Reclothing the Emperor

 I suspect you are familiar with Hans Christian Andersen’s fable, “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” A pair of swindlers posing as tailors offer to supply the emperor with magnificent clothes that are invisible to those who are stupid or incompetent. The emperor hires them, and they set up looms and go to work. Several officials, and then the emperor himself, occasionally check their progress. Obviously, the looms are empty, but everyone pretends otherwise to avoid being thought a fool. Finally, the tailers are finished. They mime dressing him and he sets off in a procession before the whole city. The townsfolk uncomfortably go along with the pretense, not wanting to appear inept or stupid, until a child blurts out that the emperor is wearing nothing at all. Although startled, the emperor continues the procession, walking more proudly than ever.

When the newly converted Emperor Constantine declared Christianity the religion of the realm and marched his army into the sea as an act of baptism, the church began, slowly at first and then headlong, a process of adopting the model of empire as the way to get things done. Brief exceptions notwithstanding, since that time (early 4^th century), whenever the church has advanced, it has been on the basis of expansion by conquest (including military conquest) and rule of law, enforcing its presence through political power and inquisition and outright fear. Beginning with Augustine and reinforced by Calvin, the primary instrument of control and intimidation has been the fear of hell.

And the masses went along with the sham, fearing the fires of hell if they didn’t. And then along came Martin Luther, who exposed the emperor’s nakedness with his 95 reasons the church more closely resembled the empire than the kingdom of God.

The Protestant Reformation exposed corruption in church leadership and restored a sense of integrity. The church’s political and police power was challenged, and except in isolated areas diminished over the next several generations. But John Calvin kept the fires of hell stoked, and the empire model remains the primary mode of operations for the church even today.

What changed during the Reformation was a shift of the church’s source of power and control. With the political and police power of the state diminishing,[1] the church’s grasp of power evolved ideologically; nevertheless, the basic instrument of control has remained intact, viz., the fear of hell.

But now a new generation is coming into maturity[2] and is shouting, “The emperor has no clothes!” And a new movement is rediscovering a way to reclothe the emperor. Briefly, I say “rediscover” because the clothes in which the emperor will be dressed are not new. They are found in some of the earliest writings of the church (prior to Constantine and Augustine), and in some writings in my own lifetime. So, why have these clothes not been worn—why have these writings not been at the forefront of the church’s life and teaching and ministry? Maybe because the emperor doesn’t want to admit to being naked?

In 500 words or less, essentially in the original languages of the Scriptures, the concept of God’s punishment, including the idea of hell, are redemptive rather than punitive. Insofar as human suffering is to be understood as divinely inflicted, it is less like a courtroom and more like a hospital operating room. What pain and suffering are experienced are necessary elements of a process of healing and restoration.

Another biblical metaphor is the smelter whose fire melts the metal so the impurities float to the top where they can be skimmed off, and pure metal remains.

A bit more complicated is the idea that God’s punishment, and particularly hell, are forever. The primary New Testament word translated forever did not originally imply eternity. The word is αιών (ai–ón), which is the root of the English word, eon. It means “a very large division of geologic time usually longer than an era” (Mirriam-Webster). It was not translated “forever” until the time of Augustine in the early 4^th century. In some cases, it remains translated “age,” which implies a beginning and an ending, and there is the clear idea that one eon follows another: “Whoever speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven, but whoever speaks against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come” (Matthew 12:32 NRSV).[3]

Thus, the call to faithfulness is more biblically accurate when instead of inflicting the fear of eternal hell, it offers the hope of healing and restoration, even though the process may be painful. In this perspective, the spiritual disciplines are practiced, not to earn God’s love and peace, but to experience life lived abundantly in that already gifted condition.

While I always admit to limitations in my understanding and practice of Christianity (“I see as if through a pane of flawed glass” ~ my paraphrase of I Corinthians 13:12), from where I sit, the reclothed emperor looks resplendent! What remains is to reimage the church in some model other than “empire.”

That’s the way it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

If I've piqued your curiosity, here are a few bibliographical suggestions for further reading:

Artman, David, Grace Saves All: The Necessity of Christian Universalism. (Wipf and Stock, an Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2020).

Karris, Mark Gregory. Religious Refugees (Quoir. 2020)

Zahnd, Brian. A Farewell to Mars: An Evangelical Pastor's Journey Toward the Biblical Gospel of Peace (David C Cook. 2020).

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[1] The separation of church and state reached its peak of influence during the early generations of the United States; however, it remains a relative thing, and that unholy marriage has never completely been dissolved.

