentally changed.

I think a large part of that is the environment in which we were raised, where true transformation was not only possible, but expected. It sure creates a high bar in our minds for each other, but it also allows us to reach those expectations (once in a while). I'm not saying other people can't have these experiences, but I don't see a society that really believes in genuine change.

I see it in my daughter all the time. Part of it is because she's six - there's a lot of permanence built into her world view and a lot of black and white thinking. Somebody does something mean; they are always mean. I'm sure it's a failing on our part that we haven't done better to create that environment of change in her life, but it just seems like the messages she receives - not curricularly from school, but socially and relationally - is that the only real change is conformity: we act as we're expected to act, because that's how society works.

One of the hallmarks, they say, of millenials, is constant change. New job, new relationship, new city, new ideas, whatever. Young people are more comfortable outside routine. That's true in a lot of ways, but I also wonder if it's not a reality because they've been conditioned not to expect change. If things aren't going well here, they never will; let me find something else.

There's a sense of optimism there - that something better exists elsewhere - that isn't really present in older generations (I'm going to stick with this job/relationship/situation because nothing else is better), but I'm guessing both outlooks are ultimately joyless and fruitless without a real belief in change.

Can we say we'll invest in something because we believe it's possible to be different - like radically and substantially other than what it was before? I don't know that society has the tools to do that anymore and it's something I think the Church could offer, but if so, we've got to rid ourselves of our own Christian version of the same thing.

It's easy for us to fall into behavior modification as a default position. We don't expect people who come to Jesus to change substantially, we expect them to change behavior. It's our worst failing, for sure. We, as the Church, have largely give up on the idea of transformation and settled for a specific, comfortable sub-culture that's not fundamentally different than the rest of the world (just labeled with a cross).

It's not really an us vs them thing - at least from a Christian's perspective - it cuts across the kinds of dividing lines we like to put up. You can experience and believe in transformation regardless of your faith background, for sure, but I do think it's something that's fundamentally at the core of Christianity. Although I'm wondering if even the Church is losing that battle.

Like many other core elements of Christianity, people are picking up these ideas and championing them outside the traditional forms and labels of "the Church." That's where my real passion and interest lies - I want to be someone who champions what I'd call Jesus-values anywhere they exist, regardless of how we label them (and maybe without a real need to label at all).

So in the end, this isn't a celebration of Christian and denunciation of the world, but a reminder and advocacy of a firm belief in transformation wherever it manifests itself. This kind of hope is vital for any real meaning in life and any sense of a fulfilling future.



*It's a tragedy, because the other character is an African-American guy who seems to have everything altogether and it's revealed over time that he's just a lonely, broken individual deep down - which is fine, since we're all lonely and broken a lot of the time, but the racial component of the white guy being good at heart and the black guy being flawed is all sorts of problematic - especially since the movie was written by the white guy's son with no input from the black guy's family.

The Confidence of Doubt

We used to make fun of the old hymn - that one line where it says God "has never failed me yet." The grammar of that seemed to belie the faith we claimed to have. The 'yet' signifying that God might fail us in the future, but so far, so good. It was the "right" answer, the one we were supposed to give, the joke we were supposed to make. Of course God is all sufficient and we should not just say it, but know it. That's how faith works, right?

I sang a song with a similar line this weekend. It wasn't the old hymn, but it spoke of God not having "failed me yet," or something along those lines. With the space of decades, a theological education, and some real-life experience, it seemed a lot more profound. The 'yet' seemed incredibly important.

I'd still claim God does not and will not fail us. I don't have an theological or intellectual doubts about the direction in which my life is pointed precisely because I believe in the steadfastness of God. I do, however, like how the 'yet' speaks to the immediacy of the moment. More and more I like the AA analogy for faith and Christian life - with the gatherings of the Church being the place where we can say, "I'm Ryan and I'm a sinner." Some people are in permanent recovery and they earn their chips every year; others have to make the same confession each meeting. It's a much better model than the congregations where you can only say it once, and anything more is met with shame and disappointment.

I don't know if it's practical or healthy or "correct," I've found it quite helpful to meet temptations with delay tactics. I'll indulge that vice tomorrow, but for today, I'm going to stick to my principles. Most of the time it works for that extra bowl of ice cream and sometimes even for anger or laziness. It's the same model AA uses - one day at a time - it's why they tell you to go to as many meetings as possible, because the more often you get up in front of a room of people and admit your weakness, the less time you have to indulge it in between.

I sat listening to the song, after the first time through the line with "yet" at the end, just enjoying the moment. I thought of our childhood jokes and how much more I appreciated that "yet" today. There are plenty of reasons to doubt the love, good will, and grace of God - the world is pretty awful much of the time - but we can save that doubting for tomorrow. God's good enough and close enough and trustworthy enough for today -let tomorrow worry about itself, because today, today is all we really need.

Power, Privilege, and the Impossibility of Reverse Racism

I am a huge fan of Planet of the Apes. Not just a latecomer with the most recent re-vamped trilogy (which are very well done, by the way), but the kind who discovered the originals from the late 60s and early 70s as a teenager in the 90s and looked forward to the annual SciFi channel marathon every year. I've got all five films on DVD - I bought the box set. In terms of film-making, the first one is the only marginally-defensible film and the second one is downright terrible - beyond awful - but despite the artistic issues and obvious social commentary, they're an engaging world in which to live and they speak with a voice that is generally marginalized about real, ongoing, global and societal issues.

This is not a post to discuss the cultural brilliance of Planet of the Apes, but I wanted to set the stage with my bonifides, because my reaction to the recent Roseanne dust-up is unusual for specifically this reason. I will not, in any way, defend Roseanne - she's had a long history of racist and hate-filled comments that betray a point of view. This can't get passed off as mere accident or happenstance no matter how one wants to spin it.

At the same time, I want to be honest about what happened and how what happened guided my train of thought, so:

I saw the headline breaking that Roseanne had been cancelled due to racist tweets. I had no details, so I went to google to get some and be informed, like a responsible human being. Google puts the first couple image search results at the top of the page, especially when you search for a name, like I did for Valerie Jarrett. One of them stuck out to me - because of the hair style she had and the strange angle of the photograph, my mind said, "Wow, she looks a lot like the Kim Hunter character from the original 1968 version of Planet of Apes in that one." Only that photo, mind you. I went back, after actually reading the tweet, and looked at literally hundreds of Valerie Jarrett photos and none of them seemed close. Just the one, with that particular angle.

Again, I'm not here to defend Roseanne or make excuses. You can't see her history and also give the benefit of the doubt that she just happened to be a Planet of the Apes fan and also just happened to see the one photo I found with that specific angle (a photo I'm not ever going to link to for all the reasons I'm speaking about below). She's made her bed, at this point.

