If I think about a decision (and, boy do I think - it's taken me 18 months to replace a pair of shoes, and that is not at all an exaggeration), really mull it over and choose what I think it best, then I'm ok with failure. I might replay it over and over for a while to try and learn from the mistake for the future, but I'm generally ok. If I make the wrong choice without having spent time considering it, I will dwell on it for days - even something very simple.
There's a lot of guilt in my life. Mentally, intellectually, I completely understand it's unearned. I recognize people make mistakes and no one's perfect, and all that stuff. It just doesn't feel that way in the moment. I tend to respond with self-loathing or abject rage, at the very least a strong sense of embarrassment.
I've been seeing a counselor lately, to try and weed through these various threads connecting my past and my actions and my thoughts and emotions. It's been helpful. Of course this process also brings with it a fair bit of introspection. I've always spent a lot of time thinking about why I do things. Now I spend even more.
This week I've been thinking about the tension that exists growing up in the Church of the Nazarene and our particular ways of speaking about holiness. (For those who don't know, holiness is, pretty much, the reason our denomination exists.) My upbringing was pretty typical of an evangelical holiness tradition. We were taught people should be saved, basically intellectual assent to the idea of Jesus as God and savior of the world. Beyond that, though, there's also this thing called sanctification, a miracle working of God's Holy Spirit that cleanses one of a propensity to sin - not that you become perfect, but given a choice, you're capable of choosing good. This new life is called holiness.
There are a lot of intricacies that go into the explanation of this process for our tribe - something I have no desire or time to go into here - but this was the basic outline of my understanding of life and faith. This sanctification part was always kind of mysterious to me. I got that it didn't make you sinless or perfect, but that there was some real change wrought supernaturally in a person. Something noticeable and real.
I'm not sure I ever really bought into that kind of thing until it happened to me. Shortly after college I was pretty directionless. I'd never planned for my life after college and I felt pretty purposeless. I was listening to a band rehearsing some worship music and was simply struck by a feeling of hopelessness - an emotional/spiritual rock-bottom, as if my attempt to run my own life had finally and completely run its course. I spent close to an hour just weeping and admitting to myself and God that I could not do life on my own. I needed someone else to make the decisions. When the night was over, I felt different. I was changed. A lot of things changed. Parts of my personality were forever altered. I was different. I believe that.
But it wasn't the kind of different I expected from my upbringing. It was a different different.
Part of that experience, or shortly thereafter, was a calling to preach. Within 18 months, I'd gotten married and we'd moved to Kansas City where I was attending seminary. This was a great experience and a real chance to explore exactly what all of this meant. I got to reading scripture more closely. I got to read John Wesley (the guy from whom all of this particular take on holiness descends). I made a lot of discoveries.
Most importantly, I saw how John Wesley described "entire sanctification." It wasn't all that different from how I'd been taught. I found, however, that Wesley never claimed sanctification for himself; beyond that he guessed perhaps no more than a handful of people in all of England (where he lived) had ever been entirely sanctified, and, if so, they only maintained it for a few weeks. This was quite different from what I'd been taught. In fact, the Manual of the Church of the Nazarene, to this day, requires a testimony of entire sanctification even for service on a local congregational governing board.
Throughout the process of my schooling and training I underwent annual interviews for a minister's license and, ultimately, for ordination. I think there were eight interviews total. Holiness came up in a lot of them. I don't think I ever claimed to be sanctified (although early on I may have checked the box out of habit). I relayed pretty much everything I've included here and those boards were satisfied I met the requirement.
The more I look at it though, the more it seems my experience lines up much more with what Wesley called salvation. He was a long-time priest before he had what he called a salvation experience. Intellectual assent was not enough for him. This moment of transformation, when your heart and will are turned away from self-interest and towards God, Wesley called that becoming a Christian. That's pretty similar to the way it was described in my seminary theology classes, too. Dr. Tom Noble, one of the greatest and smartest men I've ever known, told us that if one's will is not aligned with God's, then you're probably not yet saved.
Dr. Nobel is also the only person I've met who was actually able to describe what a second work, beyond that salvation experience might look like. He knows what he believes about sanctification and how it differs from salvation. I'll be honest, I believe he knows what he's talking about, but I was never able to understand it - and I've spent a lot of time trying.
I've had that experience I was always taught I needed, but it certainly didn't feel like what they said. Oh, sure, there have been times, sometimes quite extended periods, where I've felt like I was supposed to - like I could make the right decision, even if it was difficult and succeed at doing it over and over again. But that hasn't been my experience at all times.