[2] Actually at least two generations as Strauss and Howe, et al identify them, beginning with “Generation X”.

[3] The foregoing comment regarding “eon” is encapsulated from David Artman, Grace Saves All: The Necessity of Christian Universalism. Wipf and Stock, an Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition.

The First Mutation

 “The Church is a place of great beauty and healing. It can also be a place that traumatizes, excludes, and abuses.”[1]

From the very beginning—the Acts of the Apostles in the Christian New Testament—the church has been divided. In chapter 15 Peter and Paul, the leading voices of the nascent church, locked horns over whether Gentiles should become Jews (read: be circumcised) before being accepted into the church.

The church in Corinth was divided over almost everything: which spiritual gifts were more important, whose baptism counted, which preacher they should follow… Even the Lord’s Supper was a point of contention.

Heresies abounded in that first generation of the church: Gnosticism, Docetism, Arianism, etc. The overarching question was “Who’s right?” How can we make sure we get it right, so we won’t go to hell when we die? (More about hell in the next blog!)

That issue of who’s right and who’s wrong never has been resolved within the historic church. I saw a headline today (I didn’t read the article. The headline was upsetting enough.); it read, “All Baptisms Performed by Phoenix Priest Invalid Because He Changed One Word.” Good grief!

Some of the apostles seemed to catch momentary glimpses of what was right; but they were inconsistent in their proclamation of it. Some of the early church fathers—I’m thinking specifically of Origen of Alexandria (c. 184 – c. 253)—seemed to get it right, at least part of the time. Of course, even this paragraph represents my own conviction that I’m right. (One difference is that I accept the human limitations described by the title of my blogsite: “Flawed Glass,” based on I Corinthians 13:12. I accept the possibility that I may be wrong.)

The purpose and objective of spiritual discipline—both individually and in community—is not to attain that divine love, but to experience what already is and always has been.[2]

But there’s that first mutation thing. From primordial wondering about things unseen, we humans have wanted to get it right. We have a need to be loved and accepted. We have a need to make sure we’re loved and accepted. We don’t want that faith and trust stuff, we want a solid guarantee! So we develop a binary “right/wrong” system by which we can be sure. Oral Roberts often said, “I know that I know that I know.”

So that first mutation is the move from trust to certitude. It’s not a new thing; it’s a throwback to a prehistoric human need to control the unknown. It is a rejection of faith and trust.

The truth is: nobody ever gets it right! That’s why we need grace. It’s not about being right. It never was. It’s about being loved and accepted by the source of all love. John got it right (I John 4:8): God is love!

Red, brown, yellow, black, white: you are loved! LGBTQ/Straight: you are loved! Republican/Democrat/Libertarian/Socialist/Communist: you are loved!

And here’s the thing: when we are experiencing love and acceptance, we are free from all that worry and anxiety about whether we’re “right.” The reason we wanted to be “right” in the first place was just to be loved and accepted. When we experience love we are free to love, without concern for ourselves and without concern about whether the recipient of our love is worthy, or whether our love will be returned. We already are loved!

The natural response to experienced love is to love in return. We worship the God who is Love with praise, adoration and thanksgiving, and we serve the God who is Love by loving the people God loves, which excludes nobody! Thanks be to God!

That’s the way it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Bruce Epperly, endorsing Mark Gregory Karris, Religious Refugees (Orange, California: Quoir, Kindle Edition, 2020) p. 4.

[2] I’m grateful for this insight discovered in David Artman, Grace Saves All: The Necessity of Christian Universalism (Wipf and Stock, an Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition 2020) p. 105.

Spiritual Archeology

The longer I live and study the Scriptural and other witnesses of my faith, the more I discover how little my faith, and the faith of almost all Christians I know, is based on the life—the teachings, the examples, and the ultimate rejection of the world’s values—of Jesus of Nazareth. We quote selective—selective—sound bites from the Bible to defend a faith and spirituality that scarcely models the Carpenter of Galilee, opting instead to choose one of the many mutations that have emerged, beginning in the fourth and fifth centuries (Current Era).

An honest and more nearly accurate approach to Christianity would resemble spiritual archeology, digging through the many layers of spiritual mutations, noting how Christianity in each historic period reflected its culture, rather than molding its culture according to the Gospels, until finally reaching—as nearly as possible—the original meaning and intent of Jesus.

The choice of which gospels and epistles would form the definitive Christian witness (New Testament) was not decided until the end of the fourth century (Council of Carthage in AD 397). By then, the mutations already had begun.

