A Way Forward?

Paul Harvey told a Christmas story once on his radio program. My father uses it quite often in his Christmas Eve services; I've read it for him at least once. It's called "The Man and the Birds." The basic gist of the story is that a man stays home from Christmas Eve service because he just can't bring himself to believe in the incarnation - that God actually became human. While at home, a storm kicks up and he notices a flock of birds lost and weary in his front yard. The man has compassion on them and tries mightily to shoo them into the warm barn. Exasperated, the man wishes he could become a bird to lead the flock to safety - and the realization ignites within him this spark of faith.

I've been thinking about that story this morning, because I resonate with the desperation of the man. I'm not sure how to say this without coming off holier than thou (anyone who's read my twitter feed in the last 24 hours knows that's certainly not true), but part of claiming the title "evangelical" means one cares an awful lot about proclaimed truth. Instead of trying to herd a flock of birds into a barn, picture a man trying to guide trapped birds out of the barn to safety and freedom.

I believe with all my heart that the Kingdom of God is bigger, bolder, freer, more beautiful, and more expansive than any candidate, country, or campaign. I believe the good news of Jesus is that we don't have to get caught up in the machinations of power, choosing between flawed rulers and making due the best we can. When we're caught in this system is feels like birds bouncing back and forth between the walls of a barn they think encompasses the whole world, but is really a cage. Whatever floundering I do, waving my proverbial hands with exasperated one-liners, sub-par attempts at critique and satire, or wildly irresponsible mock presidential campaigns, is a desperate attempt to get the attention of my people who seem lost and unaware of it.

I know it makes me extreme and radical, but I do truly believe we shouldn't vote - not as Christians and at least not for President. As much as we try to hem and hedge and make excuses (and I'm just as guilty as anyone, see aforementioned twitter feed) our participation in that system is idolatry. It is a statement that the Kingdom of God is not enough for us, we must also have the kingdoms of this world.

When Dietrich Bonheoffer joined the plot to kill Adolf Hitler, he wrote, essentially, that he believed his actions were sinful and that they might earn him an eternity in hell, yet he willingly committed them anyway because he could stomach no other option. I try to take this perspective to heart when dealing with difficult issues (especially the taking of life), recognizing that we do not always possess the "right" solution in every instance. Similarly I recognize my tendency to do nothing over an imperfect something has not and does not always prove beneficial to me, my faith, or those around me.

At the same time, it feels as though Bonhoeffer's position is the only one that makes sense for Christian voters. If you're there, I might disagree, but I can understand. I just think we shouldn't be voting if we can, at all, help ourselves. There's nothing good in our preoccupation with power. It's dirty and messy and wreaks of lack of faith. We can't play pretend, saying we believe in a Kingdom ushered in by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, then invest ourselves and our future in kingdoms that operate on an entirely different foundation.

I've written this before, but I know it gets trickier on a local level - since we have to get along with our neighbors. If there weren't a town council, we'd have to invent one, right? Or maybe we really could just live sacrificially for the good of the other? Maybe I'm just as trapped in the barn as everyone else, none of us really believing the door exists, or, if we do, not really believing we can ever find it.

I don't mean not voting for one person or another, but exempting ourselves from the conversation of us vs them (or even them vs them, with some obligation to choose sides). There is just us. As much as we'd like to say we can be loyal to our first allegiance and also take sides as Republicans or Democrats, we're fooling ourselves. Those identities in some way hinder us from being who we were created to be. The same is true for our identities as American or Arabian, Ugandan or Dutch. They seem convenient, but they just get in the way. Paul said neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female (boy, is it hard to let go of that one!), and I'm even starting to wonder if even our identity as "Christians" gets in the way of our identity in Christ.

I don't think I've handled myself well in this flailing attempt to point our attention towards the door. I sure hope I've not come off as demonizing "them" who might think differently than me. My genuine desire is to caution "us" about the dangers we have embarked upon - and they are quite likely the exact same dangers we'd've encountered if 80% of us had voted the other direction.

I think it's an emotional over-reaction to say last night's vote was similar to the ancient Church's embrace of Constantine, but that's how it feels. In the US, people who most overtly name themselves the people of God have sided with amoral people in an amoral system we are desperate to sanctify. No, I don't think the other outcome would have produced a different result. Hence my reluctant call to give up voting.

I recognize the great sacrifices that have been paid to secure voting rights for people - and I admonish us to continue that work. Every person deserves the right to voice their opinion through the ballot box, but, as people following in the wake of Christ Jesus, I suggest we give up those rights in favor of living out an alternative.

That same Bonhoeffer proposed the idea of religionless Christianity, but died before he could flesh out his vision. I believe the most promising path forward, for the Church and for the world, is to explore together what that means: namely a life free of dogma and power and being "right;" a life of love in imitation of Christ, trying, as hard as the Holy Spirit will empower us, to avoid sacrificing our vision of the Kingdom to the kingdoms of the world.

