Category: Theology

The Contemplative and Active Life

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I’m sure I’ll get in trouble for writing this, but I need to rant for a minute about a theological pet peeve of mine. To put it bluntly I’m sick and tired of the false dichotomy theology has created between the contemplative and the active life of faith. Granted, the conversation of the vita activa versus the vita contemplative sounds a bit medieval (and I’m sure Thomas Aquinas would serve me a disputative smackdown on the subject), but the division still permeates our religious psyches today.

In its historical definition the contemplative life is the one that is focused on meditation on God. It is a life full of prayer, of the study of scripture, of divine listening. The active life on the other hand is the life of service – of caring for the poor, the needy, and the oppressed. The contemplative life is supposedly about loving God and the active life about loving our neighbors. The Medieval theologians, influenced by Platonic and gnostic thought in their deprecation of the body, not only made the distinction between the two, but placed them in a hierarchical relationship. They argued that the contemplative life – the one that focused on spiritual things – was superior to the active life which was mired with its association with sinful and corrupt bodies. There, of course, was also some class snobbery involved here. Only the wealthy and the clergy had the luxury to live a contemplative life while the peasants had no choice but to live a sort of active life in order to survive (and make the lives of the wealthy and the clergy possible). By defining contemplative worship of God as superior to active service, those groups created a caste system where they reinforced their position at the top of the social hierarchy.

They, of course, supported the division with scripture, most often using the Mary and Martha story to support their position. Since Mary listened at the feet of Jesus she became the archetype for the contemplative life, while busybody Martha was associated with the active life. Once those associations had been made, using Jesus’ affirmation of Mary’s choice as the better one was an easy way to argue for the primacy of the contemplative life. This interpretation of the story is the one still supplied even in churches where the average member has never even heard of guys like Thomas Aquinas. We still get fed theology that tells us that bible study, prayer, devotions, liturgy, meditation and the like are better ways to know God than the active forms of service. We still create that dichotomy that not only separates but privileges the soul above the body.

But as I see it, that division is utterly false and creates unnecessary barriers for our walk with God. To begin with, I don’t buy into the idea that we are spiritual beings trapped in corrupt bodies. I don’t think the physical world is something to be put up with until we can escape to our true home. God created this world and called it good. My body is good. Not simply because it houses my soul, but because it is how God created me to be. I don’t have to ask if I am a spiritual or a physical creature – they are inseparable. I cannot be me if I wasn’t both at the same time. So I’m not starting with the same “spiritual=good, physical=bad” assumptions that fueled most of the contemplative vs. active debates.

But beyond embrace a holistic view of people, I also see the creation of hierarchies between the contemplative and active life to be utterly unbiblical. Those that propose such suggest that when Jesus delivered the greatest commandment, he gave two separate and ranked commands. Love God (be contemplative). And then (second and therefore inferior) love people (be active). In that view, it’s not that one shouldn’t love and serve others, only that contemplative practices are better for communing with God.

By why must the command be seen as dualistic and ranked? As I read scripture, loving God and loving people are one and the same. Doing acts of service, leading the active life, is an act of worship, a way to reflect back to God a bit of the imago dei. When we read the demands God makes of his people there is no division of the two. We are told to rest on the Sabbath so that we will not overwork servants and animals. The day was not created to spend time contemplating God, but to ensure the wellbeing of people. When Micah lists what the Lord requires of us, humble piety is listed alongside acts of mercy and justice. Isaiah goes a step further and condemns people for participating in contemplative acts of worship and while ignoring the injustice in their own community. He tells that that the worship God desires involves feeding the hungry and helping the oppressed. We are reminded over and over again that God cares for the physical wellbeing of people – if we dare claim to know and follow that God our worship should reflect that aspect of God’s character.

Acts of solemn contemplation and acts of service are both ways we worship and come closer to God. The point is relationship with God. Mary wasn’t preferred to Martha because she sat still while Martha worked. Mary sought to follow God. Seeking God is what is preferred. No need to insert gnostic lies about the evil body. No need to create social caste systems. No need to say that one form of worship is better than another. Loving God and loving people are the same thing. We can’t choose between the two. We can’t say one is better than the other. To love God is to love people and to love people is to love God. It is what we were created to do; it is what God expects of us.

