Musings of a Hard-Lining Moderate

Moving to Wordpress

2010-12-02T15:22:00.000-06:00

Readers,

The past few days a number of more experienced bloggers have gently harassed me into switching over to wordpress, suggesting it's important if I'm serious about expanding my readership. So, like the dreaded email switch, the time has come for the dreaded blog switch. The new url is http://carsontclark.wordpress.com/.

If you "Follow" this blogspot or subscribe to its RSS feed, please switch over. There's two options on the new site. You can either sign up for email notifications of new posts or subscribe to the RSS feed. Whatever works best for you. And for those who enjoy interacting with comments, I'm excited about this new site not only because it's an aesthetic improvement but it also seems to have a better discussion platform.

There's a new post waiting entitled "Miniblog #34: The Anglican Crisis Over Scripture." Once again, thank you.

So long from blogspot,

Carson

Mini Blog #33: One Reason I Love History

2010-11-30T13:33:00.000-06:00

Alexander Pope once wrote, "What oft was thought but ne'er so well expressed." That quote has frequently come to mind ever since English Lit II with Dr. Williams. Yesterday it happened again. "Other academic disciplines... that look at human behavior tend to view behavior through the lens of their own disciplines. Economists see economics as primary; sociologists measure social forces; psychologists evaluate the psychological; biologists see humans as living organisms; and so forth," observed George Marsden. "Historians, however, are supposed to look at the interrelationships among the forces that shape human behavior. They have to weigh the relative importance of the economic, social, psychological, biological, physical, political, aesthetic, ethical, and technological factors, as well as many other[s]." That captures how I think and why I so often get frustrated... OK, let's be honest... annoyed with other academics. It's not merely an issue of liking their discipline over all others. Obviously it's good that people have passion for what they do and to like it most; the problem is when they value it more. I loathe the practioners of disciplines who act as though theirs reigns supreme. As far as I'm concerned, no discipline trumps any other. Each has its own strengths and weaknesses, areas of clarity and blind spots. They all provide a different perspective but none are of greater importance, which is why I appreciate history's innate recognition that all disciplines are compatible and together provide a clearer understanding of truth. No historian worth her salt can believe her discipline is more valuable than the others. With history that humility comes built-in whereas in other disciplines it (seems as though it) must be cultivated. That's probably what I love most about history.

A Primer on Open Theism

2010-11-28T14:04:00.000-06:00

Background

There's a precedent at least as far back as 150 years but, about a decade ago, Open Theism created quite the theological squabble. Ground zero was the Twin Cities, where there were two pastor/theologians whose differences highlight the big umbrella policy of not only contemporary evangelicalism but their own denomination. John Piper, pastor of Minneapolis' Bethlehem Baptist, is so Reformed that he's tacked an additional two points onto the historic five. Greg Boyd, pastor of St. Paul's Woodland Hills Church, is an Open Theist who makes folks like Piper long for the good ol' days of the Calvinism-Arminianism war.

The other most well-known Open Theists are John Sanders and the late Clark Pinnock, both of whom faced votes for their expulsion from the Evangelical Theological Society because of this belief. In the end neither lost his membership, which precipitated Norm Geisler tendering his resignation on the grounds that ETS wasn't fundamentalist enough... er.... didn't uphold his view of inerrancy. In retrospect the controversy had the opposite effect as was intended by those wanting the pair ousted. Far from condemning Open Theism, it provided rare empirical backing that self-identifying evangelical theologians consider it, at the very least, a viable option.

Today Open Theism remains controversial, but the dust has pretty well settled. It isn't affirmed by any conservative evangelical I'm aware of, but is held by a growing number espousing to be moderate, progressive, and post-conservative evangelicals.

Content & Perspectives

Depending on who you ask you're going to get a different spin. The crux of the whole thing is that Open Theism is a rejection of the presuppositional foundation of Platonic Greek philosophy, upon which much early christian theology was built. The three-fold reasoning goes something like this:

(Let me preface the next few points by begging for the philosophers' mercy. This ain't my field of expertise. I'm a history guy who only dabbles in philosophy.)

There are abstract forms to which all else that we see and interact with points. These forms are the only ontologically knowable things. So if something is red, its ultimate essence derives from the form "redness." If something is a chair, then its from "chairness."
There's this idea of taking things to their (supposed) logical extreme through linear thought process. So if there's a person who is good and lives a long time, then then god must be best and last forever. Taking things to the Nth degree, so to speak.
In Plato's mind, something to be knowable it must be at least noticeably static.

When you add 'em together the result is that for a being to be god it must be absolute, eternal, immutable, omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient.

Such apostolic fathers as Justin Martry sought to defend Christianity and make it seem intellectually plausible to the second century Roman aristocracy. Moreover, they argued that the truth of Christianity aligns with truth anywhere and sought to reconcile it with Neo-Platonism, which they held in high regard. Thus, Classical Theism was developed and came to be viewed as an essential core of christian doctrine.

Open Theists, however, claim that the Bible and Neo-Platonism cannot be fully integrated. They assert that Classical Theists have to find... creative... ways around the obvious historico-grammatical interpretation when the OT, in particular, says God repented or changed His mind. Open Theists claim to interpret such texts in a more faithful way to what an original audience would have understood.

Concerning God's foreknowledge, there's a diversity of thought within Open Theism not unlike the variety of views among, say, Dispensationalists' eschatological beliefs. Some Open Theists hold that God chooses not to know the future as a sort of self-restraint, thereby providing true free will. Others say it's much simpler than that. They believe that God doesn't know the future because it's not something that's knowable. It's a rejection of the Doc Brown view where you can hop in a DeLorean and move forward in history because the entire space-time continuum has already been written. In other words, the future cannot be known (even by God) because there is no such thing; it just plain doesn't exist.

Naturally, Classical Theists are none too pleased about all this this. Arminians and, to a greater extent, Calvinists see this as undermining their whole theological system. It's not a mere nuance or shift, by a complete deconstruction and rebuilding of major elements within christian theology. They assert that Open Theism effectively humanizes and even deposes God by painting Him as this weak deity who's in a constant struggle and isn't definitively in control. They argue that the God of Open Theism reflects more a god out of the Greek pantheon than the God of the Bible.

(If this next paragraph confuses you, just ignore it and move on. It's non-essential.)

Now is a good time to distinguish between Process Theology and Open Theism. Perhaps a good analogy would be chess. All agree that God is the game's inventor, but Process Theologians don't think God invented the rules. They believe the rules are continually being developed. Open Theists, on the other hand, think God invented the rules and is the best chess master imaginable, but (some) aren't sure that God will win. Folks like Norman Geisler lump all them together as basically the same thing.

Commentary

As one who approaches all matters of faith first and foremost from the perspective of history, I want to facepalm myself whenever I hear conservative evangelicals claim that their beliefs are rooted within Scripture whereas Open Theism is built upon philosophy. The simple historical fact is that Classical Theism predates Christianity and doesn't stem from Hebrew thought. It's a philosophical system developed as a direct response to the cantankerous deities of the Greek pantheon. As such it's quite foreign to the Ancient Near Eastern thought processes of most the biblical authors, was imported into christian thought by church fathers as they syncretized Christianity with their culture, and has stuck. The practical result is that the ANE God revelaed in the Scriptures has looked awfully dang Greco-Roman ever since.

Unfortunately, most conservative evangelicals have been so conditioned by their worldview that they're completely ignorant of its influence. They cannot see beyond their own cultural perceptions. In the terminology of cultural anthropology, they have an emic (insider's) perspective and are unable to even consider an etic (outsider's) perspective. I cannot help but marvel at the irony. They knowingly filter their interpretations of Scripture through the lens of Greek philosophy even as they claim to place the Bible above philosophy. It's like writing an essay about how you reject the alphabet.

Platonism was developed in response to the Greek pantheon, it became Classical Theism as it was integrated into Christianity, and anyone who rejects Classical Theism is said to believe in a God resembling a deity out of the Greek pantheon. Seems we've come full circle, doesn't it? As ludicrous as this sounds, allow me to suggest that there just might be more than two options. (All the binary thinkers just revolted while the others rejoiced.)

Personally, I think christian theology's second century Hellenization is a tragedy. As one author put it, "Yeshua's teachings, which supposedly form the basis for Western Christianity, are now filtered through 2000 years of traditions born in ignorance of the land, language, and culture of the Bible." That's why I'm willing to reconsider the doctrine of God's omniscience. Specifically, His divine foreknowledge. I'm not, however, willing to toss my hat in with the Open Theists.

Most Christians don't realize that the vast majority of biblical prophecy has little to do with foreknowledge and everything to do with "forthknowledge," as a professor of mine used to say. Nevertheless, there are some clear examples of foreknowledge in Scripture. I think about Genesis 3:14-15 and Jesus' crucifixion, as well as Mark 13:2 and the destruction of the temple in AD 70. Such passages are why I cannot embrace Open Theism in general or Sanders' "probalistic prophecy" specifically, which says that it is possible, however unlikely, that prophecy will not come to pass. I do think God has some sort of foreknowledge, although I have no idea what limitations, whether internal or external, there might be.

In my opinion, too many of these divine sovereignty and human responsibility arguments are shallow. They bounce around on hot button, surface level issues. Rarely do the participants get down to that core question, which is this: Who is God? If one's presupposition of God's essence align with Classical Theism, then by definition God must have foreknowledge of everything and that's the end of the discussion. But if one is willing to explore an etic perspective by seeking to get into the mind of the ancient biblical authors (as best we can, anyway), then questions about the nature and extent of God's foreknowledge are fair game.

Imploration

Though many of my blog posts explore controversial subjects and I put my perspective out there in a forthright manner, I make a concerted effort to encourage civil dialogue. Yet there comes a time when doing the right thing involves getting pissed and calling people out. This post on Open Theism wouldn't be complete without me doing this.

Quite frankly, many conservative to fundamentalist evangelicals--theologians, pastors, etc.--have behaved like complete assholes. Usually the complaint about academics is that they care more about truth than people, more about stroking their intellectual pride than fostering understanding. This group has managed to neglect both their heads and their hearts in their defense of their perspective on the truth. To quote Lord Vader, "Impressive. Most impressive." Not only do they oversimplify complex issues, they've also almost wholly thrown love, humility, grace, compassion, and civility to the wind. Apparently they missed the memo that orthopraxy (right living) is as important as orthodoxy (right doctrine), according to James. And speaking of orthodoxy, Open Theism isn't a freaking heresy! Every Open Theist I know and have read explicitly embraces each doctrine compromising historic orthodoxy as defined by the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds.

I don't mind disagreement. In fact, I value it because of the principle of iron sharpening iron. But will ya conservative blowhards please stop the Inquisition? All I'm asking is that ya settle down a bit, commit to simply understanding where Open Theists are coming from, and treat them like brothers and sisters in Christ... i.e. behave like Christians. Call me crazy, but I don't think that's too much to ask. Oh, and if I hear just one more person say they reject Open Theism because they're "Bible-believing" Christians, well, I just might snap. Jesus ain't Greek and Plato ain't the Messiah, folks.

Mini Blog #32: Emic & Etic Perspectives

2010-11-22T14:35:00.000-06:00

Cultural anthropologists distinguish between emic (insider's) and etic (outsider's) perspectives. An example from pop culture would be Lynyrd Skynyrd's emic praise of their home state, which was written in response to Neil Young's etic songs "Southern Man" and "Alabama" about the lingering racism in the post-Civil Rights South. Perhaps more than any other concepts, these have hugely impacted my life the past few years. Being aware of my emic perspective has, I hope and pray, encouraged a dual commitment to intellectual humility and rigor by illuminating the existence of alternative views, facilitating an awareness of my limited perspective, helping identify my presuppositions, and challenging those notions in the pursuit of truth. It's tremendously impacted my life across the board, including my marriage, relationships with family and friends, interaction with co-workers, academic interests, political beliefs, personal faith, and so on. In fact, most of my metaphorical "light bulb" experiences now stem from this concept. The most recent occurrence came when I was reading a theologian who noted that Eastern Christendom has long focused (more) around Jesus' incarnational birth whereas Western Christendom has emphasized His death and resurrection. No doubt that's painfully obvious to anyone from a Protestant or Catholic background who's dabbled in Orthodox theology and practice, but it struck me like a ton of bricks. I was completely unaware that my whole perception of Christianity had been conditioned in that way. (In the interest of fairness, most Eastern Christians probably aren't aware of their own conditioning in the other direction.) Ever since I've been trying to figure out how I might glean and integrate elements of the Eastern view for a more well-rounded, incarnational faith. Anyway, my larger point in writing is to encourage others to explore these concepts, to say, "Thank you!" to Dr. Penland, and point out that it was probably the single most influential course I took in college. I'd encourage anyone back at TFC who might read this to take Cultural Anthropology.

The Mystery of Divine Sovereignty & Human Responsibility: Brief Thoughts on Grudem, Kermit the Frog, Pinnock, Yancey & Theatre

2010-11-21T23:20:00.000-06:00

"Our words, our steps, our movements, our hearts, and our abilities are all from the Lord," writes Wayne Grudem in his book, Systematic Theology. In other words, he holds to God's complete sovereignty--the belief that God exercises complete causal control over everything. Despite the lengths to which he goes to affirm human responsibility, the problem remains that this position either eliminates man's moral responsibility for sin or creates a God that is completely enigmatic. In anticipation of this criticism, Grudem responds, "[W]e must remember that… Scripture nowhere shows God as directly doing anything evil, but rather as bringing about evil deeds through the willing actions of moral creatures." Is it just me or does this reasoning sound like an attempt at creating a divine loophole whereby God transfers culpability to the puppet while retaining his role as puppet master? It's like saying Jim Henson wouldn't be responsible if Kermit the Frog committed murder. When pressed Grudem undercuts such criticisms with a convenient appeal to the mystery of God's wisdom. I cannot help but think, 'Mystery? What mystery? In his conception, mystery was razed by his pronouncement that God controls everything.' The late Clark Pinnock captured my sentiments well when he wrote, "To say that God hates sin while secretly willing it, to say that God warns us not to fall away though it is impossible, to say that God loves the world while excluding most people from an opportunity of salvation, to say that God warmly invites sinners to come knowing all the while that they cannot possible do so--such things do not deserve to be called mysteries when that is just a euphemism for nonsense."

While written from the perspective of a journalist rather than a theologian, I appreciate the way Philip Yancey described God's interaction with man in The Bible Jesus Read. He observes, "One who reads [the Bible] encounters not an impassible, distant deity but an actual Person, a God as passionate as any person you have met. God feels delight, and frustration, and anger. He weeps and moans with pain. Again and again God is shocked by the behavior of human beings... behavior that, God says, 'I did not command or mention, nor did it enter my mind.'" Somehow this God has sovereignly guided all of history without coercing it. What I cannot figure out is how He knows the coming plot without having dictated the actors' actions and dialogue; that is, from my perspective the true mystery is how God built the set, produced the storyboard, served as the director, trained the actors, and even took on the leading role Himself, yet has been able to retain true improv, if you will.

Mini Blog #31: R.C. Sproul

2010-11-19T14:15:00.000-06:00

This afternoon I came across a thought-provoking facebook status. A friend observed that R.C. Sproul gave an inadequate reply to his audience's emotional and intellectual questions in a lecture about the doctrine of hell. I found this interesting coming from a guy who has a deep appreciation for Sproul's exegetical work. It brought me back to my Reformed days when I read Sproul's book, Chosen By God. I too was bothered by his seeming lack of concern or compassion. In the first chapter Sproul exhibits a sort of brazen smugness when recounting a time that he presented the doctrine of predestination to a decidedly non-Calvinist audience. My sense then was that Sproul's temperament is such that he just speaks (his perception of) the truth with little regard for people's mental or psychological responses. Having given it much thought over the past half decade, I've come to think two things about this. First, one dimension is Sproul's theology. Specifically, his outlook that God's will cannot possibly be thwarted. Sproul leans so heavily upon God's sovereignty that, in some sense, it doesn't matter if he comes across harshly or people get hurt. Because God is ultimately in control, Sproul confidently trusts that even his own mistakes will be overcome by (or are a part of) God's will. Personally, this highlights the quandary I have with Calvinism in that I like the innate selflessness but I cannot stand the practical lack of personal responsibility. Second, Sproul represents an older generation of theological discourse. For all of its well-chronicled mistakes and abuses, it seems to me that one of the positive aspects of Postmodernity and the modern psychological awareness is that they've torn down the high place of cognitive certitude as the only thing that matters. For those roughly my age who care about the christian faith, there's this innate sense that mind, heart, and spirit are equally important; they mustn't be separated or ranked, but must be integrated in a holistic fashion. There's this insistence that theology must be done with a profound concern for people's emotion and its impact upon their spiritual journey; that one cannot merely pronounce propositional truth claims and assume that right emotions and experiences will simply fall in line or else it's a sin problem... Abrupt ending.

Common Grace: Why I Don't Affirm It

2010-11-11T10:48:00.000-06:00

This notion of Common Grace has never made sense to me. The general reasoning goes something like this: After the fall man is so completely destitute as to be completely unable to do anything good in and of himself, so God through the Spirit extends a special grace to all people imparting wisdom, inhibiting their evil tendencies, and exciting them to do good. In his book, Systematic Theology, the 19th century theologian Charles Hodge writes that it's to the doctrine of Common Grace that we owe "the skill of artisans, the courage and strength of heroes, the wisdom of statesmen." Put into practice, proponents of this doctrine would say that no person would give his coat to a homeless man on a cold winter night out of his own innate love and compassion. But through Common Grace his wickedness is overcome, restoring within him a sense of virtue that would otherwise be lost, thus enabling him to do (and desire to do) good. Riiiiiiight.

I have four interrelated criticisms of this doctrine:

Philip Yancey once wrote, "Consider the basic makeup of human beings. Inside every person on earth, we believe, the image of God can be found. Yet inside each person there lives also a beast. Any religious or political system that does not account for both extremes--furious opposities, in Chesterton's phrase--will sorely fail." As I was taught at Moody and still affirm myself, in the fall God's image was completely marred by sin, but it wasn't destroyed, eliminated, dissolved, obliterated, or snuffed out. Thus, all humanity lives within the paradoxical tension of simultaneously being capable of both good and evil. These doctrines go at least as far back as the second century apostolic fathers, by the way.
Occam's Razor says that the simplest explanation is most likely the correct one. If I ask my wife why my keys were behind the TV stand and she says Louis (our cat) must have knocked them off, there's no need to hypothesize that perhaps there's a previously unnoticed slope in the floor that, combined with undetectable seismic activity, must have caused the keys to slide off the back. Given the aforementioned paradox, an appeal to Common Grace seems to be an unnecessary layer of complexity.
Common Grace is an elaborate theological innovation that appears to have little if any evidence in Scripture, scant precedent in church history prior to the Reformation, and only becomes necessary (and apparent) when one sees the world not only through the lens of monergism, but its most potent form--Reformed Theology. As even a Calvinist theologian, Herman Hanko, acknowledges, "The fact of the matter is that the whole subject of common grace was not on the agenda of the church prior to the Reformation of the 16th century."
Again deferring to Yancey, "A church uncomfortable with paradox tends to tilt in one direction or the other, usually to disastrous consequences." It seems to me that this doctrine arose from an overemphasis upon the fall's corruption along with a corresponding underemphasis upon the imagio dei's remaining influence, and reflects Reformed Theology's discomfort with paradox.

I submit that the doctrine of Common Grace is a superfluous, overly complicated, unbalanced theological innovation created for and only made necessary by a particular systematic theology, which itself has scarce precedent in Christianity's first four centuries.

Musing on Atheist Ministers

2010-11-10T11:59:00.000-06:00

ABC News: "Atheist Ministers Struggle With Leading the Faithful"

This article is about two anonymous Southern Baptist pastors who've become atheists yet continue their profession. That is, they've lost their faith while continuing to spiritually shepherd their flocks. This is tragic of course, but I'm not at all surprised. As an aspiring pastor myself, this article serves as a confirmation on a number of fronts.

During my time at two evangelical colleges I ran into numerous Bible, pastoral, and cross-cultural (missions) majors whose unbalanced pietism worried me. It was so overt that they absolutely refused to think about anything complex lest they lose sight of "the simplicity of the Gospel." Much like those from my Pentecostal background, they would dismiss, downplay, and denigrate the life of the mind as innately contrary to true faith. They accused me of being a heretic, placing "head knowledge" above "heart knowledge," failing to have a relationship with Jesus, and leading people away from the faith. Why? Because I openly questioned everything from God's mere existence to the doctrine of the Trinity. I always thought, 'Someday their faith is going to come against something that it cannot withstand, whether it's an evil elder board, a parent who is murdered, a spouse who slowly dies of cancer, a child who is born mentally challenged, the simple ebbs and flows of one's spiritual life, or the day they wake up, crack open the Bible, and finally have to admit that it pisses them off that it's so weird.' It concerned me because these dudes were so obviously ill prepared to cope with doubt and problems; the very essence of their faith insulated them against these things until it was too late. I always thought some would fall away from the faith in no small part because they'd failed to ever wrestle through their faith. They'd confused having a child-like faith (trust) with having a childish faith (immature), and it didn't bode well for their future ministry.

I hadn't considered the possibility that such persons would simply keep truckin' along, though. But it makes sense. I imagine that one of the few things harder than finding a secular job after losing your pulpit is finding a job after renouncing your pulpit. Psychologically, it's almost the entire source the pastor's identity. Professionally, the pastor is giving up everything--education, professional experience, recommendations, etc. In the same way that it might actually be easier for a homosexual person coming from a conservative family background to hide his or her sexual orientation, so it's not hard to imagine an atheist keeping up the appearance of being a devout pastor, especially if one feels he or she is still helping people in some tangible capacity. Besides, if you don't believe in God, it's not like you're offending some divine being by faking it. Far from being mad at these men, my heart goes out to them.

My own passion is to help struggling people work out their faith with fear and trembling as part of a holistic worshiping lifestyle. In other words, I sense that my calling is to be a clergy-writer who authors books and plants a church aimed at reaching those non-Christians who struggle to accept Jesus primarily for reasons of intellectual honesty and sincere Christians who struggle with angst, doubt, wounds, and unanswered questions. I want to be the pastoral equivalent of Philip Yancey, if you will. In my experience, Christians who are struggling and atheists who reject religion need pastors who've been there. They don't want apologetics or piety, canned answers or feel good clichés. They want someone who says, "Thanks for being honest. I empathize. Let's talk." If an atheist pastor is the most disingenuous thing possible, then surely the most authentic thing would be the pastor who has spent much time staring down the barrel of doubt yet retained his/her faith.

Mini Blog #30: Puritans

2010-11-09T11:49:00.000-06:00

Puritans: Implacable proponents of Reformed Theology who emphasized pietism, are notorious for their legalistic rigidity, held to a sort of primordial Dominion Theology, had little appreciation for compromise and moderation, wanted the sermon to be the central focus of the worship service, were "Politically Reformed" in that they thought faith should translate to politics without hesitation, and aimed to strip away everything from the Book of Common Prayer and vestments to kneeling and genuflecting in an effort to eliminate any hint of post-Patristic development in doctrine or practice. Ya know, as a student of church history, I find strong elements in nearly all movements that I truly like--that I desire to draw from and mimic. This one has very few, though. That is, I'm not saying the Puritans uniformly suck but that there's little from them that I, personally, wish to pattern my faith after. In the interest of balance, what I can positively say is that I share their little-known appreciation for the ancient creeds and commitment to serious thought. Nevertheless, the larger point is that I've tried for years to arrive at a more balanced perspective on them, but the more I study them, and the further along I am on my spiritual journey, the uglier their appearance in my eyes.

