Mini Blog #14: Pilgrimage

For half a decade I've sensed the Spirit's drawing toward a more historic form of Christianity. I've yearned to be part of an ecclesiastical tradition that celebrates history; a tradition that has its doctrines moored in historic orthodoxy and its practices rooted in Church history. This past year in particular I've felt burdened by feelings of loneliness, exhaustion, and worry. Loneliness because I've felt tangibly detached from the redemptive narrative that began in Scripture and has continued through 2,000 years of Christendom; exhaustion resulting from the weight of carrying evangelicalism's hectic pragmatism and obsession with the here and now; worry because I felt like I'd neglected the Church Fathers, whose wisdom and guidance seamlessly built upon the precedent set by Christ and then the apostles. In some very mystical sense that I cannot fully explain, I've been feeling called home to a tradition that gives me fellowship--not only with Christians in a local body, but Christians transcending time and space--and oversight. This is why after nearly a year of rigorously exploring the Church of England, I'm on the verge of committing my life to the Anglican tradition. This weekend I'll be going on something of a pilgrimage to attend the Sunday morning services at one of the oldest parishes in the United States--Christ Church of Savannah, GA. Founded in 1733, this parish is truly remarkable in American history not only for its age but for having such early rectors as John Wesley and George Whitefield. As any life-long commitment bears great significance, I've been attempting carefully to weigh this decision in my heart and mind while seeking to discern God's will. Thus, nothing is yet final, but I am close. I would ask those brothers and sisters in Christ who read this post to please pray as I seemingly near the end of the Canterbury Trail.

Mini Blog #13: Tinkerbell

A criticism I often heard growing up was that Washington politicians were throwing money at problems without the foggiest clue of what was actually wrong or the complexity of the solution. I've come to see that that wisdom applies to the Bible, too. Like government spending, our discerning application of Scripture should be guided by thoughtful consideration and wisdom. Money applied wisely can help correct many problems, but the same money applied foolishly can often worsen those problems. The same is true of Scripture. (By the way, this is my beef with Bible Quiz Teams that memorize Scripture yet are never taught to rightly interpret it.) For example, I've witnessed Christians share the doubts that plague the very depths of their souls only to be told, "God's ways are not our ways; His thoughts are not our thoughts." That reference, which comes from Isaiah 55:8-9, has harmed many Christians' faith because it was totally ripped out of context. The passage most certainly isn't about conceding our ability to find resolution to difficult questions by pleading pious naivety. The larger context of the chapter is about God offering mercy. The specific context from verse 7 is the unrighteous man turning from his wicked thoughts and, basically, finding salvation in God. Especially since most of the people that verse is quoted to are born again believers already professing faith in Christ, applying that segment of Scripture to struggles with doubt is a flagrant, albeit generally unintentional, misuse/abuse of Scripture. Please, brothers and sisters in Christ, if you truly believe the Bible is God's Word then I implore you to stop throwing around Scripture as though it were Tinkerbell's magic fairy dust in Never Never Land. Instead commit to seriously understanding both Scripture and the contemporary, non-fiction world in which God's Word must be carefully applied.

A Time for Everything: Musing on Abraham Lincoln

Most Americans believe Abraham Lincoln was a great president. Many go so far as to esteem him the cream of the Rushmore crop. Yet my observation has been that most fundamentally fail to understand the man.

Lincoln was an extraordinary complex man. His melancholy temperament caused him to continuously nuance his thoughts and wrestle with his beliefs, which gave him foresight enough to see past the needs of the moment without being immune to the pain of the present. Look at the Gettysburg Address. That gruesome battle was the turning point of the war and by far the Union's most important victory. Whereas most men would've delivered a rousing celebratory speech, Lincoln defied expectation to commiserate the dead. Like Ford's pardon of Nixon, it brought untold criticism at the time yet we look back and marvel at the wisdom. It was time to mourn.

He also possessed the ability to understand the many, nuanced sides of an issue while avoiding the pitfalls of dogmatism and cowardice, certitude and relativism; all without the presumption that his finite perspective aligned with God's. As a student of American history I cannot think of another president who, nearing the end of the tragic conflict, would have written the following in his diary:

"The will of God prevails. In great contests each party claims that to act in accordance with the will of God. Both may be, but one must be wrong. God can not be for, and against the same thing at the same time. In the present civil war it is quite possible that God’s purposes is something different from the purpose of either party- yet the human instrumentalties, working just as they do, are the best adaptation to effect His purpose. I am almost ready to say that this is probably true."

