My Completion of the Canterbury Trail: My Journey (Part III-c)

A Crisis of the Mind

Have you ever tried to play mind games with God? Because of the Spirit's heavy conviction you know something must be done, but in your heart you're not truly repentant. So what you do is sit down to read the Bible or maybe get on your knees to pray in a show of false piety, as if that will placate Him. That's the sort of idiotic behavior I did all the time after my born again experience and before I truly committed my life. God's conviction was relentless, so I tried everything short of true repentance to "play the game." As I've since come to expect, however, God always used those shows of false religion to reach me in spite of myself.

One instance comes to mind when I was reading Romans and came across all this "justification" stuff. I'd never heard of the word before—it's a safe bet I didn't even know how to pronounce it—but unexpectedly became interested. I read throw the whole book of Romans and kept right on going. There it was again in Galatians! They say that even a child can read and understand the Bible, but that Saturday afternoon I was completely baffled. Monday after school I went to see a pastor about it. Initially enthusiastic when I walked into his office, his warmth quickly dissipated. When I asked about justification he offered nothing more than a worn out Sunday school spiel in which he said that we're supposed to ask Jesus into our hearts. Without the least bit of aggression I replied that I hadn't come across that anywhere in the New Testament. Again his temperament shifted. This time his comments smacked of condescension. He curtly stated that it was awfully complicated and I probably wouldn't understand, so it's best to stick with the short version rather than get into the technical jargon. In my infinite 16-year-old wisdom I shot back, "Try me." Apparently that struck a nerve. Again his demeanor changed. "My advice to you," he said as he escorted me to the door, "is to embrace the faith of a child. A relationship wish God isn't about what happens in your head, but what happens in your heart."

That conversation typifies the appreciation, or lack thereof, Christians around me had for rigorous thought. Yes, people were encouraged to use their minds to memorize Scripture, figure out how to help people, learn how the culture had train wrecked, and take a stand against secular liberalism's incursion into the Church. But that was about it. When people shared those questions that revealed the depths of their doubts, they weren't encouraged to find answers but to simply ask God for more faith. When the doubters persisted the "faithful" around them either started to completely ignore them, effectively allowing them to wander the spiritual desert by themselves, or outright assaulted them. I remember being told countless times that intellectualism was a threat to true faith. They'd all known Christians who'd starting thinking a lot and had eventually abandoned the faith. "That's where thinking gets you," I was told. Doubt, not unbelief, was the opposite of faith. The life of the mind was downplayed, dismissed, or denigrated.

Pentecostalism is a strange form of Christianity. In my experience, its entire schema is premised upon a division between "heart knowledge" and "head knowledge." It was an epic conflict, and clearly God was more concerned about the heart. The head led to "dead orthodox religion." The heart led to "a relationship with God." It was all about experiencing God with our hearts (evidenced by crying) and souls (evidenced by speaking in tongues, prophecy, and Holy Spirit Goosebumps). Pentecostals themselves did a pretty decent job loving God with their strength and loving our neighbors as ourselves... so long as that neighbor wasn't a liberal, Democrat, academic, or secular musician, in which case that person had to be defeated. And I won't even get started with being slain in the Spirit and their obsession with eschatology.

It shocks a lot of people when I tell them this, but I'd never heard of Lewis or Tolkien until Tim recommended Mere Christianity and The Fellowship of the Ring hit theaters. I assume Lewis was avoided because he didn't neatly fit their fundamentalist mold. As for Tolkien, when the movie came out I quickly found my answer: his writings contained wizardry, i.e. witchcraft, and were thus "tools of Satan." Just like Smurfs, Power Rangers, Gargoyles, and Harry Potter, these things were "demonic portals" through which Satan could gain a foothold. Not only were we not to watch or read these things, but we were strongly encouraged not to allow them a physical presence in our homes. (This is related to their prayer walking where they literally claim territory for Jesus and supposedly forbid demons from entering there.) If only I were making this stuff up. Thankfully, my parents never bought full into this stuff. I seriously thank God they weren't raised Pentecostal, so they were able to see some of the problems. Plus they were less fundamentalist about it. Nevertheless, the prevailing church culture in which I was raised was definitely one of separating ourselves from "the world" culturally, politically, academically, etc. We were encouraged to listen only to christian music, always vote for Republicans, and be leery of much demonic strongholds as the university system. Think anti-intellectual Gnosticism with a douse of Puritanism thrown in for good measure. In other words, to quote Owen Wilson's character in Armaggedon, "Scariest environment imaginable."

When I recommitted my life before junior year, I never thought to question Pentecostalism itself because of all the crap around me. I simply assumed they weren't "on fire." If I was going to commit my live to Jesus, I was going to become the most passionate Pentecostal that had ever lived! I feared that thinking a lot would limit, harm, and destroy my faith. I knew that rigorous thought would inevitably lead to intellectual pride, so I avoided it.

With that background in place, it's not hard to understand a number of things about me: why I thought serious thinking and christian faith were intrinsically incompatible; the depths to which those lies had seeped into the soil of my faith; the degree to which I struggled as one who God had wired to think but was taught by my church tradition that such thinking was detrimental to one's relationship with God. I yearned for the simple, pious faith of those around me. I hated myself for not being able to speak in tongues or tangibly sense the presence of God. To adapt some famous lyrics by the Rolling Stones, I couldn't get no spiritual satisfaction.

By the time I arrived at TFC I'd already done a lot of questioning, but the honest truth is that I felt guilty about it. I was caught in this dilemma between the faith I'd been taught and the faith I'd grown to want. My soul cried out for answers that could resolve my doubt and relieve my angst. I felt compelled to move forward with my questions to find peace. Yet I simultaneously felt like that brutally honest searching was open rebellion toward God. It was like those stories you hear about when, a few generations ago, school teachers would whack a child's hand with a ruler when he or she tried to write with his left hand. I wanted so desperately to seek God with my mind, but everything the church imbued in me led me to the belief that was wrong. Retaining my anti-intellectual faith had become a losing cause that I could no longer sustain.

Yet again God put the right person in my life at precisely the right time. I was still recuperating from mono that first semester and it quickly became apparent that between marriage, work, classes, and an increased need for sleep I'd bitten off more than I could chew. Something had to give. That something was American Lit I. Yet my short stay in that class was enough time for Professor Alisa Thomas to recommend Mark Noll's book The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind after class one day. It's no hyperbole to say that that book forever altered the course of my life.

The book is not a tirade against evangelicalism. Rather, it's an "epistle of a wounded lover." Noll describes himself as one who is a committed follower of Christ and an evangelical who loves the life of the mind, but has too often seen these things in conflict. In the work he chronicles how the very things that caused Christianity to flourish in the American context were the very same things that decimated the mind's assumed role within church culture. It's a thoughtful albeit scathing historical survey. Here are some of the major points that immediately come to mind:

(A bit of my own commentary is included here. The lines between what he writes in his book and I've since learned have blurred in my mind.)

• There is explicit scriptural teaching that Christians are called to worship God with their minds alongside their hearts, souls, and strength as a holistic worship experience.Thinking is non-negotiable for believers.
  
• Believers have been gifted with minds such that they can understand and know God not only through special revelation (Scripture), but through general revelation (everything else). In the same way what the Mona Lisa suggests something of the person, character, and actions of da Vinci, so all of creation suggests those things about the Creator.
• Because of evangelicalism's autonomous, fragmented nature, it keeps reinventing the wheel. This is why there's a vast network of Bible colleges filtering and disseminating the research coming out of the universities, but there isn't a single major evangelical research university producing that knowledge. There are some fine seminaries, but there's no evangelical equivalent to a Notre Dame or BYU.
  
• The American academic system developed in such a way that a division was driven between the so-called sacred and secular disciplines. Unlike the European model where matters of faith and learning have been conducted within the same institutions and were thus (theoretically) in constant dialogue with one another, the best and brightest of America's committed Christians tend to all get shunted down the theological path and away from the arts, economics, politics, natural sciences, mathematics, history, philosophy, English, philosophy, psychology, medicine, sociology, anthropology, communications, etc.
  
