Category: Church

Sex in the Bible

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Since starting seminary I’ve had the opportunity to read through the Old Testament in ways I haven’t done since I was in youth group at a conservative evangelical church.  While I think building biblical literacy is something evangelicals do very well, reading through these passages as an adult reminded me in a humorous way the ways my culture context back then shaped how I read the bible.  And it all had to do with sex.

If you’ve ever read through the Old Testament, you know that it’s a pretty racy text.  From rapes and seductions to concubines and harlots, it’s hard to avoid the presence of sex – often illicit sex – in the pages of scripture.  That is unless you are a teenage evangelical.  Amusingly, my most poignant memory of my years of bible studies of such passages in youth group is how hard the leaders tried to convince us that those sex passages actually had nothing to do with sex at all.

Like how when the most beautiful virgin in the land was selected to come lay with an elderly King David to keep him “warm” it had nothing to do with her trying to get him to respond sexually since in the Ancient Near East a King’s power was tied to his virility.  We were instead told that she literally was chosen to raise his body temperature since elderly people get cold often.  Or when reading how when  Rehoboem tries to assert his prowess as compared to his father Solomon and says his little finger is bigger than his fathers sexual organ (1 Kings 12), we were told that the Bible would never include something so base so therefore what he was really referring to was his fathers waist or thigh.

Whenever I heard the story of the Israelite spies’ visit to Rahab, the leaders made sure we understood that the spies only visited a prostitute because it would be a good place to gather information.  And we were told that Ruth getting under the covers with Boaz and laying at his “feet” had no sexual connotations whatsoever – she just wanted to get him to listen to her.  Other leaders even tried to tell us that Esther’s one night with the king truly was just a beauty contest and not like what typically happens when a member of the harem spends a night with the king.

Although we were told that we had to read the Bible literally – since we believed it to be inerrant – the conservative evangelical attitude towards sex (especially in regard to teenagers) forced us to read those passages as meaning the opposite of what they truly mean.  Lessons on sexual purity being the highest virtue we could strive for were drilled into us.  Any sexual deviancy was condemned in very publicly humiliating ways.  Given these strict views on sex, there was no way supposed biblical heroes could ever be seen as dallying in inappropriate sexual behavior.  Granted, sometimes it was hard to avoid the obvious stories, but those usually were directly connected to some dire consequence (as with David and Bathsheba).  As Christian teenagers our primary spiritual command was to be pure and so our study of the bible had to be just as pure – even if that meant some creative explaining away for the obvious.

 

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Sermon for Christ the King

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My sermon for Christ the King Sunday yesterday.

Lectionary Readings – Jeremiah 23:1-6; Colossians 1:11-20 and Luke 1:68-79

Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of his servant David, as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old, that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered his holy covenant, the oath that he swore to our ancestor Abraham, to grant us that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days. And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace. Luke 1: 68-79

God has raised up for us a might savior in the house of his servant David. On this Christ the King Sunday we are reminded that the gospels announced the kingship and reign of Christ through this connection to David. For even amidst all his foibles and flaws David defined for Israel what it means to have a leader who serves the people not just in the name of God but in the way of God. We understand David through the ideal image of the king God called him to be, and we have access to what it means for Christ to be our king through the narratives told about David.

And amidst those stories of kingship that reveal to us what it means to be a king we find a somewhat surprising thread running throughout – that to be a king is to be a healer. Yes, some kings rule or conquer, but in the biblical text a king after God’s own heart is a king who heals.

Now if you are an extreme sci-fi/fantasy geek like me this idea that kings are by nature healers will come as no surprise to you. Just read some of the medieval legends or the Arthurian tales and you will repeatedly encounter the theme that the health of the people and the land depends on the king. If the king is wounded or not serving the land as needed, his country becomes a wasteland that can only be healed by the king choosing the right path.

I think the story of king as healer is probably most well known as it is presented in the Lord of the Rings through the tale of Elessar. It’s a story that I found so meaningful that I actually gave my son the middle name Elessar (I did mention that I am a huge fantasy geek, right?). If you don’t remember the story, in Middle Earth during the period the books describe there was no king of men and the land around Gondor had become a wasteland. Aragorn was the rightful heir to that throne and the tale is in part about the return of the king to heal the land. Interestingly, all throughout the stories we see Aragorn healing others. He has knowledge of herbs for healing, and constantly presses people to restore the use of the lost healing herb (the aptly named) Kingsfoil. It is in fact his use of this herb in the houses of healing that allows the old and the wise people of the land to recognize that the king has in fact returned. It is simply part of his nature to heal. To that end the elves in the world gave him the name Elessar, which is also the name he uses once he becomes King. The term elessar actually refers to a green jewel (in a ring of course) that contained the light of the sun. Anyone who looked through the stone would see things that were withered or burned healed again, and anyone who wore it would bring healing to whatever they touched. The person who had the right to wear the stone is also referred to as the elessar – in other words, a healer. But the idea behind this type of healer is not just one who can heal physical wounds, but one who can look at any person or situation and see the good underneath. The healing occurs by the elessar being able to see things as they should be (not as they are) and bring forth that inherent good in people and in the world. I personally loved that concept and so gave my son that name, praying that he could be (to use another Lord of the Rings quote) one of those people who see that “there’s good in this world and it’s worth fighting for.”

