Picture a bowl of fruit in your kitchen, filled with apples or oranges or whatever you like. Picture the plant that grew the fruit, and yourself next to the plant. Now imagine the growing season, and you are trying to make the fruit grow big and sweet. You have a clear idea of what size the fruit should be, and how it should taste. Imagine trying to make the fruit grow bigger by measuring its shortcomings in comparison to better fruit, and treating the fruit directly in the hopes of growing bigger, tastier, more plentiful fruit.
Except it doesn't work that way. You can't cheerlead the fruit and expect that to make them grow. You can't guilt-trip the tree and expect that to work either. You have to have healthy roots, and healthy pruning, and all the things that go into a healthy plant. When that is done, the fruit takes care of itself with time.
So how exactly does focusing on good works create hypocrisy? If someone focuses on results but ignores the factors that matter -- the basic underlying health -- then good results won't happen, except by luck or accident. But when it comes to morality, good works are disturbingly easy to counterfeit. Sometimes there is a temptation to lower the bar, and rather than asking for love as Jesus asks us, instead we may be asked for some set of works that is attainable without love -- like not drinking, or praying a certain number of times a day, or not playing cards. We may be glad for the approval we obtain by fulfilling those requirements, glad to have the satisfaction that we achieve, and we may not ask whether it was a good thing to set our sights on a set of works that is attainable without love. I would compare those works to a bowl full of plastic fruit. We may even get a bumper crop of plastic fruit. Anyone who is measuring by appearance will be completely satisfied with a bowl of plastic fruit. It sure looks good, but the appearance without the substance is the heart of hypocrisy.
How does religion keep falling into the trap to become "rules taught by men"? How often has that pattern repeated itself? We fall into that temptation to demand a set of works we can attain without love. Jesus told the hypocrites of his day that they strained at gnats and swallowed camels. They even tithed from their little herb gardens, every tenth sprig of mint. That's devotion to the letter of the law. That desire for a set of rules we can follow without love, without any thought to justice and mercy: that's the camel.
Showing posts with label the log in our own eyes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the log in our own eyes. Show all posts
Sunday, May 05, 2013
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Utopia vs Eden
I think it's hardwired into who we are, as people, to try to create a paradise. It's the ultimate imitation of God: as he creates a paradise, so we try to create a paradise. Our own efforts may be small: maybe it's a home or a classroom or a garden. Maybe it's a holiday dinner, a summer vacation, a Sabbath -- or some other temporary paradise. Maybe it's a work of art or music.
The ambitious try to create paradise on grand political scales: cities, states, nations -- even the whole world. A big, ambitious paradise can only work if everyone works together. So it quickly seeks legal authority to make people cooperate. If we agreed on what was good and right, there would be no need to force other people to conform. And so the big, ambitious schemes usually come to that point sooner or later, where they go into the business of identifying opponents to be oppressed, discredited, and neutralized. We find that the "paradise" has come with its own ruler, a kind of god (or idol), and a system of values that must not be questioned, along with the laws to promote those values. Hitler, Lenin, Stalin, Castro, Mao, Pol Pot ... are there more? They were all, in their own minds, the heroes leading in the glorious new age, though history is tending to remember them as butchers. How many times did that pattern play out in the 20th century alone? In previous centuries there were other figures, both religious and anti-religious, who tried to create paradise on earth at any price, and likewise became tyrants in a reign of terror. If we can't agree on what is good, then attaining that "good" requires oppressing those with different ideas; whatever else you may call it, it will never be a paradise; there will never even be justice.
They say that "Utopia" is the ancient Greek word for "Nowhere". It has never lasted; in many cases it has never worked at all. In stories, there are so many tales of a utopia gone wrong. In history, there are so many accounts of good intentions, good beginnings, and bad endings.
In Eden, we see some of the same themes: a paradise lost. We see how different ways of deciding "What makes something good or evil?" made the whole thing fall apart -- and involved the question of who was really in charge. But in Eden, that is told without the oppression, and without the reign of terror. There was just a sad ending: as long as there were disagreements about what is right, and what is wrong, and who is in charge -- it can't last. That wisdom has escaped us. That "tree of life" that would make it last forever remains out of reach.
The ambitious try to create paradise on grand political scales: cities, states, nations -- even the whole world. A big, ambitious paradise can only work if everyone works together. So it quickly seeks legal authority to make people cooperate. If we agreed on what was good and right, there would be no need to force other people to conform. And so the big, ambitious schemes usually come to that point sooner or later, where they go into the business of identifying opponents to be oppressed, discredited, and neutralized. We find that the "paradise" has come with its own ruler, a kind of god (or idol), and a system of values that must not be questioned, along with the laws to promote those values. Hitler, Lenin, Stalin, Castro, Mao, Pol Pot ... are there more? They were all, in their own minds, the heroes leading in the glorious new age, though history is tending to remember them as butchers. How many times did that pattern play out in the 20th century alone? In previous centuries there were other figures, both religious and anti-religious, who tried to create paradise on earth at any price, and likewise became tyrants in a reign of terror. If we can't agree on what is good, then attaining that "good" requires oppressing those with different ideas; whatever else you may call it, it will never be a paradise; there will never even be justice.
They say that "Utopia" is the ancient Greek word for "Nowhere". It has never lasted; in many cases it has never worked at all. In stories, there are so many tales of a utopia gone wrong. In history, there are so many accounts of good intentions, good beginnings, and bad endings.