• The American spirit embodied by capitalism and democracy has resulted in a church culture that uncritically accepts such potential vices as pragmatism and individualism as its chief virtues. Like the Trojan Horse of Greek mythology, these things penetrated evangelical culture and have resulted in Christians who excel at getting things done, but remain mentally atrophied in their simple skills of contemplation, reflection, analysis, and the like. It's a quote I reference entirely too often, but N.K. Clifford sums up the situation this way: "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."
• Tragically, when there exists a church culture that doesn't value thoughtful contemplation it will inevitably be driven by the spirit of the age whatever that spirit might be, even among people who think they're militantly resisting it, e.g. conservative evangelicalism's Enlightenment-based Foundationalist theology. Serious discernment demands knowledge. When knowledge is discouraged discernment will fail. Without discernment the church is destined to absorb the surrounding culture, which is precisely what has happened.
  

I could go on all day with these points, but the point is made.

Noll's book identified the root cause of just about everything that had ever frustrated me about the American church culture and said that those impulses were perfectly contrary to true, biblical Christianity. I learned that the possible corruption of a thing should encourage a sense of humility and reliance upon the Spirit, but a reactionary swing to the extremes of legalism on one side and apathetic detachment on the other are both downright foolishness. The assumption that serious thought will inevitably produce intellectual pride and therefore must be avoided is no less absurd than the believer who thinks all Christians should be sexually abstinent lest they fall prey to lust. What is more, Noll identifies four distinct historical developments that are responsible for the scandal of the evangelical mind: Premillennial Dispensationalism, the Higher Life Movement, Pentecostalism, and fundamentalism. No wonder I was so screwed up. My Assemblies of God background was batting 1.000!

It's no exaggeration to say that Noll's book saved and transformed my faith by unshackling it from the prevailing anti-intellectual evangelical culture. It was a complete 180° turnabout. Instead of feeling guilt, shame, and distant from God whenever I vigorously pursued truth, I felt close to Him. To be clear, Noll's book didn't cause me to elevate the mind as the single most important means by which one can/should worship God. When Jesus said that the greatest command is to love God with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love our neighbor as ourselves the point is that we're to worship God with the entirety of our being. The mind is but one of the essential parts of a Christian's holistic worship experience. Most would agree that if we seek God with our minds it must necessarily lead to our hearts or else it is pointless. Yet few put equal weight in the inverse. I learned not to inverse the problem or find a dispassionate balance, but to emphasize all areas simultaneously—or at least that's the perfect goal to which I aspire.

My faith had been on the verge of collapse because I believed that it was impossible for a Christian to simultaneously be thinking and devote. The two seemed utterly incompatible. In retrospect, when I arrived in Toccoa, it's clear that I'd chosen the life of mind over God. My mind was the kudzu to my spirit's tree. It was a simple matter of giving my terminally ill faith time to die. But everything changed when I read Noll's book. My unwavering commitment to seeking truth became the very pursuit of God. In a powerful work of redemption that was almost like being born again again, my greatest spiritual weakness was transformed into perhaps my greatest strength. The day I finished reading that book I got down on my knees and prayed. I told God that if it was His will, I'd like to spend my life inspiring, encouraging, and teaching Christians to worship God through the cultivation of their minds.

To this day I get regular criticism from Christians who say I think too much. They still insist I'm on a path that will lead myself and others away from Christ because I've rejected simple child-like faith. What I've since come to understand, however, is that there's a difference between child-like faith and childish faith. The former is premised on trust. The latter on immaturity. Unfortunately, too many are immune to learning this difference because they see thinking as a disease again which they've been vaccinated by our society's prevailing spirit of anti-intellectualism. Tragically, what we're left with is a church full of Christians who've been saved for 10-50 years yet remain infants because they believe milk rather than meat is more spiritually.

Practical Reflections on Orthodoxy

A good friend recently raised some poignant issues for consideration. They're particularly relevant now as I continue to wrestle with the nature of orthodox and its practical consequences. I did my best to accurately and fairly represent his ideas in question form, then offered responses from my point of view. I thought it'd be worth sharing as its own post... By the way, these matters aren't mere theory to me. Since committing to Anglicanism a few weeks ago I've struggled mightily as to where I ought commit given the recent split between the brand spankin' new, orthodox Anglican Church in North America and the historically-rooted yet often, but certainly not always, heretical Episcopal Church... OK, with a little editing for this format, here's what I wrote:

Do I think that a religion can escape its abuses?

• No. Sadly, they're inevitable as long as fallen people are involved. More to the point, I think Christianity will continually harm and abuse me along with everyone else... a reality which I don't eagerly await.

Do I think "the abuse of a thing can negate its use if the thing used creates a tendency toward that abuse because of its very nature"?

• This is one of the more difficult questions I've stared at in a while, so I'm trying diligently to match his degree of honesty...
  
• I think it depends upon the thing's intended purpose. Contrast cars with guns. Cars are intended for good. Specifically, for ease of transportation. But their misuse kills I don't know how many people every year. In my mind, the tendency toward abuse of cars doesn't negate their use. No matter how many people are killed on the world's road, I doubt he or I will stop driving. The intentions for guns, however, are much more complex. Guns are intended for killing, but that's no cut-and-dry issue. Used correctly they can deter violence and assist in enforcing justice. Misused (or abused) they can enable violence and assist the wicked in eluding justice. So does the tendency toward abuse of guns negate their use? This is an example of where I'm simultaneously an idealist and a pragmatist. Idealist because I'll never own a gun for the reason of their constant abuse. Realist because I recognize that guns can be used for good in constraining evil and are an inevitable reality of our contemporary world. They're futile to crusade against while the evil in human hearts remain.
  
• My point to that whole car and gun contrast? The thing's purpose is key. The tendency for abuse in a thing's very nature cannot be assessed not in a vacuum. We must take into account both its intended purpose and the extraordinary convoluted realities of the larger context in which we live.
  
• In going back to the original query, what about organized Christianity (or organic "following Jesus")? Do the abuses thereof negate faith in Jesus because of the inevitable problems when fallen people practice religion? I think the intended purpose is again the key issue.
  
• Honestly, I'd be lying if I said that chucking Christianity because of its constant problems wasn't a constant temptation. Without the least bit of hyperbole, no group of people in the world anger and disappoint me like Christians. I remain a Christians for two reasons. First, the Hound of Heaven will not let me go. Try as I may, I cannot shake my faith in Jesus. Second, echoing the sentiments of Yancey that I recently read in one of his books, I remain a follower of Jesus because I haven't found a better option.
  
• As an aside, like Yancey I'm on a lifelong recovery program from the Church. I've resigned myself to the fact that she will never stop being a back-stabbing wench. Against all odds and by the grace of God I'm learning to fall in love with the Church despite herself. I empathize deeply with those who hate her for her flaws, but God will not allow me to join them.
  

Is the use of such terms as orthodoxy and heresy necessary?

• Yes, I think so in order to preserve the plot of the redemptive narrative that brings life and hope to this world in need.

Beyond even abuse, will the proper use of those terms bring about pain?

• Yes. There's no question. But as I learned in Yancey's Where Is God When It Hurts?, as unpleasant as pain is it's actually a good thing indicating when something has gone wrong. Telling someone that they're outside the bounds of orthodoxy will inevitably cause hurt even if done with the purest of motives, especially if said person is sincere. But that doesn't mean it's the wrong thing to do.
  
• As a corollary, though it's tragically inevitable we must be very careful to mitigate as much abuse as possible. It's not enough to confront people who have fallen outside of orthodoxy. Those who wield orthodoxy as a weapon for their own sinful purposes must be confronted as well.
  
• From my heart, it pains me greatly to confront someone who denies an orthodox doctrine. I empathize with their struggle and their pain. While we must take a stand against them, I believe it's wrong to enjoy it.
  
• The truth of the matter is I resonate more with those who are often labeled heretics than those who usually do the accusations.
  

Would ideal Christianity escape abuse?

• This is one I too have heard from apologists all the time. They say that, yes, while Christianity obviously has many faults ideal Christianity as Jesus intended would not contain such abuses. When I hear stuff like that I think, 'Yeah, I suppose, but I find it hardly worth thinking about.' If I were able to travel back in time would I correct some of the mistakes of Church history? Yeah, I guess. But time travel is equally as implausible as ideal Christianity. They're pipe dreams that have never and will never exist. This is why I dislike saying the "one, *holy*, catholic and apostolic Church," by the way. Just about every word in that little phrase is laughable for anyone who knows history.
  