Mini Blog #29: I ♥ Erasmus

2010-11-04T00:40:00.000-05:00

Why do I love Erasmus? Because he's like the 16th century theological version of the Rally to Restore Sanity. The Roman Catholic Church called Luther "a wild boar in the vineyard of the Lord." He responded by calling it "fleas in God's overcoat." Erasmus' response to both: "Tone down the filthy brawling of your insane quarrels." Awesome. In a blog post the other day I said that were I alive during the Reformation I doubt I could have stayed within the Catholic fold. I'd like to amend that position. Ever the moderate, were I alive then I'd stand with Erasmus in the middle telling both sides to take it down a notch. Naturally, I'd employ satire to make my point just like he did. It's just too bad the Anglican Church didn't exist by the time he died, though. I suspect he'd of found a home there in the middle, irritating both the hardcore Protestants and the entrenched Catholics with that oh-so-reasonable compromise. Ah, it's good to have role models.

Interacting with the Thirty-Nine Articles

2010-11-02T17:18:00.000-05:00

As part of my ordination process, I have to write some paragraphs interacting with designated Discussion Questions, one of which is this: "Carefully read the (Thirty-nine) Articles of Religion… Respond to them using Scripture, historical references, and/or personal experience." My hope here is to interact with each of the articles, prompting discussion that will help me get my mind around these issues in preparation for my formal written response. I'd be especially appreciative of any Anglicans who might be willing to engage me.

(Titles are in bold. Descriptions are italicized. My commentary is in normal font.)

I. Of Faith in the Holy Trinity.

There is but one living and true God, everlasting, without body, parts, or passions; of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness; the Maker, and Preserver of all things both visible and invisible. And in unity of this Godhead there be three Persons, of one substance, power, and eternity; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

I'd like to know what's meant by "without… passions." If this is a reference to the impassibility and immutability of God, these notions are suspect because their origins lie in Greek philosophy rather than the Bible. I have a hard time reconciling a stoic deity with the God I find in the OT and an unchanging deity with the Second Person of the Trinity who became incarnate, for example. Certainly there's a core essence of who God is that doesn't change--He's loving, just, righteous, worthy of praise, etc.--but those Greek ideas have been doing a number on christian theology for a long, long time. Further, even Luther had reservations about those things. Other than that, I agree with the overall point. I affirm the Trinity.

II. Of the Word or Son of God, which was made very Man.

The Son, which is the Word of the Father, begotten from everlasting of the Father, the very and eternal God, and of one substance with the Father, took Man's nature in the womb of the blessed Virgin, of her substance: so that two whole and perfect Natures, that is to say, the Godhead and Manhood, were joined together in one Person, never to be divided, whereof is one Christ, very God, and very Man; who truly suffered, was crucified, dead, and buried, to reconcile his Father to us, and to be a sacrifice, not only for original guilt, but also for actual sins of men.

I agree with everything but the reference to original guilt. I don't think anyone is guilty of sin till they actually sin, which I'm pretty sure is what the Orthodox have said all along. More on this in a subsequent point.

III. Of the going down of Christ into Hell.

As Christ died for us, and was buried, so also is it to be believed, that he went down into Hell.

I believe Jesus died and was buried, but I'm not sure about descending into hell part. Where is the biblical evidence for this? As I understand it, the reference to the Son of Man spending three days and three nights in the heart of the earth as Jonah spend three days and nights in a belly of a fish was a Jewish idiom for being entombed/dead. As for the doctrine of hell itself, I do affirm the idea of a place of eternal punishment for those who aren’t saved through Jesus but I don’t believe in a literal fire-filled domain. My tentative view seems to be more in line with the Orthodox view. That being said, if someone can either prove to me from Scripture or from an apostolic father that Jesus descended into hell I don't have a problem affirming it.

IV. Of the Resurrection of Christ.

Christ did truly rise again from death, and took again his body, with flesh, bones, and all things appertaining to the perfection of Man's nature; wherewith he ascended into Heaven, and there sitteth, until he return to judge all Men at the last day.

Agreed.

V. Of the Holy Ghost.

The Holy Ghost, proceeding from the Father and the Son, is of one substance, majesty, and glory, with the Father and the Son, very and eternal God.

The original version of the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed that the Cappadocian Fathers worked so hard for doesn't contain the Filioque Clause. That's problematic. On a theological level, I affirm that the Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son. That seems biblical. On an ecclesiastical level, I deny that the Western Church had the authority to revise the creed without the East's mutual consent. Haven't yet found a way to resolve that tension. Doubt I will.

VI. Of the Sufficiency of the Holy Scriptures for Salvation.

Holy Scripture containeth all things necessary to salvation: so that whatsoever is not read therein, nor may be proved thereby, is not to be required of any man, that it should be believed as an article of the Faith, or be thought requisite or necessary to salvation. In the name of the Holy Scripture we do understand those canonical Books of the Old and New Testament, of whose authority was never any doubt in the Church.

Of the Names and Number of the Canonical Books. Genesis, The First Book of Samuel, The Book of Esther, Exodus, The Second Book of Samuel, The Book of Job, Leviticus, The First Book of Kings, The Psalms, Numbers, The Second Book of Kings, The Proverbs, Deuteronomy, The First Book of Chronicles, Ecclesiastes or Preacher, Joshua, The Second Book of Chronicles, Cantica, or Songs of Solomon, Judges, The First Book of Esdras, Four Prophets the greater, Ruth, The Second Book of Esdras, Twelve Prophets the less. And the other Books (as Hierome saith) the Church doth read for example of life and instruction of manners; but yet doth it not apply them to establish any doctrine; such are these following: The Third Book of Esdras, The rest of the Book of Esther, The Fourth Book of Esdras, The Book of Wisdom, The Book of Tobias, Jesus the Son of Sirach, The Book of Judith, Baruch the Prophet, The Song of the Three Children, The Prayer of Manasses, The Story of Susanna, The First Book of Maccabees, Of Bel and the Dragon, The Second Book of Maccabees. All the Books of the New Testament, as they are commonly received, we do receive, and account them Canonical.

I agree with this list of the canonical books. I affirm that the Bible contains all teaching necessary for salvation. I affirm that it is the divinely-inspired Word of God as communicated by human authors living in precise cultural-historical contexts. I affirm that it's the absolute authoritative standard for all matters of doctrine and practice—in so far as it’s rightly interpreted—to which all other standards are secondary. However, the Bible is authoritative but not exhaustive, meaning it simply doesn't come close to answering all of our questions even within the realm of explicit theology. All of the essential questions? Yes. All of the important questions? No. Also, I'd nuance this issue of ecclesiastical authority by recognizing that there are extra-biblical authoritative standards outside of Scripture, including the words "not made" in the Nicene Creed, that seem to be as essential as anything explicitly stated in the biblical text.

VII. Of the Old Testament.

The Old Testament is not contrary to the New: for both in the Old and New Testament everlasting life is offered to Mankind by Christ, who is the only Mediator between God and Man, being both God and Man. Wherefore they are not to be heard, which feign that the old Fathers did look only for transitory promises. Although the Law given from God by Moses, as touching Ceremonies and Rites, do not bind Christian men, nor the Civil precepts thereof ought of necessity to be received in any commonwealth; yet notwithstanding, no Christian man whatsoever is free from the obedience of the Commandments which are called Moral.

Aquinas invented the threefold division of the OT into moral, ceremonial, and judicial law, which seems to be what this article is premised upon. I tend to think Aquinas had some good points on this issue, but his view of the OT definitely reflects his era of Medieval scholasticism, which is a period I'm particularly skeptical of. At the end of the day I'm unwilling to affirm Aquinas' OT hermeneutics as an absolute basis for how the contemporary Church ought to interact with the OT. As for the ideas that the OT isn't contrary to the NT, the OT points to the NT, the NT fulfills the OT, and so forth, there I heartily agree.

VIII. Of the Creeds.

The Nicene Creed, and that which is commonly called the Apostles' Creed, ought thoroughly to be received and believed: for they may be proved by most certain warrants of Holy Scripture. The original Article given Royal assent in 1571 and reaffirmed in 1662, was entitled "Of the Three Creeds; and began as follows, "The Three Creeds, Nicene Creed, Athanasius's Creed, and that which is commonly called the Apostles' Creed ..."

For historical reasons I'm more enthusiastic about the Apostles' Creed and Nicene Creed than the Athanasius' Creed, but, with the exception of the Filioque Controversy, I affirm the content of all three without reservation.

IX. Of Original or Birth-Sin.

Original sin standeth not in the following of Adam, (as the Pelagians do vainly talk;) but it is the fault and corruption of the Nature of every man, that naturally is engendered of the offspring of Adam; whereby man is very far gone from original righteousness, and is of his own nature inclined to evil, so that the flesh lusteth always contrary to the Spirit; and therefore in every person born into this world, it deserveth God's wrath and damnation. And this infection of nature doth remain, yea in them that are regenerated; whereby the lust of the flesh, called in Greek, p¢vnæa sapk¢s, (which some do expound the wisdom, some sensuality, some the affection, some the desire, of the flesh), is not subject to the Law of God. And although there is no condemnation for them that believe and are baptized; yet the Apostle doth confess, that concupiscence and lust hath of itself the nature of sin.

I agree with the general premise of Original Sin. Specifically, something very real happened with the fall, whether that portion of Genesis is supposed to be interpreted as theological truth as communicated within the context of ANE creation myth or as historical narrative that is to be interpreted literally, that causes every single person to be sinful and in need of salvation. That is, I end up in the same destination. Yet I disagree with many of the details for how Western Christians get there. My view is complicated. It doesn't perfectly align with any of the common views throughout church history that I'm aware of, including Pelagianism, Augustine’s Seminal View, the Reformation’s Federal Headship, etc. I don't affirm original guilt. What I do affirm is this: Adam sinned and as a consequence all people are incapable of not sinning and will thus be in need of redemption through Jesus. I believe that because of Adam's fall every single child is born with a corrupted—not sinful—nature such that all will sin at a very, very young age. I call this an "unavoidable propensity to sin." This view, which I call Revisioned Original Sin, has nearly all of the same practical results as classical conceptions of original sin. Part of what I’m trying to keep in balance with this is a) recognize that something happened with the fall that caused all people to be sinful and in need of redemption, b) have people be responsible only for their own sins, and c) maintain a balance between the corporate and individual dynamics of sin, the fall, guilt, redemption, etc. But what is the precise mechanism through which that corrupted nature is transmitted? Frankly, I don't know. Seems to me it's a mystery we can speculate about but can never ultimately know.

X. Of Free-Will.

The condition of Man after the fall of Adam is such, that he cannot turn and prepare himself, by his own natural strength and good works, to faith; and calling upon God. Wherefore we have no power to do good works pleasant and acceptable to God, without the grace of God by Christ preventing us, that we may have a good will, and working with us, when we have that good will.

I agree that people cannot turn to God, seek repentance, and be saved without the direct overriding gracious work of the Holy Spirit.

XI. Of the Justification of Man.

We are accounted righteous before God, only for the merit of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ by Faith, and not for our own works or deservings. Wherefore, that we are justified by Faith only, is a most wholesome Doctrine, and very full of comfort, as more largely is expressed in the Homily of Justification.

I'd like a clarification of this article. It seems to suggest a view premised upon Anselm's Satisfaction Theory and Calvin's Penal Substitution, both of which I'd point out has, to the best of my knowledge, scant precedent among the apostolic fathers or really anyone before the 11th century. Right now I'm intrigued by N.T. Wright's work on justification and also Orthodox conceptions of it. That said, I certainly agree with the general premise that justification is by faith (alone) through grace and not by works.

XII. Of Good Works.

Albeit that Good Works, which are the fruits of Faith, and follow after Justification, cannot put away our sins, and endure the severity of God's judgment; yet are they pleasing and acceptable to God in Christ, and do spring out necessarily of a true and lively Faith insomuch that by them a lively Faith may be as evidently known as a tree discerned by the fruit.

Because of Luther's errant Law & Gospel paradigm he wanted James' epistle stripped from the canon, which is a tragedy of the Reformation. Having attended a church where faith was emphasized and the Fruits of the Spirit were downplayed, I'm truly thankful that through God's sovereignty Luther failed. James provided a crucial flip-side of the faith and works coin. According to him, good works should and must spring from faith or that faith is dead.

XIII. Of Works before Justification.

Works done before the grace of Christ, and the Inspiration of his Spirit, are not pleasant to God, forasmuch as they spring not of faith in Jesus Christ; neither do they make men meet to receive grace, or (as the School-authors say) deserve grace of congruity: yea rather, for that they are not done as God hath willed and commanded them to be done, we doubt not but they have the nature of sin.

Simply lumping all works together is, in my opinion, a common error coming out of the Reformation. We've got to use more precise language. Are we talking about works unto salvation or works of just doing good deeds? I don't believe that any works are possible that are meritorious toward justification, but neither do I affirm that people are incapable of doing anything pleasing to God prior to salvation. That's absurd. It's a very Reformed/Puritan sort of view that emphasizes only one-half of a larger issue—mankind's wretched fallenness. This problem reminds me of a quote by Philip Yancey: "A church uncomfortable with paradox tends to tilt in one direction or the other, usually to disastrous consequences." The reality is that all people live within paradoxical tension of the imagio dei and the fall. I believe that in the fall the imagio dei was completely marred by sin, but I don't believe it was destroyed, eliminated, dissolved, obliterated, or snuffed out. Thus, all people are simultaneously capable of both good and evil. Why is this important? Because the denial that non-Christians cannot do anything innately good is nonsensical, untenable, and offensive. If a non-Christian provides a homeless man a coat on a cold winter night out of love and compassion, I believe that's a good act that's truly pleasing to God even if that non-Christian denies God's very existence. He reflects God's image almost in spite of himself, as it were. And appealing to Common Grace is just a completely unnecessary step and a theological innovation that I see no precedent for in Scripture, although I confess that I could have missed it. So, does mankind have the ability to do good works unto salvation by its own volition? No. Does mankind have the ability to do good works that flow from being made in God's image? Yes.

XIV. Of Works of Supererogation.

Voluntary Works besides, over and above, God's Commandments, which they call Works of Supererogation, cannot be taught without arrogancy and impiety: for by them men do declare, that they do not only render unto God as much as they are bound to do, but that they do more for his sake, than of bounden duty is required: whereas Christ saith plainly When ye have done all that are commanded to you, say, We are unprofitable servants.

Huh?

XV. Of Christ alone without Sin.

Christ in the truth of our nature was made like unto us in all things, sin only except, from which he was clearly void, both in his flesh, and in his spirit. He came to be the Lamb without spot, who, by sacrifice of himself once made, should take away the sins of the world; and sin (as Saint John saith) was not in him. But all we the rest, although baptized and born again in Christ, yet offend in many things; and if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.

Agreed.

XVI. Of Sin after Baptism.

Not every deadly sin willingly committed after Baptism is sin against the Holy Ghost, and unpardonable. Wherefore the grant of repentance is not to be denied to such as fall into sin after Baptism. After we have received the Holy Ghost, we may depart from grace given, and fall into sin, and by the grace of God we may arise again, and amend our lives. And therefore they are to be condemned, which say, they can no more sin as long as they live here, or deny the place of forgiveness to such as truly repent.

First of all, isn't every sin deadly? Second, this "deadly sin" language suggests a Catholic perspective on sin that I don't affirm. Beyond that, again I'm confused.

XVII. Of Predestination and Election.

Predestination to Life is the everlasting purpose of God, whereby (before the foundations of the world were laid) he hath constantly decreed by his counsel secret to us, to deliver from curse and damnation those whom he hath chosen in Christ out of mankind, and to bring them by Christ to everlasting salvation, as vessels made to honour. Wherefore, they which be endued with so excellent a benefit of God, be called according to God's purpose by his Spirit working in due season: they through Grace obey the calling: they be justified freely: they be made sons of God by adoption: they be made like the image of his only-begotten Son Jesus Christ: they walk religiously in good works, and at length, by God's mercy, they attain to everlasting felicity. As the godly consideration of Predestination, and our Election in Christ, is full of sweet, pleasant, and unspeakable comfort to godly persons, and such as feel in themselves the working of the Spirit of Christ, mortifying the works of the flesh, and their earthly members, and drawing up their mind to high and heavenly things, as well because it doth greatly establish and confirm their faith of eternal Salvation to be enjoyed through Christ as because it doth fervently kindle their love towards God: So, for curious and carnal persons, lacking the Spirit of Christ, to have continually before their eyes the sentence of God's Predestination, is a most dangerous downfall, whereby the Devil doth thrust them either into desperation, or into wretchlessness of most unclean living, no less perilous than desperation. Furthermore, we must receive God's promises in such wise, as they be generally set forth to us in Holy Scripture: and, in our doings, that Will of God is to be followed, which we have expressly declared unto us in the Word of God.

Do I affirm predestination? Yes. Do I affirm election? Yes. Do I know how that squares with human responsibility? No. Do I believe anyone can be saved without the direct intervention of the Holy Spirit? No. Am I a Calvinist? No.

XVIII. Of obtaining eternal Salvation only by the Name of Christ.

They also are to be had accursed that presume to say, That every man shall be saved by the Law or Sect which he professeth, so that he be diligent to frame his life according to that Law, and the light of Nature. For Holy Scripture doth set out unto us only the Name of Jesus Christ, whereby men must be saved.

Agreed. I think this article should be renamed the "Read Me, Bishop Spong" article.

XIX. Of the Church.

The visible Church of Christ is a congregation of faithful men, in which the pure Word of God is preached, and the Sacraments be duly ministered according to Christ's ordinance, in all those things that of necessity are requisite to the same. As the Church of Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Antioch, have erred, so also the Church of Rome hath erred, not only in their living and manner of Ceremonies, but also in matters of Faith.

Agreed. And just to round out the picture, the Church of Canterbury hath erred, too. Sorry. Too many people involved for any church to be perfect.

XX. Of the Authority of the Church.

The Church hath power to decree Rites or Ceremonies, and authority in Controversies of Faith: and yet it is not lawful for the Church to ordain any thing that is contrary to God's Word written, neither may it so expound one place of Scripture, that it be repugnant to another. Wherefore, although the Church be a witness and a keeper of Holy Writ, yet, as it ought not to decree any thing against the same, so besides the same ought it not to enforce any thing to be believed for necessity of Salvation.

Ummmm, again, I'm a little confused. Here's my view on ecclesiastical authority: I see the Church’s authority as more of a steward than a king. Its authority is found only in its preservation of the faith of the apostles, not in its own innate authority.

XXI. Of the Authority of General Councils.

[The Twenty-first of the former Articles is omitted; because it is partly of a local and civil nature, and is provided for, as to the remaining parts of it, in other Articles.] The original 1571, 1662 text of this Article, omitted in the version of 1801, reads as follows: "General Councils may not be gathered together without the commandment and will of Princes. And when they be gathered together, (forasmuch as they be an assembly of men, whereof all be not governed with the Spirit and Word of God,) they may err, and sometimes have erred, even in things pertaining unto God. Wherefore things ordained by them as necessary to salvation have neither strength nor authority, unless it may be declared that they be taken out of holy Scripture."

N/A

XXII. Of Purgatory.

The Romish Doctrine concerning Purgatory, Pardons, Worshipping and Adoration, as well of Images as of Relics, and also Invocation of Saints, is a fond thing, vainly invented, and grounded upon no warranty of Scripture, but rather repugnant to the Word of God.

I'm open but unconvinced as to the legitimacy of icons and the idea of venerating saints, but I definitely disagree with it in the context of purgatory, which I wholeheartedly disagree with.

XXIII. Of Ministering in the Congregation.

It is not lawful for any man to take upon him the office of public preaching, or ministering the Sacraments in the Congregation, before he be lawfully called, and sent to execute the same. And those we ought to judge lawfully called and sent, which be chosen and called to this work by men who have public authority given unto them in the Congregation, to call and send Ministers into the Lord's vineyard.

Agreed. This is one of the things I love about Anglicanism.

XXIV. Of Speaking in the Congregation in such a Tongue as the people understandeth.

It is a thing plainly repugnant to the Word of God, and the custom of the Primitive Church to have public Prayer in the Church, or to minister the Sacraments, in a tongue not understanded of the people.

Agreed. This is why I'm less than enthusiastic about the 1928 BCP, by the way.

XXV. Of the Sacraments.

Sacraments ordained of Christ be not only badges or tokens of Christian men's profession, but rather they be certain sure witnesses, and effectual signs of grace, and God's good will towards us, by the which he doth work invisibly in us, and doth not only quicken, but also strengthen and confirm our Faith in him. There are two Sacraments ordained of Christ our Lord in the Gospel, that is to say, Baptism, and the Supper of the Lord. Those five commonly called Sacraments, that is to say, Confirmation, Penance, Orders, Matrimony, and Extreme Unction, are not to be counted for Sacraments of the Gospel, being such as have grown partly of the corrupt following of the Apostles, partly are states of life allowed in the Scriptures, but yet have not like nature of Sacraments with Baptism, and the Lord's Supper, for that they have not any visible sign or ceremony ordained of God. The Sacraments were not ordained of Christ to be gazed upon, or to be carried about, but that we should duly use them. And in such only as worthily receive the same, they have a wholesome effect or operation: but they that receive them unworthily, purchase to themselves damnation, as Saint Paul saith.

Agreed. I like that distinction between the two sacraments--baptism and the Eucharist--and the five that are "commonly called Sacraments." Beautiful nuance that I wholeheartedly support.

XXVI. Of the Unworthiness of the Ministers, which hinders not the effect of the Sacraments.

Although in the visible Church the evil be ever mingled with the good, and sometimes the evil have chief authority in the Ministration of the Word and Sacraments, yet forasmuch as they do not the same in their own name, but in Christ's, and do minister by his commission and authority, we may use their Ministry, both in hearing the Word of God, and in receiving the Sacraments. Neither is the effect of Christ's ordinance taken away by their wickedness, nor the grace of God's gifts diminished from such as by faith, and rightly, do receive the Sacraments ministered unto them; which be effectual, because of Christ's institution and promise, although they be ministered by evil men. Nevertheless, it appertaineth to the discipline of the Church, that inquiry be made of evil Ministers, and that they be accused by those that have knowledge of their offences; and finally, being found guilty, by just judgment be deposed.

Agreed. Good to see Anglicans took note of Patristic decisions on the Sacraments.

XXVII. Of Baptism.

Baptism is not only a sign of profession, and mark of difference, whereby Christian men are discerned from others that be not christened, but it is also a sign of Regeneration or New-Birth, whereby, as by an instrument, they that receive Baptism rightly are grafted into the Church; the promises of the forgiveness of sin, and of our adoption to be the sons of God by the Holy Ghost, are visibly signed and sealed, Faith is confirmed, and Grace increased by virtue of prayer unto God. The Baptism of young Children is in any wise to be retained in the Church, as most agreeable with the institution of Christ.