But this concept of the king as the one who heals the world has its roots in the biblical conception of King. The world is not as it should be and it is to the king that one should look to make things right. In the tales of David we often hear of him presented as one who has the ability to heal troubled situations and calm tormented hearts. As a young man he was the one called into play the lyre for King Saul whenever Saul was troubled – David’s presence and song would bring healing.

It was this memory of a good king being one who can heal that prompted people when they encountered Jesus to refer to his position as an heir of David when they came to him for healing. For instance, once when Jesus was leaving Jericho two blind men shouted out to him “Have mercy on us, Lord, Son of David” and Jesus healed them. Or when the Canaanite woman approached Jesus to beg him to deliver her daughter from a demon she too asked “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David.” The people knew that to be a king in the royal line of David was to be a healer.

The passage in Jeremiah today states, “The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.” Jesus was the ideal king that David served as prototype for. I think though we can often get bogged down in trying to understand our idea of a king as one who rules and dominates alongside our other conceptions of Jesus as one who brings love and justice. For me though it is in remembering that to be a king is to be a healer that helps reconcile the two. For what our hurting world needs now is not fear and dominion, but healing. When people in Haiti are still living in tent cities amidst the rubble of the earthquake, being flooded by recent storms, starving because they have no food, and falling ill to cholera – there is serious healing that needs to be done.

To celebrate the reign of Christ means to embrace the mission of Christ our King to heal the world. It means not being afraid to put an end to injustice no matter how uncomfortable or counter-cultural it may feel. It means letting Christ reign in our hearts in ways that push us out beyond ourselves into the place where we are full of compassion for others. It means ensuring that the world around us is not a wasteland plagued with the horrors of sex trafficking, or child labor, or abusive sweatshops, or environmental degradation. It means joining in on this work of healing – of recognizing that there is some good in this world and it is worth fighting for.

It means being like the people at International Justice Mission who not only rescue women and children out of slavery and bonded labor, but who work to help them build new lives. They heal the whole person. It means being like the groups that instead of seeing immigration as a divisive wedge, see it as an opportunity to help people by eliminating the need for people to flee to another country so that they can help their family survive. So they start fair trade companies that treat people with dignity and respect and allow them to live with their families farming their own lands. They heal the root causes not just the symptoms. It means responding to places in this world where fear and extremism have taken hold, not with more fear and extremism, but with offers of healing. With microloans that help people provide for their families and schools for children so that people will no longer have to turn to just the extremist for the basic necessities of life. We can choose to heal a culture instead of destroy it. We can join in with the work of the king who executes justice in the land through these healing acts.

Christ the King is a healer. To be part of his kingdom where all things are being reconciled through him is an invitation to join in on this work of healing the world. So as we acknowledge the reign of Christ today, I encourage you to reflect on what it means to serve not a king who dominates or conquers, but a king whose heart yearns for the healing of the land and who desires us as faithful subjects of his kingdom to join in on that mission. For in acknowledging the reign of Christ our healer we can help justice flow out to all.

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Experiencing Eucharist

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as written for the Christian Century Blog –

I grew up attending Bible and Baptist churches; now I generally identify with the emerging church. So I’ve had quite a learning curve at the Episcopal seminary where I’m studying. Between balancing prayer books and hymnals and crash courses in chanting, I’ve frequently felt like a stranger in a strange land.

I am open to learning this new rhythm of worship, however foreign it feels at times. But I am discovering that I struggle with the observance of the Eucharist. My issue isn’t theology but method: as I pray the same words each time I partake, I feel constrained and long for something more. I’m not bored or looking to be entertained, I just feel the need for our remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice to reflect the infinite diversity of the body of Christ.

I didn’t grow up with diversity in eucharistic practice. On the first Sunday of the month we were instructed to search our hearts, confess our sins and then grab an oyster cracker and a plastic shot glass full of juice (always juice). Only in the last few years has the act of taking the bread and cup moved me to accept the call to live eucharistically in the world. This happened only when I saw the Eucharist set free from its traditional rituals.