• Personally, my concern isn't trying to defend the ideals of Christianity like a lot of people do. My two-fold concerns are 1) apologizing that Christians doesn't live up to the ideals and 2) exhorting Christians to keep striving for those ideals.
  

Truth through Narrative: The Reason Why Orthodoxy Is Essential

Though I've long held that historic orthodoxy is essential, most of the time I've secretly wondered why that's so. The Church has deemed certain doctrines to be non-negotiable in order to maintain authentic Christianity, but what is it about the relationship between Christianity and those doctrines that necessitates that they be maintained? Beyond tradition for the sake of tradition, i.e. the annoying "that's what we've always believe" rationale, what's the purpose? The answer finally came this past week as I listened to a N.T. Wright podcast.

The Bible's primary purpose is to tell the story of God's redemption of this world. He made the world good. We royally effed it up. So He's, as Wright says in his very British manner, "setting all to rights"--fixing all that's broken. That's the basic storyline. That much I already knew. What was new was Wright's assertion that it's possible for one to go down the list and check off belief in all the necessary doctrines, yet fundamentally misunderstand the overarching narrative, thereby misunderstanding and even falsifying those doctrines. In this way, those propositional truth claims that comprise orthodoxy must be understood within the context of God's redemptive narrative or they're worthless.

So if one believes in, say, Christ's resurrection but fails to understand it in the context of foreshadowing or, more accurately, being the first person/thing to be perfectly restored, he/she misunderstands not only Christ's death and resurrection but the purpose of the entire Gospel. The resurrection's significance isn't that we'll be brought back to life so we can fly up to heaven Jenkins-LaHaye style, but that this world will be redeemed. Adam's fall brought death, which resulted in the curses. Jesus crucifixion brought life, which resulted in the resurrection. The resurrection is but a sample of the future restoration that proves that what Jesus said is true. Without the resurrection everything Jesus taught is false, we have nothing but despair for the future, and God's redemptive narrative is worthless. With the resurrection we know what what Jesus said is true, we have hope and confidence that God will conclude His task of fixing this world, and God's redemptive narrative has infinite worth.

Historic orthodoxy is essential because without it the story is lost. A defense of the Church may be important, but the key issue is that the Church preserves the plot of the redemptive narrative that brings life and hope to a world in need.

Alister McGrath

This afternoon a friend joined the long list of those who've recommended books by Alister McGrath. Since I was in the midst of a brainfart, however, I couldn't recall who he was or why I hadn't been interested. Clicked over to wikipedia...

Ah, there we go. The dude is a major player in apologetics and natural theology. To date I've had little if any engagement with theologian-types, whether formal or armchair, who explore theology from the angle of science or apologetics, for lack of a better description, and who inspired me to care for their fields any more than the passing interest I have just as one who loves learning. I've typically been annoyed by the way they try to empiricize everything. This isn't a criticism of those subjects nor a dismissal of their value. I've no doubt the Church needs persons such as McGrath. It's just that I feel no compulsion to defend Christianity.

In all candor, I find Christianity to be a rationale religion once one is a Christian, but quite irrational to those who aren't. (Didn't Paul say something like that?) I'm all about sharing the Gospel with non-believers and helping believers who are struggling with their doubts find answers and spiritual peace, but I have no desire to defend the faith to those who disbelieve it.

Nearly without fail when I hear academics like Richard Dawkins or culture commentators like Bill Mauer criticize religion in general or Christianity specifically I think, 'There's a guy I'd like to befriend.' That's exactly what I'd be like were I not a Christian. Given that I am there are obviously disagreement on many of our most deeply-rooted and important presuppositions, but I resonate far more with their angst, doubts, frustrations, honesty, skepticism, and transparency than I do those christian apologists who present their faith as perfectly worked out and wield truth as a weapon with which to beat those who doubt.

To be fair to McGrath I sucked up my disinterest and watched a discussion/debate between he and Dawkins. I was pleased to find that amidst their differences they were mutually charitable, sincere, and thoughtful. (Gotta love the English.) If one is to do apologetics, clearly that's the model that ought to be followed. Plus McGrath is a student of historical theology, which I really like. So I probably need to give him an honest chance.

That said, being as reading a book is a major undertaking for me, I'm willing to read one and only one of his books to that end. Recommendations?

My Completion of the Canterbury Trail: My Journey (Part III-b)

Reminder: I wish to be explicitly clear as to the tone that characterizes this series. While I invite anyone to read my writing, these posts are of a personal nature. They're being written primarily for my friends, family, and mentors so that they may might understand where I'm at spiritually, ecclesiastially, and theologically as well as why I've made the decision to commit to the Anglican tradition. Accordingly, I write this not in a spirit of argumentation, but of understanding. While I will explain the facts and thought processes that led me to this point, my intention isn't to proselytize nor to offer an apologetic for Anglicanism over and against other faith traditions. I'm simply not arguing for anything, but explaining, so don't get pissy if you disagree with your take on something I explain before.

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In all candor, it became impossible to ignore the sheer absurdity of Protestantism. I thought, 'If Sola Scriptura is true, if the Bible truly is the Church's final authority on all matters of doctrine and practice, if we affirm the Perspicuity of Scripture, how is it that brilliant, devout Christians fiercely disagree on just about everything?' This led to questions about the Bible's authority given the complications found in interpretation. 'Don't these people affirm the doctrines of mankind's finitude and fallenness? And if so, how can they not apply them to their theological convictions on highly debated matters? How could they retain such smug certitude--almost completely devoid of humility--in the veracity of their own doctrinal beliefs, that they alone have rightly interpreted and applied the Word of God?' Talk about willful self-deception. It seemed that all evangelical theologians and pastors were naive, ignorant, arrogant, and/or dishonest. Yet I had sense enough to realize that sheer relativism was equally idiotic. Out of sheer desperation--truly an attempt to save my faith--I turned to and explored Christendom's two more historic branches.

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 where do Catholics, Orthodox, or Protestantism's various sub-traditions differ, but what are those essential doctrines that unite them all? Around that time two of my professors each taught me a very important thing that confirmed that trajectory. Dr. Jüncker taught me the term adiaphora (secondary doctrine), which was in contrast to orthodoxy (essential doctrine). Arminianism vs. Calvinism is secondary while Jesus' bodily resurrection is essential. Dr. Shelton taught me St. Vincent of Lerins' Quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus, which basically means those things that all Christians everywhere have always believed. I mentally tied those two issues together and found great comfort in the process.

From personal experience, few things are more hurtful for a Christian than being accused of heresy, especially when you know that your motives are pure--that all you're doing is asking deep, honest questions in an effort to seek truth, worship God with your mind, or simply resolve doubt. Sometimes you can see it coming. For example, a few years back I questioned the Trinity. Something seemed amiss, not to mention politically expedient, about a Roman emperor who claims to have become a Christian after seeing a vision telling him to slaughter people in Jesus' name, then calls a council for the Church to resolve its most heated theological schism, personally aligns himself with the losing view, and by all accounts lives like a heathen for the rest of his life before being baptized on his dead bed. So I questioned it and, as expected, had the H-bomb leveled against me. All too often this is what happens when one is serious about the Bible's dual natures--simultaneously fully inspired by God and fully the product of human authors writing in precise cultural-historical contexts. I absorbed a lot of sucker punches, but they made me all the more diligent about studying the nature of heresy and, by extension, orthodoxy.

The first question was simple, what is heresy? The answer seemed equally simple. Heresy is the rejection of one or more doctrines deemed to be essential. That's where the simplicity came to a screeching halt. For a Catholic or Orthodox that question is simple, but not for a Protestant. Essential to whom? Is there a list? And what exactly would that list entail? Then I got to thinking about matters of salvation. Can a person be saved within a unorthodox context, like a Mormon "church"? Does one have to believe all the orthodox doctrines in order to be a Christian? Is it possible for a person to actually be saved, then come to hold heretical views? Would that person then lose his or her salvation, or is it possible to be a saved heretic? Doesn't heresy mean you're not saved?

