Category Archives: The Text

May 13, 2013 · 6:20 pm

Tomorrow’s Theology. Today’s Task.

A recent article in The Banner, the online and print magazine of the Christian Reformed Church, began with the following:

I suspect that a thousand years from now Christians will look back at the 21st century and say, “How could Christians have let themselves think that?” They’d have in mind our theology—some of the doctrines that are so precious to us and that we consider to be the backbone of Christianity.

Some saw this as provocative. Some as overstating the case. Others as unthinkable.

My thought was, “People are already saying this now.”

EvolutionGodThe article more or less centers around the issue of evolution, which, at least in one form or another, has attained a near consensus status among scientists as being part of the process of the development of life on earth, including all animal life. Animal life includes people, which is in many ways where the rub is.

Are we, as C.S. Lewis puts it in the Chronicles of Narnia, the “sons of Adam and daughters of Eve”?

Scientists argue that it is not genetically possible for present DNA diversity to have issued from a single pair of ancestors in recent history.

So the writer of the provocative article in the Banner rightly notes that we must begin to assess certain readings and/or doctrines which seem to rely upon a view of the world which may not, in the end, be accurate.

Yet some would say, can’t we just read the Bible literally?  Well, no. At least not accurately (with regard to science. Or literature).

As Pete Enns put it in a Biologos article:

The biblical depiction of human origins, if taken literally, presents Adam as the very first human being ever created. He was not the product of an evolutionary process, but a special creation of God a few thousand years before Jesus—roughly speaking, about 6000 years ago. Every single human being that has ever lived can trace his/her genetic history to that one person.

This is a problem because it is at odds with everything else we know about the past from the natural sciences and cultural remains.

There are human cultural remains dating well over 100,000 years ago. One recent example is 130,000-year-old stone tools found on Crete. (Their presence on an island presumes seafaring ability at that time.) Ritual/religious structures are known to have existed as far back as 40,000-70,000 years ago. Recently, a temple complex was found in Turkey dating to about 11,500 years ago—7,000 years before the Pyramids.

In addition to cultural artifacts, there is also the scientific data from the various natural sciences that support a very old earth (4.5 billion years old) and the evolutionary development of life on it—things most readers of this Web site hardly need me to point out. Most recently, the genetic evidence for common descent has, in the view of most everyone trained in the field, lent great support to the antiquity of humanity and sharing a common ancestry with primates.

So reading the Bible literally is problematic for scientific and historic reasons. And there is another reason:

There is a third line of evidence that is a problem for a literal reading of the Adam story. Archaeological evidence gathered over the last 150 years or so has helped us understand the religions of the ancient Near East during and long before the Old Testament period. As is well known, Genesis 1 and the Adam story bear unmistakable resemblances to the stories of other peoples—none of which we would ever think of taking as historical depictions of origins.

Bingo.

And many people realize this, and have realized it for some time.

But apparently not certain readers of the Banner.

Objections ranged from: “Asking a whole lot of big complex questions without any attempt to answer it is not helpful” to “This article should have never made print” to “This article implicitly affirmed a lot of heretical propositions” and finally, “Is it possible to overture Synod to remove and replace the editor of the Banner for behavior so damaging to the well being of the churches?”

There were many more reactions, some of which were very thoughtful, others of which were more of the above (and worse!).

Was it a perfect article? I suppose not. But neither was it terrible. It opens the door to further dialogue, and that’s what we need. It is OK to ask a lot of big questions. And not only OK, imperative. Asking questions is an important, crucial step in learning anything.

Whenever you are no longer allowed to ask questions, you can safely assume you’re no longer in a good place.

We should be asking questions, and not just about tomorrow’s theology a thousand years from now, but about what we might, by grappling with Scripture, science, and the best of human understanding, believe today about ourselves, our world, and God.

Many are already doing it, and we should join them.

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A few recommended resources:
Looking for the Missing Link – a documentary by my friend Leo Hagedorn
The Evolution of Adam: What the Bible Does and Doesn’t Say About Human Origins – Pete Enns. One of the best works I have read regarding how we are to read Adam through the biblical lens, both as understood in Genesis, by Israelites and Jews, and by Paul and Jesus.
Evolving in Monkey Town: How a Girl Who Knew All The Answers Learned to Ask The Questions – Rachel Held Evans
Network for Science, Technology, and Faith – the Episcopal Church

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March 14, 2013 · 3:49 pm

Reading the Bible: The Driscoll Effect

A Conversation About Understanding the Bible

Awhile back someone posted this tweet of Mark Driscoll’s on their Facebook page:

driscoll_tweet

I decided to comment. This led to quite an exchange about the nature of interpreting and understanding the Bible. I share this because I wonder if you can relate, and perhaps, you may have an insight to add. I also do so to highlight the nature of this conversation between an evangelical approach that leans on inerrancy and those who are more willing to allow recent biblical scholarship in on the conversation. Finally, you can let me know if I was ever inappropriate (or inaccurate in my own approach!), so I can do better next time in such engagements. To protect the innocent, I will name my Facebook acquaintance as ‘Driscoll Fan.’ (Excuse the typos, I kept the interchange verbatim).

It’s quite the back and forth, so buckle up.

Bryan Berghoef: One of the biggest mistakes people make is to confuse their interpretations of the Bible with the Bible itself. To come to a new understanding of a text or a passage than a traditional view of it, due to study of language, context, history, archaelogy, etc., is not to change the Bible, but one’s understanding of it, and perhaps to be more faithful to it. Not sure of anyone who seeks to actually ‘change the Bible’.

Driscoll Fan: Bryan, Unfortunately the epistemological and ontological assumptions of the postmodern emergent movement clearly seems to be enamored with reconstructing the Bible rather than reinterpreting it. There is for example a disregard for the objectivity of Scripture that leads language, history and archeological analysis to be more a deconstructive process than honest research. In this context I do believe that Driscol is absolutely right. There are always those who seek to “reinterpret” the Word in their own image rather than being willing to humble themselves before an immutable God.