I can't say I've done this well in recent days. Certainly many of you have felt less than loved. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I'll try to be better. But I have to keep trying. Somehow, we've got to get out of the barn.

Many Ways to God

There's a joke I've heard a lot, especially (for obvious reasons) in Christian circles. It goes something like this:

A man was standing on the railing of a bridge, ready to jump. A passer-by, concerned, asks the man why he wants to end his life. "Nobody loves me," comes the reply. "God loves you. Do you believe in God?" "Yes," says the desperate, would-be jumper. "Are you a Christian?" "Yes, I am." "Are you protestant or Catholic?" "Protestant." "Me, too," says the passer-by, "What sort of Protestant?" "Baptist." "Northern or Southern?" "Northern." "Me, too. Northern United Baptist or Northern Independent?" "Northern Independent." "Me, too. Reformed Northern Independent Baptist or Traditional?" "Reformed." "Me, too. Are you part of the 1873 Reformation or the 1922 Reformation?" "Oh, the 1922 Reformation." To which the man replies, "Die heretic scum," and pushes the jumper off the bridge.

It is, I suppose, a way for us to laugh at our differences and how seriously we take them, but few, if any Christian will tell you differences don't matter. They'll admit some of them matter very little, "so long as we all love Jesus," but even that is a difference among the many people out there who do, in fact, believe in God. There is some baseline most everyone draws for defining who's in and who's out.

Growing up, the notion that there are many paths to God was exactly that sort of litmus test in the faith environment in which I grew up. If a person claims there are many ways to God, they were definitely not believing correctly. This all stems from the passage in the Gospel of John where Jesus says, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father, but through me." Which always sounded pretty self-explanatory.

Of course context is everything. If you're asking the question, "What's the way to God," then Jesus is a pretty easy answer (if you're a Jesus kind of person or give credence to what John has to say). Theologically, things get a little more tricky. The generic evangelical gospel was always, "believe certain things about Jesus and the salvation of Jesus will work for you." It's a very simple and individualistic way of determining who's in and who's out. The problem comes though, in that scripture doesn't spend much (any?) time concerned with who's in or out. It just doesn't.

Scripture is much more collectivist. God created the world. God is at work making the world what God intends it to be. Individuals have a part only in the choice to participate in God's intended way for the world, or not. This is ultimately what "salvation" means. Not eternal security, but the end to which one's life is aligned. Scripture isn't much concerned with where you're going when you die as it is with where you're going while you're alive.

The question we should all be asking ourselves is, "What is the right way to live?" I think it's the question every person asks almost every day of their lives. It's the only question God ever intended us to ask (or perhaps, it's the one question underlying all the other questions we ask in life). The talk of "ways to God" only makes sense for those who believe in God - but everyone is looking for the way to live. That's the real question. That's what people mean when they say they believe in "many ways to God." They just want to affirm that people are different and make different choices and none of us are, independently, capable of fully judging the choices of others.

You know what? They're right.

Really.

Look at it this way: Christians might argue that Jesus is an irreplaceable part of what it means to live rightly, but likely, once they've agreed on this simple fact, every two Christians out there would eventually find something about which to disagree (maybe not seriously enough to push someone off a bridge, but seriously nonetheless).

We're largely ok with those differences, because we really do believe there are many ways to God. People are different. They have different lives, outlooks, experiences, which all combine to lead them to answer that ultimate question - What's the best way to live - a little bit differently.

Notice I changed the question a little bit there. I changed the word "right" to "best." I moved it from an either/or to a spectrum. Life is not a right/wrong, true/false question. The theologian NT Wright is quoted as saying, "I'm confident 20% of what I believe is wrong, I just don't know what 20% it is." We need to be comfortable with the notion we're wrong. That doesn't mean we give up on belief, it just means we give up on certainty.

In this unreal scenario, you're told your child was in an accident and in critical condition in the hospital in Vartoken, Iowa. You have only a car, no phone, map, or GPS. You might not know exactly how to get there, but you're going to make the best decisions you can until you do. Chances are you won't choose the most direct route. You will likely make a few wrong turns along the way, but not knowing exactly how to get there isn't going to make you just give up and stop trying.

Yes, each religion has its bedrock absolutes. Christians or Muslims or Jews or Buddhists can be as generous as possible, but there are still some beliefs that will always be out of bounds for calling yourself a Christian, Muslim, Jew, or Buddhist. Let's call these the ordinals. Our religion is the direction in which we set out in this mad dash to Vartoken. They're big choices and they're often very different from one another. Some people might spurn all organized religion or ignore God altogether. They're setting out on less established paths, but setting out nonetheless.