My studies of Church history revealed that what we term "orthodoxy" seems to be a corrective measure to theology gone terribly awry. That is, it's a direct result of serious theological error. No one said that Christ's dual natures as fully God and fully man were essential until someone denied it. No one said Jesus' literal bodily resurrection was essential until someone denied it. In this way, I believe God has, in his sovereign wisdom, brought a consensus of what the essential doctrines are not only amidst, but directly through the most grave threats to the Church's beliefs and practices.

OK, so that's lovely in theory, but in practice what are those doctrines? It took me three months or rigorous study starting with the Apostle's and Nicene Creeds and going straight through the seven ecumenical councils with quite a bit of the Ante-Nicene Fathers on the way. Here's the list I came up with for what comprises orthodoxy:

• The existence of a spiritual world
• God who created the world
• Imagio Dei
• Fall
• Jesus' virgin birth (begotten not made)
• Jesus' sinless life
• Jesus' deity
• Jesus is the Son of God
• Jesus was both fully God and fully man
• Jesus' crucifixion
• Jesus' bodily resurrection
• Jesus' ascension
• Jesus' return at the eschaton
• Trinity (One God, three Persons: Father, Son, Holy Spirit; all are equal)
• Jesus as head of Church
• Necessity of baptism (not for salvation, but as a commandment)
• Necessity of punishment for sin
• Necessity of faith for atonement and forgiveness of sins, i.e. salvation
• Salvation by grace, which is a gift
• Salvation brings eternal life
• Judgment at eschaton
• Bible is divinely inspired (exactly how many books are canonized is debated)
  
• Necessity of removing those from fellowship who deny/reject essential doctrines
  

Debatable doctrines, which causes me to think they don't fit the definition:

• Hypostatic union (Jesus' two natures as fully God, fully man coming together to form one nature rather than one nature that is both fully God and fully man)
• Eternal existence of all people
• Duty to pray
• Legitimacy of icons
• Legitimacy of relics
  

By the way, some might say I've strayed to the left with this view, I do think it's possible to be a formal heretic and yet be saved. In other words, I believe that a person who rejects--not questions--an essential, orthodox doctrine can have experienced atonement and the forgiveness of sin. That person should not be allowed to have formal fellowship within the Body, though. For example, I think of someone like Tertullian, the man who coined the term "Trinity" yet ended up joining Montanism (heretical cult) at the end of his life. I have no doubt of his the sincerity of his faith and his efforts to properly live it out, but I think he was misguided at the end of his life. So by "heresy" I don't necessarily mean a person who has not been redeemed, but one who must be formally excluded from the visible Body of Christ. A heretic could also deny, say, the mere existence of Jesus and I would seriously doubt that person's salvation. Ultimately, only God knows the heart, but in we have to work with what we see. In the pattern of 1 Corinthians, while the limitations on our perspective should inspire humility and while church discipline ought always be carried out in a spirit of mourning, we must make judgments for the good of the Church.

Anyway, grounding my theology in history slowly shifted my whole schema for Christianity in three important, interrelated ways over the next few years:

1. My intense aversion to Church history was eliminated, which had always been strange given my passion for history. My own interests had been suppressed by the restorationist model of christian faith I'd be been taught where the Church had been corrupted by the centuries, which necessitated a return to true, "biblical" (i.e. first century) Christianity. I came to see that the Bible is not always prescriptive, but descriptive. This is too large an issue to explore here, but suffice to say I learned that the the task of every generation is to lean on the wisdom of those who've preceded us in discerningly applying the Bible's teachings to ever-new cultural-historical contexts.
   
2. This point was perhaps best articulated by the 19th century British (and pseudo-Anglican) Herbert Butterfield, who wrote, "Christianity is an historical religion in a particularly technical sense that the term possesses—it presents us with religious doctrines which are at the same time historical events or historical interpretations." I found out that there is no divorcing history from theology or vice versa. The model of faith 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. Unlike those days when I'd leapfrog two thousand years from the New Testament to the present, I came to 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.
3. I learned to approach Scripture first and foremost as narrative. It's more a story than 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. While Scripture is chalked full of propositional truth claims, its primary overall function is to tell the story of God's redemption of humanity.
   

Collectively those three things transformed my theological conceptions and approach, which restored my faith in Christianity.

I'd found a measure of stability in one area of my faith, but it was quickly supplanted by four more pressing areas of spiritual crisis:

1. The seeming incompatibility of being a thinking Christian.
   
2. My struggle to love a God who was wholly beyond my senses.
   
3. The Spirit's conviction that I needed to be part of a local body.
4. The Spirit's drawing toward a more historic form of Christianity.
   

The story of my journey is to be continued in Part III-c...

My Completion of the Canterbury Trail: My Journey (Part III-a)

This post has been delayed for nearly two weeks because the task of explaining my faith journey in a blog format has felt daunting. It's simply impossible not to leave out important details and influential persons. I guess it's the perfectionist in me, but I've been bothered by the fact that my parents and most of the relatives, friends, friends' parents, relatives, youth pastors, pastors, teachers, professors, and so many others who've significantly contributed to my story won't even be mentioned. So before saying anything else, I want to offer a sincere, "Thank you!" to all those who've invested in my life and helped me become who I am. You know who you are. From there I'll try to be as concise as possible without neglecting any crucial points.

Reminder: I wish to be explicitly clear as to the tone that characterizes this series. While I invite anyone to read my writing, these posts are of a personal nature. They're being written primarily for my friends, family, and mentors so that they may might understand where I'm at spiritually, ecclesiastially, and theologically as well as why I've made the decision to commit to the Anglican tradition. Accordingly, I write this not in a spirit of argumentation, but of understanding. While I will explain the facts and thought processes that led me to this point, my intention isn't to proselytize nor to offer an apologetic for Anglicanism over and against other faith traditions. I'm simply not arguing for anything, but explaining, so don't get pissy if you disagree with your take on something I explain before.

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I was born and raised as a Pentecostal in the Assemblies of God. That includes nine years in a healthy, vibrant church in suburban Oklahoma followed by eight years in a sickly church in rural Minnesota. In the 8th grade I was saved purely by God's sovereign insistence. Much to the annoyance of everyone else in the congregation, Pastor Jamey Smedsrud refused to give up when he sensed God's leading. I distinctly remember him saying, "I'm clearly hearing from God. More clearly than I have in a long time. There is someone here who needs to get right with the Lord! You sense the Spirit's leading, but you're resisting. We're not going anywhere until you come forward!" It took four straight weeks of two hour altar calls to submit, i.e. the spiritual equivalent of the Scorpion Deathlock, but I tapped eventually. Yeah, I'm stubborn like that. From that moment forward I possessed a newfound sense of spiritual awareness/conviction yet refused to give my life over fully for three more years.

During my sophomore year of high school God put a youth pastor, Kyle Erickson, in my life at exactly the right time. Looking back on it, I see his role as almost a John the Baptist in the way in which he prepared the way. (Don't take that metaphor beyond that exact point I'm intending. I don't have a Messiah complex.) Honestly, Kyle had no clue what he was doing the first year. He had little ministry experience, no specialized training, and was himself pretty new to the faith. Perhaps it was because of those things, not despite them, that God used him so effectively in my life. I was weary of the B.S. spiritually-motivational spiels and youth rallies--the roller coaster ride of spiritual highs and lows. What he offered was subtle passion and a genuine commitment to speaking into my life. He simply listened, hung out, talked things out, and kicked my butt when necessary. He humbly yet forcefully challenged me to get my act together. Try as I did to resist, it was only a matter of time. There was no escaping the Hound of Heaven.

By the end of sophomore year I'd become completely tangled in the web of internet pornography and came to a point of such despair that I dwelled on suicide. There was one halfhearted attempt. That summer some friends dragged me to Sonshine Music Festival. It was there that I had a conversation with one of my best friend friends, Tim Abramson, that both saved and forever altered my life. Suffice to say I'd come to the figurative fork in the road where my only choices were God or death. I don't recall either of us voicing those rats that were in our cellars, but I think we mutually understood that they were there. We talked about making a decision to once and for all choose God. At that precise moment a weight was lifted and something replace it--hope. It was then that I embraced a passionate pursuit of God from which I've never turned despite the Church's best efforts to dissuade me otherwise.

