Mini Blog #1: Slackers

I've decided to take a trip in the Way Back Machine to retrieve the word "slacker" from 1985.

While being subjected to Fox News the other day I heard an angry fellow rant about how President Obama doesn't know Constitutional law. Riiiiiight. The dude graduated magna cum laude from Harvard and taught Constitutional law at the University of Chicago. Agree or disagree with his approach and conclusions, he knows Constitutional law. This sort of junk is ignorant, naive, or simply an ad hominem criticism, which brings me to a larger issue: I often wonder how often we say that people don't know what they're talking about when, in fact, the true, underlying issue is that we disagree with them. Seems to me that we've got to learn to distinguish between a) disagreement with a person's approach, view, position, or belief and b) denial that a person knows what he/she is talking about. Observation: Cognitive lethargy all too often results in people attempting to discredit the source rather than go through the hard work of thoughtfully considering ideas that differ from their opinion. Buncha slackers.

* Notice to all you political hotheads: This post isn't about politics. I'm just using a political example to illustrate a point. Settle down.

Embracing Labels? Musings on Communication, Psychology, Sociology, Theology, and Much Else

Let's call a spade a spade. Often times people like to think they're a lot more complicated than they actually are. A year or so ago I was discussing some point of theology with a Pentecostal gentleman who'd stumbled across my facebook notes. It didn't take long before he became adamant that he's not a Pentecostal, but merely a "follower of Jesus." Riiiiiiight. I asked him if he speaks in tongues. Yep. Does he think all Christians should do so? Yep. Does he regularly attend prophetic prayer meetings and healing seminaries? Yep. Is he a deacon at an Assemblies of God church? Yep. Does he affirm the "baptism in the Holy Spirit with evidence of speaking in tongues"? Yep. Yet he's still not a Pentecostal? Nope. How does the old saying go? I believe it's, "When I see a bird that walks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, I call that bird a duck." Yet I hear these sort of (seemingly) irrational claims all the time. Frankly, I think the rejection of such labels is inane.

Solely in terms of communication it's necessary to have words to describe things--persons, places, movements, ideas, beliefs, etc. This is why I can't stand when people talk about how they don't want to be "labeled." What's the the problem? Everything has a freaking label. Hi, I'm Carson. That's my label. I drive an Escort. That's my car's label. I grew up Oklahoma before moving to Minnesota. There's two more labels. I graduated from Toccoa Falls College. That's its label. You get the point. Seems to me that a world without labels is nonsensical. Perhaps that's why God had Adam immediately set out upon the task of naming--eh hem, labeling--the animals.

I understand that labels are imperfect. As the big, bad Derrida has rightly pointed out, words are quite limited in that they cannot capture the total essence of the things they're describing. The word "Carson" doesn't come close to fully representing me. It doesn't explain who I am, what I think, how I feel, or any of that. Yet it does point to and represent me in a sufficient enough manner that it enables transference of thoughts and mutual understanding. In this way words are imperfect yet not without meaning. Of course one must constantly reassess words--not only to see if their meanings align with the contemporary reality, but the evolving meaning of the words themselves. Welcome to the beautiful chaos that is language.

The unsavory reality that must be considered, however, is the way that so many people use labels from a defensive, or even an offensive, posture. They want to use labels aggressively to define who is "in" and who is "out"--using language not only as a means of communicating but attempting to prove/disprove certain positions and views. It's almost as if they think that if you win the day in defining a word to your liking you therefore win the argument. In this way the emphasis is shifted from an exploration of substantial content to superficial semantics. All too often this is especially true when religious figures are advocating their views. For example, how many times have I heard such apologists and theologians as Norm Geisler and D.A. Carson respectively try to re-define "evangelicalism" in a narrow manner that excludes those to their left whom they deem liberal and wrong? The concern of such linguistic militancy is one I share wholeheartedly.

And course there's the problem of conceptual associations and simplifications. It's a problem we all face to one degree or another. When I describe myself as an evangelical older folks wonder if I mean the Billy Graham sort or the Franklin Graham sort while younger people assume I'm aligning myself with James Dobson and Focus on the Family. When I tell my conservative brother that I'm a political moderate he assumes that means raging liberalism cloaked with academic naivety and detached from reality. When I tell some of my former professors that I'm questioning Sola Scriptura they assume that means I'll soon be swearing allegiance to Rome. This list could go on forever. However, it seems to me that the true problem in such situations isn't necessarily the innate implications of the labels but the willful ignorance and anti-intellectual impulses of the listeners. The words coming out of my mouth are evangelical, moderate, and questioning, but the words they choose to hear are fundamentalist, socialist, and papist. In my estimate, the labels cannot be blamed for the blatant idiocy they illuminate and shouldn't be avoided to placate cretins.

Plus there's the whole issue that technical words make communication easier. Any Christian who has spent much time studying the doctrine of the Trinity knows that that label fails to encapsulate the complexity of one God yet three, co-equal Persons, yet can you imagine if every time we wanted to talk about the Trinity we had to say, "One God yet three, co-equal Persons." Such inadequate labels ironically give us a great ability to communicate with clarity and efficiency. This is why it's utterly foolish for the metaphorical duck to deny the legitimacy of taxonomy. It just causes confusion and unnecessarily increases the quantity of words.

Another angle I've seen is this: In light of division and seeming personality cults found within the Church that Paul rebukes in 1 Corinthians 1 & 3, isn't it morally and spiritually wrong to call ourselves anything but followers of Christ? At least this is how the matter has been put to me in the past. I think this is a misleading question that obscures some very important lines. Namely, is it being used to find a sense of identity or merely as a description of where one is at? In other words, is the label used as a noun or an adjective? I'd suggest that it's a matter of one's heart intention. Yes, it's abundantly clear that the way labels are typically employed is for the former purpose. Yes, most Christians appear to find a great deal of their identity in their label as a Baptist, Catholic, Mennonite, Pentecostal, Anglican, Methodist, Calvinist, and all the rest. But I believe that's wrong. I don't think it's wrong, however, to find one's identity in Christ as a member of His global Body and then to say, "Yes, I believe in 'the baptism of the Holy Spirit with evidence of speaking in tongues,' so the word 'Pentecostal' effectively describes my theological beliefs, worship practices, and faith tradition. I'll embrace it in so far as it'll help others to understand me." It's not unlike a person in the first century who might be described as a Christian from the church in Corinth. "Follower of Apollos" = bad. "Corinthian Christian" = just fine. Again, identity vs. description. Let's not simplistically assume that just because people employ labels it necessarily follows that their usage and/or intent is the same.