I agree with the nature and purpose of baptism articulated above. As for the whole age issue, I tend to think believer’s baptism is preferable but paedobaptism is acceptable/valid, which was an apostlic father's position if memory serves. Tertullian?

XXVIII. Of the Lord's Supper.

The Supper of the Lord is not only a sign of the love that Christians ought to have among themselves one to another, but rather it is a Sacrament of our Redemption by Christ's death: insomuch that to such as rightly, worthily, and with faith, receive the same, the Bread which we break is a partaking of the Body of Christ; and likewise the Cup of Blessing is a partaking of the Blood of Christ. Transubstantiation (or the change of the substance of Bread and Wine) in the Supper of the Lord, cannot be proved by Holy Writ; but is repugnant to the plain words of Scripture, overthroweth the nature of a Sacrament, and hath given occasion to many superstitions. The Body of Christ is given, taken, and eaten, in the Supper, only after an heavenly and spiritual manner. And the mean whereby the Body of Christ is received and eaten in the Supper, is Faith. The Sacrament of the Lord's Supper was not by Christ's ordinance reserved, carried about, lifted up, or worshipped.

Agreed.

XXIX. Of the Wicked, which eat not the Body of Christ in the use of the Lord's Supper.

The Wicked, and such as be void of a lively faith, although they do carnally and visibly press with their teeth (as Saint Augustine saith) the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ; yet in no wise are they partakers of Christ: but rather, to their condemnation, do eat and drink the sign or Sacrament of so great a thing.

Agreed.

XXX. Of both Kinds.

The Cup of the Lord is not to be denied to the Lay-people: for both the parts of the Lord's Sacrament, by Christ's ordinance and commandment, ought to be ministered to all Christian men alike.

Yes, both the bread and cup should be administered to all people. I do think they can and should be denied in instances of church discipline—"partaking in an unworthy manner"—but not for the sort of political, social, and cultural manipulation that often happened in the late Medieval period.

XXXI. Of the one Oblation of Christ finished upon the Cross.

The Offering of Christ once made is that perfect redemption, propitiation, and satisfaction, for all the sins of the whole world, both original and actual; and there is none other satisfaction for sin, but that alone. Wherefore the sacrifices of Masses, in the which it was commonly said, that the Priest did offer Christ for the quick and the dead, to have remission of pain or guilt, were blasphemous fables, and dangerous deceits.

I'll ignore that "both original and actual" clause and just say I agree.

XXXII. Of the Marriage of Priests.

Bishops, Priests, and Deacons, are not commanded by God's Law, either to vow the estate of single life, or to abstain from marriage: therefore it is lawful for them, as for all other Christian men, to marry at their own discretion, as they shall judge the same to serve better to godliness.

Agreed.

XXXIII. Of excommunicate Persons, how they are to be avoided.

That person which by open denunciation of the Church is rightly cut off from the unity of the Church, and excommunicated, ought to be taken of the whole multitude of the faithful, as an Heathen and Publican, until he be openly reconciled by penance, and received into the Church by a Judge that hath authority thereunto.

I don't rejoice in church discipline. It's tragic and ought to be treated solemnly, yet I do recognize the legitimacy of excommunication until such a time as he/she repents. Yet I don’t necessarily affirm an Amish-style shunning.

XXXIV. Of the Traditions of the Church.

It is not necessary that Traditions and Ceremonies be in all places one, or utterly like; for at all times they have been divers, and may be changed according to the diversity of countries, times, and men's manners, so that nothing be ordained against God's Word. Whosoever, through his private judgment, willingly and purposely, doth openly break the Traditions and Ceremonies of the Church, which be not repugnant to the Word of God, and be ordained and approved by common authority, ought to be rebuked openly, (that others may fear to do the like,) as he that offendeth against the common order of the Church, and hurteth the authority of the Magistrate, and woundeth the consciences of the weak brethren. Every particular or national Church hath authority to ordain, change, and abolish, Ceremonies or Rites of the Church ordained only by man's authority, so that all things be done to edifying.

The worldwide Anglican Communion values this article, don't they? I agree.

XXXV. Of the Homilies.

The Second Book of Homilies, the several titles whereof we have joined under this Article, doth contain a godly and wholesome Doctrine, and necessary for these times, as doth the former Book of Homilies, which were set forth in the time of Edward the Sixth; and therefore we judge them to be read in Churches by the Ministers, diligently and distinctly, that they may he understanded of the people.

Of the Names of the Homilies.

1 Of the right Use of the Church.

2 Against Peril of Idolatry.

3 Of repairing and keeping clean of Churches.

4 Of good Works: first of Fasting.

5 Against Gluttony and Drunkenness.

6 Against Excess of Apparel.

7 Of Prayer.

8 Of the Place and Time of Prayer.

9 That Common Prayers and Sacraments ought to be ministered in a known tongue.

10 Of the reverend Estimation of God's Word.

11 Of Alms-doing.

12 Of the Nativity of Christ.

13 Of the Passion of Christ.

14 Of the Resurrection of Christ.

15 Of the worthy receiving of the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ.

16 Of the Gifts of the Holy Ghost.

17 For the Rogation-days.

18 Of the State of Matrimony.

19 Of Repentance.

20 Against Idleness.

21 Against Rebellion.

[This Article is received in this Church, so far as it declares the Books of Homilies to be an explication of Christian doctrine, and instructive in piety and morals. But all references to the constitution and laws of England are considered as inapplicable to the circumstances of this Church; which also suspends the order for the reading of said Homilies in churches, until a revision of them may be conveniently made, for the clearing of them, as well from obsolete words and phrases, as from the local references.]

Confused. Is the issue the liturgical calendar? If so, agreed.

XXXVI. Of Consecration of Bishops and Ministers.

The Book of Consecration of Bishops, and Ordering of Priests and Deacons, as set forth by the General Convention of this Church in 1792, doth contain all things necessary to such Consecration and Ordering; neither hath it any thing that, of itself, is superstitious and ungodly. And, therefore, whosoever are consecrated or ordered according to said Form, we decree all such to be rightly, orderly, and lawfully consecrated and ordered. The original 1571, 1662 text of this Article reads as follows: "The Book of Consecration of Archbishops and Bishops, and Ordering of Priests and Deacons, lately set forth in the time of Edward the Sixth, and confirmed at the same time by authority of Parliament, doth contain all things necessary to such Consecration and Ordering: neither hath it any thing, that of itself is superstitious and ungodly. And therefore whosoever are consecrated or ordered according to the Rites of that Book, since the second year of the forenamed King Edward unto this time, or hereafter shall be consecrated or ordered according to the same Rites; we decree all such to be rightly, orderly, and lawfully consecrated and ordered."

Agreed.

XXXVII. Of the Power of the Civil Magistrates.

The Power of the Civil Magistrate extendeth to all men, as well Clergy as Laity, in all things temporal; but hath no authority in things purely spiritual. And we hold it to be the duty of all men who are professors of the Gospel, to pay respectful obedience to the Civil Authority, regularly and legitimately constituted. The original 1571, 1662 text of this Article reads as follows: "The King's Majesty hath the chief power in this Realm of England, and other his Dominions, unto whom the chief Government of all Estates of this Realm, whether they be Ecclesiastical or Civil, in all causes doth appertain, and is not, nor ought to be, subject to any foreign Jurisdiction. Where we attribute to the King's Majesty the chief government, by which Titles we understand the minds of some slanderous folks to be offended; we give not our Princes the ministering either of God's Word, or of the Sacraments, the which thing the Injunctions also lately set forth by Elizabeth our Queen do most plainly testify; but that only prerogative, which we see to have been given always to all godly Princes in holy Scriptures by God himself; that is, that they should rule all estates and degrees committed to their charge by God, whether they be Ecclesiastical or Temporal, and restrain with the civil sword the stubborn and evil-doers. The Bishop of Rome hath no jurisdiction in this Realm of England. The Laws of the Realm may punish Christian men with death, for heinous and grievous offences. It is lawful for Christian men, at the commandment of the Magistrate, to wear weapons, and serve in the wars."

Agreed.

XXXVIII. Of Christian Men's Goods, which are not common.

The Riches and Goods of Christians are not common, as touching the right, title, and possession of the same; as certain Anabaptists do falsely boast. Notwithstanding, every man ought, of such things as he possesseth, liberally to give alms to the poor, according to his ability.

Don't understand the first part, but I will say that my theological and cultural conceptions are influenced by Anabaptist thought in places. Agree with the second.

XXXIX. Of a Christian Man's Oath.

As we confess that vain and rash Swearing is forbidden Christian men by our Lord Jesus Christ, and James his Apostle, so we judge, that Christian Religion doth not prohibit, but that a man may swear when the Magistrate requireth, in a cause of faith and charity, so it be done according to the Prophet's teaching in justice, judgment, and truth.

Strange point to include in a list of 39. I'd like to know the historical rational for that. But I agree.

Mini Blog #28: Reformation Day

2010-10-31T02:30:00.000-05:00

Today is not only Halloween, but also Reformation Day--the day each year when the Protestant Reformation is remembered and celebrated. My view of that event can be summed up in two equally hard-hitting words: tragic necessity. Tragic because Christ's desire, as seen in His prayer in John 17, is that His followers be one so that the world may know that the Father sent the Son. If I may be so bold, I think celebration of such a flagrant violation of Christ's will is completely out of line. Necessity because I do affirm that the late medieval Roman Catholic Church had become horribly corrupted and desperately needed restoration. Were I alive then I doubt I could have, in good conscience, remained within the Catholic fold. Yet because an action had justification doesn't imply its innate good; in legal terms, being proven not guilty isn't the same as being proved innocent. Regardless of where the fault lies, schism within the Body of Christ should never be celebrated. A more appropriate tone would be solemn appreciation, somber reflection, repentance that our sins have defiled the Bride of Christ, mourning that those sins have turned many in this needing world away from her, and hopeful prayer that some day there will be full reconciliation.

Mini Blog #27: Heat-Celtics

2010-10-27T13:42:00.000-05:00

Heat

Jeff Van Gundy is insane. No way they win 72. For as talented as they are, no one has they Jordan-esque eye of the tiger that will refuse to let them lose on off-nights. 60-65 is probably realistic, though.
They'll be far better than they were last night, which was still almost good enough to beat a Celtics team that played pretty well. It's going to be a matter of building chemistry.
Wade needs a tetanus shot for all that rust.
They have no low-post game, which is a big problem. In the same way NFL teams with a great receiving core need to complementary running back that the defense at least respects, so in the NBA parameter players need a decent inside game to relieve some of their pressure. The one exception in league history is the '90s Bulls, and this team ain't them.
For them to score they have to RUN. They need to play at a speed approaching the Nash-led Suns and I don't see that happening with Carlos Arroyo running the point.
LeBron needs to accept his passing DNA and run the dang offense. Drop down to 15-17 PPG and average 12-15 APG setting up Both and Wade. Doubt that's going to happen, though.
All the commentators are saying that Dwayne Wade is the guy who'll be sacrificing the most. I couldn't disagree more. I think he'll be sacrificing the least. The guy to keep an eye on, in my mind, is Chris Both. Even with an off night by Wade he only got 11 shot attempts. I doubt he's going to be happy very long averaging 10-12 PPG.
Like most young coaches, Erik Spoelstra needs to develop. He might be a fine coach one day, but he's not Pat Riley. He's not even the young Pat Riley who took over the Lakers in '81.
Juwan Howard. Man, those Fab Five guys just can't win a championship can they?
The NBA is all about match-ups. I can see the Heat battling the Celtics for the East, but don't see them beating the Lakers. They've got no way to match-up with Gasol and Bynum.
I enjoyed hearing LeBackstab get booed every time he touched the ball.
For a good reaction to The Commercial, click here.

Celtics

They're starting 4 (and possibly 5) future Hall of Famers. Sick.
Their chemistry is just amazing. Love that crisp passing and help defense.
I'm interested to see how well that defense keeps up with Lawrence Frank replacing Tom Thibodeau.
I thought Barkley had a great point when he said that it's hard to be focal point of the offense when you can't shoot. Rondo is the motor that makes the whole thing run. If anything happens to him, they're hosed.
Jesus Shuttleworth's jumper remains a thing of beauty.
As much as I'm rooting for the Geriatric Department, er, Celtics, to play well at their advanced age, it'd be kind of fun to see them lose seven players to season-ending injuries.
Most people don't realize the Artist Formerly Known as "The Diesel" is now the oldest player in the league. Shall we call him "The Electric Car."
That team now has two Big Babies: Big Baby Davis and Bigger Baby O'Neal.
I don't care what everyone says, KG's knee still looks gimpy. He still has a noticeable limp. Is he healthier than last season? Sure. Healthier even than he was in the play-offs? Probably. But I doubt he'll ever be the same.
Once Perkins comes back, that bench is stacked: the Big Babies, Jermaine O'Neal, Nate Robinson, Marques Daniels, and Delonte West.
This team is better off losing a few more games and staying fresh for the playoffs. I hope that don't play as hard every night as they did last night.
Why couldn't 'Sheed have just played one more year?! I would have loved to see him get ejected from each and every game.
The thing I dislike most about the Celtics is Paul "Mock Epic" Pierce's constant fake injuries.

2 Weeks' Worth of Assorted Thoughts

2010-10-17T01:38:00.001-05:00

Yankees suck.

For an Anglican who truly values reverence, I sure love irreverent humor. I'm a sucker for a good Eucharist joke.

It's been too long since I've drawn. Need to decide upon a portrait. Who's... it... gonna... be... ? Hmmmm...

Biblically speaking, both the Monophysite position and Chalcedonian Definition seem equally plausible. Two natures--fully God and fully man--and one person. That much is fairly clear. Beyond that I don't think the Bible says. I've heard, however, that Tertullian's Christological position is similar to the Chalcedonian Definition.

People's natural reaction when they hear I live in Waco is to crack a cult joke. I get that. Doesn't bother me. What does bother me is that most people seem to think they're being original.

Figured out the #1 thing that's really been bothering me: I'm deeply worried that my learning disability is effectively eliminating all my options for everything I want to do with my life. I can't learn foreign languages, which is necessary for nearly all history and theology programs. I process information slowly, so, although I do well in terms of answering the questions correctly, standardized tests, i.e. GRE, don't accurately reflect my ability. (Unfortunately, the GRE is basically the gatekeeper of graduate programs.) And I read so slowly that, even though I'm confident that I can intellectually keep up, I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up with my work.

Dang it I hate the Yankees.

I feel like I have little direction in life right now, because I'm not a drifter. I need a major breakthrough.

Dear American Christians,
In case you didn't get the memo, the Body of Christ is supposed to transcend national, ethnic, racial, socio-economic, and linguistic lines.
Signed,
Carson
P.S. Nationalism is unbiblical.

I'd like to propose that we use "Favre" as a new euphemism for penis.

Portrait selected: Philip Yancey.

I'm so thankful for God's provision.

Breakthrough: I've officially begun the discernment process for Anglican ordination. I'm excited!

This picture makes me happy.

Damn Yankees. Just swept my Twins.

Also getting worried about this job sitseeation. It doesn't take a philosopher-king to know that income is going to be important.

Right about now I miss Molly and Rocky, the Jalovicks' boxers.

Why do I keep having these vivid dreams? Why do these dreams keep being about my high school basketball team? Why are they so gohl darn practical? Seriously, brain. The Three-man Weave?

What do I dislike most about living in TX? Being a mere 3 1/2 hours from Joel Osteen. *shudders*

Seeing Bobby Cox's final goodbye to the crowd brought me back to the '91 World Series.

Few things irritate me as much as men who are whipped, whether they're dating or married. These guys seriously need to grow a pair.

This funk is finally starting to lift.

I've always wanted to be musical, but have royally sucked at every instrument I've ever tried. Zero natural talent. I wonder how I'd do with a jimbe? Always like the sound and I'm not exactly Navin Johnson. Need to watch The Visitor again for inspiration.

Just had a great phone conversation with a friend who shares my disdain for reading the Bible devotionally. Two thoughts: 1) No one did this until the 16th century, so why do we presume all people should do it now? 2) I think prayer should be done in isolation and the scriptures should be read in community, which seems to have been Jesus' model... but don't tell the conservative Protestants.

The Vikes' season is over. Drat. Just not a good time to be a MN sports fan.

If it comes down to people thinking I don't care vs. people again likening me to Satan (true story), I'm thinking I'll abstain from voting this election.

The AMiA's stubborn refusal to so much as commit the eventual transference of authority to the ACNA really bugs me. My opinion: AMiA (Rwanda) has a thing or two to learn from CANA (Uganda).

Another vivid dream last night: I was hanging out with a late, obscure, B-list celebrity. Seriously, brain. Paul Winfield?

Arrested Development. Over ... rated (clap clap clap-clap-clap).

To put the Christological controversies dealt with at Chalcedon and Constantinople II into modern terms, it seems to me that the question boiled down to this: Was Jesus a physical or chemical reaction? Apparently the orthodox position is physical reaction. I'm still unconvinced either way.

It's 3:00 AM and I'm not in the least bit sleepy. This suck-didily-ucks. Oh well, reading Roger Olson is fun.

Ugh. C'mon, Baylor! After 4 years of being able to watch minimum sports (no TV in our abode), I was really excited about this year. But the Vikes suck, the Twins got spanked, and my (new) favorite college team is getting investigated by the NCAA upon my arrival.

Catholic and Orthodox Christians are like Peter Parker and I'm like Clark Kent. Spider-Man was bitten by a spider that altered his DNA, thereby making his powers part of himself. Superman's powers come from an exterior source; specifically, living on a planet that revolves around a yellow sun. They think Christ imbued the Church with authority in and of itself whereas I think its authority is found only in its preservation of apostolic tradition.

Great news! Andy Richter will return to Conan. Also, this video is great.

This story about the miners being rescued is really uplifting... Say, you think those guys were getting time and a half?

I miss my brother today.

I'm falling in love with Anglican polity.

Great time of Anglo-prayer tonight.

Not all theological development is equal. There's tradition and Tradition. The former clarifies, nuances, and explicates apostolic teaching, i.e. the Trinity. The latter expands, builds upon, and fills in apostolic tradition, i.e. Mary's perpetual virginity. I affirm tradition but not Tradition. (Or maybe it should be the other way around...) What prompted this? I'm trying to figure out if orthodox Christology as set forth in the Chalcedonian Definition is tradition or Tradition. Clearly it's theological development, but of what sort?

Two hilarious videos from The Onion:
Obama Releases 500,000 Men From U.S. Strategic Reserve
TIME Announces New Version Of Magazine Aimed At Adults

An Anglican friend told me he wishes all non-Catholic, non-Orthodox Christians shared his tradition. I get that perspective, but ultimately disagree. Clearly my preference is Anglicanism, but I support the diversity.

I want to read Gabe Lyons' The Next Christians: The Good News About the End of Christian America.

Is it just me, or does it feel like the NFC North is trying to let the Vikes back in this? I feel like Michael Corleone: "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!" By the way, that movie could have been seriously amazing if they'd of just paid Robert Duvall his money and either of the first two actresses (Julia Roberts, Winona Ryder) casted for the Mary Corleone role had done the it.

Drawing again has been good for my soul.

Louis Armstrong, my cat, just mauled my head as I was walked up the stairs.

Being as I see no resolution in Scripture...
IF Tertullian (and/or another apostolic father) actually articulated a similar view to the Chalcedonian Definition, and
IF other apostolic fathers didn't teach something closer to the Monophysite view,
THEN that might be enough to sway me to the Chalcedonian view.

I'm not gonna lie. I love Alicia Keys' music.

Grandpa's chair is back in Waco and the occupant (a male Clark) is rooting for the Rangers. Holy circle of life, Rafiki.

Mini Blog #26: Recalibrating My Life

2010-10-05T22:23:00.000-05:00

This might sound too mechanical, but I need to recalibrate my life. For 18 months I've been battling the onset of depression. I've been "winning" in that I've not succumb to full-blown melancholy, but the numb exhaustion I now feel is almost worse. After recovering from a crippling migraine this afternoon I've spent the past couple hours in serious thought and prayer. What I've realized is that I've been surviving rather than thriving because I've failed to live proportionally to my values. Some things have grown to occupy too much space while others have shrunk so as not to occupy enough. Specifically, I've spent too much time following politics and sports, writing blogs, and interacting on facebook and too little time playing basketball, listening to music, investing in friendships, reading books, drawing, and praying. Life experience has taught me that I'm not able to take small corrective measures, though. I have to go cold turkey on the bloated values and then slowly, carefully reintroduce them while strongly emphasizing the neglected values and then slowly, carefully cutting back. So that's what I'm going to do. Among other things, over the next two weeks I'm not going to check my facebook or write any blog posts followed by two weeks in which I write posts but don't interact with any of the comments. If anyone needs to get a hold of me, I'll still be checking my email and phone. Your prayers would be most appreciated.

Mini Blog #25: Historic Parallels for 2011 Miami Heat?

2010-10-04T17:47:00.000-05:00

Last year LeBackstab, Fishing Waders, and... uhhhh... Bosh averaged 29.7, 26.6, and 24.0 PPG respectively. How do you suppose this will be impacted? The commentators are right, of course. There is no perfect precedent of three perennial All-Star (2 of which are among the top 5 players in the league) playing on the same team while all in their prime. Nevertheless, I see five potential models from NBA history:

1. Big Three (More or less)
- '69 Lakers: West (25.9), Baylor (24.8), Chamberlain (20.5)
- Failed to win the title

2. Three Amigos (Lesser individually, greater together)
- '08 Celtics: Garnett (18.8), Pierce (18.4), Allen (17.4)
- Won the title

3. Alpha Males (w/ a All-Star Helper)
- '87 Celtics: Bird (28.1), McHale (26.1), Parish (17.5)
- Failed to win the title

4. Complementarian Alpha Males (w/ All-Star Helper)
- '71 Milwauke Bucks: Kareem (31.7), Robertson (19.4), Dandrige (18.4)
- Won the title

5. Descending Rank (Different tasks, but clear-cut rank)
- '00 Lakers: Shaq (29.7), Kobe (22.5), and the oft-forgotten Rice (15.9)
- Won the title

In my mind the Heat are the favorites going into the season, but it'll all depend upon how well they gel together.

Two final thoughts:

Nothing would make me happier than LeBackstab still losing this year, especially after all the "I'm remembering what everyone said about me" comments.
The following picture embodies why I'll be rooting against the Heat.

Replay in Baseball

2010-09-30T12:33:00.000-05:00

(This blog is prompted by this article by Ken Rosenthal and Tim McCarver's video response.)

Baseball's refusal to expand replay is untenable. If they can easily fix bad calls, do it! I've heard two main arguments against doing this: the "human factor" and game length.

Human Factor

There's two sub-arguments under this one. First, bad calls are part of the game. Let me be perfectly candid: That's sheer idiocy. If we've learned anything from Olympic sports, tennis, and football, it's that using technology to get the call right doesn't detract from the sport but maintains the integrity of the competition, thereby enhancing the sport. Thankfully the popularity of this view seems to be waning. Second, McCarver and others argue that they don't want the game digressing to a video game where everyone is a robot. Impressive. Most impressive. He managed to use not one but two logical fallacies is the same argument--slippery slope, appeal to fear. Seriously, did the man just appeal to the robot argument? Last time I checked the NFL's use of replay has not precipitated the hostile takeover of androids. Has someone been watching too much Will Smith science fiction again? Don't worry, Tim McCarver, it happens to the best of us.