The "coincidence" argument, though, intrigued me a bit, mostly because I understand how virulently and fundamentally white people are afraid of being racist or being perceived as racist or having someone notice how racist we really are. People make jokes about white fear of racism, but it's not really a joke. This is why we're so quick to tell you about that one black friend we have (who's probably just humoring us - at least most of the time).

I got to thinking about some other hypothetical person - me for example - who innocently made some comment about a specific African-American person looking like another specific person, who happened to be professionally made up as an ape. How would that be received? Then I realized, of course I'd never actually say something like that, even if the comparison occurred to me, because I understand the long history of racism and how persistently, even today, the comparison between black people and monkeys (or apes) is used to demean and dehumanize a people who've suffered such travesties for way, way too long. In other words, a human adult (especially in the US) with basic social awareness, should know full well the offensive, racist associations such a comparison would invite, regardless of intention.

I briefly thought that was a little bit unfair, until I reminded myself that it is literally the definition of injustice: things in the world that shouldn't be, but are. Not only that, but it's a pretty sorry, blatant example of white privilege. White people, like me, have the distinct privilege of being the only people on Earth who don't have to constantly be thinking about skin color. Talk about injustice! The color of white people's skin never matters, at least in a negative way - whatever minuscule negative example you can come up with is totally and entirely dwarfed by the vast positive benefits of racism we've enjoyed down through the years - which gives us the tremendous luxury of not always having to think about race. Obviously, it's a luxury that everyone SHOULD have, but, of course, they don't, which makes it an injustice.

It also brought to mind a really terrific essay I read a week or so ago. It was written more than a year ago by Sebastian Whitaker and it's simply titled "Dear White People: Your Dictionary Definition of Racism is Wrong." What he brings to the conversation is the notion that racism is not, in itself, an action or attitude, but a world-view that says some people are inherently better than others because of their skin color; racism is the embodiment of white supremacy.

Prejudice is our attitude towards people different from ourselves, where we generalize people for any number of reasons and make judgments about them because of those differences. Discrimination is when we act on those prejudices to somehow hamper or hinder those folks. In this sense, anyone can be prejudiced or discriminatory against any group - white, black, gay, straight, southern, German, ginger, overweight, nerdy, whatever. Those things are about attitudes and actions of individuals regardless of context.

Racism, though, is specifically about a particular world view that's been in existence for a very long time and continues to under-gird the society in which we live - even for those of us who wish it didn't exist. People of all skin colors have been shown to have unconscious biases in favor of white people and against those of darker skin. You can be prejudiced or discriminatory against white people, if you've got the inclination or power to do so, but you can't be racist against white people, because there's no system of non-white supremacy embedded in Earth's cultural history.

(Shoot, part of the purpose of that original Planet of the Apes movie was to specifically create a scenario where the humans were the oppressed species as a statement about racism in the world, with the hope that white people seeing white people as an oppressed minority might wake them up to the challenges of race in America. Whether that was wise or effective is certainly debateable, but they at least were aware enough, even in 1968, not to have any of the apes played by actual black people to avoid the overtly racist connotations that might invite.*)

There is some natural inclination towards prejudice that must be overcome in human evolution, but there was also an actual system of value ranking, based on skin color, that existed overtly for centuries. The 19th and 20th century debunked pseudoscience of phrenology was an attempt to judge the quality and character of a person based on the shape and density of their skull. It was entirely based in race and there are charts you can find where people did "research" to rank dozens of distinct "races" around the world on a hierarchy chart that always, always, always had white people at the top.

Whitaker's essay resonates with me, because it parallels the field in which I'm actually trained: Christian theology. For many Christians, the notion of faith is contained in intellectual assent - a particular passage from the Book of Romans is interpreted to mean all we need to do is believe the correct ideas genuinely and truly and we're "Christians." This is so terribly lacking in context, it will be impossible to explain without making an incredibly long post even more painfully obtuse. Suffice it to say, Christian belief is entirely about action - do the words you say and the actions you take contribute to the world as God intends it to be or not? You can intellectually assent to all the "proper" Christian ideals, but if you're a jerk to the people around you, you're an agent of death.

If you take Whitaker's (absolutely correct) understanding of racism, you can make a parallel claim: it doesn't matter so much how often you profess to believe everyone is equal and the way black people are treated in the world is terrible, if you say or do things (even without mal-intent) that perpetuate the notion that some skin colors are better than others, you're participating in racism.

So while white people like to parse all the intricacies of when and how one might be legitimately called a racist, it's very much an action-based system. What Roseanne said was racist - with or without her track record and reputation. If I were to express the same comparison, regardless of my intentions, it would be equally racist. Does that make me a racist? Well, in that moment, it certainly does - maybe not even though any fault of my own, but because an injustice exists in the world and through my action (even a potentially innocent one), I've perpetuated and participated in that injustice.

White people are obsessed with not being a racist; we tend to care a lot less about actions or systems in which we participate that perpetuate racism. Well, we do care, but only in that we're afraid those actions will define us as racist. Non-white folks tend to be a lot more concerned about calling out the words, actions, and systems of racism precisely because those are the things which actively dehumanize and disadvantage non-white folk. It would probably help if white people stopped being so worried about being called racist and spent more time thinking deeply about our own words and actions, about the systems in which we participate and how they affect the world around us. Yeah, there may one day come a time when everyone equally has the privilege to ignore race, but that day is not today and thus maybe not the most relevant conversation topic.

The other, small part of this that probably should be said, is for non-white folks to recognize how easy it is for white people not to think about race. It may seem impossible that a white person could make a statement like Roseanne's with no racist intent, but it really is (again, it's hard for me to believe Roseanne herself is in this camp, but it's certainly not outside the realm of possibility someone else might be). We do it all the time. White people say stupid racist shit without ever have bad intentions because we have this incredible, unfair privilege. It is still racist and it's wrong and it deserves to be called out. Regardless of intention, it's still abhorrent.

As a society, we're generally pretty terrible at communicating the message that just because you did an abhorrent, offensive thing, you yourself are not a worthless individual that others find impossible to love. We tend to conflate those things together and it's a real detriment to genuine conversation and growth. Healing divides are not possible with demonization, which means we have to bend over backward to be nice to people we don't like and who stay stupid things. (I am still a Christian after all - and the loving your enemies thing is pretty core to that belief system, or at least it should be.) We live in an inherently racist world - and try as we might to change that or rise above it, we're still going to say some terrible, racist things from time to time - we have to be better at recognizing, repairing, and growing, rather than shaming, condemning, and isolating.