And what about all the baggage? Isn't it wise to abandon a term such as "Christian" if it becomes a stumbling block? I understand the rationale there, but even this is fraught with problems. Say Christians as a whole abandon that label and start using "follower of Jesus." It won't be long before that term also has been soiled. Not to mention this just feels like a cheap parlor trick. Are we really resorting to a gimmicky carousel of name changes to avoid associating ourselves with the mistakes of our brothers and sisters in Christ who've come before us? Why not instead just be upfront and say, "Sorry"? Still others might protest that the reason for using something like "follower of Christ" is to bring the focus back to Jesus himself rather than a religion--the whole personal relationship thing. Again, I get that, but isn't that basically what "Christian" means anyway? I'm offering no judgment of those who are taking the "follower of Jesus" route--by which I mean I'm not declaring it to be innately right or wrong, nor am I definitively saying what they should or shouldn't do--but I do think that path represents an effort to take the path of least resistance, which I don't believe is often the wisest alternative.

And stereotypes? Don't labels promote them? No doubt this will enrage a few people, but here's my personal philosophy on this one: As used in popular culture and stemming from sociology, stereotypes are "standardized conception[s] or image[s] invested with meaning and held in common by members of a group." Like it or not, stereotypes exist for a reason. They develop from a group's experience and help both individuals and groups make sense of the world by facilitating the assimilation of new information into a previously existent schema. Thus, the problem is not simply that we use or acknowledge stereotypes or even that they exist. The problem is when one's schema becomes rigid, rendering it incapable of adapting to new information. In these cases stereotypes continue to be held regardless of evidence that would nuance or overhaul the stereotype; that is, it's the point at which cognitive dissonance prevents stereotypes from being altered. The key is that one's schema remain flexible. Personally, I think stereotypes are just fine so long as we're not only passively willing to reconsider them and adapt our underlying schema, but we actively seek to do so. (By the way, for those of you who are mentally protesting and about to set your keyboards ablaze with "you don't know what it's like!" objections, rest assured that I do. People have had many stereotypical perceptions of me that have been false. That doesn't bother me. It's when they refuse to modify those perceptions and stereotypes as merited by new evidence that I get kinda pissy.)

Finally, what about people who genuinely don't fit certain labels? A good illustration may be those Christians who hold to historic orthodoxy, reject Sola Scriptura, yet also are not Catholic or Orthodox. Does the label of "Protestant" really work for those persons, and if it's so poor a fit that the thing must be nuanced to the degree that it's rendered virtually unrecognizable, why use it in the first place? In all honesty and from personal experience, of all of the reasons to reject a label this, in my estimate, is the one that has the most credence. All I can say is that, yes, there might be times when certain labels don't fit and ought be wholly rejected. As I can testify, sometimes this happens quite often for those who doesn't typically stay off the beaten path. It's frustrating as heck. Even in those cases, however, I think it's fatuous to maintain an impulse away from labels; to reject them offhand just because one dislikes being boxed in or defined. In most cases I've seen it's the product of both rebellion and immaturity. I can sympathize with the rejection of a label in certain circumstances, but not with the wholesale rejection of all labels even when they fit. As I said before, but no one is so original and/or complicated as to defy all labels completely.

Is there historical precedent for Sola Scriptura?

During a Hermeneutics course I took four years ago TFC's Dr. Juncker quipped, "Just because a doctrine doesn't have any precedent in Church history doesn't necessarily mean it's wrong. It just means that it's almost certainly wrong." He then cited J.N. Darby's invention of Dispensationalism in the 19th century as case in point. From my limited ventures into historical theology it has seemed that this argument has often been used against particular doctrines, and with equal frequency the proponents of those doctrines have offered rebuttals stating that it was an implicit teaching that simply wasn't fully articulated (e.g. Trinity) or that it is true biblical teaching but was, for one reason or another, lost quite early in Church history (e.g. New Perspective(s) on Paul). On a personal note, I must confess that I've not always been fair in my use of the "little/zero historical precedent" argument. I have rather enjoyed using it against Dispensationalism, but came to dislike it immensely when it was used against the New Perspective.

My perspective shifted over time. At first I found it to be a powerful argument used to highlight theological error. Then I gained a sense of much greater hesitancy in employing the argument because I thought it rather simplistic and potentially misleading. Now I make a make a conscience effort not to use it as an argument at all, for it is a matter of history and not philosophy. That is, to fully understand a doctrine it is necessary to understand its historical development but ultimately the purpose of history is not to prove or disprove, but to understand. As Mark Noll once said, "Philosophers rush in where historians fear to tread." All that being said, the question I'm about to pose ought not be misunderstood as a veiled attempt to prove or disprove any doctrine or tradition. I'm simply asking a question as a matter of historical inquiry.

Is there (much) historical precedent for the Protestant doctrine of Sola Scriptura? As I understand it, even as early as the second century there was much debate over both the interpretation of Scripture and what compromised Christianity's core, essential beliefs. In response to the Gnostics, Irenaeus, a passionate and astute student of the Word, appealed not to Scripture itself as the sole authority but to the apostolic tradition that had been passed to him from John via Polycarp. In other words, he saw apostolic tradition as something of an authoritative lens through which one ought interpret Scripture. And if Scripture wasn't the sole authority even in the second century, I have difficulty imagining that it would be as creeds and ecumenical councils pile up. So again I pose the question: Is there (much) historical precedent for Sola Scriptura prior to the 16th century? Either way it wouldn't prove or disprove anything, but it would help me place this theological conception within the context of history. To be clear, this isn't some sort of rhetorical question. This is an area where my background is limited. I'm hoping those who are more studied in the Ante-Nicene Fathers will be able to answer this question.

Thanks.

An essay that was presented to Dr. Burris' Psalms & Proverbs class

An Alternative Interpretation of Psalm 51:5:

A Case Study for Examining Hermeneutical Methodology

A couple months ago I wrote a series of blog posts challenging traditional understandings of Original Sin. In one of those posts I offered an alternative interpretation of Psalm 51:5. As Dr. Burris and I were discussing this in his office one afternoon he graciously invited me to present my interpretation to his Psalms & Proverbs class despite his own disagreement with it. No doubt many here will share his disagreement, but my intention is to follow the precedent established in that conversation. By this I mean that my hope is that this informal essay will 1) be met with a spirit of cordiality among brothers in sisters in Christ who are mutually committed to the Bible’s authority yet sincerely disagree in our interpretation and 2) inspire serious thought about the importance of biblical hermeneutics as a prerequisite for faithfully interpreting, understanding, and applying holy Scripture.

To faithfully represent the traditional Protestant interpretation of Psalm 51:5 I’d like to read an excerpt from Dr. Wayne Grudem’s Systematic Theology, which is the primary text used in TFC’s God & Redemption and The Church: Its Truth & Destiny courses:

"Inherited Corruption: We Have a Sinful Nature Because of Adam’s Sin. In addition to the legal guilt that God imputes to use because of Adam’s sin, we also inherit a sinful nature because of Adam’s sin. This inherited sinful nature is sometimes simply called “original sin” and sometimes more precisely called “original pollution.” I have used instead the term “inherited corruption” because it seems to express more clearly the specific idea in view.