Whatever one's view on Lincoln the politician, all should agree that lesser men wouldn't have brought this balanced, invaluable perspective. His was a plagued soul, and we are the better for it.

Yet because few of us value the qualities that made him so great we errantly read our own culture's expectations of greatness back into history, thereby contorting his greatest strengths into weaknesses he overcame. In my estimate, there's a lesson to be learned there. Quite often we want an energetic leader; a man of action, optimism, and pragmatism to rally the metaphorical troops when what is needed at the time is a person of reflection, melancholy, and principle who will cause us to somberly consider the gravity of our mistakes before considering the right path forward.

I have often thought that Lincoln embodies the wisdom of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace."

Like the author of Ecclesiastes, he understood that there is a time for everything. And if my readers will forgive me for speculating, I can't help but think that in his darkest hours Lincoln would've resonated with Qoheleth that all of life is vanity.

Mini Blog #12: Imperfection

"If you find the perfect church, don't join it, because it won't be perfect anymore." I get that response all the time when I say or write some critique of the Church. Perhaps it was once a proverbial word of wisdom, but it's now attained cliché status--"a trite, stereotyped expression... that has lost originality, ingenuity, and impact by long overuse." Let's be honest. Only the most protrusive ignoramuses remain unaware of their own sinfulness and its effect upon local bodies. My concern isn't those persons or that problem, but the culture of complacency that has become so great that many of us can't find a decent church. That's what that phrase has come to represent. As C.S. Lewis once put it, "Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither." I'm tired of people saying I'm too much of an idealist or that I'll mellow with age. We need to stop dismissing exhortations toward perfection as quaint ideals when people point out legitimate problems. Admittedly, we'll never reach them this side of eternity but they remain the non-negotiable standards Christ established. The biblical tension is acknowledging our imperfection yet refusing to accept it. I propose the following revision: "Every church and person is imperfect, but that's why you should join; together you can strive toward perfection." Our final emphasis shouldn't be on the tragic reality of the fall, but instead on the blessed reality of our ongoing redemption.

Mini Blog #11: Discernmentarianism

Today I celebrate four great years with my wife, so I thought I'd write a post about marriage.

You ever spend a lot of time studying the many sides of a given debate only to decide all the common options are inadequate? Happens to me all the time with theology. Calvinism or Arminianism? If you'll please excuse me for a moment, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. Pentecostalism or Cessationism? Tweedledee or Tweedledum. Dispensationalism or Covenant Theology? That's like asking whether I prefer country or death metal. I don't. The most recent addition to the list is Complementarianism vs. Egalitarianism. Suffice to say I've become thoroughly dissatisfied with either position based upon not only interpretive considerations, but personal experience. Survey (theoretically) complementarian marriages for a moment. Who hasn't seen the following types?

• Thriving: Husbands sacrificially serving as the family's head by lovingly guiding their submissive wives.
  
• Sham: The men might be the heads of their families, but the women are the necks.
  
• Tragic: Idiotic pricks who dominate women who truly are their better halves.
• Miserable: Neutered husbands who are incapable of standing up to their--shall we say?--headstrong wives.
  

And those four don't begin to scratch the surface, which is to say nothing of egalitarian marriages with the same degree of diversity. Obviously there are principles that should govern all marriages (e.g. love, mutual submission, forgiveness), but given the inimitability of each and every person and the resulting complexities of all relationships, I'm not convinced there is a given ideal for what all marriages ought to be. My view is that the only definitive, God-ordained model is that each couple should thoughtfully and prayerfully discern on a continual basis what their individual marriage should look like. In my own marriage, I'd be a fool to be a complementarian but in many others I've seen they'd be fools to be egalitarians. There's room enough for both. What a particular marriage looks like shouldn't be based upon an external standard that forces couples into a certain mold, but upon the internal needs of a husband's and wife's unique marital relationship. Some might suggest that my view has fallen prey to sheer relativism. Fair enough. I would only reply that my view (i.e. that the relationship between a husband and wife in a marriage ought to reflect the discerning application of wisdom to their specific circumstances, which I suppose could be called Discernmentarianism) is, eh hem, the type of "relativistic" pattern found in Proverbs.