White people need to be more aware of the world in which they live and how it continues to be shaped and formed on a foundation of blatant racism that creeps into our thoughts, words, and actions regardless of our intent or espoused beliefs. That's unfair, sure, but it's also reality. Having a conversation without a racial component is an unjust privilege we can't continue to take advantage of if we really want to see some reconciliation in the world. Guess what, it's also not the only privilege we'll have to give up if we genuinely want to see change.

White people, whether we're willing to admit it or not (and I'm just as guilty as the next white guy), generally want to solve the world's problems by making everyone "like us," but normalizing our own position and perspective in the world is, in fact, part of the very racist problem we're intended to solve. You can't have a world where everyone is on top - the very notion plays into a destructive, racist, divisive world view that needs to die. I have great faith that it's possible to overcome, but it does not come without a cost and it does not come without intention.



*One could argue that no black people got those jobs because Hollywood was a pretty white place and black people didn't hardly get any decent jobs, especially in 1968, but they did specifically include a black astronaut as some sign they were aware of the racial elements at play.
Yes, perhaps Charlton Heston should've switched parts with Jeff Burton if they really wanted to make a statement, but they needed to get the movie funded and Hollywood, along with the rest of society, then and now, is racist, and no one would fund this crazy sci-fi experiment if a black guy was in the lead role. MORE INJUSTICE!!

Charlottesville and Christian Counter-Culture

I'm against nationalism, not just white nationalism. Trump's statement that Americans of every color salute the same flag is just as dangerous as the hate-filled bigotry shouted by the Klansmen and Nazis in Charlottesville last week, even if its morally less-repugnant. I know it's important to state opposition to racism and violence, to call out specifically organized hate-groups by name and denounce their position, but I'm not sure we're doing it with much real thought to what we're saying and its effects.

I recently read this fantastic book called The Patient Ferment of the Early Church. It's essentially an otherwise stuffy religious history focusing on the first 200-300 years of Christianity, but the thesis is unique and powerful. Alan Kreider argues that the sole, key distinctive of early Christianity was patience. The first Christians were actively discouraged from what we might call evangelism today - they were convinced that faithful Christian witness was all that was needed. If they lived in the mode of Christ, people would be drawn to that lifestyle without the urgency or outcome oriented focus that's marked Christianity in the 1500 years since.

The moral quandry most prominent for Christians in this time was the exposure of infants. Unwanted children born in the Roman Empire of the time were simply left at the dump - exposed on the trash heaps. Christians took a stand against this moral outrage. They refused to expose their infants and they often wandered the trash heaps, rescuing and adopting those babies left to die. They did not make this a cause, protest, or fight. They simply lived differently.

I recognize that things are different 2,000 years later. We live in a world with free speech and the ability to share it widely and easily.
We live in a world with long traditions of activism. We live in a world where the established morality, at least in large part, aligns more closely with Christian morality than it did in Rome. Violent racists are now the minority and rejected by polite society. Things are different.

At the same time, listening to the rhetoric of opposition in Charlottesville, it was very difficult to differentiate the sides of the debate.
"These ideas aren't representative of the America I know and these people don't belong here." In our attempts to denounce racism, violence,
and hatred, we're exhibiting the same exclusionary ideas we're protesting (or at least, it's easy to do).

From a Christian perspective, protest and counter-culture means more than just choosing a different side; it means choosing a different means of fighting altogether. In general, it means being more creative with our words and actions. This has been a struggle for US Christians in most of the last century and probably the Church as whole over its entire existence. We protest consumerism, but end up with huge chains of "Christian"
stores, full of useless trinkets covered in crosses and music that's more worried about making money than facilitating real worship. The same goes for our approaches to violence, voting, and evangelism.

In Charlottesville, we're rightly outraged that so many people feel free to openly and publicly proclaim ideas and actions so entirely contrary to that of Christ - sometimes in the name of Jesus - but the response cannot be to isolate, condemn, and dismiss the people themselves. Showing up to protests with counter protest might be the right move, but it's got to be done differently. Opposing a mob with a mob - even one committed to non-violence, is still playing games of power - our numbers trump your numbers. It's an invitation to violence. Our voices don't need to be louder or angrier if we're embodying a counter-cultural presence. There is no point to spewing hate at the haters.

Saying, "I stand against racism" is better than saying nothing, I suppose, but it might not be if those of us with privilege aren't willing to sacrifice a bit of it to make our actions match our words. That's where much of the problem comes from. When the only times in which we white people interact with more than token members of the African-American community is when we drive 20 miles to volunteer somewhere for a few hours, we're not making much of a statement.

Early Christians change their entire lives, rejected respectability, often embraced poverty, simply to live out the counter-cultural gospel of Jesus Christ. Earlier this year I read the graphic-novel trilogy, March, that tells the story of John Lewis, one of American's Civil Rights heroes, as he engaged the movement and eventually participated in the famous march across Selma's Edmund Pettis Bridge. One of the things that struck me, was how much emphasis those books put on training for non-violence. It was not a movement where anyone could show up - they endured long periods of practice in non-violence and not everyone had the discipline to make the cut. It was a lifestyle change, a personality change - it was more than just falling in line.

Part of the reason the Early Church put so little emphasis on making converts was because the process was so long and arduous - catechumens endured years of training and observation before the Church deemed them worthy of baptism and the name of Christian. This wasn't so the movement could be exclusive, but because counter-culture is hard.

It's not enough for us to simply say, "Racism is bad. Violence is bad. Hatred is bad." We've got to understand what it means to live that out - not just in our safe little, privileged enclaves, but in the wider context of a very troubled world. We've got to work diligently to shape and form ourselves and our creativity to react differently than even those with whom we agree on some particular issue.

I've resisted giving specifics about ways in which Christians can faithfully engage in issues of immediate and ultimate importance in the world -
issues of race, violence, justice, life, and death - because I do think those ways exhaust and expand beyond my realm of vision. I do think,
though, that Christians must work to fully embody not just the emotion of the moment, but a truthful and fair representation of Christ. In this instance that includes the insanely difficult task of embodying true equality - not just in words or moments, but for the long haul.

Kreider recounts that Christianity lost its emphasis on patience when it adopted the mindset of ends justify the means. Instead of waiting for the truth to win out over time, heretics were persecuted, prosecuted, and executed. Politicans were brought in to use their power to favor one faction over another, to make decisions of right and wrong when it came to Christian thought and practice - this has been our habit ever since. We adopted the mode and means of the culture around us, but because we did so with a religious veneer, we've failed to see the compromising error of our ways.