[Quick aside to address the elephant in the room: the question of divine inspiration. With more than 450 English translations today dating back to the early 16^th century[1] (and countless translations into other languages), none of which are identical, and with literally thousands of more ancient documents, scrolls, and codices in the original languages dating back to the fifth century[2], again, none of which are identical, which one is the divinely inspired version? None of the original documents survive.]

In the early fourth century when the Roman Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity and declared Christianity to be the religion of the realm, two mutations resulted. The first was that Christianity became the vassal of the empire, with a primary role of chaplain of state, defending and confirming the affairs of state (including military imperialism). This mutation reflects the direct opposite of any New Testament concept and resulted (as one example) in the anti-Christ Crusades of the middle ages. It also is emerging today into a frightening level in American Christian Nationalism.

Second, when Constantine convened the First Council of Nicaea in 325, Christianity mutated from a kerygmatic[3] faith to a credal religion. What had been for 300 years a dynamic behavioral and relational moral response within a community to a preached message of God’s presence and love as demonstrated through Jesus of Nazareth, at Nicaea mutated into a static mental assent to the Creed of Nicaea, with morality defined by the laws of the Empire.

A hundred years later Augustine of Hippo (St. Augustine) engineered another mutation. Until then, in the Christian understanding of Scripture, divine punishment was restorative. Like a medical procedure that inflicts pain in the process of healing, or like the smelting process of melting metal ore to extract the sluff and refine the metal to a state of purity, God’s punishment was seen as a part of divine healing and purification. Even the biblical teaching related to hell was understood as a part of that divine healing process.[4]

Under Augustine’s influence, divine punishment mutated into a punitive thing. Moreover, until Augustine, the New Testament word αιών (ai - ón) was understood to mean essentially what it means in today’s English, namely, “eon” or “age.” The biblical understanding of eternity is an unending series of eons or ages. From the time of Augustine, when the word appears in Scripture it usually is translated, “eternity.” It is not thus translated in other religious or secular contexts.

Thus, what originally was described God’s punishment, including hell, as relating to an eon or an age and accomplishing its intended purpose of restoration, under Augustine mutated into a concept of eternal, punitive damnation and punishment with no hope of restoration.

That mutation, with some variations, continues at the center and core of most Christianity. The fear of eternal damnation became a primary tool of control, even of monarchy, and was wielded like a weapon to keep the rabble in line during the middle age corruptions and Inquisitions of the church. It reached its peak and its harshest application under John Calvin and Puritanism. It continues today in the offshoot denominations and sects of Calvinism.

There have been other mutations, like the emergence of American Christian Nationalism; but probably none have had greater or longer lasting influence than the Constantine/Augustine/Calvin combo. But the fundamental result is the emergence of a religion based upon fear: fear of getting it wrong and thus inheriting eternal damnation. Each successive sectarian division of Christ’s Body assumes an exclusive and infallible grasp of the truth, with growing animosity toward any person or group who perceives reality differently.

The fallacy or heresy of each successive mutation is that it places the burden and responsibility of the divine/human relationship squarely upon the shoulders of humanity (if we get it right we go to heaven when we die; if we don’t get it right, we go to hell—forever!)—it’s all up to us—which is a direct contradiction of the New Testament’s undeniable witness that it is God’s grace alone, and not any human effort or action or credal affirmation or sinner’s prayer that determines either the immediate or the eternal destinies of humanity.

In that context, our relationship with God takes on the character of a child’s relationship with a loving parent, fully trusting and gratefully responding with thanksgiving and praise, and humbly seeking to please that parent[5] in all we do and say. “God is love” (I John 4:8), and “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love” (I John 4:18 NRSV).

That’s the way it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] John Wycliffe is the first known translator of the Bible into English in the 14^th century; however, William Tyndale’s translation (ca. 1525) was the first printed English version.

[2] Actually, some fragments date to the turn of the first century, e.g., the John Rylands fragment of the Gospel of John.

[3] Kerygma comes from the Greek word meaning “to proclaim” or, as applied in Christianity, “to preach.” Early 20^th century theologians like C. H. Dodd and Rudolf Bultmann suggested that the gospels were a literary type that was unique in the ancient world. They called it kerygma and described it as a later development of preaching which morphed into a literary form. The Kerygma has come to denote the irreducible essence of Christian apostolic preaching, especially in its references to Jesus.

[4] See the writings of Origen of Alexandria in the early third century, as well as many other early Church Fathers.

[5] In contrast to responding out of fear of eternal punishment.

Are Evangelicals Killing Christianity?

It’s admittedly a dangerous title, but I chose it, not for shock value or to gain attention (although I hope it does gain attention).

