Tagged: faith
Review of Mere Christianity, by C. S. Lewis
The back cover C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity has the word “Religion” printed in the upper left corner. This should be the first clue as to who the publishers thought Lewis’ audience would be. Mere Christianity, which is mostly the printed version of several radio talks Lewis gave, does little more than preach to the choir. Granted, every writer or speaker must choose a target audience. And in this book, Lewis chooses Christians. Throughout the 192-page book, concepts familiar to Christians and lay-theologians abound. Lewis’ voice is clear and his intent, noble. When it comes to religion, though, results seem to be more important than intent, and here is where we begin to question Lewis’ work.
At every turn Lewis remarks, “If this is useful, use it. If not, skip it.” It’s all very heart-warming until we stop and consider the repercussions of failure. As a Christian, Lewis relentlessly forces the reader to acknowledge the unpleasant parts of Christianity, most notably–though he never addresses it outright–an afterlife in hell. We find it disconcerting that a book would be geared towards those who have already avoided this hell. We can’t but think of Sunday school stories of Jesus seeking out the sinners, not the saints. Instead of mirroring this trend, Mere Christianity decides to tackle such high-brow concepts as the nature of God, the Trinity, Jesus, predestination, usury and more. In fact, he offers commentary on such a breadth of topics that it would be impossible for him to come out squeaky clean. Take the following example. At one point Lewis tries his hand at explaining why Christianity hasn’t fared better throughout history, assuming it is true. He writes:
You will find this again and again about anything that is really Christian: everyone is attracted by bits of it and wants to pick out those bits and leave the rest. That is why we do not get much further: and that is why people who are fighting for quite opposite things can both say they are fighting for Christianity (81).
With this assessment Lewis opens the door to debating why Christianity hasn’t/doesn’t/isn’t (fill in the blank). Our own unending curiosity already led us to an answer that even Lewis can’t top. To be specific, in his own attempt at clarity Tolstoy infects his readers with idea that Christianity has continually missed the mark because, as a religion, it harmonizes that which was never intended to be harmonized.
And herein lies our most pointed criticism of Lewis’ “beloved” classic. Our problem with his enterprise comes after reading many of his eloquent metaphors which do kind of make sense. A man of his skill should have recognized his limitations. A man of his skill should have recognized the problem as it stood in front of him, and stands in front of us today.
C. S. Lewis can’t offer us salvation.
Christianity can’t offer us salvation.
There is only one man who can offer salvation–and his name is Jesus.
In the end, Mere Christianity is nothing more than another misguided, divisive attempt to unite a religion seemingly set on a path of unending fragmentation.
****
Lewis, C. S. Mere Christianity: Comprising The Case for Christianity, Christian Behaviour, and Beyond Personality. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996. Print.
Paul – Explained
“Yes…Yes…Yes… That’s it exactly!” he pronounced to an empty room. Again, Tolstoy came through. Leo just finished explaining that the “chief cause” of the false interpretations of Christianity’s and Jesus of Nazareth’s message was Paul. What caused Tolstoy to decide this? The fact that Paul was the apostle who connected the Old Testament to the New Testament. Tolstoy concludes, “…this doctrine of the tradition, this principle of the tradition, was the chief cause of the distortion of the Christian teaching and of its misunderstanding (xxii).” Tolstoy’s premise? Simply that Jesus’ words should rank higher than any other persons.
“This all makes so much sense,” he thought to himself. Finally, someone said what he had been feeling. But it was not that simple. He still believed and needed some of Paul’s ideas. In particular, Paul’s assertion, “This righteousness is given through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus,” for him, had singular merit.
So, what should be done with Paul? For years, this question vexed him. During a sermon one Sunday, in an instant the answer came: end the special treatment. Some of what Paul said was true and had value. Some of what Paul said wasn’t true and didn’t have value. His task was to treat Paul no different than any other thinker. The issue wasn’t black and white. He had to discern the value himself, idea by idea. In other words, he finally remembered that Paul was just a man.
Despite the profound meaning and encouragement he gained from this statement, he felt it would be too radical for other believers.
Holding his breath, he hoped instead to discover that it resonated.