Bryan: I don’t disagree with your last sentence – in fact, we are all at times capable and culpable of this. But to assume any of us can infallibly interpret the text is simply not the case. We *always*, invariably interpret the text when we come to it. There is a lens through which we see it (as in a glass darkly). Driscoll’s comment seems to presume that there are some who see directly (without this lens), or who have “the” lens. I have to disagree. Again, its not a matter of changing the Bible, but one’s interpretation of it. There’s a vast difference.

Driscoll Fan: Bryan – As I read your critique of Driscol it seems to me that you are saying something like this: “Those (Like Driscol) who say that we can have confidence in absolutes are absolutely wrong.” In other words you are claiming to be sure that anyone who claims to be sure is surely wrong. Kinda like saying You know that nothing can be known. This is the problem with postmodern epistemology. It is self-refuting at every turn. Even your disagreement with Driscol (and me in this Facebook) exchange assumes there is a measuring rod outside of those things being measured (to quote Lewis) and that your argument is measured to be more accurate than Driscol’s or mine. Without objectivity there is no reason to debate with anyone about anything. Disagreement would literally meaningless for there would be no basis or even any desire to engage in it. I would argue that you are basically proving Driscol’s point by saying that he is wrong for in doing so you claim to be more closely aligned with reality of what Scripture is than he is. So – when you respond and challenge me on my posting remember that the desire that pushes you forward toward such a challenge is the very thing you are claiming has no merit.

Driscoll Fan: One more word – Indeed, “we ‘always’ interpret the text when we come to it” but that doesn’t mean we are “always” right in our interpretations. In fact we could be wrong. As Os Guinness says “Truth is true even if no one believes it and falsehood is false even if everyone believes it. Truth is true and that’s just the end of it.” Interpretations, i.e. opinions, are irrelevant to accuracy. Some people interpret the Bible rightly and some do so wrongly. So – the goal should not be to settle on a view of the Bible that suits our culture or our egos but to find out what it Truly says and what it Really means.

Bryan: Actually I wasn’t saying nearly what you’re implying I was. My point was simply that no one changes the Bible (it’s a nonsensical thing to say), and that we all approach the Bible with a hermeneutical lens. I don’t know a single biblical scholar who would say otherwise. You’re doing a nice job of avoiding what I’m actually saying while reading into my comments a whole bunch of stuff that I didn’t say. It appears you’re more interested in fighting a caricature of postmodernism than discussing this issue.

Driscoll Fan: Not at all Bryan. In fact I would disagree completely with your contention that I’m avoiding what you’re saying. To the contrary I have addressed it head on and quite specifically and repeatedly.

Here it is again -

1. You disagree with Driscoll’s tweet and with me for posting it.

2. You are saying repeatedly that “everyone” interprets the Bible (i.e. changes it) through their own “hermeneutical” lens and life experience.

3. You say over and over again that no one reads the Bible with any hope of an objectively accurate understanding because we all bring our subjectivity to the process.

4. You therefore by definition align yourself with a “hermenuetic” that is postmodern rather than modern or premodern for the only way a person can hold your epistemological and ontological position is to say that anthropomorphic change and personal subjectivity always supersede the objectivity of natural law and the immutability and knowabilty of Divine revelation.

5. I have pointed out repeatedly that your above position is circular and self-refuting and that the very argument you bring to the table proves Driscoll’s point and mine more than yours because in arguing that you are right and that I am wrong you are appealing to the very objective standard of truth that you are attempting to deny.

6. I have highlighted the fact that in your efforts to disparage the absolute statement of Driscoll that you find it impossible not to use absolute statements of your own such as “all”, “everyone”, “no one”, “nonsense” etc.

7. I have suggested that the above is proof that you cannot disagree with someone who believes that there is an ultimate measure of accuracy and rightness without you yourself implicitly appealing to that same “measuring rod” of rightness that you at the same time seek to dismiss.

8. I have said that the fact that you are even taking the time to debate me right now proves my point. For you obviously believe you are right. Therefore, you believe I’m wrong.

9. Finally you contend that I am not interested in a “discussion” of the issues while at the same time you seem to not want to discuss the issues unless I agree with you. In other words “discussion” is great (I guess) as long as makes you feel comfortable but it’s not “discussion” anymore if it doesn’t.

I do have to admit to be smiling a bit at the claims of searching for “depth” while at the same time not being willing to acknowledge that one may be standing in water ankle deep – and in fact being offended when a fellow traveler even suggests that such shallows even exist.

Bryan: Yes, of course I think I’m right. I never said there were no absolutes. There are. If we couldn’t know anything, there wouldn’t be much point in talking about it. There are things that are true about the world.

But that does not imply a leap to knowing everything exactly as it is. You seem to be making a false dichotomy here that is unhelpful. Either there are absolutes *and* we can know them perfectly, or there aren’t any absolutes and we can’t know anything, which as you noted is self-refuting (and not the stance I was taking).

You’re confusing several realms of knowledge: knowledge about what Bible passages mean, knowledge about what we are able to know about ancient texts, and knowledge about what we can know in general. The same standards/limitations aren’t going to apply to all. The first category is limited by the second, which is limited by the third, and so on.

From the start, I was taking issue with Driscoll’s choice of language, which to me, doesn’t make sense. He (and you) are apparently conflating a change in the text itself with a change in how it’s being interpreted. THEY ARE NOT THE SAME THING! (And I think it is misleading and unhelpful to talk that way, which is why I responded in the first place).

The text of the Bible has been more or less stable for quite some time (setting aside minor translation issues and Dead Sea Scroll stuff). What is changing is how people are interpreting it.

There are clearly interpretations that are more right than others, and certainly plenty of wrong interpretations. I’m just cautioning a little humility in assuming we know in every case whether I or someone else has the right or best interpretation. If you think you’ve arrived at the best understanding of every text you should publish a commentary – I’d love to buy it.

There are things that are true. There are ways the world actually is. The question is which of those things can we know and how sure can we be whether we know them.

An analogy might help.