In the house church I helped lead for a time, we closed with the Eucharist every week. In that small setting, the way we transitioned into sharing the bread and juice (yes, still juice) depended on the day’s lesson. If we had explored the stories of Jesus’ healings, our breaking of the bread would point us to how we could share our resources to help heal the body of Christ. In weeks where we talked about community, we would sit at a table and together mix the dough to bake our own bread.

We were the body of Christ, and the act of Eucharist became the vehicle through which we understood our role in that body. Breaking the bread and sharing the cup changed week to week–it assumed the role of shaping us into who we were called to be.

The church I attend now similarly re-imagines what it means to take and eat in remembrance of Jesus. In discussing Jesus’ encounter with the disciples on the beach before the ascension, we partook of a communion of fish tacos–pushing us to reflect on the disciples’ experience. In a recent new leaders’ meeting, we were charged to humbly accept our call to serve the church through an invitation to partake in a humble communion of pretzel snack packs and juice boxes.

A recent worship gathering focused on us all being members of the body who have something to give. We were invited to an empty table. There the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000 was told, with the interpretation that the miracle was that after seeing the boy’s gift of bread and fish, the people shared what they had brought until they all had resources in abundance. So we were asked to share whatever we had with us–gum, granola bars, soft drinks, Goldfish, Altoids. The table overflowed with abundance, which we served to each other.

Eucharist pulls me into these moments of remembering what it means to be a disciple. It is ever evolving as it speaks to a church that is always advancing the kingdom of God. I know the stories I’ve told here may be offensive to some, and I respect the traditions that find meaning in engaging Eucharist in one set way. But I’ve seen a world of meaning open up when the Eucharist is allowed to be as dynamic and diverse as our creative and infinite God–the God I respond to in remembrance when I take and eat.

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Getting Political

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“Our engagement with the empire can quickly become a case of the frog in the pot of boiling water.  A little support of war, a little indifference about the environment, a little disregard of poverty, a little failure to notice racism or sexism, a little collapse of indignation and hope, a little innocence about class privilege; a little of this and a little of that, and all too soon comes a lethal society.”

Walter Bruggemann, Out of Babylon, p.152

Author Diana Butler Bass recently posted on Facebook about a pastor who can no longer preach about Jesus’ call to love our neighbors because it is too political.  I’ve been warned away from speaking about the same because it might get taken as socialist.  There is no denying the divisive state of politics these days.  People fear getting political and offending others.  Most pastors I know shy away from preaching about any issue that could even remotely be construed as political.  Issues like loving our neighbor, serving the poor, and releasing the bonds of oppression.  Those are all apparently too controversial.

This fear of offending congregants or getting political has essentially silenced the words of Jesus in many churches.  But in trying to navigate these waters and not upset any opinions, the church doesn’t seem to realize that it is being political.  By not delivering the message of Jesus or being a prophetic alternative to empire, the church is allowing the voices of the anti-Christian forces to win.  It’s like Bruggemann mentions in the quote above, when we let little advances of empire overtake the kingdom of God, we end up with a lethal society.

Standing up for the God we claim to follow might be deemed political because it is.  When we resist the siren call of empire – when we stand against a message that tries to convince us that the only thing we should care about is ourselves – we are making a political statement.  We are aligning ourselves with the Kingdom of God instead of the kingdoms of this world.  To do so will always be political.  It will always offend the defenders of empire.  But that is the choice the cross presents us with – to follow God or this world.  And if we are afraid to call the church to follow God, then we simply have handed the church over to empire and allowed it to win.

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God Bless

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In reading Walter Brueggemann’s latest book, Out of Babylon – a fantastic read full of thought provoking insights – I was intrigued by his discussion of blessing. In referring to the confidence of the Davidic dynasty in the years leading up to the exile, he writes –

These [texts] concerning dynasty and temple, regularly reiterated in state-sponsored liturgy, gave certitude and entitlement to those most closely gathered around the center of Jerusalem power. All this certainty about God’s blessing of Jerusalem, its king and its temple, gave the people of Jerusalem an excuse to ignore the social facts on the ground. If God was indeed blessing the power structure of Jerusalem unconditionally, then they need not worry about the economic exploitation and political oppression going on around them.