Jumping forward to the fall of senior year, after being spiritually mugged by the Assemblies of God I dragged myself out. (To be clear, there were some really godly men and women in that congregation who I can't say enough positive things about. They too went through a lot. This is why I won't commit to a local body that won't perform church discipline, by the way. No one should be put through that without any possibility for recourse.) I was seething at the hypocrisy and was about ready to give up on organized Christianity when God again used Tim in two ways.

First, he recommended some author named C.S. Lewis and book called Mere Christianity. You see, serious learning is quite often met with great skepticism if not overt hostility in fundamentalist Pentecostalism, so thinking Christians like Lewis were wholly foreign to me. I knew nothing about him at the time other than the fact that Lewis provided the first challenge to my schema for christian faith. It planted seeds that would sprout years later.

Second, he and a few other friends spoke highly of their pastor, Wally Glucklich. I got it in my head that if there was one person who could help me it'd be Pastor Wally, so one afternoon while I was skipping school I burst into his office and declared, "I'm pissed off at God. I'm pissed off at the Church... And want to meet with you to talk about it." (Keep in mind I looked like a hippie at the time both in terms of the length of my hair and the appearance of my car, The Clarkmobile.) His mellow response: "And your name is?" Well played. I didn't realize that it was counseling till well after the fact, but hours at a time he poured into my life during our weekly meetings. We hashed through just about everything: psychological struggles, strained relationships, expectations for a local church, theological presuppositions, pornography, political philosophy, table manners, worship practices, the ladies, my self-centered nature, etc. Perhaps more than any other single person, Wally was responsible for steering my infant faith in the right direction, making it pliable, and smoothing away my roughest edges. Like Kyle he kicked my butt on a regular basis, and I'm a better man today for it. It was he who first demonstrated that one can be a devout Christian without being a Pentecostal. He also baptized me, was the reason I went to Moody, and later married my wife and I.

The year after high school God put another pastor, Mike Newsom, in my life. There was a group of close friends of which I was a part who had together been fervently seeking after the Lord, but Mike saw a glaring weakness: There was nearly a complete dearth of theological mooring. He began teaching a weekly Bible study. At first it was about laying the basic foundation: inspiration, hermeneutics, justification, sanctification, etc. Over time he began getting into more complicated systems of theology. It was through his influence that I eventually considered myself a Reformed (Calvinism + Covenant Theology) Charismatic as opposed to the Arminian, Dispensational Pentecostalism of my background. Though I have since come to disagree with a great many of Pastor Mike's theological conceptions on second matters, I'll forever be grateful for his grounding me in sound historic orthodoxy and instilling in me the infinite value of rightly discerning the Word of God.

From a larger perspective, that two year period contained a lot of formative experiences--many good, many bad. The story gets so convoluted that I find it nearly impossible to separate the positive and the negative. For that reason, and because a pet peeve of mine is when Christians get into spiritualized pissing contests over their scars, I think it's best that I omit most the details of that period. I simply feel that it would be inappropriate to express specific criticism of individuals in a public forum such as this. Unfortunately, that means I'll also not offer thanks for all that also went so well. Suffice to say I left Pentecostalism. I would be remiss not to mention, however, the profoundly positive impact Pentecostalism has also left on my life. Though I abandoned it because of its rampant excesses, unbiblical exercising of spiritual gifts, poor theology, and unbalanced pietism, I remain exceedingly grateful for its dogged evangelism, emphasis upon passionate faith, and refusal to put God in a box. If ever my wife and I have kids, those are valuable things I'd wish to pass along. In my view, no tradition does those things better than Pentecostalism.

In the fall of 2004 I got the hell out of Dodge and went to downtown Chicago where I attended Moody Bible Institute. In case anyone is keeping score, Moody holds to half-Reformed Theology (Calvinism + Dispensationalism) and Cessationism. As I'm a big proponent of the philosophy that one ought to always commend that which is commendable, then, and only then, critique that which out to be critiqued, I'll apply that principle in surveying my time at Moody.

There truly is a lot of great things to say about Moody. First, for a host of reasons, including its ministry reputation, free tuition, geographical location, and status as a ministry-only school, three to four times as many people apply as are accepted. The practical result is that the typical "Moody" had a genuine love for God, was serious about his/her faith, and was overall fairly bright. I'm down with neither the smug condescension toward other schools nor the inflated view of the institution that I regularly sensed about faculty, staff, and administration, but nevertheless the above positive features remain true. My experiences there shattered what was left of my fundamentalist tendencies. Of the two floors that I lived on alone, there were guys not only from all over the U.S. but from all over the world, including Israel, South Korea, England, Japan, and Brazil, which doesn't even start with the MKs. Encountering such global perspectives will inevitably challenge one's cultural assumptions and limited perspective. Second, because it wasn't affiliated with any one particular denomination, I met people from probably 35-40 different evangelical traditions. If people had it coming in, that'll throw a big ol' wrench in your denominational arrogance. Third, Moody's required student ministries forced me out of my comfort zone where I came to see various socio-economic levels, ethnic neighborhoods, urban blight, etc. It was an eye-opening experience. Fourth, to employ a baby metaphor, if, theologically speaking, Pentecostalism taught me to sit up and Pastor Wally helped me to crawl and Pastor Mike helped me take my first steps, then Moody taught me to walk with ease. I still wasn't running, but that was progress. Truly by God's leading I was quickly making up for lost time. Fifth, "ring by spring" was only a few months off :)

Almost all of the bad things about Moody are both causes and effects of conservative evangelicalism's worst elements. (To be clear, I openly profess to be an evangelical in the historic sense of the word so I'm by no means simply bashing the movement. Rather, I'm being honest about those faults so that we can go about fixing them. There's no setting the bone if you don't know it's broken.) I'll give three examples. First, talk about the Homeschool Mecca. Geez. Look, not all parents homeschool their kids for the same reason. Some do it for the purpose of providing a better, more well-rounded education and that sort of thing. Cool. Others do it to protect little Billy and Suzy from the corruption of the big, bad world, which completely embodies the absolute worst of conservative evangelicalism's us vs. them tenor, Chick Little fears, and isolationist culture. Rather than being in the world but not of it, they're of the world but not in it as they replicate popular culture and throw a christian veneer over the top to make it safe (See: most CCM). Suck. Unfortunately, I found that the latter was the majority view. So what you get is situations like the one I was in where I was sharing the gospel with a guy in one of the nation's worst neighborhoods, the dude said, "What the fuck are you talking about?" in a genuinely quizzical manner with zero hostility (the epithet was simply an adjective expressing the degree of his confusion) and the 18-year-old homeschooler ran away crying. No joke. Come to find out later that he had literally never before heard an f-bomb dropped. So I had to go take care of his naive psyche while the dude wondering about the gospel walked away. I'm telling ya, this is why homeschoolers hailing from homes with a defensive posture rarely leave the christian bubble. It's tragic. I shudder to think what happens when these guys become pastors and youth pastors. Second, far and away the prevailing political ideology was default conservatism. That is, conservative until proven otherwise. I tend to think that's politically no worse than most state universities where the common view is default progressivism, but the larger problem I have is when the eternal Body of Christ is prostituted to temporal political agenda, parties, figures, and organizations. Being one-sided is one thing. Attempting to spiritualize and sanction it with the Bible is quite another. Third, every single year the professors have to sign off on a doctrinal statement that says they affirm the aforementioned narrow doctrinal positions, so there's very little theological diversity among the faculty. That's a recipe for indoctrination rather than education.

When I think "mixed bag" in my head, the first thing that comes to mind is Moody Bible Institute.

My third semester there was abbreviated. Long story short, I got really sick so my then-fiance and I withdrew from school so I could go to the Mayo Clinic. Good news: I'd been misdiagnosed with asthma as a child and also didn't have Marfan's Syndrome. Bad news: I had cystic fibrosis and a ridiculously horrible case of mono. For about five months I did little but sleep 12-16 hours a day and read. It proved to be a time of immense theological importance, though. It troubled both my mind and my soul a great deal that I'd been taught such contradictory systems of theology by people whom I mutually respected so much, so I set out about the task of figuring out the correct views on three common debates: Arminianism/Calvinism, Dispensationalism/Covenant Theology, Pentecostalism/Cessationism. I wrote emails to those theologians who were, to the best of my knowledge, the most well-respected advocates of their positions and asked them each to recommend a single title explaining their view. I was determined to be honest with myself in giving each position a fair shot regardless of the consequences for my relationships with friends, family, and mentors. I wouldn't have expressed it this way at the time, but being intellectually honest with myself was more important than those relationships.