David says, “Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me” (Ps 51:5). Some have mistakenly thought that the sin of David’s mother is in view here, but this is incorrect, for the entire context has nothing to do with David’s mother. David is confessing his own personal sin throughout this section…

David is so overwhelmed with the consciousness of his own sin that as he looks back on his life he realizes that he was sinful from the beginning. As far back as he can think of himself, he realizes that he had had a sinful nature. In fact, when he was born or “brought forth” from his mother’s womb, he was “brought forth in iniquity” (Ps. 51:5). Moreover, even before he was born, he had a sinful disposition: he affirms that at the moment of concept he had a sinful nature, for “in sin did my mother conceive me” (Psalm 51:5). Here is a strong statement of the inherent tendency to sin that attaches to our lives from the very beginning."

I respectfully disagree with both this interpretation and the underlying hermeneutical methodology he employs.

Imagine that 5,000 years from now a team of archaeologists is excavating a site on this campus. During the dig they find a remarkably well-preserved artifact—an ancient manuscript of some sort—that they’re able to date somewhere between 1900 and 2100 AD. They’re able to recognize that the ancient text is the dead language of English, but because of their lack of expertise in that field they send the manuscript to a team of experts who’ve spent their lives studying both the language and the culture practices of that time. After years of tedious work the team is able to translate the entire manuscript. It’s about the quest of a hairy-footed halfling to destroy an evil, powerful ring. Its central characters include species named men, hobbits, elves, dwarves, wizards, goblins, orcs, and so forth. It takes place in a land called Middle-Earth. Once this translation is made public a fierce debate begins within the academic community over the nature of these texts. The largest group of scholars holds that this is a historical account of actual events. The minority argues that the text contains a constant stream of fanciful exaggerations, but nevertheless it’s a document with valuable historical teaching. The final view, which has been discredited by the experts and is only believed by fringe groups, is that it’s an epic fantasy in a purely fictitious world. Over the years certain positions rise and fall from popularity as the debate rages onward. Some experts even take certain facts from the story and combine them with other ancient texts in order to create a comprehensive, systematic understanding of how Western society functioned during the authors’ time.

As you can see from this hypothetical situation, when dealing with ancient texts from which one is far removed both historically and culturally, oftentimes the key question should not be “What does the text say?” but “How should the text be taken?” In fact, by shifting the emphasis from the genre of the text to simply focusing on the text itself, quite often the author’s actual intention is missed or obscured. This is exactly what Grudem is doing with Psalm 51:5. I would suggest that we evangelicals are, in general, prone to misinterpreting the Old Testament because we ignore the foremost hermeneutical principle of interpreting a text according to its genre.

This may be obvious, but let’s make sure we’re on the same page: The Psalms are poetry, not prose. The words of David, and whoever else contributed to the Book of Psalms, should be understood as ancient Hebrew poetry—not merely poetic language, but a specific form of Ancient Near Eastern poetic language that is quite foreign to us. Therefore, we shouldn’t use this text in a manner for which it wasn't intended.

You may have heard the story of Galileo Galilei’s persecution because of the way he interpreted the Psalms. Through his scientific research he’d become convinced of a heliocentric model of the universe, but the Church was unwavering in its belief that Psalms 93:1 and 96:10 taught a geocentric model. The long and short of it is that he was forced to publicly recant his beliefs before an Inquisition all because he understood those passages to be poetic language and not scientific fact. Thankfully in the time since then we’ve come to recognize that David was using phenomenological language, meaning that David is expressing how things appear from his point of view. It looks as though the sun is rising and setting even if that’s not what’s scientifically happening. There's an important lesson in that which needs to be heeded today: ancient Hebrew poetry is ancient Hebrew poetry, so don't try to get it to function as something it's not.

In the same way that I doubt David was teaching a geocentric cosmology, so I doubt David had Original Sin—a doctrine that has scant historical precedent before the 4th century—in mind when he wrote Psalm 51. That is, just as the Psalms shouldn’t be utilized for scientific purposes that are foreign to David’s cultural-historical context, so we shouldn’t use them for theological purposes which are equally foreign to his context. Let's stop trying to squeeze systematic juice out of a poetic rock. I fully agree with Grudem that in Psalm 51:5 David writes that he was sinful from the time of his conception. Absolutely. Where we differ is how we take that. There’s simply nothing in the text to suggest that he's making a propositional truth claim about the grand human condition, the consequences of the fall, or the doctrine that has come to be known as Original Sin. David simply wasn't writing a systematic theology or even an epistle that could be used in the construction of a systematic theology. That’s just not the Psalms’ purpose.

So what is the purpose? David is lamenting the depths of his wicked rebellion toward God before asking God to forgive and cleanse him. In verse 5 he's expressing his remorse, again using phenomenological language to say that he’s been evil since as far back as he can remember—seemingly even from birth! A growing number of theologians are suggesting that David was utilizing hyperbole in much the same way I did when as a 16-year-old I yelled, "It's impossible to learn how to drive a stick shift!" I wasn't making a truth claim regarding a physical or mental inability to drive a car with a manual transmission, but was using an overstatement to express the degree of my frustration. David was doing the same sort of thing. Here’s an excerpt by Gordon Fee and Douglas Stuart’s book, How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth, which was one of the textbooks used when I took Hermeneutics at TFC four years ago:

For example, who of us in singing Martin Luther's hymn "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God" (based on Psalm 46:1) would assume that God is in fact some kind of a fortification or impenetrable building or wall? We understand that "mighty fortress" is a figurative way of thinking about God. In the same way, when the psalmist says, "And in sin my mother conceived me" (Psalm 51:5), he is hardly trying to establish the doctrine that conception is sinful, or that all conceptions are sinful, or that his mother was a sinner by getting pregnant, or that Original Sin applies to unborn children, or any such thing. The psalmist has employed hyperbole—purposeful exaggeration in order to express strongly and vividly that he is a sinner with a long history of such. When you read a psalm, be careful that you do not derive from it concepts that were never intended by the musical poet who was inspired to write it.

When I was a freshman at Moody Bible Institute I had a class called Studying & Teaching the Bible. Essentially it was a pre-hermeneutics course. One day a fellow student asked the professor a question. I remember that he slapped himself on the forehead and said, “Geez. They tell me that I’m supposed to keep this course limited to essential hermeneutical principles, not get into theology. That’s a bit like telling me to teach about the purposes of tires without bringing up the car… You’ve got to be kidding me.” Although I enjoyed his antics I have to confess that I had no idea what he was talking about at the time, but in the six years since I’ve come to agree with his frustration. As I’m sure Dr. Burris would agree, the line between hermeneutics and theological methodology is a fuzzy one. To fully understand my interpretation of Psalm 51 one must understand the underlying theological methodology from which I approach Scripture. I don’t want to go too far down a rabbit trail, so I’ll try to keep my comments brief. Please accept my apologies if this gets too technical.