I think we all too often use this idea of blessing to ignore the needs of others. Living for ourselves, demanding God’s blessing for ourselves, prevents us from opening our eyes to the needs of others. And often enjoying that blessing (politically or economically) results in the direct exploitation and oppression of others. What we see as blessing is simply ill-gotten gain – what we call blessing others live as misery. Brueggemann goes on to say how even with the empires at their backdoor many in Jerusalem lived in denial as they tried to keep up this certainty of blessing with false mantras of “shalom, shalom.” His point is that only the poetic utterances of the prophets quietly challenged those false assurances by implying that the mere saying of “shalom” does not create peace. Saying “we are blessed” while others suffer for our false sense of blessing has nothing to do with actual blessing.

The parallels to modern day America are obvious (which is where Bruegemann goes in the text). We claim God’s blessing with the certitude of a blood drenched flag backing it up and the exploited poor suffering in our wake. We’ve mistaken greed, power, and consumption for blessing. Yet, beyond this obvious comparison to America, what these words on blessing brought to my mind was how often the church acts in these ways as well.

If a church is growing – determined almost exclusively numerically these days (the counting of butts and bucks) – then they deem themselves to be at the receiving end of God’s blessing. If people are showing up and spending giving money, then they must be doing something right for God to bless them in such ways. Unfortunately the same rationale could be applied to a movie theater or football stadium. Claiming God’s blessing because people are showing up to be entertained or affirmed in their pursuit of the American Dream makes no logical sense, but sadly has become a handy excuse for the church to continue ignoring its participation in communal sins of exploitation and oppression or even ignorance. For if God is blessing a church (growing numbers), then why should they change or examine who they really are? Why bother asking what it means to sacrificially follow Christ when everything is going so well?

At the church I attend we have entered into an intense period of discernment as a community. Part of why we are doing so is because the numbers aren’t there, we’re hurting. I think it could be easy to see this struggle as a lack of blessing, or at least to say that we are in need of more of God’s blessing (not that I’ve actually heard this being said). But what I’ve been reflecting on during this time is that perhaps this is an opportunity to help us realize that any blessing we have exists for the sole purpose of us by extension blessing others. It has been providing us a chance to really examine who we are – which I do hope will lead to a response of sacrificial living. I don’t want us to have confidence in our own community for the sake of itself alone, for sometimes even in the midst of struggles it can be easy to do so, just like Jerusalem saying “shalom, shalom” with certainty as empire breathed down their necks. It can unfortunately be just as easy for the struggling as well as the numerically “blessed” church to turn inward and start existing only for acquiring “blessings” for themselves.

The nation of Israel was told that they were blessed to be a blessing to the nations. This wasn’t some warm fuzzy perk – this was a task that required sacrifice, generosity, and ongoing humility. Existing for the sake of others is hard work. Ensuring that the people around us are finding justice, not being oppressed, and being showered with the blessing of God is a lot harder than getting a few more butts in the pews or dollars in the plate. Giving up perceived blessing when that blessing feeds a system of injustice is even harder, but it is only in such actions that the true path to blessing can be found.

So I appreciated Bruegemann’s reminder that blessing can be a tricky thing. It is easy to think we are blessed and miss the point entirely by failing to be actively serving others and seeking justice for all. But we can also easily desire blessing for ourselves without realizing that that is not how God works at all. A church should never exist for the sake of itself, no matter how great of a community it might be. The body of Christ is called to bear witness, to be that communal voice answering the call of Christ – seeking justice for all. Blessing can only be used to bless – to be the healers of this world. Just as saying “shalom” does not bring peace, simply saying “we are blessed” (in praise or supplication) does not make it so unless there is the evidence of a simultaneous blessing of others.

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The Church Needs a Prophetic Voice

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We have all heard the old saying that Satan’s greatest ploy is to get people to stop believing in him. For when people aren’t looking to fight his evil then that evil has more room to flourish. I fear something similar is occurring in our country in our rejection of social justice. Instead of gathering the people of God together to work against injustice like Jesus commanded us to do; those with interests in allowing injustices (especially economic injustice) to continue are attempting to convince the church to shun the very idea of justice itself. The easiest way for the evil of injustice to flourish in this world is for the church to believe we should be doing nothing about it. And as crazy as it seems, that tactic is succeeding. The public is being encouraged to flee churches that teach about justice, to equate social justice with the atrocities of Nazi Germany, and to believe that supporting social justice will result in the elimination of all religious liberties. Basically, to embrace the exact opposite of the justice-seeking way of life that Jesus demands of his followers.

Glenn Beck’s recent tirade against those that care about justice illustrates this revisionist view of justice. He states that people who support justice for the oppressed are promoting a state sponsored church similar to the Nazi controlled churches in Germany. Playing on people’s fears, Beck convinces them that unless they stay silent on justice issues then the government will take over their churches. According to Beck, “when you combine church and state, and you take… a big government and you combine it with the church, to get people to do the things that the state wants you to do, it always ends in mass death.” His solution is to silence the voices for justice and let faith simply be about individual private commitments. What Beck fails to realize is that silencing the voices for justice within the church is simply a passive way of giving control of the church to the powers of this world. Empires (the State in both political and economic realms) can either directly control the church (as Hitler did) or it can control the church by rendering it impotent.

