Category: Faith

Contemplating Feminine Incarnation

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nativity girl2nativity girl2At church this past Sunday we were encouraged to find ways to see the world differently this week. Change our routine and change our perspective to help us get out of the rut of going through life without actually seeing the world. To that end we were asked to draw a slip of paper out of a basket on which was written some sort of paradigm destabilizer. These were just suggestion to help us shake things up a bit – and force us to just do life a little differently. These included everything from “take a new route to work” to “put your fork down between bites.” The one I drew was “imagine that Jesus had been born a girl.” I was amused at first that I had randomly chosen that particular option since I doubted that task would destabilize my perspective as much as it might someone else’s. But the idea has stuck with me over the last few days as I keep asking, “well, what if?”

The first thought that came to mind was, “would Jesus have even of been born if he had been a girl?” In a culture that valued sons, I wonder what Joseph’s response would have been if the angel hadn’t told him “She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” The birth of sons was celebrated. But if Joseph had known the child in Mary’s womb was a girl would he have gone ahead and divorced her quietly condemning her and the child to a life of abject poverty and ridicule? Or would he have exposed her as an adulterer to have her stoned? Throughout history we have seen women valued solely for their ability to bear male heirs. Henry VIII chopped the heads off a couple of wives for only bearing him daughters. Even today one hears of women apologizing in the delivery room for the baby not being a boy. So I have to wonder if even a divine announcement would have been enough to save the life of an illegitimate girl.

But if she had been born, I wonder what the response would have been. Would the shepherds have scoffed at a baby girl in swaddling clothes and grumbled at having to leave their flocks in the night for that? Would the magi have questioned the stars, or understood the mystery at play? Would Herod have felt threatened by a girl and have ordered the slaughter of the innocents? And would her parents, some years later, marry her off at age 12 to be perpetually pregnant and too busy save the world? Or would they have remembered their angelic visitation and the prophetic destiny spoken about this child?

But let’s just assume that this girl reached a point where she could chose to begin her ministry. Would the truth of her words and the divinity within her be enough to attract followers despite her gender? In other words would something as minor as gender be enough for people to reject God’s invitation to “come follow me”? Would her mother, who prophetically sung the Magnificat, have hushed her up and told her “girls don’t discuss theology?” If she sat on the mountainside and spoke the Beatitudes to the crowds would her words be affirmed as a beautiful new way forward or dismissed as the rantings of a crazy woman who was probably pmsing? Would men have seen an independent woman as vulnerable and used that as an excuse to rape her? To avoid that would she have had to (like Joan of Arc) chop off her hair and dress in men’s clothing – in essence deny that she is a women in order to be respected as a person? Would the authorities have even allowed her three years to spread her message, or would silencing a woman for subversion and heresy have happened much sooner?

On one hand these questions might just seem to affirm why Jesus had to be born male. But making that assumption from either an essentialist or cultural viewpoint simply helps one avoid examining our own perspectives towards women. Even as I reflected on the particular struggles Jesus would have faced if he had been born a girl, I couldn’t help but also think about the positive outcomes it would have engendered. If the person we commit our lives to follow and who sacrificed herself on our behalf was a woman I can’t help but think that would have significantly impacted how we have perceived and treated women for the last 2000 years. If the founder of the church was a woman, then perhaps a patriarchy wouldn’t have developed that effectively shut out and silenced the spiritual voice of women. If the body of a woman savior was treasured as sacrament, then perhaps the bodies of women would not have been so degraded, abused, and despised over the years. If for 2000 years women hadn’t lived in oppression, silence, and fear I wonder how much our collective input would have changed history. Would we have allowed the posturing and pissing contests of men to nearly destroy the world in wars? Would we have allowed nature to be oppressed and raped instead of cultivated and cared for? And would the Kingdom of God be that much more vibrant and alive today if during that time it had been impossible to forget the feminine side of God or to muzzle the spiritual insight of half the church?