In Eden, we see some of the same themes: a paradise lost. We see how different ways of deciding "What makes something good or evil?" made the whole thing fall apart -- and involved the question of who was really in charge. But in Eden, that is told without the oppression, and without the reign of terror. There was just a sad ending: as long as there were disagreements about what is right, and what is wrong, and who is in charge -- it can't last. That wisdom has escaped us. That "tree of life" that would make it last forever remains out of reach.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Moral Gerrymandering
In politics, a district is said to be "gerrymandered" if the people drawing the district lines have made improbable twists and turns solely to favor their own position and give an outcome more favorable to their own partisan interests. Generally, there is no identifiable reason for the final results other than the electoral advantage they give to the persons who are using their legal authority to give themselves an advantage -- and to put their opponents at a disadvantage.
The same effect takes place in morality. Often, "right" and "wrong" are gerrymandered in favor of each person's perspective. "Right" -- what is "in bounds" -- may mean nothing more than "the set of goals or virtues I am pursuing"; "wrong" may mean nothing more than "the things that really bother me, or that my opponents do" -- those are out of bounds. The problem, again, is that it's self-serving and partisan. (Can anything like that possibly be genuinely moral?) It is a truly rare situation in which all the good is on one side. More typical is that each side has gerrymandered "good" and "evil".
The original "gerrymander" -- the one that inspired the name, looked a little like a salamander. When we gerrymander good and evil, what does the picture look like? The lines we draw for "good" are typically a flattering self-portrait, and our picture of "evil" becomes a caricature of our enemies -- often a malicious one.
And in that fatal move, morality loses all its power to transform us, to guide us, to heal us, or to inspire us. It loses its power to win over our opponents. Gerrymandered morality is impotent. Morality can only transform us when it is an image that is better than we are -- that is, the image of God.
The same effect takes place in morality. Often, "right" and "wrong" are gerrymandered in favor of each person's perspective. "Right" -- what is "in bounds" -- may mean nothing more than "the set of goals or virtues I am pursuing"; "wrong" may mean nothing more than "the things that really bother me, or that my opponents do" -- those are out of bounds. The problem, again, is that it's self-serving and partisan. (Can anything like that possibly be genuinely moral?) It is a truly rare situation in which all the good is on one side. More typical is that each side has gerrymandered "good" and "evil".
The original "gerrymander" -- the one that inspired the name, looked a little like a salamander. When we gerrymander good and evil, what does the picture look like? The lines we draw for "good" are typically a flattering self-portrait, and our picture of "evil" becomes a caricature of our enemies -- often a malicious one.
And in that fatal move, morality loses all its power to transform us, to guide us, to heal us, or to inspire us. It loses its power to win over our opponents. Gerrymandered morality is impotent. Morality can only transform us when it is an image that is better than we are -- that is, the image of God.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Q & A On Church Advertisements
This is a "pet peeves" post, done in Q&A format. It applies to certain types of advertisements, and at the kind of evangelism that is more church advertisement than evangelism. After reading, it should be clear enough which types of advertisement are intended.
Q. How can I get my church's name recognized in our community?
A. If you're more interested in how people see your church's name than how they see Jesus' name, it's time to get back to basics.
Q. How can I increase our Summer Bible School's appeal to the children and their parents?
A. What if we take a risk: assume that people ultimately want to know God's holiness and goodness, Jesus' compassion, and the resurrection -- the reason for our hope. In that light, any "super cool" gimmicky pitches work against our real purpose. The greatest blessing is knowing God; build a program on that. Dare to disciple.
Q. Our evangelism team invites people to church, but so few come. What's the problem?
A. If they don't know Jesus, why would they come to church? Did you tell them about Jesus, or did you tell them about your church?
Q. What can I do to make people see our church as relevant?
A. Are you making a difference?
Q. How can I get my church's name recognized in our community?
A. If you're more interested in how people see your church's name than how they see Jesus' name, it's time to get back to basics.
Q. How can I increase our Summer Bible School's appeal to the children and their parents?
A. What if we take a risk: assume that people ultimately want to know God's holiness and goodness, Jesus' compassion, and the resurrection -- the reason for our hope. In that light, any "super cool" gimmicky pitches work against our real purpose. The greatest blessing is knowing God; build a program on that. Dare to disciple.
Q. Our evangelism team invites people to church, but so few come. What's the problem?
A. If they don't know Jesus, why would they come to church? Did you tell them about Jesus, or did you tell them about your church?
Q. What can I do to make people see our church as relevant?
A. Are you making a difference?
Thursday, April 28, 2011
A different perspective: ethics and arguments
Have you ever eaten a piece of fruit and looked at the seed, and thought about the possibilities before throwing it away? Have you ever looked at an orange or apple or cherry seed and thought, "If I planted this, and all the seeds that came from it, it could be a grove, an orchard, a forest"? How many trees could be grown with a seed's children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren? I have sometimes looked at a seed in a piece of fruit and imagined a whole countryside planted with its offspring, beautiful and thriving. A seed thrown away has killed a forest that might have been.
I don't think it's possible to understand the Roman Catholic views on birth control without seeing humanity in the same way: good, and thriving, and full of possibility with each new birth.
I'm not here to convince anyone of the Roman Catholic views of birth control. I'm here to say: if we haven't really listened to each other, there are thoughts we might never have. (I sometimes wonder if thoughts are the same way. The seed of an idea, given time, might produce a great many other ideas. But if we don't listen ... if we throw it away ... our hard-heartedness and habitual disrespect might cause us to miss out on a whole forest of ideas. And on a whole forest of friends, while we're on the subject.)