Beck’s example of Hitler’s Nazi controlled church, reminds me of the Barman Declaration (1934). An ecumenical group of Confessing Christians in Germany did stand up to the State controlled church, sending the message that they had no Fuhrer but Jesus. It was a bold move, but in demanding their autonomy they also gave up the right to speak truth to power. In creating for themselves the space to worship as they choose without interference, they inadvertently gave the state control of their voices, leaving the Confessing Churches little room to speak up on justice issues (like the extermination of the Jews). For this reason Dietrich Bonhoeffer disagreed with Karl Barth over the drafting of this declaration – it sacrificed justice for the sake of supposed autonomy. While there is much to be admired in the Barman Declaration, I have to wonder how Jesus can truly be the leader of the church if that church has allowed itself to be silenced in regard to justice issues.

Beck is correct in pointing out that throughout history the church has been controlled by the state to disastrous ends. But this is never because the state cared too much about justice. On the contrary, it was when the state controlled “church” ceased speaking out on behalf of justice for the oppressed that power was corrupted, liberty was denied, and mass deaths did occur. One thinks of Persian-controlled Ezra casting the foreign wives and children of the Jews into the wilderness to die as his religious zeal cleansed the land. Or of Charlemagne forcing the conquered Saxons to be baptized at the point of a sword. Or the silence of the church in places like Liberia, Kenya, Bosnia or Rwanda when their “Christian” rulers oppressed the people. The state controlled church can commit atrocities, but a church controlled through silence on justice issues is just as complicit in those atrocities.

The church must retain a prophetic voice. It cannot be a puppet of the state, but it also cannot be manipulated into silence. The church is never just a collection of individuals desiring their own private worship experience; it is the Body of Christ called to do his will. Standing up to Empire (political or economic) on behalf of the oppressed is simply part of what it means for the church to be collectively faithful. That prophetic voice has to call for an end to injustice, and since Empire is often the cause of much of the injustice in the world, it is going to have to be Empire that takes the steps to undo that injustice. If Christians abandon the right to push the State to repent of (undo) the wrongs it has committed (even if that undoing makes our lives uncomfortable), then we have just granted the state the freedom to control us all.

I look to the people of faith in recent years who have done the hard work of helping the church find its voice as it not only speaks truth to power, but does so in ways that seek justice through reconciliation. When Fr. Andre Sibomana was named administrator of the Rwandan diocese of Kabgayi in August 1994, he knew the church had to find a way to repent of its silence and complacency during the genocide. So he suspended all baptisms, first communions, confirmations, and weddings until Christmas and called the church into a period of confession and penance. He knew that the church could not move forward into new life until its political sins had been dealt with. Similarly Desmond Tutu was the Christian voice calling for justice for years in South Africa. Once Apartheid ended, it was only through the church working directly with the state through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission that healing was able to begin. The church as prophetic voice had to call the state (and its own members) to justice and at the same time grant healing through the transformative power of Jesus Christ. Or as Ugandan theologian Emmanuel Katongale suggests, the church can never be just another NGO; it has to be a body that witnesses to a “different world right now.”

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Religious Knowledge and the Church

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My laptop crashed last week, so as it was being repaired, I immersed myself in my schoolwork since we’ve reached the point in the semester where it all seems to be piling on. Yet even as I was surrounded with discussions on proper Christology and post-exilic apocalyptic literature, I was not surprised to read the results of the recent Pew Religious Knowledge Survey. It is just part of who I am to seek religious knowledge, but according to this survey the general public can only answer 16 out of 32 questions correctly on a very basic religious knowledge survey. These weren’t questions about Augustinian views of atonement or the historical roots of the Hindu pantheon, these were ultra-basic questions necessary for a working knowledge of the other in a pluralistic globalized world (multiple choice questions like “Which Bible figure is associated with leading the Exodus from Egypt?” (Job, Elijah, Moses, Abraham) or “Ramadan is…?” (A Hindu festival, a Jewish day, The Islamic Holy Month) (you can take the quiz here)). There has been much said regarding the fact that atheists and agnostics scored the highest on the quiz, scoring an average 20.9 questions correctly while Protestants scored an average of 16 and Catholics 14.7. But, like I said, even as it astounds me, it doesn’t surprise me. The numbers are interesting, but they merely reflect the ongoing lack of desire for religious knowledge that pervades our culture.

