Tagged: faith

Review of Jesus and the Victory of God, by N.T. Wright

JVG“Na, I’ve read that already. I want the good stuff. I want what you read,” I said to the pastor as he tried to hand me C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity in response to my request.

That’s how I came to be introduced to N.T. Wright’s The New Testament and the People of God series, of which this volume is book two of five. Reading others’ reviews on Amazon, however, almost prevented the purchase. As such, I’d like to do the opposite and encourage it.

Why should you read this series? Because you’re smart. Not just smart, you’re educated. You know things. You know science. You know history. And you know facts. You know that the simple truth is there is no god. You know Jesus of Nazareth was nothing more than a man and that the cross, nothing more than one of the earliest name brands. You know that you have or would have come to the conclusion to “love your enemy” naturally. And you’re pretty sure that you just read a long-form article which proves that forgiveness is practiced in the animal kingdom.

And yet you feel there is something strangely unsettling if not outright irritating about that name–Jesus.

In his book/series, Wright unabashedly starts in the present. His question: What has to be true for the story to be true? As in, say someone claims that the Lord of the Rings is based on the historical record. What would have to be true for them to be right? There’d have to be evidence of wizards, elves, orcs, hobbits, a place called Mordor–lots of things. The same goes for the Bible and other non-canonical sources of ancient history. A lot of things have to fall onto the “likely to be true” side of the ancient history continuum in order for the radical claim that Jesus’ life, ministry, death, and whatever is meant by resurrection somehow altered the very real space-time universe that we find ourselves amid.

I’ll share two ways that the book has changed my perspective. First, Tolstoy wrote a book on Christianity that captured my attention for some time. One of his arguments, therefore mine, was that Jesus taught timeless truths. I no longer believe that. Wright repeatedly makes the compelling argument that Jesus of Nazareth was not a teacher of timeless truths. He lived in the first century, not the twenty-first. He was Jewish, not Christian. He delivered his message almost exclusively to Israel and the Jews, not Rome or the pagans. He did not know post-modernism, the same as how we do not know ancient history, more specifically first century/Second Temple Judaism.

Second, I am a believer in Wright’s argument that all is narrative. Wright deals exclusively in narrative, in story. As a historian he is concerned with building a story that makes sense. Many other historians disagree with him. That doesn’t absolve any of us of the burden of answering for ourselves, “Of all the competing stories about Jesus of Nazareth, which one do I believe?”

In the end, on a practical note don’t read this book without reading the first volume.

Oh, one last and probably obvious point. While I exclaimed aloud, “Yeah buddy!” as I advanced to Chapter 12 “The Reasons for Jesus’ Crucifixion”, it’s doubtful you’ll find it a page turner. What can I say? I just wanna know stuff. Maybe you do to. If so, pick up the series. If not, I still love you.

Some Conclusions For Today

Life is a journey, that’s for sure. It’s cliché to even repeat the assertion. Of late, though, it is proving itself more true than I ever would have believed.

A few months ago, December, I wrote about my search for a church home. For various reasons, the posts received decent traction. I began by reviewing the local mega church. And concluded by reviewing the church I felt was for me.

Along the way, I’ve had many conversations with individuals to include a couple pastors. A picture of the situation is beginning to appear. I think bullets will be most effective here now.