I'll admit it. Sometimes I know the good I ought to do and I don't do it. That's sin (almost word for word from the Bible).
While I'm fairly certain a few people can exist on that plane of holiness, the way I was taught, I'm fairly confident that most of the people in our denomination required to testify to that experience probably aren't - at least not all the time.
Don't get me wrong. I believe in holiness. I believe God can and does change us, as we allow, over time into people more like Christ, people who think less about themselves and more towards the needs of others, people who love unconditionally and are willing to suffer with those who suffer. It's part of this crisis/process debate we Nazarenes have been having for some time. It's not difficult to see the process and it's not difficult to see the crisis, but it's awfully difficult to see how this works out practically.
This standard of holiness is sort of used and not used when it's convenient. As adults we sort of understand the practical nature of grace and responsibility. Life is messy and things aren't always cut and dry. It makes sense rationally. But that rational part of my brain is having a hard time dealing with the part of my brain raised with the notion of perfection as the goal. We Nazarenes do a good job of clarifying our terminology - sin doesn't quite mean what most people take it to mean, and neither does perfection. I get that, too. But I didn't always get it. Those early lessons are hard to overcome.
Now I'm not blaming my psychological issues solely on theology - there is a lot of other personal stuff that goes along with it - at the same time, it sure doesn't help. If a person believes perfection is the expectation, then they are never good enough and always a failure. It seems as though people feel that way enough on their own, without (even unintentional) religious practice reinforcing it. The gospel really tells people the opposite: we are all good enough; we are all loved and valuable and important; even if we fail and fall short we are still loved.
That doesn't absolve us of responsibility or exempt us from facing the consequences of our actions, but it does speak to our fundamental value as people.
I'm not sure my tribe has done a very good job of forming ourselves around that idea. The very holiness we talk about so much is really only possible once we get over the notion that we can get it all right. We've always been very good about making that clear for people... until they're sanctified, then there's an expectation that those days are over. Like I said, it may very well work that way for some people - it hasn't for me, and I'm guessing I'm not alone.
It's strange that I've felt nervous writing this whole time. It's not a big deal to admit I'm not perfect, or at least it shouldn't be - but, as an ordained elder in the Church of the Nazarene, it sort of feels like it is. Even by that definition which exempts unintentional mistakes from perfection, I'm still not perfect. I choose selfishly all the time, to the detriment of my family and friends. I do so willingly, sometimes even knowing it's wrong when I do it.
I recognize how that fits theologically and I can put it within the framework outlines above. I know how it works within notions of holiness - I am definitely more Christ-like now than I was last week or last year, let alone a decade ago. I'm just not as good as I always believed I should be. I don't think I'm as good as the Manual of my denomination expects me to be.
I know we're often a gracious people. I've experienced it time and again. We're certainly better at dealing with people honestly than we've been in the past. But what we say, in writing, and what we do, in practice, don't really line up that well with each other. It's harmed me in the past. I know it's harmed others. I suspect this implied expectation of perfection has been behind a lot of trouble our denomination has had in recent years. We're just not able to cut each other slack because we've always held this notion of perfection up as right to rule - the most holy people are the ones in charge, so the ones in charge must, at least, appear holier than everyone else.
I know that's not who we are at our core, but it's sure who we appear to be.
I'm not sure if or how long it might take to get over these mental blocks in my head constantly telling me I need to be perfect, that preventable mistakes are wrong and make me less valuable. I doubt I'm alone in battling these lies. But perhaps it's time to just admit we're human.
When I tell people what exactly we mean by holiness, I often say we believe that we can live the kind of life God intends for us to live right here and right now - we don't have to wait for heaven. I believe that. I'm just less and less convinced that life looks like one without error. I suspect it's more likely a life in which love and grace can be expected at all times.
I know we don't live in a world where that's true, but perhaps we should be able to be part of a Church where it is.
Swiper is, as you might have guessed, a fox. He generally shows up to swipe things. He takes stuff and hides it nearby, thus requiring Dora (with help from kids watching at home) to find it. Sometimes Swiper is slow and Dora's mild rebuke, "Swiper, no swiping" helps him come to his senses and give up his klepto-quest.
Ostensibly, Swiper is a villain. But there are no villains on Dora. They're very good about separating people from what they do. Dora and her crew readily admit swiping is wrong, they continually reject Swiper's actions, but they never seem to reject him. He gets invited to parties, he gets cards like other people. When there are special cookies for everyone, Swiper's right on the list. There are no "good guys" and "bad guys" in Dora's world.
