Tagged: God
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?
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?
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.
Block Two
The preacher, the only one in the room wearing a suit, leaned forward, dramatically closing in on the microphone. His hands grasped each side of the worn, wooden pulpit, a relic which never failed to support his weight in moments like these. A professional, he drew energy from the room’s silence like Superman would the sun’s rays. Attendance had been dwindling, but this morning there were more people than he expected. He took that as a sign. During this pause, he made eye contact with nearly everyone, and as he scanned the room, he found one unfamiliar face, a young man. Unlike most past guests, the young man did not look away.
The preacher, at last, continued.
“To be able to forget,” he concluded. “Sometimes I just want to be able to forget,” he said, repeating his desire, this time without pausing for effect. “You know me well enough to know first-hand that I sin as much as you,” he said gravely. “I know me well enough to argue that I probably sin more,” he said, the corners of his mouth rising as he shook his head. A lone chuckle evidenced that he hadn’t lost his knack for timing.
Unlike recent Sundays, he had something to say this morning. And while he needed to transport the audience to a place where they felt the weight of the world, he also knew they needed slight relief every so often if they were to feel him lift it completely off at the end. Picking up the pace, the preacher proceeded.
“I want to be able to forget big things, sure. Like hate, meanness, selfishness. But that’s not all. I want to be able to forget specific things. I want to be able to forget when I was mean to my best friend. I want to be able to forget when I yelled, ‘I hate you!’ to my parents. I want to be able to forget the time that I didn’t share my ice cream with my son,” he claimed, feeling his heart pound like it always did right before he pulled it out for all to see. “More than that-” he stopped, and re-directed, “I can be honest here, right? Is that okay with you?” he asked. A majority of heads nodded in response, and a practiced, deep “preach it!” could be heard.
“More than that,” the preacher resumed, “I want to be able to forget that in each of those circumstances I wanted to do those things. Those actions were desirable to me. I wanted to be mean; I wanted to hate; I wanted to be selfish. If the Lord was standing here right now, and we all got to ask one question, mine would be, ‘Isn’t it enough that we do these things? Can’t you at least relieve us of our memory of them?'” he paused, nearly choked up. “But the Lord isn’t here right now,” he said, regaining his composure. “He isn’t going to intervene and answer my question. And why not? Is it because he doesn’t care? Is it because he doesn’t exist? No. It’s because he’s done everything necessary already. The onus is on us now. Remember?” he asked.
With a look that betrayed that he didn’t even realize that he had come down from the stage as he spoke, he turned his back on the crowd and walked up the two creaky stairs, returning to the pulpit. This signaled that he was near the end.
“Remember,” he said, the word somewhere between a command, a statement, and a question.
“Certainly everyone here is aware of the current stress put on living a balanced life. Eastern religions have the yin-yang concept. Likewise, when I think of all the things I want to forget, I can’t help but be grateful for one thing that we can’t ever forget–Jesus of Nazareth. He came. He spoke the truth. He gave us hope. But he also convicted us. So we killed him for it. Did it have to happen that way? I don’t know. I just don’t know. But it did. And if we ever forget that, I’m not sure we won’t forget hope altogether.”
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.
The Reason Angels Have Hands In Addition To Wings
It happened back in the early 2000s. He couldn’t remember the year exactly, but for some reason he remembered seeing a PT Cruiser drive by when she said it. They were eating at a restaurant, him and his woman. She had just spilled some food on her favorite pair of pants. He was not surprised. Hell–by this time detergent companies had specifically developed pen-size on-the-go cleaner in an effort to save relationships. And on this occasion his girlfriend said, “What’s the point of trying to not spill if I have a Tide-stick in my purse? They work wonders!” Unintended consequences as they are, the invention of Tide-sticks resulted in women, his girlfriend included, becoming more daring while eating.
What happened next was unbelievable. Women everywhere just gave up on trying to not spill while eating. At first this was all silly. He would even find himself laughing at all the funny ways women would splink. Splinking–that’s what they called it. Women would intentionally miss their mouth in the most nonsensical situation possible and capture the result on camera. Like planking and duckface before it, the photrend caught on quickly. In the first month, the major social media players actually shutdown for an entire day because of the unexpected traffic. People weren’t laughing for very long though. What no one seemed to notice was that women weren’t eating as much food anymore. Weren’t-eating-as-much-food, quickly became weren’t-eating-enough-food. Sadly, unable to resist the Western-trend, the third world suffered the initial blow. Never had the planet seen such merciless loss of life. Inevitably, all eyes turned upward.
Make no mistake, God was aware of the situation. He just hadn’t exactly prepared for this. Finally, Michael spoke up.
“I have an idea.”
“I’m listening.”
“All these eons, I’ve trusted in your infinite wisdom. Specifically, I tried to never complain that you gave the humans hands, while we only got wings. But with the situation they’ve got themselves into down there, I can’t stand idly by anymore. It’s time God. Give us–your messengers of mercy–hands. With hands we’ll be able to answer their prayers.”
“I don’t think I follow.”
“Here’s how it’ll work. We’ll be waiting and watching for the female humans to take a bite. Then, as the food falls we’ll fly in and reach out, with our new additional appendages, to save the falling food. In that same instant, we’ll return it to the plate and they’ll never know we intervened. After a couple miraculous interventions, they’re sure to catch on. It’s the only way.”
In the next moment Michael and the other heralds were happily dashing around the planet using their new hands to ensure women reached satiation.
It worked.
He thought enough time had passed, so he finally delivered his joke, “You know hon…I always said it would take an act of God for a woman to eat a meal without spilling.”
“Not funny.”
He was wrong.
Did Jesus of Nazareth Pass Notes?
“If you open your bulletin, you’ll find a communication card. If you’re new to the church or have questions or would like to sign up for a class, just fill out the card and drop it in the offering plate when it’s passed around later in the service.”
He cringed. He wanted to get more involved, he really did. He wanted to be a part of the group. He would love to spread the message that he knew to be valuable, yet he couldn’t complete this simple step. He had been burned so many times in in his life. He wondered, “Does the preacher actually think there is anyone in the congregation who hasn’t been bombarded-to-death with contact after they signaled interest to Gold’s Gym, or Subway, or a Time-share, or a Credit Card?” The list goes on and on. Yet, here he was in a place that offered…well, it offered hope; and he was being asked to formally display interest yet again. How could he not feel once bitten, twice shy? He knew he couldn’t be that different than others.
The contents of the offering plate seemed to prove he wasn’t.
The challenge then: Jesus of Nazareth was different. He was surely recruiting, but he was not starting a business. And he was surely not starting an organization. The picture painted by historical critical scholarship is that the man was intimate. He didn’t pull punches. He didn’t waste time.
“Being the more difficult course of action,” he thought, “this intimacy requirement only adds to the strength of his, Jesus’, argument.”
Standing in front of a crowd and asking them to perform the same ritual they’re asked to perform countless times throughout each day should be shameful. He wondered, “Would Jesus of Nazareth have ever passed notes?”
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.
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?
Captain’s Log 