  • The church I grew up in from 3rd grade to 12th grade combined with my personality did such a number on me that fifteen years later I still can’t tell which way is up.
  • Attending church nearly every Sunday and many Wednesdays as a child was by no means the normal experience of an American child.
  • Church membership/regular attendance in America is decreasing.
  • Mega churches make it seem like church membership is on the up and up, but their growth is simply the result of small church members leaving their small church in favor of the big ones.
  • According to one pastor, young folk (20-30s) surprisingly report that they desire more of the sacred, and not the many attempts to cater to them through contemporary worship.
  • Even white preachers confess that the black model may be the way of the future regarding preaching.
  • I like the black model of preaching.
  • Mormonism is batshit crazy.
  • Mormonism is batshit crazy.
  • The historical record seems to support that a group of humans called themselves Jews and believed and worshiped one God. According to their literature, their purpose as this singular God’s “chosen people” was to display God’s essence to the rest of the world. Out of this group came Jesus. He claimed, not unlike many other prophets of his day, that his people had dropped the ball regarding this charge, but no worries, he’s got it. He further claimed–albeit cryptically at times–that his ministry was God’s way of manifesting a new era on the planet where anyone could become a member of the chosen people of God and fulfill God’s purpose for his people, which is to demonstrate love. Love one another. (Which is, like, totally, like, weird, because, like, we’re all so good at that as is.)
  • The historical record does not support Mormonism, whose claims are not marred by things called thousands and thousands of years.
  • Every single adult, every one of us that ever has existed on planet Earth is making it up as we go. Don’t miss this point. This is a big one. Previously I was under the belief that there was some level of consensus on things of this nature. But no longer. I have, like many of you, had many one on one conversations with folks regarding this topic and not one person has been the same as another–even if they go to the same church. Notta’ one. Though, put a couple of them together and it’s a different story.
  • Telling people what to believe or how to behave is disrespectful, sharing your story is not.
  • Children need to learn love; it does not come naturally.
  • Organized religion does not seem to be the best way to teach children love, and may be downright incapable of doing it.

No big conclusion.

Life Alone

Diary style again…apologies.

Eudaimonia. Two years ago a professor wrote the word on the chalkboard in both Jesus-fish style Greek and the more familiar alphabet version. It had been a long time since someone had impressed me. Suffice it to say he had my attention. It means to flourish. Two years later almost to the day, today, I can’t help but wonder if anyone knows what it means to flourish.

Robert William Case, friend and author of Icarus and the Wingbuilder, does. But he’s already married. Actually, I could go on and on naming folks I know, 60+ years old, who demonstrate an understanding of eudaimonia daily.

But I want to find someone who understands it, is under thirty and, here’s the kicker, female. Does she exist? Because, unlike say Batman, God, or Rainbow Dash, this is a person that I don’t even think I’ve heard of existing.

By way of example, as I’ve mentioned before, I play the piano. Both the instrument and the piano. Yep, I don’t pass by opportunities to confess that I have the greatest one. Anyhow, once, after playing for an older lady friend, she flattered, “Oh Pete, you’d be wasted on a younger woman.” Oh boy. It’s a good thing I was sitting. But was she right? Most of the time I think so. And then when I discover not many young people can even play an instrument (one small attractive quality), let alone enjoy playing one (eudaimonia alert!), I reach a consensus.

One of the many reasons I left my last job was because I hadn’t been on a date since beginning it. The schedule was just too crazy. It’s been months now of not having any crazy schedule, of establishing some social patterns, of trying to meet new people, and still no change. When do I get to give up? Because this notion that there is hope is getting very old.

Did You Know?

I had no idea.

I haven’t had any ideas for this blog since learning this on Thursday or Friday night. That is, I can’t think of anything else to write except to share my slightly embarrassing astonishment at what I learned.

When I have H- I usually spend all the time she is asleep writing posts or writing books. But when I don’t have her, I am able to finally catch up on some reading. One book is (as I’ve mentioned before) N.T. Wright’s Jesus and The Victory of God. It is book two in a five book series on first century Jewish-then-Jewish/Christian history. From what I have been able to discern, it is tier one as far as historical critical scholarship goes. I say tier one to attempt to convince you that I am aware there are many good researchers who all come to different conclusions about such things, but to be honest, I’m kind of falling for the arguments Wright is making. Anyhow, I’m writing this now because I want to move on and write fun things again.

The information I was shocked to discover was that the temple Jesus of Nazareth displayed anger towards and overturned tables at etc. shortly before the crucifixion, this temple was not just the local baptist church in Jerusalem. It was the Temple. Capital T. The one that has been fought over for thousands of years. The one that has been destroyed and rebuilt and destroyed and now there is a Muslim structure on it blah, blah, blah. I had no idea. I feel pretty foolish. I grew up as a bible memorizing, save the world one non-believer at a time Southern Baptist and somehow totally missed this. I just thought that he picked one of the many mega churches that surely existed back then to make an example of. I think that’s some variation of projection and ethnocentrism. Oh well.