One can obviously point fingers at the recent trends fearing learning about non-Christian religion here in America. The Texas School Board pushing to eliminate a seemingly pro-Muslim (and hence “anti-Christian”) bias in textbooks since those texts actually teach about Muslin history. Or the protestors of the Park51 community center who proclaim “all I need to know about Islam I learned on 9/11.” Or even the families at the church I used to work at that got upset that we were exposing the youth to (as they called them) “non-Christian religions” when we took them to visit Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches. That sort of prejudice and ignorance is sad, but willful. What troubles me is the ignorance of Christians of our own faith. Mike and I both discovered in attending mainline seminaries that most of our classmates readily admit to having never studied or really read the Bible. As my theology prof quipped recently after having to ask a Baptist student in the class about a scripture reference, “if you want to know which fork to use for dessert, ask an Episcopalian, if you want to know something about the Bible ask a Baptist.” It’s funny, but with the evangelical obsession with Bible memory, sword drills, and Bible knowledge, it’s a fairly true stereotype.

And yet even with our of our Bible knowledge, evangelicals often willfully avoid knowledge with the best of them. For all the Bible trivia we amass, there is generally very little depth in that knowledge. We do countless “Bible studies” where fill-in-the-blank answers and “what does it mean for my life” reflection questions masquerade as knowledge. And I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard pastors (or youth pastors) warn people about the liberal influence of education – as if just the idea of thinking for oneself is a threat to the faith. Or the number of testimonies I’ve heard that focus on how the person realized they trusted too much in their intellect and so had to let that go and follow God. It’s like the Kurt Cameron clip I saw recently where he actually said that to have faith we have to “bypass the intellect.” I was reminded of this stance this past week, when on a whim I pulled out the Old Testament Survey textbook I used at Wheaton College to compare it with the text I’m using in my survey class in seminary. I fully admit that both texts are biased, but it was sad to read how my Wheaton text willfully rejected most biblical scholarship. Instead of engaging with historical facts and textual criticism, the Wheaton text presented those arguments only to reject them. Almost every chapter is framed as – here is the evidence of scholars, but since we believe in the supernatural/unity of scripture/predictive prophecy we have to reject those arguments and just believe in the text as it is (as if that somehow actually exists). If knowledge falls outside of the tiny little box they were preconditioned to believe in, it is that knowledge and not the box that gets rejected and suppressed in the church. (although, I have to say, it made for a far easier Old Testament survey class…).

I think the church, in all its forms, is failing its members in this realm. Fearing learning about other religions or even about one’s own has crippled the body of Christ. The church doesn’t know how to navigate knowledge well. I understand why so many people do lose their faith when confronted with knowledge about history, or cultural influences on our faith tradition, or how the Bible came to be. When our faith is based on ignoring such knowledge, or even willfully hiding from it, its revelation can be devastating – especially when the church is utterly ill-equipped to provide a lens to help people understand that knowledge. We all always have more to learn and discover. What we think we know about God, the Bible, our faith, or other faiths is only just the very beginnings of what we can know. Fearing truth because it might force us to understand and love others or because it might challenge our presuppositions doesn’t seem like a healthy way for anyone to be living. To me what matters the most here is not whether people in our culture can answer certain questions correctly or not (although some of those Pew questions were rather basic), but whether or not we care enough to be continually learning and growing. And sadly, that is what I generally see lacking.

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If My People…

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America’s propensity to see ourselves as God new chosen nation has often led us to claim scripture directed at Israel (or Judah) as promises for ourselves. While such thinking generally makes me squirm, I can re-apply such interpretations to see how they apply to the modern world. Granted, such direct application is woefully historically inaccurate and the nationalistic (and narcissistic) assumption that the good ole US of A has magically replaced Israel as God’s chosen people seemingly ignores the sacrificial act of Jesus on behalf of all nations – but I can still see how it works. I trust in the words of the prophets, and can believe that the principle of their commandments transcends culture even as they were original situated in particular cultures themselves. So while I have trouble reading passages that talk about requirements of or blessings for God-s people as applying to the citizens of the USA, I have no problem applying such commands to the church as the new representations of God-s people.

That said, I do find it curious which passages those who see the USA as God-s new chosen nation see fit to claim as applying directly to us. For many years the theme verse for the National Day of Prayer was 2 Chronicles 7:14 “If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, pray, seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land.” In context, the passage refers to God helping heal the land from drought and swarms of locusts, but it more often these days is a request for God to rid our land of abortion and liberals. But whatever the context, I find it most intriguing that this verse suggests only personal piety (prayer and repentance) as the required acts that God will reward. This promise of “If we pray, God will heal” fits nicely into the modern Evangelical culture that stresses piety as the necessary work of the people. Many churches shy away from acts of charity or justice due to the fear that they might become acts of “works righteousness” or distract us from personal habits like prayer and worship (as if such things are an either/or).