*****
Tolstoy, Leo, Leo Wiener, and Greg Oviatt. The Gospels in Brief. New York: Barnes & Noble, 2004. Print.
Resetting Christianity Re-Attack
And now for something completely different…
I’ve had some time now to further clarify my thoughts regarding THE hot-button known as Christianity. Even before the last few weeks, I’ve been knee deep studying Jesus for some time. If anyone is looking for books that are sure to become known as the standard, I suggest picking up A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus. So far John P. Meier has written four volumes, and a fifth is promised within a few years. Comparing these books to those I read in college, I’d say they are written at a master’s level, with doctoral level notes. The point being, that they are not page turners. The other book, which happens to be remarkably similar in message, I’ve been reading is The Gospels In Brief by Leo Tolstoy. Yes, Tolstoy himself took up the task of evangelizing. (I’d love to chat with any Tolstoy fans who have a gut-reaction to this information.)
My thoughts on the matter come as the result of reading these books and my experiences. I find myself agreeing nearly 100% with Tolstoy’s introduction. If you can read it, please do. It is astounding.
In short, when I express my desire for a resetting of Christianity, I think what I really mean is a better expression of the concept I grew up with, that being that Jesus met people where they were. I’m not talking about supernatural Jesus, but literally Jesus of Nazareth. According to Meier’s research, the historical record shows that he was on a mission, and he wanted everyone to join. One activity that set him apart from others on their own mission was that he seemed to seek out the dregs of society. Tolstoy’s re-working of the text leads the reader to conclude that the dregs of society are closest to God anyhow, but my point is to simply highlight that there is no evidence that Jesus of Nazareth ever avoided a group that was willing to listen to him. That they killed him in a public execution only emphasizes his persistence.
At least in the America that I’ve been a part of, this isn’t the feel I get from churches or Christians. If I believe that evolution is a fact and that the creation story is a myth, I know I’m not going to be welcome in a church. I know I’m going to disagree with a Christian. After reading these books, however, I’m not so sure I would feel this unwelcome-ness from Jesus of Nazareth. What do you think?
The Fruit Paul Didn’t Like (And Why Not)
“But the fruit of the spirit is,” the pastor started, taking a breath, “Love (me), joy (me), peace (me), forbearance, kindness, goodness (me, me, me), faithfulness (me), gentleness (we are talking about a man here, right?), and self-control (me).”
As if straight out of Bill Murray’s classic Groundhog Day, he initially believed he possessed most of the fruits of the spirit Paul highlighted. “Initially believed” might not be entirely true. He didn’t ever actually believe that he possessed the fruits of the spirit, noble as they were, but he wanted to believe he did. Truth be told, he just wanted others to believe he embodied them. However, time, forever stationed at the front of the classroom, taught him that when he wanted to believe he possessed some good quality, the ‘wanting’ indicated that he didn’t possess the quality. This case was no different.
Distressed, he longed for his morning slice of humble pie to be as effective as his late night bowl of ice cream. At his age, the used-to-be-surprising feel that came with knowing that he wouldn’t get it right in this lifetime had worn off. Now, he simply felt the distinct feeling of resignation. If he constantly put such effort into life, and perpetually failed, what was the point of all that trying? Just then, a story he’d heard as a child thrust its hand out in aid.
Once a mentor tasked his student to push an enormous stone up a hill. Struggling daily, the man persisted to no avail. Not wanting to let down his mentor, he woke daily with more resolve than before. Still he failed. Finally he gave in to anger. “Why?!” he shouted. The mentor spoke, “Do you not see the muscles that have formed in your arms? In your legs? On your back and chest?”
The desired moment of clarity came just within reach. He wondered if maybe certainty was left off the list above because you just never know. What was arrogance after all, but a more certain form of certainty? He knew both were clearly opposite humility on their continuum. Humility–the genus under which the species labeled above as fruits of the spirit fall–being the eternal victor. Humility–that special ingredient required in order to love; required in order to say, “I don’t know, but I know that knowing is not what’s important. What’s important is that I’m here with you now.”
The only way to get there is together.
I Confess! I Want To Reset Christianity
Now that I actually see those words, I don’t feel so bad. What do you think?