The real question is, of course, does any of this matter?

Table of Contents or Try From Memory?

“What is the deal with the traffic?” he muttered, alone in his car. It was 6:44pm and that meant he only had sixteen minutes to drive the twenty minutes of pavement that separated him from his destination. “I wanted to be there right now,” he continued.

As predicted, twenty minutes later he arrived. Transforming what should have been a three-point turn into an eleven-point turn, he finally came down off the curb and shifted to park.

“Oh man. I didn’t expect anyone to be dressed up. Oh well,” he thought, seeing a few other stragglers walking up to the building.

Not knowing what to expect, he approached the door and was yet again immediately greeted with a welcoming handshake from a stranger.

“This place is amazing,” he thought.

He knew some of what was going on. He wasn’t dumb. He sat in pews like these week after week for a decade as a child. “It’s just muscle memory,” he could hear the critics say. It felt familiar and familiar feels good. “You go to what you know,” Hollywood wisdom taught about behavior during trying times. But he didn’t care.

“So what?” he thought. “Who cares if I only like this place because it is familiar? Why is that wrong?”

Then he heard it. It couldn’t have been louder than a whisper, but boy was it distinct. When the church was a little fuller on Sundays, it wasn’t as audible. But on this night, it sounded like the crack of thunder.

“Tonight’s,” a pause, “scripture reading,” the man looked up, “is from the Gospel of Luke,” the man stopped. “Turn with me,” he continued, “to Luke chapter eleven,” he took a breath, “where we’ll read,” and another, “verses one through two.”

Pages ruffled.

Still She Tugs

Biggest surprise of my life? Parenting. No matter how hard I try, I cannot escape feeling the complete and utter awe that surrounds the totality of the parenting experience. And yet, despite parenting being a nearly indescribable wonder, there is one moment–one fairly common and frequent action–that keeps surfacing which illustrates it perfectly.

More than the always surprising bump of my hand into hers as we begin to walk toward and away from the car, more than her exasperating desire to be picked up just when I finally can leave the hamburger helper to simmer on the stove, more than her double-checking nightly that after story-time when I get up to turn off the light I will be coming back to rub her for a bit before leaving her alone to dream, more than all these things is her firm tug on my fingers when she recognizes we will be parting for whatever practical reason.

I make her go to her bed when she’s “not even sleepy!” twice a day, and because I am sleepy I linger in my bed when she wants me to get out of it. Still she tugs.

Recently she brought over a toy digital camera and demonstrated first-hand just how annoying it must be to have me tell her that I’ll only be another minute on the laptop or phone for fifteen minutes at a time. (Point taken.) Still she tugs.

I bull-headedly push my play-time agenda to the point of tears when all she wants is to be with me. Still she tugs.

I make her wait as I putz around doing who knows what because I’m not looking forward to sitting on the ground to play stuffed-animals. Still she tugs.

I dictate the order in which she eats her meal and drinks her drink. Still she tugs.

I never let her play in the bath after she’s clean. Still she tugs.

I choose the bedtime story more often than not because I know that these stories will have a lasting impact. Still she tugs.

And no matter how much I want to stay with her, my decisions have given her the memory of constantly leaving one of her parents for the other for an entire childhood. And still she tugs.

Review of My Church

Well, that’s a lie. It’s not my church. I’ve only been there once. But it was wonderful. And I will be returning every chance I get. The search is over. Finally.

For the record, I am a human. This is worth articulating because, especially when it comes to churches, I want to be treated like a human and not a farm animal. I don’t need to be herded, nor do I want to follow the herd. That said, as I walked into the building I was greeted and I watched as a woman took my name down on some sort of ledger with a pencil. Remember pencils? While there were no children-specific activities that day, I’m certain H- won’t have to be processed and tagged to take part in them next time.