Game Length

I'm annoyed that our society has the collective attention span of a gnat. People say baseball is boring 'cuz it's slow. Personally, I like the game because it's slow, not in spite of it. It's a breath of fresh air. That being said, I do agree with the concern about game length for a different reason: 24 hours = 1 day. The simple logistics of life is that games that run 3+ hours seriously eats up one's day, making for for bad husbands, fathers, students, etc. That being said, the argument that replay shouldn't be expanded because of game length still doesn't hold water. It's not idiotic, but it is an exercise is missing the point. The problem isn't spending time on the right things, but on the wrong things. The real issue is the duration between pitches, which quickly adds up. Why don't they just use the equivalent of the NBA's shot clock between pitches? Batters have to be in the batter's box within a designated period or it's an automatic strike. Easy fix. As for the time replay would take, have these people watched a game on TV since 1980? The audience knows within 10 seconds if the call was correct. Stick a 5th umpire in the press box and have the home plate umpire wear an earbud. Problem solved. They don't have to follow the NFL model on that one.

In my mind, the real problem is that the crotchety old white guys who run baseball like tradition for tradition's sake. ("That's the way we've always done it!") I keep listening to their arguments with an open mind, hoping one of them will say something--anything!--that's a good, rational reason for not expanding replay. And I keep being disappointed. Unfortunately, unless a bad call costs a team a playoff series--it might even take the World Series--I seriously doubt sanity will prevail during Selig's tenure. Worse yet, the guy is poised to pull a Strom Thurmond. But hey, it'll be real exciting to get replay when he retires in 2034. Who knows? By then we might just skip over the whole replay thing and go straight to the robots!

Why Are There Priests in Christianity?

2010-09-29T02:19:00.001-05:00

One of the final vestiges of hardcore Protestantism within me is my enthusiastic affirmation of the priesthood of the believer. Honestly, in light of 1 Peter 2:9, I'm having difficulty seeing it any other way. This is obviously a strange objection for a guy who is seriously considering Anglican ordination. Probably something I need to spend some serious time on...

I'm looking at this issue from three angles: historic polity, biblical themes, pastor v. priest.

Historic Polity

As of right now my polity is something of a blend. On the local level, I'm basically Presbyterian while on the regional, national, and international level I'm more in line with the emphasis upon bishops found in the Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican, and Methodist traditions. In the NT era there were elders and deacons with apostolic oversight. As I understand it, as the apostles died an alternative form of governance needed to be developed that would maintain ecclesiastical unity and doctrinal purity. Thus, the development of the bishopric. I've long suspected that the second century was something of a hybrid with elders/deacons and bishops. Sure enough, Roger Olson confirmed it in his book The Story of Christian Theology: Twenty Centuries of Tradition & Reform with a quote from an early apostolic father, Ignatius of Antioch: "As the Lord did nothing without the Father, either by himself or through the apostles (for he was united with him), so you must not do anything without the bishop and the presbyters [elders]." (The bracketed elders was Olson's modification, not mine.) As I've been reading I was hoping that Olson would touch upon the development of the priesthood, but had no such luck. By the time he'd gotten to Cyprian of Carthage we'd sudden gone from "presbyters [elders]" to "presbyter (priest)." If nothing else that confirms the existence of priests by the early to mid third century, which obviously remains quite early, but I'm still trying to get my mind the circumstances surrounding that shift from elders/presbyters to presbyters/priests.

Biblical Themes

In terms of cultural anthropology, a priest is an intermediary between a deity and its worshipers. That makes perfect sense in the OT for Shekhinah within the wilderness tabernacle and later temple in Jerusalem, but not-so-much for the NT. Please forgive my ignorance if I've completely misunderstood this one, but Jesus was the Lamb of God who fulfilled the law. So wasn't the whole point of the temple's veil being torn during his crucifixion the inauguration of the New Covenant where the Holy Spirit was no longer residing within the Holy of Holies but would now indwell believers? Isn't that the basis of our bodies being temples for the Holy Spirit in 1 Cor. 6:19-20, the living stones reference in 1 Peter 2:5, and the fulfillment of the priesthood in Hebrews? These seem like major themes. With Jesus being our Great High Priest and the Spirit's indwelling at Pentecost, I thought the whole intermediary/priest thing was done. Have I missed something? I don't presume that theological development = theological corruption, but I can't help wonder if this isn't a direct result of the Hellenization of Christianity. That is, I wonder if priests came back because of Christianity's syncretism with the Greco-Roman world. I'm not enough of a Protestant that I assume the worst, but I am enough of one that I leave that option on the table.

Pastor v. Priest

A number of Anglicans have suggested that, in practice, Anglican priests more or less function as pastors so there's really not that big a difference. OK. So why call them priests then? Seems like a cop-out to me. Language is an imperfect means of communication, but words nevertheless convey meaning. Similar as they might be, I don't say, "Catholic" when I mean "Orthodox" and I don't say, "Cat" when I mean "Dog." A pastor is a shepherd and a priest is an intermediary. Clearly those offices share many of the same responsibilities, but at the end of the day they've got to be called separate things for a reason.

I'm hoping someone more knowledgeable than I can shed some light on this issue either with his/her own knowledge or by recommending articles, books, or essays. Any and all help would be appreciated. Thanks.

Reading the Bible on a Desert Island

2010-09-28T13:02:00.000-05:00

Whenever I read Philip Yancey I'm blown away by his piercing self-assessment. One example from The Jesus I Never Knew comes to mind. He wrote that, were he a first century Jew living under Roman occupation in Israel, he probably would have been a Pharisee--and not just any old Pharisee, but the type who militantly opposed Jesus. This from the man of whom Billy Graham once said, "There is no writer in the evangelical world that I admire and appreciate more." Yancey's ability to honestly identify his own limitations and sinful inclinations is second to none. That degree of self-aware brutal honesty is something to which I aspire. Following in that pattern, then, I've been thinking about the Trinity. More specifically, were I on the metaphorical desert island with no outside influences and little to do but read the Bible for 50 years, would I arrive at a Trinitarian theology? Though I'm the staunchest of Trinitarians, I'm not so sure I would.

I definitely would be a monotheist--that's pretty clear from the OT--but I'd have trouble when I got to the NT. I'd probably conceive of God the Father as the lone God. He seems like the continuation of the powerful deity from the Old Testament whom Jesus seeks to submit to in the NT. Initially I'd probably think of Jesus in almost Islamic terms--as a really good prophet. Then the Holy Spirit's descending upon him at his baptism would mess with my mind, so I'd think of him as an amplified prophet with a kind of unique divine spark that was magnified or completed at the baptism. Then that pesky virgin birth thing would get to me, which I suspect would eventually lead to a sort of royalty view. Just as in a royal family the king is supreme but his son is still royalty, so I'd think of Jesus as a competent but insufficient divine prince, as it were, under his father who rules eternally. Kind of like today's British monarchy, he'd be kind of like Queen Elizabeth who technically is still in power but in actuality merely does the bidding of the government. Jesus would undoubtedly be a created being, though. As for the Holy Spirit, there's no way I'd think of him as a distinct person. Are you kidding me? More of an it--kind of a weird ghost-like, divine-ish, helper/messenger, entity thing. In terms of the power rankings, I'd never conceive of the three as co-equal. It'd clearly be Father (1), Jesus (2), Holy Spirit (3). Although, it would seem as though the Holy Spirit had been around longer. I might even come to think of the Spirit as existing from eternity past along with the Father, since there's no sign of its creation and it was clearly there hovering above the waters very early on, so maybe there would be a challenge for the #2 spot. Still, the Spirit would probably seem like more of the butler to Jesus' son of the manor lord.

Anyway, my point is this: This Bible-only view that is so common in American evangelicalism is extraordinarily inadequate because the Bible must be interpreting by sinful people with cognitive limitations, such as myself. Without the guidance of tradition found in church history, I for one would have digressed into heresy long ago. In fact, just these past few days I've been thinking about how, without knowing it, I'm pretty sure I was at one time an implicit oneness Pentecostal, which, it's worth noting, I held while attending a church that was antagonistic to tradition.

* Just to clarify, I'm not saying the church I attended held to oneness Pentecostalism as a congregation-wide doctrinal position. I'm not accusing anyone of heresy. I'm saying that I implicitly held to it. Two reasons: 1) They rarely taught things like the Trinity, so I didn't know any better; 2) The way they practically talked about God was as Father OR Jesus OR Holy Spirit, which didn't suggest an overt Trinitarian view even if it was the official position.

Mini Blog #24: New Ethics for the Information Age?

2010-09-26T13:29:00.000-05:00

Since departing the Dittohead regime, my perspective on the nation's impassioned ideological rhetoric has continually evolved. Initially it was amusing. I couldn't help but laugh at people who sincerely compared Dubbya to Hitler. But it wasn't too long before amusement turned into bewilderment. Bewilderment shifted to annoyance, which itself gave way to agitation. Agitation later morphed into anger. And anger turned into weariness. For a long time, I assumed that I was pretty much alone on that political journey. I didn't want to read my own experiences into my perception of others. After the recent news of Jon Stewart's "Rally to Restore Sanity" and Rutgers University's "Project Civility," however, I've begun to wonder if I'm not part of a larger trend. Are there many other people like me who, regardless of their various political beliefs, are united in their fatigue at the 24-hour news cycle featuring political cockfighting to bolster ratings? Are there people who are just plain tired of all the angry blowhards? Could this be the beginning of the "Civility Movement"? Or perhaps, to borrow a line from Stewart, the "Take It Down A Notch Movement"? Whatever the case, it'll be interesting to see if these are simply outliers or if they're part of a growing cultural trend. For years now people have been saying that new ethics need to be developed to govern communication in the Information Age. Maybe we've finally gotten to the point where enough is enough, which is serving as a catalyst for serious thought on this issue. I wonder if we're seeing the beginning of that.

Mini Blog #23: Seminary

2010-09-25T16:37:00.000-05:00

(It's a mini blog, not a thesis. I'm writing in generalities...)

A number of friends have commented that they want to attend seminary to better orient their faith, wrestle through their doubts, find some answers, and deepen their walk with the Lord. All of which I encourage. Here's the trouble: The seminary system excels in self-fulfilling prophecy. Most potential students pick a seminary that aligns with what he or she believes, right? Not surprisingly, then, the professors there tend to reinforce said beliefs. To give a handful of examples, not a lot of Reformed Christians who go to Westminster come out non-Calvinists, not a lot of Baptists who go to Southern leave believing in paedobaptism, not a lot of moderates who attend Fuller leave as conservatives, and not a love of Dispensationalists leave Dallas as Covenant Theologians. It's this theological Catch-22. You go to seminary to work through your beliefs, but you have to know what you believe to pick your seminary. Obviously I've not been to seminary so mine is an etic perspective, but what I've been encouraging people to do is really spend time studying for a couple years beforehand. That isn't necessarily the time to work through all the doctrinal minutia, but to establish the larger conceptual framework for how they approach the task of theology. In other words, spend time studying on your own to find what stream you swim in or what structure you fit within, so to speak, and only then decide what seminary to attend. Maybe that's bad advice, though. I'd be interested to see what future, present, and former seminarians think about this one.

Discernmentarianism: A Middle-Way Forward in the Gender Role Controversy

2010-09-25T01:42:00.000-05:00

With the global realignment continuing to unfold within the Anglican Communion, most North American parishioners seem to have polarized between the progressive/liberal and traditionalist/conservative camps. My guess is that there are many quiet moderates out there--those who can't articulate themselves well, just don't want to put up a fuss, or feel as though their voices are being lost in the cacophony of ideological rants--which means that vocal moderates such as myself have a tough row to hoe. This is particularly true in my situation, as I consider beginning the path toward ordination in an overtly conservative diocese.

The Anglican Church in North America has given each diocese freedom to determine its own policy on the issue of gender roles. The challenge I face is that my diocese affirms male-only ordination and I do not. Personally, I don't think it's that big of a deal. Submission to ecclesiastical authority and grace for others' conscience have enabled me to comfortably accept that theological position. Beyond the specific issue of ordination, however, I get far more rigid. It's important to me that the general ethos be that of genuine gender equality. That is, I'm not OK with church cultures that are suppressive of women. For example, the cultural expectation that women run the nursery and bake the goodies while not allowing them to teach Christian Education (to everyone), which I've witnessed in numerous churches, violates my own conscience to same degree as female ordination does to others.

The complementarian view that women are "distinct but equal," which is usually defined in stereotypical roles that are premised on relatively recent socio-economic developments, often smacks of the farcical "separate but equal" legal doctrine of the Jim Crowe South. To be clear, I'm not saying that's always the case among complementarians. Yet, in my quarter century within conservative evangelicalism, it's been the exception rather than the rule that that not be the reality on the ground. Also, there will undoubtedly be those who suggest I've employed an ad hominem argument with that comparison, but I don't think so. The striking similarity between the two is not only worth noting, but it's the truest parallel from history that I could think of. The analogy is limited, of course. Certainly the hatred that so permeated the Jim Crowe South is contrary to the heart intentions of nearly all thoughtful complementarians. Where I think the parallel holds up is the justification of inferiority under the supposed banner of equality.

Wisdom is needed to navigate the contrasting visions for womanhood not only seen between church and society, but even within the Church. Because this issue is deeply felt by so many women, it can be extraordinarily difficult to simultaneously affirm/encourage both stay-at-home moms and those women who, for example, want to be college professors. Sadly, the two groups are regularly intimidated by one another. As I see it, the complementarian-egalitarian war has reached an impasse and the only viable way forward is the development of a clearer doctrine of women that holds that the ultimate value of each woman is found in doing what God has called her to do, whether that's being a stay-at-home mom or a college professor, a nun or a business professional. Surely we can all agree that true fulfillment is found in following God's will, and His will isn't uniform for 1/2 the population.

In a post from this past June I coined a new term: Discernmentarianism. My focus there was marriage and it concluded with the following paragraph:

"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."

It seems to me that that pattern holds true in church polity. In the South, it'd be a terrible idea to insist upon full egalitarianism, including women's ordination. The inevitable result of such a hard-nose position would be schism. In the Northeast, an insistence on complementarianism would be equally as foolish. Scholars, clergy, and laity on both sides of this theological divide keep arguing for what the authoritative, biblical position is and how it should be applied to our own contemporary context, but the position I've come to is that there's not a single right answer that can be rubber stamped. In my estimate, this is an issue where there can be no ultimate resolution. Proverbial discernment is the only approach that keeps personal conscience, ecclesiastical unity, and the application of biblical teaching all in tension.

Going back to my original concern, to the best of my knowledge the ACNA has not explicitly articulate a doctrinal position like Discernmentarianism. Rather, it has allowed for a measure of theological elasticity in the pattern of classic Anglicanism. What I find interesting is that the practical result has been a position not unlike mine where each diocese decides that issue according to their local concerns and convictions. Perhaps it wouldn't be a stretch to say that the ACNA, as an ecclesiastical body, holds to de facto Discernmentarianism. I'll say it again: Ah, it's good to be Anglican.

Top 10 Reasons Why I Suppose American Christians are Converting to Islam

2010-09-18T23:47:00.000-05:00

Preface: A christian friend who is intrigued by Islam suggested that I write a post on the trend of American Christians converting to Islam. That's a daunting task considering this is something I've only begun to hear about in the past month. So while I'm taking on the challenge, I want to be very clear that I'm writing from my gut. The following comments aren't based upon sociological data or firsthand interaction with those who've converted. They simply compromise my attempt to put myself in someone else's shoes. It's speculation. Also, those of you who are anticipating an apologetic defense of the christian faith will be disappointed. It's a fool and a coward who tries to disprove a thing before seeking to understand it on its own terms.

(In no particular order)

Top 10 Reasons Why I Suppose Christians are Converting to Islam

Islam is "other." There's a certain mystique or excitement about Islam because it's different and foreign. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. It's the same reason eastern religious thought caught on so much with the hippies and then again with the New Age movement. For an American audience, it's a fresh perspective on intellectual and spiritual questions.
Islam doesn't appear as fragmented. In John 17 Jesus prayed that believers would be one just as He and the Father were one, so that the world would know that the Father sent the Son. To point out the obvious, there was wisdom in that. The more fragmented a religion appears, the more difficult its truth claims are to swallow. The basic reasoning goes something like this: "You can't even agree among yourselves how to interpret your own holy book, so how do you expect others to accept your absolute truth claims?" Good question. This is a particularly strong impulse in the American context where the dominant form of Christianity, Protestantism, has fragmented to the point of sheer absurdity. Never mind that Islam, too, has its own divisions. Most Americans don't know that yet, or don't realize just how divided those sects are. Protestantism v. Catholicism is much more tangible to an American audience than Shiite v. Sunni.
Islam is growing. I don't know enough about cultural anthropology and psychology to say whether this is specific to Western society or is simple human nature, but my observation has been that people like to be a part of something that is gaining strength rather than something that is atrophying. Western Christianity is in numerical decline. It's not cool to be going down with the ship, so to speak. Of course, Christianity seems to be growing in Africa and Asia for the same reason it's declining in North American and Europe. Go figure.
Islam appears more authentic. Why? Because Christians have lost moral credibility. When you hear such staggering statistics as Christians having an equal divorce rate as the rest of society, the whole faith seems hypocritical. People then respond by seeking a truly moral religion. It's the same reason Mormonism is growing so rapidly.
Islam is the underdog. Or it at least appears that way from the American vantage point where Christianity has been the dominant socio-political force for over a millennium and a half. Contrast Rev. Terry Jones of the Dove World Outreach Center with Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf of the proposed Manhattan Islamic center. Which man (and religion) looks like the irrational bully and which looks like the rational one who's been bullied? Especially when you throw in the economic and military might of Western nations the last 400 years as opposed to the rampant poverty in the Middle East, and Islam looks like the religious equivalent of Rudy.
Islam is protected. Because of our Judeo-Christian Western heritage, political correctness insists upon little to no reverence or respect for Christianity. Not so with Islam. Insult Christianity and you receive awards. Insult Islam and you may well lose your job. Our post-christian culture sees the former as the unshackling of society from an oppressive religion and the latter as the oppression of a minority group. You've got to figure that all those derogatory comments about Christianity take a toll, and cause people to look elsewhere.
Islam appears to be an antidote to America's diseased morality. I'm not one of these "the sky is falling!" guys. From a historical vantage point, it's hard to argue that our present pervasive immorality (e.g. pornography) is any more reprehensible than our past sins (e.g. slavery). It's the myth of declension that all of society is going to hell in a hand basket, yet there clearly is a rampant breakdown in the nuclear family and many other areas of moral decay. While not endorsing a specific faith as a national religion, most of the Founding Fathers concurred that a form of religion was essential for maintaining morality and thereby a functional society and system of government. It appears to many that Christianity has failed in that regard, so why not try something new to fill that need?
Islam is misunderstood. This go against conventional wisdom, but I think Americans really, really like seeing themselves as misunderstood. Oh, they'll piss and moan about how no one gets them, but they like it. It's like the gossipy church lady whose claims to hate drama, but always finds a way to be embroiled in it. She claims it's just sooooo exhausting and it saps her soul when, in reality, she relishes it. It's the same reason a lot of hipsters are becoming Anglican--"My parents just don't understand, man."--only taken to the next level. To be clear, I'm not contesting that Islam is misunderstood by most Americans. What I'm suggesting is that Christian converts to Islam like that little bit of persecution in the same way the fundamentalist Christians who watch Fox News like that little bit of persecution they get from the mainstream media. It's a simple sociological fact that mild persecution galvanizes people's beliefs.
Islam sticks it to The Man. Converting to it can be a form of open rebellion to societal norms. It's the ultimate middle finger our nation's Judeo-Christian background. When you hear old speeches by Malcolm X and interviews with Muhammad Ali shortly after he changed his name from Cassius Clay, it's clear that there's a certain cultural militancy at work. Apparently it hasn't occurred to these folks that Islam is The Man in much of the world. It's kind of like the rural white boy who dresses like Allen Iverson to stick it to all the Abercrombie & Fitch preps. Truth be known, that same guy would probably dress like a prep to stick it to the urban culture were he attending school in the city. Stickin' it to The Man gets complicated when The Man is culturally bound.
Islam doesn't suffer from the fatigue facing Christianity. When I get interested in issues I try to leave no stone unturned, to the point that I become rather obsessive about it. It's part of my rationally meticulous nature. Can't say I've ever done that with Islam, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about converting. At those times when I'd reached the absolute depths of a spiritual valley--when I'd been beaten by my supposed brothers and sisters in Christ; when I was surrounded by fundamentalists who justified hateful political views using our Savior's name; when the theologians all contradicted one another and came across as profoundly arrogant jerks; when the pastors saw fit to manipulate people into submitting their lives to Christ using erroneous historical claims; when organized Christianity looked as though it couldn't be further from the simple loving grace of Christ--yeah, I looked to Islam. I suspect many disillusioned Christians have felt the same way. Or, if they haven't already, with Islam's spreading popularity and seemingly increased viability, they're starting to.

Again, this list comprises my humble attempt to understand the perspective of Christians who've converted to Islam. I don't claim it's authoritative and I invite discussion.

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

2010-09-17T13:16:00.001-05:00

I was wandering a theological wasteland. After ruling out evangelicalism's standard theological systems, then deciding Catholicism and Orthodoxy weren't my bag of chips, I had no idea where to look. I'd developed a great passion for theology, but disliked the way conservative evangelicalism's most revered scholars went about the task. I found them overly confident, thought they were prone to oversimplifying complex issues, and couldn't stand that constant hint of antagonism toward the big, bad liberals. Yet what else was there? I certainly wasn't about to jump off the deep end and start denying Christ's bodily resurrection or any of that. I cranked out blog posts with titles like "Problems with Systematic Theology as a Discipline", "Choose ye this day which presuppositions ye shall serve", and "Burned out by the Arminianism-Calvinism debate." I couldn't have articulated it at the time, but this quote from N.T. Wright's book, Justification, captures what I was sensing: "For too long we have read scripture with nineteenth-century eyes and sixteenth-century questions. It's time to get back to reading with first-century eyes and twenty-first century questions." I needed to be part of something new that was searching for something old. I kept going round and around the same worn-out, binary debates, not knowing that underlying all those opposing positions was the same basic philosophical and historical perspective.

One can only run around the hamster wheel so many times before the frustration mounts. Within the span of about a month the frustration turned into anger toward the whole enterprise. Reflecting this were blog posts like "Theology: Great Discipline, Terrible Academic Culture" and "My Growing Distaste for Theology." Here's a sample from one of those posts:

"In its purest, most simple, form, theology is pursuit the of God--both knowledge of and relationship with Him. What could be better? The problem is, the pure form rarely manifests itself. My observation has been that the culture of the whole theological endeavor has been marred. The theologians themselves are arrogant, proud, and self-righteous. The overall aura is one of hostility, magnified by the eternal weight that is placed upon the discussion. In literature, if you disagree over the interpretation of a text, it's alright. If you disagree in theology, you're abusing the divinely-inspired Word of God, misrepresenting our Lord and Savior, and potentially sending people to hell. Then there's also this prevailing superiority trip. Both amateur and professional theologians act as if all other disciplines are innately inferior. For example, I recently heard an address by D.A. Carson in which he delved into the topic, What is Evangelicalism? Before he got into his own views, he first systematically went through all the ways of addressing the issue in order to show how they were errant or limited. According to him, theology alone was the way to adequately answer the question. It alone provided the truth. (How convenient that a theologian would think such a thing.) Now, I sincerely like most of D.A. Carson's work. Certainly I disagree with him on some things, but by in large I like his stuff. But I hear him, like most other theologians, dismissing all disciplines like this, I cannot help but marvel at their brazen arrogance and/or naivety."