I don't think it's possible to understand the Roman Catholic views on birth control without seeing humanity in the same way: good, and thriving, and full of possibility with each new birth.
I'm not here to convince anyone of the Roman Catholic views of birth control. I'm here to say: if we haven't really listened to each other, there are thoughts we might never have. (I sometimes wonder if thoughts are the same way. The seed of an idea, given time, might produce a great many other ideas. But if we don't listen ... if we throw it away ... our hard-heartedness and habitual disrespect might cause us to miss out on a whole forest of ideas. And on a whole forest of friends, while we're on the subject.)
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
What did we lose in the fall?
Have you ever really thought about what the fall has done to our sense of right and wrong? I'm not talking about any punishment or curse. I'm talking about the story of Eden, about the act of stretching out our hand to eat from that tree. The tree was knowledge, wasn't it? Knowledge is good, isn't it? If we had loved knowledge for its own sake, I wonder very much what would have happened; there are those who say that God would have given us that knowledge at the right time.
But we didn't want knowledge for its own sake. We had no interest in knowledge as knowledge. We wanted it for power and status, so we could be like God. As long as we want knowledge for power or status, we will never use it rightly. We already made it plain why we wanted it, what we planned to gain from it, how we will use it.
Look very carefully at exactly what kind of knowledge was supposed to be given: the knowledge of good and evil. That is to say, knowledge of morality, knowledge of ethics. We set out to gain "moral knowledge" in order to gain power and status. It was an intrinsically perverse action, taking up morality because we thought we could use it to gain something. The morality we gained was tainted. Our knowledge of good and evil was imprinted with our decision: the ultimate good in our eyes was not quite what it should have been. And time after time when the call for "morality" goes out, we see that we are still using morality to gain status and power.
There truly is good, and knowledge of good and evil. But so long as we take the "knowledge of good and evil" in order to use it for our own gain, we will never be able to see it. Right and wrong have to be re-thought from the foundation.
But we didn't want knowledge for its own sake. We had no interest in knowledge as knowledge. We wanted it for power and status, so we could be like God. As long as we want knowledge for power or status, we will never use it rightly. We already made it plain why we wanted it, what we planned to gain from it, how we will use it.
Look very carefully at exactly what kind of knowledge was supposed to be given: the knowledge of good and evil. That is to say, knowledge of morality, knowledge of ethics. We set out to gain "moral knowledge" in order to gain power and status. It was an intrinsically perverse action, taking up morality because we thought we could use it to gain something. The morality we gained was tainted. Our knowledge of good and evil was imprinted with our decision: the ultimate good in our eyes was not quite what it should have been. And time after time when the call for "morality" goes out, we see that we are still using morality to gain status and power.
There truly is good, and knowledge of good and evil. But so long as we take the "knowledge of good and evil" in order to use it for our own gain, we will never be able to see it. Right and wrong have to be re-thought from the foundation.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
The hope of the nations -- and of the Christians, and of the sinners
The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwell in the land of the shadow of death, on them the light has shined. ... For unto us a child is born. (Isaiah 9:2, 6)So as I mentioned before, "business as usual" is living in darkness and the shadow of death. I've read lots of words today (Christmas; I'm scheduling this to post the next day). Some of the words have been encouraging, but some have been words in which people rehearse their hatred towards other people, or criticize others for celebrating Christmas in a way they don't approve (like with all the sparkly lights), or justify thoughts that they are, after all, more knowledgeable about Christianity than most others. Sometimes it gives the appearance that knowledge is used to put down others; if one person has more facts about the historical background of the day, then the brother or sister in Christ they're presuming to instruct had best stop talking back and admit the superiority of the other. Even if they're as right as they imagine about facts, who is exalted? Business as usual is walking in darkness for all of us. Sometimes the temptation is for us to think we're the light, the "star". We're not.
We're Christian writers, right? I expect we all would like to see these things we write as righteous acts, or at least as our best efforts at it. Which brings into focus something else Isaiah taught us: our righteous acts are filthy rags before God, and it rarely occurs to us that "Chief of sinners" applies to us and our righteous acts, especially in our religiosity, especially when we're most sure we're not the problem -- especially when we're sure we're the light, the star. That was what convinced Saul of Tarsus, after all, to go full steam ahead with his wickedness back in the day: it was precisely his religiosity -- his certainty that here, he was in the right and the others were wrong, so no holds barred in opposing them -- that led him to be chief of sinners, that led him to shed innocent blood, that led him to be arrogant and cruel and ruthless, to lose all sense of perspective. Perspective comes with humility. It is often when we're most convinced that we are the light (the enlightened ones, or the stars) that we are in the deepest darkness. It's not about us. It's really not.
For unto us a child is born. Unto us a son is given. And the government will be upon his shoulders. And his name shall be called: Wonderful, Counselor, Almighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of peace there shall be no end. He will reign on David's throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that day forth and forevermore. The zeal of the LORD Almighty will accomplish this. (Isaiah 9:6-7)
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Christmas, interrupting business as usual
The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwell in the land of the shadow of death, on them the light has shined. ... For unto us a child is born. (Isaiah 9:2, 6)All year long, we go about business as usual -- and often, "business as usual" is living in darkness, and the shadow of death.