Quickly finding George, I suggested we move closer to the front than where he had chosen and we did. Next thing you know, he and I are standing wide-eyed amidst the seated congregation at the behest of a young women who read off the names of all the guests. Little H- remained seated until our kind neighbors in the pew in front of us urged her to stand when the young woman asked for any guests whom she may have missed to also stand. H- stood proud.

This next part is probably a little too personal, but this is my blog so I’m writing it. It’s been a while since I’ve had much physical contact with anyone but H-. And she’s in that tight spot where I think she does it because she recognizes this. Anyhow, I’ve been thinking this probably needs to change. Touch is important, they say. Well, during an amazing baby dedication that lasted about ten minutes and crowded seemingly an entire extended family at the front, like thirty people, we were asked to stand and next thing I knew my hand was being touched by the lady next to me. I looked down before moving my hand out of her way and noticed that she was simply reaching out to hold my hand during the dedication thing. It was then that I looked around and quickly noticed that everyone was holding their neighbor’s hand. I joined suit and grabbed H-‘s little hand. Next thing I noticed (George too), H- was placing her limp hand in George’s. At the end, my kind neighbor gave my hand a squeeze before she released it.

Did I mention that the three of us were the most under-dressed folks in the entire building. I measured by layers. I had two. All the other men were at least at two, most at three. Probably half the women had hats on. These people dressed with a purpose. And yet they were naked. Can you understand that?

I thought the roof was going to come off at one point during the worship. Talk about Holy Ghost power. A real piano, an un-amplified small drum set, and an organ accompanied a real, though small and old, choir. Though I’m sure no one could hear us, George and I both sang.

Finally, we came to the Word. And here’s where I discovered what I have been looking for all along in a sermon. A sermon shouldn’t be smug. A sermon shouldn’t cause my mind to distractedly go academic on it. A sermon shouldn’t teach beyond its speaker’s–nor audience’s–intelligence, nor should it dumb down that which cannot be in order to meet the audience. We’re talking about a sermon. A sermon shouldn’t be chocked full of witticisms, nor jokes. The preacher needn’t prove “even though I’m a preacher, I can be funny, see?”, nor should he tell some inside joke that requires his giving a politician’s knowing nod to some poor soul who will undoubtedly feel a little too special for the rest of the afternoon and at the same time causes me to wish it had been me. Most important, I realized that I want a sermon which is a sermon. Not a presentation. Not death by powerpoint. Not a motivational speech. And the sermon that day was none of those things. It was more than those things.

Afterward, we lingered. People lingered. We met the pastor. Oh. And did I mention the service’s total duration was over two and half hours? 10:30 start, when it was over I pulled my phone out and it displayed 1:15. And it did this without filler like Broncos mentions, professional videos with floating words, or hollywood movie clips.

Walking to our cars, George said it best, “Pete. This was by far and away the best church yet.”

Review of the Mega Church

I’m at a loss. I thought I knew what to expect before going, but there are just some situations in life that can’t be prepared for apparently. Most recently, the situation I’m referring to is attending a mega church. Now you know as well as I do that I’m not talking about anything that has to do with a church’s size. As an example, recently while I was visiting family in Kansas City I attended the largest United Methodist church in the USA. It is not a mega church.

Back in Denver, I visited a mega church last Sunday. What a joke. Seriously. There is no possible way someone can read a single verse from the Old or New Testament and conclude that a mega church is what any of those folks envisioned. The only people I can think of who envision a mega church as having something to do with the gospel or first or second century churches are tenth-graders who just got back from a week-long church camp. Oh, and people who were never taught that it’s okay to have a lot of money. (If you happen to be one of these wealthy heathens, check out Peter Drucker’s idea about profit in his book Management. It explains your dilemma most succinctly, I think. Profit equals responsibility–nothing more. And, yes, we’re all watching you and evaluating your decisions. So please lead by example).

