"Simply Christian" and God's Restoration Project

No Roundup again today, so instead I'll argue with N.T. Wright a little more.

In his book, Simply Christian, N.T. Wright spends the second section of the book with specific themes related to Christian history and theology. He first talks about God, and follows up with a chapter on Israel. This chapter provoked a few thoughts. First...

It is fundamental to the Christian worldview in its truest form that what happened in Jesus of Nazareth was the very climax of the long story of Israel.

The two words that get me in the above sentence are "fundamental" and "climax." I'll take them in reverse order.

First, after some 4000 years of history, it is strange to think of Jesus as the "climax" for Israel. God really took God's time leading up to that, especially with so many false starts, setbacks, and choosing of imperfect guys like Abraham, Moses, and David along the way. To say that Jesus was what all this finally led to begs a few questions. First, why not just make one of those other figures the anointed one? It would have saved the Hebrew slaves some 40 years in the wilderness at least, and may have gotten them out of Babylon later on, too. Second, what does this "climax" do with those 4000 years? Is it merely background to which we can point out where we think we see shadows of Jesus (a popular way to read some of the prophets, for instance...which Wright proceeds to do later in this chapter).

Thankfully, Wright clarifies this a little by suggesting that we can't understand Jesus apart from the history of Israel. However, his reading of the prophets to point out "predictions" of Jesus is not where I'd go with it. I agree with his assertion, but not his conclusions on this point: I think that we need to understand the history of Israel in order to provide context for Jesus' heritage, culture, teaching, and life. A.J. Levine is a good scholar to consult on this issue.

Obviously, "climax" assumes a particular reading of the Hebrew scriptures, particularly the prophets. Wright adheres to this reading.

Second, he says that it is "fundamental" to believe that Jesus was said "climax." In other words, you can't adhere to true Christian belief unless you believe that Jesus was the culmination of 4000 years of history. Never mind that believing anything to be a "climax" doesn't say much for what happens afterwards, like, say, today. The notion of "climax" lessens the work of the Holy Spirit--on which he'll later spend two chapters--and the church, to which he devotes his third section. So if believing Jesus was the "climax" of history is fundamental, that greatly affects how we live today as his disciples. Not to mention that Wright spends so much of his book trying to argue against too much emphasis on the afterlife and arguing for how relevant this life is to Jesus' message, that such a notion of "climax" seems to work against the case he's been trying to build.

Okay, that's out of the way. Now, God's restoration project.

In this same chapter, Wright lays out some of his case for reading the prophets as alluding to Jesus. In conjunction with one of his first chapters on justice, wherein he states that God is seeking to "put the world to rights" (I really like that phrase), Wright talks about God wanting to rescue and restore creation:

The theme of a new Eden (the thorns and briers of Genesis 3 replaced with beautiful shrubs) picks up one of the main subtexts of the whole biblical story. Ultimately, the real exile, the real leaving-home moment, was the expulsion of humankind from the Garden of Eden. Israel's multiple exiles and restorations are ways of reenacting that primal expulsion and symbolically expressing the hope for homecoming, for humankind to be restored, for God's people to be rescued, for creation itself to be renewed.

I find trouble here in a couple different ways.

The first assumption here, of course, is that Eden literally existed. I'd rather not get into an entire creation/evolution thing here, because that wouldn't really be the point anyway. I see the Eden story as a parable written, as much of the Torah was, during the Babylonian exile: a time of prosperity gives way to a time of hardship due to humanity's sin. This is not unlike Wright's take on the story. If, however, Eden was not a factual place, then Wright's point about God restoring creation to a state like that earlier factual place becomes problematic.

There are references in the Hebrew scriptures to God desiring to restore Israel to a state "like Eden." However, these are explicit references to Israel during points when Israel was enduring specific hardships at the hands of oppressors such as Babylon. In these passages, then, God is making promises that this shall pass, and Israel as a nation shall be returned to the prosperous state that it once knew.

The overall concept of restoration and rescue for all creation, however, shouldn't be negated. I'd suggest that it just be tweaked. Reading through the New Testament, there are numerous references for a coming age, hope for the coming of God's kingdom, visions of a new heaven and a new earth. To say that God isn't doing this kind of work at all is to miss a good portion of scripture...on this, Wright and I agree. However, where Wright would say, "God wants to restore creation to a new Eden," I'd simply say, "God wants to progress us toward a new Eden-like state."

Maybe for some, the differences in these statements are minor. The latter removes the problem of whether there was a real Eden while acknowledging that creation is in serious trouble and is in need of restoration and renewal.

"Simply Christian" and Spiritual Thirst

Last week I picked up Simply Christian by N.T. Wright for three reasons: 1) It comes highly recommended in various corners of the blogosphere, even touted as a new Mere Christianity, 2) I've never really read anything by Wright, except perhaps an article here and there in college or seminary, and 3) I wanted to argue with it.

It didn't necessarily need to be this book that I could have argued with. I've been meaning to re-read Marcus Borg's The Heart of Christianity, and I just as easily could have started arguing with that instead. But I chose Wright because of the first two reasons listed above, but mainly to use it to discover where I stand nowadays on this or that theological issue. So there'll probably be an occasional post here and there as I look through this book...like now.

The second chapter is entitled "The Hidden Spring," in which Wright presents a somewhat tedious allegory of a dictator who cements over all natural water supplies except the ones he pre-approves as being best for his people. Eventually, the springs break through the concrete, and chaos ensues. I just took two sentences to do what he feels the need to do in a page and a half. Anyway, here's his conclusion:

We in the Western world are the citizens of that country. The dictator is the philosophy that has shaped our world for the past two or more centuries, making most people materialists by default. And the water is what we today call "spirituality," the hidden spring that bubbles up within human hearts and human societies.

In other words, Wright argues that we've lately been experiencing a great rise in spiritual thirst that has been suppressed by things such as secularism, skepticism, materialism, and a relegation of belief to the sidelines of public life. The "official channels" such as institutional churches, have provided inadequate means to quench this thirst, and thus people have been searching outside traditional forms. Wright cites various New Age religions, among other things, as signs of this new quest undertaken by so many. But then he draws a strange conclusion:

[A]ll this fundamentalism, with militant Christians, militant Sikhs, militant Muslims, and many others bombing each other with God on their side. Surely, say the guardians of the official water system, all this is terribly unhealthy? Surely it will lead us back to superstition , to the old chaotic, polluted, and irrational water supply?

They have a point. But they must face a question in response: Does the fault not lie with those who wanted to pave over the springs with concrete in the first place? September 11, 2001, serves as a reminder of what happens when you try to organize a world on the assumption that religion and spirituality are merely private matters, and that what really matters is economics and politics instead...What should we say? That this merely shows how dangerous "religion" and "spirituality" really are? Or that we should have taken them into account all along?

Wright's main point is that if a society tries to pave over "spirituality," people will seek to quench their thirst any way that they can. People will look outside "pre-approved channels" for this water if they are dissatisfied with what is offered.