Choosing such passages of promise involves direct acts of selection and interpretation. The Bible is full of other such promises to Israel – telling them what is required of them in order for God to bless them – but those aren’t often selected. For instance, take Jeremiah 7:3-7 –

Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Amend your ways and your doings, and let me dwell with you in this place. Do not trust in these deceptive words: “This is the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord.” For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your ancestors forever and ever.

If we do justice and take care of the immigrant and the poor and the homeless, and if we refrain from violence, and if we refrain from seeking after the idols of our age then God will be with us in our land. Why don’t we hear church leaders applying those words to America? Why don’t we have Evangelical churches mobilizing for National Days of Justice or Peacemaking or Welcoming and Caring for Immigrants? If we claim other words of worship requirement and blessing that were directed at Israel as mandates for ourselves in the modern church, then why aren’t we claiming these words as well?

Our acts of worship and sacrifice – of taking our lives and making them holy by giving them to God – define our relationship with God. There should be nothing divisive or political about the decision to worship with acts of prayer or with acts of justice. God seemingly requires both of us. But we have allowed our politics to guide our interpretation of scripture – even to the point of which passages we claim as our own. We, like those Jeremiah calls out, seem to trust in the deceptive words “The Temple of the Lord.” Instead of listening to all of God’s words about worship and acting rightly, we assume that our group’s interpretation is correct and holy. We hide behind the name of “biblical Christian”, or “compassionate Christian”, or “progressive Christian” or whatever other deceptive mantra we choose to repeat as a way to drown out the voice of God.

I really don’t care about God healing or blessing America – God is far bigger than the petty boundaries of a nation. But I do care about the church following the path God has called us to – a path that listens to all of God’s commands and doesn’t run away from the acts of worship required of us. Which is why I think we should listen to whenever God says “If my people…”

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It’s (not) all about Jesus

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Why?

Why do we do this whole Christian thing? Why do we go to church and proclaim the faith that we do?

I’m sure that there are a number of readers who will call me an idiot for even asking that question. The expected answer of – “because we love Jesus” (or something like that), is all the answer they desire. In fact, for some, any other answer is inappropriate and evidence of a compromised faith. But honestly, I hardly know what that answer even means for many people these days. “Loving Jesus” is the rote response, but the problem with rote responses is that they are often a poor substitute for real introspection. The pat answer suffices when in reality one hardly knows one’s own soul well enough to even begin to answer the question.

As much as people want to make everything all about Jesus these days, Jesus has unfortunately become a shield to protect us from deep engagement. People start asking questions, a dialogue develops, differences emerge and instead of letting truth be sought with courage someone at that point suggests that we just need to refocus on Jesus and stop all the arguing. Jesus is what it is all about, so thinking anything more complex than just evoking his name gets shut down. But who is that Jesus to them? Without reflection or introspection, how can Jesus even be known apart from being simply an icon that we worship?

Faith is complex. Our motives for belief are complex. No one simply goes to church for the pure unadulterated reason that they love Jesus. We go because something in the environment resonates with us. Be the church hip and relevant (whatever those mean), or soaked in art and beauty, or thick with tradition – our souls find a home that we can be comfortable in. A home where we can best find the paths that lead us to God. Or we go for the community. Be it the stay-at-home moms who find a support system in the two hours of adult contact they get each week at church. Or simply the friends who can connect over a shared discussion of theology, the church offers the communal connections our souls cry out for. We go for the music, the emotional high, the networking opportunities, the dating opportunities, the playground, the coffee, the need to feel right, the intellectual stimulation, the need for encouragement, the reminders of childhood, the desperate need to feel welcomed and included. We go for a million different reasons.

And yes we go for Jesus. Sometimes this is a two dimensional Jesus we call upon to shield us from asking the hard questions. Sometimes it is a Jesus we are imperfectly trying to follow. Sometimes it is a Jesus who has transformed our lives. So yes, we go to church for Jesus. But also for all these other reasons. And in truth there is nothing wrong with any of it. We are complex creatures, piecing together meaning in our fractured world in whatever way we can. Faith feeds off culture which feeds off community. Jesus is there, but he is incarnate in all the muck and mire and breathtaking beauty just as much today as when he was born in that stable. There is nothing to be ashamed of or to reject out of hand in admitting this complexity.