God interrupts business as usual. And God in his wisdom did not send mere words but a child, who in his wisdom did not come to condemn but to forgive. And there lies our hope.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Lord's Supper: toasting each other's forgiveness
And he took the cup and gave thanks, and gave it to them saying, "Drink from it, all of you, for this is my blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many for the forgiveness of sins." (Matt 26:27-28)Whenever we receive the Lord's supper, we receive Christ's pledge that our sins are forgiven. Many times we comfort ourselves with this -- that our sins are forgiven, that here in communion we have Christ's pledge sealed with his own body and blood.
So how is it possible for our feuds to continue? Haven't we all come together to take the same bread and wine? Haven't we all shared the same cup, and raised the toast of "forgiveness"? When we celebrate our own forgiveness, we celebrate our brothers' and sisters' forgiveness as well. Everyone who has taken that bread and wine has shared in the forgiveness of sins. Do we still keep a record of their wrongs, when God has forgiven them? I think we must be offending against Christ, to come for our own forgiveness based on his sacrifice, and refuse to forgive our brothers who have come for that same forgiveness.
The Lord's Supper is not just a fresh start for each of us personally. It is also a fresh start for all those in Christ. There is a power in that, that all the evil that has worked throughout a congregation might be undone by a single worship service. By coming together just once fully embracing what God has done not just for one of us, but for all of us together, layers on layers of resentment can be washed away in a single morning. It must be a grave insult to evil that all its work can be undone so easily, by bread and wine and Christ's forgiveness. Evil's power must be nothing next to God's, that years of bitterness and strife can be undone in a single hour.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
The worries of this world: a call to prayer
It is impossible to be worried and thankful at the same time. One will overshadow the other, pushing it to the side. "I'm thankful, but ..." something steals the joy from us, and our thankfulness is shallow. Or, "I'm worried, but ... " I have things to be thankful for. Still we speak with thoughts that are clouded with worry.
Jesus warned us of this. "The one who received the seed that fell among the thorns is he who hears the word -- and the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of wealth choke it, and it becomes unfruitful." (Matt 13:22, see also Mark 4:19, Luke 8:14)
As followers of Jesus, we take this seriously. I have heard many Christians speak about Jesus' call to watch out for wealth, for the love of money, for its deceitfulness, for the divided loyalty it brings, for the threat and temptation that it poses. We may not see as clearly that Jesus says that worries -- the cares of the age and of the world -- stand beside the deceitfulness of wealth as an enemy, no less an enemy than the love of money. They are just the same in effect: a thorn or a thistle, a thing using up our energy and choking off the new life that Christ has planted in us. The cares of this life are a snare to the faithful just like drunkenness (Luke 21:34). In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus calls us to set aside worry.
Matthew records Jesus saying twice that the Father knows what we need: once in telling us not to worry (Matthew 6:32), and once in urging us to pray (Matthew 6:7-9). Jesus' repetition of this key fact -- that the Father knows what we need -- forges a link between our worries and our prayers.
"Cast all your cares on God, for he cares for you." (I Peter 5:7)
Jesus urges us to pray to God without useless repetitions. We should not be tempted to think that our prayers earn some reward by a show of devoutness, or imagine that God did not know what we needed before we prayed. Instead, we are urged to pray based on the confidence that God already knows what we need -- and loves us.
In times like these it may be especially necessary, before we can give thanks, that first we give God our worries and unload all of our cares.
"Cast all your cares on God, for he cares for you." (I Peter 5:7)
Jesus warned us of this. "The one who received the seed that fell among the thorns is he who hears the word -- and the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of wealth choke it, and it becomes unfruitful." (Matt 13:22, see also Mark 4:19, Luke 8:14)
As followers of Jesus, we take this seriously. I have heard many Christians speak about Jesus' call to watch out for wealth, for the love of money, for its deceitfulness, for the divided loyalty it brings, for the threat and temptation that it poses. We may not see as clearly that Jesus says that worries -- the cares of the age and of the world -- stand beside the deceitfulness of wealth as an enemy, no less an enemy than the love of money. They are just the same in effect: a thorn or a thistle, a thing using up our energy and choking off the new life that Christ has planted in us. The cares of this life are a snare to the faithful just like drunkenness (Luke 21:34). In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus calls us to set aside worry.
Matthew records Jesus saying twice that the Father knows what we need: once in telling us not to worry (Matthew 6:32), and once in urging us to pray (Matthew 6:7-9). Jesus' repetition of this key fact -- that the Father knows what we need -- forges a link between our worries and our prayers.
"Cast all your cares on God, for he cares for you." (I Peter 5:7)
Jesus urges us to pray to God without useless repetitions. We should not be tempted to think that our prayers earn some reward by a show of devoutness, or imagine that God did not know what we needed before we prayed. Instead, we are urged to pray based on the confidence that God already knows what we need -- and loves us.
In times like these it may be especially necessary, before we can give thanks, that first we give God our worries and unload all of our cares.
"Cast all your cares on God, for he cares for you." (I Peter 5:7)
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Bible verses you're least likely to hear ...
Bible verses you're least likely to hear at a Proposed New Building meeting:
Our church is considering adding a new building to our existing facilities. There are some things that are closer to "needs", and some that are closer to "wants". The proposals on the table range, in my mind, from "too much" to "way too much" to "way, way too much." Recently our church scheduled a series of small-group meetings to discuss the proposed plans. The thing that bothered me most about the meetings was that they were framed as Bible studies, and the verses on the table were things about commitment and dedication. The fairly clear implication was, "If you aren't with our proposals, there's a problem with your commitment or dedication. Agreeing with the plans is the only Biblical thing to do." Meantime, even the least of the proposals would mean asking for a 20% increase in offering receipts at a time when many people are struggling to hold steady. Without going into details, there are also some issues about the stewardship of the land.