In clear sunlight we’re good at identifying the colors of things. In the dark we are not. Interpreting the Bible at times is like trying to identify colors at night. There is some light, but it is limited. More and more sources of light are becoming available (e.g., archaeology, history, linguistic discoveries). But we don’t all have equal access to those sources. Nor are we all equally good at seeing under low light.

Under these circumstances, we could still be in a position to say that this object before us is definitely not yellow (No one is saying there is no object, or no color!). It might be red or violet or indigo, but it’s not always totally clear. In all of this, reliance upon the Holy Spirit, one’s faith community, and historical witness all play a role, in addition to what’s already been mentioned.

We are also in a position to say that anyone who denies that there is insufficient light or who claims to be able to see perfectly clearly is extremely unlikely to be telling the truth.

On a different topic, I’m also not sure – given what appears to be your position – what need there is for faith. Where there is perfect and complete knowledge, faith is beside the point. Faith comes in when there is an element of doubt, when things are not obvious. If it was all clear cut and obvious, everyone would have that perspective.

Driscoll Fan: Bryan, I am going to try to be brief as I can for i fear I am risking becoming a bit pedantic in my responses to you.. So I am simply going to respond to several of your contentions in you last posting on a point by point format below.

Driscoll Fan: Opps – I copied your entire text and tried to respond to the first point and it reposted the entire thing… Sorry :- ) [he reposted my entire previous response, deleted here for brevity] Here is my basic response (probably better this way because I will REALLY be brief now :-) First, you say I am guilty of presenting a false dichotomy because I contend that you either have absolute knowledge or no knowledge – Not sure where you see that in my writing. Must just be your “interpretation” of what I am saying. Or is it possible my words and intent are being “changed” to suit what your experience and unique context leads you to want them to mean? Just because I am arguing that absolute reality exists and that it is knowable doesn’t mean I am arguing that I am always know that reality without error. What it does imply however is that reality exists and that it can be known and that arguments to the contrary are actually self-refuting and circular attempts to claim that you know nothing can be known and that you are sure that nothing is sure and that you are confident that we can have no confidence. Feels a bit like I am watching my dog chase his tail :-) Your obviously think it is REAL that I am wrong and that it is REAL that you are right in this debate. You also clearly think you KNOW what this REALITY is. Therefore you are essentially admitting to KNOWING Driscoll’s point while trying REALLY hard to claim you KNOW no such thing. Third, I disagree with you that Driscoll doesn’t make sense. In fact I think he makes more sense than those who argue that there is no “sense” that is common to and thereby anchored to a knowable absolute. Fourth, I agree with the caution for humility. The irony here is that history shows us that bowing to the knowability of Scripture Truth is the only way man has ever actually humbled himself before God and others. The elevation of ourselves to the position of “grand interpreter” is perhaps the quintessential example of the original sin where we don’t need God to tell us what is right or wrong or good or evil because we are fully capable of “knowing” this on our own. The Bible is clear and it should be read, heard, and “interpreted” in the context of such clarity. This is Driscoll’s obvious point. We have no right to “change” or “interpret” its meaning beyond the obvious. Doing so is the ultimate hubris and the antithesis of the humility you call for. Fifth, I don’t think you need buy one of my commentaries for I doubt (in all humility) my “interpretations” and “subjective” views would lend themselves to the “depth” of “authenticity” and “openness” you cherish…

Driscoll Fan: On your analogy of light – It appears that you are taking the same position of Jones, McClaren, Bell et al in claiming that ontologically there indeed is ultimate reality but that epistemologically such a reality can’t be known by flawed humans. I guess I can only respond by asking how do you KNOW this to be REAL and true? Or perhaps you are saying that you don’t know this??? Or perhaps you are conflating your opinion of what is true and real with what really is?? Or maybe … Oh never mind — my dog almost just caught his tail but watching him has made me real dizzy – or maybe not! Maybe dizziness is merely my interpretation and not real after all..

Driscoll Fan: Finally, forgive all the typos – I am rushing in between duties for the day and I haven’t had time to review and edit… But if it all boils down to your interpretation of what I am saying then it really doesn’t matter anyway because you can never REALLY KNOW what I meant in the first place anyway and it frankly doesn’t matter… Take the text and, in humility, make of it what you want.

Bryan: My guess is that we are both guilty of misunderstanding each other at some level, which actually illustrates my point about how communication works in reality. If you and I can struggle to understand each other clearly, imagine getting a point of view from people who have been dead a couple thousand years, spoke and wrote in languages no one speaks today, and lived in a culture that is in many respects different from ours!

I love the Bible, and study it a lot because of that, and because I think we can know things, and because I believe God is still speaking to us through it.

The simplest understanding is not always the most accurate, because we do not live in the ancient world and culture in which these texts were written. What seems simple and obvious to us in English may not always have been the author’s intent. The very fact that every pastor has multiple commentaries, and many, if not most, study the original languages – illustrates the exact point I have been making. All are unnecessary if it was always simple and clear.

Finally, I’m not sure why a mocking tone seems to follow all your comments about my approach and intentions. It detracts from the substantive things we are discussing.

Driscoll Fan: Bryan.

Frankly I’m saddened (but not surprised) that u just aren’t seeing that even in your last note you are essentially proving my point and Driscoll’s.

What difference does it make of there is no measuring rod of accuracy by which to judge the veracity of competing claims.

It is the ultimate in arrogance for man to place himself above this immutable scale.

This is what Driscoll was saying.

This what I’m saying.

Only subjectivity and sin would dim this light

Bryan: Yes, we do live in a subjective and sinful world. So my point stands. God may have such a rod, but we, this side of glory, are limited by the aforementioned, and get along by his grace.

Bryan: None of us stands where God stands, it’s a pretty basic point, really.

Bryan: In any case, appreciate the chance to discuss – I hope people can learn something by reading our exchange.

Driscoll Fan: Yep.

I guess if God’s measuring rod exists as you claim but that we are “limited” in our ability to ever truly know it then we are indeed a sorry lot.

Doomed to be oppressed by the power, popularity and pretensions of man -

Doomed to be subjugated to the bondage that always comes from opinions rather than being set free by the absolute Truth that Christ himself tells us we SHALL KNOW.