These are all hypothetical questions of course. But just the asking can be the first step in destabilizing paradigms. The historical truth of Jesus being born a girl matters less than how asking the question can move us towards living like it was.

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Go and Do Likewise

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So the November edition of Next-Wave Ezine is out and I have an article in it called Go and Do Likewise. It’s based on a meditative exercise we did in church recently on Luke 4:40-44 and is my somewhat snarky realization of how we let our vision of Jesus get in the way of Jesus. I originally titled it, “Go and do likewise or else get the hell out of my way,” but for some odd reason that was changed. So if you’re interested in a ranty re-interpretation of scripture in which I make Jesus cuss (among other things), check out the article.

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Jesus is not a Magic Wand

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So I know this post will be completely misunderstood by certain people. But I’ve been more and more disturbed recently by the tendency to fetishize Jesus by turning him into some sort of strange magical object. It’s nothing new – chanting the name of Jesus as if it were some sort of charm is quite ingrained in the Christian faith. What is disturbing to me are the people who call me unchristian if I dare question that practice.

What do I mean by Jesus as magic wand? It can be as simple as needing to surround ourselves with the idea of or name of Jesus as if it is a charm. It’s the Christian radio stations that have quotas for how often the name of Jesus must be repeated in songs each hour. It is the churches that insist that the only proper Sunday service is endless repetitions of an alter call where the name of Jesus is to believed in. I’ve heard sermons that dig deep into scripture or help develop spiritually whole people derided because they didn’t include the magic gospel formula. Or the responses to the recent Sparkhouse video about sparking new life in faith communities that criticized it because Jesus wasn’t mentioned enough. Or when a book comes out on say social justice issues and it gets negative reviews because it doesn’t include a gospel presentation as its main focus. I’m sorry that’s like criticizing Calculus textbook for not including a full history of mathematics. Such things are assumed as given. (And btw, I did include a (brief) summary of the gospel message in Everyday Justice – so, critics, back off.)

But as amusing as quotas and shallow baby food sermons may be, where I find this fetishization of Jesus to be most dangerous is in the realm of personal faith. It’s when people are told to “claim the name of Jesus” or to “believe in the healing power of Jesus” in order to deal with depression or marital problems or whatever. I’m all for mystery and the power of prayer and all that – but seriously what do those phrases even mean? By claiming the name of Jesus do I just expect him to work like a magical spell – I say his name with enough conviction and poof everythings better? If it doesn’t work then I just must not be doing it right (i.e. I don’t have enough faith or I’m living in sin). I get it that Jesus heals – I fully believe that. What I can’t buy is that it happens by magic. Healing takes work – it hurts and it requires our effort. I’m reminded of that cliched sermon illustration of the people caught in a flood waiting to be rescued. Each time a boat or helicopter comes to get them, they turn them away saying God will take care of them. Of course they die and in heaven challenge God as to why he didn’t care for them. He replies that he sent boats and a helicopter, why didn’t they take them. People are so convinced that Jesus is so hyper-spiritual and other-wordly that we’ve forgotten that he has to work through the real world. That we are his servants, caring for others and for ourselves. Sure, he empowers and guides us, but not so that we can be lazy and expect fairy-godmother-like intervention. I hurt for those who have been sold that lie. Those they reject therapy or treatments or services because they are waiting of Jesus to suddenly deliver a better life.

Jesus is not a fetish. Jesus is not a magic wand. Following him takes work. His name shouldn’t just be a charm or a mantra. We have to actually look at him and choose to do the dirty work of being like him. That means taking responsibility for our actions, for our hurt, and for the hurt in the world. We are following a guide not clicking our ruby-slippers together waiting to be whisked away. Jesus is real and powerful – we shouldn’t cheapen him by reducing him to trite nonsense. Getting our panties in a bunch because his name isn’t mentioned enough on the radio or a sermon or book doesn’t list the magic formula to get to heaven is a waste of time. Praying for Jesus to save your marriage is pointless unless you take steps to make it happen. Asking Jesus to comfort the poor is mockery unless we are out there being his hands and feet.