A couple of us proposed a "just enough" plan (again, from my point of view). The daggers shooting out of the eyes of the person hosting the meeting were impressive.
In the words of a member who has taken a turn as congregation president: "Whenever there are people and money in the same room, there's nothing holy going on."
I know that everyone gets caught up in the excitement of "Think what we could do if ...". But a recession is the modern-day equivalent of a famine. I think it's a fair question -- not an inappropriate one -- whether it's good stewardship to take on large new debt burdens, especially when the question arises during difficult economic times.
I wonder whether anyone else has ever had the same type of experience -- where questioning the wisdom of a large new debt was seen as a sign of lack of Christian commitment?
Go, sell the oil, and pay your debt, and you and your children live on the rest. (2 Kings 4:7)
Let no debt remain outstanding except the continuing debt to love one another. (Romans 13:8)
Our church is considering adding a new building to our existing facilities. There are some things that are closer to "needs", and some that are closer to "wants". The proposals on the table range, in my mind, from "too much" to "way too much" to "way, way too much." Recently our church scheduled a series of small-group meetings to discuss the proposed plans. The thing that bothered me most about the meetings was that they were framed as Bible studies, and the verses on the table were things about commitment and dedication. The fairly clear implication was, "If you aren't with our proposals, there's a problem with your commitment or dedication. Agreeing with the plans is the only Biblical thing to do." Meantime, even the least of the proposals would mean asking for a 20% increase in offering receipts at a time when many people are struggling to hold steady. Without going into details, there are also some issues about the stewardship of the land.
A couple of us proposed a "just enough" plan (again, from my point of view). The daggers shooting out of the eyes of the person hosting the meeting were impressive.
In the words of a member who has taken a turn as congregation president: "Whenever there are people and money in the same room, there's nothing holy going on."
I know that everyone gets caught up in the excitement of "Think what we could do if ...". But a recession is the modern-day equivalent of a famine. I think it's a fair question -- not an inappropriate one -- whether it's good stewardship to take on large new debt burdens, especially when the question arises during difficult economic times.
I wonder whether anyone else has ever had the same type of experience -- where questioning the wisdom of a large new debt was seen as a sign of lack of Christian commitment?
Monday, October 26, 2009
Have Protestants missed the point of the Reformation?
Most Protestants are familiar with the traditional account of the Reformation: how a German monk posted debating points on the church door, challenging a corrupt system. And the church of that day plainly was corrupt. The 95 Theses generally focused on particular aspects of the sale of indulgences and fund-raising practices centered around purgatory, with some notable other comments on the general way that forgiveness was being taught and practiced.
Protestants have taken to heart that the sale of indulgences was wicked and corrupt; no risk of repeating the same mistakes there. But were those the only mistakes we're at risk of repeating? The most radical challenges of the 95 Theses tend to be missed; they aren't actually in the text, but in the act of posting debating points to challenge the church:
If we want to celebrate Reformation Day, I hope we do it by admitting the fallibility of the church and by listening to our own reformers.
Protestants have taken to heart that the sale of indulgences was wicked and corrupt; no risk of repeating the same mistakes there. But were those the only mistakes we're at risk of repeating? The most radical challenges of the 95 Theses tend to be missed; they aren't actually in the text, but in the act of posting debating points to challenge the church:
- The church is not infallible.
- True orthodoxy traces its roots to Christ and his witnesses.
- The church exceeds its authority whenever it teaches on God's authority anything it has not received on God's authority.
- The church is not infallible.
- True orthodoxy traces its roots to Christ and his witnesses.
- The church exceeds its authority whenever it teaches on God's authority anything it has not received on God's authority.
If we want to celebrate Reformation Day, I hope we do it by admitting the fallibility of the church and by listening to our own reformers.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Speaking of my blind spots ...
I really have even less excuse than other people. I have sat in a church pew alone on a holiday and watched people file by at the end of a service, heading to full homes and cheerful holiday dinners, while nobody so much as said "Hi" in my direction to the single mom whose kids were away. I would roll my eyes at myself and my seeming semi-pariah status in church. I know what that's like. I wondered (a little self-righteously, no doubt) if they were blind.
I remember when another church member had her husband go overseas on business for a year, and how the church rallied behind her as she tried to raise her children alone for a year. There were sign-up lists for helping her with home repairs and yardwork, sign-up lists for sending supporting emails and phone calls. I thought it was something of a slap in the face to those of us who are alone 24/7/365 but there isn't a similar effort. I vented to on-line friends of the situation -- and was that ever an eye-opener. One person who has never met me told me, very confidently, that the reason nobody was interested in helping me was that I must be the kind of person who never helped others when they were in need. I disagreed, but didn't want to blow my own horn so offered no details. As she continued to insist that I must be a very unhelpful person to draw such cold responses from people, I finally (and against my better judgment) listed various ways in which I helped people in my family, neighborhood, church, and wider community. She did instantly change her approach; she told me that the reason nobody was interested in helping me was that I must be the kind of person who seemed like I never needed help. The one thing I learned from that experience was: if someone doesn't want to help, not only will they not help, but they will also manage to blame the person they're not helping for that decision. Again I wondered (a little self-righteously, no doubt) if they were blind.