Doomed to political arrogance and ecclesiastical hubris.

Doomed to being given over to a reprobate mind -

Doomed to follow in the footsteps of the arrogant young professor of the Great Divorce where we never really had an original thought but simply kept parroting the opinions that seemed popular.

Indeed I hope people do read and learn and think about the consequences of their ideas.

Bottom line – At the end of the day all people will plead to be judged by God’s truth rather than yours or mine.

Thus Driscoll’s point.
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What do you think?  I let Driscoll Fan have the last word.  Did he use it well?  In the end, after a later engagement, and despite my attempts to be as cordial as possible in the interchange—I was unfriended by Driscoll Fan, who, it turns out, is the president of an evangelical university.

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December 23, 2012 · 12:09 pm

“Holy Innocents” and the Birth of Jesus

A guest post by Kyle Roberts.   This piece originally appeared on the Cultivare blog on Patheos.

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Jesus was born into a world of violence. A world where demented people kill innocent children.

It’s right there in the infancy narrative of the first gospel (in the order in your Bibles). It’s easy to miss, because we don’t often focus on it in our telling of the Christmas story–understandably so.

Matthew 2:16-18 tells the story of the “massacre of the innocents.” When Herod learns that a presumed threat to his throne was born in Bethlehem, he orders all male infants under age 2 in Bethlehem and surrounding area to be killed. An angel warns Joseph, who subsequently removes the baby Jesus from danger.

Tony Jones and James McGrath recently had an interesting back and forth as to the historicity of this account, and what that means for how we might understand suffering and God’s will. McGrath pointed out that the only evidence of this particular tragic event occurring is Matthew’s account itself (nothing in the other gospels–canonical or non–or in early histories like Josephus’). There is significant debate as to whether the account tells about a historical event or whether Matthew created or borrowed a fictional story. In any case, the story connected Jesus’s story with Moses’ (remember Miriam’s basket?) and underscored the significance of Jesus of Nazareth and his Messianic identity. McGrath takes the account as mythological–and is relieved by that. If it actually happened, it would suggest that God only cares about his own family (he sent an angel to warn Joseph, but not those other families — Weren’t there enough angels to go around?)

Tony Jones, on the other hand, insists that the story is historical and suggests that to consider otherwise is to silence the cries of the victims.

Guido Reni, 1611

Guido Reni, 1611

It’s easy to sense the heart behind both positions. On McGrath’s side is a concern that we not see divine providence behind every tragedy. Surely God’s will is not that little, innocent children die. Can we really believe that God takes sides? And even if we were to interpret Scripture this way,  we dare not apply that logic to contemporary, tragic events.

On the other hand, I get where Jones is coming from. While we can’t prove the event is historical, we certainly can’t be certain that it didn’t happen. So why risk silencing the voices of the victims and burying their faces under the genre of mythology?

For my part, I accept the story’s basic historicity (it’s certainly not out of character for Herod to do such a thing–indeed, he slaughtered his own sons, if we believe Josephus). But the really important element, for our purposes, is the theological message.

There’s an important lesson Matthew is telling through this story.

In his contribution to the Global Bible Commentary, Alejandro Duarte reads the gospel of Matthew through the lens of the second chapter, and the massacre of the innocents in particular. He suggests that Matthew is contrasting the kingship of Jesus with the kingship of Herod. Duarte recognizes the disjunction, the “divine injustice” that “Jesus was saved while the other children in Bethlehem were not…” This seems in contrast with the purpose of the mission of Jesus, which is to “save his people from their sins.” Salvation, Duarte insists, includes the “harm that awaits them in their daily lives.”

Massacre of the Innocents

Massacre of the Innocents

The disjunction, the tension is certainly there in the text (why was the Savior’s birth seemingly interlaced with the death of other children?). Why isn’t Matthew as troubled as we are by the implication that God somehow orchestrated this tragic scenario? Why didn’t God simply strike Herod dead–or keep the news from him? Why not save the others? Duarte suggests that the tension is due to the greater point Matthew is making: we have on display, here two kinds of royalty, two kinds of king.

Herod is a fearful and ferocious king–fearful of losing his power and ferocious toward his enemies. He makes use of his strength to wield his weapon of war and to vanquish those who threaten him. Herod’s power is the power of empire, the power of brute strength. Herod is a bully king. And Jesus? Jesus is the opposite: a baby, born to a poor illegitimate family, “dependent and passive.” While he is recognized as a unique figure, he is “weak and vulnerable,” dependent on God. The power of Jesus is exemplified by his birth as a vulnerable baby in a dingy manger. The tension from the beginning of Jesus’ incarnate life–as the birth of the Messiah occurs in the midst of the death of innocent, little ones–follows all the way through to Jesus’ act of sacrifice on the cross, in which he shows his solidarity with the powerless and ends the power of the powerful. Evil and suffering meet their end at the cross (even if the end-game must still be played out).

Christ came into a world where innocent children died. Christ “comes” again and again in a world–this we proclaim this during advent season) of intense suffering, a world where innocent children, “Holy Innocents” still die, whether by gunfire, errant drone strikes, starvation, thirst or disease.

Jesus shows us that the death of innocent children is not God’s will–and he prayed that God’s will would be done on earth as it is in heaven. The ultimate disjunction we live with is that God’s will is too often not done on earth as it is in heaven. God does not force his way. God creates space for freedom–even for evil and tragic suffering. And he urges obedience to the call of justice. While we pray that prayer, and hope in the advent of Jesus, we must also rise up and do whatever lies in our power to right wrongs and protect the innocent. But we must follow the model of Jesus the baby and the crucified one. He was a different sort of King than Herod. And we must not lose hope that the  birth of Jesus means the eventual death of the kind of power that too often rules our world.

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October 12, 2012 · 2:28 pm

Pub Theology Recap – Oct 11, 2012

We had a great turnout last night at Harmony Brewing Company, in Eastown, Grand Rapids.  This little brewery has been open since February, and features a cozy atmosphere, spins some good tunes (last night was Vinyl Thursday), and brews up some great offerings.