So I’m sick and tired of people saying I don’t care about Jesus because I don’t treat him like a household idol to be invoked and ignored at whim. I want to actually follow Jesus – which takes a lot more work and looks vastly different than flicking my magical Jesus wand.

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Standardized Tests, Learning Styles, and Church

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At Christianity 21 I had a fascinating conversation with a couple of educators about how No Child Left Behind with its extreme emphasis on standardized testing has ruined our schools and teachers. They were discussing the stress such tests put on students and the lack of real learning that takes place in schools these days. I totally agree with all that, but the timing of the conversation sparked a few new connections for me. You see, we had just all done the small talk thing about what sorts of churches we attend and why. I understand the huge role personality and preference play in our choice of church to attend, but this conversation helped me pinpoint how much my learning style and hatred of standardized tests effects where I go to church.

Growing up, I never had a problem with standardized tests. They didn’t stress me out. I didn’t have to cover for my teachers helping me cheat on the test like many students these days. No, I was the kid who always got a perfect score on every standardized test. I’m not saying that to brag (because I hate the things), just to say that I learned how to take tests. I learned very early on how to give the test or the teacher exactly what they wanted to hear. So I could parrot back right answers. I could fill in the correct bubble with my number two pencil. And as I grew older I could ace pop quizzes on books I simply skimmed or get an A+ on a 10 page book report on a book I never read. I knew the system, I knew how succeed in a “learning” environment where all I had to do was regurgitate the exact crap the teacher wanted. And I thought it was all a joke.

I hated classes where this sort of so-called learning was the norm. To me it was just a game of information and not true intellectual engagement. I felt silly at the grade-school assemblies where I got trophies for my perfect scores because I knew it was meaningless. I felt ashamed at good grades that meant nothing. So when I first started to encounter settings where real learning took place, I dove headfirst into the opportunity. In high school that was the IB program. Where the AP classes were just all about learning the right way to take more vigorous tests, the IB classes were all discussion based. With no more than a dozen of us in each class we would explore the books we read, discuss poetry, pull out the themes in history, and design our own science experiments. Our grades were based on long essays where ideas and not form were the point. Or we were evaluated by sitting down for hour long discussions with our teacher. I came alive in that environment as I realized that real learning involved interaction and engagement. In college , expecting more of the same, I could barely stand the classes where it was all about just playing the system and bsing my way through. I wanted to learn, not just make it through.

So understanding that about myself helps me see why I attend the church that I do. I really can’t stand sermons or liturgy. I don’t want someone telling me what I should think without giving me the chance to engage. Nor do I like feeling like I have to engage in the right rituals of the system in order to do church right. I get how those things work for people with other preferences and learning styles, but they aren’t for me. I need to engage, be a part of a discussion, to push back when presented with ideas, to be able to connect what happens in church to life, and history, and music, and politics, and movies, and parenting…. I don’t want to feel like I have to fill in the right bubble or spit out some pretty sounding bs in order to be a part of church. I’ve been there, done that, and it felt false. I was good at it, just as I was good as standardized tests, but it didn’t spiritually form me. So I get uneasy with the recent popularity of discussions upholding the traditional forms of church and the sermon as the only right way to do church. Those are hollow to me and represent a detachment from meaningful faith. Others can have and celebrate those things, I just need something different.

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Certainty as Unfaithfulness

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During Sunday school this morning at church, we discussed the testing of Jesus in the desert. At one point we divided into groups and were told to reflect on the tests and discuss what modern day equivalents might be. My group was given the third test as presented in Luke –

Luke 4: 9-12
The devil led him to Jerusalem and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down from here. For it is written:
” ‘He will command his angels concerning you to guard you carefully;
they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’”

Jesus answered, “It is said: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’

As we discussed the passage one of the ideas that emerged was that our need for certainty in our faith is in fact a means of testing God. Jesus, of course, could have easily done what Satan suggested and proven to the people of Jerusalem that he was indeed the son of God with angels at his bidding. Having that evidence, providing that proof – might yes have gained him followers, but they wouldn’t have had faith. They would have had knowledge of who he was, but wouldn’t have had to choose to place their faith in who he claimed to be.