I want, not just a revival, but a full-on reset. Well, almost. We’d need to keep the most essential element in order to press forward.
That we are no longer “WOWed!” by the amount of data at our fingertips informs us that the information age is almost over. Its effects have been far reaching. Concepts like evolution, doctrine, hidden gospels, church abuses, and many questionable traditions have been thrust into the spotlight. Everyone interested can learn all about these things. From a near-outsider perspective, the result seems to be a palpable lack of focus. Should the Church cater to the people? Should the Church cling to tradition? Should the Church do this? Should the Church do that?
Last Sunday I heard a sermon that covered a verse from the Bible that mentioned the words “predestine” and “foreknow”. The preacher preambled much longer than normal before beginning to teach what these words mean. Why did he need to preamble? Because nearly 2000 years have muddied the waters. Within the Church, “predestine” and “foreknow” are now hot button issues. That means that some of you may already be put-off that I included them here.
To me, they are nothing more than stumbling blocks.
Here’s the question that can’t be avoided: How far would Jesus go to save a person? Remember, we’re talking about reality. Life, death, heaven, hell, love, separation, light, darkness–the real. The simple fact is that we know more about the Bible and it’s authors today, than many believers did for the last 2000 years. Some of the new information is difficult to reconcile. Most of the new information is difficult to ignore. Would Jesus ask us to reconcile it? Would He ask us to ignore it? Would He sweepingly reject it as clearly the work of the devil?
What’s the first step to this reset? Forget everything you know about Christianity except Jesus. Study him. If other books of the Bible need to be referenced to figure out Him out, reference them. Reference them insofar as they help us understand Him, but no farther. For example, take again the words “predestine” and “foreknow.” Did He reference those ideas? If not, ignore them. I want to ignore what we know about the formation of the church, the early church leaders, the saints, church history, everything (even Paul). Whether definitely confusing or likely helpful, I want to ignore it. For now. A deliberate act. A purposeful act. An act with the end in mind.
I believe I know what grace feels like. I also believe that despite my sincerest efforts I have contributed to others not knowing what grace feels like. I’m okay with that. But I won’t do it anymore. One option staring me in the face is resetting Christianity and beginning anew. I can’t picture the result of a unified focus on Jesus without having delusions of grandeur. It probably won’t happen. I’d sure like to try. How about you?
The Co-Parent Mystique
Almost a year had passed before he recognized something was wrong. But something was most definitely wrong. Initially it was nice to have a break every few days, a night off, the ability to catch-up on whatever he felt like catching up on. Now, however, it was becoming increasingly difficult to enjoy that time. He felt the way he imagined a python’s prey did. His every hope for relief resulting in the python constricting tighter. And tighter. And tighter.
Initially, there was curiosity about what she was doing when she wasn’t with him. Most importantly he wondered if and what man took his place. All the literature explicitly told him not to play detective, so he didn’t. In fact, following the literature’s recommendations was the easy part. That’s what made this so difficult. How could the ‘right’ way feel so bad?
Time was starting to take its toll. Make no mistake, he was sure he made the right decision. On the whole, though, his last couple decisions had him wondering if he only made them in order to see for himself that life was as difficult as he had always been told. Feeling pretty dumb, he longed for his life before it became difficult. Scratch that, he didn’t think life was difficult; he compartmentalized life too much to make such a sweeping generalization. He told himself that life wasn’t difficult, just half of life–the half without his daughter.
Sometimes with one hand, sometimes with both hands behind her head, she often slept “like a boss.” He missed seeing that. He missed the way all three turns from the bathroom to the kitchen were wide-turns as she ran to get her treat after successfully going potty. He missed the way she opened and closed all her fingers in unison as she beckoned, “Ca-meer!”
The sinking feeling was inescapable. He was disgusted by it. Yet, he couldn’t avoid it. “The reason the situation is so difficult is that it doesn’t have to be this way,” he’d lie to himself. Maybe her mother would see that he could do a better job and let him raise her full-time. Maybe–just maybe–his daughter would request to live with Daddy full-time some day. Way beyond foolishness is shame. He was so ashamed of these selfish thoughts.