A few of us started off with Jackson’s Joy Fall Festival Ale, which was a good, if a bit sweet, oktoberfest-style ale.  Others jumped in with the Hideout IPA, which was a stand-in for the usual Fiddlestix IPA.  My favorite on their board is the Star Stuff Belgian Dubbel.  The Black Squirrel Porter was unfortunately also tapped out.

About a dozen of us squeezed in together in the upper-level, a small, quiet space of about 10 or 12 tables.  A couple familiar faces, a few Pub Theology first-timers, and some regulars made for a great discussion.

The sheet had the following topics:

1.    True or False: the better you can articulate what you believe, the more spiritually mature you are.

2.    How do certain [spiritual] practices open you up to new possibilities?

3.    Is there a difference between the Word of God & the words of scripture?

4.    Is it ever wrong to try to convert someone from one religion to another?

5.    What’s the difference between Christian education and indoctrination?

6.     Is a believer [ontologically] different from a nonbeliever?

Getting to the bottom of things.

We kicked off the evening on the first topic, and there was immediate push back to the notion that ‘spiritual maturity’ is linked to the ability to speak well about one’s beliefs.

Immediate counter-examples were offered: an older person who has a wisdom and maturity about him but is not a good source for systematic theology; a mother who lives in a way that bespeaks spiritual maturity (it was noted that there is more than one way to articulate things, we shouldn’t limit it to verbal articulation).

Another person thought the whole notion of ‘spiritual maturity’ was dubious.  ”Doesn’t that whole idea speak of having arrived?  Does one ever arrive?  Isn’t spiritual maturity that thing you strive for but never reach?”

We then mused about whether the church often falls into the trap of equating these two things: articulation and maturity.  In my own tradition, it’s when you can say what you believe, when you can give the right answers, that we acknowledge that you have reached at least some level of spiritual achievement that you weren’t at before.  Perhaps there are other means for evaluating faith — in fact I’m sure there are, and I think many of us are wanting to think more holistically about what it means to grow in one’s faith, beyond just words.

At the same time, someone noted that if you can’t at a basic level explain what you believe, perhaps you have some work to do.  Fair enough.

The second topic had us discussing the various practices that lead to spiritual growth, and open one up to new possibilities, new ways of experiencing God, or living into one’s experience of God.  Things like prayer, meditation, Scripture reading were mentioned, as well as getting involved in justice issues like poverty, slave trade, etc.  ”My faith is deepened as I seek to live among those who are marginalized in our society.”

One person noted that in his own very evangelical tradition, spiritual maturity equaled the ability to share the gospel with someone else: “How many people have you led to Christ?”

This led us naturally into topic no. 4: Is it ever wrong to convert someone to another religion?

There was some hesitation.  It was initially noted that there are certainly wrong ways to share one’s faith: the in-your-face model, the used-car-salesman-routine, the forcing-awkward-family-relationships routine.  Yet some felt, if eternal things are at stake – how could it be wrong to convert someone?

Then one person at the end of the table piped up: “Absolutely.  There are times it is flat out wrong to disrespect someone else’s culture and religion by trying to convert them.  I have friends in Buddhist and Hindu countries and I don’t think it would be right at all to go in there and try to convert them.  I plan on seeing my Muslim and Buddhist friends in heaven.  But maybe that means I’m not a real Christian.”

This provocative perspective made some uncomfortable while others cheered.  What do you think?

We ended the evening on topic no.3:  Is there a difference between the Word of God and the words of scripture?

This took us many places, but we began by looking at the perspective that there are two books in which God speaks to us – one, the book of the Bible, the other, the book of creation.  It was noted that in a recent NPR story a person from a more evangelical background noted that someone could not believe in evolution and be a Christian. “This drives me crazy!  How can we not be willing to find God in the world he has made, even if that forces us to reconsider some of our [long-held] theological positions?”

We then wondered about extrabiblical books, other gospels, the apocrypha, and so on.  Are these ‘God’s Word’ in any sense?  How does canon come into play, and should we restrict the Holy Spirit to speaking only through what ‘made it in’? And what about other traditions that include other books?  Or what about books that were left out, were those for spiritual or political reasons, or some other reason altogether?  Finally we wondered, what about words in the Scriptures themselves that portray God in a less than flattering light.  Are these too the “Word of God”, or are there instances in the canon where we see humanity struggling to understand God, and perhaps not always getting it right?  This latter line of thinking made several mutter “Marcion” under their breath, and made plenty nervous.  Others felt these were legitimate questions that we should be able to ask.

In the end, it was a great night.  Good beer, new relationships, honest conversation.  All agreed that the pub is a place to have these open and honest conversations, to have our thinking pushed, and to recognize that God just might be bigger than we’ve thought.   (And of course we ended in plenty of time to watch the Detroit Tigers beat the Oakland A’s behind the arm of Justin Verlander!).

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Feel free to weigh in on any of the above topics in the comment section below!

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May 31, 2012 · 10:59 am

Good? Heavens!

I came across a blog post yesterday with the title:

You Cannot Be A Good Person If You Do Not Believe In Heaven

I am in plenty of conversations with people who do not believe in heaven, or believe in something other than the Christian version of heaven, and they seem like pretty good people.

Yet I also understand (and experience) the biblical view that humanity is broken, flawed, sinful.  How do we balance that with imago dei — the idea that we are also created in the image of God?

The blog post went on to say: “The Bible teaches that you cannot live a good life if you do not believe in God’s promises.”  Anyone care to support that?

A re-current theme at our Pub Theology gatherings  is ethics:  How do we know what the good is?  How do we live good lives?  What is the grounding for our morality?  Is God the source of all good?  Are things good because God commands them?  Or does God command them because they are good?

Some would say you can be perfectly ‘good without God’.  They’ve even written books about it.  They would say that we can live good and moral lives without supernaturalism.  Given the friends I have who eschew faith in a divine being, I’m inclined to agree.

Most people of faith would say that without God we have no grounding to say anything is good.  We must have an ‘objective standard’ upon which to measure our ethics.  This also makes a certain amount of sense.