The charts provided below come from an essay by D.A. Carson on theological methodology. (I can’t remember what the book is titled, but it’s in the library.) They effectively illustrate three different general approaches to theology commonly used by evangelicals.

1. Theological Pyramid

This approach sees the various sub-disciplines as something of a hierarchy. Exegesis is the foundation upon which all else is built. Biblical theology is next, then historical theology, and systematic theology positioned at the top. Whether implicitly or explicitly, this hierarchy suggests that systematic theology is the pinnacle to which all else builds and is aimed. There are some things I like about this, including the idea that exegesis is the foundation and that often neglected historical theology is an absolute necessity within good systematic theology. The problems with this approach are two-fold. First, too often our theology looks as feels as though we’re trying to get past the story of Scripture in an attempt to extract timeless, culturally-transcendent facts and principles from the biblical narrative in order to construct this pristine, perfectly objective system of theology. This is ultimately both futile and unbiblical. Futile because absolutely everything we do is done within history and culture, including our theology; unbiblical because God reveals His redemptive story in history and culture. Second, it creates this expectation that the purpose of a systematic theology is to, in some sense, figure out what the biblical authors were actually trying to say, which leads to this question: If the systematic works of such theologians as Augustine, Aquinas, Calvin, Hodge, or Grudem tell us what the Bible is really saying, why read the Bible in the first place? This isn't just theory but the reality of the situation. A growing number of evangelical theologians are pointing out that rather than the emphasis upon systematic theology inspiring people to engage Scripture, it's actually causing apathy if not simply driving them away from the biblical text. That's tragic, and I must confess that that was my personal experience at both Moody and TFC.

2. Theological Circle

This approach is definitely a step in the right direction. Like the first approach it sees historical theology as essential, each of the disciplines as equally important, and that they all lead to one another. What this approach does better is that all the sub-disciplines are self-checking and no one is more important than another. My biggest critique is that they aren't numbered to provide a specific order. Under this approach one could just as easily start with their systematic theology as exegesis, which could potentially have a profound influence in skewing one's exegesis. For example, I agree with the hermeneutical principle that clear passages of Scripture should be used to interpret ambiguous ones, but who determines what is clear and what is ambiguous? How many times have I heard one camp of Christians say that you have to interpret Hebrews 6:4-6 in light of John 10:28, while the other camp says just the opposite? You see my hesitancy in declaring what verses ought to be used to interpret others. It seems to me that all-too-often people's theological systems, and not the biblical text itself, determines what is “clear” and what is “ambiguous.” An argument could be made that these various theological systems end up determining what the Bible says instead of the Bible itself defining the system. Anyway, my point is this: I’m supportive of the view that all theological sub-disciplines are equal in both necessity and importance, but am leery of when the other sub-disciplines precede exegesis.

3. Theological Development with Checks & Balances

In my estimate this is far and away the best approach. The development of theology starts with exegesis, which leads to biblical theology, which leads to historical theology, which leads to systematic theology. As the progression occurs, however, each sub-discipline is checked by those before it. In this way, exegesis checks all and systematic theology checks nothing. Exegesis is the ace that trumps all. Systematic theology is the final product of all the other disciplines, but it trumps nothing. If there's one thing I could change about this chart, I'd make each one in order visually smaller to demonstrate the decreasing significance. The biblical narrative is what's most important, both in terms of its authority and how much it should be emphasized. Systematic theology is good, valuable, and certainly has its role, but it's relegated to the position of pawn rather than its all-too-common place as king.

OK, so what does all this have to do with hermeneutics and our interpretation of Psalm 51:5? Three things. First, it’s my belief that Grudem doesn’t use good exegetical principles because he’s employing the pyramid approach. Since he seems systematic theology as the pinnacle and goal, he’s prone to skipping the hard work of exegesis in favor of jumping straight to systematic concerns. His primary concern with Psalm 51:5 is what the passage has to say about the doctrine of Original Sin rather than the focus being on David’s original intent. Let me be clear: My contention is that the issue of Original Sin shouldn’t even come up until we’ve first properly exegeted the text. Second, I’m not rejecting either the doctrines of Total Depravity or Original Sin, but I concur with Gordon and Fee that we can’t get those from Psalm 51:5. Third, don’t get me wrong. There is no question that the Psalms are profoundly theological, but not the sort of theology we want; that is, the Psalms reflect theology but should not be read/interpreted as systematic propositions.

From Beloved Hypocrite to Scorned *Saint: Musing on Humility, Pride, and the Recognition of God's Gifts

*Please pardon my use of the word "saint." I'm employing the term solely because neither I nor the internet can apparently come up with an antonym of "hypocrite." If there's a better noun out there, let me know and I'll be happy to amend the title.

This post isn't written as a self-defense, but an honest and (hopefully) thoughtful consideration of some criticism that's recently been offered of me. Let me be clear that my intention is to work through some of the issues and questions that have been floating around in my mind, then finish up by seeking the counsel of godly men and women about them. My overall goal is to discern these matters and apply any of the legitimate correction that has been put forth so that I can better worship God as well as more consistently and faithfully follow Christ's example. Alrighty, so here goes...

I've recently had a number of people who I generally respect suggest that I'm arrogant, narcissistic, pretentious, and these sorts of things. As best I can tell the thrust of these criticisms seems to have arisen from the fact that I've been open and honest about my God-given gifts and abilities. For example, just yesterday I made a public comment about how I've been sensing a return of the Spirit's leading to ordination, including a Jonah reference to express my sharp inward resistance to the prospect. The intent was to make a comment that expressed my honest frustration and trepidation in a humorous yet thought-provoking manner. Some of those who read it didn't take it that way, though.

In the discourse that unfolded I casually recognized that I think I'd be a pretty good pastor because I possess those abilities that would lend themselves to being a good pastor--teaching, administration, discernment, empathy for those who are suffering (spiritually, psychologically, and physically), commitment to the Word, etc. When I make comments like this I usually try to be honest about the matter while simultaneously making a concerted effort to both outwardly in my speech/writings and inwardly in my heart recognize that anything I have or anything I do well is a sheer gift from God.