I am continually troubled by the challenge to use my body, my lifestyle, to make statements of truth and justice, while also remembering the words of Paul, that I too, was once an enemy of God, and recognizing that my transformation was not wrought by violence, anger, or shame, but by the love of Jesus Christ. This is not a pushover faith, but it's also not a popular one; results are slow and it requires suffering - may I have the wisdom and creativity to make it my suffering before the suffering of others.

In the end, I don't have answers, but I pray that I'll have a gospel-infused patience that manifests itself in sacred, selfless action. Lord, have mercy.

The Benedict Option

I have long been a proponent of the importance of intentional counter-cultural faith practice. I believe deeply the purpose of the Church is not to change the world, but to be changed, living as an example of Christ in the world. So when this new book, The Benedict Option, hit shelves this spring with a lot of evangelical buzz, I was excited. The summary basically said, "Christians need to give up trying to change culture, and live faithfully," and the title implied connection to Benedictine monks, who take this task very seriously, and have for 1500 years.

But Rod Dreher writes a book that so frustratingly inconsistent, I had to take long breaks between chapters. He deftly and succinctly lays out the problems inherent in the world today - big ideas like hedonism and consumerism - even the nationalism and comfort to which so many evangelicals have become blind. He really impressively recounts the developments of western society and points out the ways in which it has diverted from the gospel over time. The Benedict Option lays out the problem so well, it's shocking how poorly it elucidates a response.

His plan is to entirely withdraw from society, not because the conservative Christian movement has finally discovered how misguided was its love affair with GOP politics (or politics of any kind), but simply because that relationship is no longer working. On numerous occasions he says this retrenchment is strategic, to build up the resistance and bide time until Christianity can once again exercise power in the world.

The book sets up as the pinnacle of civilization the late Roman Empire, the age of Augustine, but defends this belief not with scripture, but an enduring love of Greco-Roman philosophy that was Christianity's greatest enemy in the period. Likewise he sets up the family as the core theological center of modern Christianity without recognizing how hopelessly enmeshed that idea is with modern conservative political thought (and how thoroughly it stands contrary to scripture). In fact, there's almost no scripture in the book at all - with his arguments based entirely on philosophical, political, and practical comfort.

Dreher correctly identifies the lost importance of liturgy and community in modern western Christianity, but then defines "orthodox Christianity" so narrowly it's amazing that he, a practitioner of Eastern Orthodoxy, can even fit within it. At one point he says outright that those who believe in Christian Perfection in this life - pretty much the core theological distinctive of my denomination, the Church of the Nazarene - are heretics (his word).

I was unsure, at first, if my aversion to The Benedict Option was strictly because of the Wesleyan-Reformed divide and our different ways of approaching scripture and theology, but I had to conclude that's really a difference in worldview, some core belief about reality and the future. Perhaps Dreher is rooted in an eschatology of destruction, that the world will continue to devolve until God steps in to destroy it, rather than a scriptural understanding of God's continuing work of renewal and love for the world God made, but this book is so pessimistic it makes me doubt his faith in the power of God at all.

The entire argument is based in fear, that everything around you is out to corrupt your children and ruin their lives; he says at one point that if people do not follow his advice in this book, Christianity will, under no uncertain terms, be wiped out of existence. It feels like a furtherance of the culture wars, but with a new tactic that purports to leave electoral politics, but simply re-engages from a different angle. He sets up "religious liberty" as the last bastion of salvation for "real" Christians, which isn't a particularly theological or Christian idea at all. There is no room for theological disagreement - even when he talks of ecumenical cooperation, it's still within this nebulous realm of "orthodox Christianity."

Dreher advocates - no demands - that Christians remove their children from public education, and any Christian education that doesn't follow the "classical" model. He sees the world as Jesus' society saw the unclean - something to be avoided for fear of contamination; we must do the opposite, of course, engaging the world, touching it intimately, the way Christ touched the unclean, secure in the notion that the power of the Holy Spirit working through us is capable of redeeming that which seems lost and foreign.

The Benedict Option sees threat and challenge, almost to an existential level, around every corner. It's a book written out of intense fear - one that is entirely unwarranted in light of the power of Jesus Christ. Why not embrace a world that is simply ignorant of the great freedom available through Jesus' Kingdom of love and grace and double down on our commitment to live this alternative Kingdom in the midst of the world?

This is what Dreher argues for, I guess, but while we can agree generally about the need to combat contemporary notions of work, privilege, sexuality, technology, and sacrifice, the details on which we settle could not be more different. This diversity should be something acceptable, especially since we are each committed to living seriously in the way of Christ, but over and over the book rejects those who differ on key areas of concern - things that are typically on the periphery of orthodox theology conversations, but always on the forefront of the culture wars.

In the end, The Benedict Option just makes me sad. My heart breaks for Dreher and those who will sign on to this movement. My heart breaks in the same way it does for friends and neighbors who've found themselves in the midst of the social and cultural ills Dreher so deftly lays out. I can't think of a more misguided, anti-gospel response to the real problems in the world. I can't help but notice how stark a contrast this book has to the one I read and reviewed last week - Rob Bell's What is the Bible? - a presentation of alternative culture to the hedonism, consumerism, nationalism, and general rootlessness so prevalent in the world today, but one built on a deep foundation of scripture and unfailingly optimistic about the power and love of God's Holy Spirit to transform and redeem everything.

I'm sure there are more than two ways to live faithfully in the midst of the world, but The Benedict Option is not one worth considering - at least not in the detail and with the specificity described therein. We've got access to the same idea described with far better scriptural exegesis and with much more grace in many places.

I got this book from the library and I've toyed with renewing it indefinitely to keep anyone else from having to read it, but then I realized that would just be playing into the fear espoused within. I am confident in the power of God to address the deficiencies of the world through the faithful response of God's people - not in terror and exclusivity, but with radical grace and the brazen, sacrificial, near-impossible love of Jesus Christ. You really don't need to read this book, but please don't be afraid of it.

Talking to Kids About Difficult Things

I have a five year old daughter. As a result, I've spent far more time than I ever expected talking to parents of young children. One of the issues I've run into lately has been the debate over when kids are "ready" to talk about various topics. There's often a sense that the outside world is just waiting to stream into our children's lives and overly complicate things.

That's probably true, although that same danger exists for us, as adults, and every other human being on the planet. The world is a confusing, difficult place for anyone to live in - but maybe that's the whole point? I wonder if perhaps we seek to keep our children "innocent," as we like to say, because we, ourselves, aren't quite comfortable understanding, let alone explaining, complex ideas to them (especially when they have varying levels of ability to understand in the first place).