I hope to open productive conversation, not start a fight. In a fight there is a winner and a loser. Any time I do a conflict resolution consultation, whether between troubled marital partners, a parent/child conflict, or in an organizational setting, I always begin by asking, “Do you truly want to resolve the issues between you, or do you just want to win the fight?”

Nobody wins a fight. The only thing a fight accomplishes is the establishment of one’s power over another--and resentment on the part of the loser. Relationships—indeed, civilizations—cannot thrive indefinitely in a power relationship.

Thus, I attempt here to open a conversation. Agreement is neither necessary nor truthfully expected. Mutual understanding, I think, is a reasonable expectation. Respectful conversation teamed with earnest seeking might lead to some common ground upon which to build “a more excellent” way than the way that has produced four generations of decline in the Body of Christ.

These thoughts were stimulated by a paragraph from evangelical author, Philip Yancey. In Vanishing Grace. He writes:

“I decided to write this book after I saw the results of surveys by the George Barna group. A few telling statistics jumped off the page. In 1996, 85 percent of Americans who had no religious commitment still viewed Christianity favorably. Thirteen years later, in 2009, only 16 percent of young “outsiders” had a favorable impression of Christianity, and just 3 percent had a good impression of evangelicals. I wanted to explore what caused that dramatic plunge in such a relatively short time. Why do Christians stir up hostile feelings—and what, if anything, should we do about it?”[1]

I haven’t read beyond those words. My mind was stimulated to distraction, and I was compelled to put my thoughts on paper. I look forward to finishing Yancy’s book.

One of my greatest frustrations in ministry is what Thomas Bandy Calls the largest and fastest growing spiritual population in North America, viz. “the spiritually yearning, institutionally alienated public;[2] a population that calls itself, “spiritual but not religious.” Yancey notes in his book the phenomenon of the “nones:” those who, when polled about religious preference, respond by checking “none.” They now constitute one-third of all Americans under the age of thirty.

My frustration is that virtually two generations have abandoned, not just that part of “religion” (specifically Christianity) that offends them but essentially all organized religion, and in the process have thrown out the proverbial baby with the bath water!

My read is (and has been for a couple of decades), that they really don’t disagree with the theological content or the essential purpose and ministry of the denomination in which I serve. My impression (again, biased and unsupported by data) is that they experienced, either personally or vicariously, something in a relatively narrow religious context that offended or hurt them and have generalized from that isolated experience to justify their judgment about all religion.

The truth is that I agree with the two most frequently identified offenders: hypocrisy and judgmentalism. And while no discipline or community has a lock on hypocrisy, it would be difficult to deny a distinct aura of judgment as a definitive characteristic of evangelicalism.

As a recovering evangelical, here is what I remember: the first premise is the basic Calvinist dogma of the total depravity of man. Already, we’ve lost the “nones,” but hang with me; I think I can get us out of this mess. I learned the “Roman Road to Salvation” as the basic “plan of salvation,” and it begins with Romans 3:23, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” The basic approach in this doctrine of salvation is to assume that that all are lost and bound for hell.

The trouble is, some people—probably a large majority of people—don’t “feel” lost. I’ve heard in more than one discussion group or conversation, “But, I’m not a sinner.” People generally associate “sin” with gross crimes and harmful behavior (especially sexual in nature), and most people don’t fall into either category; therefore, we have to create that sense of being lost for them. It is manipulative and dehumanizing and the origin of a lot of the impression of judgmentalism.

Here's the thing: one thing I’ve always loved and admired about evangelicals is that they’re sincere in their concern for the salvation of all humans. Who can fault that? But the Kennedy approach: “If you were to die today, where would your soul be tomorrow?” and the basic assumption that everyone is lost and bound for hell—right or wrong—is dehumanizing, and has become increasingly ineffective; indeed, it has become increasingly counterproductive since the middle of the last century! The results are available on basically any related survey or poll.

WHAT IF…

Instead of the Pauline “Roman Road” (which has been proof-texted and tailored to fit the Calvinist doctrine of the depravity of all humans), WHAT IF we began with Jesus? Most who identify as “spiritual but not religious,” and even many who are classified as “none” affirm an admiration and/or devotion to Jesus. But, like Gandhi, “I love your Jesus; but your Christians are so unlike him.”

Still, why not begin on common ground? Jesus said, “If I am lifted up…” WHAT IF we simply lift up Jesus, rather than create a need? WHAT IF we quit preaching hell and “lift up Jesus?” Does one absolutely need to recite the “good confession” or pray the “sinner’s prayer” to enter an eternal relationship with God through Jesus Christ? Is it the recitation of the words, or would the act of following Jesus by following his example accomplish that same relationship? Would not the action indicate the acceptance of Jesus as Lord?