Still others would say that even if there were such a standard, none of us has objective access to it.

Get all that?

What do you think?  Can we be ‘good without God’?

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May 23, 2012 · 11:48 am

Losing Our Religion

Pastor John Suk

Recently a pastor in my denomination (The CRCNA) announced that he is leaving the denomination because he ‘has doubts’ about the doctrinal positions that he is supposed to defend and teach.  He indicated that he is pursuing a ministry position in the United Church of Canada.

He is not leaving because he is no longer a Christian.

He is not leaving because he is done with the ministry.

He is not leaving because he no longer is interested in following Christ.

He is not leaving because he no longer is interested in preaching and teaching.

He is leaving because we’ve created a culture in which you have to be ‘on board’ with a narrow band of dogma constructed primarily in the mid-1600’s.

Is this a good reason for someone to leave our denomination?  Some would say, “Absolutely.”   “Of course!”

I’m not so sure.

An Outdated Approach

A philosopher friend (a graduate of Calvin College’s philosophy department) has noted:

“One of the challenges is that to support something like, say, the Canons of Dort, is to support an interpretive process that current scholarship no longer adheres to.  It is based on proof-texting.  Taking verses of various books without regard to context, authorship, intended audience, historical circumstances and the like — and then mashing them together.  This very process is foreign to the Bible itself.

You might even say that it is to ignore the historical-grammatical manner of interpretation that Calvin Seminary teaches its own students:  you understand a single verse, text, or book of the Bible in its context.  That includes who wrote it, who it was written to, what else was happening at that time, what the larger argument of the entire letter or gospel or book is, and so on.”

It seems to me that to dismiss all of that when it comes to endorsing a theological system that was developed prior to the current and best modes of biblical interpretation is to ask the impossible of its graduates:  “Here’s how you best understand the text, but now that you’re going to be a pastor, ignore all that, sign the dotted line, and keep on teaching things that may (or may not) hold up under further scrutiny.”

For example, nearly every single point of doctrine in the Canons are made by quoting a single verse from varied and disparate sources like Ezekiel, Moses, Paul, and all too infrequently, Jesus. This ‘systematic’ approach to theology has been disregarded by the leading and best theologians today who prefer a narrative approach to theology in which the themes and storylines of whole texts are used, rather than the ‘hunt and peck’ method of proof-texting that can be (and has been!) used to justify just about anything.

As J.R. Daniel Kirk, New Testament Professor at Fuller Seminary has noted:

“Narrative theology is more content to leave stories as stories. Perhaps more, narrative theology is content to talk about God as God interacts with Abraham, and Moses, and David, and Jesus, and Paul. To what degree can we speak of God truly when we have not located God as the actor in a story that unfolds in and among the people?”

The Bible is comprised mostly of stories!  Not of raw data that we can pick and choose and then compile.  A systematic approach to the Bible is too often foreign to what the Bible actually is.

Kirk also notes (and this is an important point):

“Narrative approaches also tend to have more patience with leaving contrasting voices on the table to continue their conversation. The Bible is a narrative, not a philosophical system, so univocal theological points are not expected.

For systematic theology, we must finally say either, “justification by faith apart from works” (Paul), or, “justification by works and not by faith alone” (James). As a discipline, narrative theology can allow those to have a longer conversation, at very least, before resolving the issue–and may not feel the need for such a resolution.

And there, perhaps, is the rub.

Systematic theology is driven by the complementing notions, natural to me and to most of us I suspect, that there is one right answer and that it is ours for the finding.

Narrative theology, because it functions in the realm of story rather than system, has more breadth for multiple right answers, or multiple interpretations (stories are slippery like that) of the right answer(s).”

This double-minded approach —teaching contextual biblical interpretation on the one hand, and ignoring it on the other— that we are asking of our pastors and theologians is a problem, and if it doesn’t lead to a personal crisis or the beginnings of doubts – a la John Suk — then perhaps that particular student wasn’t paying attention during their biblical studies courses.

Is this really the place we want to be in?

Where the leaders among us who have wrestled with these issues, struggled as to whether or not they actually believe them, who love God and at the same time are trying desperately to be intellectually honest —and come out on the other side with their faith intact— are asked to leave?  Are not these the very kind of leaders we need?  Yet the only space we seem willing to make for them is the doorway.

If I were sitting in the pews, I would much prefer this kind of pastor, as opposed to one who grew up being spoon-fed certain doctrines since childhood without ever honestly engaging them.  (Is this a caricature?  Maybe.  But it seems that most who would ‘wrestle’ with the confessions know there is only one real outcome: get on board or get out.  That tends to make for short –and less than genuine– wrestling matches.)

At this point, it should be noted, I am not dismissing the results of the confessions – but asking, is the process at which its authors arrived at them a process that anyone even endorses today?  (Some have noted that in fact the authors were using a form of narrative theology to support their systematic doctrines, and that may be so – I’m certainly not an expert on how these things came about – but in reading the documents themselves and the various texts cited one might ask if that is really the case.  It appears they approached the texts with their theology in mind and allowed that theology to determine the way the texts were read, rather than allowing the various texts to speak on their own.)

A Crossroads

The Christian Reformed Church is in many ways facing a crossroads:  do we continue to demand rigorous adherence to outdated doctrinal formulations and in the process risk losing some of our most thoughtful and faithful people?  Or do we shift our relationship to these historic confessional documents that ‘creates space’ for those who love God, want to serve him, but aren’t sure they can subscribe to everything in the fine print?

There is nothing wrong with saying that these documents have shaped us deeply, and they will continue to do so— as historical documents (which is what they are!).  But do we really want to say they are the final arbiters of what the varied biblical authors had to say about God, faith, and the Christian life?  One can scarcely imagine that the original authors of these confessions assumed they were writing something that would be calcified into the ‘final word’ on these matters for all time.  In fact, as Karin Maag, professor of history at Calvin College recently noted, “They were not consciously planning to write a perfectly-crafted document for the ages.”  No doubt the very act of writing a new doctrinal statement – as they were – implies that this act must happen again (and again).  (Also note: we don’t make anyone sign on to Calvin’s Institutes, or Kuyper’s Lectures on Calvinism – yet those things continue to shape us).