Mini Blog #10: Epilogue

Growing up Pentecostal I was imbued with a restorationist model of christian faith: The Church had been corrupted by the centuries, which necessitated a return to true, "biblical" (i.e. first century) Christianity. The result was an intense aversion to Church history. All that has now changed, though. The shift began several years ago with a last-ditch attempt to save my faith. If the Bible is a Christian's ultimate source of authority, how could Protestantism be right with its myriad of blatantly contradictory interpretations? Out of sheer desperation I turned to and explored Christendom's two more historic branches. And while I never was able to forgo my cognitive dissonance enough to join Catholicism or Orthodoxy, the experience was instrumental in grounding my faith in a community of believers transcending time and space.* It became not so much a matter of what do Catholics, Orthodox, or Protestantism's various sub-traditions believe, but what are those essential doctrines that unite them all? That is, what are those things that all Christians everywhere have always believed? More recently, as I've learned to approach Scripture more as a story than as an open pit from which the raw material of propositional truth claims can be mined, refined into doctrines, and finally used in the construction of systematic theologies, I've come to an all new appreciation of Church history. The model of faith I see going back to Genesis isn't abstract faith in an atemporal deity, but faith in the God who's revealed Himself through His actions in history. Consequently, unlike those days when I'd leapfrog two thousand years from the New Testament to the present, today I see an almost artistic beauty in Church history. It's the continuation of the Bible's redemptive narrative; the tale of Christ's protecting and guiding His bride; a seamless extension of Scripture's plot, motifs, and themes. In sum, you might say I've come to see Church history as the Bible's epilogue, explaining what happened after the New Testament cliffhanger.

*It made me an ecumenical Christian who takes adiaphora (secondary doctrines) seriously yet, hopefully, remains humble amidst theological differences. Not to mention it countered Pentecostalism's obsession with "this generation" by removing the overwhelming weight of God's Kingdom wresting upon my shoulders. It felt like if I failed to share my faith, Christ's bride would die... Thank you for all the anxiety, Arminianism.

Faith & Brew: The Story of How One Evangelical's View on Alcohol Was Reframed

Preface:

This is an autobiographical tale of my lifelong, evolving view of the relationship between alcohol and christian faith. Before beginning, however, I want to be clear that this post isn't about how I've learned to justify a wicked lifestyle. I don't drink. This has nothing to do with conscience, a professional code of conduct, nor any cultural, theological, or moral beliefs. I simply think alcohol tastes repugnant. Perhaps that gives me a unique perspective from which to tell my story.

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I grew up in one of those church backgrounds where drinking alcohol was thought to be a good indicator of one's salvific status. As I flip through the ol' Rolodex of memories, I realize just how strongly that message was drilled into my head as a youth.

My parents never drank, nor did any close family friends. I guess that's why I have such a distinct memory about seeing a 12-pack of Budweiser in the grocery bag of the my best friend's mom's Ford Taurus when I was six or seven. That was a BIG DEAL. I cannot recall who asked her about it, but I do remember quite clearly that she pointed out that it was for cooking purposes only! It added flavor and would cook off, so there no actual consumption. And she would throw the rest away. That left a lasting impression.

After moving within depressingly close range of Minnesota's massive twine ball a few years later, it was more of the same with our new family friends, but I did slowly find that more of my relatives drank than I'd known. When my brother and I first arrived we lived with my aunt and uncle, who kept beer in the fridge. That made sense since, though. While being a darn good guy, my uncle wasn't a Christian, which only confirmed my belief that Christians don't drink and non-Christians do. However, when staying a week with another aunt and uncle several summers down the road, they too had beer in the fridge. Hmmmm, must be nominal Christians. Yeah, that's it. Barely Christian! Schema intact.

I heard countless sermons, youth group messages, Sunday schools classes, and christian youth organization prayer meetings all teaching the same message: The Christian life is about giving up things for Jesus. To be close to Him it's necessary to give up all those things that hold us back, including but not limited to cursing, sex, drugs, smoking, R-movies, secular music, and alcohol. That's the essence of the christian life. The analogy that got harped is that Christians are like pitchers of oil and water. The good and bad in us don't mix, but they're both still in there. For a Christian to draw near God he must pour out the metaphorical sinful oil, leaving him with room to be refilled with righteous water. It's classic Holiness/Pentecostal theology.