The problem is with where Wright takes this argument in the quote above, arguing that fundamentalism is one answer to this thirst. Even more absurd is the implication that if "spirituality" hadn't been suppressed the way that it has, if people had been more free to explore and question and believe, an event like 9/11 wouldn't have happened.

This almost smacks of Falwell's "if only the secularists hadn't taken over this country" explanation.

As it was originally conceived in the 19th century, fundamentalism was a certain reaction to perceived "paving over" of religious belief, but it was and is much more a movement from within religion rather than a reaction to a larger societal problem. People who subscribe to fundamentalism of various forms don't go looking elsewhere to satisfy thirst; they seek to purify the water supply they already have--perhaps even one "proper channel"--and then seek to cut off all other supplies while claiming theirs is the one truly pure source.

In other words, fundamentalism isn't one more example of a larger spiritual thirst...it ultimately seeks to be the pavement. Wright is correct that the pavement may begin as a reaction to this mindset, but fundamentalism only seeks to use their own brand of concrete. To suggest that secularism led to 9/11 is, to me, both to misunderstand the specifics surrounding that event and to misunderstand the causes and aims of fundamentalism.

This larger movement to satisfy spiritual thirst that Wright describes looks outside the usual means if it has to. Fundamentalism defines more narrowly what one may drink, and who may drink it. The latter, in my view, is a completely different movement.

Atonement

Since it’s Lent, I’ve been thinking a lot about atonement. If there was any time of year appropriate for thinking about atonement, it’d be now. Right?

Let’s get it out of the way up front: it’s been a long time since I’ve believed that atonement is as simple as saying, “Jesus died in my place on the cross for my sins and now God isn’t mad at me any more.” For one thing, when the New Testament talks about Jesus being a sacrifice, the writers don’t have an idea of substitution. When animals were sacrificed, it was never understood that they were dying in someone’s place. They were understood to maintain or repair a relationship with God, but not in the sense that the animal is being punished in someone’s place.

Second, boiling Jesus’ life purpose down to his death is way too minimalistic. It shortchanges everything that he taught about the kingdom of God and approaches those teachings as just some nice ethical things that he said to pass the time. Once one starts delving into some of those teachings, one sees first that they’re so multi-layered and rich that you need to spend some time with them, and second that they cut so deeply to the core of what it means to be human and a part of God’s creation. Glossing over all of that so we can get to the crucifixion misses a lot.

So now that all of that is out there, let’s move forward, shall we?

It seems to me that there are two questions behind the idea of atonement. First, we’re asking, “What is humanity’s problem?” Atonement assumes that humanity is broken or suffering or lacking in some way. Second, we’re asking, “What is God doing to fix it?” Notice that this question also assumes some things: God’s initiative and grace. Whatever is wrong with humanity, we can’t fix it on our own. We need to begin with and rely on God to address whatever our problem is.

So what’s our problem? Are we sinful and need to be punished? Are we separated; is there some great chasm between us and God that needs to be bridged, as the old tracts some of my college classmates insisted on passing out suggested?

As I’ve said, I’m not big on the punishment idea any more…but it doesn’t take watching more than three minutes of CNN to see that we have a major problem with sin. However, I don’t think that sin is equivalent to separation from God. I think the proper term for that is hell, but that’s for another post. I’m more apt to refer to sin as blindness to or willful ignorance of God, or if one is an atheist, blindness to what is right or ethical (what atheists use as a reference point for what is right or ethical is also for another post). Ultimately, if sin is separation from God, then God can’t be in very many places. Sin as blindness is to say that God is present and active with creation, but we suck at paying attention.

Scripture is filled with people who suck at paying attention. Adam and Eve and ignoring God’s command to eat the fruit. The people who built Babel. Jacob wrestling by the riverbank. The Israelites and the golden calf. Israel and Judah every time one of the prophets open their mouths. The Pharisees, Sadducees, and in many cases the disciples. The churches in Corinth and Galatia, and later some of those mentioned in Revelation. These people have a problem with living into an awareness of God’s presence and purpose, even and especially when they know or realize that God is right there with them.

I’ve generally heard two objections to this line of thinking.

First, people tend to object to the perception that people’s problem is merely academic. That is, that if people were simply more educated about God or the Bible or whatever, then our problem would be solved. The second objection is actually related to the first: it sounds to some like blaming the victim. That is, if someone experiences a crisis of faith of some kind, it’s their fault because they’re ignoring God. I actually don’t think that awareness is that academic or simple, and I give God and humanity a lot more credit than that. Jesus’ teachings were multi-layered in part because God, creation, and the relationship between the two are all multi-layered.

So thinking or believing the right things, or thinking or believing them harder, isn’t going to cut it. Anyone who has experienced a faith crisis knows this already. In those instances, a deeper kind of awareness is needed, an awareness that echoes through your entire body and spirit, not just your mind. It’s the kind of awareness that needs more credibility than logic can provide, the kind that transcends verbalization and synapses alone. I’ve got two examples for you.

First, at one point in seminary my classmates and I were told that we need to constantly ask ourselves what our theology will sound like to Jewish children in the furnaces in Dachau. At the time, this made sense. In the face of suffering, we need an answer that takes that suffering seriously. I’ve since changed my view on that idea. You’re standing in front of a bunch of kids on fire, and you’re going to stand there and try to explain God to them? What the hell is the matter with you? They’ve got other problems at the moment! This is to say that in the face of human suffering, the problem is not merely spiritual or mental. It is physical and emotional and you can’t address one aspect of that by itself. So an awareness of God is not going to happen without a more complete view of humanity and its needs.

Second, picture a family standing around the hospital bed of their dying mother. At one point, one of the kids turns to you and asks that question that every theologian dreads even a little bit: “Where is God in all of this?” If you approach the answer to this question only on a theological level, you’re going to strike out. The person asking it is not just asking it to be satisfied spiritually. He’s probably feeling a great deal of anxiety, sadness, anger, and uncertainty. The question is in one sense a theological inquiry, but it’s also a lament. It’s asked from the depths of his emotions and perhaps from a bodily weariness. The question is not simply academic, so an academic answer is going to fall flat on the linoleum.

This is supposed to be about atonement, right? Okay, atonement.

As we inch closer to Good Friday and Easter, we’re bound to hear texts dealing with the crucifixion. Maybe some preacher you know has decided to tackle the well-worn sermon series based on each of Jesus’ statements from the cross. Probably one of the most notable statements that he makes goes like this: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” This is not an academic question. Far from it. Jesus is hanging from a cross and is being derided, mocked, spat upon; his disciples have long since abandoned him, one has betrayed him and another denied him. He’s in great pain emotionally, physically, and spiritually. He’s come to this point because of the blindness and willful ignorance of others. A lack of awareness is all over this scene.

First, the blindness, willful ignorance, and sin is apparent. Jesus is crucified at the hands of people who wanted to keep their positions of power, who wanted to assert dominance, who felt threatened. Jesus may or may not have died FOR sins, but he certainly died BECAUSE OF sin.