It would be easy for us to laugh and say, "what a wonderful childhood fantasy." I could even see some people upset we're not preparing these kids for the real world (as if this is the job of cartoon monkeys, et al). I find the opposite true. It's a beautiful depiction of the world as it is. Our society tends to send the message of "good guys" and "bad guys," because it serves the interests of power, but, in reality, we're all people. As much as we don't want to admit it, that makes us all essentially the same. The very best of our actions are possible from any of us; so are the very worst.
There are no bad people, just people doing bad things. Yes, our actions shape us and change us, but they only do so in how we respond to things. They change our actions and our inclinations. They don't change us. Deep down, we're still the same people, even if our humanity is lost beneath the effects of a lifetime of evil.
Obviously, Dora's world is far more simplistic than the real world. She doesn't face the sort of existential challenges that exist in ours, but her world does offer some picture of what the world could be. I say that with gospel hope. My faith tells me the future is a world in which we're all loved and valued as the humans we are. At some point, we may reach a world where bad actions are removed, but until then, we're still called to treat people like people.
Swiper gets to participate in the world of Dora, despite his propensity to swipe. He takes and hides and is cruel for no real reason, yet he's treated as one with a specific place in the system. That is not to say we need evil to emphasize good, but simply that all are welcome, all are included, all are loved. Exclusion comes from our own choice; it's not forced on us - at least in the world as it should be.
Dora might be seen as foolish. She continues to treat Swiper well, even as his presence tends to be bad news. She approaches him as if the past is no indication of the future (the story is a bit different when he approaches her, but then again, the challenge is only to his actions, not Swiper himself). I admire the lesson Dora is teaching my daughter. If we really believe that love will win, that love can change the world, it's something worth being foolish for. Dora gets that. I hope my daughter will, too.
I've been following all of this with interest for a while. I have my own connection to this whole thing through time I spent working at Nazarene headquarters during seminary. The other day I put together a post, explaining the narrative as I knew it, and asking for the General Board to be open and honest in moving forward. Even through all the conversations and documents, even in rumors and stories I'd never heard anyone claim Smith had asked for $1.8m outright in exchange for the gift. That was shocking. Even more shocking is the indication in this report that his request was granted. Now this money was to be paid from Premier profits, which didn't exist, so he may never have received these funds. In any event, the mere acquiescence to this exchange is beyond troubling.
This report is a wonderful start. I'm not sure how NPH could be more open and honest with the public about its happening, nor do I think they could be any more gracious in challenging the denomination to perform better in the future. Still, we need something more. The General Board must respond to this. There must be a similar investigation into the Board itself and the operations of Nazarene headquarters. We need the same candor and honesty from the Board of General Superintendents and the other leaders involved in this process. The NPH report is only one part of the whole.
We're passed the point of exacting punishment. That's not exactly the Christ-like thing to do anyway. Those who made mistakes at NPH are gone. I don't know if there is a need to remove others in denominational leadership, mostly because we don't really know who played what role. I tend to think this has more to do with the system than the individuals. If the system is broken, it doesn't matter what individuals we plug into it, we're only asking for trouble. I do believe a report like this can spur us to the change we need, but our General Board needs to respond in kind. It needs to be done with the kind of grace, candor, and transparency that NPH has modeled for us. It's been a while since NPH was out in front leading the Church of the Nazarene, but perhaps this report can be the beginning of a return to such leadership.
I've put a summary together of the history of this particularly difficult situation - you can read it here.*
NPH is back running again, much smaller than it was before and with a still tenuous future. They've got a new, streamlined board, one without the typical close ties to denominational hierarchy. They will present a report to the General Board. From what I've been told, this report will be kept private, perhaps only presented in Executive Session. I hope, hope, hope, I've heard wrong.
This sort of privacy is what got NPH into trouble in the first place. Handling things behind closed doors has been a long tradition in the Church of the Nazarene and we've really paid a price for it. Furthermore, while that sort of behavior may have been the norm within all sorts of corporate structures in the past, it's just not true anymore. People need transparency.
I recognize a lot of good, well-meaning people made some terrible mistakes in all this mess. More public statements and transparency will make their regret and embarrassment more pronounced. It's honorable to want to protect them as much as possible. But the truth is, those mistakes have been made already. We know what they were (at least we've got a pretty good idea of it). I'm well beyond the point of anger at any one person. I don't want anyone fired. I want our broken system fixed.
We don't have any sort of whistle-blower policies in place at our denominational headquarters. People who know of problems are afraid to bring them to light. That has to change. We've operated on relational trust more than hard facts, where things get done by handshakes and connections. That works, to some extent, when you're small and insular - but it's not going to work anymore.