The anti-alcohol portion of this tale wouldn't be complete without mentioning the football commercials. There had to have been some sort of male-only meetings on this, because without fail every single man I watched games with did and said exactly the same thing: Laugh hysterically at the commercials, then get very somber and be grudgingly mutter, "It's too bad all the best commercial are for beer." Then they'd reach for the hard stuff: Dr. Pepper.

In sum, nearly all of my adolescent experiences reinforced the same messages:

• All sins are equal in God's eyes. There is no difference between a raging alcoholic and a person who drank casually and in moderation.
• Christians need to be an example to the world by not succumbing to the temptation of alcohol. Consistently living the Gospel requires that they set themselves apart, thereby demonstrating the changing work of the Spirit.
• Only non-Christians, i.e. those in need of salvation, drink. To be close to God necessarily requires complete abstinence.
• The end of prohibition was unfortunate. The real reason it failed is because they didn't enforce it. Yeah, that's the ticket.
• Jesus didn't sin. Therefore, He must have drank grape juice.
• There is zero value whatever in alcohol. Anyone who claims there is cultural, medicinal, or any other sort of value is attempting to justify their rebellious, unbiblical behavior.
  

That remained my perspective until I went to college. The ironic part is that I'm quite certain that my views wouldn't have altered nearly so much had I attended a state university. There I would have dug in my heals to have been the light upon a hill. At Bible college I was able to let my guard down and question a lot of things I otherwise probably never would have.

Saying my views toward alcohol were challenged at Moody is akin to saying the French monarchy was challenged during the revolution. Don't get me wrong, the school itself had a hardcore stance of total abstinence but the student body didn't so clearly fit that mold. There were enough free thinkers and international kids that their policy was constantly being criticized. Two guys in particular impacted me.

The first was from San Francisco. A man of boundless satire, he delighted in mocking conservative evangelicalism from their bumbling president and homophobic spokesman to christian music and abstinence from alcohol. In retrospect I'd say I was riding the fence between conservative evangelicalism and fundamentalism at the time, but I loved engaging his critical mind, laughing at his fierce wit, and groaning with him at all the absurdities around us. Moreover, the guy was unquestionably a Christian yet thought drinking was fine. It made me think.

The second guy was from Austria. He said European Christians drank beer all the time and had for centuries upon centuries. All of which was genuinely shocking. He even rattled off a good list of respected historical figures who were known to partake: Martin Luther, Jonathan Edwards, C.S. Lewis... Jesus. A couple of the points he made now seem elementary, but at the time were completely foreign. First, abstinence is a purely cultural belief that has zero biblical support. He said that the biblical model seen throughout Scripture was temperance, not abstinence. Second, we do a pretty good job of acknowledging what is sin according to the Bible, but it's our culture determines what sins we take seriously. Gluttony is just as much a sin as drunkenness yet because of the former's cultural acceptance we ignore the blatant hypocrisy exhibited by rotund preachers condemning alcohol. Yes, one is likely to do worse things when drunk rather than when fat, but the principle of the lack of moderation remains the same. That too got me thinking.

Though I left Moody thinking all the students who broke the student code were liars without integrity, my schema had been beaten down like the Gargoyles after their betrayal at Castle Wyvern. And, almost as though God was intentionally trying to replace my moral and spiritual aversion to alcohol, wouldn't you know it that within a few days another aunt and uncle were sipping wine? Here I was talking to two of the godliest people I've ever known as they're drinking in moderation. Hmmmm...

A few years later when, as a student at Toccoa Falls, an American history course inspired me to study the history of alcohol in our country. What I learned about the reform movements so interested me that I began doing some research. What I found out shocked me.

The complete opposition to alcohol stems from the Second Great Awakening. There were a number of factors contributing to this, but, quite ironically (or sadly), during the height of evangelicalism's cultural dominance was also the point of highest alcohol consumption in American history. It's difficult for people--even today's casual drinkers--to get their minds around this since it's so different from our own culture, but people drank all the time, including at work, town hall meetings, and even church picnics. It was the societal norm. As one might imagine, there was much drunkenness and corresponding spousal and child abuse by husbands who came home and beat their families.