Second, Jesus himself cries out, craving an awareness of his own. It’s something that he needs with his entire being, and not just to satisfy a spiritual or theological yearning. At the same time, if Jesus is somehow the incarnation of God’s presence in the world, then Jesus is somehow providing awareness while crying out for awareness. Jesus, not just in his suffering but in his entire life, showed God to others. He showed God both to the people who didn’t want to see and to people crying out to see. In this lament, Jesus’ cry is on behalf of the entire world: why do people forsake and why are people forsaken? They all need you and they need you with their entire selves. They need to be transformed and drawn back in both challenge and hope.

This struggle, this lament, this need, is embodied in Jesus. His entire life, death, and resurrection is an atonement. In the tradition of Paul, the cross in particular displays a divine obedience in the face of human blindness and a lament lifted up with one's entire being while foreshadowing that that entire being will be renewed through resurrection. Jesus lived out and continues to reveal both humanity’s problem and God’s solution.

My Cohorts in Emergent

So last night I did something I'd been meaning to do for a few months now. I headed over to meet up with the local Emergent cohort.

For those unfamiliar with this, groups of people sympathetic to the emerging/Emergent church conversation set themselves up in local clusters called "cohorts" to talk and have fellowship together.

Last night's discussion centered around words used in church circles that may be out of place or that have been overused or misunderstood. The word our leader came with to kick off the discussion was "excellence." I shared that the word "excellence" belies a certain idea of the church's meaning or purpose, namely that we (whoever we are) are presenting a product to you (whoever you are) and we want to achieve excellence in presenting it. What this model neglects is a more communal idea of the church where we are in mutual relationship rather than some being presenters and others being consumers.

Other words/phrases we talked about were "missional," "emerging," "accountability," and the one I brought up, "go to church." In fact, I'm using Peter's misunderstanding of the transfiguration to rag on that phrase in a couple weeks. More on that later.

I had a great time connecting with other local emerging types, one of whom, incidentally, was Jeff Greathouse, whom I've blog-known for quite a while now. What I appreciated the most about this group is that it wasn't a bunch of pastors. It was a good mix of pastors, a university administrator, a couple house church members. I told them as much that I liked the mix. I fit right in, too. I thought I'd spend most of the time feeling things out and getting comfortable, but I ended up jumping in with both feet.

I even learned a little more about the difference between the Church of Christ and the UNITED CHURCH.................................of Christ. Did you know that fellowship halls are evil? Me neither.

So all in all, a good time. I look forward to future meetings with this group, as it really fed my soul.

Christ the Substitute?

I don't know how it happened, but the other night at my Bible study the question of what it means that "Jesus died for my sins" came up. I ended up deliniating a few views of what the cross means in the New Testament and over the centuries. It genuinely seemed to surprise some people that the view of Christ as a substitutionary punishment isn't the only view in the Bible and elsewhere. I also wanted to make a distinction between Christ being a substitute and Christ being a sacrifice. For what it's worth, I think that there is plenty in the NT that affirms a view of Christ as sacrifice. However, it is much less clear that Christ was acting as some sort of substitute, dying in our place and taking our punishment.

The idea of sacrifice as practiced by the Temple and in Leviticus had more to do with making an offering to God in order to restore or maintain a proper relationship between God and the people. The animal(s) sacrificed are not understood to be dying in someone's place...it's a gift offered to God in thanksgiving or in penance. Beginning in Exodus and on down through the centuries, the Passover lamb isn't understood as a substitute for human blood...it's a proper offering so that the people would be preserved by God. So when Jesus is given this term by John and others, he becomes the new offering of preservation, not a substitute.

So if Jesus is to be understood as a sacrifice, it is in that he offers himself on behalf of the people to restore or maintain a relationship. And in various places, Paul and the writer of Hebrews in particular understand it in this manner. But there is less warrant for "God needed to punish someone, and Christ satisfied Him." It's less about Jesus being punished and more about Jesus being a sacrifice, a self-offering. Maybe it's a subtle difference to some, but it's an important one, I think.

And that's alongside other understandings of the cross/resurrection in the NT, including but not limited to Christ conquering death, Christ paying a ransom (who's holding who hostage?), Christ as moral example, and Christ correcting Adam's disobedience. Sacrifice is hardly the only theme.

Also notice that the arguments for sacrifice come while people are making specific arguments. Paul brings it up while trying to get a an emerging Jewish-Christian community to accept Gentiles. The author of Hebrews brings it up while appealing to a people familiar with Temple sacrifice, trying to show that Jesus is the New Sacrifice for all time, 1 John makes him an example of self-sacrifice to be emulated in striving to love others. So there are specific reasons for Biblical writers to make this argument.

Furthermore, a substitutionary view assumes that humanity has a particular problem: estrangement from God by sin, and God's call for punishment. If this was the problem in Jesus' time, there does not seem to be much indication from people around that time where people were sitting around saying, "Guys...God really hates us right now. We've sinned a lot, and we need to make things right. How do we do that?" If this was really a problem in the way that people interpreted Christ as solving, then they didn't seem to be too aware of it until after the fact. It would be like someone walking into my house and rearranging my kitchen cupboards, leaving, and then calling me from their home and saying, "Hey, your dishes weren't organized very well, but I came in and ordered them better for you."

It seems to me that the problem of Roman occupation and regulation was much more a pressing concern. Whether that arose out of a sense of such occupation being God's punishment

However, if people were beginning to discover that a community could be formed around Jesus' life and that it could be a community without traditional boundaries, then suddenly arguments needed to be made where Christ somehow took care of any sorts of hindrances to belonging...thus, his death in certain places of the NT is interpreted to either cover any sort of identity differences and superceded past ideas of law and sacrifice. And that's what the NT writers, in part, end up doing. That's also how Jesus' language of the kingdom, or empire, of God, would have sounded so controversial and revolutionary. Smack-dab in a different empire, THE empire, he would have been advised to watch what he said. So Jesus does recognize a different problem than sin, or to put it a better way, still sin but characterized in a different way.

And the solution does in part become sacrifice: of ego, of traditional boundaries, of traditional thoughts about who can be "in," and even of one's life in order to do right by God and one another. To take up the cross as it were. But hear the good news: Christ is risen. And his--and our--sacrifice is worthwhile, if for no other reason than that God's grace is completely revealed through it.

Another Theology Meme

1. On a scale of 1 to 10 (10 high), how would you rate your theological knowledge and breadth/depth of reading? I'll go with 5. I read a lot of the "dead white guys" in college and then was exposed to other more recent theological trends in seminary, but I still think I've only scratched the surface on a lot of it. And I've forgotten a lot, too.

2. What thoughts and feelings come to your mind when you hear the word "theology"? Nowadays I think a lot about people who devote hours of their day to sitting around reading this stuff, and about how "defending the faith" wasn't high on Jesus' priority list.

3. Who is your favorite theologian, and why? Schleiermacher, from whom I adopted the concept of "God-consciousness" and the feeling of absolute dependence (emphasis on dependence, rather than feeling).