In the Bible we are often presented with those who offer such tests to God. Gideon lays out the fleece to God multiple times – he wants tangible proof that it isn’t foolish to follow God. Moses tries to gain the power of God’s name through a sly question. Thomas asks to see Jesus’ wounds. And God responds with what each of them needed. But at the same time, in scripture we hear the call to be responsible for our faith. To choose to follow out of love not out of secure certainty. To exercise our faith without holding God to one test or another.

This isn’t about not having a rational faith or whether or not Absolute Truth exists, it’s about believing in something bigger than ourselves without having to confine it to the smallness of our imaginations. It’s about telling God that we are okay not controlling her and that we will trust her even though we are consumed with questions and doubt. That, like Jesus, we will not settle for the easy path where faith can be reduced to a magic trick or scientific explanation or historical argument. Those things are fascinating and helpful in discovering more about our faith, but really miss the point as foundations for faith. To demand certainty is to test God. Perhaps the strongest faith is to embrace the messiness of doubt, to wrestle with the hard questions, and to choose to follow Jesus every day anyway.

I’ve developed enough in my faith that I no longer see doubt as a sin or defect. But I’m beginning to wonder if I should start seeing certainty in that light – as a roadblock to true faith and an unfaithful testing of God.

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Insurrection for Peace

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Over this past year I’ve been part of various discussions that question if seeking the Kingdom of God can be equated to revolution. The general opinion of those who believe it can’t asserts that human endeavour cannot be the means by which the Kingdom comes. As in, we can’t follow some postmillennial social gospel that believes that we can create heaven here on earth. I agree with that, but at the same time am uneasy with those who then say “so, therefore, why bother doing anything? Let’s just set our sites on the world to come.”

Such an approach ignores the already and not yet aspects of the Kingdom. To claim that we are currently part of the Kingdom because God is among us, and that we are in fact helping God’s Kingdom come “on earth as it is in heaven” by anticipating in hope the future fulfillment of the Kingdom, is not the same as some misguided faith in progress. We (the communal we of humankind) don’t expect to complete the task, but still must participate because in one sense we already inhabit the very realm we are hoping to create.  In other words, we simply must do our duty skingdom citizens.

So this past weekend at Matter ‘09, I was grateful to Pete Rollins for putting a better language to this whole manner of living. He said that, yes, in the grand scheme of things we are part of a revolution, but we will never see its end or entire scope. So instead of confusing critics by speaking of revolutions, we should instead start seeing ourselves as merely part of insurrections. Where we see oppression and injustice in the world, we rise up against it. We are the creators of the systems of this world, we are the ones fueling the oppression, and so we can be the ones to insist upon change and recreate it. It isn’t about ushering in the Kingdom in all its fullness, it is about being the resistance movement in the places where the Kingdom is already under attack.

I loved that imagery he provided. It allows each of us to work where we are at and to bring the changing force of love into the small pockets of the Kingdom we can access. It is grand and cosmic with revolutionary undertones, but without the dangers of confusing our actions with the breaking through of the divine. We work with and for God, trusting in him. Through our transformation in Christ we can be stripped of the power of this world and can affect change in our communities of insurrection. We can rise up for peace, and justice, and love not simply for some future kingdom, but because Christ has already broken through and invites us to live for him now.