Naturally, all those new, fervent Christians were looking to put their faith in action. With divorce not being an accepted option at the time, this provided a great opportunity. Stopping domestic abuse became an obvious target, though it took time for full abstinence to evolve into the dominant view and even longer for the movement to politicize. Few today realize that it's from those evangelicals that many of the greatest reform efforts in American history originated, including such successful efforts as child labor laws and women's suffrage as well as shockingly unsuccessful efforts such as prohibition. As has always been the case every time throughout American history when Christians have applied their faith within the political sphere, the results were a mixed bag. One need only connect the historical dots from the Second Great Awakening through Prohibition and to the present to figure out why conservative evangelicals today, especially the Southern variety, remain so opposed to alcohol. Over time the vice shifted from abuse caused by excessive alcohol to alcohol itself.

To get one's mind around the history of this issue, one must remember the spirit that has always driven evangelicalism. As N.K. Clifford one put it, "The Evangelical Protestant mind has never relished complexity. Indeed its crusading genius, whether in religion or politics, has always tended toward an over-simplification of issues and the substitution of inspiration and zeal for critical analysis and serious reflection." Beginning in the mid-19th century clergy all around the country found ways to link the Bible with the prohibition movement, thereby preaching novel and ultimately unbalanced interpretations of Scripture. In what is but one verse in the song of the Bible in America, the pragmatic ambitions of the moment trumped the teachings of Scripture; the interpreters' cultural context determined what the Bible said rather than a scrupulously interpretation of Bible discerning applied to impact (and create) culture.

Even after the 21st Amendment ended prohibition, conservative evangelicalism's cultural framework remained. The remaining crusade against alcohol is like some sort of time capsule. Just like their forebearers, our contemporary preachers teach the absurd, anachronistic falsehood that Jesus drank grape juice. (They lacked both modern preservatives and refrigeration, which together make mass production, distribution, and consumption of grape juice possible.) Still our leaders refuse to uphold the tension of being in the world but not of the world, instead erring on the "aliens in this world" side because it's easier and safer. If only more conservative evangelicals realized the simple historical fact that their cultural opposition to alcohol itself is barely 150 years old. Suffice to say these historical revelations were impactful to my views on drinking, although I remained hesitant to disregard abstinence for two more years.

The coup de grâce to my opposition toward alcohol came only a month ago when I read historian Mark Noll's book One Nation Under God? Christian Faith and Political Action in America. There were two specific things that struck me in particular. First, he not only confirmed what I'd already read about alcohol in American history, but provided a much greater long-term perspective:

"The historical Christian position on alcoholic beverages had always been temperance... Within Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant churches until the eighteenth century, moderate use of fermented beverages was rarely considered a problem in itself... [M]ost Christians before 1800 regarded the moderate use of alcoholic beverages--especially wine, cider, beer, and other drinks produced by natural fermentation--as a gracious gift from God."

It's one thing to learn that complete opposition to alcohol is a relatively young position. It's quite another to learn that it's a radical view with scant precedence in Church history. Second, the very passages Christians emphasize has shifted in correspondence with the larger societal views. From the pulpits seemingly anti-alcohol passages such as Genesis 9:21 and Proverbs 20:1 have risen to the forefront while markedly pro-alcohol passages such as Psalm 104:14-15 and 1 Timothy 5:23 have been forgotten. It was yet another reminder that people don't "just take the Bible as it stands," but rather pick and choose those passages that lend credence to their positions. Self-fulfilling theology?

C.S. Lewis once wrote, "I think no class of men are less enslaved to the past than historians. The unhistorical are usually, without knowing it, enslaved to a fairly recent past." Such is my view of those who are militantly opposed to Christians drinking. In all candor, I have difficulty understanding how anyone with a historically-informed perspective who takes serious the breadth of the Bible's teachings can be entirely in opposition to alcohol. It seems plain to me that they've ignorantly allowed their interpretations of Scripture, e.g. Jesus drank grape juice, to be contorted by their own limited cultural context. This is not a charge of their harboring a malicious intent, though. In my experience, the vast majority of those who so passionately feel this way genuinely love the Lord and are committed to the authority of Scripture. The fact of the matter, however, is that the virtue of righteous intention is inadequate in and of itself, needing instead to be coupled with rigorous thought, wisdom, and discernment.

