Category Archives: Theology

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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April 19, 2013 · 9:19 am

Boston Reaction: Had It With Humanity?

Mourners attend candlelight vigil for Martin Richard at Garvey Park, near Richard's home in the Dorchester section of Boston, on Tuesday, April 16, 2013. Martin is the 8-year-old boy killed in the Boston Marathon bombing. (AP Photo/The New York Times, Josh Haner)

Mourners attend candlelight vigil for Martin Richard at Garvey Park, near Richard’s home in the Dorchester section of Boston, on Tuesday, April 16, 2013. Martin is the 8-year-old boy killed in the Boston Marathon bombing. (AP Photo/The New York Times, Josh Haner)

This piece was originally posted Friday, April 19 in the Huffington Post.

The reactions to Monday’s explosions at the Boston Marathon are well documented and many.

President Obama acknowledged in the aftermath that we knew little about the explosions at the Boston Marathon, but pledged “we will find out who did this and we will hold them accountable.”

Obama maintained that Boston is a “tough and resilient town,” and that “the American people will be with them every single step of the way.”

The stories of the victims and the brave acts of heroism should be paramount here, but inevitably we ask: Who did this? Why did they do this? Why does anyone want to do something like this?

RELATED — BOMB SUSPECT DEAD, MANHUNT FOR SECOND

One particular reaction that many people resonated with was making the rounds on Facebook. It was from comedian Patton Oswalt:

Boston. Fucking horrible.

I remember, when 9/11 went down, my reaction was, “Well, I’ve had it with humanity.”

But I was wrong. I don’t know what’s going to be revealed to be behind all of this mayhem. One human insect or a poisonous mass of broken sociopaths.

But here’s what I DO know. If it’s one person or a HUNDRED people, that number is not even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the population on this planet. You watch the videos of the carnage and there are people running TOWARDS the destruction to help out. (Thanks FAKE Gallery founder and owner Paul Kozlowski for pointing this out to me). This is a giant planet and we’re lucky to live on it but there are prices and penalties incurred for the daily miracle of existence. One of them is, every once in awhile, the wiring of a tiny sliver of the species gets snarled and they’re pointed towards darkness.

But the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away the evil doers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak. This is beyond religion or creed or nation. We would not be here if humanity were inherently evil. We’d have eaten ourselves alive long ago.

So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, “The good outnumber you, and we always will.”

What do you think? Is humanity on the whole wired toward goodness? Is this an intentional, divinely-infused goodness, or a product of evolutionary development, or perhaps both?

We discussed this very thing at Pub Theology DC on Tuesday night, the following day after the events in Boston.

Read the rest of this article at the Huffington Post!

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March 29, 2013 · 6:05 pm

Atheist: “I Still Believe in Good Friday”

banksy_good_friday

Guest post by Chris Lubbers, Adjunct Professor of Philosophy, Muskegon Community College

Reflections on Good Friday

I remember being puzzled as a child in church—one of many times—about why the day on which Jesus was crucified was called “Good Friday.” What was good about that? It seemed pretty awful.

I was told that what was good was that Jesus died for our sins, thus saving us from the punishment of death. But everyone still sins, and everyone still dies.

Later I was told that saving us from death was a metaphor for saving us from the eternal torment known as hell, which was not a metaphor. Some people still went to hell, though, because they didn’t believe in Jesus. Whatever that meant.

Have you ever tried to just believe something that you didn’t already believe? Good luck.

Eventually, I was told that it didn’t really matter what we did. God chose from before the creation who would go to heaven and who would go to hell. Problem solved?

Studying Biblical scholarship, church history, theology, ethics and philosophy of religion offered me the opportunity to learn far more subtle, complex, nuanced and technical answers to these simple questions I had raised. But I found them all lacking.

So, why am I writing about Good Friday, when I don’t believe in Easter?