Most church services have a specific routine. They begin with worship, pass the offering plate, preach, sing one final song, and release people in time for football/nascar. Conversely, the mega church begins with preaching. The preaching seems genuine, is crazy professional, and refers to bible verses a few times to help us remember the reason we showed up in the first place. Then, after the preaching comes the worship. It’s a rock concert. Super professional. It’s also difficult to imagine it is at all authentic. I couldn’t help but picture the musicians practicing putting their hands in the air at specific moments in the songs much like Kirk Hammett of Metallica does in the tuning room before he takes the stage. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, I guess. Next, only after the crowd is softened up for an hour does the offering plate get passed around. Finally, as if seventh-graders embarrassed to be seen at Kmart with their mom, the auditorium crowd disperses quickly. Now, you might be inclined to think this is because they’re busy people, what with having to painstakingly decide how to spend all that money, but I think it’s because they know what you and I know. That it’s a lie. The whole thing. One. Big. Lie.

But if it makes you feel good and no one gets hurt, what’s the harm in doing it, right?

Enough About Change, Enough!

Daily, so-called experts advise us to change our perspective, change our job, change our life. They believe we should change our world. It’s sickening. Like you, I’ve followed that message too many times to count and for what? It is a false hope. Change? No thank you.

As the year wraps up I’m happy to report I like life the way it is. And I know you do too. Here’s how I know.

Forgiveness – You forgive me daily. I struggle with why, but am sure you’re the better person for it. It is at once free and invaluable.

Friendship – Again, you give it freely. I cannot imagine a world without the ability to make friends. I don’t want to either.

Peace – The world is close. Real close. Some want to keep the focus on the unrest. The rest of us know to keep peace the focus, and rightly so. Focus on the peace and see what unfolds, I say.

Compassion – Everyone I have ever met understands compassion. While not always possible to act on, their feelings of compassion are always real. I cannot imagine this world before it was filled with compassion. Like most good things, once conceived, the concept of compassion cannot be forgotten. And it never will be.

Love – There is no greater source of strength than the fact that the lowest of the low, the meanest of the mean, I’m talking about the most wretched wretch, this man or woman is still loved by at least one person if they’ll only let themselves feel it.

Change that? Never.

Setback

Church-going Christians: Probably want to skip this one. Or maybe you are my target audience. It’s difficult to say.

Because the topic is endlessly fascinating to me, I have read John P. Meier’s A Marginal Jew series–the first four volumes–and I am anxiously awaiting the concluding fifth volume. I am also one book in to N.T. Wright’s New Testament and the People of God five volume series. These books center themselves on the question “What does the historical record say about Jesus of Nazareth?” I believe them to be intellectually honest, and I have found great comfort and value in them. As an added bonus, I am fairly confident that I understand who Jesus of Nazareth was and thought he was much better than before. So much so that I have recently begun to hunt for a church which I think I could stomach attending week to week.

You should see the looks on the generally elder crowd’s faces when I tell them I’ve been away for a decade. They are so thankful that I’ve returned. It’s a little hokey but feels good nonetheless. My biggest complaint about modern churches is their music selection. It’s horrible, just horrible. I have never sat next to a person who didn’t agree, either. Because I’m older and can only attempt this adventure with authenticity, I let a guy know that I missed the Baptist Hymnal of my youth. He tells me, “You’re in luck!” It seems there is a Sunday School type class that sings the old hymns because there are others like me. Another vote for opening my big mouth, I think.

Yesterday, however, I discovered I should just sit quiet from now on. While the packed room did sing one (1) traditional hymn, I was sure that before the hour’s end I would be the only one not grasping St. Peter’s welcoming hand at the pearly gates.

Social decorum demanding obedience as it does, I remained in the room.

Skipping to the end, what did the well-meaning old timers want to debate for the hour we had together? Whether there is such a thing as unpardonable sin–a sin which is so awful that even Jesus’ saving power can’t redeem the perpetrator’s soul. (Consensus – There might be one, but don’t worry you can’t commit it inadvertently.)

The only thought that occupied my mind for that hour was, “Who gives a shit?”

The sermon was pretty good at least.