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Matter ’09

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So I am feeling very blessed. In the last two weeks I have attended two theology conferences – the Emergent Theological Conversation with Jurgen Moltmann and the Matter ’09 conference. I forget how much being a part of an experience where people can learn and discuss and debate ideas is such a vital part of who I am. Getting a short discussion some weeks in Sunday school or interacting even on blogs just doesn’t cut it for the need to be feed through such interaction. I miss it, and so was very grateful to have a few days where I could be myself. I’ve been reflecting on the Moltmann conversation already here and may continue that as well as add in a few reflections from the Matter conference in the upcoming week.

But I want to say how much I appreciated Matter ’09. It was put on by Shechem Ministries and was billed as a creative theology conference. In essence it brought the arts and theology together through a variety of mediums. As conferences go, it was a very small conference and had some serious kinks in the planning/implementation side of things, but I hope those don’t stand in the way of this becoming a regular gathering. There really is so little being done in the church that explores how art and theology and church life and faith all work together. We need safe spaces where we can explore those sorts of questions, and the Matter conference is the perfect opportunity to make that happen.

This year at the conference we got to approach the issues and learn from a variety of different styles. Throughout the conference there were presentations/workshops from a variety of voices. Some of these were strictly academic, others were talks on the practical intersection of art and faith, and others were artistic sessions like poetry readings or short drama. I was privileged to lead a session on how our mental images of God affect if our response to Eucharist turns us inward to a personalized faith or outward to a service orientated faith. Then there were three main sessions where an academic and an artist engaged the theme verses of the conference while in dialogue with each other. So a painter and a biblical scholar, a filmmaker and a philosopher, and a musician and a textual critic explored together how to interpret and reflect on scripture. Then we also got to hear multiple times from Pete Rollins, who explored with us creative liturgy and pushed us to reflect on lived faith that is in the world but not of it. He, as always, was brilliant and challenged us to remove the facades of our faith. It was cerebral, and emotional, and worshipful all at the same time.

I was grateful to be a part of this event, and thankful to those who put in the work to make it happen. I truly hope it does evolve and survive so that we can continue to see these diverse disciplines interacting and deliberately learning from each other.

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Confession and Guilt

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A couple of weeks ago when we were in Michigan, we attended Mars Hill for church one Sunday. Rob Bell was speaking on Genesis 2 – our call to be co-creators through stewarding creation and how sin disorders the way that was meant to happen. (the sermon The Importance of Beginning in the Beginning is currently available for download). At one point Rob made a comment about sin and confession that struck me (and I may not have the quote completely right here, this is just what I wrote down) –

Confession is admission, recognition, declaration, and agreement that we have participated in the wrong order of things – in ways that don’t further the Shalom of God. And then we repent and say we want to return to the order that God wants.

The definition of confession that I have always heard restricts it to admitting particular sins. You told a lie, you confess it. But that view of confession doesn’t truly cover all the ways we have participated in the disruption of true Shalom. It makes confession all about us and an easy checklist of dos and don’ts instead of our relationship with God and others and our call to participate in the kingdom of God.

For example, when we participate in systems that support injustices in the world we are disrupting Shalom. I would never go so far as to say that buying a banana grown by oppressed workers and with dangerous polluting pesticides is a sin in the traditional understanding of the word, but it is a failure to love and a disruption of the way things ought to be. So we can confess that we have participated in the wrong order of things, failed to support God’s Shalom, and then choose to return (repent) to the order of love and stewardship that God desires. It’s not about acts of individual sin, it’s about an orientation of love.

But it is also not about guilt. Admitting, recognizing, declaring, and agreeing (confessing according to this definition) that these acts of oppression and pollution exist and that we are participants in them is not meant to make people feel guilty but to establish the impetus for change. Unless we admit that there is a problem, then things can never return to the way they should be. All too often those of us who talk about the need to confess our cultural sins (as with purchasing unfairly made items or benefiting from the past slavery of others) are accused of just wanting people to feel guilty. But in truth guilt should have nothing to do with this. Confession comes from a desire to serve God and see his will done. We may yes, feel bad or sorry for our actions, but change comes from positive vision not negative feelings.