4. Who is your least favorite theologian, and why? Kwok Pui-Lan, whom I once heard advocate for a "Christ-less Christianity" to make it less oppressive or whatever. And I still carry a grudge against John Shelby Spong...not personal, just his books.

5. Which theologians have you been meaning to read, but have not gotten to yet? Reinhold Neibuhr, the Wesleys, been meaning to finish Moltmann's Crucified God

6. If you are Catholic, can you name a favorite Protestant theologian, and if Protestant, Catholic? Thomas Merton...I'm currently reading his abridged journals. But all his stuff is excellent.

7. What theologies do you love like a rescue dog that saved your life? I'll go with Schleiermacher again, who came up with a way to speak of Christian theology without wandering too far off the beaten path as well as the strand of Reformed theology that not a lot of people like to talk about unless it's in reference to Barth's disagreements with him. And what I've read so far of Crucified God.

8. What theologies do you see commonly abused and wish people would stop it? The version of "grace/faith alone" theology where people decry any act of service or justice as "works righteousness" while a ridiculously huge chunk of the Bible is about God wanting us to do acts of service and justice.

9. What theologies do you think are from the pit of hell, inspired by demonic powers? Any theology from any faith claiming that God blesses murder.

10. What theological concept is most needed but ignored in contemporary Christianity? The book of James.

11. What other intellectuals or pseudo-intellectuals should blog this meme? I don't care.

(Does this mean I'm going to get some Reformed "drive-bys" now?)

"I Confess..." Meme

I happened upon this meme elsewhere, and thought it would be fun to try. As best I can tell, the purpose is to list some "confessions" about your theology. This may have begun as a "confessing your faith" thing, but after following it back a few blogs, it seems to have evolved into an "apologizing for your theological quirks" thing. Well, I'll probably do a little of both. Here we go. I'll try for ten...

~I confess that after the initial excitement that I felt over the emerging church movement, I'm starting to get cynical that it's largely a big city phenomenon.

~I confess that when I was a hair's width of giving up Christianity, I'd considered switching to Buddhism.

~I confess a bewilderment and even some anger over the concept of "closed table" communion.

~I confess that I like a lot of John Calvin's actual thoughts and words from his own pen but not necessarily the second-generation theology that bears his name.

~I confess that Schleiermacher can probably be considered my "theological giant."

~I confess that I don't care for pluralism in its militant form, because it goes against what pluralism is.

~I confess that I haven't had use for a theology that states our sole purpose in this life is to get as many people as possible into the next one for quite a while now, because I don't think that's what Jesus was going for.

~I confess that the more I read from Jesus without the caked-on Paul/Augustine/Luther stuff, the more he makes me uncomfortable.

~I confess that hymns drive me nuts sometimes.

~I confess that I'm currently rediscovering the concept that I am not my own, that God doesn't sit around waiting to be discovered, and that the Holy Spirit actively pursues all creation in order to preserve and restore it.

Some of these probably warrant follow-ups. Maybe I'll do that eventually.

Thinking Out Loud About John 14:6, Part 2

I was talking with a friend the other day who in turn had been talking with a friend. This third party is not a Christian, and he'd had a conversation with someone involved with the Evangelical parachurch campus ministry where he and my friend are getting Ph.Ds.

During the third party's conversation with this other person, the notion of the "God-shaped hole" came up. This is the idea that we all have a hole in our souls someplace shaped like God and thus God is the only one that can fill it. When my friend told me about this later, he used "God-shaped" and "Jesus-shaped" interchangeably, which is probably significant.

Anyway, my friend turned the question to me: "Do we need Jesus, specifically, to fill this hole? Is plugging some hole inside us with Jesus the only way to have a meaningful life?"

This was, and is, a question of whether other faiths are valid. It is also a question that assumes what humanity's problem is. I was a little dodgy on the first part because I myself didn't have a clear answer. But I did get to thinking about the second part.

The notion of a "God-shaped hole" assumes that 1) before some active profession and practice of faith, we have no connection to God, and 2) without God specifically as revealed in Jesus, our lives have no meaning. This is the problem as defined by this analogy. The problem is almost like a Mentos commercial: a problem arises, and once we pop Jesus the Freshmaker, all is well and we have a clear direction and purpose and maybe a cheesy smile. It borders on selling a product with promises of fulfillment and personal satisfaction. That's why many mainliners in particular have issues with many forms of evangelism, but that's for another day.

The first assumption of this analogy has flaws as well. The psalmist asks, "where can I go from your presence?" Jacob exclaims after his ladder dream, "Surely the Lord was in this place and I did not know it!" Jesus declares that the kingdom of God is very very close to people. There are numerous verses where God is in active pursuit of individuals and groups rather than waiting for them to make some public statement that they're ready to submit, repent, pray a sinner's prayer, sign a True Love Waits promise, raise their OCWM giving, or whatever else. So God is not a passive God waiting to fill some hole when invited in, and God is more connected even to people who have been deemed by others to have this hole. So there isn't really a hole to begin with, as that indicates complete separation from God and lack of regard by God until some commitment is made on the individual's part.

Still...do we specifically need Jesus to fully realize this connection to and pursuit by God? My first inclination is to respond that the Israelites did pretty well for thousands of years without Jesus. That's being admittedly snide about it, but if we first consider that Jesus was indeed Jewish and thus in both continuity and critique with this tradition that had such a long history prior to his being born in a stable rude, coupling that with Paul's statements about whether Jews are "in" or "out," and the Biblical case is somewhat muddled.

Furthermore, I'm a weak subscriber to Karl Rahner's concept of "anonymous Christians." This is the idea that non-Christians can be in service to Christ without being aware of it. I say "weak" because I've never actually read this concept for myself...it's just come up in enough places for me to think that it makes sense. Understand that, acknowledging all of the factors of upbringing and cultural context, I am a Christian, and thus interfaith dialogue does not and should not call Christians to apologize for following Christ, but instead acknowledge differences while still working together on common matters of justice to which our faiths may call us. And while there may be the concept of "anonymous Christians," others may hold to concepts of "anonymous Muslims," "anonymous Buddhists," and so on. This is all to say, I suppose, that where our paths cross in matters of serving humanity and restoring creation is when we are most clearly showing the divine to our neighbors. That's probably an inadequate answer and I didn't even really mention John 14:6 until just now. I suppose it was the bigger concept that I wanted to write about.

This one was more rambling. But I think I've got all of this out of my system for the time being.

Thinking Out Loud About John 14:6, Part 1

Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."

This verse has come up in a few different places for me lately. There's a big discussion about it happening on the UCC forums. Last night I overheard a guy telling another guy that this verse is "objectively true" while I was picking up some Chinese take-out. A few days ago, a friend asked me not about this verse but about the general concept of absolutely needing Jesus to have any semblance of a meaningful life.

This will be a little rambling and may need to be divided up into two parts. So be forewarned.