The structure we have in place no longer serves the best needs of the denomination. The Board of General Superintendents exercises far more power in practice than they have by polity - that's dangerous for even the most holy of people.
I've been told decisions about the future of NPH and how to handle the problems of the past year will be left in the hands of the General Board. They'll decide what is made public and what is kept behind closed doors. I'm a little skeptical, to be honest, since the BGS and the General Secretary typically set the agenda for these proceedings and have been less than open during this process. I hope the General Board will make the choice for transparency. We've got some dirty laundry in the family. It's sad, but true. It's time for us to lay it out in the light of day so we can heal and move on.
In the narrative summary linked above, I put forth a request for some sort of Truth and Reconciliation type procedure, whereby those involved can explain their part in the NPH matter and be forgiven. People don't need to be raked over the coals. No one expects our leaders to be perfect. The Church of the Nazarene is full of love and forgiveness. We simply need to know what exactly happened, why it happened, and how we're going to prevent it from happening again.
I don't need to agree with the direction my denomination's leaders go, in fact, I probably disagree more than I agree. I don't need to agree, but I do need to trust. I need to trust that our leaders, our structure, and our process is functioning ethically and efficiently and, most importantly, in the mode of Christ. I'm just not convinced of that.
It pains me to say it, but it's true. The NPH affair involved massive monetary losses, but the response has been mostly an attempt to smooth over the problems, not fix them. This might be the largest scale issue we've faced, but it's certainly not the first. Without changes in structure and process, clearly outlined, with means of accountability, it's difficult to believe the same problems won't creep up again.
I don't expect the General Board to make huge changes. It is responsible to wait for the General Assembly, but we need some signal that it's being taken seriously. Having the NPH report presented in private is the exact opposite of what's needed. I hear that NPH report might contain some unflattering opinions about the actions and attitudes of the denominational administration towards NPH. That could be difficult to hear, but those grievances need to be aired.
If we really are the family we so often claim to be - I've seen first hand how Nazarenes from around the world can meet and find common acquaintances within minutes, an impressive feat for a denomination of 2+ million - we need to be willing to have the tough discussions, live with disagreements, work together. But to do so, we all need to be in on the conversation. Yes, we elect representatives to run things, but we don't elect them to shield us from reality.
If anyone has survived in the Church of the Nazarene for any length of time, it's because we love this denomination and the holiness ethic around which it's built. We want to be a strong force for good in the world. No one wants to see us weakened. We love the Church of the Nazarene. We love the publishing house that's supported and nurtured it for so many years. We love our elected leaders, who execute some of the most difficult responsibilities imaginable. And because of that great love, this just can't be left alone. We can't sweep another problem under the rug and hope for the best next time.
Let's put it all on the table, cry and grieve together, forgive and forge a new path to better enable us to be the people God's called us to be in the future.
*This narrative was shaped and formed by a lot of conversations over a long period of time. It's been amended and adjusted considerably over time. Much of the documentary evidence forming the outline of this narrative can be found linked from this page. I may still have some things wrong. I would love to be in conversation about where this narrative can be further refined to better reflect the reality of the situation.
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 I would relish the chance to give a bad review in exchange for a free book. If I've failed to do so, it has nothing to do with the source of the material and only with the material itself.
My Best Friend's Funeral is a memoir. The real subject, though, is tough to pin down. It's about two friends, Roger and Tim, who found each other and the beginning of adolescence, and shared an unbreakable bond, through thick and thin, until one, Tim, was taken away, in a car accident at the age of thirty-three.
The funeral in the title is Tim's - and it's set up as a framing device for Roger to process his life and figure out how to find purpose and meaning. There's more to the memoir, though. It's a story of a kid who loves his dad, then loses him to drugs and death. It's about being a teenager and figuring out your place in the world. It's about surfing and skating. Then it's about being an adult and finding your place in the world all over again.
It's a Christian memoir, but only barely - in a good way. There's no insider language, no evangelism. Faith is central to life for these characters, but church is tangential. The purpose sought and found is more universal. This is a memoir about life. It's exceedingly accessible and it's very, very real. There are no cliches or easy answers. It's a story, very well written, about one guy and what he figured out about life.
It's mostly a narrative and although you know throughout where it's going to end up, you don't know how and you're waiting in anticipation for why the narrative is so important to begin with. I'm sure I missed out on a good chunk of the value not having shared the same experience of loss, but it's a darn good story nonetheless.
I'm not sure the end pays of as well as the reader would like (but again, I'm likely missing something important in fully appreciating the journey). It's a good book. Well worth checking 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.”