For all that I've experienced and learned, this story had no tidy ending. There is one issue that continues to plague my mind. Assuming for the moment that I'm right in my historical and theological convictions, that neither nullifies the consciences of those who believe drinking is sinful nor removes the reality of their cultural framework's existence. Too few realize that resolution of the former does not imply the same of the latter. That is, knowing that people are misinformed and knowing how to act in light of their being misinformed are two separate yet indelibly linked issues. While I strongly affirm that the christian life is supposed to be one of individual conscience, corporate discernment, and freedom in Christ--as opposed to fundamentalism's rigid, Pharisaical-type legalism--it will not do to emphasize Galatians 5 over and against Romans 14-15 as I've heard so many temperance advocates do, for that is the exact same mistake their abstinence counterparts are making!

Though I'm not one who finds peace and comfort in the resolution of tension, in this case I feel uncertain as to the right path forward. I'm left unknowing how to practically, discerningly live my faith. Ideally people would actually study the issues and approach this particular issue from a historically-informed angle rather than going with their culturally-bound gut responses, but in the real world most people don't operate that way. I guess all I can say is that my hope is that this post will inspire serious contemplation and thoughtful discussion.

Lastly, if you feel that this post may be helpful in reframing this issue for others, I would ask my readers to "share" it in your facebook newsfeeds to get the message out there.

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Epilogue:

While I couldn't find a place for this to fit smoothly into the body of the post, I want to be clear that I readily acknowledge that drinking can and often does lead to drunkenness, and drunkenness obviously can have extremely harmful consequences. I also think there is absolutely a valid role for abstinence among those who struggle with alcohol abuse. Further, the evangelicals trying to stop spousal abuse in the mid-19th century were right to do so. I cannot commend their passion enough. The problem is their reactionary swing of the pendulum from one extreme to the other. Drunkenness is clearly condemned in Scripture, but abstinence from alcohol is no more a biblical model to drunkenness than sexual abstinence is to adultery. The defensive posture and slippery slope assumptions among conservatives that produce these extreme views are ultimately both counterproductive and detrimental to the faith, for it is not the discerning faith modeled within the Bible but rigid, Pharisaical legalism.

How Do You Save a Seat? Geographically and Generationally Mapping a Custom

The other night there were a number of 20-somethings hanging out at my place. As various people got up and came back there was some chair-switching going on. Finally one person came back and wanted his seat back, to which my wife's friend said, "You didn't quack it." The guy looked at her like she'd lost it. So did everyone else who was in the room, except me. She and I had a bonding experience because, as a fellow Minnesotan, I was the only other one who'd heard of the middle school practice of saying, "Quack quack seat back" to save a spot. It got me wondering about the geographical dimensions of the custom. Is this a a mid-western custom? Is it exclusive to Minnesota? Is it only the South that hasn't heard of this? As I called around and texted friends, I found a wide diversity of responses. So I thought I'd turn it into a blog post and get people to weigh in. No, this isn't the most epic of subjects, but I find it fun and interesting to think of our own geographical customs we take for granted and assume to be universal within the country.

Here are the questions:

1. Do you remember anything you'd say or do to save a seat?
   
2. If so, what was it?
   
3. Where are you from?
   
4. How old are you?
5. Anything else you'd like to add?
   

Who Was Greater: Kareem or Magic?

As the Finals start this evening I'll be rooting for Boston. I'm a de facto Celtics fan because of KG, but as a NBA superfan I'm just excited to watch two great teams and franchises battle it out again. With Kobe on the cusp of tying Magic's five rings, however, the online chatter I've been following has centered around the debate of who is the greatest Laker: Magic or Kobe? Every single time I think, 'Folks, this is not a two-man race. You cannot leave Kareem out of the conversation.' In putting Kobe aside for a moment, I've been thinking about who the greater player and who the greater Laker is between Kareem and Magic.

Few people of my generation realize just how ridiculous Kareem's career was. To have a reference point, let's start by picking another great player who played the same position and is considered by many to be one of the best centers ever: Hakeem Olajuwon. In The Dream's 18 seasons he was a 12-time All-Star, made 5 All-Defensive Teams, 2-time Defensive Player of the Year, went to 3 finals and won 2, 2-time Finals MVP, and a 1-time regular season MVP. Here are his numbers:

• Highs: 27.8 PPG, 14.00 RPG, 4.59 BLK, 3.6 AST, 2.6 STL
  
• Averages: 21.8 PPG, 11.1 RPG, 3.09 BPG, 2.5 APG, 1.75 SPG
• Totals: 26,946 PTS, 13,748 REB, 3,830 BLK, 3,058 AST, 2,162 STL

And he played in 1,383 games. That's a pretty freaking good career, but Hakeem is to Kareem as Clyde Drexler is to Michael Jordan. It's not even close.