So I really do have less excuse than other people. I realized the other day that my old neighbor across the street hardly comes out anymore, and the semi-shut-in next door likewise. And I even found myself powering up the excuse-generator in my mind. The woman next door is far from pleasant; her husband the semi-shut-in is, from medication, partially insane. The old neighbor across the street has never been known to have a conversation without criticizing me and my children and my child rearing skills. And I have to face it: I've been wilfully blind. Am I so lame that I can't walk next door? My neighbor next door is.
Praying to shut down the excuse factory, and stop being blind and lame.
I remember when another church member had her husband go overseas on business for a year, and how the church rallied behind her as she tried to raise her children alone for a year. There were sign-up lists for helping her with home repairs and yardwork, sign-up lists for sending supporting emails and phone calls. I thought it was something of a slap in the face to those of us who are alone 24/7/365 but there isn't a similar effort. I vented to on-line friends of the situation -- and was that ever an eye-opener. One person who has never met me told me, very confidently, that the reason nobody was interested in helping me was that I must be the kind of person who never helped others when they were in need. I disagreed, but didn't want to blow my own horn so offered no details. As she continued to insist that I must be a very unhelpful person to draw such cold responses from people, I finally (and against my better judgment) listed various ways in which I helped people in my family, neighborhood, church, and wider community. She did instantly change her approach; she told me that the reason nobody was interested in helping me was that I must be the kind of person who seemed like I never needed help. The one thing I learned from that experience was: if someone doesn't want to help, not only will they not help, but they will also manage to blame the person they're not helping for that decision. Again I wondered (a little self-righteously, no doubt) if they were blind.
So I really do have less excuse than other people. I realized the other day that my old neighbor across the street hardly comes out anymore, and the semi-shut-in next door likewise. And I even found myself powering up the excuse-generator in my mind. The woman next door is far from pleasant; her husband the semi-shut-in is, from medication, partially insane. The old neighbor across the street has never been known to have a conversation without criticizing me and my children and my child rearing skills. And I have to face it: I've been wilfully blind. Am I so lame that I can't walk next door? My neighbor next door is.
Praying to shut down the excuse factory, and stop being blind and lame.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The log in my eye ... a lightbulb moment
I was (very evilly) pondering a piece of theological writing that really set me off. The author had set himself up as The Rational Voice telling two other sides exactly what they were doing wrong, and was just painfully oblivious to his own prejudices. He has several times commented on how much other peoples' Jesus happens to agree with them, and how they never seem to notice. Which always sends my irony-meter through the roof (remember, this is my evil musings here, I get to more edifying stuff soon) -- sends my irony-meter through the roof because he is so clearly oblivious to the fact that his Jesus just happens to agree with him in every way. My snarky-comment generator even considered dubbing his collected writings "Mr. So-and-So's Spec Removal Service" (or Mote removal service, for the KJV fans).
Of course self-delusion only lasts so long. And it finally crossed my mind: the log in my eye is myself. My pride, my ego, my vanity, my desire to be the one who is worth noticing and worth recognizing.
What was it C.S. Lewis said? The real trick for the powers of evil is not putting things in peoples' heads, it's keeping the obvious things out.
Of course self-delusion only lasts so long. And it finally crossed my mind: the log in my eye is myself. My pride, my ego, my vanity, my desire to be the one who is worth noticing and worth recognizing.
What was it C.S. Lewis said? The real trick for the powers of evil is not putting things in peoples' heads, it's keeping the obvious things out.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Through a glass darkly: the problem of precision in theology
Do you remember your last science class? One of my favorite insights of science was the concept of "significant digits". For example, if you have a digital thermometer, and it tells you that the temperature outside is 82.1 degrees F and it seems to be rising 1 degree per hour, you can't necessarily project a temperature of 85.301247 at a certain future point in time. Why not? Because our measurements aren't that accurate. Sure, our calculators are that accurate; the formulas we're testing are (possibly) that accurate. But our measurements aren't. You started out with precision to 1/10th of a degree. By the time you run past your original level of precision, any further precision is unwarranted and probably misleading. It's a figment of your calculator's imagination. It's not a matter of whether your calculation is right; it's that you can't get out more precision than you had when you started.
Some of my difficulty with theological hair-splitting stems from the same reasoning. If we trust Christ, there are things we do know with certainty -- for example, we can know he will raise us up at the last day, because we have that plain and straight from a trusted source. It's much like knowing that it's 82.1 degrees outside, if we trust the thermometer.
My objection comes with things we are not directly taught. We have a curiosity that generally serves us well. We take what we are given and we start calculating. We get further than we ever would have if we had not started. So we calculate. And we keep calculating. Is God rightly understood as omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent? Well, that may be so, but that leaves out his love. How about one essence in three persons? I haven't heard a better explanation, but that's not quite the same thing as conclusive. Is Christ two natures in one person (Chalcedonian) or one new nature in one person (Coptic)? Are we really sure we have enough information directly about that to tell the difference?
I am willing to trust Christ to know God. But when we begin calculating things where we have no direct way to know, we should realize our limitations.
Some of my difficulty with theological hair-splitting stems from the same reasoning. If we trust Christ, there are things we do know with certainty -- for example, we can know he will raise us up at the last day, because we have that plain and straight from a trusted source. It's much like knowing that it's 82.1 degrees outside, if we trust the thermometer.