So, the President did what every President has done for the last 63 years last week - he spoke at the National Prayer Breakfast, a tradition in which people of all faiths are invited to slow down in the midst of political hurry, and recognize a common need for God. It's such a normal part of the calendar, I wasn't even aware of it happening until I started seeing a particular Facebook post from Franklin Graham running around the internet. In it he criticized the President's remarks and directly attacked Islam, saying the only true Muslims are violent ones and, by implication, dismissing the religion entirely.
I linked to the post, but the text of it is here:
Today at the National Prayer Breakfast, the President implied that what ISIS is doing is equivalent to what happened over 1000 years ago during the Crusades and the Inquisition. Mr. President--Many people in history have used the name of Jesus Christ to accomplish evil things for their own desires. But Jesus taught peace, love and forgiveness. He came to give His life for the sins of mankind, not to take life. Mohammad on the contrary was a warrior and killed many innocent people. True followers of Christ emulate Christ—true followers of Mohammed emulate Mohammed.
I'll be honest. This sort of perspective angers me. Infuriates me, really. It's all I can do to keep from lashing out with incredible furor. I appreciate Franklin Graham. I know a lot of people, personally, who've been helped out tremendously by Samaritan's Purse following disaster. One of the ebola doctors who made such headlines last year was working for this organization in Africa when he was infected - Kent Brantley was one of the individuals highlighted at the prayer breakfast and in the President's remarks.
At the same time, attacking a factually true statement, in the name of Christ, for political purposes is not only wrong, and sacreligious, but downright irresponsible. Attacking the core of a religion from the outside, while simultaneously ignoring the open-hearted pleas of actual adherenst that your opinion is misinformed is calloused at best and demonic at worst.
I recognize that a lot of people I know and care about agree with Graham's post, many shared it. They're going to be offended by my response. I think I'm ok with that. They're wrong. It doesn't make them bad people, simply people who happen to be way off base here. I know that's a strong statement, but a strong statement is necessary here.
Here's why:
You can read the full text of the President's remarks (and they're not very long), but there is a small section that caught the ire of Graham and others.
Now, over the last few months, we’ve seen a number of challenges -- certainly over the last six years. But part of what I want to touch on today is the degree to which we've seen professions of faith used both as an instrument of great good, but also twisted and misused in the name of evil.
As we speak, around the world, we see faith inspiring people to lift up one another -- to feed the hungry and care for the poor, and comfort the afflicted and make peace where there is strife. We heard the good work that Sister has done in Philadelphia, and the incredible work that Dr. Brantly and his colleagues have done. We see faith driving us to do right.
But we also see faith being twisted and distorted, used as a wedge -- or, worse, sometimes used as a weapon. From a school in Pakistan to the streets of Paris, we have seen violence and terror perpetrated by those who profess to stand up for faith, their faith, professed to stand up for Islam, but, in fact, are betraying it. We see ISIL, a brutal, vicious death cult that, in the name of religion, carries out unspeakable acts of barbarism -- terrorizing religious minorities like the Yezidis, subjecting women to rape as a weapon of war, and claiming the mantle of religious authority for such actions.
We see sectarian war in Syria, the murder of Muslims and Christians in Nigeria, religious war in the Central African Republic, a rising tide of anti-Semitism and hate crimes in Europe, so often perpetrated in the name of religion.
So how do we, as people of faith, reconcile these realities -- the profound good, the strength, the tenacity, the compassion and love that can flow from all of our faiths, operating alongside those who seek to hijack religious for their own murderous ends?
Humanity has been grappling with these questions throughout human history. And lest we get on our high horse and think this is unique to some other place, remember that during the Crusades and the Inquisition, people committed terrible deeds in the name of Christ. In our home country, slavery and Jim Crow all too often was justified in the name of Christ. Michelle and I returned from India -- an incredible, beautiful country, full of magnificent diversity -- but a place where, in past years, religious faiths of all types have, on occasion, been targeted by other peoples of faith, simply due to their heritage and their beliefs -- acts of intolerance that would have shocked Gandhiji, the person who helped to liberate that nation.
So this is not unique to one group or one religion. There is a tendency in us, a sinful tendency that can pervert and distort our faith. In today’s world, when hate groups have their own Twitter accounts and bigotry can fester in hidden places in cyberspace, it can be even harder to counteract such intolerance. But God compels us to try.
The President is speaking truthfully. Lots of terrible things have been done in the name of Christ over the years, even moreso in the name of God. No Christian wants to be represented by those heinous acts. This is much the same argument made by the prominent atheists of the day - that religion has been a needless excuse for violence and we're better off without it. Graham rightfully names this a false association, the Crusades and other "religious" atrocities are counter to the God those actors proclaimed.