This perspective on confession is bigger and messier than we might be used to, but it better reflects the way God desires us to be. It is harder to think of life holistically and attempt to orient ourselves to living out the Shalom of God, but I think it is more reflective of truth and results in deeper commitments to the way of Christ.

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Thoughts on “A Jesus Manifesto”

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I have to say that I’m disappointed in Frank Viola’s and Len Sweet’s latest internet push “A Magna Carta for Restoring the Supremacy of Jesus Christ, a.k.a. A Jesus Manifesto for the 21st Century Church.” Besides the crazy presumptuous title and slight affront to jesusmanifesto.com (which Mark has addressed nicely), the document really seems to be a step backward for the church. In essence “A Jesus Manifesto” calls Christians back to a Christ-centered faith. Which, in general, is something I heartily support. And, in fact, there is much in the document that I completely agree with. But when they say stuff like “What is Christianity? It is Christ. Nothing more. Nothing less.”, I start to have problems.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a Christ-centered faith. And unfortunately those of us who are uncomfortable with the document are now being accused of wanting to ignore Christ or question his divinity. So let me say upfront, that is not the case. Christ is central. Period. But the assertion that Christianity – the movement of the followers of Christ – is nothing more or less than the person of Christ just really seems to miss the point.

The attack and reason for the document springs from the talk about the Kingdom of God and social justice within emerging missional communities. Viola and Sweet insist that such talk turns Jesus into an abstraction and tempts us to ignore the person of Jesus. They say “Jesus Christ was not a social activist nor a moral philosopher. To pitch him that way is to drain his glory and dilute his excellence. Justice apart from Christ is a dead thing.” I’m sorry guys, but Jesus was both of those things. He can’t be reduced to those things, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t embody those things as well. To say that is all he was would yes, drain his glory, but to say he wasn’t those things too denies reality. What is going on here is really a discussion of which image of Jesus we want to embrace – a niche Jesus of one extreme or another or the full Jesus.  More on that in a bit.

My main problem with the document lies in their assumption that those of us talking about justice and the kingdom are doing so apart from the person and power of Jesus. That’s just plain and simply not true. But it has become the favorite straw man argument for the opponents of the emerging missional community. I think in many ways it is based on a misunderstanding of us that projects the theology and history of the classic liberal social gospel movement onto the missional movement. Len Sweet even admitted that the document sprung in part from the lessons he’s learned from teaching a class on the history of the Social Gospel movement in early 20th century America. And while that movement was influenced by theological discussions that questioned the divinity of Christ and sought to find the “historical Jesus,” it is unfair and inappropriate to assume the same thing of the emerging missional movement.

I don’t know how many times we have to stand up and say that caring for the Kingdom, seeking justice, and loving others is all about choosing to focus more on Christ. As Christians we believe in him and follow him. He said, if you love me you will obey me. Not “if you love me, you will worship a ethereal, conceptualized version of me that is disembodied from action and the world I came to save.” When following Jesus becomes simply about doing works or simply about standing in awe of a divine person then we’ve got problems – and a Jesus that has nothing to do with the Jesus of the Bible. Those images of Christ are dangerous, but what I see the manifesto doing is attacking a (projected) incomplete image in favor of another incomplete image.

While Viola and Sweet may personally think that following the commands of Jesus is part of what it means to be a Christian (although they say it is just about Christ), to tell others that talking about the commands of Jesus takes the focus off of Jesus is unhelpful in the extreme. I grew up only hearing about the person of Jesus. Jesus is divine, he did miracles, I am to believe and worship (be in awe of) him. Nothing more. Ever. It is naive to believe that just by presenting this Jesus, people will start doing all that he commanded if those commands aren’t allowed to be talked about. For instance, my daughter attended one night of a neighborhood backyard bible club this week. Her lesson was on Jesus serving the poor and healing the sick. The takeaway was that Jesus did miracles so therefore we have to believe in him. No mention at all of the “go and do likewise” aspect of being a follower of Christ. At this same club, the leader presented the Wordless Book, but after doing the Gold (heaven), Dark (sin), Red (Jesus), White (substitutionary atonement) pages she turned to the Green page and couldn’t remember what it was for. (the green page, btw, is the grow in one’s faith page). It was the perfect representation of a faith that focuses on the need to believe in the person of Jesus to the exclusion of following Jesus. This is the faith I grew up with – one that cares a lot about the person of Jesus but which doesn’t even talk about following his commandments. An impotent faith that essentially tells Jesus that we don’t love him enough to obey his commands.