My conclusion was that all six options are crap. Put more charitably, every one of 'em has strengths and weaknesses, points of profound insight and tragic blindness. Though I continued to wrestle with those three issues for another couple years, I was never able to in good conscience downplay, ignore, or dismiss their weaknesses in order to embrace their strengths. My priority wasn't having something to stand upon like so many of my friends and mentors seemingly had done. Honestly, regardless of whether this was an accurate perception, at the time I felt like I was the only one who capable of avoiding the extremes of lying to myself in order to attain a sense of peace and security in these rigid theological systems on the one side and falling prey to theological apathy on the other. This was the beginning of a spiritual crisis. Not in Jesus, but in organized Christianity.

After getting married in June 2006 my wife and I moved down to northeast Georgia to attend another conservative Bible college. Since leaving the Assemblies of God five years earlier, I'd been a student at two different conservative Bible colleges of significant theological variance and had attended Protestant churches running the gamut--independent Pentecostal, Evangelical Free, Evangelical Covenant, Evangelical Lutheran, Free Lutheran, General Baptist, Southern Baptist, Presbyterian Church USA, Presbyterian Church in America, United Methodist, C&MA, non-denominational, Sovereign Grace, and a "Bible church." Being bombarded with that many contradictory truth claims made me cynical and eventually led to a series of questions that would recast my faith.

The story of my journey is to be continued in Part III-b...

Mini Blog # 17: Pentecostals & Scripture

Since leaving Pentecostalism six years ago, I've since run in a lot of heavily anti-Pentecostal churches. In those circles, the most common criticism I've heard has been that Pentecostals aren't serious about the Bible, but that's simply an oversimplification and mischaracterization of the issue. I'm by no means a Pentecostal nor an encourager of that form of Christianity. If you've seen the documentary Jesus Camp, then you understand the wounds from which I'm still healing. But at the same time I will not misrepresent them. When I hear anti-Pentecostals offer their scathing criticisms that border on condemnation, I often wonder what they're basing those assessments off of. Or, more precisely, do they intimately know any Pentecostals or are they basing these characterizations on the experiences of those who only know it from afar? I've often found that the latter is the case. In my experience, Pentecostals are some of the most passionate Christians toward God's Word that one will ever meet. They're redonkulous at Bible memorization, for example. To fairly and accurately understand/represent them, one must realize that people can be very serious about a thing, even ardently loving it, while yet being misguided. Moreover, such appraisals miss the basic criticism that Catholics leveled toward Luther nearly 500 years ago: Even devout, well-intentioned Christians will misinterpret and misappropriate the Word of God if it's individualized by being put in the people's hands apart from the guidance of the Catholic Church. I'm not Catholic and I think Erasmus & Co. got some key points wrong on this one, but the fact of the matter is that that criticism has rung true for nearly a half millennium now. Seriousness about God's Word simply doesn't automatically translate to right interpretation even if it's done prayerfully and with noble intentions. Pentecostalism merely is a more obvious example of that same problem that has long plagued all of Protestantism.

I can't believe I've written a post defending Pentecostalism. Next I'll be writing that Glenn Beck isn't an immature, oversimplifying jackass... May it never be so!

Projection Screens in Churches: Musings on the Sign and the Thing Signified

It has long been my practice that the first thing I do when I walk into a church sanctuary or chapel is scan the walls for projection screens. Though my preferences have changed rather markedly over the years, I've found such screens to be good indicators of what's to come. When I was a child and a teenager their presence excited me. They signaled a church that had departed from dead tradition, monotonous hymns, and a church culture geared for the elderly. A projector was a welcomed sighted. It suggested that the innate boredom of a church service would be mitigated. I was able to let my guard down and be a little more comfortable. Now in my mid-20s, when I catch sight of one I shudder, following by an immediate bracing for a couple hours of pure annoyance.

My wick for low church worship forms has been completely burned up. 25 years of low church evangelicalism will do that, especially when one's adolescent years were spent within Pentecostalism--evangelicalism's more potent and concentrated form. I'm weary of singers who awkwardly stand on a stage as though they were performing a concert, people-centered songs that emphasize people's experience in worshiping rather than the God who is being worshiped, "special music" that guilts people into giving money, preachers who mislead people as they rant and rave with half-truths and use youtube clips in a ploy to be culturally relevant, altar calls that emotionally manipulate people into psychological frenzies, evangelistic spiels that miss the point that a Sunday morning worship service is for believers, architecture and decor that are so utilitarian as to lack almost any aesthetic/artistic value that both points to God and reflects His creative nature, rambling prayers that are just, well, supposed to be, just, like, more sincere because they are just, you know, just spontaneous, and, most of all, the pep rally feel where it seems the implicit purpose is to pump the Christians up on some sort of church camp-like high in order to defeat the devil in the upcoming week's football game of life. Such things long-ago chafed my soul to the point of... well, I don't know what is past exasperation, but whatever it is that's where I'm at. Any suggestions for the word?

By contrast, I'm desperate for high church services. I long for contemplative saturation in God's Word, communal recitation of creeds as was the norm for the first 18 centuries of Church history, sacramental worship that unites Christians in the Eucharist and reminds believers of Christ's redeeming death, and an overall atmosphere that confronts the excesses of our hyperactive culture and, instead, offers a sense of peace, serenity, mediation, calm, and overall sense of "otherness." These things relieve my angst and provide spiritual peace. You'll hear no denial from me that I'm still regularly bored in such environments, but when given the choice between boredom and annoyance I'll go with the former every time.

Is it possible that a high church worship service would use a projector screen effectively? Yeah, I suppose. But I'm not sure I'd want them to. I'm down with Christianity Unplugged.

Mini Blog #16: Intelligent Idiots

I worked on my aunt's and uncle's farm every summer for seven years. Without question it was the best job I ever had. Beyond the satisfaction of a hard day's work, I got to glean from my uncle's folk wisdom. He'd make these thought-provoking little comments, then give me hours to contemplate it as I painted a wall or shoveled the horse crap. Just this weekend I was considering one of his more memorable statements. At the end of a long conversation about God and church--keep in mind he's for all practical purposes a deist--he said, "Carson, there are a lot of really intelligent idiots running around. They assume that their cognitive abilities make them smart, so they stop there. These bums have all the potential in the world, but they don't do anything with it because they fail to understand that intelligence is the raw material with which one becomes smart. Just remember that intelligence comes natural, but smart doesn't." Fresh off a Sunday school lesson distinguishing intelligence from wisdom, I tried to be insightful, "Don't you mean wisdom? Aren't you saying that you can be smart but not wise?" "No. Wisdom is a separate issue," he shot back, "A guy can be smart but still not know his ass from a hole in the ground and a guy can be stupid and wise. But that's beside the point. I'm talking about those guys who have goods minds but will forever be dumb." Then he strolled away. A couple hours later I asked him what he meant. "They still think like they're in the 7th grade." Near the end of the day, as I was heading out, he gave me one of those pats on the back that means "job well done" and casually remarked, "Do me a favor and don't wind up an intelligent idiot." It took till I got in my car that I got what he was implying. I'd begun working for him before 7th grade. The king of the subtle jab had done it again. I couldn't have been more than 17 when he said that, but it's stuck with me. Sometimes the truest rebukes come from people who don't excuse the stupidity of our statements because of shared belief.

An Aspiring Author's Frustration at the Impossibility of Capturing a Journey with a Snapshot

Last week I missed a deadline for submitting a paper abstract for Baylor's upcoming conference on the future of healthcare and human dignity. My plan had been to reformat that healthcare post from a few months back into an academic piece, but as I edited it over the course of a month my views continually morphed. Eventually I could not in good conscience present the paper as it no longer faithfully represented my view, which brings me to a much large conundrum.