I wanted to do theology the right way. I was committed to worshiping God with my mind, which to me necessitated complete intellectual honesty. No questions were off-limits. I thought it was important to be transparent with those around me. Yet when I humbly questioned doctrines like the Trinity, inerrancy, and the Perspicuity of Scripture, I encountered the full wrath of fundamentalism. Time and again professors and peers accused me of having a low view of Scripture, being liberal, and believing heresy. Apparently these folks haven't consulted a dictionary and are, therefore, ignorant of the fact that "questioning" and "rejecting" aren't synonyms.

I still haven't figured out how one is anyone supposed to respond to fundamentalists. Lie? Just make crap up that will support the 'ol conservative party line so they'll think you're "good, safe, truthful, and conservative" and leave you alone? Ignore? Simply ignore the fact that a brother or sister in Christ just deeply offended you by saying you dishonor God? Challenge? We all know there's little to no hope in changing a fundamentalist's mind on anything. If you try to explain the complexity of the situation, it'll reinforce their suspicions that you're one of those liberal academics insidiously trying to destroy Christianity. And if, by the grace of God, you actually get them to reconsider their position for even a minute, their friends and family with charge them of succumbing to doubt and compromising the truth. Soon enough they'll return to the fold, or get kicked out and be right there beside you. There's just no good response, which I'm convinced is exactly how they want it.

I never did find a good answer for the fundamentalist problem, but my saving grace was Chris Vena. I met him on my college's online philosophy forum. He'd done his B.A. at Toccoa Falls College, M.A. at Bethel, had just finished up his Ph.D course work at Marquette, and was looking to return to TFC for a position. The first time we chatted in person the topic was theology. The conversation went something like this:

Me: "So you're not a Calvinist?"
Chris: "Nope."
Me: "Or an Arminian?"
Chris: "Nope."
Me: "Dispensationalist?"
Chris: "Nope."
Me: "And you don't subscribe to Covenant Theology?"
Chris: "Nope."
Me: "I don't get the sense you're a Cessationist."
Chris: "Nope."
Me: "Probably not a Pentecostal, either."
Chris: "Nope."
Me: "So what the heck are you?"
Chris: "A Trinitarian Christian."
Me: "That's it?"

Chris pretty well embodies Gen X in my mind. With his hat pulled low and my reflection in his sunglasses, the jerk just leaned back and smiled. Can't say it was the most insightful conversation I've ever been a part of, but he made me feel like it was fine, even good, to be where I was. He offered no answers that day, but assured me that I was on the right path. It was exactly what I needed to hear.

After that I basically went on a theological hiatus for a couple years. It was time to put my attention elsewhere--marriage, history, politics, philosophy, culture, music, movies, friends, an academic conference, etc. It wasn't until after graduation that I had any time available for theology.

Within a few days of receiving my diploma I went to Chris' office and asked him to recommend a book. Knowing that I was on an evangelical kick, he recommended Roger Olson's How to Be Evangelical without Being Conservative. It was a terrific book, so I went back. The second time he recommended Scot McKnight's The Blue Parakeet: Rethinking How You Read the Bible. Two for two! (By the way, I still think that book should be titled The Blue Parakeet: Rethinking How You Read the Bible and Your Views on Women in Ministry. It's kind of comical how he subtly slipped in that whole egalitarian issue... into the entire second half of the book. Scot McKnight, you are a smooth criminal.) Again I stopped by his office. This time he wasn't there, so I called him. Although he hadn't read it yet, he recommended Olson's Reformed and Always Reforming: The Postconservative Approach to Evangelical Theology. He warned that it was more of a technical read than the previous two, but thought I'd like it. Naturally, I broke into his office and, um, borrowed it. Sign #347 you're a dork: You're stealing theology books from your professor's office.

Reformed and Always Reforming hurt my brain in a good way. It took two solid months to get through because every single paragraph challenged or nuanced the theological training I'd received in conservative churches and Bible college. When I finished the book, I wrote this review:

"Time will tell if this proves to be the most important book in my theological development, but right now I suspect this will be the case. This book has helped me to provide the theological methodology that I've been searching for for so long. I don't necessarily agree with Olson on where that methodology takes him in terms of specific doctrines, nor do I like much of the nomenclature he uses. Nevertheless, I finally feel as though I found what I've been looking for. Sorry, Bono."

A year later I still agree with that assessment. I resonated with and found much comfort in the book's themes, but the thing that impacted me most was Olson's explanation of the postfoundationalist form of evangelical theology. I'd never heard of it before.

(In case you haven't either, this theological form can be seen in the works of authors like Stanley Grenz, John Franke, LeRon Shults, Kevin Vanhoozer, and N.T. Wright among others. And, for the record, I cannot stand describing events, movements, or periods as post-something--post-war, postmodern, postconservative, postfoundationalist. It's a genuinely terrible way to describe a thing. The prefix itself keeps the onus on the past, not the present or the future. I have a great deal of respect and appreciation for tradition and history, but I dislike the idea of being driven by a response to a particular thing. Nevertheless, "postfoundationalism" is the normative term so for the time being I'll use it.)

According to Olson, here is what postfoundationalist evangelical theology looks like:

The creative task of theology is never complete. There is never a perfect moment at which the task of theology has been achieved. It then follows that there is no Utopian theological period, no golden age, to which Christians ought return, whether the 5th century, the 16th century, or 1827--the year Darby invented Dispensationalism.
Since theological systems are created by finite human interpreters of the biblical text, no single theological system is capable of perfectly representing or explaining God. (Yes, that includes you, Reformed Theology. Don't worry, I won't tell Piper. We'll just keep this as your and my little secret.) It doesn't matter what the system is or who is pushing for it. It's inadequate to capture the Bible's teachings, much less the God to whom the scriptures point.
It embraces a sort of soft postmodernism where absolute truth does exist, but it cannot be attained in a completely objective manner for the simple facts that people filter the world through their own experiences and are limited by their own human nature. Olson puts it this way: "...'true Truth'... is 'out there' even if we are incapable of making truth claims that are not culturally and historically embodied." Absolute truth exists, but people are incapable of fully attaining it unless, of course, you're one of those really smart omniscient people.
It denies that absolute certitude and absolute relativism are the only viable options, insisting that "[i]t is only the lingering power of the foundationalist schema that makes us believe we must choose between the polar opposites of timeless and placeless objectivity and sheer, arbitrary and solipsistic relativism." Christians can believe while struggling with doubt. Reminds of a quote I heard somewhere: "Lord I believe; help my unbelief!" They can and should always be working to refine their views even while they affirm them.
Christians don't need to have the weight of their salvation resting upon their ability to get every last theological detail correct, though I'm sure Piper is close as he's attained 7-point Calvinism. It is the biblical number for perfection, you know. Olson writes, "Christians can admit that, like every other set of truth claims, what they believe is open to correction and revision while they continue to believe and worship and practice their faith." Christians ought to seriously wrestle with their beliefs even as they work out their faith with fear and trembling. Part of the human condition is that we never fully "arrive."
The purpose of pursuing truth is not merely the individual acquisition of facts and the increase in one's intellect, but the transformation of the whole person through their own spiritual journey in community. Take that, Enlightenment!
It doesn't deny the existence of propositional truth, but it does reject the more or less purely propositional view of theology where the goal is to reconstruct what the Bible was "really trying to say." Why read the Bible when Grudem's Systematic Theology neatly explains that mess created by the prophets and apostles? In other words, systematic theology is necessary but isn't the objective. It isn't the pinnacle of theology to which all else is aimed. Rather, the goal of all theology is to understand and be a part of God's unfolding redemptive work through the biblical narrative. A Christian's life is to be an ongoing extension of that narrative. The canon closed, but the story has not ended.
It insists upon a holistic epistemology, including the belief that "knowledge is not a collection of isolated factual statements arising directly from first principles. Rather, beliefs form a system in which each is supported by its neighbors and, ultimately, by its presence within the whole." Disciplines exist and are helpful, but ultimately they're artificial constructions to break the totality of knowledge into manageable pieces. Dear D.A. Carson, Theology doesn't trump all else. Signed, All Other Disciplines.
It demands intellectual humility because of humankind's "fallibilism," or the "recognition that one could be wrong and must therefore be open to correction." Olson provides a quote from Vanhoozer in which he writes, "Rationality is largely a matter of humility, or to be precise, of the willingness to put one's beliefs (and one's biblical interpretations) to the critical test." Theologians taking the fall into considering while doing their theology... who wudda thunk it? It may be cliché, but the old saying rings true: The more you know, the more you know you don't know.

Finally I'd made a break-through! However, as excited as I was about postfoundationalism, I never was able to buy into it entirely.

Olson and others are calling for a flexibility and humility in theological methodology. He wants Christians to be able to reevaluate their beliefs as merited by new evidence. (Paging Galileo Galilei. You have a phone call. It's the Church calling to apologize.) That I liked. What I didn't like is that he considers absolutely any doctrine up for reconsideration. He believes the present generation must have a respect and deference for previous generations of interpreters, but ultimately they too were fallible humans and may have been wrong. For example, postfoundationalists believe we should be very careful to not haphazardly overturn or revise an ancient doctrine like the Trinity, but ultimately we should never completely take that possibility off the table. In my estimate, for all his efforts to be humble in light of human finitude and fallenness, at the end of the day he, quite ironically, is willing to place all his trust in the present generation. They're able to overturn absolutely anything. He undoubtedly wouldn't word it quite like that, but the end result remains the same: There's no absolute standard for that which comprises true, essential christian doctrine.

Before going any further, let me be clear that I'm uncomfortable with the language of "demanding Christians hold to an absolute, unwavering theological standard." I cringe when I hear that sort of thing. It immediately brings me back the 19th century-inspired foundationalist theological methodology practiced by conservative evangelicals like J.I. Packer and fundamentalists like John MacArthur, whom I respect but want to distance myself. (Well, I respect Packer anyway...) At the same time, I do insist that Christians hold to orthodoxy, which is a theological standard. The key distinction, I think, is that foundationalists demand that standard because of their philosophical commitment to rational certitude whereas I insist upon that standard because I believe in The Great Tradition, which, I would note, predates foundationalism by many, many centuries. Practically, we end up in the same place, but, in my opinion, the path we take there is nearly as important as the destination.

In Reformed and Always Reforming, Olson had strong criticism of paleo-orthodoxy, which is "a broad Christian theological movement of the late 20th and early 21st centuries which focuses on the consensual understanding of the faith among the Ecumenical Councils and Church Fathers." (Thank you, wikipedia.) He points out that its leading advocates, persons like Thomas Oden, Alister McGrath, Christopher Hall, and the late Robert Webber, seem to almost have that "golden age" perspective where we need to return a particular time which was the apex of christian theology. In fairness to Olson, he does recognize that it's a broad movement. There's a spectrum in terms of how authoritative paleo-orthodox theologians see the past, or how much they wish to theologically return to the past. Yet Olson's basic point is that he wants to move away from that perspective and it's there where he and I part ways. Just as I affirm the basic spirit of postfoundationalism with some important reservations, so I also affirm the basic spirit of paleo-orthodoxy.

As I see it, Paleo-orthodoxy is a critique of historic Protestantism's embrace of the ad fontes--back to the sources!--philosophy behind the Renaissance. Paleo-orthodoxy advocates a historical view of theology that most conservative evangelicals don't hold. Rather, they tend to hold to a Bible-only view--wanting all theology to come exclusively from the Bible. It's historical restorationism. Yet I don't equate theological development with bad theology. One need look no further than the Trinity to see that that's clearly not the case in church history. Consequently, I'm cautiously open to the idea that the Holy Spirit guided--or even inspired--the Church as certain theological constructs were clarified, expanded, refined, nuanced, or created beyond those which were explicated in the Old and New Testaments. Thus, I'm not a "biblicist" in the strict sense some use that word. Yet I still have enough Protestant influence on my thinking to insist upon a recognition that the Church along with its doctrines and practices can be, and at times have been, corrupted. As I once heard a Southern Baptist professor say to an Eastern Orthodox priest, "Just 'cuz that's the way it's been for 15 centuries don't mean it's right." The only way I'm willing to buy into the final product is if those doctrines and practices don't conflict with Scripture and there's good rationale for how they gained acceptance. Yet the most important thing for me is that paleo-orthodoxy insists that orthodoxy is found in the Spirit's guidance through church history.

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 I wondered what the relationship between Christianity and those doctrines was 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 about a month ago as I listened to a N.T. Wright podcast.

According to Wright, 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 God is, 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.

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 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. The importance of retaining orthodoxy, then, is that the Church preserves the plot of the redemptive narrative that brings life and hope to a world in need. If we fail to uphold the apostolic tradition that was passed from Jesus to the apostles all the way down to us, we've lost the Gospel. That is why I affirm paleo-orthodoxy and that is why cannot agree with Olson that everything is potentially up for reconsideration. Respect and deference is good, but it's ultimately inadequate.

When people ask me what theologian my beliefs most closely align, I tell them N.T. Wright. Though I've not heard him come right out and say it, his theological conceptions seem to reflect a deep church tension between paleo-orthodoxy and postfoundationalism. Whatever the case, I'm paleo-orthodox in regards to orthodoxy and postfoundationalist in regards to adiaphora. I consider any and all secondary doctrine up for potential revision but I have an unwavering grip on the The Great Tradition. (For those of you with a TFC background, this basically means I'm a theological hybrid of Shelton and Vena the Lesser.) It is through that tension that I've finally escaped the theological wasteland of conservative evangelicalism's philosophical foundationalism and historical restorationism.

Ah, it's good to be Anglican.

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

2010-09-14T03:57:00.001-05:00

"You've got it all wrong," bemoaned Dr. Williams. "Who taught you your church history?!" He meant it as a rhetorical question, but I answered him literally. "An atheist public high school teacher who had about as much sympathy for organized religion as Richard Dawkins." With a smile and a chuckle he deftly added, "Oh, right, you grew up Pentecostal. Perhaps they're right, though. Maybe we need to go straight back to the first century. After all, as I learned at Trinity... errrr, never mind." Until leaving the Assemblies of God at 17-years-old I was imbued with a restorationist model of christian faith that taught that the Church had been corrupted by centuries of tradition, which necessitated a return to true, "biblical" (i.e. first century) Christianity. Consequently, despite my love of history I developed an intense, out of character aversion to church history. All that began to change at Moody, though.

During the first day of the fall semester one of my professors taught the Apostles' Creed. He explained that it was one of the earliest articulations of the basic christian faith and dated back perhaps as early as the apostles themselves. It had been recited by Christians transcending cultures, languages, races, nationalities, socio-economic classes, and theological differences for at least 17 centuries. In this way it bound the Body of Christ together through time and space. Knowing the low church, historically apathetic evangelical backgrounds of most his students, the professor intentionally challenged us by beginning every class with a recitation of the creed. The first time I seriously hated it. It sounded like cultish chanting. It made me feel like I was taking part in the absent-minded indoctrination. It smacked of the "dead orthodoxy" Pentecostalism had spent so much time inoculating against. The previous semester, however, another professor had softened me up.

This professor taught the poorly named Intro. to Music, which for all intents and purpose should have been called Intro. to Worship. Throughout the semester he identified my presuppositions regarding worship, then systematically ripped apart my schema. It was one of those courses that you incessantly complain about at the time but later realize how important it was. When all was said and done I took away four important lessons:

Anti-tradition is itself a tradition.
Most tradition has lasted because of its rich meaning.
The assumption that new is automatically better is an absurd, uniquely American phenomenon.
Only the fool assumes the superiority of his views when he's not bothered to consider the alternatives.

In sum, "tradition" was no longer an epithet.

(As an aside, because of that course I also know how to conduct, which I regard as unquestionably the least practical skill I possess. It ranks right up there with have memorized most of dialogue in Short Circuit.)

There remained an inward battle over the validity and worth of tradition. It was assumed emotionally-driven cultural norms vs. rationally-driven theological principles. Suffice to say, within a few couple weeks I let my guard down and was giving serious thought to this Apostles' Creed business. I could not deny the beauty of the act and, before I knew it, I was actually looked forward to reciting the creed. I couldn't have identified it at the time, but in retrospect that was the beginning of an undeniable sense of the Spirit's drawing toward a more historic form of Christianity.

Six months later I was working in a group home for the mentally challenged. I usually worked evenings and overnights, but was scheduled for a random Sunday morning shift. When I arrived I was told that we were going to take the guys to church. (For the record, it's a serious let down when you can't stand going to church and look forward to skipping it 'cuz you have to work, then end up having to go anyway for work. Not to mention you feel like a spiritual mercenary.) Their legal guardians had designated certain religious affiliations, so a group would be arriving shortly to pick up the Protestants while the Catholics were taken in the van. Without giving me a chance to discuss the point, my staunchly Lutheran co-worker insisted that he'd take the Protestants. Within a few moments they were out the door and my guys were piling into the van.

I'd successfully shed most of my fundamentalist tendencies by that point, so I had no overt qualms about being in a Catholic parish, but I remained very uncomfortable at the prospect. Plus, that morning I was feeling about as worshipful as a trip to the bowling alley. Yet as we walked into the sanctuary something quite strange happened. I found myself appreciating the architecture and decor. I looked around and found that the people obviously weren't merely going through the motions. The priest said something about a third century saint that I really resonated with. Before long I'd become caught up in the service. I completely lost myself and was earnestly worshiping. It was only when I was denied the Eucharist that I snapped back to reality. My Protestant sensibilities returned, but my desire for history and tradition had again grown.

As was explained in a previous post, over the next year I became severely disillusioned by Protestant theology and spent my free time secretly looking into Catholicism and Orthodoxy. Bridging the end of that period and the beginning of my re-embrace of evangelicalism was Mark Noll's and Carolyn Nystrom's book Is the Reformation Over? An Evangelical Assessment of Contemporary Roman Catholicism. It was there that I came across what has so far been the most important quote of my faith journey. "The Holy Spirit has a history," writes evangelical theologian Christian Hall. "The church does not thrive in the first century, fail in the second, then revive in the sixteenth. The Spirit never deserts the church." I wouldn't say that it was so novel as it was confirming, thereby prompting a massive restructuring of my faith. Perhaps the best way to say it is that it was the catalyst for releasing the pressure that had been building upon my tectonic plates, if you will. It caused such strong, conflicting emotions that I had to stop reading and go for a walk.

It wasn't the content of the quote that shook me up, but the source. Expectations are everything. If Noll had cited a Catholic or Orthodox scholar I wouldn't have flinched, but this comment came from an evangelical! Like a Compton rapper rhyming about rodeo clowns, it was not at all what I expected and decidedly out of place. In my schema, evangelicals were intentionally ahistorical. Even evangelical historians like Noll, Marsden, and Hatch, whose works I'd only recently become acquainted, seemed to care only about relatively recent American religious history. I remember thinking, 'Wait just a darn second. Can... or should... evangelicals care about church history?' Cognitive dissonance galore. It felt like my head was going to explode.

This new found historical outlook has taken time to work itself out. For a couple years it remained on a pretty abstract theological level. Beginning with my understanding of orthodoxy, it then altered my views on theological methodology, ecumenism, hermeneutics, ecclesiastical authority, worship practices, the canon, and so forth. Eventually it began influencing my perception of the local church I was a part of. I finally understood that "[Mere Christianity] is more like a hall out of which doors open into several rooms," as Lewis once remarked. "If I can bring anyone into that hall, I have done what I attempted. But it is in the rooms, not the hall, that there are fires and chairs and meals. The hall is a place to wait in, a place from which to try the various doors, not a place to live in." While the University Church was great as an autonomous local body, it began to feel inadequate. I yearned to be part of a larger ecclesiastical tradition--a tradition that celebrates history and has its doctrines moored in historic orthodoxy and its practices rooted in Church history. For most Christians it seems you get to their head by way of their heart. I'm just the opposite. The historical faith that had begun in my head had become the desperate cry of my heart.

This past year I 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 felt called to a tradition that provides fellowship not only with Christians in a local body but with Christians transcending time and space. I've now found that in Anglicanism.

Catholic and Orthodox Christians are correct. Unfortunately, Anglicanism is second-rate as far as historic traditions go. Like Francis Beckwith, the president of the Evangelical Theology Society who resigned his post to return to Rome, I wish I could commit to one of the two ancient branches stemming from the unified Patristic trunk. I understand that desire. Yet after much soul searching I've come to accept that my conscience won't allow it. I simply cannot commit to their theological stances. What I have committed to is a worldwide communion that has entered only its sixth century yet feels much older because of its English origins and long-standing practice of consciously rooting itself in the preceding 15 centuries of Christendom. In this way, its maturity belies its age.

Anglicanism is far from perfect, but in this articulation of the faith I've found a historic grounding that filled what had been a gaping hole in my faith. Thus far the result has been nearly two months of the most consistent spiritual peace I've ever experienced.

Mini Blog #22: Spiritual Warfare

2010-09-12T17:38:00.000-05:00

Every time I hear people detail their experiences with spiritual warfare my brain accesses two files: This Present Darkness and the Salem Witch Trails. Images immediately flood my mind of angelic beings stabbing inanimate objects with invisible Medieval weaponry and little girls claiming to be spiritually pitched via witchcraft. Then I roll my eyes. At this point, it's an involuntary response. It's not that I don't believe in spiritual warfare. I absolutely do. It seems clear to me that it's impossible to be an authentic Christian without believing in the existence of a spiritual realm that is typically inaccessible through our five senses. But when you're exposed to numerous scientific explanations for supposedly miraculous occurrences, weekly examples of Christians faking supernatural experiences, and the really bad fiction the lines the shelves of christian bookstores, it becomes hard to take people seriously. This is one of those cases where I'm struggling not to let the stupid Christians ruin it for everybody else.

Mini Blog #21: Sacramental Theology

2010-09-12T16:13:00.000-05:00

I don't equate theological development with bad theology. Evangelicals tend to want all theology to come exclusively from the Bible, but one need look no further than the Trinity to see that that's clearly not the case in church history. Consequently, I'm cautiously open to the idea that the Holy Spirit guided--or even inspired--the Church as certain theological constructs were clarified, expanded, refined, nuanced, or created beyond those which were explicated in the Old and New Testaments. Yet I still have enough Protestant influence on my thinking to insist upon a recognition that the Church along with its doctrines and practices can be, and at times have been, corrupted. As I once heard a Southern Baptist professor say to an Eastern Orthodox priest, "Just 'cuz that's the way it's been for 15 centuries don't mean it's right." The only way I'm willing to buy into the final product is if those doctrines and practices don't conflict with Scripture and there's good rationale for how they gained acceptance, thus the deep church tension in my theological conceptions between paleo-orthodoxy and postfoundationalism. Putting all that to practice, I'm curious about the origins of sacramental theology as part of my ongoing exploration of the ancient faith. For example, there was clearly theological development from the inauguration of the New Covenant at the Last Supper to the way they practiced the Lord's Supper as part of the lovefeast in Corinth to the manner in which Catholic, Orthodox, and Anglican churches have practiced the Eucharist for centuries, let alone the myriad ways Protestantism's sub-traditions do it. I'm wondering how we got here from there. As I've stated previously, I'm probably one of the least sacramental Anglicans who has ever lived, but if I'm ever going to be a sacramental Christian it's undoubtedly going to be for the same reason I committed to the tradition--deep roots in church history. So, can anyone help me out? Know of any good articles or books detailing the historic development of sacramental theology? Have any historical insights you can share? I'd appreciate the help.