One section of the Canons of Dort is prefaced with:  ‘Rejection of the Errors by Which the Dutch Churches Have for Some Time Been Disturbed’.  In other words, in a certain time and place, these things were deemed important.

But is anyone today honestly concerned about whether God chose them or they chose God, or whether that kind of question can even be properly answered (or needs to be answered) this side of eternity?

I’m not sure the biblical writers were as obsessed with such dogmatic approaches as some of us are.  They were telling a story.  A narrative.  One in which people engaged God, and God engaged people.  Granted, there are points that can be made abstractly about the whole thing, but the point is the story!

So many of the doctrines we are demanding adherence to were ‘constructed’ out of verses taken out of texts that were not actually concerned with that particular point at all, when read in light of the whole.  This is not to say that they are ‘wrong’ per se, but simply that they often miss the forest for the trees.

The point of the story is that our world is broken and God is renewing it through Christ – and we are called to hear that message, receive it, share it, and live it!

To instead freeze some doctrinal points derived out of dubious interpretive methods as some ‘perfect picture’ of who God is or what faith is, is to miss the point entirely!  It is to construct new idols which we now demand people must worship.  I think the Reformers had a thing or two to say about the propensity of people to create such objects of worship.

Jesus at the Temple

One could imagine Jesus showing up to one of our Synodical discussions about the form of Subscription, and —reprising his stint at the temple– ripping up the Confessions and turning over tables, lighting the Form of Subscription on fire  and yelling: “What are you doing about the brokenness of my world?!  You’re sitting here constructing ways of keeping people out, when I was about letting people in!  I tore the curtain, and you’re sewing it back together!”

An Unnecessary Departure

I continually meet people who have never heard of these documents and yet have some of the deepest, most thoughtful lives of faith I’ve encountered.

Are they ‘off-track’?  Are they less Christian?  Is their faith less sincere?

Hardly.

The average person today isn’t wrestling with these issues – these things aren’t even on the radar.  Today there are far different concerns.

If we want to continue to be less relevant to our culture, we can continue to stand on our little turf of doctrinal smugness while shoving everyone else off.

We can talk about ‘every square inch’ belonging to Jesus while making sure that we only cover about six inches square because we’re so tightly wound up with doctrinal anxiety that people are no longer interested in being around us.

Many have celebrated Suk’s departure as ‘honorable’ and ‘filled with integrity’.  They have lauded his honesty and willingness to own his doubts — now that he’s gone.

“He doesn’t fit here – he should just serve elsewhere.”  And so on.

Perhaps a polite version of the heresy witch hunts of times past.  In the old days you might have been burned at the stake or imprisoned.  Now we simply drop hints and give a wink, perhaps send a letter or two, have someone make a phone call… until you finally get the hint, and leave of your own volition.  It’s much neater and easier that way.

Suk wrote a recent blog post entitled, Time to Put the Confessions to Pasture?  A number of CRC pastors responded with things like, “Let me ask you, John, why are you still in the CRC?  Perhaps it’s time for you to leave.”

I think far too many breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing of Suk’s departure.  He made many uncomfortable, which is precisely why I wish he would have stayed.  But then again, when you have a doctrinal system that has ‘comfort’ at its core, you can expect the status quo to reign supreme.

(Incidentally I can’t recall Jesus preaching about being comfortable… or if he did, it was something like ‘Woe to you who have received your comfort now.’).

What seems clear to me is that people have invented a religion (CRC Dutch Calvinism) that is more important than following Christ.  A religion that doesn’t have space or room for theological wrestling, for philosophical questioning, for honest inquiry — and for seeking out the truth.  Many in our circles talk about seeking truth when the fact is that they are simply in favor of maintaining the status quo.

If we are really interested in following Jesus and seeing his kingdom come, it might just be time to release our grip on this religion we’re so attached to.  In fact, it might be time to lose our religion altogether, if in fact, we want to save it.

Suk’s departure makes me sad.  He feels he could ‘no longer serve in good conscience.’  That makes me sadder – not because he was wrestling or because he had doubts — but that we’re not that interested in having those kind of people around.  For me – that’s exactly the kind of pastor I would want to have: one who is searching, wrestling, praying, struggling, doubting, loving, walking by faith, humble about what he or she knows and doesn’t know.  A real person.

Some celebrate his decision, but I feel it’s one he shouldn’t have had to make.

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May 1, 2012 · 2:15 pm

Master and Apprentice

“Always two there are, master and apprentice.” ~ Yoda

On Sunday at Watershed we looked at John 5:19-20 and saw it as a ‘parable of apprenticeship.’  (Wes Howard-Brook)

Jesus watching the Father to see how he acts, and to act likewise in the world.

watching, learning, doing

We noted that throughout history, fathers have taught their sons a particular trade.

NT Wright notes:

“This is becoming more rare today in the Western world, but there are still plenty of places where it is the normal and expected thing for sons to follow fathers into the family business.  And, particularly where the business involves working at a skilled trade with one’s hands, apprenticeship means literally being side by side, with the son watching every move that the father makes and learning to do it in exactly the same way.  That is how many traditional skills are handed down from generation to generation, sometimes over hundreds of years.”

Listen to John 5:19-20 in light of this:

Jesus gave them this answer: “I tell you the truth, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does.  For the Father loves the Son and shows him all he does.”

NT Wright notes that Jesus is explaining more fully how it is that Israel’s God is working in a new way, and how he, Jesus is watching carefully to see how it’s being done, so as to do it alongside the father and in keeping with his style and plan.

This is exactly what Jesus has said earlier in v.17:  “My father is always at his work to this very day, and I too, am working.”

In my reading this morning at the home of my new Minnesota couchsurfing friends (though I guess I’m the one who’s couchsurfing!), I came across Mark Scandrette’s Practicing the Way of Jesus.  (Apparently he’ll be at the conference later this week).