Yes, I memorized this, too: “Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven; but whoever denies me before others, I also will deny before my Father in heaven” (Matthew 10:32-33 NRSV). Is the good confession and/or the sinner’s prayer the only way to acknowledge Jesus before others? Or do actions truly speak louder than words, especially when a “spiritual but not religious” public points vociferously at religious hypocrisy? Would not actions that are consistent with our words remove any impression (or reality) of hypocrisy?

The truth is, while the overall trend of American church is downward, there are those entrepreneurial churches that attract large flocks. And—right or wrong—those growing churches put out a message that is clear of judgment or condemnation, offering instead a prosperity gospel or the Prayer of Jabez. No, Jesus is not the core of that message. BUT NEITHER IS HELL OR CONDEMNATION! Misguided or not, the offering is hope!

WHAT IF there is yet another approach: an approach that lifts up Jesus only? Could that be a valid starting place—common ground upon which to begin?

Stay tuned. I’ll continue this conversation with some specific applications.

That’s the way it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Phllip Yancy, Vanishing Grace, Page 15, as quoted in Artman, David. Grace Saves All: The Necessity of Christian Universalism (p. 103). Wipf and Stock, an Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition.

[2] Tom Bandy, Talisman: Global Positioning for the Soul (p. 6) Wipf and Stock, an Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers. Kindle Edition. [Bandy identifies this population in several other books, including Christian Chaos, Kicking Habits: Welcome Relief for Addicted Churches, et.al.]

 

Taking a Difficult Stand

I have been called out, and I confess to avoiding the moral elephant in the room.

Given the divisive nature of our national ethos, to take a stand on any issue is to  accept the inevitable binary response—love/hate, pro/con, right/wrong—and any attendant hostility directed at the person, rather than the issue on the table. There is no middle ground—no effort, intention, or desire to compromise or even to understand. It’s all about total agreement and compliance, and few will accept the possibility of being wrong. Obstinacy oozes from one end of the ideological spectrum to the other, but the bell curve skews heavily to the right.

By nature, calling, and training, I am a reconciler—a resolver of conflict. I believe any conflict can be resolved if all parties truly want resolution, but in our divisiveness the priority is “winning the fight,” not resolving the conflict.

One final disclaimer: I reject blanket generalizations. Individuals and groups within any faction will vary in the degree to which they align with any political, theological, or philosophical position. Human cognition is not an on/off switch; it is a graduated scale; therefore, not everyone within the categories I challenge will be culpable. If the shoe fits…

With those caveats, I take my stand: there is within the American Evangelical Right a faction[1] that overlaps with a faction within the political right (including parts of the Republican party[2]) and that overlap brews heresy. For 50 years that faction of evangelicalism has voted for Republicans ONLY because of their position on abortion. Nothing else seems to matter.

My quarrel is not with their opposition to abortion. I oppose abortion, as do many pro-choice advocates; but that’s material for another blog.

My quarrel is that in their obsession with that singular issue they tolerate an ideology that selectively dismisses virtually every teaching of Jesus regarding human relationships and community. Heresy is not necessarily false; indeed, in most cases heresy contains some truth—in this case, twisted by its selective omissions.

In ultra-conservative Christianity Today, Ronald Sider wrote that our first priority “must be internal integrity, not external (threat or influence). What a tragedy for evangelicals to declare proudly that personal conversion and new birth in Christ are at the center of their faith and then to defy biblical moral standards by living almost as sinfully as their pagan neighbors.” Sider continues:

“The findings in numerous national polls conducted by highly respected pollsters like The Gallup Organization and The Barna Group are simply shocking. ‘Gallup and Barna,’ laments evangelical theologian Michael Horton, ‘hand us survey after survey demonstrating that evangelical Christians are as likely to embrace lifestyles every bit as hedonistic, materialistic, self-centered, and sexually immoral as the world in general.’ Divorce is more common among "born-again" Christians than in the general American population. Only 6 percent of evangelicals tithe. White evangelicals are the most likely people to object to neighbors of another race. Josh McDowell has pointed out that the sexual promiscuity of evangelical youth is only a little less outrageous than that of their nonevangelical peers.”[3]

For over a century and a half, evangelicals have offered a “salvation only” approach to Christianity tied to a rigidly described and passionately anticipated after-life while ignoring any gospel mandate to shape just and compassionate human community in this life. Such imbalance is heresy.