Traditionally, this verse is interpreted to be an exclusive, triumphalistic affirmation of Christianity as the one true faith. Note that I said Christianity. True, some would argue that the person of Christ is what the verse means, but then we begin to talk about who Christ is and which beliefs are correct and before too long there are accusations of apostasy thrown around. The way, the truth, and the life eventually becomes not just Christ, but a particular church or denomination, a particular creed, a particular theological framework...in other words, a particular understanding of who this one way, Christ, is. That's the first thing that we need to acknowledge when dealing with this verse.

Many Christians wonder about this verse or are uncomfortable with it. They wonder about their Jewish friend or they question the concept that Christianity is the truth among other faiths. I'll try to get to that question, but for this first one I want to talk about the verse and what people tend to read into it.

First, the Gospel of John is such a different animal from the other three. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus corrects people who call him good: "no one is good but God alone." He proclaims this notion of a kingdom of God and makes that his definition of good news or gospel (Mark 1:14-15). He tries to point others to this kingdom, this larger reality that God is bringing about and will bring about. In John, the focus is on Jesus himself. Jesus is the good news. Instead of chastising people for calling him good, he frequently states that "the Father and I are one." So the Bible is in conversation with itself about who Jesus is, what he's pointing to, and how he's pointing to it.

John puts forth a Jesus who is constantly in control and who wants people to look at him to see God. It is Jesus, John says, who should be our focus. This is important to note both because of how it may or may not square with what is found in the other three Gospels and because the literary and rhetorical context helps in our understanding of this verse.

When Jesus says, "I am the way, the truth, and the life," what does that mean in the context of the entire book? We need to begin answering that by dealing with the second part of the verse: "no one comes to the Father except through me." I begin with this because this part of the verse tends to be read back into the first part, and there's a lot more reading back beyond that which I'll mention soon enough. But when Jesus makes this claim about the Father and him, it is in line with similar statements he makes throughout John, one of which occurs as soon as verse 7: "If you know me, you will know my Father also," and then in verse 9: "Whoever has seen me has seen the Father." In fact, this verse comes as part of one of a handful of teachings where Jesus says such things. So when I read verse 6, I first read it as being another statement to be included with this list of statements about seeing the Father so completely in Jesus. So when Jesus says no one comes to the Father except through him, it is another statement in a string of statements about how Jesus reveals God.

What gets read back into this verse is the word "belief." True, John's Jesus talks about belief a lot, but there's no reference to belief here. However, when this verse is typically read, the necessity of belief makes an appearance on the part of the interpreter. Why? Jesus doesn't say, "no one comes to the Father except by belief in me." He just says, "except through me." This is important to note because of what I observed earlier: that this verse is usually read and interpreted with a belief system in mind, when really John is closer to making a statement that when you look at Jesus you see God, and it is the most complete sight of God that you will ever see and so paying attention, somehow, to this sight of God, and responding to it, is the way to the Father.

More typically, Paul's writings about the importance of faith is read back into this verse. Paul has this ongoing argument that shows up in his letters about whether or not Gentiles need to be circumcised and become Jews before they can become Christians. No, Paul says, their faith in Christ is how they are justified. And we'll skip the nuances of the Greek word for "faith" here. This concept that Paul used has been lifted up as a more categorical truth: you need faith in Christ (unspoken: the right kind of faith in the right kind of Christ) to go to heaven. Paul's argument doesn't mention heaven, but that gets tacked on anyway. Then we have the writings of guys like Augustine and Luther, who were the big pushers of such a reading of Paul and who wrote volumes based on this interpretation about belief in the right things rather than anything that we can do on our own, and eventually John's verse is interpreted with a strong belief component that isn't there.

Jesus says, "I am the way...no one comes to the Father except through me." It's actually a pretty enigmatic statement. Even if Jesus is the way, how do we follow the way?

Oh. Hold on. Follow. You follow a way, don't you? If you want to "come to" a particular destination, you need to walk a path. You need to follow a way, not just believe some things about the way. If I want to drive to St. Louis, I can believe all the things I want about I-70. I can believe that it's flat and long and boring and even that it's necessary to travel in order to reach where I want to go. But all that belief isn't going to get me to St. Louis. I'll need to actually drive it. So there's more to Jesus' statement than believing the right things (if that's even applicable), isn't there?

That's enough for today. More to come.

The Angry Christian and the Belligerent Salesperson

I yelled at a salesperson today.

People who call the church office don't have the benefit of seeing the "No Solicitors" sign on the door...some people who visit the church office apparently can't see it either.

Anyway, this guy really got on my nerves. Helpful hint for those of you who call pastors trying to sell them stuff: don't use the following lines...

"You know this is a good idea, right?"

"Well, you're the pastor. You're the final decision-maker. People look to you for that, don't they? I mean, if a team isn't doing well, one of the first people they get rid of is the coach."

"Here's what other pastors have done: they pay for the first few months out of their own pockets and then present the good results to their board so they can set aside some money. So shall I sign you up?"

"Well, you have the option of sitting around and thinking about it for a while and eventually deciding against it, but wouldn't you rather just start reaching people with it now?"

I repeatedly tried to tell him to send me information so that a group at the church entrusted with these types of tasks could consider it. His product actually addressed something that we're thinking of doing, but every time I tried to get him to do this, it was like he just hit Restart on his little sales pitch. He didn't want me to consult other people. He just wanted to make a sale.

So finally, I said, "Look, I appreciate your persistence and I'm sure what you're selling is excellent, but I still want to run this by other people. See, the way things are done here is that others are called according to their gifts and I trust them to make those decisions. I know that there's this mentality out there that I have the final say in everything, but I believe in the priesthood of all believers, the notion that it's not just about me but about all of us working together. This isn't about me being hired or fired or whatever, it's about all of us working together. So just send me your packet and we'll look it over."

That was the end of the conversation. 15 minutes of my life I'll never get back. I decided to take a walk down to the mailbox after this to cool down.

Now, the role of the pastor in the congregation isn't really the issue here for me. Sure, the mentality of Pastor as Boss is alive and well, but what I really want to talk about is anger.

I'm reading The Angry Christian by Andrew Lester at the moment, which is a fantastic pastoral theological look at the role of anger in the church.

Lester discusses the causes of anger within us, and makes the argument that anger is usually triggered because one perceives a threat. Anger is the response to that threat, to brace for a reaction. I think that "threat" is pretty broadly defined. It's not just a physical threat that he's talking about, but anything that we see as a threat to our values, lifestyle, emotions, and so on. So when one gets angry at another person weaving in and out of traffic on a busy highway, Lester writes, one may feel that one's safety is threatened, one's competitive streak may act up--a threat to one's sense of winning and losing. Of course, he'd say that not every threat is real or rational. Anger by definition isn't rational, anyway.

So how did I feel threatened in order to get angry at this salesperson? Well, he kept badgering me to try this product now and questioned my hesitation, so I felt that my ability to make a choice was threatened. He basically implied that not doing this would be a bad decision that may cost me my job, so my own values as a pastor felt threatened. And in general I felt disrespected, which as I learned in CPE is a huge deal for me.