Mini Blog #20: Conviction

2010-09-09T20:59:00.000-05:00

The Spirit has been convicting me about something.

My heart goes out to those who've been wounded by organized Christianity. I lack grace, however, for those who aren't making progress and actually appear to be reveling in those wounds.

To put it to a metaphor, I have all the compassion and love in the world for the soldier who got his legs blown off yet is still trying to crawl to safety. I'll risk my life to save that man. But my heart is cold toward the person who got shot in the keister Gump-style and can't do anything but cry and scream that they're dying.

Is it just me or does it seem like there's an epidemic of this behavior? It's almost like it's cool to be angry and hurting.

I don't have the "suck it up, wuss" football coach mentality. I'm not one of those guys who thinks psychology is a crutch for justifying sin and explaining away personal responsibility. Yet I get really frustrated, even angry, when they're content to wallow.

Quite often I find myself confused as to what I should think, say, or do.

I guess it starts with admitting that I don't get every last thing about where they're coming from because each of our lives are richer and more complicated than I can ever fully comprehend. Another element is no doubt recognizing that most people don't share my temperament. They don't respond to things like I do. I'm the oddity. Most people aren't as proactive by nature.

Beyond that, I'm looking for advice.

Musing on Hipster Faith

2010-09-04T13:16:00.000-05:00

(This post was prompted by a recent article in Christianity Today entitled "Hipster Faith.")

During the late '90s and '00s, much was made of the emerging church. Today the discussion is beginning to center around hipster Christianity. Those with a more critical view describe it as an attempt to make Christianity cool. It's said they're compromising the faith to be culturally relevant. Those with a more positive view say it's merely the cultural evolution of the Church. It's not so much an intentional effort to change the Church's culture as it is a reflection of the inevitable generational shift. Whatever the case, it's the third generation of this phenomenon.

First was the Baby Boomers, who captured the counter-cultural hippie spirit in the Jesus People movement. It was from this movement that Christian rock began. As the Jesus People aged, the movement institutionalized, Christian rock became CCM, and rose Gen Xers came to prominence. They started the emerging church and profess love for bands like U2 that were comprised of musicians who were Christians rather being "Christian bands." Now it's the Millennials' turn. These so-called hipsters prefer to be called followers of Christ. They dislike CCM and find U2 to be passé. I think Christianity Today nailed it when describing these persons as Christians who loathe "Left Behind books and film series, Jesus fish bumper stickers, and door-to-door evangelism" as well as Pat Robertson, Thomas Kinkade, W. Bush, American flags in church, James Dobson, and Jerry Falwell. Hipsters care a great deal about feeding the poor and creating culture. They want a more intellectual faith.

As a student of church history, one lesson I've taken away is that no renewal movement continues indefinitely. Over time they lose momentum, lose their initial organic form, become institutionalized, and eventually become corrupted only to be replaced by another one. And yet, while movements fade, their legacy continues onward. This is precisely why I tend to keep a level head about all this. At the time, the Jesus People movement faced intense scrutiny, but few today criticize what they stood for. It's simply a part of history that contributes to the present. I think the same will be true of the emerging church. It faced relentless criticism for relativizing truth and accommodating to postmodernism, but as it begins to fade we're starting to see its lasting influence. It transitioned American Christianity into a new cultural context just like the Jesus People did before them. So what will happen with hipster Christianity? There are way too many factors to offer a narrow prediction, but I suspect that because so many people are already talking about it we're well into the movement. If the pattern holds, right now people are simply trying to identity and understand it. Soon academics and clergy will fiercely debate it. Some will argue that they're selling out to the spirit of the age. Many will offer jeremiads about the pending destruction of the American church. Others will argue for its advantages and say it's simply the next step forward. But eventually Millennials such as myself will start hitting our late 30s, the movement will fade, and the next generation will respond against our excesses, abuses, and blind spots. Yet what we did well will not be sifted out because it was imbued into the culture. It will have become part of the Church's DNA.

Personally, I have a love-hate relationship with hipster Christianity. In many ways I resonate deeply with it. I love its criticism of the American Church's embrace of big business, trite art, nationalism, the Republican Party, and fundamentalism. I love the compassion, artistic inclination, and commitment to serious thought. Yet I really can't stand the fashions, musicians, and technological-obsession as embodied in skinny jeans, Sufjan Stevens, and iPhones. Perhaps more than anything, I can't stand the rebellious spirit that so often drives these things. Hipsters like indie music because it's not mainstream. They like Apple products because Microsoft sucks. They voted for Obama because he was the opposite of Bush. They like beer because the conservative evangelicals and fundamentalists say Christians shouldn't drink it. I don't doubt they like those things in and of themselves, but their tone remains more of opposition than advocacy. When I step back and think about it, I realize they're Christians who've built their identity around being rebellious. Frankly, I find nothing more lame.

At the end of the day I'm in agreement with hipster Christianity's underlying principles that have caused them to actively distance themselves from the evangelical sub-culture, yet in disagreement with the emotion that drives that reactionary swing; I'm in disagreement with the passive embrace of much 21st century culture, yet in agreement with the need to understand and be part of the culture. I'm not worried, though. There's no question it will influence American Christianity, but I doubt it will ultimately be a radical break from the past. It's just another renewal movement. That's my take, anyway.

Special Effects in Film

2010-08-25T18:13:00.000-05:00

I'm no where close to being a snooty hipster who only appreciates indie films. I'm the sort of guy who thoroughly enjoyed the first Transformers film, but not for the reason most people assume. Cars changing into robots was cool and all, but I'm just not impressed by special effects anymore. I liked it because of how the Transformers were portrayed as actual characters, even if they were a little one-dimensional. That's why when I ask people how a movie was and they say things like, "You've got to go see it. The special effects are amazing!" I think, 'Yyyyyeah, I'm gonna go ahead and sort of pass on that one.' That wasn't always the case, though.

I think back to seeing Jurassic Park as a kid. The plot was serviceable, but the real draw for breaking all those box office records was seeing real life dinosaurs. It was an effect that Steven Spielberg brilliantly assisted by paralleling the audience's own experiences with that of the film's characters. Through the images this almost emotional kinship was created with the on-screen actors where it felt like they were living out what I was feeling. It captured my imagination in a way that I didn't think possible. Sadly, those days are long gone.

It's not so much a result of age as it is the novelty wearing off. I'm no longer impressed that Superman actually appears to be flying. In fact, I'm suffering from the reverse affliction. Instead of marveling that such scenes look real, I now feel greatly disappointed when they don't. (As an aside, this is why I find the pre-Pierce Brosnan 007 movies to be nearly unbearable.) Putting aside the whole issue of terrible plot and wooden dialogue, the supposed technological breakthrough in the Star Wars prequels looked to me like human actors against a cartoon background a la Who Framed Roger Rabbit? Not even the exalted Avatar impressed me. Let alone blew me away. Yes, there was a certain aesthetic beauty about it that I really appreciated it and I recognized that it marked the next major jump in special effect not unlike The Matrix a decade earlier, but the whole time I kept thinking how it didn't look as real as everyone claimed. It's like video games. Every time a new generation of system comes out everyone expresses astonishment at how lifelike it looks and how you can hardly tell it's not real, but even the most amazing video game graphics still look computer-generated.

Somewhat ironic given the praise heaped upon CGI has been this: two of my favorite films from the '00s have been Batman Begins and The Dark Night. Visually, they seemed plausible because Christopher Nolan intentionally kept the CGI to a minimum. What the audience sees is generally real people, places, and vehicles. Going back to Star Wars, I truly don't think the model ships in the first trilogy look any less realistic than the CGI ships in the second despite a technological discrepancy of more than 20 years. If anything, the opposite is true. Compare a X-Wing from 1977's A New Hope to a Naboo Fighter from 1999's The Phantom Menace. Granted, throughout the new trilogy George Lucas had the starships become grittier to thematically represent the fall of the Republic and the conquest of evil. So the X-Wing had the advantage of representing a more realistic, fallen portrayal of the universe that set Star Wars apart from the technologically Utopian visions found in much science fiction. Nevertheless, the Naboo Fighter fighter is obviously computer generated and just plain looks cheesy. An uncorrupted reality doesn't mean a cartoonish reality. What I'm getting at is a movie philosophy that Werner Herzog described this way: "In the film industry, much of the the energy has turned into digital effects. Not so much into great story telling. And I’m more in this tradition. I want audiences back in a position where they can trust their eyes again." That's an artistic view I appreciate.

Hollywood is reaping the consequences of its own success. Terrific movies like those in the new Batman series have simply raised the bar. Special effects-laden films are no longer enough. I now want a solid plot, non-stock characters, thought-provoking themes, and solid acting in addition to the prerequisite special effect quality (if required by the film's premise). Anything less is disappointing. That is, I've been immunized against mediocrity. That's part of why I watch so few movies these days. When my wife and I occasionally shell out a minimum of $12.00 to see a film in theaters I expect nothing short of excellence.

There was a time when seeing groundbreaking special effects justified my going to a movie, but that's just not the case anymore.

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

2010-08-22T21:20:00.000-05:00

It was Mother's Day. My fiancé missed her family and we could still see our breath. On a whim we decided to change our plans and attend a Bible college in the South. Within 15 months I'd gotten married, moved from Minnesota to Georgia, battled ongoing medical problems, transferred to a new college, lost my sense of calling to the pastorate, changed majors twice, knocked out 37 credit hours, worked five different jobs, renounced my political affiliation, underwent a drastic theological shift, learned to worship God with my mind, reframed virtually my entire conception of what the christian life is supposed to be, and found the church that restored my faith. Safe to say it was the most chaotic and formative period of my life. While all of those things were significant, I can't say that any of them were totally unexpected. What came next was the unexpected part. After realizing I couldn't be Catholic or Orthodox and I sure as heck wasn't mainline or fundamentalist Protestant, I began giving serious thought to my place in the narrative of church history.

Many people insisted that I should simply embrace mere Christianity. Aren't all these other classifications, labels, and structures man-made? Don't they put layers of religion between a believer and Jesus? In my experience, this notion of stripping it down to nothing but following Jesus sounds wonderful in theory but proves to be rather impractical. Over the last generation educators have moved away from the epistemological conception that knowledge is individual, objective, and accessible. Knowledge is rather a social construct conveyed through the imperfections of language and community. The same is true regarding matters of faith. Just as all that is known about Alexander the Great comes via secondary sources, so does everything we know about Jesus of Nazareth. While some Christians may wish to see their faith as a personal connection straight to God free from the corruption of traditions and structures, the reality is that religion too is conveyed through social constructs. In the case of Christianity, that social construct is the Church. I would be remiss to marginalize the Spirit's ongoing role of illumination in Christians' lives, but it remains the case that God has used the Church to document, preserve, interpret, and disseminate the Good News of Christ as the climax of God's redemptive work in history. So while there is much I applaud about mere Christianity, including the ecumenism and the effort to have one's faith revolve around essential beliefs, no Christian exists in a vacuum. Faith always exists within a context and a community, which includes structures and traditions. There must always be a point of access to Christ and that is through particular traditions. To be clear, I'm not saying that a person must necessarily be Catholic or Mennonite, emerging or Lutheran. There may be the occasional miraculous act of divine intervention, but for almost all believers the Church is the conduit through which Christians learn about Christ.

The other reason mere Christianity doesn't work is tangible fellowship. It may work for people to be just plain followers of Christ on a theological level, but it rarely works on an ecclesiastical level. That is, they may desire full fellowship with all Christians but that sentiment rarely cuts both ways. Catholics won't allow a person to partake in full fellowship unless he or she is Catholic. Ditto for the Orthodox. That leaves Protestantism, but in my case the mainline churches wouldn't have me because I insist upon the bodily resurrection and fundamentalist churches won't have me because I'm OK with watching R rated movies. It was that train of thought, as well as the existence of persons like Mark Noll and Philip Yancey, that caused me to reconsider evangelicalism.

Three years ago I conceived of Protestantism as existing on an ideological spectrum. Mainline Protestantism was on the far left, fundamentalist Protestantism was to the far right, and evangelicalism was the giant umbrella term for everything between the two polarities. If one were to use academic institutions to illustrate these positions, General Theological Seminary would be the left, Bob Jones University would be the right, Wheaton College would be dead center, Fuller Seminary would be left of center, and Trinity Evangelical Divinity would be right of center. My present view is that while the whole conservative-liberal ideological spectrum did an adequate job representing Protestantism during Modernism, it's increasingly insufficient in representing the complexities of Protestantism within Postmodernism. Nevertheless, at the time it was immensely valuable in detaching evangelicalism from absolute conservatism in my mind, thereby making it a plausible option for a hard-lining moderate such as myself.

When I first began telling my peers that I was evangelical almost everyone did a double-take. One friend jested, "Bro, what are you, 57? Why in the world would you want to call yourself an evangelical?" Since then, similar comments have been a constant. Gen Xers and Millennials roughly my age simply cannot fathom why someone such as myself would embrace that descriptor. In no particular order, here's a list of 20 common objections to considering myself an evangelical Christian I've heard from friends and mentors:

Evangelical = Republican. Evangelicalism is the cultural religion of conservative, white, middle-class Americans.
Why use evangelical when Reformed, Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal, or the like has more precise meaning?
The term's contemporary use doesn't correspond with its historic ideals, let alone what it meant just two generations ago.
The term evokes a christian tradition that is seriously deficient in its appreciation of mystery, beauty, art, etc.
The tendency for evangelicals to think of themselves as a people without a history.
Being evangelical is intellectual/academic suicide.
Many who, by definition, are evangelicals are unfamiliar with the term.
The movement's alignment with capitalism, democracy, patriotism, individualism, consumerism, and the like.
The ecological antipathy among evangelicalism's current ruling generation.
The widespread perception that evangelicalism is homophobic.
A diversity of renewal movements are explicitly trying to break from evangelical cultural norms, so the last thing they want to do is adopt that moniker.
The confusing relationship between contemporary evangelicalism and the Protestant Reformation.
Disagreement with evangelicalism's big umbrella policy.
For all its interdenominational talk, evangelicalism has led to little tangible unity.
Disagreement with the systematic, microscopic categorization of everything.
The term obscures rather than explicates the complex realities to such a degree that it does more harm than good.
Legalism instead of grace; the perception that being spiritual is about how much you can give up and isolate yourself from the rest of society rather than finding freedom in Christ.
The perception that evangelicals are angry.
The cheesiness, which is captured well in this video.
The lack of authenticity.

I get the impression that 10 or 15 years ago it was really edgy for students at Bible colleges to claim they weren't evangelical. Made 'em feel like they were stickin' it to The Man. Now it's basically just the norm. At their most charitable, most of my friends see evangelicalism as a quaint holdover from the past. Maybe they think about Billy Graham and it warms their hearts to picture younger versions of their grandparents attending evangelistic crusades or fighting their parents over whether that newfangled rock 'n roll should be played in the church. Most of the time, however, the common response seems to be one of sharp reservation. They don't want to be associated with evangelicalism for all those reasons I listed above.

Given all the obvious baggage and the common perception that there are few if any positives to being evangelical, it's not exactly a surprise that younger people aren't gung ho about the term. Honestly, I too resonate with most of those criticisms. While I would quibble with a number of those points--a lot of them are the result of gross ignorance and blatant oversimplification--I'm as angry about that garbage as anyone. The prospect of being evangelical caused me a great deal of emotional turmoil, so I understand people's reservations about the term. Yet as I've studied evangelicalism's history I've uncovered a rich tradition with many core values that I heartily embrace. This is why an ongoing goal of mine is to clarify the classic meaning of the term "evangelicalism." Without an understanding of the movement's history, no one can possibly understand the term's value. Without an understanding of its value, no one can see its applicability to the present. And without an understanding of its applicability to the present, no one can want to see themselves as part of the movement. So what I want to do is lay a conceptual foundation for this movement.

When I call myself an evangelical I do so in the historical sense. My use of the term refers back to the theological rigor of Jonathan Edwards, the ecumenical spirit of George Whitefield, the social activism of William Wilberforce, the missionary impulse of Hudson Taylor, the evangelistic passion of D. L. Moody, the intellectual balance of Harold Ockenga, and the transnational humility of Billy Graham. What saddens me is that these are among the very things that Christians my generation desperately long for. Unfortunately, after Newsweek declared 1976 to be the "Year of the Evangelical" the term underwent a radical redefinition along conservative lines--politically, culturally, and socially. Through the efforts of such figures as Francis Schaeffer, Jerry Falwell, James Dobson, and Pat Robertson, "conservative evangelical" has become something of a tautology. Perhaps the easiest way to illustrate that shift is to contrast Billy and Franklin Graham.

In the late 1940s and early 1950s evangelicalism was born again. No pun intended. A new generation of leaders recast it as a moderate position that avoided the mainline's theological pitfalls and fundamentalism's cultural insularity. Put more favorably, the vision was for a movement that recommitted to historically orthodox Christianity while engaging all spheres of society intentionally as Christians. This generation of evangelicalism was both inspired by and reflected in Billy Graham. He became so associated with the movement that religious historians are half-serious when they joke that the best definition for an evangelical is a person who likes Billy Graham. Beyond his preaching the gospel to more people than anyone else in history, Graham helped start publications like Christianity Today, encouraged intellectual rigor at seminaries like Fuller, Wheaton, and Gordon-Conwell, was a major player in the ecumenical dialogue between evangelicals and Catholics, supported the controversial Jesus People counter-cultural movement, decried apartheid in South Africa, and was the first evangelist let behind the Iron Curtain during the Cold War. Most significant for our purposes here, however, is that he avoided affiliation with either major political party and remained intentionally apolitical with one notable exception: the Civil Right Movement. There he put his full support behind the movement by refusing to preach to segregated audiences, personally bailing Martin Luther King, Jr. out of jail, inviting King to share his pulpit, and supporting civil rights legislation. He was basically the opposite of the boy who cried wolf. Graham so rarely weighed in on political matters that people took careful notice when he did. In all these ways he embodied the evangelicalism of the WWII generation. Now contrast that with his son, Franklin. The younger Graham has been a vocal supporter of the Christian Right, regularly endorses Republican candidates, insists that American Christians be supportive of their government, and has long been critical of his father's hesitancy toward politics. He shares his political thoughts so often and in such a partisan manner that, unless he's singled out for saying something particularly offensive, his voice is usually lost in the cacophony of the 24/7 news cycle. Like his fellow evangelical Baby Boomers there is much about Franklin to be commended, not the least of which is his humanitarian work, but he nevertheless pretty well embodies the conservative take-over.

I wish my peers had a more global perspective on evangelicalism. In England, for example, evangelicals are anything but uniformly conservative. The more theologically conservative he or she is the more politically liberal he or she tends to be. They've never felt the need to take such a dogmatic stand on inerrancy. Few hold to a premillennial rapture. They don't have the same hang-ups about alcohol and tobacco, nor do they possess the absolute commitments to nationalism, capitalism, and democracy that are so common on this side of the pond. By and large they're not antagonistic toward postmodernism. And they tend to be far more ecumenical and less rigid in their non-essential theological claims. If nothing else these things should cause Gen Xers and Millennials to acknowledge that being evangelical doesn't necessarily mean one is in cahoots with Focus on the Family.

So what is evangelicalism? At its heart, what are those specific characteristics of the whole movement that transcend the peculiarities of U.S. context? There's a general consensus among historians that evangelicalism is a renewal movement that began within Protestant Christianity. It arose during the First Great Awakening in the thirteen colonies and has since gone global. Known for its tendency to defy definition, English historian David Bebbington has proposed four distinct hallmarks of evangelicalism that are widely accepted among historians, sociologists, theologians, and the like:

Biblicism - The biblical text is the divinely-inspired Word of God and final authority for the matters of belief and practice.
Conversionism - There exists a need for a personal salvation experience.
Crucicentrism - The cross is the focal point of Scripture to which OT scriptures points to and NT scriptures reflect; it is the culmination of redemptive history.
Activism - Faith must be lived out in all areas of life and society.

Mark Noll agrees, "These core evangelical commitments have never by themselves yielded cohesive, institutionally compact or clearly demarcated groups of Christians. But they do serve to identify a large kin network of churches, voluntary societies, books and periodicals, personal networks, and emphases of belief and practice." The decentralized networks are precisely why sociologists classify evangelicalism as a movement rather than an organization.

Building upon the work of Bebbington, Noll, and other historians, theologian Roger Olson has proposed a paradigm for how one ought to conceive of the movement. Rather than a closed set based upon a definition, he suggests an "evangelical core" with no rigidly defined circumference or boundaries. Thus, the closer he gets to those four commitments the more evangelical he is and the the further he is from them the less evangelical he is. One is an evangelical if he or she is impacted to a significant degree by the "gravitational pull" of those four hallmarks.

Many of Olson's conservative peers demand that there be a concrete theological boundary for "true evangelicalism." They want a way to measure who is "in" and who is "out." While conceding that evangelicalism is sufficiently ambiguous so as to allow for a diversity of beliefs, they insist that it must be narrow enough that it provides some important theological parameters. If they're honest with themselves, however, they must acknowledge that what they're actually trying to do is create territorial markers. That is, they're insisting upon theological ideals that have never been the historical reality. That's fine, but they should admit that's what they're doing. Personally, I see history as painting a picture somewhere between Olson's "gravitational pull" and the conservatives' theological parameters. My view is a bit like Snapback on American Gladiators. Evangelicalism has retained enough deference to tradition that it has remained tethered to historic orthodoxy while allowing for a great measure of theological elasticity.

A contributor to Modern Reformation once suggested, "Evangelicalism makes a better hall than a room; a better street than a home." I remember thinking, 'Easy for you to say.' This writer is quick to confess his adherence to Reformed Theology and has found a home within the Orthodox Presbyterian Church. Evangelicalism is where he went on vacation, but his tradition and his denomination were where he resided. But what if one has no such place to call home? Upon my arrival in the South I'd finally admitted that I couldn't in good conscience fully embrace any theological tradition. The main reason I'd given up what I sensed to be the Spirit's calling to the pastorate was because I couldn't find a single denomination that would accept me (and I have great reservations about autonomous non-denominational churches). For three years my faith existed within the metaphorical hallway that is evangelicalism. Quite the opposite of being forever in disharmony, I found peace in seeing myself as part of a movement that transcended all those differences. Unlike the Baptist who becomes convinced of paedobaptism or the Presbyterian who no longer affirms Calvinism, my theological views on adiaphora were free to change as merited by new evidence. I could attend a Methodist church, then move across the country and attend an Evangelical Free church, and all the while never stop being evangelical. Going back to the analogy that began this paragraph, I won't argue against the premise. What I would say is this: from my perspective it's better to be in the hallway, freely able to visit a lot of rooms, than be locked in a single room; it's better to be constantly traveling the streets on the way somewhere than be under house arrest. I for one found it better to be a lonely evangelical who is intellectually honest than an accepted Calvinist suffering from cognitive dissonance. As one whose theology has continually shifted over the years, I value flexibility over stability.