Thoughts like these only stifled him. He had not experienced “stifled” before. For that reason alone, he knew his daughter would need more than a stifled version of him. He knew he could do better than that, but he also believed he shouldn’t have to re-invent the wheel. Surely other people were dealing with the same feeling, right? Since it involved shame, he guessed so. If he had to, he would be the first to break the silence. She was worth it.
Don’t Own Him
How far should we allow good intentions to go? At what point is a good intention a bad reality? At what point does a good intention become a disservice to itself? After all, intention requires intending. That is, the act of trying to accomplish something.
A song at church the other day had the lyrics “Our God…”
I’ve been taking some writing courses recently, and am becoming more aware of people’s use of language and word choice. I’m also just returning to church after nearly a decade. Together, those two reasons create a skeptical approach. I know what I believe. But I’m not convinced that what I believe is what you believe, so I look for clues.
Back to “Our God.” Here’s the problem. “Our” creates, whether intended or not, “your.” In the case of God, there is no “your.” If you’re like me, you know there is just God. If you’re like me, you’re done with the, “Well, other people all across the globe use the word ‘god’ as well, but their ‘god’ isn’t our ‘God’ so we need to clarify it” feeling.
I say allow no room for doubt, allow no room for discussion, allow no room for misinterpretation.
Life should be lived assertively. Life should be lived unabashedly. Life should be lived wholeheartedly.
God is not my god. God is not your god. God is not our god. God is. Or as He put it, “I am.”
Jesus chose death over compromise. Like any great teacher, He can be puzzling. How could a man preach ‘love’ and not compromise? I don’t fully know, but I have a suspicion that together we’ll figure it out.
For now, just don’t own Him. His very nature demands it.
Memory’s Blessed Burden
Some pilots in Top Gun wore polo shirts under their flight suits. “Majesty” was number 33 in his 3rd grade Sunday school chorus book. MC Hammer appeared on Saturday Night Live on the opening weekend of The Addams Family movie. His dad put up a giant cardboard “Guess Who’s 30?” sign in the front yard on July 16, 1986. When playing catch with Jerry, it was easier to catch a raquet ball in the ol’ timey baseball mitt than a baseball. His 3rd grade friend slept during class in the Janet Jackson concert t-shirt he obtained at the concert the night before. Two loser sophomores attempted to intimidate him on the first day of highschool. His name was on the scoreboard at the Toledo Mud Hens game on his birthday. The vomit formed the shape of a baseball diamond in the corner of the stairwell at that same game. (Icks-nay on blue kool-aid.) Pastor Craig teared up at the end of some sermons. Jerry buried fool’s gold so that he could find treasure.
He could remember all these random things and more. Remembering so much was not without a burden. That burden was knowing where the gaps were. The burden was that he knew precisely what he could not remember.
Listening to the sermon, he was uncomfortable. Unable to ward off comparison and criticism, he longed for the memory of just a single sermon Pastor Craig gave. Was it the delivery? The rhythm? The message? He needed something to help him make sense of why today’s sermon sounded so backwards. Hmmmm…errrrrr. Nothing. Ugh!
Then a new thought occurred. Surrounding the gaps in his memory were Pastor Craig’s actions, which by definition were memorable. He remembered them to be authentic and full of integrity. He remembered feeling that the pastor loved him. What exactly did the pastor do to make him feel loved? The pastor aimed an intense focus on him. The kind of focus that is only made possible by living in the moment. Pastor Craig exemplified living in the moment.
At least, that’s how he remembered it.
Are You Singing?
How can He hear us, if I can’t?
You should understand that I believe that in this world that God created, everything that happens is part of God’s plan. Everything. The good, the bad — everything. How could it not be? The catch is we, the humans, are always able to change what is happening, to improve it or maybe to take a step back and say, “Hmm, maybe this was a mistake.” It is an enormous amount of responsibility.
Anyone who knows me knows I love Metallica. Their music demands to be performed on electric guitars and amplified drums. I think most would agree that all heavy metal should be amplified. It’s kind of the nature of the beast.