We can disagree (strenuously) with the way some people take, but as we settle in on our chosen direction, we become more comfortable with the people around us. Sure, they may choose a different turn here or there, but we're all going the same direction. The closer and closer we get to the destination, the more comfortable we feel with the people around us - yet we're all still on different paths.

Now, as a Christian, I'm convinced that whoever makes it to Vartoken in the end - whether they set out as an Atheist, Hindu, or whatever else (whether they finished that way, too) - they got there because of the part Jesus Christ plays in the life of the world. When Jesus says, "I am the way, the truth, and the life," I believe that's true in an of itself, not because someone agrees with or denies it. I don't at all believe religion gets us where we need to go, but I do believe Jesus makes it possible.

In the end, it doesn't really matter who has the most direct route to "the best way to live." I happen to call that "best way," Jesus, but the way itself doesn't change if you call it something else. What matters is that we're willing to be wrong and change our minds (if we're convinced they need to change). What matters is that we're not so arrogant to assume our path is the only path to God.

The Next Reformation?

I swear I started this yesterday before the news came out. I was in the middle of writing this post when I learned the Nazarene Publishing House was firing all its employees, effective December 1st (and none of our denominational leaders saw fit to show up for the announcement, even though most of them were across town at a preaching conference). For those outside our closed Nazarene loop, this is just another in a long series of tragic happenings, resulting from the gross mismanagement of the denomination by leaders in a position of trust.

Whatever systems and structures we have in place to govern us are either insufficient or have been sufficiently eroded to the point of ridiculous chaos. There are a lot of people for whom this is the last straw. So many of my young friends are running swiftly from denominations. I am part of a generation with no trust in institutions; those younger than me, even more so. It's difficult enough to get young people to understand how long it takes to affect change in big organizations, let alone when they're lead poorly.

I was, and often am, considered one of those impatient young people.* Although I've been following the administrative and legislative workings of this denomination since 1993 and at best things have stayed the same.

In thinking about this generational - philosophical - social - cultural shift, I have to wonder if this isn't one of the hallmarks of the next Reformation.

As I said, I was thinking about this anyway - yesterday's mind-blowing screw up (and I use the word "screw" there, to be as gracious and conciliatory as I can right now) was simply an unfortunately timely example.

There's this narrative about the development of Western thought - that just about every 500 years, something big changes the way we live and process information. Starting with the birth of Christ, there follows the Fall of the Roman Empire around 500, the emergence of more-or-less modern nations under Charlemagne around 1000, and finally the Enlightenment around 1500. There have been corresponding religious upheavals at the same time as response to such epochal changes.

So, we're due for the next one. Surely this is the transition from modern to post-modern eras. That is a given, even as we're not entirely sure what it means. Thus, there is a similar shift occurring in Christianity as these changes filter into western religious life.

One of the basic elements of the Protestant Reformation was the challenging of mediated religion. For many centuries the Church told people they needed a priest to go between them and God. Martin Luther (and others) rejected this mediated religion and thus ushered in the modern age of individualism (for better or worse).

Certainly this is not an all-encompassing claim, but I suspect that one of the notable elements of this next transition will be a parallel rejection of mediation by religion.

I've written before about religion, and the ways in which we all have religion (which is really just the things we do based on our beliefs about the world). In this post, I refer primarily to organized religion, an organized system of belief and practice designed to create boundaries between membership and non-membership.

Lately I've been wondering if perhaps the mediation of Christianity itself detracts from the universal nature claimed by Christian narrative and theology, that our attempts to define and distinguish orthodoxy is, in fact, limiting the scope and effectiveness of God's work in the world.

Ultimately, the earliest Christian creed was, "Jesus Christ is Lord," everything else is simply interpretation. From that point, we've splintered and broken off into our own little groups based on how we define what that means, largely in the context of right and wrong. What's resulted is essentially an extra layer of mediation - we have a group, theology, denomination, etc through which we view and participate in Christianity (or, more broadly, interact with God).

Perhaps the next phase of religious development is the removal or rejection of those mediating lenses?

This is not a new concept, to be sure. Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote about "religionless Christianity," although he was martyred before he could really flesh out his idea in practice. I've seen other thinkers in recent years (most notably, to my perspective, Peter Rollins) who have attempted to continue exploring Bonhoeffer's vision.

The ultimate question each person asks is "how do I live rightly in the world?" Our answers come from all over the place, with varying degrees of respectability. For Christians, the answers to this question come filtered through not only a specific narrative, but a specific interpretation of that narrative. It's very easy to be bound by the narrative or the interpretation and miss the question entirely. It's also easy to defend the narrative rather than address the question.