One of the kids in my daughter's preschool class has two moms. My daughter's never mentioned it; I'm not sure she's even really noticed. I have heard parents, though, lamenting their frustration about having "that" be forced into their child's life when the parents would rather save "that" for a later conversation.

I'm not sure "that" would be my approach to parenting, but I certainly understand where they were coming from. Then I got to thinking. My daughter wasn't even two yet when she could articulate what a princess was and understood that a princess goes with a prince. She still doesn't have even the remotest understanding of what "romance" is, but she knows that moonlight boat rides, evening strolls, and late night magic carpet adventures are the kinds of things that bring two people together.

She doesn't have much capacity to understand attraction, orientation, dating, or marriage, but she has some semblance of knowledge about what a relationship is. She's already been shaped and formed in the language of relationships and we've never had a conversation about it. In light of that, it doesn't really make sense not to bring up complex topics, because life has already done it.

Sure, she's not going to understand, at five, what it means to seek out a spouse, but she's forming the foundation from which she'll make those decisions in the future.


Like my time talking to parents, I've spent far more of my life than I ever expected working with teenagers, both in and out of the Church. The most important lesson I've learned from those experiences is that kids always have more knowledge and exposure to things than their parents ever suspect.

This is why I've always tried to answer every question my daughter has as completely as I possibly can. We've had conversations about death and dying, about homelessness, poverty, and violence. I don't think she understands much, if anything, about those topics other than they exist and they're problematic. Then again, on the way to school this morning she told me, "Dad, if Mimi (her best friend) and I had lived a long time ago, we never would've been friends." When I asked what she meant she said, "A long time ago they didn't let black people and white people live near each other and if we didn't live near each other we wouldn't go to the same school."

Did I mention she's five? Yeah.

We try to avoid talking with our kids about difficult things until we absolutely have to, because we love them and we want them to be blissfully unaware for as long as possible. But they're going to be aware long before we ever know they're aware. I know we think our kids will be different, but my experience tells me that's just not true.

I've long proposed that the most important tool for Christians to practice and possess is creativity. Creativity allows us to think outside the systems and structures we're given and respond differently to the world around us. It's a gospel creativity that lets us cut through the divisive and partisan nature of our world to present the beautiful alternative that is the Kingdom of God.

It's that creativity we must foster in talking to our kids about difficult subjects while also presenting the hope that we have in Christ. It is the middle way, between sheltering our children and leaving them exposed to the world. As parents, we know them best, and it should be our job to introduce them to the already-not yet world in which they live, one full of great sorrow and tremendous grace. I don't believe there's anything we can't say to our kids, so long as we foster this creativity to speak to them in ways that make sense for who and where they are in life.

Avoidance sends a message of fear. Addressing topics, even difficult ones, puts legs to our faith claims that God is in control, that the victory has already been one, that love and peace and hope will win out in the end. Yeah, it's not always simple, but our kids need to know we wrestle beside them and aren't afraid to wade through the mess together.

One of the more difficult things I've done as a parent was also the most rewarding. I sat down with my daughter and read through her (age appropriate) "how does my body work/where do babies come from" book. The most difficult part was reading all of the proper biological terms without pausing or stumbling or otherwise letting on that this was something to be embarrassed about. In the end, she asked a few questions, but we've had to go back every few months and read it again because she could care less about these topics. At least I know, though, when she has questions, there's a foundation to discuss them together.

A few weeks ago my daughter came in crying about something - probably neighborhood kids being mean - whether it was embarrassment, fear, or confusion, she just wouldn't talk about it. I found myself telling her something spontaneously, and, as I was saying it, realizing, deep down, that it was one of the truest things I've ever said. I told her, essentially, there are lots of things you'll do in life, some things I'll like and some things I won't, but the single most important thing to me, as your dad, is that you'll always be able to talk to me.

I mean that. At least I'm working towards that in my own life. If she makes decisions about boys (or girls), drugs or beliefs or money or any number of other things I may not want for her, I'd much rather she do them and talk to me, than avoid them and not. I don't think this is the typical attitude our churches take towards parenting, but I can't imagine any other way to do it.

Listen, I'm under no delusion that we'll always be able to talk to each other about difficult things - she's only five and it already doesn't go as well as I'd like - but I know these early moments, when the stakes are much lower, are great practice for shaping both of us into the kind of people who can have the best possible relationship later.

I'm convinced it starts with telling the truth - all the time. I answer every question as honestly as possible. So far she understands very little of it, but she knows I'm not hiding anything. I want her to ask questions, to know nothing is off limits, that every question is a good one.

As parents, we've got access to a God-given imagination and an incredible creativity to meet our kids where they are. If we do mess something up, we have great faith in a God who reconciles all things and draws all people - young and old - to God's self. Our children don't need to be sheltered; they need to be prepared, not irresponsibly, not beyond what they can understand, but we're the ones who know what's out there and we have to be the ones preparing them to face the world. If they can't count on us before we think they're ready, they won't count on us when we don't know they're ready.

Parenting is the single most difficult thing we'll ever do, but I'm coming to realize, it's not something you do for your kids, it's something you do with them. Good luck and God speed.

This is What I Mean

You all know that I've got more than a few disagreements with Donald Trump. I really need to stop commenting on political things, because, while it's fun, I don't really care. My personality is super rational, which makes me a pretty poor match for electoral anything, where rationality is the least of anyone's concern. I like following elections and government the same way I like following basketball or the Tour de France - it's entertainment. I don't think any of this is nearly as important as the participants do and certainly much less than the people I tend to piss off or excite with whatever back room comments I might make.

I've also probably got to stop because I really do believe theologically that participation by Christians in the business of elections and governing is harmful and counter-productive. I don't mind commenting and such, but I suspect I may be encouraging the very engagement I hope to discourage and for that, I apologize.

I believe the Church is called to represent an alternative politic. I really do. We're not called to influence anything or anyone, least of all nations and governments, but to live out the calling to which we've committed our lives in a way that might present people a more attractive means of living together. Yes, there's influence inherent in that ideal, I suppose, but influence is not a motivating factor. That's when we get into trouble (as just about any person less than excited about Christianity will tell you) - we're at our worst when we're trying to tell people what to do.

Don't get me wrong, I think making theological counter arguments to the theology of power and fear inherent in any national government is vitally important. I don't think we should keep our heads in the sand - but me putting forth my critiques of the policies and decisions of people in government probably isn't helping that cause. I respect Brian Zahnd greatly as a pastoral example of prophetic witness. He's got his own opinions about what government should do, policy-wise, and those occasionally sneak out, but for the most part he simply proclaims the gospel, the Christ-like way of living in the world, and points out the ways in which statements or decisions made by elected leaders contradict those things.