In short, I've no idea how I'm ever going to get anything published. The problem isn't having the time or inclination to crank out the content, but of still agreeing with it by the time of its publication and beyond. Even writing these 25 blog posts explaining my recent commitment to Anglicanism has been a maddening process for that reason. The more extended the period of time that something is written the more facts and perspectives I gain, which necessarily modifies my thought processes and overall outlook as well as the consequent beliefs, opinions, perspectives, and so forth. It is, to a lesser degree, like reading a journal from the 8th grade about some girl you liked--it's embarrassing to realize I was so stupid. It's almost as though the only way to agree with my thesis at the conclusion of the writing process is to isolate myself in order to exclude alternative influences, which seems completely contrary to the spirit of learning that ought to characterize a good book. I was just watching a youtube video of N.T. Wright in which he commented that he used to tell his students that one-third of what he says was wrong. The problem is that he didn't know which third it was otherwise he wouldn't say and think it. That's exactly how I feel.

I'd really like to speak with some quality authors about this difficulty. Do they only write about those subjects where their own views have been fairly static of late? Do they engage in a great deal of research beforehand to justify intentionally quarantining themselves during the writing process? How much of the content of their past publications do they no longer affirm? Do they discredit themselves in the present by telling their readers that they were wrong in the past? How do they deal with the inward embarrassment of thinking oneself so naive at an earlier point? Obviously this is one reason why books undergo multiple editions, but do the books ever change so much that they're beyond revision? And even if I didn't read or have conversations with people, my views still are constantly changing and being nuanced just because of contemplations, which for me happens most while writing! How do they deal with that? I guess the ultimate problem is that the words I write at a given moment are merely a snapshot one moment in an evolving life. If I may employ the journey metaphor, many people and far too many authors hardly go anywhere so their picture may not change a great deal over the years. Yet for those of us whose lives are constantly in flux, I cannot imagine taking a picture that says, "This is the way it is" only to disagree with myself by the time it goes to press.

Mini Blog #15: Cleveland

Dear Cleveland fans,

My most painful sports experience was Gary Anderson's perfect season ending at just the wrong time, but last night's "hour-long TV special to take a dump on Cleveland by revealing he's the black Art Modell... a televised middle-finger farewell to his hometown," as Bill Simmons put it, completely reframed my perspective. I now look at the '98 NFC Championship Game as a mere paper cut to your serrated knife wound and hereby admit defeat in the "most tortured fanbase" argument. I'll now be content in arguing with Buffalo fans for the runner-up position. I can't imagine it's much solace, but I'm now a de facto Cleveland fan during games in which my teams aren't involved. I just don't believe in kicking a man while he's down.

Sincerely,

Carson from Minnesota

P.S. Will one of you guys please start the "LeBackstab" facebook group already? I'd do it, but it just wouldn't be right.

My Completion of the Canterbury Trail: A Successful Pilgrimage (Part II)

(Written the morning of 7-27-10)

It has long been my observation that although Jesus called his followers to worship him with the entirety of their beings, for each of us there's areas where that comes with greater ease and genuine struggle. In my case, loving God with all my heart has always come natural. The same is true of my mind, though it took some time to unshackle from my faith from the mentally-atrophied evangelical culture. Loving my neighbor as myself has always been an inward passion, which unfortunately has had to be put on the back burner in order to accomplish my academic goals in the short-term. Loving God with all my soul, however, has never come naturally and probably never will.

My wife would testify that I'm one of the least mystical Christians anyone will ever meet. I write that not in a spirit of pride, but of lament. I've spent many hours crying out to God asking why I cannot sense his tangible presence, leading, or comfort in the way so many Christians casually speak of. Yet I refuse to be the sort of believer who foolishly embraces his deficiencies and scorns those who are wired differently. In much of life it's wise to maximize our strengths and minimize our weaknesses, but that practice in our spiritual lives results in Christians who are forever blind and debilitated. With the Spirit's assistance, I've long been committed overcoming this flaw in my faith. Perhaps it is fitting, then, that it is a profoundly spiritual experience that has confirmed God's drawing toward Anglicanism.

This weekend I'm on something of a pilgrimage. After consistent prayer and thoroughly studying all things Anglican for a nearly a year, in my heart and mind I was ready to make the leap. But something was missing. I have no idea how to explain it other than to say it was a deep spiritual ache that held me back. Keeping in mind that I don't flippantly throw out comments like these, somehow I knew I had to go to Savannah to attend Christ Church. I now understand why.

Only an hour ago I completed my journey down the Canterbury Trail. This post is being written from a pew where people would have seen and heard John Wesley and George Whitefield give homilies and administer the Eucharist. (Yes, I'm aware of the fire. In the words of Dr. Evil, "Zip it!") As I sit here and reflect, I'm experiencing something foreign that I've perhaps never known before--peace that surpasses all understanding. It's as though the last verse of the final hymn we sang was written just for me: "in hope that sends a shining ray far down the future's broadening way, in peace that only though canst give, with thee, O Master, let me live." Instead of my ever-present spiritual angst and loneliness, it's as though I feel God's gentle hand on my shoulder welcoming me home. I'm crying tears of... joy. Even the organ someone is practicing in the balcony sounds *less* hideous. Truly this is the presence of God.

My Completion of the Canterbury Trail: An Introduction to the 25 Posts (Part I)

As of last Sunday, 27 June 2010, I consider myself Anglican.

Over the past several months, I've been sharing my thoughts about Anglicanism with friends and family. From the very first deep conversation it quickly became apparent that there were a lot of questions, concerns, and issues to address. Many had little more than a sketchy idea of what Anglicanism actually is. Most couldn't grasp how I commit to a tradition without embracing every last part of it, so they assumed my faith was morphing into mindless conformity. Nobody quite got how much time and prayer I'd invested exploring the tradition. To give a sample, Pentecostals couldn't fathom why I'd want to join "dead religion," Anabaptists worried I was completely embracing Just War Theory, Emergents wondered if I was finding my identity in oppressive structures, Baptists took this move as an affront upon their low church sensibilities, Catholics assumed I was on the verge of swimming the Tiber, Episcopalians celebrated that I was joining their fold, and Anglicans assumed this meant I was now sacramental. All of which are wrong. Oy vey. Being a moderate evangelical is confusion enough. One might imagine how overwhelmed I've felt by the mere tasks of identifying erroneous speculation much less actually explaining what I actually think and believe as an Anglican.

Naturally, I've turned to my blog. Over the next month or so I'm going to be publishing 25 new blog posts, including this one, trying to explain why I'm committing to the Anglican tradition. I'm not dumb enough to assume everyone will read them all, especially the longer ones, so the following list is being provided to enable people to read those posts that particularly interest them:

Part I: An Introduction to the 25 Posts
Part II: A Successful Pilgrimage
Part III: My Journey
Part IV: A Tradition of Vile Origins, Compromise, and Tension
Part V: Episcopalian or Anglican?
Part VI: Committing or Converting?
Part VII: An Imperfect Fit
Part VIII: Theological Freedom
Part IX: Historic Practices
Part X: A Remnant of Apostolic Oversight
Part X: The Unique Opportunity for Ecumenism
Part XI: The Global Mindset
Part XII: A Reversal of Continental Proportions
Part XIII: Intellectual Heritage
Part XIV: A Tradition with Class
Part XV: Avoiding the Cult of the Pastorate
Part XVI: The Priesthood of the Believer
Part XVII: Bishops
Part XVIII: Homosexuality
Part XIX: The Elevation of Scripture
Part XX: Clerical Marriage
Part XXI: Evangelism
Part XXII: A Sense of Reverence, Awe, and Wonder
Part XXIII: The Best of Evangelicalism
Part XXIV: Reunification
Part XXV: Assorted Final Thoughts

I wish to be explicitly clear as to the tone that will characterize this series. While I invite anyone to read my writing, these posts are of a personal nature. They're being written primarily for my friends, family, and mentors so that they may might understand where I'm at spiritually, ecclesiastially, and theologically as well as why I've made this decision. Accordingly, I write this not in a spirit of argumentation, but of understanding. While I will explain the facts and thought processes that led me to this point, my intention isn't to proselytize nor to offer an apologetic for Anglicanism over and against other faith traditions.