I’ve had numerous conversations with evangelical acquaintances who run the gamut from seminary-trained clergy to vaguely aware laity, and their common political and social strategy is to wait until Jesus returns. He’ll take care of it.

The evangelical focus is individual salvation, individual morality (primarily, if not exclusively, sexual morality), and individual responsibility. There is virtually no guideline for social responsibility or even how to live once the individual is “saved,” other than don’t drink, smoke, dance, or have sex outside of marriage.

I affirm the idea of society based on a balance between personal and social responsibility. Such a model reflects the kingdom ethos taught by Jesus. But in the meantime, how do we affect justice and peace while we’re waiting for that to happen? It’s been 2,000 years!

But the passage of Roe v. Wade in 1973 activated the social consciousness of evangelicals, leading many to split their energies between a salvation only rhetoric, and an anti-abortion activism. The result is some of the most un-Christlike behavior in human history, which is heresy.

Pollsters George Gallup and George Barna reinforce Gandhi’s observation that professing Christians are “so unlike your Christ”.

Even Christianity Today acknowledges the disconnect—and takes a difficult stand. In a 2018 issue, a blistering op-ed described what moderate and progressive Christians (or anyone with even a cursory understanding of the life and teachings of Jesus) have been saying about our immediate past president. In part, it said,

“His Twitter feed alone—with its habitual string of mischaracterizations, lies, and slanders—is a near perfect example of a human being who is morally lost and confused. … To the many evangelicals who continue to support Mr. Trump in spite of his blackened moral record, we might say this: Remember who you are and whom you serve. Consider how your justification of Mr. Trump influences your witness to your Lord and Savior. Consider what an unbelieving world will say if you continue to brush off Mr. Trump’s immoral words and behavior in the cause of political expediency. If we don’t reverse course now, will anyone take anything we say about justice and righteousness with any seriousness for decades to come? Can we say with a straight face that abortion is a great evil that cannot be tolerated and, with the same straight face, say that the bent and broken character of our nation’s leader doesn’t really matter in the end…”[4] …as long as he appoints anti-abortion judges? [italics are my addition]

Richard Rohr said, “The evangelical support of Trump will be an indictment against its validity as a Christian movement for generations to come.”

It’s a matter of priorities, values, and truth, and the end does not justify the means. But the heresy imbedded in the religious right has infected a large portion of those who occupy the right side of the legislative aisle.

Again, heresy is not de facto false. It usually contains some element of truth, albeit an element typically misleading by virtue more of what it excludes than what it includes. Individual salvation and responsibility are valid concerns; but Jesus framed his teachings, his ministry, and his life as a call to life in a kingdom, and to deny kingdom responsibility is heresy.

That’s how it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] In my observation, but with no supporting data, the faction represents an overwhelming majority.

[2] Again, in my own limited observation, it includes most of the Republican party.

[3] http://www.christianitytoday.com/bc/2005/001/3.8.html

[4] Trump Should Be Removed from Office | Christianity Today

“My Bible Says…”

 

…has become a favorite go-to introductory phrase for many who are not initiated into the complexities of intense, in-depth study of Scripture. And they could be right. There are more than 450 English translations of the Bible, and none of them are identical. Search long enough and one probably can find a version that says what one wants it to say.

American Christian lay persons, especially in some more conservative groups, have been led to believe that Bible study is simple: just draw your chairs in a circle and each one read a verse and say what it means to me. And a growing attitude in conservative Christianity—parallel with an increasingly prevalent attitude among American conservatives in general—is that education is a detriment to faith. Theological seminaries, says the attitude, are “theological cemeteries.”

Biochemist and “Sci-Fi” author, Isaac Asimov, wrote, “There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that 'my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.”

In a recent interview, FOX host, Tucker Carlson, said college education “diminishes us,” and “everyone should opt out.” He indicated the only real value in college education is “discrete knowledge” applicable to specific professions and careers. Medicine and engineering are two that he mentioned.

Always a dangerous idea, disregard for knowledge is never more dangerous than when applied to the study of ancient Holy Writ. Such a warped genre of faith expression is a spin-off: Calvinism gone amok. Faith is replaced with knowledge (Oral Roberts used to say, “I know that I know that I know…”), and questions are no allowed. Trust is replaced with certitude, and “being right” is the goal of all spiritual endeavors (because, while grace is preached, the actuality of that strain of Christianity is a “works righteousness” that says our relationship with God and our eternal destinies are determined by the correctness of our doctrine. ). And intelligence and integrity are measured largely by whether one “agrees with me.”

But here’s the thing: there are multiple doctrines claiming to be “right,” although virtually none of them are identical. Somebody has to be wrong! (Which is precisely why we need grace!)