An example of this would be my ongoing references to my existence as a twice-exceptional learner. What this means is that I'm both "profoundly learning disabled" and intellectually "gifted," according to the psychiatrist who diagnosed me. (Over the past year I've often described myself as a retard genius, then referenced my uncle's description that I'm a "pseudo idiot savant.") Since the diagnosis I've become comfortable in acknowledging those intellectual abilities I do have. Whenever I feel even a tinge of intellectual pride, however,, there's this ever-present question that arises in my mind: How on earth could I possibly be prideful about my intellectual prowess when I'm simultaneously so impaired that I cannot perform many of the basic cognitive tasks most others do with ease? (I really think this is God's sovereignly built-in pride breaker.) Yet it seems that my mere recognition of my God-given gifts suggests to people that I'm exhibiting pride.

The thing that perplexes me is that back in high school straight into my year at Moody I used to be a spiritually cunning prick. I'd do this self-depreciating routine where I'd deny or downplay whatever talents or abilities I have, which made me appear very humble and pious, but the honest truth is that I harbored a boat load--think freighter, not paddle boat--of false humility. I excelled at "playing the game," as my brother used to say. I embraced my innate craftiness, utilizing it to manipulate the Christians around me into thinking I was this amazing, humble servant-leader. In all candor, everyone kissed my ass and told me how they sensed that God had called me to be a pastor. I remember one former youth pastor saying that he sensed I was destined to be "a powerful leader in the next generation of the Church." Outwardly there were few more godly late-teen Christians out there. Of course it was a different story inwardly.

Please don't misunderstand me. My pursuit of God was genuine, but the reality of the sitseeation was that the flesh was winning. I'd become the worst type of religious person: The kind who uses spirituality to mask self-seeking pride, hypocrisy, self-righteousness, and a lust for power/control. In short, I was a fundamentalist jackass that pretty well embodied the worst of Christianity... yet I was beloved by most Christians! To put employ a political metaphor, I was the crooked, scum bag congressman who runs on a platform of christian morality and family values, yet it's all PR crap used to pursue an insatiable lust for sex, greed, and power. Worse yet I kept getting reelected because I was so good at playing the political game. Thankfully as the years have passed the Spirit's leading has not. God broke me like Bane broke Batman's back. It hurt. Few things have sucked more, but as a result I can now say that I've genuinely had a spiritual transformation... or experienced progressive sanctification. Whichever you prefer.

Naturally, this is where one gets hosed. The moment ya say you're a humble guy you'd better watch yourself. In one of those never-ending ironies produced by the fall, we're all prone to taking selfish pride in our humble submission to God. That being said and after having asked God not to let me fall into that trap, I can honestly report that I genuinely feel that by the Spirit's helping grace I'm now pretty inwardly humble. I think the Spirit literally beat the hell out of me. The biblical theme that has perhaps most permeated my soul ever since one of my friends harrassed me into reading Andrew Murray's book, Humility, six years ago is the recognition that all that I am is a gift from the Lord.

Time for the part that baffles me.

Just when I've become honest and (hopefully) humble in recognizing my complete reliance upon God's grace is the exact time in which everyone is accusing me of being a jackass. When I was one of the world's worst hypocrites, Christians loved me and sang my praises. Now that I've repented and turned from all that crap they scorn me--challenging my authenticity, making false assumptions, spreading falsehoods about my character, and so forth. I've no doubt of the sincerity of many of the individuals who said or wrote these things to me and I appreciate those who've had the testicular fortitude to bring their concerns directly to me rather than this pansy passive-aggressive junk, but I marvel at the lunacy of their timing. I've gone from beloved hypocrite to scorned saint... To quote the great John McEnroe, "YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!!"

To end this on a constructive note, I'd like to ask for help from my brothers and sisters in the Lord. Please help me understand this whole thing. Please explain what I'm not grasping. Do I really come across as the way people have recently described me? Do you sense that I'm proud, narcissistic, or any of that jazz? If so, why? Where's the line between pride and simply being honest about God-given abilities? On an internal level it's obviously a matter of the heart, but on an external level how does one go about communicating in such a way that doesn't sound proud? Do these perceptions of me ultimately boil down to cultural or personality differences? These are just a few questions, but I'm intentionally trying to leave it open for people to say whatever they're thinking/feeling. If you really think I'm in sin, I would ask you to humbly confront me and give a detailed explanation why you think that way. I'm asking for clarification and/or correction.

Thank you.

C.S. Lewis, Our ADHD Culture, Anglicanism, Eucharist & the White Vandellas, Trite Evangelicalism, the anti-TBN, and the Path Forward

In his book The Weight of Glory, Anglican author C.S. Lewis once wrote, "There is a crowd of busybodies, self-appointed masters of ceremonies, whose life is devoted to destroying solitude wherever solitude still exists." This is but one of many terrific quotes in that work touching upon the same general theme that Western society has become obsessed with kinetic energy. Thinking about this side of the pond more specifically, ours is an ADHD society with an accompanying culture that glorifies constant movement, deafeningly loud sounds, multicolored and flashing lights, and so forth—anything to drone out the excruciating boredom associated with simply being. And it’s obviously gotten far worse in the half century since Lewis' death. Our uncritical embrace of pragmatism has created a situation where we seem to have embraced productivity, efficiency, and multitasking as our chief values with entertainment, simplification, and ease following as their derivative virtues. Tragically, a couple Sunday mornings back it became obvious that even Lewis' own church tradition is not immune. It was a disheartening revelation.

One of the most beautiful things I've come to appreciate about (orthodox) Anglicanism, an aspect that distinguishes it from so many other evangelical sub-traditions, is the emphasis upon getting away from the busybodies. This is particularly true about traditional Anglican services, the crescendo of which is the Eucharist. It’s a time of solemnity, reverence, and simple still—a sense of otherness from the chaotic hustle and bustle of everyday life—that fosters spiritual meditation and holistic worship of God from one’s heart, mind, and soul.

Living amidst a culture that resembles a jet ski gliding across a crowded lake on a hot summer day, I've found Anglican services to be like a large ocean liner that is slowly, gently cutting through the water's depths on a crisp, clear night. For a few precious minutes the world shuts up and is calm. I revel in that peaceful quiet. For these cherished moments are among the rare instances when I consistently feel closest to God in some sort of way that I cannot fully explain. As much as I've yearned for and sought after the sort mystical Eucharist experience that both the Orthodox and Anglicans often describe, in my case it has nothing to do with an incarnational sacramentology that tears down of the wall between the physical and spiritual realms and everything to do with a profound sense of awe toward the overwhelming love Christ showed on the cross, and the gratefulness I have in being a part of the New Covenant. It's just the opposite of the deep-rooted unease I sensed growing up as a Pentecostal when we tried to synthesize this overt religious ritual with our low church, anti-tradition sensibilities via soup crackers and Welch's grape juice. This is an admittedly subjective assessment, but it feels to me as though the awkward, almost begrudging way that Pentecostals stumble through the Lord's Supper is reversed by the comfortable, gracious way that Anglicans celebrate the Eucharist.