You may call it a fine line, but I see it, and far too often cross over. I let my love of logic and reason hold the same place in my heart as my love of God and the Church and the purposes to which we've been called.

I've been critical of some of the decisions Trump's made and I think a lot of the policies being pushed are short-sighted and outrageously ill-conceived. I'd like to think I'd've been similarly critical of Clinton, had she been elected, it just would likely have been on very different issues. This is the type of discussion that's probably best left to in-person debate or, at least, less public venues (don't worry, I somehow consider this blog to be 'less public' for some entirely illogical and irrational reason).

At the same time, my biggest issue with Donald Trump, from the moment his campaign became serious, was his lack of concern for morality. I don't call the man immoral, but amoral - he doesn't seem to understand right and wrong as concepts. Trump tends to base those judgement either on later outcomes or on the feedback he gets from the people around him. Because of this, he doesn't seem to be the kind of person who thinks twice about hurting people if it serves an agenda.

I'm particularly troubled by the illustrative tweets he sent out in response to the London terror attacks in recent days. While I could see many of our recent Presidents saying things like this in private, to friends or co-workers; I can't imagine a scenario in which even Richard Nixon (our resident modern Presidential boogeyman) would think it proper to make such comments in a public forum - not that might be politically incorrect (which they are), but because they're not sensitive to the events of the day, nor are they particularly representative of the nation a President purports to lead.

Do you notice we are not having a gun debate right now? That's because they used knives and a truck!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) June 4, 2017

Here Trump decides to interject a divisive US issue into a comment on terrorism in the UK - which has largely settled for themselves how they feel about guns. It's unfeeling and callous and completely tone deaf, not only to substance, but perception. Worse: the fact that this tweet still exists. It wasn't deleted after the fact, showing a real misunderstanding of both people and the world.

It's this inability to apologize, to admit fallibility - even for a typo - that makes Trump so impossible to support, not as a politician, but as a person of any influence at all. I get that he's a human being and a beloved child of God - I don't wish ill will towards him or his family - but I do believe he's dangerous, not just because his actions violate just about every value I hold true in the world, but because they violate generally held societal beliefs - I do still think a majority of people in the country he purports to lead embrace compassion and kindness - and also the good of the country.

I believe George W Bush made some of the most horrendous political decisions of my lifetime. I think, outside his massively important, flourishing program to fight AIDS in Africa, there's nothing of value he provided, policy-wise, to the US in eight years. I'd argue he's genuinely among the three worst Presidents we've ever had. I wrote in John McCain in 2000 AND 2004. Still, I believe he was and is a kind person who understood the weight of his responsibility in profound ways. He's the one President in the last 60 years or so who I couldn't imagine even thinking the things Trump says in these tweets (c'mon, you don't think the Obama snark doesn't rear its ugly head in private?). In other words, I don't have any moral qualms with the man, just the decisions he made.

The same isn't true for Trump. To me, this isn't about politics or policies - it's about decency and responsibility. The President just isn't supposed to use the part of his office that speaks for the country to advance personal or political agendas. Media outlets make a lot of money using manipulative reporting tactics to push political buttons, but we expect more from a President - shoot, I expect more from a human being.

At least 7 dead and 48 wounded in terror attack and Mayor of London says there is "no reason to be alarmed!"

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) June 4, 2017

This is either an ill-informed regurgitation of some conservative media talking point or a genuinely nefarious means of undermining a religion. Even I hope Trump was just ignorant of the actual text of the muslim mayor of London's statement and not that he was trying to smear a foreign leader the day after a terrorist attack to score political points. I can give the benefit of the doubt here - even if that benefit still makes him look terrible.

For reference:

My message to Londoners and visitors to our great city is to be calm and vigilant today. You will see an increased police presence today, including armed officers and uniformed officers. There is no reason to be alarmed by this. We are the safest global city in the world. You saw last night as a consequence of our planning, our preparation, the rehearsals that take place, the swift response from the emergency services tackling the terrorists and also helping the injured.  --Sadiq Kahn

He wasn't saying people shouldn't be alarmed by a terrorist attack, but that they shouldn't be alarmed by the increased police presence following an attack. That our President waded into this with anything other than compassion illustrates how unfit he is for the position. This, more than any alleged Russian collusion, failure to divest from his businesses, even downright unwillingness to put effort into educating himself on the issues with which he deals, is reason to be rid of him. Everything else is a choice he made; this is a reflection of who he is.

I believe all people can change, but I'm not sure it makes sense to let an amoral, irresponsible person with no stated aim towards self-improvement, try to do so in a position of power.

When I say he's not fit to serve - despite whatever disagreement I might have with him on policies or decisions - this is really what I mean. To me, it's far more important than any of the other stuff - and so I'll try to adjust my words to reflect as much. Let's all pray Donald Trump does too.

Nazarene Catechism, Part 2

This will be Part the Second of three outlining my response to the Nazarene catechism document that's been floating around the last week or so. Part 1 can be viewed here. In that post, I talked about how the format itself and much of the perspective of the writing were really not appropriate for theology in present and future days. While I applaud the effort, the result seems a bit short-sighted and short-lived.

This post is more a reflection on the influence of what seems to be a concerted effort from our Board of General Superintendents to push 'unity' throughout the denomination. Not that I believe unity is bad - quite the contrary - it's just that this push for unity seems more an effort to silence discussion on things in which people are very much in disagreement about. Rather than stress those things which arise from and promote actual unity, we tend to provide a party line and then act as if everyone is on board. That's troubling, if not unexpected.

The catechism document, "One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism" has this notion infused throughout. One of the most innocuous examples is the continued references to "unfermented grape juice" when discussing communion. I know 99% of Nazarene congregations use unfermented grape juice, but the Manual says "unfermented wine," which is actually different. They've basically just interpreted the Manual to say what they think it means - not a problem on the grape juice front, but more troublesome when issues are of greater import.

The best example of this is the answer to Question 123, dealing with our core theological distinctive: sanctification or holiness. The answer here is simple and defensible, but it seems to work against the traditional Nazarene position that something happens in sanctification that is different from salvation. This answer talks about a journey that starts on the cross and culminates at the resurrection, which doesn't sound much different from those other non-holiness explanations of sanctification.

I think this presentation is better than what we've done before, which leads to a sort of nebulous sinlessness, no matter how much we renounce the word. At the same time, I wouldn't want to stop wrestling with the difficulty of communicating a second work of grace, which is a real danger in this presentation. I appreciate that this answer provides cover for the proposed Article X changes at the upcoming General Assembly (although I wish we could avoid wording that basically marginalizes crisis entirely), having this answer in this place feels like putting the cart before the horse. Just because this answer maybe seems more appropriate and responsible than what we've said in the past, doesn't mean it isn't glossing over real differences among our membership - about our most central theological doctrine!