My satirical "Religious views" on facebook has long been a quote from Simpsons pastor Reverend Timothy Lovejoy: "The one, true faith: The Western branch of the American Reformed Presbylutheranism." I'm not changing that. Though I'm committing to the Anglican tradition, I continue to find those who dogmatically insist that their faith tradition embodies true Christianity to be naive at best and arrogant at worst. Though Catholics and Orthodox would disagree with this interpretation, my study of Church history has revealed that there is no tradition undefiled by tragic schism. The roots of the New Testament church produced the unified trunk of the Patristic Era, which (seemingly) forever split into two branches in 1054, several smaller branches in 1517, and countless twigs in the present. So while I love tangible historic unity and *clearly* am not one to downplay the importance of differences in doctrine and worship practices, I've found that God still uses all the fractured parts of his orthodox Body to achieve His purposes--Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anglican Church in North America, The Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod, Southern Baptist, Assemblies of God, Presbyterian Church in America, United Methodist, Evangelical Free, Church of God, etc. I'm ecumenical like that. So while the ultimate destination is the same for all true Christians, the paths along which God sovereignly leads each of us seems to differ remarkably.

As I now prepare to embark on the next leg of the journey set before me, I want to pause to tell my former guides and fellow travelers why I've chosen the path I have. I hope that my readers sense that I'm now and intend to forever be humbly Anglican. Thank you for all your thoughts and prayers during this time.

The Annual Debunking the Fourth Post: Top 10 Unsightly Facts about the American Revolution

Preface: From the title alone, the content of this note is clearly provocative. The shock value was never my heart's intent in writing this, though. As a student of history, I've heard and read a lot of things that don't gel well with the conservative, pro-America stance so many folks hold to. I love many of these people and count them as my friends, family, and mentors, but I'm genuinely worried about the widespread ignorance to the historical realities--be it willful or not--and the potential damage it causes to their christian witness. If we claim to be people of the truth, I think there are times in which we need to be confronted by unpleasant facts that will make us reconsider our beliefs and opinions. There have been plenty of times I've been in this position, and I can definitively say that I'm a better man and a better Christian for it. I hope that the content below will positively challenge people's perceptions of our country's origins and that we would all worship our God through the cultivation of our minds.

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This being the Fourth of July weekend, a lot of conservative Christians are experiencing a patriotic fervor that is premised upon their belief that God was behind our country's founding. In the pursuit of truth, let's shed light on some of the most unsightly facts that most of these folks haven't heard--or refuse to acknowledge--about our country's independence:

1) American colonists had the world's highest standard of living in 1776. Not much economic suppression there.

2) The rallying call of "no taxation without representation" ignores the fact that the vast majority of the English at the time did not meet the property requirements for voting. Even John Wesley opposed the war on these grounds, pointing out that not even he could vote.

3) The media's reporting of most of the events leading up to the war was sensational at best. Take the "Boston Massacre" as an interesting case study. One of our key Founding Fathers and future presidents, John Adams, agreed that the "massacre" was provoked by drunk Americans and was no massacre but was self-defense, as evidenced in the legal defense and acquittal he provided for those soldiers despite the personal fear he had over the negative impact it'd have upon his political ambitions. I recommend HBO's series John Adams for a historically-sound portrayal of this event.

4) The American Revolution primarily was about the defense of the unique American culture, not the resistance to English tyranny.

Further explanation: By the time of the Revolution there had developed a uniquely American culture of political and economic independence that was a result of England's past policy of salutary neglect. When they were small colonies producing great wealth and few headaches for the motherland, this policy made sense. But historical contexts changed. Specifically, when the English had to defend the colonies in the French and Indian War, it was a logical conclusion that the American colonists, who benefited greatly from the war, should help pay off the debt incurred by the war. Yet to the Americans who had become accustomed to the hands-off political and economic policies, these were more than mere taxes. They represented a challenge to the uniquely autonomous culture that had developed. The new taxes were not tyrannical, but they seemed that way to the colonists because it challenged previously held assumptions. After that followed the back and forth cycle of the crown attempting to enforce its authority and the Americans rebelling, which intensified every time around. Throw in the sensational reporting of the newspapers which magnified the events far beyond their true proportions and you've got a recipe for war. So let us be clear: The American patriots were not acting as oppressed Englishmen, but cultural Americans... It has been said the the American Revolution was the least revolutionary war in history. Ironically, it was a "revolution" to maintain the status quo.

5) There was no clear "christian position" during the war. Christians were divided between four basic positions: patriots, loyalists, qualified patriots, and pacifists. As an aside, it's interesting that Baptists have evolved from a complex, nuanced position of qualified patriotism to quite often being some of the fiercest patriots in the land. Makes ya wonder if that's progression or digression.

6) Tragically, many patriotic Christians were known to link their national, temporal identities with their eternal identities, telling congregations in their same ecclesiastical/denominational bodies that they could not have fellowship if they did not support the war effort.

7) Devout Christians on both sides were killing each other, mutually convinced that they were fighting on behalf of God's will.

8) The vast majority of this country's Founding Fathers were not Christians, but deists.

Further explanation: Despite the fact that conservative Christians today would decry the illegitimacy of deism if they ever engaged in a conversation with a genuine deist, many of these folks have found themselves in the uncomfortable position of having to defend the beliefs of late 18th century American deists due to their claim that our country started as a “Christian nation.” Their basic argument is that while these deists did not have a complete biblical worldview, they had enough of a christian worldview that they essentially thought as Christians. That is, the Founding Father's beliefs were partial and incomplete, yet full enough that we can honestly say that their biblical/christian worldview was instrumental in our country's founding, e.g. They'll cite Jefferson's appeal that all people are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights as evidence. Throughout my engagements with these individuals, I’ve developed a concise logical argument that I believe quickly and effectively shows that these deists were not Christians and, while they did quote Scripture a lot, did not have a “biblical worldview.” Here it is:

A: Belief in God as the Creator and the Imagio Dei.
B: Belief in the remainder of the essential orthodox doctrines, including the Fall, Trinity, Christ’s literal death and resurrection, virgin birth, etc.
C: A biblical worldview.

A + B = C
A ≠ C

‘A’ and ‘B’ together form orthodox Christianity. ‘A’ alone is not Christianity, but deism.

If you’re one of the folks who sincerely believes that the Founding Fathers had a biblical worldview because they were so influenced by and so regularly quoted Scripture, then I hope you’re consistent and would say that contemporary Mormons have a biblical worldview, too. Heck of a quagmire.

9) Yes, there were many sermons preached at the time linking the plans of God in 1776 with His plans for Israel in the Old Testament. Read some of those sermons, though. Even extraordinarily conservative theologians today would acknowledge that those sermons were based on horrible eisegesis that ripped passages out of their historical and literary contexts, thereby abusing God's holy Word in their effort to biblically justify their political philosophies.

10) According to classic christian articulation of Just War Theory, the America Revolution does not fit the criteria and, therefore, is not a just war. I'll just point y'all in the direction of The Search for Christian America, the joint work of acclaimed evangelical historians Mark Noll, Nathan Hatch, and George Marsden. Check out pages 95-97 regarding this specific issue.

You'll not hear me argue that the British weren't in the wrong in some of their policies. The question is whether these wrongs were grave enough to justify revolution. That is, there is no question that there was some wrongdoing on the part of the British parliament, but were those infractions great enough to warrant schism and bloodshed? At the time of the Revolution, I would argue that they were not, but that sensational reporting of events magnified British errors way out of proportion. This is not to say that they couldn't have eventually gotten that bad. What I'm saying is that in 1776 the US could have stayed within the British system and gotten along just fine and probably even earned their independence later on, as was the case with Canada. The war was simply not justified at the time that the Declaration of Independence was written and signed.

To close I defer to those far more knowledgeable than I. Here's an excerpt from the aforementioned book:

"Almost from the first moments of the War for Independence itself, American Christian leaders have publicly claimed the blessing of God upon the United States. Statements about the country's divine origins... have been common throughout our history. Also, in recent years such assessments have proliferated. Books proclaim that God had a special 'plan for America' which was visible in Columbus' voyages, in the Puritan settlements, and especially in the War for Independence when God providentially intervened on behalf of 'his people.' Other media proclaim the God-given ideals which inspired the founding fathers of this nation. And countless books, pamphlets, sermons, and public speeches of the Revolutionary War as a blessed event which God used to found a nation on Christian principles... These views are widespread in some Christian circles. But they do not reflect an accurate picture of the actual circumstances of the American Revolution. Such opinions are, therefore, dangerous for Christians simply because they are not truth, or because they are only ambiguous half-truths."