So I’d really appreciate it if people would stop spewing lies about how one is better than the other. Prayer is no better than feeding the hungry. Setting the oppressed free is no better than lectio divina. All are acts of worship. All bring us into closer relationship with God. Continuing to promote the dichotomy only serves to restrict people from serving God in the fullness of who God is. Paul got it right when he chided the Corinthians for desiring what they deemed to be the greater gifts. Pretending to be holier than others by asserting that the way your worship is superior to other types (or refusing to acknowledge that anything else is worship) misses the point. The Bible says God detests such worship gatherings. So in my insignificant opinion maybe it’s high time we got rid of this petty division between the contemplative and active lives (and all the posturing that goes along with it) and start worshiping God fully. Because isn’t that what it’s supposed to be about anyway?

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Christian Perspectives on LGBT

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So a friend recently asked my opinion regarding the differing views churches hold about LGBT people. Since most people seem to think churches’ stances are limited to the either/or of complete rejection or full acceptance, I thought it was helpful to reflect on the more nuanced opinions that are out there. I’ve decided to post the list of views I came up with below. But first I need to state a few disclaimers and warnings.

I want to post this list to see what other options the readers here might have to contribute. The point of this is not to argue which view is right, but merely to list what views are held by church. Also, I’m writing as someone who has not personally experienced the pain and struggle that typify many LGBT peoples experience with the church. I don’t want to ignore that pain or that in discussing churches’ views I am discussing things that have affected the lives of real people, but I’m only trying here to give a snapshot of what I’ve seen. I’ve also left out the views on the extremes – i.e. the Fred Phelps hatred and the anything goes tolerance – to focus on views that I’ve had experience with in churches. So here’s my 2 cents…

Group 1. This group thinks all forms being gay are a willful choice to sin against God and the Bible. While they might not use hate speech like Fred Phelps, they generally won’t allow gay people to attend their churches. If they do, they insist that they repent and seek a cure for their sinful choices. Often this group tries to hide the existence of gay people in culture as well. They fight libraries that have children’s books about two mommies, they see a gay agenda in the media if a gay person shows up on a TV show, and oppose gay marriage as an endorsement of sin. If they know anyone who is actually gay, it is generally only someone who has been treated of their problem and now asks for continual prayer that they won’t fall back into sin. To them the Bible is clear and easy to understand in its condemnation of same-sex relationships since (in their view) people don’t interpret the Bible, it simple speak the truth for itself.

Group 2. The second group would still say that being gay is unbiblical/sinful, but they would be more nuanced and loving in that assertion. They may or may not see being gay as a choice, but they will generally admit that it is something that goes so deep in a person that they cannot willfully choose not to be gay. So while they might say that being gay may not be a choice (and therefore not wrong in and of itself), for them acting on gay desires is always wrong. So while they love and accept people who have the condition, they condemn gay sex, gay relationships, and gay marriage. So there are churches where people who openly identify as gay can attend (although they are always known by that label) and they might even be allowed to serve in some non-leadership positions in the church (but generally never with children). Like hetero singles, they are constantly encouraged to keep pure but have the harder struggle since they know that they will never be allowed to find love without slipping into sin and being rejected by their church community. There is generally much outreach in these communities to get practicing gays to join this “accepting” community where they have support to stop practicing.

Group 3. The third group generally believes that being gay is a condition and not a choice. They may or may not believe that practicing being gay is biblical or not, but what they believe about that matters less than the fact that they know they need to be loving and accepting of all people. Gay people are God’s beloved just as hetero people are, so the church should love them just as God loves them. The discussions here are generally about rights and justice. The language is that all people should be granted the same benefits of civil society no matter who they love. So gay marriage is supported and any discrimination whatsoever is fought against and condemned. Some in this group would still speak against gay promiscuity, just as they would hetero promiscuity (which is part of why they support gay marriage). They understand that the Bible has been used in hurtful and hateful ways against gay people in the past and they want to move past that. They might have read some alternative interpretations of the few Bible passages that seem to condemn same-sex relationships, but they may or may not be convinced by either interpretation. Since they generally know and are friends with gay people, they are okay with the ambiguity of biblical interpretation because they see being in loving relationship as being far more important than dogma.