I'll include a few more examples of these at the end of this post, but the unity problems in this catechism run a bit deeper than just internal disagreements about interpretation or practice. There's a stronger undercurrent of forced unity and overgeneralization that's real problematic for scriptural and theological discussion.

Page 15 of the document gives an almost full page quote from one of the answers on scripture: "The Holy Scripture offers us a unified understanding of God's self-revelation to humanity." I guess I get what that is supposed to mean, but, in reality, the lack of unity is one of the important hallmarks of scripture. Our tradition has given us diverging voices specifically so that we remain in dialogue with each other, build a relational theology and don't get too comfortable (or propositional) and assume we've mastered Truth.

The very fact that different denominations exist is pretty strong evidence scripture isn't "unified" in its understanding. Even at its very basic levels, there's going to be disagreements on interpretations and, more importantly, implications for life. This statement, and its prominence, is just not a great start.

Continuing, I don't know how many theologians would agree with the answer to Question 25 that "'I believe in God' is the source of all other truth about humankind and the world." I'm almost positive Truth has to begin with Jesus - and probably more about his life and example than his identity. Again, Christian faith is a lived faith, not a propositional one. It's only from God's self-revelation and interaction with humanity that we could understand anything about God.

However, it also feels like theological overreach dressed up in grandiosity to make such a statement. I'd be down with saying that any truth people discover about humankind or the world is because of God - but that doesn't require belief. God's existence is often one of the last things people are willing to accept on a journey to faith. This answer is very confusing; It's almost as if the true complexity of reality leads us to put on a show - Wizard of Oz style. "Big words and firm declarations! - pay no attention to the complexity behind the curtain."

I think the answer to Question 26 is great, but it doesn't really make sense in the context of this piece. We're using God's own words to define God, which is a logical fallacy. Plus, while I love, will defend, and joyfully affirm Tertullian's statement that "If God is not One, He [sic] is not God," that statement itself is based on the assumption that unity is a universal good, which is not an opinion all people share and really an opinion one can only come to through experience.

Maybe what bothers me is that this answer treats Christianity as a particular truth, rather than a universal one. True Christianity explains a reality above, outside, and beyond itself, inviting all people to rid themselves of religion and embrace the Kingdom of God. Institutional Christianity tries to create a specific, self-sustaining reality and invite the whole world into it. Stealing from Bonhoeffer's idea of religionless Christianity, I'd argue that just as the Council of Jerusalem held that you don't have to be Jewish to be Christian, the message of the gospel for today's world is similarly that you don't have to be Christian to be Christian - there's a divinely revealed universal truth beneath the dogma that doesn't invalidate the dogma, but should call us to hold it in a specific way that invites both unity and diversity. This answer is good, but it's closed off, rather than open and inviting.

It's as if the creators of this catechism were looking to reign in discussion, setting artificial (but comfortable) boundaries around which we can talk. It feels like a fear reaction that unnecessarily chokes off real discussion and doesn't trust the Holy Spirit to guide our conversations. I'd like to see us welcome perspectives even far outside our comfort zone, but we don't seem to be able to abide even differences that have long been part of who we are as the Church of the Nazarene.

Baptism is a great example. The catechism refers to both infant and "believer's" baptism. The name of the piece itself includes the words "One baptism," yet we maintain this long-held dichotomy that contributes greatly to our inability to articulate a real, consistent, scriptural theology of baptism. On top of this, there's a strong statement, in this catechism, that people should not (and theologically cannot) be re-baptized.

I believe baptism is a symbol of God's saving grace - it applies to all and is NOT contingent upon our acceptance; we should celebrate our acts of commitment to God, but baptism is not the way to do that. But this is far from a universal perspective within the denomination and the discussion can't simply be glossed over because the powers that be finally found it appropriate to agree with me.

In reality, if we're supposed to be learning about the basics and essentially of Nazarene theology here, there are just way too many questions. Or at least way too many answers. We could simply say "The Church of the Nazarene includes members who believe a variety of things on this issue, here are some of the ways our people answer this." I know it might get repetitive, but I think this comfort with diversity would really help our unity.

Here are a few head-scratching examples:

The answer to Question 97 unnecessarily provides day-of-the-week details on the Last Supper and crucifixion even though the historicity of those details don't matter theologically and the gospels don't even all agree. It seems like a strange choice to be included and completely unnecessary.

In answer to Question 79 on who has authority to forgive sins, there is no mention of John 20, where Jesus gives such authority to the disciples. This is a difficult passage to understand or explain in light of traditional protestant theology - probably a reason to address it, not ignore it.

The answer to Question 125 references the rich young ruler, but conveniently neglects Christ's command to sell all his possessions. It's very disingenuous to use this reference without including all of it. Maybe there is a better way to answer this question? It seems "What must we do to gain eternal life?" is a pretty important question to answer thoroughly and well.

I know I'm getting real nitpick-y here, but there's a couple pet peeves that just seem unnecessary for a document meant to teach:

Different sects hold different divisions of commandments in the Decalogue (I did a lot of research on this when writing a book about it) - why would we bother choosing one definition over another, AND, if we do choose, why not provide rationale for the choice?

Sunday is not the Sabbath; Jesus didn't change the Sabbath day. We traditionally gather for corporate worship on Sunday to remember the resurrection of Christ; it has nothing to do with "keeping the sabbath" as much as we like to appropriate it that way.

What all of this says to me, beyond just the desire for people to be unified when they're not, is that this whole catechism was put together more because someone felt like it should be done than because there was a real desire to provide guidance in growth. It just doesn't seem super helpful and perhaps its more likely to work against its stated purpose than for it, because it embraces an artificial unity.

Apologies for Apologetics

I'm a little behind, but in catching up on potential post ideas, I ran across this link I saved from Easter weekend. I saw it on CNN and was curious what Ed Stetzer, who I've known to be pretty creative, might have to say about "Why do Christians keep inviting you to Church?" I'm sure it was a boon for CNN, who's become quite click-baity these days, to have a recognized evangelical name talking about church on Easter weekend, but I was really disappointed by the lack of, well, anything in this piece.

The main ideas at the top, which CNN always pulls out for those too lazy to read more than three sentences, say "Christians who share their faith aren't intolerant," and "It shows they believe what Jesus said and care about those around them." To me, it all seems a bit tone deaf. The column basically argues (very politely) against the notion that its offensive to try and influence someone else's belief - and I'm sure that's an issue for some people.