Everyone knows the artist formerly known as Ferdinand Lewis Alcindor, Jr. played a long time, but few seem to get quite how long. By playing 20 seasons from '69-'70 to '88-'89, his career is like the white stuff in the middle of the Bill Russell (final season: '68-'69) and David Robinson (first season: '89-'90) Oreo. During that span he was the 1970 Rookie of the Year, went to 10 championships and won 6, and was Finals MVP twice. He holds the record for most league MVPs with 6, went to a reDONKulous, league-best 19 All-Star games, and made 11 All-Defensive Teams. Here's Capt. Murdock's final stat lines when he finally hung 'em up at age 42:

• Highs: 34.8 PPG, 16.9 RPG, 5.4 APG.
  
• Averages: 24.6 PTS, 11.2 REB, 3.6 AST, 2.6 BLK, .9 STL
  
• Totals: 38,387 PTS, 17,440 REB, 5,660 AST, 3,189 BLK, 1,160 STL

Look at those totals. They're freaking nuts. He's got nearly 1,500 more points than the next closest guy, Karl Malone, and keep in mind that blocks and steals weren't a recorded category until his fifth year in the league.

Statistically, over the duration of a career there's no question Kareem is the greatest player the game has ever seen. In terms of winning, his 10 finals appearances are second only to Russell's 13 and his 6 rings match Jordan. Oh, and individually his 6 MVPs trumps even His Aforementioned Airness. Jordan is considered by most to be the best ever to play the game because of his unprecedented combination of individual dominance and team success, but there's an argument to made that that distinction should universally belong to Kareem. And, yes, this is coming from the guy who used to have Bulls wallpaper along with matching posters, lamp, comforter, pillow cases, backpack, and skateboard.

(By the way, Jordan the brand shouldn't influence the discussion surrounding Jordan the player. The debate should only be about what these guys did on the court. Publicly, Jordan was a pop icon and a great guy. Privately, he was a total douche bag. Kareem is more or less the opposite.)

Some might object to this conclusion about Kareem by saying, 'Yeah, but imagine if Magic hadn't lost all that time!" Here's the thing: I'm not down with speculative history. I've never been the sort of guy who likes "what if," especially in sports. IF Ted Williams hadn't had lost three seasons to WWII and IF he hadn't been recalled to active duty in Korea, Pete Rose would never have become the hit king. IF Super Mario's body hadn't continually betrayed him he seriously could have challenged The Great One's goal total. IF Jordan hadn't retired and IF Jerry Krause hadn't been an idiot, Jordan could well have retired with 9 or 10 championships. And IF he got there, he may have even tried to challenge Russell's 11. But he didn't. He won six. There's far too many unknowns to take this stuff seriously. Likewise, the tragic reality is that Magic missed four whole seasons after the HIV announcement as well as most of the 1994-95 season. Would his career stat totals, All-Star appearances, and perhaps even rings have gone up if he'd played those years? Probably, probably, and perhaps. But IF Junior Griffey hadn't gotten hurt so many times playing for the Reds, he could be retiring today as the home run king instead of Barry "The Syringe" Bonds. So let's deal with the facts as they exist, shall we?

Magic Johnson is unquestionably in the discussion as one of the greatest ever. Definitely top ten. Maybe/probably top five. During his 13 seasons he played in 9 Finals and won 5, including 3 Finals MVP performances. He was a 12-time All-Star and 3-time MVP who perhaps did more to make his teammates better than anyone who's ever played before or since. Here are his career stats:

• Highs: 23.9 PTS, 13.1 AST, 9.6 REB, 3.4 STL, .7 BLK.
  
• Averages: 19.5 PTS, 11.2 AST, 7.2 REB, 1.9 STL, .4 BLK.
  
• Totals: 17,707 PTS, 10,141 AST, 6,559 REB, 1724 STL, 374 BLK
  

Amazing stuff. No doubt about it. But Kareem won more, put up relatively crazier numbers, and kept it up for much longer. With that in mind, I don't see how there's any question that Kareem is a tier above Magic in terms of greatness as a player.