Group 4. In the fourth group I would place those that have devoted the time to digging through scripture and history and have decided that there is nothing unbiblical about same-sex relationships. Their decision generally isn’t based on cultural-pressure or a sense of tolerance, but the conclusion of a serious wrestling with scripture. They are often told that they are unbiblical and just want to support sin, but often they have very strong doctrine based on the Bible and Christian tradition (although it often is more of an ancient or postmodern interpretation than modern evangelical). They will be advocates for the gay community when needed, but since their theology doesn’t see gay people as other, they often don’t see people first by that label. They often have a hard time finding churches where they fit in as many churches either still see gay people as somehow inferior or make the entire church’s identity about including gay people. While many people in this group devote themselves to wrestling honestly with the whole of scripture, there is a portion who knew they had to try to figure out the gay issue in scripture and so that is the extent of their wrestling. So while they have intellectually resolved that scripture does not condemn gay people, they still might hold to “biblical” ideas of sexism and racism because they were taught such things when they were younger. So it is hard to classify this group as liberal or tolerant, they are simply those who are willing to wrestle with scripture and conclude that there is no need to condemn.

Do these groups seem accurate? What other perspectives would you add?

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My Arm Doesn’t Need Healing

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a post I wrote for the Christian Century blog

I was born missing my left arm below the elbow. This technically means I have a disability, though I find it hard to identify with the label. Missing my arm is simply what I know, part of my basic everyday existence. I know the limits of my ability, but I see no need to define myself by them. Similarly, I don’t mind being asked about my arm, just as I don’t mind being asked about a new haircut–I feel no need to be ashamed or apologetic for my physical form.

So it is always a bit jarring when I encounter people who think I should feel ashamed about my appearance. These people, when meeting me, look at my arm and immediately say, “I’m sorry.” From their point of view my life must be so miserable that I deserve their pity.

I have church friends (and yes, family members) who let me know that they have been praying for years that God would grow my arm. According to their view, if I only had the faith of a mustard seed then some sort of miraculous arm sprouting would occur. I’ve learned to take such responses in stride, knowing that their rejection of who I am says more about their insecurities than it says about me. But I struggle more when I hear such things from church leaders.

For instance, Rowan Williams, writing about the eucharistic interdependence of the corporate body of Christ, says that abled people should not respond in fright to handicapped people but instead realize that abled people need the healing of the handicapped for their own good–just as the handicapped need abled people’s wholeness for theirs. He calls this the outworking of the sacramental vision.

I could barely read any farther, as his words forced me to realize that he views people with disabilities as “other.” Instead of being allowed to be ourselves, we are reduced to a category of people who must be healed before we can be accepted as equals.

Few people would deny that it is hurtful to tell a woman she must become a man or to tell a black man he must become white in order to be a full member of the body and experience wholeness. But some people still assume that people who are differently-abled need to become like someone else in order to be whole.

Our faith celebrates the idea of the word becoming flesh and dwelling among us, yet we reject physical bodies that seem different. It is one thing to say that our condition as human beings is broken. It’s another thing to assert that some people are more broken simply because they have only one arm, or use a wheelchair, or have different mental processes. We are all the broken body of Christ struggling to be in communion with God and each other.

God created me to be tall, to be a woman, to have brown hair and a left arm that ends at the elbow. I don’t need to be healed of any of that in order to be a member of the body of Christ.