Where the problem lies is when we can’t look into ourselves and ask these questions. When we are too afraid to know ourselves well enough to admit these truths. When we slap on Jesus like a shield to protect us from the hard work of knowing, then we’ve stopped actually following Jesus. Following Jesus should never be our excuse to stop pursuing truth or to stop asking the hard questions. Following Jesus shouldn’t force us to pretend that we are above the cultures of this world or are too good to be influenced by basic human needs (like the need to be loved). Maybe a flat image of Jesus we project can form a wall strong enough for us hide behind, but the real Jesus can’t do such a thing because he is deep in the midst of all the realities of life, and culture, and doubt, and longings.

Asking ourselves why we are Christians should never elicit a simple straightforward answer. We are complex people who worship a complex God – we need to allow God to be in even that complexity. Our answers might end up sounding less holy or more self-centered, but at least they will be honest reflections of reality. Hollow answers, although sanitized and religious sounding, do a disservice to the God we claim to follow. I think Jesus desires our whole self – neediness and cultural baggage included – more than some unreflective protestation of devout worship. To make it all about Jesus, we have to admit that it’s never just all about Jesus. And that’s okay.

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Celebrating the Overturning of Prop 8 with the Body of Christ

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I wrote this post last week as a submission to Sojourner’s God’s Politics blog.  But Sojourners is not yet sure of if they will respond to the Prop 8 verdict or what that response will be.  Maybe this will get posted there eventually, maybe it won’t.  So I’m just going to post this here because I feel it has to be said.

I’ll be perfectly honest – I had a hard time writing this post.  I’ve had multiple people ask me recently why there has been nothing at the Sojourner’s blog about the overturning of Prop 8 or about the struggle of LGBT folks for basic rights.  My queer friends who deeply respect the organization as a defender of justice for all ask why no one is writing about justice for them or celebrating when such justice is achieved.  My usual response has been, “yeah, someone really should write about that for Sojourners.”  That is until I was called out on my hypocrisy.  Why was I so willing to stick my neck out (and be ripped apart) for so many other oppressed groups, but not for homosexuals?  Why was I remaining silent?

Those challenges hit me hard.  They opened old wounds and deep regrets of a time when I had been silent before that still cause me pain.  Tim was one of my closest friends in high school.  We knew each other from church youth group and would spend hours together discussing books or playing cards in some coffee shop.  We went to college in different states and in those pre-cell phone and pre-Facebook days when AOL was still pay-by-the-minute, we drifted apart.  I heard through the grapevine that he had come out of the closet and that all of our other youth group friends refused to associate with him anymore.  But even then I didn’t reconnect with him, caught up as I was in my own college life.  After graduation, I had no way to get in touch with him, but the desire to contact him and just let him know I still was his friend weighed heavy on my heart.  I always thought that someday I would find a way to reach him.  But then a few years ago while I was still living in another state my mom called and mentioned offhand that Tim had died after being hit by a car while walking home from a grad school class.  Apparently many of our former close friends from high school had refused to even attend the funeral in protest of his orientation.

I had remained silent for too long.  I don’t know if he assumed I condemned and rejected him like the rest of our youth group friends, I never got the chance to tell him otherwise.  I missed an opportunity to show love to the hurting and I will forever regret my silence.  And I miss my friend.

So I knew that I could not remain silent now.  Even as I am unsure of what exactly to say, I knew I had to be a voice standing in solidarity and celebration of the overturning of Proposition 8.  Our LGBT brothers and sisters need to see now more than ever that they are loved by the church – that we can come alongside them and mourn when they mourn and rejoice when they rejoice.   They need to see that the church sees them more than just as objects to be debated.  If we remain silent now by failing to publicly celebrate this momentous occasion we will have missed our opportunity to show love to the hurting.

So I am celebrating with friends who can now enjoy the same cultural and legal benefits of marriage as I can.  Who can now visit their partners of many years in the hospital and include their spouse in their health coverage.  And I join them in their hope that one day these basic civil rights will not only be available in a small handful of few states, but all across our great nation.  At the same time, I express my sympathy as they and their families continue to be thrust into the centers of controversy – forcing them to fight to hold onto basic civil rights in our society.  I don’t even pretend to understand their struggle to simply live normal lives and the day to day pain that causes, but I do know that I can’t contribute to that continued pain by choosing to remain silent.  I can’t wait for someone else to speak up for me – I can’t outsource loving my neighbor.  And so I rejoice with the parts of the body of Christ who are celebrating being granted one small portion of the privileges I already enjoy.  It seems almost pathetic and nowhere near enough, but it’s all I can think to do.

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