My objection comes with things we are not directly taught. We have a curiosity that generally serves us well. We take what we are given and we start calculating. We get further than we ever would have if we had not started. So we calculate. And we keep calculating. Is God rightly understood as omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent? Well, that may be so, but that leaves out his love. How about one essence in three persons? I haven't heard a better explanation, but that's not quite the same thing as conclusive. Is Christ two natures in one person (Chalcedonian) or one new nature in one person (Coptic)? Are we really sure we have enough information directly about that to tell the difference?
I am willing to trust Christ to know God. But when we begin calculating things where we have no direct way to know, we should realize our limitations.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Discernment and divisions in the church
In analogy to Abba Moses’ instruction, one might propose that the origins of any one of these divisions arises from the work or activities of the Spirit, Satan, or Man. One would expect that the latter two are the ones which, if one supports ecumenical movement, should be the ones we actively oppose. How should we discern the difference between these, if indeed that is even a thing we should attempt? Is the motive behind the division a thing which we should discern as we try to heal that same division? Is such a discernment (or claims to the same) today even useful?
Mark chose an excellent topic for this current Christian Reconciliation Carnival: discernment. I think I'd want to start here:
Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show it by his good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such "wisdom" does not come down from heaven, but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice.So wisdom brings humility, and humility brings mercy, and among us sinners mercy is shown most naturally by those who understand that we ourselves sometimes need correction.
But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness. (James, end of ch. 3)
Discerning the spirit
Discernment: sifting the wheat from the chaff. The mote in our brothers' eye is a tempting target for our discernment; the log in our own eye, less so. So what, then, is the spirit behind that kind of discernment? As for the wheat and the tares, we're warned that our discernment is simply not up to the job: when we lack discernment, we are guaranteed to pull up the good with the bad together, destroying them both.
No doubt I will surprise somebody speaking this way. There is a time and a place for discernment turned outward. But not, I think, before discernment turned inward. If we want to "discern" the reason why we're right and the other person is wrong, that is not the best of discernment. If discernment is self-serving, there is no love; if it is self-justifying, there is no mercy. James gives us some good guidelines for checking ourselves: if we have the appearance of wisdom but not the fruits of wisdom, it is time to re-examine our "wisdom".
Restoring gently
Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted. Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you slil fulfil the law of Christ. If anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself. Each one should test his own actions. Then he can take pride in himself, without comparing himself to somebody else, for each one should carry his own load. (Paul, start of Galatians 6)If we are comparing ourselves to someone else, that is not discernment. And I have to say that every church body I have ever seen, or ever visited, or ever belonged to, and every internet apologist I have ever read for their own favorite group, discerned themselves in comparison to another church body that was lesser in their eyes. Each group rushes to put down the other, and the mote in the next group's eye figures prominently in the sermon and catechesis of their neighbor. In this way we think highly of ourselves. I have to wonder: What in the world would we think of ourselves if we had to compare ourselves to God's standards rather than to our fallen neighbors? And would we still treat our fallen neighbors quite the same way?
Knowledge puffs up
Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. (Paul, start of I Cor 8)
How many church programs are built around opportunities to increase our knowledge? How many around opportunities to increase our love? I've seen both, to be sure. But I think that knowledge is often emphasized over love. The programs that promote knowledge, in my own church, are explicit and designed. The things that promote love are more happenstance, the pains of everyday life that we share with each other. Is there a more excellent way? Can we harness that hard-won knowledge to find it? If not, all that knowledge is worth nothing.
And so I would want to end where I began:
Who is wise and understanding among you? Let him show it by his good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such "wisdom" does not come down from heaven, but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice.
But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness. (James, end of ch. 3)
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Do Christians Sell the faith short? Part 4: The Table of Contents
Dr. Platypus has written a piece on how Christians sell the faith short, looking at the contents of a church hymnal as a barometer of their beliefs. He's got a point.
On a related note, I have to say: that is my favorite thing about Dietrich Bonhoeffer's Cost of Discipleship. I may not agree with him on every interpretation, but he lets God set the table of contents, as the book moves down the Sermon on the Mount and lets Christ set the agenda for our thoughts.
On a related note, I have to say: that is my favorite thing about Dietrich Bonhoeffer's Cost of Discipleship. I may not agree with him on every interpretation, but he lets God set the table of contents, as the book moves down the Sermon on the Mount and lets Christ set the agenda for our thoughts.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
The credibility gap
Something Bill said over at Thinklings got me started thinking. He was quoting someone on climate change:
But on the rebound, I started thinking: that's a good way to sum up my point with my recent posts on how Christians sell Christianity short. I know a skeptic of sorts who says (basically) he'll think about taking Christianity seriously when the Christians start taking Christianity seriously.
You know the questions you hear sometime, "if you could meet one famous person and ask one question ..."? I know a skeptic who told me that he really wants to meet one of the big-name televangelists, and he would ask him: "Do you believe in God? No, really, do you believe God exists? Because if you really believe that stuff, how can you sleep at night? Aren't you worried what he'll say about your life?" (He figured the more dishonest types should have trouble sleeping at night if they really believed a day of reckoning were coming.) And it's not just the big-name televangelists or the pedophile priests who give us big-name headaches. It's the cumulative effect of all of us, when the time comes between choosing what is right and what is easy, far too often choosing what is easy. I don't want to minimize forgiveness: my life depends on it. I just wish we didn't use it as a cop-out.