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Barna and the New Calvinists

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As posted at the Christian Century blog –

In a new study on the influence of the NeoReformed or “New Calvinist” movement on the church, the Barna Group concludes that “there is no discernible evidence from this research that there is a Reformed shift among U.S. congregation leaders over the last decade.” A number of evangelical Christian leaders (such as Skye Jethani and Ed Stetzer) maintain that the study seems to contradict their on-the-ground experience. With the growing popularity of New Calvinist books and conferences, and with leaders like Mark Driscoll and John Piper becoming the secular media’s go-to Christian voices, the NeoReformed movement appears to truly be the next new evangelical thing. Yet according to Barna, there are no more pastors who identity as Reformed today than there were ten years ago.

I’ve frequently questioned Barna’s methods and conclusions. Here I wonder if the researchers are forgetting the ways in which perception is often reality. A culture or subculture’s zeitgeist is not easy to measure. The influence of the NeoReformed crowd–often evidenced through hyper-Calvinist theology, strict gender roles and belief in penal substitutionary atonement as the litmus test for one’s faith–goes beyond pastors or even church members self-identifying as Reformed.

I’ve been shocked recently to discover the stealth influence the movement has had on evangelical friends and family. When I was attending a conservative evangelical Bible church some 12-15 years ago, the church believed in a free-will theology and mocked people who followed a human like Calvin instead of following only the Bible. These days, the same friends still think following Calvin is wrong, yet their theology is pure Calvinism. They truly believe that their theology comes from a plain reading of scripture, and they become really confused when I point out how their “biblical” theology has shifted. They never call themselves Reformed, but for all practical purposes, that is what they are.

I see a comparable influence at work in the church I currently attend. The church is very much an emerging church–we are postmodern, the leaders read all the emerging authors–yet we do not call ourselves emerging. In fact, most of the people at the church have no idea what the emerging church is. But we are influenced by the movement.

So I would not dismiss the influence of the NeoReformed crowd simply because it cannot be easily measured. Minds are being changed (whether they realize it or not) through books, radio shows, magazines and conferences. Ideas have power. And for those of us who worry about what the influence of the NeoReformed message means for the church–especially for women in the church–I don’t think we should let this study convince us to stop being watchful.

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Finding Our Home

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The themes of exile and home have permeated my life in recent weeks. From my experiences in the classroom and church, to encounters in song and film, this idea that we all are seeking to find where we truly belong has been a common theme. Like the Israelites who hung their harps by the rivers of Babylon and wept for their loss of home, humanity is generally assumed to be in exile in our fallen world. There is the sense that we have lost something or that we are not as we were meant to be. The desire to be released from this exile saturates our expressions of cultural longing. But there is a wide range of ideas regarding what it means to put an end to exile and find our true home. For many finding that home requires looking to either the past or the future, but I have to wonder if the solution might be closer than we think.

On one hand the desire to escape exile produces romantic notions that promote a sense of nostalgia. The idea is that we are trying to get back to something – trying to return to our true home so to speak. Like the Israelites in Babylon, we define ourselves by what we have lost and seek constantly to regain it. Like Wordsworth some assert that heaven lies about humanity in our infancy, but that “our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting” taking us away “from God, who is our home.” This is a longing for the garden, for the innocence that defined humanity once upon a time. There is a sense that if we could just get back to where we began all would be right with the world. All the knowledge, and civilization, and development of humankind is but a distraction pulling us further and further away from where some feel we are meant to be. Our true home is in a fixed place and it is to that place that we must return. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, some conclude that “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with!” All the adventures we undertake and the learning we acquire serve simply as reminders of what has been lost that we are to long to return to.

But returning to the innocence of infancy, to our childhood home, never truly satisfies for the simply reason that that home no longer exists – we can never fully return. We have been changed with knowledge – exile has altered our very being. So for some the answer to our altered condition is to shift that longing from the fixed place we came from to a fixed place where we are going. Call it Heaven or the New Jerusalem or even the sweet by and by, it is a longing for a future time when all will be right in the world and we will finally be where we belong. As some sing, “some glad morning when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away; To a home on God’s celestial shore.” It is a hope to escape our exile with a future reward of home and belonging. Our life now will pass away; all its trials and tribulations vanish once we fly away to where we are supposed to be (which obviously isn’t where we are now).