Anyone who knows me knows I also love classical music. Classical music (classical meaning ‘the best’) is written for acoustic instruments, and rightly so. Something magical happens when music is acoustic. Something so magical, that over the years many have remarked that classical music is surely the voice of God. I have always liked this metaphor if only because it highlights that music is a universal language.
I’d like to take the metaphor a bit further. If mankind was created in God’s own image, and music can have the effect of sounding like the voice of God, what about when we sing? Wouldn’t our “made in God’s image” voices actually sound closer to how God’s voice sounds? (Assuming of course, that He has a voice.)
I point this out because, again, in my recent visits to a church, I have been perplexed by the changes. There is an amplified band singing, words are displayed on the screen, no written music is anywhere to be found, and I can hardly hear anyone over the band, save the person standing next to me. (Great voice, btw.) It most certainly is not music to my ears.
Worship via music is one of the main reasons I see for going to church. I have always liked singing in a large group. I liked it as a kid at church, I liked it in the Air Force on those special occasions, and I like the idea of it now. I think singing, especially large groups of men singing, is just great. Doesn’t everyone?
I think I know what is going on. I bet that over the years, like in all other areas of life, people’s enthusiasm has been waning. Who wants other people to hear that they can’t sing a note? It does take some energy to sing, too, and we’re inherently lazy. So at first the music leader’s volume gets turned up, the thinking being that it might encourage more people to sing if they aren’t afraid of being heard. Then a band is introduced instead of a piano or organ. Now we can all pretend that we’re singing, and no one will ever know the difference. At least that’s how I see it.
As for me, I want people to sing out loud. I want to sing out loud. I want to feel the power in the music. I want to hear the voice of God. I want guests to visit and feel the inescapable love that is expressed when a group of like-minded people worship with music.
The easy answer is to find another church. Should this be about easy though? I don’t know. I just don’t know.
If I was a pastor, I’d want to hear the congregation sing. I’d use it like a thermometer. I think even the most accurate digital thermometer would tell a pastor of churches like I described above, “Meh. Lukewarm.”
But that’s just me. What do you think?
Sermon Serious
I don’t mind admitting that I was one of the suckers who left the church after I cracked The DaVinci Code. A decade has passed since then, along with a lot of livin’ and learnin’. Since I was young, my mantra has been, “Life is funny, I’m serious.” The older I get, the more I find it to be true.
While it was reading that caused my faith to falter, it has also been reading that has guided me back to faith. I don’t think it is too much of a stretch to say that in the couple of times that I have been back in a church, I have felt the prodigal son’s father’s arms around me. I am unable to dive back in devoid of all skepticism, but I’ve seen enough over the years to recognize the simple truth that good people are good people. And good people are rare.
I can’t help but feel like something is amiss though. In the time I was away, a shift has taken place.
As I write this, I feel like an old timer longing for a past that probably never existed. We’re all more than familiar with the rather cliche critique of modern churches, “they are too feel good.” Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I’m not interested in joining that chorus. Instead, what I am interested in musing about is the amount of comedy that has been interjected into sermons.
Comedy in sermons interests me because of the subject matter. For all communication, save sermons, I believe the speaker’s first step is to recognize his or her audience. Sermons dealing with ‘the Truth’ are different. By definition, if one person is going to communicate that they really know the nature of human existence, the audience has the responsibility to adapt to the speaker. The Truth is fixed, it doesn’t bend or change. It is universal. On top of that, it simply becomes too difficult to discern why someone is listening and/or why the speaker is popular if the sermon is built around the audience.
Did Jesus of Nazareth ever purposefully try to keep his listener’s attention? What do you think? Can you picture Him ever caring about whether the audience felt entertained? Would Jesus have ever removed some Truth from his message in order for it to meet expectations, or to gain a follower?
I know life was fundamentally different back then. I get it. But they killed Him via public execution. Whoever “they” actually were is irrelevant to this point. An organized ‘they’ killed Him.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this and I’ve concluded that it would be very difficult to give a sermon today that would incite some group of people to that amount of passion; enough to call for a capital punishment proceeding.
(This is where my respect for Him grows tremendously.)
Let’s say I did develop this sermon. Could I give it? Perhaps.
I guess I would have to believe it was the Truth.
Captain’s Log 