Now the question of, "Who is the greater Laker?" is a different matter. Kareem's accomplishments are split between his years in Milwaukee, where he spent six years reaching two Finals and winning one. So when discussing the greatest Laker, we have to look at what they accomplished only while wearing a Lakers uniform. In that case, I think the clear answer is Magic. He played in one more Final without Kareem in '91 and was clearly the best player on his team during that '80s Lakers dynasty.

Final answer, Regis: Kareem is the greater player; Magic is the greater Laker. Now the question will be if Kobe can surpass them both... Either way, go Celtics!

Musings on History & Theology, Part I: Ahistorical Faith? Cyclical History?

An ongoing area of great personal interest is the relationship between history and other academic disciplines. Specifically, at this time, I have in mind history and theology. Of late I've been a part of a number of online discussions that have been helpful and challenging as I work through the issues, so I thought I'd convert some of that into a blog series. As always I'd love to get some interaction on this stuff. Hopefully it'll be mutually beneficial for all. This first post addresses the comments a couple friends from Moody recently made.

To provide a little context, one of my friends posed this question: "What is the relationship between 'faith' and 'history'? Or, put it differently, 'To what extent [must] the biblical events be 'historical' for them to be properly 'true' and 'foundational' for Christian faith?" In response his former roommate offered the following:

"I would say that faith in God is linked to history though they are not symbiotic. Both exist independently of each other, but can function together. Faith and history are cyclical. I have faith in God, he works in history, that history strengthens me to have more faith in God and the cycle continues. Yes, I am a westerner and think in terms of linear movement, therefore as history continues that cycle either moves me closer to God or away from God on my linear path of life."

He's making two major assertions there. As I've been considering it, I've decided that I couldn't disagree more with the first point and would offer an amendment to the second.

First of all, the model going back to Genesis that continues straight through the New Testament is that no one had this sort of abstract faith in an atemporal deity suggested here. Rather, their faith was in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; the creative God who'd made all that is; the powerful God who'd delivered the Israelites from Egypt; the faithful God who'd sustained them throughout their various government forms and had restored them from Babylon.* Their revolutionary monotheistic faith in the God of Israel was a radical refutation of their Ancient Near Eastern (ANE) neighbors' polytheism. Moreover, the Bible, through which we know these things, isn't merely a collection of abstract, transcendent writings that preserve important facts. It's a historical narrative that has always, in Peter Enns' words, "been incarnated in the cultural-historical contexts of its authors" (and editors?). Thus, my contention is that for the Christian there is no distinguishing between--much less separating--God from His faithful actions throughout history. For the ancient Israelites just as for Christians in the present, it was faith in the God who'd revealed himself in history or no faith at all.

Secondly, I would nuance the comment that history is cyclical. If my readers will please pardon my characterizations in the interest of brevity, the Western conception of history is linear whereas the Eastern view is cyclical. Yet in the Bible--written primarily by ANE authors, influenced by the Greco-Roman world in the New Testament, and the foundation for much of Western thought--we see a tension between its primary overarching theme and its inward testimony. That is, the unfolding plan of redemption is unquestioningly linear yet the author of Ecclesiastes notes that there is nothing new under the sun. Further, just surveying history it seems painfully obvious to me that history contains strong elements of each. To say that it's one or the other seems both simplistic and skewed. My answer? I'd like to propose the slinky model of history:



Lastly, in response to the first guy's inquiry, I would suggest that while the christian faith is necessarily historical, what that means exactly can be more a little nebulous. Just like many other formal, academic disciplines, history was altered dramatically in the 19th century by Enlightment era foundationalism. It became an attempt to ascertain a perfectly objective understanding of the past. While much has changed since then, for better or worse the discipline will almost certainly never be the same. To use an imperfectly and admittedly progressivist metaphor, one might say that its DNA evolved. Contemporary conceptions of history are quite unlike they were back in the 18th century, much less the 1st century when the NT manuscripts were produced or even further back for the OT. Shoot, there's likely a a huge diversity just among the biblical authors themselves, to say nothing of we modern interpreters. So while Christianity is a historical religion, we ought not read our contemporary views of history back into the minds of the biblical authors. To do so is blatant eisegesis. (Paging Ken Ham.)

*I would add that it is the same Triune God who has continued the redemptive narrative of Scripture in preserving His Church for two millennia, which is precisely why I like Church history so much--it's a seamless extension of Scripture's story. You might say it's the Bible's epilogue.