My issue with both the longing for a lost or a future home is that they deny our process of becoming. When we escape the mundane confines of the world of our exile, these theories have us leaving behind the process that shaped us into who we are. Our journey of becoming who God created us to be is erased in one magical moment of arriving at our final permanent destination. But in truth, just as we can never truly go back, we can also never fully arrive. In searching for this place called home – in ending an imposed exile – there seems to be a need for constant movement. As we serve our purpose of reflecting the image of God, that reflection will always expand and change but never merge. We won’t ever become God, but instead constantly journey towards God. It’s like how C.S. Lewis presents the afterlife in both The Great Divorce and The Last Battle – we must always be moving further in and further up, unceasingly discovering that each moment is “only the beginning of the true story, which goes on forever, and in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

Even in exile we are on this journey, which begs the question if we are actually truly in exile. But there is no denying our broken world; we all have an innate knowledge that there is some other place of belonging to be longed for. What makes all the difference is that even in a world fallen away from God, God is still present. There is no need to return to God or to await God, but to find God and discover in God where we belong. If God is with us and we are journeying to God, it implies that we are constantly both dwelling in and moving towards our true home. We are already part of that continuing story that goes on forever. As the poet R.S. Thomas writes, “Life is not hurrying on to a receding future, nor hankering after an imagined past. It is the turning aside like Moses to the miracle of the lit bush, to a brightness that seemed as transitory as your youth once, but is the eternity that awaits you.” We find our home in the moment even as we seek to become something more than who we are in that moment. This places our home in the present, but assures that it is never static. To claim such a static home would be to pitch our tent in Babylon and embrace exile apart from the transforming work of God. The Kingdom is here and now, but it is never just here and now. We must always be seeking God as we make our home in God.

This idea of finding our true home in our present incarnation as image-bearers who continuously seek after God is, I think, why the Tolkien quote, “Not all those who wander are lost” resonates with so many of us (as did the ending of Lost). We know that we can never deny who we are to return to some past home, nor does it make sense to long for some happily-ever-after where the adventure abruptly ends. There is always more to ahead, more to discover, more to become. Not all those who wander are in exile, we have found our true home in the very act of seeking that home, or (to paraphrase U2) we can’t say where we’re going but we know we’re going home.

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Creating Liberated Spaces in a Postcolonial World

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Emergent Village will be hosting its annual Theological Conversation this year in Atlanta, GA from Nov. 1-3 on the topic of “Creating Liberated Spaces in a Postcolonial World.” This year’s conversation will feature a global panel of theologians- Musa Dube of Botswana, Richard Twiss of the Lakota Sioux tribe, and Colin Greene of the UK. This blog post was written as my personal response addressing why it is vital for all Christians to engage in the postcolonial conversation. For more information about this event or to register click here.

From a Western vantage point it can be easy to assume that the way we (I am speaking as a white, privileged American here) approach Christianity is normative or perhaps even correct. We call our theology, well, theology, and give modifiers to other people’s theology as if they were somehow inferior or partial theologies. Asian theology, African theology, feminist theology, liberation theology, postcolonial theology – become electives to be dabbled in or ideas to be scorned as heretical in light of the traditions that place our perspective firmly at the center of perceived truth. But in doing so we deny the voice of the church and the truth of Christ’s message. We end up only hearing theology spoken from the mouths of the privileged and the powerful. But Jesus did not come to only bring good news to those who rule the world.

For instance it is hard to advance a truthful theology of suffering when we are the ones forcing others to suffer. In our country where some Christians say they are being persecuted if a salesperson says “happy holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas,” we often lack even the most basic point of reference for understanding how people from different cultural settings who’ve lived through oppression and grief approach their faith.