The point of the President's speech was not to excuse any action, but to put in perspective the violence being done today in the name of Islam. If we are unwilling to be judged by the most violent, callous Christians among us, perhaps it is unwise to judge Islam by its most violent adherents, especially when so many Muslim faces are denouncing such actions as counter to the faith.
It seems our conservative Christian response is to say those are moderate Muslims and true believers are all about violence, as is the Qu'ran. This is precisely what Graham states in his post. I've heard the same thing in casual conversation in the sanctuary after worship on a Sunday morning (one good, Christian gentleman was under the impression the only solution to Muslim terrorism is to kill all Muslims). It's not a bogeyman; I've heard these statements myself.
This is precisely the point being made by the anti-religion crowd, the one so vehemently opposed by Christians - the same one they use to accuse Islam. That's is hypocritical. It's uncharitable. It's dangerous.*
But what if Islam really is evil and violent? Waiting to oppose it will just waste time. Of course, the same could be said for Christianity 500 or 1000 years ago. The Crusades prove as much, as does slavery. Nearly every war in Europe of the Americas in the last 2,000 years had a religious component. We can and do rightfully point out that these are distortions of the gospel of peace and love Christ lived among us. But it's not as though people thought that at the time. There was no majority crying out against the injustice of the Crusades; it wasn't a case of the masses opposing the religious crimes of the powerful (if anything it was the other way around - the powerful were the only ones who seemed to know violence violated Christian principles). A census of Christian opinion in 1500 would have likely shown us the vast majority of adherents found violence completely compatible with their faith - the same way a similar census might reflect Muslim opinion today (although, frankly, I have no idea what those numbers would be - we'd probably all be surprised).
Just because people claim faith as a motivation, doesn't mean it's reflective of anyone's faith but their own. That's the point. In forgetting this important fact, we're betraying our own faith. I know a lot of people who responded to the President's remarks the same way Franklin Graham did. I know they're not calloused, faithless Christians. Quite the opposite. I'm willing to believe that one misguided opinion doesn't shape their entire lives and it certainly doesn't shape the reality of the faith underneath.
The President responds, following the remarks above, with holy wisdom:
Our job is not to ask that God respond to our notion of truth -- our job is to be true to Him, His word, and His commandments. And we should assume humbly that we’re confused and don’t always know what we’re doing and we’re staggering and stumbling towards Him, and have some humility in that process. And that means we have to speak up against those who would misuse His name to justify oppression, or violence, or hatred with that fierce certainty. No God condones terror. No grievance justifies the taking of innocent lives, or the oppression of those who are weaker or fewer in number.
And so, as people of faith, we are summoned to push back against those who try to distort our religion -- any religion -- for their own nihilistic ends.
Response to the President is largely about politics. It just is. People don't like him. They question his faith because they disagree with his policies. We did the same with Bush and his war. The response is partly about politics, but it's mostly about fear. So much of what's come to be known as Christian faith rests on certainty. I'm not talking about faith - the faith that God exists or that Jesus will return to make all things right - I'm talking about certainty - the notion that what I believe about God is how God really is. That's just not how things work. God is truth, not our perception of God. We're always working to improve that perception, but with humility and grace.
And, I can't really finish this post without pointing out the irony of the followers of Christ a man who came "not to take life," becoming more and more comfortable with taking life. It's a problem.
If our calling is to live lives in imitation of Christ, we should be promoting peace and love with everyone with whom we interact. One would think, if we're trying to encourage more love, peace, and understanding in the world, maybe it would be important to support and encourage those Muslims who want to move their religion in that direction. Some will say Allah isn't God - which makes no sense to me. Any religion that worships one true God is worshiping the one true God. Just because we may disagree on what that God is like and how that God might want us to act doesn't mean we're not seeking the ultimate truth.
I believe God loves and God's love changes things. If anyone rejects that, no matter the religion they claim, they reject God. If anyone accepts that, no matter their religion, they accept God. If I'm wrong. If everyone needs to think or believe a very specific interpretation of traditional Christianity, you don't get people to come over to your side by threatening them, vilifying them, or being argumentative. You win people with love. We don't repay wrong for wrong, anger for anger - those things don't work.
Our President is criticized a lot. Rightly, in many instances. This particular criticism is not only unwarranted, but completely illogical and nonsensical. It is entirely outside the spirit of the prayer breakfast itself. It's embarrassing and it makes no sense given the faith so many of us profess.