It's not hard to imagine my disappointment and dismay, then, when Anglicans inexplicably take a page out of the evangelical Playbook of Latest Fads in an effort to be more culturally relevant and contemporary. Now I should acknowledge that I've made a personal decision not to take part in the Eucharist until I've decided the join the Anglican tradition—if ever that happens. Nevertheless, I've been immensely blessed by simply being there and taking it in. This wasn't the case at the service I attended two weeks ago, though. The whole time they had this trio that looked like a white version of The Vandellas sans Martha or talent. Their blatant murder of Anglican serenity surrounding the Eucharist via cheesy, mid-'90s praise and worship songs nearly provoked a Simon Cowell outburst from me.

Have you ever attended a Pentecostal church? If so, you probably recall the conclusion of the service when, usually after a lot impassioned yelling and/or crying, the pastor suddenly gets really quiet and says, "Will the musicians come?" So they go up and perform some sort of sappy song, which is undoubtedly full of vain repetition, in conjunction with the pastor's imploring the people to "come into relationship with Jesus," "come seek His face here at the altar," or "come down and experience His goodness." The goal of all this being an experience with God, which psychologists see as sheer emotional manipulation produced within a collective frenzy. Apparently THAT is what this Anglican church was going for: same songs at the end of a service, just during the Eucharist instead of an altar call. Crikey. Wouldn't want to resist the onslaught of our hyperactive culture and allow for a period of silent mediation now would we? Heaven forbid the people go without entertainment for 10 minutes.

Look, I'm not a complete Luddite. I'm ambivalent toward the vestments. I don't think every last word spoken throughout the service ought to be found within the liturgy. I can't stand organs. And I'm more than open to the idea of using guitars, drums, and that sort of thing so long as it's done well. (*Note: It's rarely if ever done well, but it is a theoretical possibility...) Yet at the same time one of the most powerful draws of Anglicanism is that it isn't obsessed with being contemporary and entertaining—that it hasn't bought hook, line, and sinker into the cultural wasteland of contemporary evangelicalism.

As a kid I distinctly remember owning a Pepsi knockoff t-shirt that said, "You've got the right one, baby Jesus, uh huh!" The sad part is that we can all imagine these shirts still being made today, although now it'd be a retro shirt. (Rabbit trail: Can you imagine what it's gonna be like when Christians hop on the retro t-shirt bandwagon in their customary 5-7 year tardiness? I shutter at the thought.) It'll almost as if conservative evangelical culture pulled a Quantum Leap, Ziggy malfunctioned, and the whole movement got permanently suck in 1989. All of which is exactly what makes Anglicanism's "otherness" so dang appealing, by the way. There's a parallel relationship between the degree to which I loathe evangelicalism's all-too-often trite culture and the degree to which I'm drawn to Anglicanism. I love that Anglicans don't use hideous church signs that say stuff like "This church is prayer conditioned" or "Whats missing in CH__CH?" I love that I don't confuse their parishes/churches with a Wells Fargo because of a scrolling sign out front. I love that I don't have this constant lingering suspicion that the worship band is trying to mimic the Bon Jovi performance they saw last weekend with concert lighting and volume so loud that it damages one's eardrum. I love that the pastor's/priest's/rector's sermon doesn't remind me of a corporate board meeting complete with gimmicky acronyms that are conveniently displayed within a PowerPoint that's projected on a screen. I love that Anglicans can handle 4.6 seconds of silence without starting to fidget.

Do me a favor. Think about what comes to your mind when you read the word "Anglicanism." Draw a mental picture. OK, got it? Alright, now do the same thing for "Trinity Broadcasting Network." With the exception of them both being related to Christianity, were the two mental images not almost the exact opposite of one another? I'm telling you, that's perhaps Anglicanism's greatest strength going forward. As the anti-TBN it has the potential to be a part of the antidote for what has gone awry with American evangelicalism while simultaneously integrating those things the movement does well. All of which is precisely why these songs during the Eucharist bothered me so much.

As annoying as they were, this whole thing isn't merely a giant rant against the bad singers that distracted me two weeks ago. It's about the futures of both the evangelical movement and the Anglican tradition within this country. It seems obvious to me that Anglicanism's correct path forward isn't in accommodating to our culture's acute attention deficit like so many evangelical churches have done, but to embrace its unique approach as providing a much-needed alternative. Rather than putting their tails between their legs about their unusual practices, Anglicans should celebrate those distinctions and announce them to all who will listen; not in a prideful manner that looks with condescension upon others, but in a manner that happily embraces its peculiar nature and looks at it as something it can offer to the larger evangelical community.

Embracing Labels? Musings on Communication, Psychology, Sociology, Theology, and Much Else

Let's call a spade a spade. Often times people like to think they're a lot more complicated than they actually are. A year or so ago I was discussing some point of theology with a Pentecostal gentleman who'd stumbled across my facebook notes. It didn't take long before he became adamant that he's not a Pentecostal, but merely a "follower of Jesus." Riiiiiiight. I asked him if he speaks in tongues. Yep. Does he think all Christians should do so? Yep. Does he regularly attend prophetic prayer meetings and healing seminaries? Yep. Is he a deacon at an Assemblies of God church? Yep. Does he affirm the "baptism in the Holy Spirit with evidence of speaking in tongues"? Yep. Yet he's still not a Pentecostal? Nope. How does the old saying go? I believe it's, "When I see a bird that walks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, I call that bird a duck." Yet I hear these sort of (seemingly) irrational claims all the time. Frankly, I think the rejection of such labels is inane.

Solely in terms of communication it's necessary to have words to describe things--persons, places, movements, ideas, beliefs, etc. This is why I can't stand when people talk about how they don't want to be "labeled." What's the the problem? Everything has a freaking label. Hi, I'm Carson. That's my label. I drive an Escort. That's my car's label. I grew up Oklahoma before moving to Minnesota. There's two more labels. I graduated from Toccoa Falls College. That's its label. You get the point. Seems to me that a world without labels is nonsensical. Perhaps that's why God had Adam immediately set out upon the task of naming--eh hem, labeling--the animals.

I understand that labels are imperfect. As the big, bad Derrida has rightly pointed out, words are quite limited in that they cannot capture the total essence of the things they're describing. The word "Carson" doesn't come close to fully representing me. It doesn't explain who I am, what I think, how I feel, or any of that. Yet it does point to and represent me in a sufficient enough manner that it enables transference of thoughts and mutual understanding. In this way words are imperfect yet not without meaning. Of course one must constantly reassess words--not only to see if their meanings align with the contemporary reality, but the evolving meaning of the words themselves. Welcome to the beautiful chaos that is language.