For example theologian Chung Hyun Kyung comments on the influence on Asian women’s theology of Western colonizers telling them God is love while beating, staving, and raping them. This experience and twisted message affects how they view God and what questions they ask of God. She writes that their challenging of God on his silence during their oppression cannot help but shape their theology. They ask of God, “Where were you when we were hungry? Where were you when we called your name as our bodies were raped, mutilated, and disfigured by our husbands, policemen, and the soldiers of colonizing countries? Have you heard our cries? Have you seen our bodies dragged like dead dogs and abandoned in the trash dumb?” (Struggle to be the Sun Again, p22).

Questions must be asked as theology is done in such postcolonial contexts in attempts to differentiate the message of the colonizers and the message of Jesus. For instance, when oppressed people are told that a good Christian is quiet, subservient, and accepts suffering and poverty by the very colonizers who live in luxury and benefit from the service and poverty of the people, some serious theological reconsideration is in order. A theology that is only ever applied to women or oppressed peoples in order to keep them subservient is highly suspect. Truth and worship are far more important than such self-serving twistings of God’s word. But it takes hearing from these voices from the margins and wrestling with the same questions they wrestle with in order for the church as a whole to move towards a healthy and truthful theology.

But to do so requires humility. It not only requires some of us to give up our positions of power and privilege while admitting that we do not have the corner on Christianity, it may also require repentance and reconciliation. It requires admitting that our privilege came at the expense of others – that the poverty in the world today has its roots in forceful conquest of land, the outright theft of natural resources, and the enslavement of peoples around the world. It requires admitting that the life we now enjoy has its historical roots and present reality in the blood, sweat, and tears of others. It is only after we repent of these sins that we can be open to embracing a fuller theology which we can only learn by listening to the voices of others – often the very others we must ask forgiveness of.

Being open to hearing and believing these truths is difficult. It is far easier to mock th0e theologies of others and call them heretical than to humble ourselves and repent in the name of truth. But it is vital for the health of the community that is the universal body of Christ. The eye cannot say to the hand that I have no need of you – or that I am more important or more connected to God than you. We must embrace our whole body, even the parts we have abused or neglected. To truly be the body of Christ we must listen to the voices of the oppressed and the colonized – for we can never be whole without them.

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What is the Gospel?

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Last week at her blog Rachel Held Evans proposed the question “What is the Gospel?” She received some interesting responses, demonstrating that this really isn’t a straightforward question. She asked a few of us to write down how we would answer that question so she could share our responses at her site as well. As soon as she addressed that question to me, I immediately started singing to myself that old CEF 5-Day Club standard “G-O-S-P-E-L Spells Gospel.” The lyrics in the song define the gospel as – “Jesus died for sinful men, but he arose and lives again. One day he’s coming for those who’ve trusted in him, coming to take us to heaven.” That answer to “what is the gospel?” is so ingrained in me that it is difficult to not just give it as my default answer – “What is the good news? That Jesus died on the cross for my sins.”

When I was 3 that answer was sufficient for me and so I said a prayer to invite Jesus into my heart. The good news as it were was all about me – making sure I got to go to heaven when I died. I didn’t stop to ask what Jesus meant about preaching the gospel of the kingdom, or what it meant when he said he had come to preach the gospel to the poor, or even what it meant to be a disciple and follow the disciplines Jesus demands of his own. I didn’t wonder why I was only taught the gospel about Jesus, and not the gospel of Jesus. I knew my response to “what is the gospel?” and so I didn’t even think to ask those questions for a long time.

Honestly, what really pushed me to start to see the gospel as being about more than just me was how the etymology of the word captured my attention. Wikipedia gives a brief history of the term as follows –

Good News is the English translation of the Koine Greek ευαγγέλιον (euangelion) (eu “good” + angelion “message”). The Greek term was Latinized as evangelium, and translated into Latin as bona annuntiatio. In Old English, it was translated as gōdspel (gōd “good” + spel “news”). The Old English term was retained as gospel in Middle English Bible translations and hence remains in use also in Modern English. 

I loved the dual meaning the term gōdspel – or good spell – evokes in modern English. As a major sci-fi/fantasy/mythology geek, I conjured up images of deep magic working to heal a broken world. The darkness that has crept into our world being fought by the good spells of the power of light.