Lester also talks about how anger can be a good thing when it is "in the service of love." In other words, the passionate kind of anger that motivates people to fight for a good cause or to pursue justice is a good kind of anger; it is anger of protection and service. Sometimes people call it righteous anger.

Anyway, was there anything about my anger that was in the service of love? I think so. I have a love and respect for other church members' abilities that I wanted to pass this decision on to them. That was really the main thing. I also defended an alternate form of church governance and pastoral theology that he wasn't familiar with, but I don't know how well that applies here.

So I was interested to see how this great book applied to this morning's events. This is what I came up with. I'll probably never hear from this guy again. As he kept reminding me, he's been doing this for 20 years, so somebody was able to get past his approach. Or was guilted in by it.

Notebook Excerpts on Virginia Tech

These are some thoughts that I jotted down this morning on this week's events at Virginia Tech.

...My thoughts immediately went to Heidelberg. This could have happened there--either while I was still a student or now when my brother is still a student. To put this horrible event in those terms makes...this event that much scarier. It personalizes it; makes it real to me. That's not to be selfish, i.e., "I'm glad that it didn't happen there." Instead, it's my way of sympathizing with the grief and shock being felt on Virginia Tech's campus. People across the country are grieving what happened in different ways, and I suppose that this is mine. This could have happened anywhere--that's my shock. This happened at Virginia Tech--that's my grief.

I hesitate to make sense of this in theological terms. All the concepts that I've studied melt away in the face of raw tragedy and deep pain. Michael Spencer observes in this week's podcast that when Job's friends show up to console him, they remain silent for the first seven days. It isn't until they start trying to offer explanations that they begin digging holes for themselves.

Regardless, I've thought a lot about human sin. I think about the absolutely evil acts that Cho unleashed on his unsuspecting classmates and teachers. I wonder what sorts of sins perpetrated by others may have helped condition him to act this way. The problem of sinfulness is both societal and personal. It is real in both forms. And it seems to be a better starting point than to ask where God was on Monday or where God is now or why God didn't step in or what sort of a God is revealed or whether God exists at all.

I believe in a God who is now present with those who mourn. I believe in a resurrected Lord, Jesus Christ, who knows what it's like to suffer at the hands of a sinful humanity firsthand. I believe in the power of love experienced through community--a power that is no doubt felt on that campus today in a way that it's never been felt before. I believe in prayer, and so I pray for strength and comfort to be felt with those closest to this tragedy.

And I keep praying, because I don't know what else to do.

Contemporary Theology

I was tagged for a meme a while ago by Chris T. and didn't know it until a few weeks after the fact. Since then, this entry has been sitting around unfinished because...well...I can't think of many books that fits the meme criteria that I've read. I've been reading so many spiritual memoirs and books on church structure that straight up theology hasn't been on the radar lately.

The meme states to list your favorite contemporary theology books. "Contemporary" is set as 1981-present. He picked three, so I'll pick three:

God, Creation, and All That Jazz - This is a book out of the school known as process theology, the thought that creation isn't finished and God is still actively creating alongside us as opposed to having it all finished from the get-go and now we're just along for the ride. Here, Pedersen uses a jazz metaphor to explain what she means: jazz is more of a free-flowing style. It has a basic structure, but the musicians know their instruments and the song so well that they can improvise without losing the main idea (I shall soon write the second installment: God, Creation, and Dave Matthews Band). This is in contrast to a symphony orchestra, the music of which is planned and directed down to the last note and rest. Pedersen suggests that God and creation both are more like jazz: the basic structures are there and God has a purpose for all of it, but there is a lot of change, risk, unexpected and unplanned sorts of moments. God is present during all of it and works with all of it, but not necessarily by controlling or determining all of it. In other words, God and creation are both much more dynamic in nature.

A Generous Orthodoxy - I think I'm going to re-read this one soon. Brian McLaren puts in book form something that I've long believed: you don't need to be exclusively from one theological school. In fact, here's the tagline: "Why I Am a Missional, Evangelical, Post/Protestant, Liberal/Conservative, Mystical/Poetic, Biblical, Charismatic/Contemplative, Fundamentalist/Calvinist, Anabaptist/Anglican, Methodist, Catholic, Green, Incarnational, Depressed-yet-Hopeful, Emergent, Unfinished CHRISTIAN." He presents chapter after chapter of ideas that he appreciates from theologies across the board while offering his gentle McLaren-esque critique of them at the same time. One of my favorite metaphors I've heard recently comes from this book. McLaren talks about a game of basketball, and how we learn the rules not so we can point out when others aren't playing right, but so we can enjoy playing the game. McLaren calls for a way of doing theology that doesn't focus on pointing out others' errant beliefs, but so we can live by those beliefs. We're not called to be referees; we're called to be players. Jesus was all about that.

Faith Seeking Understanding - I really hope that I come up with a better third book to stick on this list. In the meantime, this was required reading in seminary and I stick it on here because it's contemporary and not terrible. It's pretty systematic and, by my reckoning, sort of a modern liberal/neo-orthodox hybrid. It's good for what it is, which is more of an introductory text than anything else. If you read all the books on this list, start with this one and then maybe the others won't scandalize you as much. This meme fizzled out just now, didn't it?

I'm adding a fourth, but for some reason keeping Faith Seeking Understanding on here. It's my blog, I'll do what I want. Anyway, Terence Fretheim's The Suffering of God has stuck with me since I had to read it in seminary. In some ways, this book goes hand-in-hand with Pedersen's, although they do differ in some respects. For instance, where Pedersen suggests that God's control is limited by nature, Fretheim suggests that it is limited by choice. That's the difference between process theology and open theism. Here's the main reason that I stuck this on here. Pedersen's book may sound strange and even heretical to people. Fretheim presents similar ideas, but pulls them straight out of scripture. There are, off the top of my head, four texts where God changes God's mind about something. Three of them are because of a human being arguing on the people's behalf. Abraham did it with Sodom, Moses did it during the golden calf episode, God told Jeremiah that God would change God's mind if the people repented, and Amos did it. So I stick this book on here to show that this theology isn't just made up because someone decided that they didn't like high Calvinism any more. One can argue that it isn't a "complete" view, but one needs to first acknowledge that the view has scriptural merit.

Okay, I'm done. Time to go to work.

"Prove it"

I used to frequent a discussion forum that was a safe haven for disgruntled ex-churchgoers and seekers. The range of discussion there was fairly broad, and pretty much any belief was fair game. The last part of my tenure there, however, saw a shift in discussion with the increased visitation by atheist posters. In and of itself, this wasn't a bad thing. I'm not one who turns up his nose at people who don't believe as I do (if I can help it, anyway), and while I did go through the same phase that most Christians go through where I parrot any number of explanations for why atheists don't believe in God (They're in rebellion, they're human-centered, they're holding a grudge or whatever), I've found that once I let them tell their own story, these explanations and categories don't work so well.