The unsavory reality that must be considered, however, is the way that so many people use labels from a defensive, or even an offensive, posture. They want to use labels aggressively to define who is "in" and who is "out"--using language not only as a means of communicating but attempting to prove/disprove certain positions and views. It's almost as if they think that if you win the day in defining a word to your liking you therefore win the argument. In this way the emphasis is shifted from an exploration of substantial content to superficial semantics. All too often this is especially true when religious figures are advocating their views. For example, how many times have I heard such apologists and theologians as Norm Geisler and D.A. Carson respectively try to re-define "evangelicalism" in a narrow manner that excludes those to their left whom they deem liberal and wrong? The concern over such linguistic militancy one share I wholeheartedly.

And course there's the problem of conceptual associations and simplifications. It's a problem we all face to one degree or another. When I describe myself as an evangelical older folks wonder if I mean the Billy Graham sort or the Franklin Graham sort while younger people assume I'm aligning myself with James Dobson and Focus on the Family. When I tell my conservative brother that I'm a political moderate he assumes that means raging liberalism cloaked with academic naivety and detached from reality. When I tell some of my former professors that I'm questioning Sola Scriptura they assume that means I'll soon be swearing allegiance to Rome. This list could go on forever. However, it seems to me that the true problem in such situations isn't necessarily the innate implications of the labels but the willful ignorance and anti-intellectual impulses of the listeners. The words coming out of my mouth are evangelical, moderate, and questioning, but the words they choose to hear are fundamentalist, socialist, and papist. Labels ought not be blamed for the blatant idiocy they illuminate and shouldn't be avoided to placate cretins.

Plus there's the whole issue that technical words make communication easier. Any Christian who has spent much time studying the doctrine of the Trinity knows that that label fails to encapsulate the complexity of one God yet three, co-equal Persons, yet can you imagine if every time we wanted to talk about the Trinity we had to say, "One God yet three, co-equal Persons." Such inadequate labels ironically give us a great ability to communicate with clarity and efficiency. This is why it's utterly foolish for the metaphorical duck to deny the legitimacy of taxonomy. It just causes confusion and unnecessarily increases the quantity of words.

Another angle I've seen is this: In light of division and seeming personality cults found within the Church that Paul rebukes in 1 Corinthians 1 & 3, isn't it morally and spiritually wrong to call ourselves anything but followers of Christ? At least this is how the matter has been put to me in the past. I think this is a misleading question that obscures some very important lines. Namely, is it being used to find a sense of identity or merely as a description of where one is at? In other words, is the label used as a noun or an adjective? I'd suggest that it's a matter of one's heart intention. Yes, it's abundantly clear that the way labels are typically employed is for the former purpose. Yes, most Christians appear to find a great deal of their identity in their label as a Baptist, Catholic, Mennonite, Pentecostal, Anglican, Methodist, Calvinist, and all the rest. But I believe that's wrong. I don't think it's wrong, however, to find one's identity in Christ as a member of His global Body and then to say, "Yes, I believe in 'the baptism of the Holy Spirit with evidence of speaking in tongues,' so the word 'Pentecostal' effectively describes my theological beliefs, worship practices, and faith tradition. I'll embrace it in so far as it'll help others to understand me." It's not unlike a person in the first century who might be described as a Christian from the church in Corinth. "Follower of Apollos" = bad. "Corinthian Christian" = just fine. Again, identity vs. description. Let's not simplistically assume that just because people employ labels it necessarily follows that their usage and/or intent is the same.

And what about all the baggage? Isn't it wise to abandon a term such as "Christian" if it becomes a stumbling block? I understand the rationale there, but even this is fraught with problems. Say Christians as a whole abandon that label and start using "follower of Jesus." It won't be long before that term also has been soiled. Not to mention this just feels like a cheap parlor trick. Are we really resorting to a gimmicky carousel of name changes to avoid associating ourselves with the mistakes of our brothers and sisters in Christ who've come before us? Why not instead just be upfront and say, "Sorry"? Still others might protest that that reason for using something like "follower of Christ" is to bring the focus back to Jesus himself rather than a religion--the whole personal relationship thing. Again, I get that, but isn't that basically what "Christian" means anyway? I'm offering no judgment of those who are taking the "follower of Jesus" route--by which I mean I'm not declaring it to be innately right or wrong, nor am I definitively saying what they should or shouldn't do--but I do think that path represents an effort to take the path of least resistance, which I don't believe is always the wisest alternative.

And stereotypes? Don't labels promote them? No doubt this will enrage a few people, but here's my personal philosophy on this one: As used in popular culture and stemming from sociology, stereotypes are "simplified and standardized conception[s] or image[s] invested with special meaning and held in common by members of a group." Like it or not, stereotypes exist for a reason. They develop from a group's experience and help both individuals and groups make sense of the world by facilitating the assimilation of new information into a previously existent schema. Thus, the problem is not simply that we use or acknowledge stereotypes or even that they exist. The problem is when one's schema becomes rigid, rendering it incapable of adapting to new information. In these cases stereotypes continue to be held regardless of evidence that would nuance or overhaul them; that is, it's the point at which cognitive dissonance prevents stereotypes from being altered. The key is that one's schema remain flexible. Personally, I think stereotypes are just fine so long as we're not only passively willing to reconsider them and adapt our underlying schema, but we actively seek to do so. (By the way for those of you who are mentally protesting and about to set your keyboards ablaze with "you don't know what it's like!" objections, rest assured that I do. People have had many stereotypical perceptions of me that have been false. That doesn't bother me. It's when they refuse to modify those perceptions and stereotypes as merited by new evidence that I get kinda pissy.)

Finally, what about people who genuinely don't fit certain labels? Given our context here I think about a Christian who holds to historic orthodoxy, rejects Sola Scriptura, yet also is not a Catholic or Orthodox, for example. Does the label of "Protestant" really work for that person, and if it's a poor fit why use the thing at all just to nuance it so much as to render it virtually unrecognizable? In all honesty and from personal experience, of all of the reasons to reject a label this, in my estimate, is the one that has the most credence. All I can say is that, yes, there might be times when certain labels don't fit and ought be wholly rejected. As I can testify, sometimes this can happen quite a bit who doesn't typically stay off the beaten path. It's frustrating as heck. Even in those cases, however, I think it's fatuous to maintain an impulse away from labels; to reject them offhand just because one dislikes being boxed in or defined. In most cases I've seen it's the product of both rebellion and immaturity. I can sympathize with the rejection of a label in certain circumstances, but not with the wholesale rejection of all labels even when they fit. As I said before, but no one is so original and/or complicated as to defy all labels completely.