I can think of two more reasons why I was willing to embrace the evangelical movement. The first is its extensive legacy of social activism. Few today realize this, but nearly all the great social reform in American history originated within evangelicalism, including abolition, educational reform, child labor laws, domestic violence reform, women's suffrage, and the civil rights movement. This isn't to say all the efforts have been equally successful or prudent, as evidenced by the fact that that list also contains the Know-Nothing movement and Prohibition. Evangelicalism is prone to act too quickly without enough forethought. That's beyond dispute. Yet for as critical as I am of that shortcoming I'd rather be among people who care too much than those who don't care enough. Passion can be redirected. Apathy cannot. Second, I concur with their theological presuppositions. Noll wrote a book entitled Between Faith and Criticism, which is basically a historic survey of evangelical, biblical scholarship in America. In it he identifies three presuppositions that underlie all evangelical beliefs:

"Commitment to an open universe. Evangelicals believe in the reality of the transcendent and the possibility of the supernatural."
"Evangelicals are 'realists' in the sense that they believe that the world enjoys an independent existence apart from its perception by humans, that essence precedes existence, and that mind is capable of perceiving existence beyond itself with at least some accuracy."
"[E]vangelicals are not psychological determinists. Whatever they may learn from Freud or Jung..., psychological explanations do not provide ultimate explanations for human actions and existence."

That list certainly doesn't comprise all my theological presuppositions, but it's a good start.

I would also add that I don't see evangelicalism's historic meaning as a lost cause just yet. Though I'm not his biggest fan, I see someone like Rick Warren as a new generation of evangelical leaders who is challenging some of the current socio-political paradigms and is gaining media coverage as he does so. As I see it, much of the activism of groups like the Moral Majority and the Christian Coalition are suffering from fatigue and disillusionment. Gen Xers and Millennials have witnessed a lifetime's worth of time and resources poured into political battles yet have seen few positive results. They're critical of the movement's failures. For example, evangelicals were instrumental in bringing a pro-life president into the White House for two terms along with a GOP majority in both houses on Congress for 6 of those years. Still little changed. While there remains support for the lives of the unborn, I'm sensing that younger people are asking if the political route is the most effective means of achieving their goals. Many are asking tough questions. Have we prostituted the Body of Christ to a temporal, political organization? Has our political identity become a stumbling block for our evangelistic efforts? In other words, the paradigm that evangelical = conservative = Republican is being challenged. I think there's a growing awareness that it's unwise to throw the baby out with the bathwater.

In conclusion, why in the world would I call myself an evangelical? It's not that I've ever desired to be such. I never set out with that objective. Like it or not, I just am. Whether it's Bebbington's four hallmarks, Noll's three presuppositions, or the cultural kinship between Edwards, Whitefield, Wilberforce, Taylor, Moody, and Graham, or all those social reform movements, those things are descriptive of who I am and want to be. I say descriptive because I'm not big on labels in order to find a sense of identity, but I do like descriptive terms. For all its convoluted meaning, the term "evangelicalism" describes the characteristics of a historic movement of which I am a part--a movement that is but one chapter in the narrative of Church history. My unconditional allegiance is to Christ and His Kingdom alone. I have no loyalty to evangelicalism nor Anglicanism, nor do these terms capture the totality of my faith, but these adjectives are effective in describing the type of Christian I am.

Mini Blog #19: Predictions

2010-08-19T15:44:00.000-05:00

'Tis the season when sports commentators are making their predictions about the upcoming NFL season. If a guy's predictions prove to be accurate, you can count on it that come mid-winter his peers will heap praise on him for his mastery of the game. If his picks are way off, his peers will remain silent. It intrigues me how making predictions can't go poorly for these guys. Their reputation can be greatly improved, but will take no hit. They're either football geniuses or were up against unforeseeable circumstances. As a sports fan, I think they should get equal treatment regardless of how their picks go. Likewise, the same should be true of bloggers. In January 2007 I predicted that the Democratic Party would experience a landslide victory in the 2008 election and, with control of both the executive and legislative branches, would pass a massive healthcare reform bill. Nailed that one. Around that same time, prompted by all the coverage about the upcoming surge, I also wrote a post about how the Iraq War was a "quagmire." In light of the fact that the last combat brigade just left and the situation looks pretty stable, it looks like it's time for me to eat crow. Totally whiffed that one. In both posts I exuded confidence and wrote authoritatively. Why do I bring this up? I want to be an honest writer who acknowledges and takes responsibility when I was wrong. I want to learn from my mistakes in an effort to continually improve. What I've learned from the Iraq situation is this: it's utterly foolish to write as one with prophetic insight, especially on such complex matters. Predictions can be offered and that's fine, but they should only be done in humility and evaluated is a fair manner.

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

2010-08-17T22:07:00.000-05:00

In an earlier post I wrote about the pastor who counseled me. One of the things I most appreciate about him is his discerning integration of psychology and theology. Though the first thing I ever really said to him was that I was pissed off at God and the church, he wasn't about to accept my sob story as an excuse for abandoning the (c)hurch--local or universal. Shepherding my faith required much wisdom on his part. He knew my journey was at a precarious point with steep ledges on either side. On one side was passively wallowing in the pain inflicted by the institutional church until my faith digressed to a nominal existence. On the other side was proactively lashing out at the church, which likely would have resulted in its rejection. Give him credit. He listened compassionately but never allowed me to stop there. He encouraged me to vent my raw emotions of betrayal, anger, and bitterness, but then set me about the tasks of understanding, forgiving, and healing. He challenged my hypocrisy, getting me to stop pointing fingers at others without acknowledging my own failures. He taught me to be a member of the Body of Christ, together striving toward an unattainable ideal. He confronted my sheer laziness, insisting upon the New Testament mandate that believers aren't to forsake the meeting together of the local body. When I first told Wally I was pissed off at the church, he did what few too pastors in America do to young American males: instead of being content with my simply caring about the Church, he insisted that I take personal responsibility for it. We would meet only if I'd commit to faithfully attending church. He didn't deny or dismiss my experiences, but confronted me with the question of what I was going to do about it. This forever imbued in my faith a sense of commitment to the Body of Christ.

Jumping forward a few years, as newlyweds my wife and I moved across the country and set about the task of finding a church. Now, I'm not one of these "church shopping" guys. I never had the consumer mentality toward churches nor did I expect anything approaching perfection. My only concern at that time was for my wife's and my spiritual well-being. I didn't care about worship styles, finding people the same age, being entertained by a dynamic preacher, agreeing with their adiaphora, or even the distance. I had precisely one absolute need: exegetical sermons. After growing up in Pentecostal churches where they did all sorts of strange things with the biblical text, I wanted to be immersed in what the Word of God was actually saying. I was weary of topical sermons that were chalked full of corny jokes, unbalanced piety, historically-inaccurate illustrations, trite Christianese metaphors, and were evangelistic although the Sunday morning service is supposedly for believers to worship and have fellowship. I needed a pastor who'd dig into the text and explain what the biblical authors we saying in their own cultural-historical context, then carefully apply that to our present circumstances. Shoot, I would've even settle for what I call "exopical" sermons (half exegetical, half topical) like what John Piper does.

Being in the Bible Belt, one wouldn't think that would be too much ask, but we attended 13 churches all over the evangelical spectrum and couldn't find a single exegetical sermon. To give one example of the sort of inane preaching we were exposed to, the largest church in town had an outline on the back of the bulletin that read, "_____ leaders _____ big" (blanks: great, think). I remember thinking, 'C'mon, Joel Osteen. Is this a church or a business seminar?' It wasn't a special Sunday where some fool was filling the pulpit while the pastor was on vacation, either. The situation was far more grave. The fool that was in the pulpit was the fool who occupied it. I was disgusted.

#14 was a small Presbyterian church. The people were cordial and the pastor did a pretty decent job exegeting a passage from John. Afterward the college students were invited to stay for fried chicken. Just as I was considering that we might have found our new church home the pastor sat down next to me, put on a hand on my shoulder, and inquired, "So what do you think about the five points of Calvinism?" Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a pretty straightforward guy. I try to exercise discretion in how I say things, but ultimately I tell it like I see it. Being as we were brand new, however, I figured this was neither the time nor the place to explain that two years ago I was an Arminian, the year before I was a Calvinist, and now I affirmed neither. I tried to be political about it by responding without really answering his question. Either the reverend failed to take the hint or didn't care because he launched into a detailed explanation that dripped with condescension. I was the theological idiot whom he was going to enlighten. 45 minutes in and up to "I" in the famous acronym, I finally interrupted him. I explained that I appreciated his commitment to theology and respected him as the authority God had placed over this congregation, but since he's forced his smug views down my throat and treated me like a moron I was going to answer his question. I had my ESV Reformed Study Bible with me, which had handwritten notes for each point from my days as a Calvinist along with notes against that point on the next page from after I ceased being one. I began with a brief description of hermeneutical methodology; specifically, because the same Spirit inspired it all scripture ought to be used to interpret scripture where the meaning of a passage is unclear. In his case, however, his theological system had taken precedent over his hermeneutics. His Reformed Theology, not the text itself, determined what was clear and what was ambiguous. Consequently, classically Calvinist passages like John 10 (a metaphor about Jesus holding sheep in his hand) are used to interpret classically Arminian passages like Hebrews 6 (about people falling away from the faith) rather than vice versa. Suffice to say he made it known in no uncertain terms that I was unwelcome at his church.

Score: 0-14.

Despite our sincere efforts to find a church and the Holy Spirit's conviction, we basically stopped trying. Yet things only got more complicated from there. It was that fall to spring when I went through those two spiritual crises explained in earlier posts. Because of those experiences three more interrelated issues became essential needs. First, as I learned to worship God with my mind I needed to be among Christians who did the same. I could no longer handle being around Christians who discouraged serious thought, dismissed its necessity as part of a holistic worshipful lifestyle, and denigrated the faith of those who were serious about intellectual matters as somehow spiritually inferior. My soul truly couldn't cope with the pragmatic anti-intellectualism that so permeates contemporary evangelical culture. I couldn't be a part of a local body that had mistaken child-like faith (trust) with childish faith (immaturity). Second, with the life of the mind neglected, the evangelical culture had been built around a sort of individualistic mysticism. Rather than someone saying, "I was studying Romans last night and was struck by..." they'll say, "Last night as I was studying Romans the Spirit showed me..." Rather than a thoughtful consideration of how faith might influence political participation, they often spiritualize their cultural presuppositions and claim Jesus told them He supports a particular candidate or even a whole party. Certainly there is a valid role for mysticism within a Christian's spiritual life, but I couldn't accept it at the expense of rationality. Third, I needed to get away from (really!) low church worship styles. Reflecting on my frustrations there, here's a paragraph I wrote about that topic a while ago:

"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."

No, I'm not saying that God doesn't work in and through low church services. No, I'm not saying that low church services are intrinsically bad or inferior. What I am saying is that for me, personally, I couldn't handle any more of it.

Of course there were many who said I was picky and bitter. They scolded me for having too high of expectations and said I needed to attend a church not for my spiritual life but for the edification of others. I've been told by some that I'm stubborn and by others that I'm principled. Whatever the case, because of my temperament I refused to accept the depressing prospect that my soul would be chafed by every minute of every service and I sure as heck wasn't about to deceive myself into believing I wasn't annoyed. The next few sentences may sound like a hyperbolic, emotional overreaction on my part, but I'm just telling it honestly from where I was at. Sitting in those churches I became this mass of solid angst. Far from ushering in a worshipful demeanor, I just got mad. Every last part of it annoyed me. From there I found it virtually impossible not to be negative, let alone uplifting. Maybe it's just me, but I find it difficult to be encouraging when I'm irritated by everything and everyone one around me. I still believed that my wife and I should be a part of a local body, but there was simply no way I was able to join any of those churches.

I was caught between a rock and a hard place. The nearby churches made me hate Christians. That's not good. Yet the Spirit's conviction was growing that I shouldn't shouldn't forsake fellowship. It grew to become an unavoidable, nearly ever-present, thought. Though not as insistent, acute, or faith-threatening as the other two crises in that nine month period, it was very much a third spiritual crisis. However, a second time in as many months God used the college's online philosophy forum to deliver my answer. After an extended rant about how much all the nearby churches sucked, one of the profs insisted that I visit his church. Quite reluctantly, my wife and I gave it a shot and only then because he concurred with my appraisal of the nearby churches.

The University Church is located near the University of Georgia in Athens. It's a house church unlike any other house church. The service was structured like a regular church, so it wasn't a bunch of people just sitting around on couches doing spontaneous things. Plus they weren't all about being a house church. Its founding members had been kicked out of virtually every place on campus, so out of necessity they began meeting in a nearby house. A few decades later they were still in pastor's beautiful old house. When we arrived Dan Orme, still the original pastor, was filling the pulpit. His enormous library and graduate degrees in theology, classics, and history effectively set the tone that no questions would be discouraged, which was strangely augmented by the fact that Dan looked a bit like Francis Schaeffer with a clerical collar. His written sermons were rich, lucid, poignant, and convicting. He exegeted the heck out of biblical passage and often employed textual criticism, insights from the passage's cultural-historical context, quotations from the likes of Josephus and Ante-Nicene Fathers, insightful reflections on American culture, scathing assessments of contemporary evangelicalism, practical challenges to the congregation that effectively destroyed any sense of spiritual complacency, and a humility void of spiritual or intellectual pride. During the service the people passionately sing hymns with simple piano accompaniment, recite the ancient creeds, and pray corporately for one another, the Church universal, their local community, the nation's leaders, the world's impoverished, and so forth. For Communion they use actual bread rather than a oyster cracker or a religious wafer with a cross stamped on it. The first week we visited the Sunday School topic was Just War Theory. That same hour there's also a sermon discussion where people discuss its content, work through its implications, nuance or disagree with certain points, etc. Every week there's a meal. Theologically, they're committedly evangelical with humbly Reformed leanings, meaning there are Reformed themes coming from the pulpit but they're not obsessive about it and not even all the elders hold to Reformed Theology. It's elder led. They intentionally avoid being programmatic. They encourage the arts. On Wednesday nights that have paper discussions... 'nuff said.

The thing that absolutely sold my wife and I was something that happened right after our first service. We were standing right by Dan in the crowded hallway when he proclaimed, 'There’s too many people. I’ve got to get out of here!' He promptly walked outside and stood there till people went away. We needed a church in which the people didn't immediately try to suck out of lifeblood; a church of people who were warm but not draining. We knew at that moment that we'd found our church. Don't get me wrong, though. I never had any grand delusions about it. It's far from being the elusive "perfect church." As people living in the paradox of the imagio dei and the fall, Christ’s first and second coming, I know all individuals and the organizations they form will necessarily magnify and reflect those tensions. Yet, if I may be honest, the fall seemed to be winning the war at most the other churches we visited. In the months prior to visiting the UC that first time I feared that I would end up like Roger Williams, a eternal vagabond who never found an ecclesiastical home. Yet that was not God's will. He used the UC over the next couple years to restore my faith in the Church and what a local church could be.

The UC taught me many lessons that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. First, I learned an older and, in my opinion, richer form of worship. It was there that I learned the beauty of hymns, creeds, written sermons, corporate prayer, and public exhortation. Second, I began to learn to live the balanced christian life of intellectual rigor and loving acts of grace, compassion and confrontation, passion and patience, transparency and restraint, trust and caution, humility and conviction, etc. Third, I also began to learn how to discerningly live in the world yet not be of it. There's no rigid answer to the Christ and culture dilemma. Not only can one assess, confront, embrace, sift, and create culture, but in the wisdom of the Ecclesiastes there's a time for all. Wisdom is knowing and balancing the needs of the moment with their long-term consequences. Fourth, as the UC healed my own injuries, I learned that a calling of mine is to reach agnostics and those who've been gravely wounded by the institutional church. Fifth, as laughable as this might be, I learned that you can love and cherish people despite being perpetually annoyed and even offended by them. The truth is that some people suck, but it's on me to love them despite themselves. Six, I learned that a church doesn't have to follow a business model. It's not about developing programs and marketing plans, but rather love and sacrifice for one another as Christ did for the Church. Seventh, I learned a different model for the pastorate. A pastor doesn't have to behave like a used car salesman to "sell" the Gospel or the local church. A pastor can cry, not to emotionally manipulate the people into having a spiritual experience but out of sheer awe and worship of God’s goodness. A pastor can be irritated by irritating people yet love them unconditionally as he guides their spiritual growth. Rather than dumbing everything down to the lowest common denominator so as not to intimidate people, a pastor can preach in such a way that inspires, encourages, and teaches his flock to worship God with their minds. The pastor's job isn't to lead with perfection, but to lead as an imperfect fellow traveler on this pilgrimage called the christian faith and point others to holiness and perfection surpassing his own failures. Finally, I learned what an elder should be and do. Elders shouldn't be in competition with one another or the pastor. Conflict will necessarily arise and often times that's even a good thing, but their aim must be to lead the local body by mooring it in sound doctrine, correcting its members when/where they stray, helping those who are hurting and struggling, and wisely and patiently preparing for the future while being ever-mindful for the present.

For all of those things and so many more, I'm grateful to the UC. Sometimes in life going to church faithfully is simply about discipline, but that shouldn't always be the case. I had an experience on those Sunday mornings when Sarah and I made the hour+ trek to Athens that I'd never known before—the joy of fellowship with the local body. I actually enjoyed going to church! Though circumstances were such that Sarah and I were never able to be a part as much as we would have liked, my experiences at the UC will for the rest of my life guide my hopes and dreams for the local churches of which I'm a part for it was there that I learned that the biblical tension is acknowledging our imperfection yet refusing to accept it. Every church and person is imperfect, but that's why there are local bodies—so together we can strive toward perfection. My time at the UC reframed my emphasis from the tragic reality of the fall to the blessed reality of our ongoing redemption.

As a final word, though I prefer Anglicanism's historic practice where the worship service climaxes in the Eucharist, I confess that one of my greatest disappointments about committing to the Anglican tradition is the usual absence of exegetical sermons. I'm yet to hear a homily that inspired or challenged me as did those sermons at the UC. Exegetical sermons are no longer an absolute need of my spiritual life, but I miss them terribly. If ever I become an Anglican pastor I will insist upon remedying that situation.

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

2010-08-10T01:31:00.000-05:00

It's been two weeks since the last post in this Anglican series and I've tried to sit down and write the next part about ten times. I've found these autobiographical "My Journey" posts to be incredibly difficult to write. They're emotionally draining. Yesterday afternoon, however, it occurred to me that one of my posts from this past December entitled 'A Relationship with God?' was almost exactly what I wanted to express next. Rather than reinvent the wheel, I've decided to reuse it for this series, though I've significantly edited it for my purposes here and added new material throughout. For anyone who's already read the earlier version, please read at least the four final paragraphs as they're new. Thanks.

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"With everyone's head bowed and eyes closed, I invite you to trust in Jesus, ask Him into your heart, accept Him as your Lord and Savior, and begin a relationship with the loving God who died for you. Just slip up your hand if you feel the Spirit calling you." In some sense, I'm infinitely grateful that I heard this so many times. My stubborn nature led me to resist multiple evangelism invitations each week for 14 years. In another sense, as I've grown in my faith I've become skeptical of this evangelistic axiom. I've begun to question the conception of Christianity within which it grounded me. Not the least of my questions has been this: Are we supposed to have "a relationship with God"? Given the sensitive nature of this subject I will make every effort to exercise humility and grace in the way I explain my thoughts.

More than anything, I've wanted to have a relationship with God such as my pastors invited me to begin a full decade ago. During a prayer retreat several years back I remember the leader instructing us to find an isolated place in the woods and wait there until we heard from the Lord. That afternoon people trickled back to the cabin with amazing stories of things God has spoken or revealed to them--words of peace and comfort, areas of pride and rebellion, relationships that need restoration, etc. Some said that quietly waiting upon the still small voice of the Lord had made them the most aware of Spirit's indwelling presence that they'd ever been. They spoke about how they felt that it was an experience that would forever alter their spiritual lives.

If I may be brutally honest, my experience that day was one of frustration and despair leading to sin. I sat there praying hour after hour, patiently waiting for God. After about five hours I told God that I couldn't sense His presence or hear His voice, and I asked why. Still nothing. After another hour I wept almost hysterically. 'Why God? Why can't I know you're here? Why can't I hear your voice? What's wrong? Is there sin in my heart? I'm trying, but am I not listening enough? Please, please reveal yourself to me. I trust you. I love you. I just want to know you're there." Nothing. I went back to the cabin already frustrated that I'd failed. As I heard these amazing stories from my friends I felt more than embarrassed. I felt humiliated. So I lied. I made up some great story about how God had touched my heart and remember quite vividly the leader saying, "See? That's the power of God. As I said, all you have to do is wait on Him." The events that day set off a chain of events that would transform my spiritual life.

Three years later I was living in Georgia attending a small Bible college. In the years since that day in the woods I'd doubted God's very existence, the truthfulness of Christianity, and much else. I remember being so frustrated one day after a class that I told my wife, "I don't know if I love God." As one might imagine, she was alarmed and perhaps a little angry, but to her infinite credit she listened to my heart and tried to understand why I was thinking what I was. I asked, "How can you love a God that you can't see, touch, hear, smell, or taste?" As the conversation went along my repressed emotions began flowing. Through tears of anger, sorrow, and fatigue I asked, "What the hell does it look like to love a God who is wholly beyond our senses? I keep having people tell me that I just need to hear God's voice and sense His presence. Yeah, tried that, and it ain't happening!" In Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz, he writes about a pastor who began to cry when someone simply asked him what Jesus meant to him. He absolutely lost it. Miller says that he wants to love God that much. Love God to the degree that the very mention of his Savior's name brings him to tears. Most of the book resonated with me deeply, but this portion just plain infuriated me. I desperately wanted to have that sort of love for God, but it just wasn't happening.

That fall and winter I'd worked through the most profound spiritual crisis of my life to that point, which was resolved when I read Mark Noll's The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind. Far from settling my faith and providing comfort, it merely opened the doors for another crisis shortly thereafter. I'd learned that Christians can and should worship God with their minds, but that meant I could no longer lie to myself. I could no longer accept cognitive dissonance. I had to work through the issues that had plagued my soul.

That spring I became engrossed with an online philosophy discussion board. In one of the threads I explained the discrepancy between the expectations for my spiritual life that I'd gained at church and the reality of my experience. One guy said he empathized with my struggle and recommended I read Philip Yancey's Reaching for the Invisible God. I'd only recently heard of Yancey from my wife's grandma and had never read him, but thought I'd give it a shot. I'm infinitely glad that I did. Yancey hit upon the exact sorts of questions that I was asking. He dealt with them honestly, certainly with his heart but not to the exclusion of his head. This doesn't do it justice, but Yancey helped me to re-frame my whole conception of what Christianity is and what my expectations are of God. I came to see that my "love" of God is rather unlike Don Miller's pastor's love of God. Neither is right or wrong, just different. My love of God has far less to do with being intimately connected to Him on an emotional level and far more to do with devotion to a worthy Lord, cherishing what He did in saving me, being thankful for His care and provision, and being willing to sacrifice my wishes and desires to serve what I think is His will. That is, I had to redefine all my expectations for what it means (for me) to love God. Occasionally I experience a profound sense of emotional connection with Him, but that truly is the exception rather than the rule. I came to see that despite what the pious church culture around me said, my love of God is no less sincere because I'm not crying all the time. The transformation of my faith didn't end there, though. As I followed down this path, it wasn't long before I ran into a sacred cow.