I’ll believe climate change is a crisis when the people who say it’s a crisis start acting like it’s a crisis.I enjoyed that for its own point. It made me laugh: Exactly!
But on the rebound, I started thinking: that's a good way to sum up my point with my recent posts on how Christians sell Christianity short. I know a skeptic of sorts who says (basically) he'll think about taking Christianity seriously when the Christians start taking Christianity seriously.
You know the questions you hear sometime, "if you could meet one famous person and ask one question ..."? I know a skeptic who told me that he really wants to meet one of the big-name televangelists, and he would ask him: "Do you believe in God? No, really, do you believe God exists? Because if you really believe that stuff, how can you sleep at night? Aren't you worried what he'll say about your life?" (He figured the more dishonest types should have trouble sleeping at night if they really believed a day of reckoning were coming.) And it's not just the big-name televangelists or the pedophile priests who give us big-name headaches. It's the cumulative effect of all of us, when the time comes between choosing what is right and what is easy, far too often choosing what is easy. I don't want to minimize forgiveness: my life depends on it. I just wish we didn't use it as a cop-out.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Do Christians sell the faith short? Part 3: Sexual integrity and abortion
In my school days, I noticed something disturbing about the Christians I knew -- even myself. Now, I knew a lot of people on different sides of the major social issues. Back then (as now), Christians were taking fairly harsh criticism from certain camps for being pro-life and for insisting that sex was reserved for marriage. "Should a woman be punished the rest of her life for a single mistake?" people asked about abortion. "If we're living together, that doesn't hurt anybody; you all should mind your own business!", couples would say. The Christians often seemed embarrassed and defensive.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why in the world Christians should be embarrassed. Any faith that can stand up and say without shame that human life is sacred -- and that children are a blessing rather than a punishment -- this is a faith which has reason to hold its head high. Christianity can say to the over-eager couple: "Who gets hurt? You do. You involve your hearts and lives and sign a lease contract on the basis of a hormone-based relationship, and the one who gets hurt when it falls apart is you." But the Christians are often embarrassed. We were not standing up and saying, "Marriage is to save you from being that broken-hearted -- from being over-involved with someone who wasn't right for you. Why would you want to be that involved with someone if you don't know if you're right together? How many years before you're cynical? How long before you stop trusting? How many things will you do that you wish you could take back?"
Instead, we Christians often show little appreciation for the strength of our own position. What we call "morality" is God's way of creating a livable world and a life we're glad to have. "Morality" says our sexuality is meaningful, that children are worthwhile, that the burdens are outweighed by the blessings. Too often, we Christians cower in the corner.
In this light, I think I will always remember two particular days: one day in high school when a friend of mine asked me for an opinion on whether she should go all the way with her boyfriend; I "didn't want to offend her" so I "let her make her own decision" -- I sat on the fence. And another day a good few years later, after the same friend was cynical and broken-hearted and had had two abortions, and she reminded me about that day when she had asked whether I thought she and her boyfriend should go for it. She told me: she had been hoping I would talk her out of it.
I hope I never again forget that there is a human price tag to being unwilling to be unpopular or to be called names. I hope I never again forget that the point of morality is that God is trying to bless us with better lives.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered why in the world Christians should be embarrassed. Any faith that can stand up and say without shame that human life is sacred -- and that children are a blessing rather than a punishment -- this is a faith which has reason to hold its head high. Christianity can say to the over-eager couple: "Who gets hurt? You do. You involve your hearts and lives and sign a lease contract on the basis of a hormone-based relationship, and the one who gets hurt when it falls apart is you." But the Christians are often embarrassed. We were not standing up and saying, "Marriage is to save you from being that broken-hearted -- from being over-involved with someone who wasn't right for you. Why would you want to be that involved with someone if you don't know if you're right together? How many years before you're cynical? How long before you stop trusting? How many things will you do that you wish you could take back?"
Instead, we Christians often show little appreciation for the strength of our own position. What we call "morality" is God's way of creating a livable world and a life we're glad to have. "Morality" says our sexuality is meaningful, that children are worthwhile, that the burdens are outweighed by the blessings. Too often, we Christians cower in the corner.
In this light, I think I will always remember two particular days: one day in high school when a friend of mine asked me for an opinion on whether she should go all the way with her boyfriend; I "didn't want to offend her" so I "let her make her own decision" -- I sat on the fence. And another day a good few years later, after the same friend was cynical and broken-hearted and had had two abortions, and she reminded me about that day when she had asked whether I thought she and her boyfriend should go for it. She told me: she had been hoping I would talk her out of it.
I hope I never again forget that there is a human price tag to being unwilling to be unpopular or to be called names. I hope I never again forget that the point of morality is that God is trying to bless us with better lives.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Christian Reconciliation Carnival #12: Call for posts
Mark at Pseudo-Polymath has issued the official call for posts for Christian Reconciliation Carnival #12. As the topic of the month, he has proposed an interesting call for discernment as for the causes of the divisions in the church.
I'd like to encourage anyone who reads this to take a shot at it and put in their two cents' worth on Christian Reconciliation. Submissions on this or other topics on Christian Reconciliation are due by the end of the day Friday 06/20/2008. Please post your thoughts and drop an email to the Carnival Submission mailbox.
I'd like to encourage anyone who reads this to take a shot at it and put in their two cents' worth on Christian Reconciliation. Submissions on this or other topics on Christian Reconciliation are due by the end of the day Friday 06/20/2008. Please post your thoughts and drop an email to the Carnival Submission mailbox.
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