What we must realize at the very beginning is that when we open any version of the Bible, we are reading a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy… ad infinitum.

Did somebody just play the “divinely inspired” card? With more than 450 English versions, and thousands of older (even ancient) manuscripts, scrolls, and fragments of various parts of the Bible written in multiple languages and dialects over several hundred years, none of which are identical, which is the divinely inspired one? And just because it’s “easy to read” doesn’t mean it’s true to the divinely inspired original documents, none of which exist today.

I don’t introduce all these issues and challenges just to stir the pot or to raise doubts. There is a valid, dependable way to arrive at a trustworthy understanding of Scripture that sustains the intent of the One who inspired it. But note: the understanding will be “trustworthy,” not certain. “The Word” is true—absolutely. But, limited as we are by the clay of which we humans are made, we do not possess the ability to know anything absolutely. At best—AT BEST—we will read and understand by faith, the opposite of which is not doubt, but knowledge.

I am not a medical professional. I don’t understand the mechanics of genetics or infectious diseases or immunology; therefore, I have to trust those who have devoted their lives to the healing arts. Of course, there are a few proverbial bad apples in every barrel, and while some medical professionals are seduced by the siren music of questionable applications and practices, and while others succumb to the temptations of profiteering, and while non-medical sources may politicize certain aspects of health care (e.g., immunizations), the overall consensus of reputable professionals almost always is the best path to follow.

I seriously doubt that any of those who comprise the overall consensus have dedicated their lives to the study and practice of healing just so they can mislead the public. I trust the consensus of mainstream medical science, and I accept its recommendations by faith.

The same holds true in any profession. I have a friend who is a petroleum engineer. He tells the oil companies where to drill. He studies multiple factors, such as the history of an area and its geological structure. He uses seismic technology. He reads samples collected from trial drillings. Then based upon “the preponderance of the evidence” (his words), he says, “Drill here.” Evidence produces faith, not certitude. Some holes will be dry.

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1 NRSV) Speaking of God’s future time, Paul wrote, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.” (I Corinthians 13:12 NRSV, emphases mine)

Most people are not professional theologians or biblical scholars. I have some training in both fields, and am conversant with the terminology; however, I have not engaged in the depth of investigation necessary to find “the preponderance of the evidence” within Holy Writ. I am dependent upon the work of those who have been thus engaged. In that regard, the primary difference between the general public and me is that (1) I am trained to use the resources produced by a consensus of mainstream theologians and biblical scholars, and (2) (maybe more importantly) I trust them.

I know the levels of study and research in which those professionals engage. I know the intensity of their dedication, and I don’t believe they have devoted their lives to their profession just to mess with people’s faith or to make us all liberals or communists.

There are two basic approaches to the study of Scripture. The first is to dig out what the Scriptures are saying. This is a clean slate discipline that endeavors to set aside all previously held ideas. It examines the available ancient texts in their original languages, and places them in their original cultural, historical, and religious contexts. They consider the placement of particular passage within the context of the broader reading. The general question is, “What was God saying to a particular people in a particular historical and cultural setting?” The task then becomes one of applying the ancient truths in our language, in our historical and cultural setting.

That approach is called “exegesis:” reading meaning “out of” the text; letting the text speak for itself.

The second approach is to assume the Bible’s message applies as is, de facto and en toto, to our time and to our culture, and to use the Bible as a tool for confirming ideas, creeds, and practices already in place. This approach is called “eisegesis,” reading meaning “into” the text. It sometimes is called “proof texting.”

It likely is evident that I advocate the former. I say, trust the mainstream theologians and biblical scholars. There is consensus among them, and the resources they produce are plentiful and useful.

If I may exercise a bit of self-indulgence, I suspect the most common reason the laity has difficulty with Scripture is not that it is so difficult to understand (although it is not easy!), but that the laity is not sufficiently motivated to dig into the study resources that readily are available. Devotional and inspirational sources sell; but in-depth study resources gather dust on book store shelves. Many also are reluctant to participate in studies led by those with competence in those resources.

I’m not concerned with what “your Bible” or “my Bible” says. My concern is with what “The” Bible says. And within the community of faith are those with the skills and resources I trust to guide me to the Bible’s truth.

That’s the way it looks through the Flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

A National Dip Stick

 I am, by undergraduate degree, a scientist; a social scientist, in fact. I deal with data different from that of physicists, chemists, medical scientists, etc.; nevertheless, I use the same scientific method as they. I also have two postgraduate degrees, so I know something about research. And I have a smattering of training in statistics, so I know how to test the data I discover through research. I also know how to check out the conclusions drawn by others, and can usually recognize a red herring.