*And for anyone who's wondering, inciting a world-wide religious war is not the way to bring about the second coming of Christ. That's terrible biblical interpretation. It's also incredibly arrogant; to think we could somehow influence God's timeline in that way, and through such violence.
I'm not sure if Pharrell's Girl will be the exception this year. I keep thinking back to Babyface releasing a full album after his hit from the Phenomenon soundtrack in the 90's. An aging, superstar producer with a commercial hit trying to capitalize. Babyface has a voice, but he was never a star. It was a bit of a disappointment (and that's being more than generous). Girl starts off with, "Marilyn Monroe," a track with a predictably great beat, but the lyrics are sadly shallow and Pharrell's voice doesn't pop at all.
I wonder if Pharrell gets this nomination because the voters don't want to alienate a guy who they hope to work with, a guy who can make them a star. For someone who makes his living adding real value to artists' work, the production value is incredibly underwhelming. Everyone loves Pharrell, he's always so positive and encouraging, it's no wonder he can bring in artists like Justin Timberlake, Alicia Keys, Miley Cyrus, and Daft Punk, at the same time there's a real feel that no one wants to hurt his feelings by criticizing the album. I couldn't find a single review that didn't essentially say, "We respect Pharrell, but this album might not be for everyone." Lot's of head-scratching here.
On "Brand New" the lyrics once again fall flat and Timberlake's vocals diminish what Pharrell does. I wonder if he'd have been better off just putting the thing together and getting other people to sing on each track like Avicii or some other producer/artist does. The overwhelming impression I get from the album is that it was put together quickly and with just enough care to get released, but it scream "money grab."
The Miley Cyrus track, "Come Get It Bae" is much the same way. It's a decent track, but it would be noticeably better with someone else singing. Miley does well, since she's, you know, an actual recording artist. Maybe Pharrell just came up with one or two singles and filled out the album with stuff he had laying around? I'm just having a hard time processing how anyone ever thought releasing this album was the right thing to do.
"Gust of Wind" feature Daft Punk and its only drawback is that Pharrell appears on it. The robots probably did as much as they could with what Pharrell presented them, but these lyrics are also barely salvageable. I get it. I write, but often I feel I'm much better making other people's stuff better than writing my own. There's no shame in being a collaborator. I guess Pharrell had to figure that out like anyone else.
Alicia Keys does some great work on "Know Who You Are," but again, there's not enough of her and too much Pharrell. It's also entirely too short and ends abruptly. "It Girl," the album's final track is good. Released on its own, it could be a solid single. The lyrics are well written, even if they're a bit vapid. The production is great. Pharrell's beat, as always, is solid. It fits his voice well. Still, there's clearly not enough here to make up for the rest of the album.
Some of the tracks are just bad. "Hunter" is completely unlistenable. Painful. If you played it for me and told me some guy wrote and recorded this in his living room, I would totally believe you. "Gush" is about exactly the worst possible thing you could imagine it's about from the title. Tasteless. Listening to this track makes me wonder if he intentionally made the worst possible album just to see how many people he could convince to buy it. I mean, there's a good chance he doesn't even show up to the Grammys since no one got his joke.
The very fact "Happy" is included on this album makes the hit single less valuable simply by association. Then you remember it was written for Cee-Lo and you realize he probably should have been allowed to sing it. It clearly would have been better.
For all that, I thought "Lost Queen" had endearing lyrics, decently written. Sparse production and finally a chance to show off the nuances of Pharrell's voice. I still think it would be better if he gave it to someone else to sing it, but Pharrell does do it justice, especially compared to the rest of Girl. The second half of the eight minutes is supposedly a second song ("Freq") on the same theme. It features uncredited vocals from Jojo (great!) and an interesting vibe. Remember, "Lost Queen" is easily the best thing on the record, and it would likely be a throw-away bonus track on most decent albums, so take it for what it is. It also seems to be about loving an alien or some admission that Pharrell is, in fact, an alien himself - which would make a ton of sense, actually.
In the end, in Girl, I'm sure Pharrell made the album he wanted to make. I guess his taste in music is just completely different than everyone else. He clearly knows what people like, his work proves that, maybe this is just for him.
My friend, Ric, a former seminary classmate, posted a piece on his blog this week that went Nazarene viral. He got something like 30,000 hits the first day (100 times more than his normal total). Ric's a pastor in the United Methodist Church, but his training was in the educational system of the Church of the Nazarene (my denomination). He talked about some of the struggles he had and his decision to move from one denomination to another.