An appropriate book in light of what we studied together on Sunday.  Here’s a taste from the first chapter:

“In a holistically-oriented culture, skeptical people are less convinced by purely rational arguments about why Christianity is true, and more curious to see whether Christian belief and practice actually make a positive difference in the character of a person’s life.  Knowing the transformational promise of the gospel, it is fair to ask whether a person who claims to have a relationship with Jesus exhibits more peace and less stress, handles crisis with more grace, experiences less fear and anxiety, manifests more joy, is overcoming anger and their addictions or compulsions, enjoys more fulfilling relationships, exercises more compassion, lives more consciously or loves more boldly.  In any culture, but especially in one that yearns for holistic integration, the most compelling argument for the validity of the Christian faith is a community that practices the way of Jesus by seeking a life together in the kingdom of love (John 13:35).

And yet, a tremendous gap exists in our society between the way of radical love embodied and taught by Jesus and the reputation and experience of the average Christian.  We simply aren’t experiencing the kind of whole-person transformation that we instinctively long for (and that a watching world expects to see).

This suggests the need for a renewed understanding of the gospel and more effective approaches to discipleship.  Though our understanding of the gospel is becoming more holistic, our most prevalent formation practices don’t fully account for this.  We can be frustrated by this gap and become critics, or be inspired by a  larger vision of the kingdom and get creative.

I believe what is needed,   in this transitional era, are communities of experimentation — creative spaces where we have permission to ask questions and take risks together to practice the Way.”

If you haven’t read Scandrette’s book – pick up a copy, or borrow a friend’s.  Hoping to get a copy for the Watershed library!

Love to hear thoughts/reactions on what it means for us to be apprentices, disciples, to be those who live in the way of Jesus, and don’t just talk about it.

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April 3, 2012 · 10:09 am

I Was A Slave (Wasn’t I?)

All Jews were once slaves in Egypt, whether history proves it or not

Despite being a historian, I have not let the lack of evidence distance me from the Passover message.

By Arie Hasit / Jewish World blogger / haaretz.com

“In every generation, a person must see himself as if he personally left Egypt.” With these words, we begin to wrap up the “telling” portion of the Passover seder, having already extensively quoted the rabbis and their understandings of the exodus from Egypt.

When I was younger I had an easy time imagining myself as part of the exodus, thanks to art and bibliodrama. I had images of the slaves, images of the ten plagues, and a strong belief that all of those really happened. As a child, my imagination ran free, and I had no trouble being part of a very real story.

As I grew older and, admittedly, more skeptical, I began to doubt different aspects of the Passover story. After hearing about scientific explanations for the plagues and the splitting of the sea, I suddenly had much more trouble placing myself in this dubious story.

But, ironically, what could have been the largest blow to my ability to see myself as if I left Egypt has in fact allowed me to follow the command of the Passover seder more than ever. Around the time that I graduated from high school, I read about a sermon by Rabbi David Wolpe in which he questioned the historical veracity of the exodus from Egypt. The sermon caused quite the uproar in my circles, given the centrality of the exodus to so much of Judaism. But for me, it was merely unleavened food for thought.

No matter what I want to believe (and I want to believe that all of this happened), I am inclined to doubt that there was in fact an historical exodus by the people of Israel from Egypt. Perhaps it’s my background as a student and teacher of history, but without any external evidence or confirmation, I just cannot believe it happened.

However, rather than subduing my ability to relate to Passover, this lack of historical proof actually allows me to heighten my relatedness.

Whether or not there was an exodus 3,200 years ago, one thing is certain: for the past 2,000 years, our tradition has commanded us to posit this exodus from Egypt, historic or otherwise, at the center of our faith through a night of telling its story. What connects us to our past is not the historicity of the exodus, rather the way we give the story such importance. According to this tradition, we cannot be Jews if we cannot understand the experience of slavery and at the same time the experience of redemption.

So what does it mean to see ourselves as if we personally left Egypt? First and foremost, it means forcing ourselves to empathize with slaves. It forces us to think of that which enslaves us in our day- be it our jobs, technology, or the personal demons that we each battle in our own way.

Secondly, we are forced to confront what it means to be released from slavery. Our sages used their imaginations and the Torah—creating midrashim about the number of plagues God dealt the Egyptians with each finger. Yet there is no doubt that they were also imagining what they needed to do to escape the oppression of the Romans, against whom many rabbis were fighting for their independence. As we tell the story of God’s wonders in Egypt, we must think for ourselves what we must to do to feel free.

Finally, in order to truly identify with the exodus from Egypt, we must understand how we have been (and continue to be) freed. The Jewish redemption from slavery meant the ability to serve God instead of Pharaoh. Our freedom from slavery does not mean freedom from acting on behalf others, but rather it means the ability to choose how we will serve others.

On this Passover, as on every one before, I will decide not to be a slave, but to pick for myself how to serve myself, how to serve my loved ones, and how to serve God. This past year, I have been a slave, but soon, I will be free.

Arie Hasit is an educator at Ramah Programs in Israel and is beginning the Israeli bet midrash program at the Schechter institute. The views expressed in this article are the author’s alone.

        This story is by:

Arie Hasit

      / Jewish World blogger

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March 11, 2012 · 6:48 pm

STATION: Lectio

Sacred Reading

History

Lectio Divina is the Latin for ‘Holy Reading’ and was a form and approach to praying with Scripture that was common among medieval religious orders. The value of Lectio Divina was rediscovered in the twentieth century.

Essentially Lectio Divina involves taking a short passage of Scripture and pondering it. This can be done alone or in a group, and normally involves prolonged periods of silence.

 

Instructions

 

Choose a reader.  The reader will read the text through four times, slowly, with a time of silence between each reading.  Allow the words to wash over you.  Be present.  What is God saying to you right here and now?  Open yourself to His Words.

From the fourth chapter of the Gospel of John:

 

“Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep.  Where can you get this living water?”

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.  Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”

The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water. . .”

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· 6:40 pm

STATION: Still

Silence

SCRIPTURE:

“Be still,

and know that I am God.”

—   Psalm 46:10

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Find a comfortable space – sit, kneel, or stand –

and simply be in God’s presence.

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