Politically Divided but United as the Body of Christ

I've been a political junky since as early as I can remember. From what my parents tell me I once became so enraged at my brother as a four or five-year-old that I called him the dirtiest, most hateful thing I could possibly imagine: "You Democrat!" (Grandma was none too pleased with that one.) And I'm pretty sure I was the only one in my second grade class to have a strong opinion on the '92 presidential election. (Wouldn't be prudent to vote for Clinton or Perot.) While my political views have moderated significantly over the years, the fact remains that I've always had a strong interest in politics and the underlying political philosophies.

However, this past fall my growing frustrations became so exacerbated that I had to try something new. I became so irritated that my fellow Christians' conduct in no way differed from their non-christian counterparts--heartless militancy to the right, naive condescension to my left, and apathy in the center--that I had to take a six month break from all things political to save my sanity. Didn't quite work out as I intended, but over that span I did take a step back from the fray. I didn't check the news websites multiple times a day as has long been my custom, cut back dramatically on my John Stewart and Stephen Colbert clips via Nate Page, didn't read magazine articles... that sort of thing. This withdrawal was much needed and proved to be beneficial to just about every area of my life. So you can imagine my recent temptation to do the same thing after this latest high tide of political jackassery (not to be confused with pompousassity) over health care. Just when I was about to commence with Round 2 of my political sabbatical I had an idea: Instead of throwing in the towel, why not be a part of the solution? Model a different way. The ol' wheels were turning.

I came up with an idea for a facebook group that would be a part of the solution. It would figuratively get Christians from all over the political spectrum in the same room, get them to recognize that their temporal earthly identities had to be second to their eternal identities, demand that they behave like Christians (novel concept), and create a platform from which they could voice their beliefs, opinions, views, and perspectives to those with whom they disagree without direct engagement/confrontation. It would model a better way than the glorified political cockfighting we see on Foxnews, CNN, and the blogosphere. Maybe, just maybe, it would inspire a few Christians to change both their tone and their approach by keeping in mind that our political divisions must not take priority over our spiritual unity in Christ.

Yesterday I created that group. Its name is "Politically Divided but United as the Body of Christ." The text below was copied and pasted from the group's description. Once you've read it, if you resonate with the premise I'd encourage you to join the group by clicking here.

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There exists a number of enormous challenges for Christians engaged in the political realm that reflects the difficult tension of trying to be in the world but not of it:

First, Christians aren't called to remove themselves from society--allowing evil to reign because good men do nothing, as it goes--yet all too often Christians have prostituted Christ's Bride to temporal political organizations, tragically using Christ's name to justify some of humankind's most heinous acts. In surveying Church history, it seems that for every William Wilberforce working to abolish slavery there's also a Pope Urban II declaring, "Deus vult!" (God wills it!) to initiate the Crusades.

Second, how do we work within these structures without giving into them? This not only means in terms of moral and ethical corruption, but even in failing to believe, think, and act primarily as Christians. All too often Christians have forgotten that according to 1 Peter 2 we are a "chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God" and "aliens and strangers in the world." Accordingly, our citizenship in the kingdom of heaven must always take priority over and be reflected in our earthly citizenship. That is, our unconditional allegiance cannot, or should not, be to any temporal political nation, leader, party, or agenda, but to Christ and His kingdom alone. An instance that we ought not forget is during WWII when the vast majority of German Christians lost sight of their eternal identities in favor of their national loyalty. This meant that their allegiance was to Adolf Hitler and his Nazi Party rather than to Christ and His kingdom. In that context a pastor-theologian named Dietrich Bonhoeffer quickly came to understand that Christians cannot serve two masters. He knew that his commitment was to God first and his country second. He believed that his unqualified allegiance had to be to Christ and His kingdom alone. Today he is remembered as one of the few Christians in Germany who didn't bow to Hitler amidst all his atrocities. May we not forget that lesson.

Third, there's no quick and easy answer for what Christians should do when they disagree over politics. What is certain is what Christians shouldn't do. Throughout history generation after generation of Christians have slayed one another both physically on the battlefield and in their hearts because of their opposition in the political realm. One wonders what God thinks when He sees such instances as French and German christian soldiers celebrating Christmas together during WWI and then presuming to kill each other the next day, when churches split and Christians hate one another because some are Republicans and others Democrats, or when American Christians support a political agenda that provides financial and military backing which enables the Israeli government to kill Palestinian Christians. Regardless of our differences, such conflicts are profoundly unacceptable within the Body of Christ.

So what do we do? How should we as members of Christ's Body behave within the political sphere? Such a proposal is far beyond the scope of this fb group, but there is one small but essential thing that can be done. We can listen to one another. This may seem inconsequential, but, as the old adage goes, we're never going to understand one another till we've walked a mile in each others' shoes. That starts with listening.

Please invite anyone you know who may be interested in this group.

Here's the group's theme verse, intention, and rules:

• This group's theme verse is John 17:20-21 where Jesus prayed:

"I do not ask on behalf of these alone, but for those also who believe in Me through their word; that they may all be one; even as You, Father, are in Me and I in You, that they also may be in Us, so that the world may believe that You sent Me."

• The intention here is seeking to fulfill Christ's prayer for unity in the Body by opening the lines of communication, albeit indirectly, between conservative, moderate, and liberal Christians. Far too often people surround themselves exclusively with like-minded persons, which renders them incapable of even fathoming why someone else would think differently. The purpose here isn't to provide a place for these various ideological perspectives to engage one another through debate or even discussion. Rather it's a place for Christians to publicly voice their thoughts, beliefs, opinions, and perspectives and allow others of differing views to read it. Mutual understanding amidst disagreement, if you will. My hope is that all participants will moor their pursuit of truth in love, humility, compassion, grace, and commitment to overcoming the heartbreaking division's in Christ's Body.

• The group's wall isn't to be used for voicing political beliefs of any persuasion nor debating of any sort.

• Within the group's discussion board area there are three sections: Liberal/Progressive, Moderate/Centrist, Conservative/Libertarian. People are only allowed to comment in which ever area they align. This includes both initial comments and responses. Thus, people will be only engaging like-minded individuals in discussion: conservatives-conservatives, moderates-moderates, liberals-liberals. However, people from the other two ideological perspectives are encouraged to read these discussions. Remember, the ultimate purpose here is mutual understanding, not proving/disproving one another through debate.

• Any posts written outside people’s own ideological perspective will be deleted by an administrator. It doesn’t matter what the tone or content is.

• The thrust of all posts must be FOR something, not AGAINST something. The focus of a person's post must be on why he/she holds a position, not why the other side's position is wrong. We're not going to let this group digress into name calling, venting frustration about the other side(s), etc. We're going to behave like Christians.

• To provide fairness, balance and equality in the group's operation, I'll attempt to always have an equal number of conservatives, moderates, and liberals as administrators.

If you cannot follow these guidelines, I would ask you not to join. If you join and still cannot follow them, you will be removed.