Where in the Bible does it say we're supposed to be in "a relationship with God"? I stewed on this one for a couple years before sharing it with anyone. I feared that voicing this question would harm those with simpler, but no less sincere, faith as well as incur the wrath of the fundamentalist polemicists. After all, this idea of having a relationship with God is perhaps one of the few things that unites Protestants, overcoming the division between even mainliners and fundamentalists. It even transcends the generational gap. Regardless of whether a person is a 83-year-old modernist who loves Billy Graham or 18-year-old postmodernist who loves Brian McLaren, everyone seems to agree that the purpose, even the essence, of Christianity is the restoration of our relationship with God. But, again, I would ask: Where is this in the Bible? The first and only person I've seen pose this question in print is Rob Bell, but he was only using it as an example of things that people believe without questioning.

A while back I shared this question with a mentor. As the first to hear it I half expected him to question my salvation. I thought, 'This is going to be where he thinks I'm off my rocker.' After considering it for a few moments, his response was startling--comforting, but also startling. He said, "You know, I'd not heard anyone ask that until just last year. Since then you're probably the seventh guy to say that to me." He went on to explain that all the others were guys in their mid-40s and had been saved since their teens or early 20s. Despite their various church backgrounds, all had basically been taught the same conception of what Christianity is. They'd all responded to the same sort of invitation about entering into a relationship with God. And two decades in they'd separately come to the same point of disillusionment. All were sincere Christians and none were doubting their faith, but for each man his spiritual life was nothing like he'd been taught it'd be like. Their experiences failed to meet their expectations, and they were disappointed. It was an albatross around each of their necks. They felt guilt for not being as close to God as they ought to be, but more than that they felt like they were letting their families down. They felt they weren't being the men of God that they were called to be. Despite their efforts to seek God's face all the more their struggles only worsened. Finally they voiced these concerns and found out they were all in the same boat, so they started meeting about it one morning a week. After a year of those meetings they'd collectively come to believe that a Christian's spiritual life is usually far different than what any of them had been told by evangelists, pastors, Bible college professors, radio preachers, and Christian Living books. They believed that a "relationship with God" is less about these existential, mystical experiences and more about faithfulness, devotion, reverence, and submission. On hearing this I felt a great burden lift.

Do you remember when Mother Theresa's journal was published? It was shocking. She was revered by Christians of all traditions all around the world for her selfless work among some of the world's poorest people in Calcutta. Everyone seemed to have had this assumption that what sustained her through all those years was this deep sense of God's presence and an intimate relationship with Him. Instead what her journal revealed was decades of wretched loneliness. She had no tangible sense of God's presence and had often found herself frustrated, feeling like she was praying to the wall. I can relate. I wonder how many other Christians secretly experience this frustration?

When I've shared these sorts of thoughts with people, I've gotten every response you can imagine: relief, intrigue, confusion, shock, annoyance, anger, and even threats. Seems it's a novel concept to most people. The most common response, however, has probably been a defense of the idea. "Of course a relationship with God is biblical," said one guy. "It doesn't have to be said explicitly 'cuz it's implicit all throughout Scripture!" He pointed to passages like Jesus' addressing God the Father as "abba father," best translated "daddy" to us. He talked about how God strolled through the garden with Adam and Eve, how Jesus had built relationships with His disciples, how He said that He'd send the Holy Spirit to comfort them, and even the nature and purpose of the indwelling Spirit. None of which I'd argue against. Nevertheless, if restoring our "relationship" with God is the, or at least one of the, central theme(s) of Scripture isn't it strange that the Bible never comes right out and says it? When I read the Bible I don't see a lot of key points left unsaid. Moreover, if God is completely beyond our five senses, then wouldn't any "relationship" we might have with Him be completely unlike our relationship with any other person? And if that's the case, is it even a "relationship" at all? Does the term even apply?

I've often heard it said that this idea of relationship is the thing that separates genuine Christianity from cold, dead orthodoxy. "It's not first and foremost about a set of beliefs, but an intimate relationship with our Creator, Savior, and Lord." Asked what that means in practice, most people I've asked give these vague descriptions about God's presence, hearing His still small voice, being able to tell Him anything, having a confident sense of His will, and so on. Maybe I'm an oddity on this one, but with the exception of the being able to tell Him anything (I often pray about things that I've never even told my wife) that sounds quite unlike any relationship I've ever had. When I'm talking to someone, I have no difficulty telling if he's present. When someone says something to me, unless we're in a library or he has laryngitis I have no trouble hearing his voice. When someone has a desire, I generally have no trouble grasping it. I'll say it again, whatever a "relationship with God" might mean it certainly isn't like any relationship between people I've ever seen or experienced.

Some people say that "a relationship with God" is all about those deeply emotional and profoundly spiritual experiences. As for me, I'm thankful for those things when they happen but I often wonder if our expectations haven't become skewed. It seems to me that we've bought too much into this individualistic, existential form of uniquely North American Christianity and forgotten the more subtle, day-to-day disciplined life. Theologically, I've got a theory that this stems from a deficient understanding of the incarnation. We think of Jesus as primarily a man without remembering that God almighty condescended Himself in order to become one of us. Unwilling or unable to accept the complexity portrayed in the Bible, we've emphasized Jesus' love, compassion, and grace in the New Testament to the neglect of God's power, glory, and even awesome fear exhibited toward Him in the Old. That is, we prefer a God who weeps over our rebellion to the God who gets angry when we turn away. We can related to Jesus' humanity but don't quite know what to do with His divinity, so we end up a friendly, personalized, relatable God who is perhaps typified in the "Jesus is my homeboy" paraphernalia that dominated youth groups everywhere a few years ago.

I find the term "relationship with God" to be exceptionally inadequate. As much as I desire to chuck it, however, I can't because there's an element within it that rings true--something which I sense goes straight to the heart of what's best about low church evangelicalism. There is within us all a desire for spiritual connection with God. I feel certain that, in my own spiritual life, it's supposed to be much less buddy-buddy and much more submission to the will of our King, though both extremes obviously fall short of the Edenic ideal. What is needed is a way of existing as spiritual beings that simultaneously preserves our sense of God's power and nature as wholly other to which we ought to submit while also maintaining the loving intimacy that once was and will be again when God sets everything to rights.

In the book Evangelicals on the Canterbury Trail, the late Robert Webber wrote that he'd never met an evangelical who became Anglican without one of the main reasons being a desire for sacramental worship. Truth be known, I'm probably one of the least sacramental persons to ever have completed the Canterbury trail. I have a great appreciation for the awe and reverence within Anglican worship, but thus far I've been unable to get my mind around sacramentalism--this idea that in the sacraments the wall between the physical and spiritual is torn down. Yet I remain open to the idea. That being said, over the past several months I've been playing with the idea that these two separate ideas of a low church "relationship with God" and high church sacramentalism may be linked. I'm nowhere close to having put the theoretical framework in place in my head--much less being able to offer a coherent explanation--but perhaps that strong element of truth within the "relationship with God" concept will in time find fulfillment in the sacramental life. Maybe I remain way off, but that's as close to a constructive alternative as I can offer at this point.

Mini Blog #18: Newsflash: Baseball has long seasons

2010-08-09T19:59:00.000-05:00

One thing I really dislike about so many baseball commentators is how they lose sight of how long the season is. How many times have I heard that a team's "season is over" only 50 games in 'cuz they're out by 5 games? Or the reverse when they say a team "is a lock to win the division" when there's still 50 to go and they're up by 5? In June I was listening to two Atlanta radio guys rant about how the Braves were done. They've been leading the NL-East most of the season. Today I listened to Buster Olney on Mike & Mike say that the Red Sox are done. They're 4 freaking games out of the wild card with 49 to go. Then, year after year, these guys act shocked when a team gets hot down the stretch and not only vie for the wild card but make a run at the division title. It doesn't bother me so much when it's local idiots on the radio. I half-way expect that. But when well-respected, national guys the likes of Peter Gammons fall for it every year... c'mon, guys.

The Sky is Falling! Why American Christians Need a Dose of Christian Realism

2010-08-08T16:39:00.000-05:00

Since moving to Waco last week my newsfeed has displayed a string of videos, articles, blog posts, and status updates expressing lament and immense frustration that that the American people are stupid, ignorant, judgmental, and prejudiced... among other things. The most recent hot button issue is the mosque that's scheduled for construction need Ground Zero. Though the opinions I'm seeing conflict with each other, underlying all these comments is a common theme: the prevailing sentiment about the decline of America. Nearly all of the comments have come from Christians.

I'm continually hearing comments from well-intentioned people all over the ideological spectrum that America has lost its way. Or as one person put it, "America isn't America anymore." But if there's a decline, that means there was something better from which we digressed or something that was corrupted. So when exactly was this ideal America? There's about 38 million citizens who will fight anyone to the death who claims it was before the 1950s. '60s? Have you heard about 1968? '70s? Yes, when the Bee Gees ruled. Surely that was the height of pure America. And during my lifetime that's certainly never been the case. So unless it happened right around 1982, the uncomfortable truth is that the aforementioned adjectives apply throughout the entirety of our nation's history. And to be really honest about it, this isn't an American phenomenon. Sure, certain cultural distinctives give America a unique twist on those errors, but most of those words would apply nicely to the majority of persons in almost every society that has ever existed.

N.T. Wright recently provided me with a more well-rounded, international perspective on these matters. The French are burned out because they put all their hope in the Enlightenment's ideals only to learn the whole thing was a farce one beheading at a time. The English never really accepted it in the first place. It's only we gullible Americans who fully bought into the Enlightenment dream of the perfectability of society. Only rather than admit our error, we stubbornly refuse to accept/admit the obvious: the Enlightenment's ideals were merely a pipe dream. Instead we engage in willful self-deception, resorting to belief in a fictitious historical Utopia--be it the nation's first generation, the Antebellum Era, the post-WWII period when society remained conservative by in large and America dominated the world, the counterculture of the '60s, etc.--that never actually existed. (As an aside, this is the exact same mistake the Founding Fathers themselves made with the government and society of Ancient Greece, which they tried to pattern the United States after.) As skeptical as we are, it's remarkable that we Americans (still!) really do believe the Enlightenment fairytale that democracy, capitalism, education, technology, and the like will save us.

My take: There is much we can learn from the wisdom of Enlightenment Era figures, but we need to stop acting like the Constitution is God and James Madison is its prophet. As American Christians we need to finally dislodge our naive belief in the Enlightenment's ideals and replace it with christian realism--a view of society that recognizes the paradoxical tension between the imagio dei and the fall. We shouldn't accept our fallenness as OK and become apathetic, but neither should we be surprised. This would help us to stop getting our panties in a bunch and going off on these Chicken Little jeremiads every time sinful people--Christians and non-Christians alike--behave accordingly.

3 Political Thoughts from 3-Minute Video

2010-08-04T14:57:00.001-05:00

A month ago I decided to take an extended leave of absence from the political fray. I planned to continue exploring the underlying philosophies, but intentionally distance myself from the day-to-day bickering and maneuvering that generally comprise the typical political discussion. Of course, that's an awfully fuzzy line. My intention here is to use this video, which is from February, not to again jump headfirst into the healthcare debate, but rather to use it as a launching point for three thoughts on the deeper issues:

Rep. Ryan claims that if Obama & Co. think the American people want this legislation, then they're not listening. This statement is the exact sort of one-sided idiocy that annoys me about American politics. I'm continually hearing people all across the ideological spectrum refer to "the American people" as though they're this monolithic demographic who share the same vision for the country's future, which is simply absurd. In D.G. Hart's book, Deconstructing Evangelicalism, he controversially argues that there is no such thing as evangelicalism. That is, individuals with vested interest--historians, sociologists, theologians, pastors, etc.--spend so much time emphasizing the tenuous links that they downplay the overwhelming differences. Because they want evangelicalism to exist, they selectively interpret the data in such a way that creates a movement that actually doesn't exist. (Then they argue, quite conveniently, that "true evangelicalism" is exactly what they think it should be.) While I disagree with Hart's overall premise, in my estimate he offers a valuable criticism: we tend to allow our ideals, not to mention a desire for unity, to obscure actual fragmentation. We would do well to complicate our perception rather than simplify it. I bring this up because the same exact issue is at play in our political perceptions, only it's even more complicated because the American people are all at once more unified and more diverse. Republicans, Democrats, Tea Partiers, and all the rest need to begin the discussion by acknowledging that their individual views aren't representative of the true pulse of the "American people." To use the phrase "American people" is to invoke complexity. In my opinion, politicians make thorough asses of themselves when they make these ideologically laden, simplistic assertions that their view represents the American people.
Rep. Ryan states, "There really is a difference between us, and it's basically this: We don't think the government should be in control of all this." Oh my garage. A Washington politician explicitly identified political philosophies! Political discussions between those with conflicting perspectives often revolve around superfluous positions rather than the deep-seated beliefs from which those positions arise. Regardless of whether or not I agree with him, I commend Rep. Ryan for actually pointing that out.
Flushing out that quote more fully, Rep. Ryan states, "There really is a difference between us, and it's basically this: We don't think the government should be in control of all this. We want people to be in control." Since I'm an equal opportunity criticizer, I'll now critique that same comment. In my experience, conservatives often see two primary interest groups in this complicated situation: government and people. Therefore, since they don't want the government in charge, that puts it in the hands of the people just as Rep. Ryan said. Minor problem: The Industrial Revolution happened there, bub. Corporations are not "the people." The complicated reality in which we live is that there's (at least) three primary interest groups: government, people, corporations. A clear example of this is the oil spill. First, BP exists to make money, so it lobbies the government, hires people, and sells its product to people. That means that it's continually negotiating between government regulation, customer satisfaction, and its employees' compensation. If it fails in any of these three areas, it jeopardizes its long-term goal of making profit. Second, the government is supposed to represent the people by working with BP and keeping it accountable, but in reality each elected official has his/her own agenda and external pressures. Each politician must negotiate between the long-term and short-term needs of individual persons and the country as a whole while trying to keep his/her own job. Third, the people's lives have been thrown into chaos by BP's blunder and they're theoretically being represented by the government, but in reality they need corporations like BP to provide jobs and maintain their standard of living, and they can't agree on what the relationship between government and corporations ought to be, much less what the overall purpose of government is or should be. My point? While the whole political process is so convoluted that it's hard to even make general statements, Rep. Ryan and others could at least start by acknowledging that the interests of corporations and the people often aren't one in the same.

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

2010-07-26T20:22:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-25T16:22:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-24T13:49:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-20T18:11:00.000-05:00

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)

2010-07-17T13:49:00.000-05:00

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:

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.
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.
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:

The seeming incompatibility of being a thinking Christian.
My struggle to love a God who was wholly beyond my senses.
The Spirit's conviction that I needed to be part of a local body.
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)

2010-07-17T13:47:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-14T21:07:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-14T19:00:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-13T10:58:00.001-05:00

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

2010-07-09T21:23:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-09T16:14:00.000-05:00

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)

2010-07-05T20:29:00.000-05:00

(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)

2010-07-04T20:41:00.000-05:00

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

2010-07-03T13:36:00.000-05:00

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."

Mini Blog #14: Pilgrimage

2010-06-25T18:22:00.000-05:00

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

2010-06-19T10:55:00.001-05:00

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

2010-06-17T11:40:00.000-05:00

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

2010-06-15T16:09:00.001-05:00

"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

2010-06-10T13:48:00.000-05:00

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

2010-06-08T11:54:00.000-05:00

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

2010-06-06T19:36:00.000-05:00

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

2010-06-06T11:56:00.000-05:00

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:

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

Who Was Greater: Kareem or Magic?

2010-06-03T14:28:00.000-05:00

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?

2010-06-02T11:05:00.000-05:00

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.

Anti-Intellectualism Is More Than a Weakness

2010-05-31T18:11:00.000-05:00

Over the past four years my opinion of American evangelicalism has worsened far beyond that expressed in Mark Noll's jeremiad, The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind. Even against the backdrop of America's idiot culture, all but a handful of those who've stuck out as the most insanely idiotic people I've personally encountered have been Christians. While the larger population appears largely apathetic to intellectual matters, seeing them as valuable only in so far as their pragmatic financial value, the evangelical community has seen fit to baptize its stupidity, revel in its ignorance, pit "heart knowledge" against "head knowledge," decry institutions of higher learning as bastions of deception, justify their intellectually isolationist tendencies with a martyr complex, and excuse it all by asserting that they're not of this world--all of which is both the product and result of blatantly ripping Bible verses out of their literary and cultural-historical context. That is, while there's no question that anti-intellectualism prevails throughout the larger culture, in my experience it is worse amidst the evangelical sub-culture because of its having canonized piety while deploring rigorous thought as virtually Gnostic. Where I think Noll's balanced albeit scathing assessment falls short is that he fails to take a hard enough stand theologically, so let me be even more frank than I already have been.

It's no where near enough to merely criticize evangelicalism's prevailing hostility toward the life of the mind as a weakness. The evangelical community's opprobrious anti-intellectual culture must rather be censured in the severest of terms. Our very Lord and Savior stated that the greatest commandment is to love God with all our hearts, souls, minds, and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. Thus, while few if any authors I've ever read have come right out and said it, I will: Anti-intellectualism is nothing short of open rebellion toward God and a grievous slight to His will. The manner in which evangelicals cling--at least publicly--to the transformation of the heart yet neglect that of the mind is straight contradictory to biblical teaching and ought be condemned in the harshest language possible.

In anticipation that some who read this will offer a number of common objections, I will attempt to charitably address those concerns:

Some may think that I make it sound as though Christians must be academics; that I make the christian faith sound like the religion solely for condescending, Victorian era country club types. That simply is not what I'm saying. A friend of mine once told me, "After dad left my mom has always had to work two jobs to provide for me and my siblings. She was too busy and too tired to spend much time thinking about heady matters. For her worshiping God with her mind have been as simple as reading Scripture during a work break. That was her equivalent of Luke 21 where the woman gave her last two coins." I heartily agree. My conviction is that Christians are called to worship God with their minds to whatever degree their abilities and life circumstances allow, which means it will necessarily take a different form with each and every person.

Some may suppose I'm elevating the mind as the single most important means by which one can/should worship God. Again, that's not what I'm saying. 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 I think 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. My aim is not to reverse the problem, but to correct the imbalance. Straight up, the Christian who disdains serious thought is a Christian whose faith is broken. Sorry, folks, but when we committed to be followers of Jesus the option of cognitive lethargy went out the window.

Some may say that I'm putting too much emphasis upon theory to the neglect of practicality. That is a valid concern, but it need not be the case. I have a few thoughts on the matter that I think will provide balance:

First, in this world there are thinkers and doers; those of thought and those of action. In my estimate, neither is more important than the other. As we see in the Body of Christ metaphor, each member is individually essential while being collectively dependent upon the others. We all ought humbly recognize that tension while striving to become more well-rounded.
Second, not all serious thought shares the same purpose. Imagine the disasters that would occur if carpenters built houses without first consulting architects. Likewise, architects are utterly useless without the carpenters who actually build the houses they design. My point? It's the epitome of foolishness to hold that either the blueprint or the wood and nails has greater value. Some people will worship God by creating the larger theoretical frameworks that influences how we see and interact with all the world. Others will worship God by figuring out how to tangibly feed the hungry and clothe the naked in their corners of the world. All such thinking is of equal value in my mind. The point is that we're simply thinking.
Lastly, to quote the late, great Chris Farley, "for the love of all that is good and holy" it won't kill us to take the foot off the pragmatism pedal a smidgen and spend some more time thoughtfully considering things. Worrying that American evangelicals will become too theoretical is akin to worrying that Southerners will get too skinny if they eat less food. Not a problem. As Americans we're obsessed with the practical. We must first learn to slow down and truly get our minds around things. Then and only then ought we act. Much to our detriment, we have a habit of shooting first and asking questions later.

During a recent facebook discussion one person commented that the christian faith is simple and easy; that it doesn't require a whole lot of thought. The response another guy offered to this is one of the best I've ever seen, and I think it so exemplifies the need for Christians to seriously think that it's worth re-posting here:

"A Christian making the claim that salvation is simple is lazy. Think about it. There is an invisible man who lives in the sky. He has a son but his son is also another version of himself along with a mysterious spirit who is also said to be the same person. This confusing personage apparently knows every single thing that happens before it happens everywhere in the universe. He also is everywhere at once and stranger still, he has the power to make anything happen to anyone or anything at anytime, yet he refrains from acting to prevent most tragedies, from the molestation of children to wars of genocide. His 'children' are suppose to ask him for help but unlike the children of earthly fathers, they often have to beg for help and still don't get it. Supposedly the reason for this reluctance is that we are corrupted by something that the very first woman of our species did thousands of years ago. My parents always told me that their faults shouldn't hold me back in life but apparently the god of Israel doesn't share this family value. Anyway, to fix our problem caused by Adam and Eve god's son was born to a flesh and blood woman, lived a truly revolutionary life (this is indisputable) and because of this he was murdered by jealous religious people. This murder is called the Atonement and if we believe in it we will be come 'true' children of god. Of course, everyone else in the world, even if they've never heard this story and, of course, all the decent people who have but don't accept it will be sent to a place of eternal torture, regardless of the life they lived on earth. I mean, most people in the US don't agree with waterboarding, yet they believe that the god of heaven and earth gets a pass on never-ending torture. If you think all this can be explained simply because you had a special moment in church then I urge you to examine the long border that religion can share with psychological disorders. We're not told to 'work out our salvation with fear and trembling' for nothing."

Amen.

Here at the end I'd like to restate my intention with this post. My aim is to amplify the growing, negative sentiment about evangelicalism's anti-intellectual culture. It's not merely a weakness. It's a slap in God's face. It's time high time we recognize the offense and repent of it.

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P.S. This post wouldn't end right without one more thing. One of my dad's oft-repeated comments that he reserved only for the conclusion of one of my angst-ridden rants: "It's not healthy to hold back so much, Carson. Why don't you tell us how you really feel?" Love ya, Dad.

Mini Blog #9: Tongues

2010-05-27T20:23:00.001-05:00

Some words have a natural association. Whenever you use one, you use the other. It's kind of like using 'u' after 'q.' Likewise, have you ever noticed that whenever anyone talks about the gift of tongues they use the verb "speak"? I find this odd, for when I think of someone speaking the mental image that comes to mind is a person clearly articulating their thoughts in something of a comfortable manner. Or as dictionary.com defines it: "to utter words or articulate sounds with the ordinary voice; talk." In that sense, I've never seen anyone "speak" in tongues. I've seen people shout, scream, yell, holler, plead, testify, rant, rave, ramble, mumble, mutter, whisper, and occasionally elocute in tongues. Never any speaking.