Anyway, back to this discussion forum. Like I said, a growing atheist presence was not in and of itself a bad thing. However, for a time, it seemed that every discussion inevitably would degenerate into the same basic argument: whether or not God exists. I suppose that I shouldn't have been so amazed or surprised that we'd always wind up talking about this no matter where the original thought began, but it became repetitious and I didn't find much meaning or use in it after a while.

I gave up trying to "prove" God many years ago. For me the reason was pretty straightforward: you can't. That's what faith is all about. Anslem, Aquinas, down to more recent e-mail forwards have lifted up various explanations of how one "knows" God exists. Some such as C.S. Lewis have tried to argue from the position that there is an innate sense of morality within us all and God put it there. And of course multiple creationist theories find wide acceptance among Christians. When it comes down to it, I'm a creationist. By definition, all Christians are creationists. I'm just not a "6-day" one. And passing belief off as science raises some red flags for me as well.

Here's why I give up trying to "prove" God. How often has a reasoned discourse on God's existence brought anyone to church, temple, mosque, etc.? How often has a dissertation on God's nature changed a mind, let alone a heart? I'm willing to bet that in the vast majority of believers' cases, they didn't decide to take on a dedicated life of faith because Anselm's proofs convinced them. And when speaking of these things, I also automatically exclude those who have been bullied, shamed or otherwise coerced into "believing" by any religious institution. In those instances, it wasn't the argument that convinced them...it was something else. In the same way, usually it isn't the argument that convinced those who have come to believe. I place tradition, upbringing, and personal "Aha!" sorts of moments all way above being rationally convinced by any sort of creationist argument. People who become Christians have either claimed their family's churchgoing ways for themselves or have otherwise felt moved by some sort of spiritual wind that caught them in just the right way and at just the right moment. After that and only after that might one visit different rationalized discourses and say, "That makes sense to me." It still might not make sense to an atheist, though.

Well, what's this really about? I'm a Christian. Not only by definition am I a creationist, but to many atheists by definition I'm a fool. Why bother with all these inconsistencies both in scripture and between belief and the way the world really works? God is love? Tell that to the families of the tsunami victims. What's your explanation of the theodicy problem? Why is my wife dying? Why should I bother with your God, let alone anyone else's?

You won't find a simple catch-all answer in this post, so if that's what you're seeking, I'll save you the time. The standard answer that I give for why I believe is that I base that belief primarily on personal experience. I truly was within a hair's width of giving it all up and got reeled back in. So then the questions flow: why'd you get an experience and I didn't? How do you know the God you experienced was the Christian God? Why's your experience true, but this other person's whose experience is in direct contradiction to yours but is believed to also be authentic, not?

Assertion and deconstruction. This is typically the way the conversation goes, and it can only go so far. At this point, the entire debate seems like a waste of time to me. I believe because one night I gave up trying to talk myself into anything and that's when the Holy Spirit did what it does.

As an aside, I want to make sure that when I wrote about upbringing above, I don't want to dismiss people who grew up in a Christian family as only being Christian because their family is. I know too many people who were brought up in Christian homes who made their own conscious decision to embrace faith for themselves, and usually after a period of wrestling or wandering. So I hope people didn't read it that way.

"Get X Out of Xmas"

This was posted on a messageboard on which I mostly lurk nowadays, but it really spoke to me this morning and I wanted to share it here:

OK, for something completely different - I've been thinking about why"keep Christ in Christmas" bothers me (but what doesn't these days?) Nobody kept Christ in Christmas the first time. (OK, maybe Mary) Andwhat kind of Christ is it that we can put into, or keep out of,Christmas? It's all I can do to keep up with him, much less keep him in, out, or anywhere!

My sermon thought on Christmas Eve - it's more important to keep Christ in Thursday than to keep him in Christmas. Thursday comes 52 times a year more often, for one thing. When we're all mellow and tender at Christmas time we hardly feel the need for him anyway. Thursday, though - when you've lost your temper and smacked your kid,or you're wondering why the hades you ever got into this vocation -THAT's when you need Christ.

Alternate Christmas Eve sermon thought - get Christ out of Christmas.We've been trying to keep him in for the last 50 years to no great effect that I can see. For 50 years I've heard whining about the commercialism of Christmas (done it myself) and over that same timeperiod more stores are open more hours selling more crap than ever before. So maybe trying to keep Christ in Christmas is counterproductive. Maybe it's time to stop trying to baptize a pagan holiday, worship God on Thursday (see above) or any other day, and let Christmas run it's commercially driven, self-congratulatory, Dickens-centered, emotionally overloaded, conspicuously consumptive way.

Merry Christmas to you too!

"Post-Liberal"

Without fanfare, I recently added this descriptor to my blogger profile. I figured that I should write an entry to explain it and discover for myself what it means as well.

The term (which I won't claim as original) came to me while I read a recent iMonk post where he declares himself "post-evangelical." He explains that the kind of evangelical that he's talking about is the doctrinal mindset, the subculture. He wishes to remain evangelical in the sense that it means sharing the good news, but discard any sort of towing the line, any sort of approach to an issue that begins, "Well, since I'm an evangelical, that means I have to believe/say/do X." He's over that. He's post that. The most concise sentence that he includes that speaks to what I'm trying to establish is this:

In this sense, “post-evangelical” means that I have not identified completely with any of the attempts to “close” the evangelical conversation around a particular denomination, clique, team or tribe.

So in some ways, I've come to a similar place with regard to liberalism. First, let's define what I mean by "liberal." When I think of the term, I think of a regard for multiple viewpoints and a recognition of the need for dialogue particularly when it comes to more complicated issues that affect our religious, political, and/or social lives as a community or as individuals. I also think of a willingness to explore ideas "outside the box," as it were, thus making the term "progressive" a somewhat viable alternative term.

When many critics define liberalism nowadays, they are really defining and criticizing other things. True, there's plenty to critique about my definition above, but in many cases when critics go after liberals, they tend to mean other things such as:

Libertarianism - A radical emphasis on personal choice and freedom, so long as it doesn't infringe on someone else's choice and freedom, and

Liberationism - A radical deferrment to constructed categories of "the poor." I want to tread lightly with this one especially. Some, but not all, of these categories are in legitimate need of serious aid: oppressed Latin American populations, victims of genocide in Darfur, and our own homeless and working poor are examples. I say "constructed" because these categories are bestowed with an idealized, noble, moral image without context and without acknowledging the sins that those populations have possibly committed in their own right. Even in the groups I've listed there is a lot of grey (much less in Darfur). The best example I can think of is how some groups support the Palestinians without fully addressing the suicide bombings committed by some of their fringe elements. Liberationism, I have found, is sometimes willing to ignore or downplay these types of actions. That is what I mean by "constructed."

Granted, some self-identifying liberals may better fit into these other categories. Note again, this is the doctrinal mindset and subculture, the attempt to relegate what being a liberal means to a particular denomination, clique, team, or tribe, that I'm talking about. It is difficult to wholly define what being a liberal is (as with any group), so it is understandable that critics will use some combination of the above categories as something to argue against.