But this play on words was more than just an interesting literary image for me; it pushed me to start thinking through what it really meant for all things to be reconciled to God. Like a good spell intended to transform the world and push back the darkness, the good news of Christ reaches further than I had ever imagined. The scriptures speak of God so loving the whole world that he sent his son Jesus. We also read of Jesus proclaiming the good news of the Kingdom where the oppressed are set free, the blind given sight, and the brokenhearted healed. The gospel of Jesus challenges believers to pray that God’s Kingdom will be manifest on earth as in heaven, that every person has their daily bread, and that all debts are forgiven. In these inclusive passages I began to see that the gospel as preached in scripture was far bigger than a formula that ensured I went to heaven when I died. Jesus was serious about bringing actual good news to all, and boldly proclaimed that in him this reconciliation of all things had begun. Broken relationships could be healed – shattered relationships within families, amongst nations, amidst creation, and between us and God could be finally be made right. This isn’t just good news for someday in heaven, for, as Jesus proclaimed, in him the prophesies of the poor finding hope, the oppressed being set free, and the blind finding sight are already fulfilled. Those who suffer from oppression and poverty have tangible hope here and now. The good spell has been cast, the deep magic is as work, and the light is pushing back the darkness as Christ reconciles all things to himself.

The gospel, the good news, is about so much more than an economic transaction where I get a ticket to heaven in exchange for intellectually assenting to an idea about Jesus. The gospel is good news for the world. It is about God loving the world enough to send his son and establish his Kingdom. It is the gospel of Jesus, the new way of being that he preached. This good news isn’t just something we believe in or talk about, but something we are called to celebrate and embrace. If it is truly good news we will joyfully accept the challenge to follow in the disciplines of Christ – being his hands and feet working to heal all shattered relationships through his reconciling power. We live out the good news to the world.

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What is Emerging?

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About a decade ago I recall as a volunteer youth leader at my church sitting in the leader’s training session one evening. This was the time when the youth pastor and pastor would walk us volunteers through the lesson we were to lead the students through each night. The topic for that week was something about basics of the Christian faith and we were to discuss with the kids what exactly theology was. The correct answer we were supposed to give was something about systematic theology using Wayne Grudem’s system as the best example. Somewhat naively I asked, “so why don’t we want the kids to know about all the other ways people do theology?” I was met with blank stares and was told that systematic theology is the only sort of theology there is. I responded, “but what about the Christians in other cultures who don’t think in the same patterns as Westerners who prefer more narrative approaches to theology?” to which I was told, “that stuff isn’t real theology, systematic theology is all that these students will ever need to know about.”

While I might still have that conversation in various churches these days, I feel that something has begun to shift in the church since that time. Our globalized world has forced a new understanding of how we conceive of our faith to emerge. It is harder to deliberately ignore the diversity of voices speaking into this thing we call Christianity. While some might still proclaim the other to be wrong simply for being other, it is impossible to deny that the other exists. This isn’t about being open minded or being politically correct, it is simply a necessary reaction to the nature of the world we live in. Other theologies, other voices, other ways of reading scripture exist (other always being relative to one’s vantage point). We are too interconnected to ignore them or pretend they don’t matter. They are simply part of the air we breathe as Christians which is becoming increasingly impossible to not acknowledge.

I am reminded of how my exasperated professor dealt with my rather obstinate historical research methods class in college. A few of the students had dismissed his attempts to teach them differing approaches to how people approach historical research as supportive of revisionist history (and therefore evil). They desperately wanted to cling to the notion that the “God Blessed America” version of history they believed was in fact the only true version of history – any attempts to tell the stories from the margins of women or minorities were simply revisionist corruptions. So the professor had us read a study that detailed the various ways the history of Williamsburg has been presented to tourists over time. Depending on what was going on in the world at the time, the historical story as it was told by the reenactors varied tremendously over the years. Each version had an agenda and portrayed American colonialism in a way that shored up that agenda. It was difficult for the students who were insisting that the very hero-centric pro-God version taught under the influence of 1950’s anti-communism was the real history to continue to bang that drum when the evidence of how history is manipulated by the teller was laid out so blatantly before their eyes.