More specifically: I am part of the Church of the Nazarene, which has a very specific set of standards and practices in an attempt to unify those everywhere who call themselves Nazarene. I, however, and I suspect, most Nazarenes, have unique perspectives on even the interpretations of our interpretations of what it means to have Jesus Christ as Lord. In other words, we don't all agree on the things upon which we claim to agree. It devolves into semantic games pretty quickly.

The typical response - and certainly the modern response - is to double down on debate. We fight over what is really right and true and enforce that orthodoxy on all who carry the name.

That sort of thing, though, just doesn't fly so well in the emerging post-modern context. People are leery of calling anything true or right or wrong, because we understand the bias of perspective. Instead of debate, which implies a winner and a loser, we must have discussion - which implies the freedom of each party to learn, grow, change, or not, based on information and ideas presented.

This can sound an awful lot like relativism - we can't know anything for sure, therefore anything goes; I'm ok and you're ok - and it can certainly become that (although, I think the I'm ok, you're ok message was pretty similar to what Jesus told sinners, but that is a discussion for another day). What I am hoping to arrive at is the importance of relationship to this process.

When we cannot be sure of the principles or ideas, the articles of faith or the systems of belief, we can rely only on the relationship we have with people. I can only trust you because I trust you. We can't have real agreement or cooperation with people we don't know. You simply have to have some overarching authority for that to occur.

This is why I wonder about the mediation by religion. Organized religion is really an attempt at power - bringing enough people to one position by which to exert influence on others and thus gain more power. This was the sort of religious competition inherent in 1st century Palestine that Jesus spoke so vociferously against.

I've long believed that Jesus didn't come to found a religion, but to free people from religion (after all, that is what Paul is talking about in the war between law and grace, isn't it?). I'm not sure what that means going forward or how exactly faithful Christian life will adapt and evolve, but I certainly see it moving along these lines.

That doesn't mean we won't have denominations and movements and large groups of people loosely affiliated together, but it does means those affinity groups (for lack of a better term) will not be part of the mediation process, but likely ancillary elements to foster local relationship and life together.

Just something to be thinking about, I guess, as we ponder the future.




*It's a sad statement on the Church when "young leaders" applies to people who are 49, let alone 33 - I have peers who serve as General Managers of professional sports teams and CEOs of major companies, for crying out loud!


Also, a heart congratulations to anyone who made it through the whole post. This has got to be one of the most dense and confusing things I've ever written; even I don't know if it really makes any sense. I do believe it, though, and I'll continue to process it further (and hopefully with more clarity) in the future. Cheerio, and good day!

Theological Mumbo Jumbo

I've always been fascinated by the concept of religionless Christianity as proposed by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He was a German pastor and professor, who led the "confessing church" as a protest to the mainstream church that sold out to Hitler during his rise. He continues to be one of the foremost thinkers to influence my own understanding of Christian life.

Unfortunately, Bonhoeffer was executed by the Nazis before he really had a chance to flesh out these ideas in practice. Lately, a host of young Christians are beginning to explore what it means to be faithful to a lived out gospel in our present cultural context.

Peter Rollins is an Irish philosopher and author who is exploring, in thought and practice, exactly what it looks like to participate in religionless Christianity. I've found a lot in his writing and speaking, that has caused me to think about what it means to believe and what it means to be a Christian.

His basic premise is that belief comes not from what we say we believe, but from how we act. The fault of religion, at least in this context, is that it spends too much time and energy on what to believe and not nearly enough on actually believing/living it. We should be constantly challenged by God, through scripture - the story of God, but this should be means to an end and not an end in itself.

The idea of Christianity is to be formed in the image of Christ. Our participation in Christianity should be engagement in practices that allow God to shape us into the people we're created to be. In the scope of modern, intellectual understanding these became condensed into listening and reading - hearing sermons and studying books about belief. Don't get me wrong, I'm an intellectual whether I like it or not, these practices are important; they're just insufficient.

They help us understand and recognize the beliefs we should hold - they're wonderful at developing intellectual assent, a powerful element of self-realization. What they lack, is the physical, formational ability required for true belief. There are some of us, motivated by intellectual assent, who will change our habits and thus exercise belief. Speaking strictly for myself, I just don't have the discipline to do so.

As we embark on this Grand Experiment, we'll be seeking to fully discern and implement these practices in ways that shape and form us into the kind of community we seek. Some of these make sense when it's just the three of us (along with the wife and baby): like serving in local community organizations, sharing a meal with friends, enjoying creation, helping those in need, etc. Other practices are more difficult - corporate worship for example.

The biggest question I have, one we'll have to wrestle with as we go, is how to maintain Christ as the center point around which these practice revolve. Obviously, Christ is central for us, but as we engage people in practices not traditionally or exclusively associated with Christian practice (service, creation care, etc), will we be able to effectively communicate our motivation and framework?

We shall see.