It is the very use of these other concepts of liberalism by liberals, however, that begins to create cliques, teams, and tribes. The consequence, if one disagrees with a particular stance deemed "liberal," is accusations of "not being liberal enough" and terms like "fundy" or "neo-con" are thrown around if disagreement and dissention arises around any number of issues.

For my part, what "post-liberal" doesn't mean is:

"Liberal-in-recovery." This term suggests that things liberals believe are simply wrong and boy am I glad I finally stopped drinking that Kool-Aid. Post-liberal can still agree with liberal stands on issues and doesn't see it as the new ideology to oppose after escaping.

Moving back to "conservatism." In a society where red and blue is the new black and white, this is really rigid and takes no account of the grey (or purple) that many situations truly exhibit.

To be post-liberal is not to be anti-liberal. Instead, it is resisting Liberalism. It is attempting to see each issue in its own light rather than wait for a few soundbites from recognized and celebrated "liberal" icons. In the case of post-liberal Christianianity, it is evaluating such issues in light of the kingdom of God preached and lived by Jesus Christ--even while recognizing how one's own bias and experience contributes to such a reading--rather than out of a presupposed groupthink. I still happen to come down on the "liberal" side on a lot of things...no reason to pretend that I don't. But I like to think that it comes from a wrestling with the Biblical narrative more than waiting for the latest press release from "The UCC," the DNC, or any other group.

One can easily substitute "liberal" with any other label and think about what it would mean to be post-[label]. It is our societal nature not only to label, but to try living into that label's accepted identity. This is just my attempt to move past one such label.

Of course, "post-liberal" is another label...but let's ignore that for now.

Critique this statement

"Most Christian arguments are a priori. Most atheist arguments are a posteriori."

Welcome to the New Class of Eden Seminary

Greetings, class of 2009. Or 2010. Or maybe 2011. And even the guy who will graduate in 2018. That is not a commentary on how difficult the next three or more years will be for you, it is simply an acknowledgement that while you are all starting this stage of your journeys together, you won't all finish at the same time. Look around the room at your classmates. A core group of you will graduate in 2009. A faithful remnant will take an extra year and graduate together in 2010. I'll be honest, some of you might disappear after a semester or a year. Others will have life's circumstances overcome them to the point that you'll need to cut back on classload or take time off.

Regardless, you have come to this moment. And on behalf of all alumni of Eden Theological Seminary, and I'll even presume to speak on behalf of all current students, faculty, field education supervisors, and Mike the janitor (is Mike still there?)...we are praying for you.

We are praying for you.

Those were some of the first words said to my class upon our arrival. They were important words, to be sure, because it marked something about what we were entering, setting it apart from any other academic undertaking. Now granted, this was still very much an academic setting, without question. And it will be such for you as well. You will suffer...sorry...experience all those elements typical of graduate school: books, papers, study groups, grades, due dates...but in the midst of all of it will be reminders of Why.

And the Why is important. The Why is your ultimate goal, the driving force behind all that you endure for as long as you endure it. It will be spoken and sung; given graciously and pursued forcibly. It will be in your midst always. And all the reminders presented to you, including the prayers of your teachers and peers, will be the next few years' true end.

There's nothing meant to be unique or inspirational about this welcome. You'll hear variations on these paragraphs over the next week and in the first few days of class. I simply want to let you know that people are praying for you: your families, your home churches, those who have gone before you and those who are working alongside you to help you pursue and clarify what brought you to Eden to begin with.

To put it one way, you know Why.

And it is Why that will sustain you toward graduation. It won't be your GPA and it won't be any hope to be placed in a church with a $500,000 budget right out of the box. Those are temporary, frivolous concerns.

We are praying for you to use your gifts and talents, to seek first the kingdom of God, to recognize your call as a privilege, a cost and joy.

We are praying for you to remember Why.

God be with you.

What's Your Theological Worldview?

You scored as Emergent/Postmodern. You are Emergent/Postmodern in your theology. You feel alienated from older forms of church, you don't think they connect to modern culture very well. No one knows the whole truth about God, and we have much to learn from each other, and so learning takes place in dialogue. Evangelism should take place in relationships rather than through crusades and altar-calls. People are interested in spirituality and want to ask questions, so the church should help them to do this. Emergent/Postmodern 71% Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan 61% Neo orthodox 57% Classical Liberal 57% Modern Liberal 50% Charismatic/Pentecostal 46% Roman Catholic 43% Reformed Evangelical 32% Fundamentalist 7% What's your theological worldview? created with QuizFarm.com

Hat tip to Dwight.

Nowadays I'm not surprised by my top answer, although 'alienated' might be too strong a word when it comes to older worship styles. They have their place, but many do have a hard time connecting with them. Sometimes I do, and I lead one every week.

I don't know nearly enough about the Wesleyan tradition, but I do know just enough to realize that I'm not offended or shocked by my second answer. On the other hand, I haven't considered myself neo-orthodox in quite a while, so that part is somewhat telling to me.

Blogging Ecclesiastes

Ecclesiastes really is a fascinating book. I finished my lectio divina study of it this morning, and have come away with a few impressions that I wanted to share...

The worldview in Ecclesiastes is clearly different from what we find later in the New Testament in a few different ways. Throughout the book, the Teacher's refrain comes through: 'All is vanity and a chasing after wind.' His application of the refrain produces some results that may puzzle or even offend those who strive to be faithful disciples of Jesus.

In my vain life I have seen everything; there are righteous people who perish in their righteousness, and there are wicked people who prolong their life in their evildoing. Do not be too righteous, and do not act too wise; why should you destroy yourself? - Ecclesiastes 7:15-16

The Teacher has observed what happens to righteous people. They get treated like they're wicked. They're frowned upon. Others don't like them. They get taken advantage of. His solution: don't be too righteous. Preserve yourself. Meanwhile, Jesus says, 'Those who save their life will lose it, but those who lose their life for my sake will find it.' Jesus had a different take on righteousness: be righteous. You'll actually save your life by doing it.

A sidebar: Yes, this is 'the Bible Jesus read,' to borrow a phrase. But while we see Jesus operate within his tradition in many ways, we also see him operate outside it. Consider his statements about the sabbath. There may even be other instances in the Hebrew Bible where prophets and others disagree with what the Teacher of Ecclesiastes has to say. Consider the strong critiques of those too comfortable to consider the righteousness that God sets forth for them.

The other piece of the Teacher's worldview that is clearly different from what we get in the New Testament and 'orthodox' Christianity is his concept of the afterlife. He mentions heaven four times. In all of them, he presents heaven as a place apart from earth and apart from human beings. This is where God lives, a place 'above' human beings. In the meantime, we all end up in Sheol:

Enjoy life with the wife whom you love, all the days of your vain life that are given you under the sun, because that is your portion in life and in your toil at which you toil under the sun. Whatever your hand finds to do, do with your might; for there is no work or thought or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol, to which you are going. - Ecclesiastes 9:9-10

Sheol is the Israelite concept of the place of the dead, perhaps not unlike Hades in Greek