It is because I love Jesus that I talk about and pursue justice and the kingdom. Even Viola and Sweet mention that “the teachings of Jesus cannot be separated from Jesus himself.” I just wish they wouldn’t falsely accuse us of doing that. And I wish they wouldn’t encourage these dichotomized versions of Jesus by criticizing the actual following of his commands. It is a step backward into the faith my daughter witnessed the other night at the Bible club, and truly unhelpful to the church in the long run. I love Jesus, but I want nothing to do with a faith that is disembodied, disconnected, and impotent. I want to believe in, worship, and follow Christ (since those are all technically one and the same). I’m sorry, but a real Jesus Manifesto wouldn’t be about such a one-sided incomplete image of Jesus. No – it would present Jesus in the fullness of the gospels and not be afraid to tell Christians that following Christ involves a heck of a lot more than standing there slack-jawed in awe of him. I’d love that message to get out to the world, but this, “A Jesus Manifesto” was simply a disappointment in that regard.

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Post-Easter Thoughts

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I enjoyed the Easter service at Journey on Sunday – and I’ve been trying to write about it since then, but the kids had other plans for me. But the service was a good reminder that the point of the Resurrection is not that that it happened, but that we are called to respond to it. For most of my life Easter has been treated as simply an apologetics opportunity. Apparently if we know that it is possible to sweat blood, or the exact effect of crucifixion techniques on a body, or that the gospels were written too close to the event to be legends then we would have no choice but to believe it all happened. I think it’s obvious by now that simply knowing supposed facts or even believing something happened does little to change our lives. But nevertheless, the events of Easter continue to be reduced to poor historical forensics. Not that that stuff isn’t interesting or has a place, just that it really isn’t what Easter is about.

The argument that really gets me (which was brought up at church during the discussion) is the whole “the Easter story is just too fantastic and imperfectly told to be made up. The disciples couldn’t have made up this story if they had tried.” I used to buy that argument, but I’ve come to realize it’s utter absurdity. It’s premise rests on two assumptions. One that the gospel story is so unique it has to be true, and two, that imperfections in the writing techniques lend credibility to the story because no good author would allow such discrepancies. My response to proponents of the first premise is – have any of you guys ever read literature or studied history?! Of course authors come up with far more fantastical stories on a daily basis – even in ancient times. Ever read the Epic of Gilgamesh of Greek mythology? How about the Odyssey? In fact many of those old mythological stories about dying gods coming to life are pretty dang similar to the Easter story. How about looking into why we call the day Easter to begin with. Even if the story is true, it is not unique.

And as for the second premise, it assumes that the point of the gospels is to convince people to believe. I guess if we have made Easter all about believing in certain facts, it is understandable that some would assume that the gospel writers had that same purpose in mind. But I have a hard time believing that these stories were written down as evidence to convince us to believe. Jesus didn’t instruct the disciples to spread his story so that everyone would know it was true, he instructed them to train others in the disciplines of the Kingdom. The books we have are tools for helping us understand how to follow Christ. Not just to know what he did and believe it happened, but to live it out. We are to respond to the Resurrection in the ways Jesus called us to live. We can argue all we want about it happening or not, but in the end that does nothing to serve Christ. Choosing to respond and actually live in the way of Christ is where the true significance lies.

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