The world has been blatantly thrust in front of our eyes, and even the church can no longer resist this emerging consciousness. What stories get told and whose theology gets privileged can no longer be determined out of ignorance. In our interconnected world, the voices of womanist and feminist theologians, the cries of the liberation and postcolonial theologies, and the narrative understandings of scripture that focus on exile, family, and oppression are accessible to even the average Christian. The church is far bigger than some of us might have once believed, we just had to be forced to open our eyes and see it. While this might seem a tad patronizing to those outside the American church system (I can see them rolling their eyes at our elation of our delayed “discovery” of the other), I for one am grateful for this emerging sensibility in the church (even if it is long overdue). Coming face to face with the diversity in our unity might not imply immediate acceptance or respect or understanding, but it pushes us outside of ourselves. Seeing a slightly clearer picture of the world as it is forces us to acknowledge and often wrestle with what we see.

Call it interconnectedness, or globalization, or simply awareness of our neighbor, the church is emerging or perhaps converging upon itself. What gives me hope when I consider what is emerging in the church is that the conversation pushes us into this converging community. And when we are in community, when we start to actually know our neighbors, is when we can start to live out the call to love our neighbors.

This entry is part of a Synchroblog on “What is Emerging?” in the church today. Here’s a list of other contributions to this conversation. I’ll add more as they are posted – feel free to write your own post and send me the link!

Pam Hogeweide compares the emerging church movement to a game of ping pong.
Sarah-Ji comments that the emerging questions people are asking are far bigger than any defined movement.
Sharon Brown writes about using labels as an excuse.
Peter Walker reflects on how the emerging church conversation helped him recognize his power and privlege as a white male.
Dave Huth posts a on new ways to talk about religion.
Kathy Escobar finds hope in seeing a spirit of love in action emerging in the church.
Nadia Bolz-Weber reflects on the the beautiful things she sees emerging in her church community.
Chad Holtz writes on our Our Emerging Jewishness.
Julie Kennedy describes her organic entry into the emerging church and reflects on moving forward with a new public face.
Dave Brown comments on the emerging church and swarm theory.
Danielle Shroyer reflects on what is emerging in the church.
Brian Merritt offers his pros and cons of the emerging church.
Julie Clawson is grateful for emerging globalized Christianity.
Susan Philips points out that emergence happens as G-d redeems our shattered realities.
Mike Clawson reflects on the non-western voices that brought him to the emerging conversation.
Jake Bouma suggest that what is emerging is a collapse into simplicity.
Liz Dyer believes a chastened epistemology is a valuable characteristic emerging out of the church today.
Rachel Held Evans writes on what is changing in the church.
Tia Lynn Lecorchick describes the emerging movement as a wood between worlds (from The Magician’s Nephew).
Amy Moffitt shares her journey towards a theology of humility.
Travis Mamone comments on the need for the emerging church to rely on the word of God.
Sa Say reflects on the the prick of doubt.
David Henson lists what he sees as what is emerging in the church.
Angela Harms writes in in defense of emergent.
Wendy Gritter asks how we can listening to the voices from the margins.
Bruce Epperly comments on the largeness of spirit of emerging spirituality.
Linda Jamentz reflects on listening to the voices from the margins in church.
Lisa Bain Carlton hopes that our emerging conversation can respond humbly to our moment in time.
Christine Sine asks how far are we willing to be transformed.
Lori Allen Wilson reflects on what is emerging in the younger generations.
Cynthia Norris Clack sees love emerging in the church.
Bob Fisher lists the values emerging in his faith community
Mihee Kim-Kort writes of the conversions and conversations she sees around her.
Ann Catherine Pittman believes that what is emerging in the church is inclusivity.
Matthew Gallion describes how emergence is spread thin across the whole church.
Phil Snider offers guarded praise of emergent.

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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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