The upshot is that I’ve learned that I don’t really know much of anything absolutely. I gather a preponderance of evidence that creates a level of confidence in what I think I know. Bottom line: everything I do or say is based upon faith: trusting the process, whether I’m researching human behavior or a passage from the Bible.

In recent years I’ve grown increasingly concerned about the proliferation of belligerent partisanism in our culture, especially as demonstrated in the level of animosity on social media—what amounts to a pooling of ignorance and a glut of misinformed (or outright Uninformed) opinion and counter opinion (Hey, somebody’s gotta’ be wrong!)

I’ve tried to determine when, where, and how the hostilities began, hoping to find clues to how to bring some sanity to 21^st century humanity. I’ve reviewed what I think I know, and I’ve done research (not nearly enough to justify another doctoral thesis), and I conclude it’s not a new reality. Man’s inhumanity to man[1] is as old as, well, humanity.

Partisan animosity enveloped the Continental Congress during the composition of the Declaration of Independence and on into the early years of the nascent United States. One need only recall numerous duels: Aaron Burr vs. Alexander Hamilton, Andrew Jackson vs. Charles Dickinson. Even some women got in on the action.

Some blame social media. I find no convincing evidence of that; although, some data suggests that social media has brought to light what already existed below the surface of social awareness. Social media basically is a dip-stick that measures the mood and attitude of our rampant partisanism.

I do, however, locate a significant “flash point” in America’s political mood swing toward angry intolerance. 1968 was a year not easily forgotten by those who lived through it and were politically aware. Riots triggered by Vietnam protests erupted in Chicago during the Democratic National Convention. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy were assassinated. All this and the Vietnam conflict itself were brought into our living rooms via television. Public awareness was raised to unprecedented levels, and essentially never receded, although it remains tribally opinionated.

But the event that effectively drew the line in the sand happened four years later in the break-in to the Democratic National Committee headquarters in a Washington, DC office complex called Watergate. Implicated in the break-in and subsequent cover-up attempts, President Richard Nixon resigned, and the GOP has been out for revenge ever since. “Worse than Watergate” became a go-to claim every time a political opponent was caught with his hand in the cookie jar:

·         Chappaquiddick (“Bridgegate”) (Democrat): “Worse than Watergate”

·         Rigged Public Opinion Polls (Republican): “Worse than Watergate”

·         The Keating Five (4 Democrats and 1 Republican: “Worse than Watergate”

·         Iran-Contra (Republican): “Worse than Watergate”

·         Whitewater (Democrat): “Worse than Watergate”

·         Bush’s Iraq Coverup (Republican): “Worse than Watergate”

I could go on. And on. Ad infinitum. Ad nauseum. The die was cast at Watergate, and American politics—and the public’s perception of politics—descended into hell.

Revenge and counter-revenge so consume the major parties that constructive legislation is a pipe dream. The overwhelming appearance is that destroying a member of the “other” party, or blocking every legislative effort of the opposition takes precedent over the good of the country.

Truth no longer is based on evidence or documentation, but rather on party affiliation. We just don’t care if our guy or gal is guilty!

Ideology takes precedent over humanity, and any level of compromise is seen as a total surrender of values. (Values? There’s an oxymoron for ya’!)

I have a few Libertarian friends (and I cherish their friendship), and I don’t agree with them that “government” is de facto evil and bad. Government is a tool: no better or worse than those who wield it. But I find it very difficult to deny that the current state of our government totters on the brink of practicable counterproductivity. At best, it is distracted and ineffectual. Those few idealistic souls who enter the Senate or the House with hopes of making the world a better place soon are devoured by the corrupting influence of politics. In its present state there is little hope of constructive, positive, helpful legislation.

Rather than being a tool to actualize “a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity…” the government has become an end in itself.

But see, here’s the thing: we the people are caught up in the same vortex of self-destruction. The evidence I’ve collected suggests that instead of being a tool to produce the ideals of democracy, the government has become just like social media: a dip-stick to measure American culture. And what it measures is the residue of the “Me” generation.

Will Rogers said there are people in congress who shouldn’t be allowed to play with matches. Well, who put them there? Congress has become a mirror. Do you dare look into it?

That’s the way it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Quoted from Robert Burns’ poem, “Man Was Made To Mourn: A Dirge”, 1784. Burns’ statement may have been a paraphrase of an earlier source, viz., "More inhumanity (to man) has been done by man himself than any other of nature's causes." Samuel von Pufendorf, 1673.