His main points, though, that it's not intolerant because Jesus told Christians to do it, that everyone wants to influence people when they find something they're passionate about, and that Christians really believe Jesus changes lives, aren't wrong, but they're likely missing the point.
He points out, rightly, that Penn Jillette, the entertainer and oft-critique of Christianity has said many times he only trusts Christians who try to convert him, because it seems hypocritical to believe someone is going to hell and not do everything you can to stop it.

I'm just not sure that's why people are uncomfortable with invitations to church. I don't disagree, necessarily, with Stetzer's three points here,
but I think one easy misconception is the unaddressed source of the real problem. Evangelical Christianity, especially in the US, particularly of the fundamentalist tradition, is obsessed with apologetics - a word most people have never heard. Apologetics is essentially the verbal and logical argument for faith; young evangelicals are trained from an early age to "be able to give an answer for the hope that you have," which, in typically fundamentalist fashion, is taking one verse and ratcheting up its importance to an almost comic level.

It's made of good intentions most of the time, but it creates all kinds of problems - namely that no one can be talked into faith. Yes, CS Lewis is a prime example of someone who reasoned his way to Christianity, but it wasn't reason alone; there is a real difference between faith and theology (although, in the world of apologetics, that might not be true). The other problem is that Jesus' "call" to do such things was really a call to "make disciples," which has gotten translated into, "lovingly argue people into faith." Many evangelicals think, if they can't do it,
at least get this person to church, where the pastor can take a crack at it.

I'd say, from my perspective, this is the most important misinterpretation of scripture in evangelical culture today, the notion that "make disciples" equals proselytizing. There is far more scriptural support for the Church to live faithfully as a means of witness and allowing God to draw people to Christian faith and practice. This doesn't preclude talking to people about faith and developing relationships with those around us, but it's got a very different purpose at the core - it's me trying to be the best Christian I can be, vs me trying to make you into a follower of Christ.

Maybe I'm wrong about that - you're certainly free to disagree - but I think it fits with why, I suspect, people are often uncomfortable with the invitation to church: we're not living what we claim.

I get that nobody's perfect and people expecting Christians to be wonderful people is a big hurdle for Christian to overcome. As we Christians like to say, "We're all just sinners." However, when we use our words to try and convince people, when we set our worship services up as a means of converting or proselytizing, we're sort of communicating that we've got something you don't. There's an implicit judgement, even if it's not done judgmentally.

If we respect people as people, we need to respect that they've arrived at whatever beliefs they have honestly, through experience and thought.
Stetzer asks that people give Christians a chance, listen to them and don't just write everything off right away. I'd say that's good advice,
but it's good advice for everyone, Christians included. My faith has been shaped and challenged positively far more often by talking to people who don't share it than it ever has listening to a sermon or sitting in a class.

Yes, I do believe most of the time when people ask you to come to church its because they believe Jesus can make every life better. I share that belief. But also, it's often because they don't feel confident enough in themselves to present Jesus honestly. This is what has to change.
We say "We're just sinners," and get upset when people expect Christians to be perfect, but we're rarely willing to be imperfect, to be real,
to be honest with people we're "trying to save."

Even that phrase is really missing the point. Christians often view themselves as standing on the shore throwing life preservers to loved ones who are drowning - but w'd be more effective (not to mention accurate) if we thought of everyone (ourselves included) as struggling in the water.
Just because we're pretty convinced of the best way to shore, doesn't mean we shouldn't listen to what those around us have to say.

I suspect people get uncomfortable with invitations to church for a lot of reasons (unfamiliarity being the biggest), but I don't think an aversion to intolerance is high on the list. I suspect there is some internal notion that "you don't have it all together, why tell me what to do?"

I hope that's an unfair assessment of every Christian and every congregation, but we all know it's not. Perceptions chance not from words - in our mouths or on CNN - perceptions change with action and experience. The change begins with me.

Reclaiming Hope by Michael Wear

Disclaimer: I was given a free copy of this book for the purpose of review. My integrity is not for sale. Those who know me well are aware a free book isn't enough to assuage my cutting honesty. If I've failed to write a bad review, it has nothing to do with the source of the material and only with the material itself.

Reclaiming Hope is a pretty straightforward look at the author's involvement with two Obama Presidential campaigns and one full term in office, mostly as liaison with the religious community (and primarily with evangelicals). I imagine Wear has no real "home" in the polarized world of American politics and religion. He explains and defends the positive involvement of the Obama White House in religious affairs as strongly as he critiques the missteps. I've heard some of the left are pretty upset with his condemnation of the administration's political leadership - particularly their distaste for evangelicalism and religion in general and their devotion to political strategy - this is justified anger, for sure, but that doesn't make Wear wrong.

It's rare to see someone in politics who is also loyal to some non-partisan moral standard. Wear seems to truly be committed to seeing his faith convictions played out in the public sphere regardless of what party they may help or hinder. It's an amazing and admirable portrayal that can be seen as equally biting and approving of President Obama and his personal as well as public faith. I can't believe anyone truly politically connected would find any enjoyment in Reclaiming Hope, but the book does as the title implies - it gives great hope, especially to someone like me who finds literally nothing redeemable in just about any human institution, let along the halls of power, that people can actually enter the demon fray and emerge alive.

Now, that being said, the book ends with a sort of philosophical and theological treatment on hope that Wear isn't really qualified or all that good at elucidating. I find many of his presumptions narrow and his opinions weak, but although this is the conclusion of the book, it's not really the important part.

For example, one sentence pretty much sums up the nagging at my conscious throughout the book, but particularly the final section: "A holistic approach to justice and the well-being of our neighbors is inconceivable without political involvement." I agree with Wear's next sentence, that politics is one way in which Christian can love their neighbors, but I vehemently disagree with the first. I believe strongly that the Church, the people of God, are called to be an alternative to the world. That quoted sentence makes sense if you're using "politics" in the generic 'way humans interact with each other,' definition; I'm just not sure that's how Wear defines it and it's why I can't quite go there with him.

He repeats the old tropes that not voting means muting ones voice and even, at one point, says "Christians are obligated to participate in politics." I have heard him speak in other venues and I respect Wear as a person, but I find that mentality so misguided and anti-gospel, it hurts my soul. At the same time, this book is proof, as I said, that people can survive DC with a conscience intact, so far be it from me to think I'm right about everything.

The book is good, truthful, honest, and well written. It's engaging and not overly long. It's not preachy or partisan and it wreaks of integrity. It's a good book written by a good man for no ulterior purpose. Quite a rarity, both in politics AND evangelical publishing. If you think it sounds interesting, it almost certainly will be. Check it out.


Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze.com® book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”