It brought up one of our most difficult, unhealed divisions - namely our perspective on education. Likely as long as there have been institutions of higher education in the Church of the Nazarene, people have been skeptical of them. Professors are on constant alert for charges of heresy or the dreaded "liberalism." You can read the whole post for more detail (and likely lots of comments and explanation), but ultimately, he got an offer to work at a UMC congregation, tried to keep his credentials with the Church of the Nazarene and, when that proved near-impossible, simply moved from one denomination to another.
What fascinated me about the whole thing (and the fact that its a "thing" is exactly that Catch-22 of which I spoke) is how defensive some people have become. Ric was pretty overt in stating this was simply his experience, with no claims to larger trends or narratives. The problem is, his experience mirrors the experience of a lot of young Nazarene ministers. Whether he wants it to be normative or not, to many, it is.
From here, the responses become not responses to Ric, but to the many others in a similar situation. One comment I saw said something to the effect of "you either run from the problem or stay to help fix it." This is certainly a truism - but only if there's enough impetus to care about fixing it in the first place. Ric proclaims, right off the bat, his main reason for leaving as a lack of roots. There just wasn't enough connection to the denomination to make any sort of struggle against adversity worth the time, pain, and effort.
That makes sense. Not so much to me, but in a general sense.
I get it. I, on the other hand, have deep, deep roots. My father is a Nazarene pastor. His father was a Nazarene pastor. As best as we can figure, my daughter is likely a sixth generation Nazarene. Both of my wife's parents are Nazarene pastors and her mom was raised in the Church of the Nazarene from birth. My Dad and his three brothers all went to Nazarene schools and picked up wives along the way (with their own set of Nazarene roots), a tradition that carried on for most of my generation as well.
I can't imagine myself not connected to the Church of the Nazarene. The only way I'd leave is if they physically bar me from the building.
The problem is, what it means for me to be a Nazarene is certainly different than what it meant for my dad or my grandfather or his parents. It used to be a pretty tight-knit community where not only were people united in the basic holiness message, but lifestyle, worship, and the larger spectrum of theology was relatively uniform all the way around.
I don't think Ric is crazy. In fact, his experience resonated as much with me as anybody else. I left my ordination interview more upset than excited - which is probably not the ideal scenario. I've witnessed the backlash against professors at Nazarene institutions and I've experienced our deep-seated anti-intellectualism on more than a few occasions.
There is some lingering notion that somehow education harms faith - the more you study the less you believe. I can certainly attest that my education has led to me to believe a number of thing quite differently than I believed before, but I'm also quite certain without this education I would no longer believe at all. My educational experience showed me there's more than enough space for my questions within the larger context of the Nazarene Church.
In my case, although my education sometimes makes me feel marginalized or unwanted, it served to connect my understanding to my roots. I was able to recognize what made the Church of the Nazarene so special to those in my family who've loved it - but also discover a way to engage that rooted joy from my own perspective and context.
For Ric, it seems (and forgive me for being one of "those" people reading into things you've written), his roots were more anchored in his educational experience. When push came to shove, the people to whom he felt rooted were being marginalized and challenged by the Church of the Nazarene. If you find out your roots aren't really that connected to the larger plant at all, what do you do? It makes perfect sense to me.
My roots are in a different place, but don't think I haven't thought about the distinct possibility they won't always feel that way. If you're driving down the road and see a friend with a flat tire, you're likely to stop and help. If they begin to blame you for their having a flat tire in the first place, you might put up with it for a while. If it continues, you're going to evaluate just how good of friends you really are and whether sticking this ordeal out is entirely worth the hassle.
It's been said, and I have no idea if this is true or apocryphal, that Randy Maddox's comment when asked why he chose the UMC over his Nazarene roots, was that he'd rather defend his head than his heart. That's the sad choice a lot of young Nazarenes feel they have to make. They'd rather be seen as a sincere believers with the occasional odd idea than learned people who may or may not be a real Christians.
I've come to define holiness (the only real reason the Church of the Nazarene still exists) as an ingrained commitment to God - sincerity and passion towards living a life in imitation of Jesus Christ. Too often that doesn't seem enough for many people. I don't want this to sound like a death knell for our denomination - there are certainly plenty of supportive, welcoming Nazarenes out there, likely a majority (although who really knows?) - at the same time the issue is pervasive and real. It's a part of our past and a part of our present. It may still be a big part of our future. I don't know. I hope not.
I do know there are a lot of young people leaving because they don't feel trusted, the feel the subject of fear rather than hope. Fear will wither roots faster than anything. It is trust that will make them grow. And, if perhaps you find it difficult to trust someone so seemingly different from you - a skeptical elder or a radical youth - could it be time simply to not trust them and instead trust the God so visible in their lives?
That's how we grow roots and it's how we stick together.