Because, even though I don’t think there are any such things as gods or places like heaven and hell, I still believe in Good Friday. I believe that Jesus was crucified by a powerful and corrupt empire, with the help of the religious leadership, whose authority Jesus questioned on a regular basis, sometimes violently.

Little has changed in two thousand years. Those in power still seek to destroy those who question their authority.

Every once in a while, though, someone comes along and reminds us that some things are worth dying for. They inspire us to do what is right and let the shameful injustice of those in power reveal itself to everyone.

I think today of all those girls, boys, women and men who have suffered and died for our sins.

Do we have enough courage not to avert our eyes?

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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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February 18, 2013 · 5:06 pm

God Doesn’t Need our Help, But He Asks for It

helping-hand2

James K. A. Smith wrote a new blog post this morning: God Doesn’t Need Our Help. And since, per usual, no comments are allowed, I thought I’d respond with a post of my own.  And, per usual, your comments are welcome!

He begins with this notion that there is now a “new apologetics” afoot in Christianity to make the faith more palatable in an age of intellectualism and postmodernity:

In our age of post-Christian anxiety, where so many worry about young people leaving the faith and the implausibility of Christianity in a secular age, we get a new apologetics.  The goal of the new apologetics is not to prove or defend the puzzling and scandalous aspects of orthodox Christianity.  Instead, the goal is to show that “authentic” Christianity, or the “true” Gospel, is not offensive–that the “God of love” worshiped by Christians is pretty much the God you would want.

I’m guessing that the efforts he has in mind are generally emergent-style approaches, such as Brian McLaren’s “Naked Spirituality” or Rob Bell’s “Love Wins.”  These folks make God so warm and fuzzy as to remove all objectionable content, Smith is arguing.  One wishes he would provide specific examples, and then counter with a better approach.  He does gloss over a few such theological touchstones like hell and the atonement, but fails to articulate what he feels is an insufficient understanding, or how he would like it framed.

He goes on to note the dubious path of this ‘new apologetics’:

That presents a challenge, of course, but the challenge is not located where you might think.  Instead of spending its energy on articulating, explaining, and defending the coherence of biblical, historic Christianity (including all the “hard truths” that attend it), the new apologetics expends its energy convincing the skeptic that all sorts of aspects of “Christianity” are, in fact, non-essential accretions or downright deformative perversions of “true” or “authentic” Christianity.  This is undertaken in the name of removing “intellectual hurdles” to the Christian faith.  If you look again at how many new apologists frame their “reconsiderations” of hell, or the doctrine of the atonement, or the doctrine of original sin in light of evolutionary evidence, or traditional Christian sexual ethics, I suggest you’ll often find they “frame” their project something like this:

“These are aspects of Christianity that are just not believable today.  But that’s OK, because it turns out that they’re also aspects that are not really biblical and not really Christian.  So don’t let those things stop you from believing.” [Then cue your favorite tale about "Hellenization" or "Constantinianism" or "fundamentalism" here.]

Where to begin?  First of all, most efforts I am tuned in to that are rearticulating the faith have nothing to do with making Christianity more palatable, but with honest attempts to engage the biblical and historical material, and go where the evidence leads.  He intentionally twists this around, noting that many begin with deciding something is not believable, then attempt to justify it biblically and historically.  Is there any evidence that this is the actual motivation of these “new apologists”?  It is quite a charge to make, and we might wish to have this in hand before agreeing to the point.

Smith wishes that this new approach would spend its energy “articulating, explaining and defending the coherence of biblical, historic Christianity (including all the “hard truths” that attend it).”  Yet the hard truth here is that a single, unified “historic Christianity” simply doesn’t exist.  It’s a convenient fiction by which we tell ourselves we are simply walking the path that began with the first disciples undistorted down to our day.

As Harvey Cox notes in The Future of Faith: “When I attended seminary, most historians conveyed the impression that once upon a time there was a single entity called “early Christianity,” but that gradually certain heresies and schisms arose on the margins and disrupted the initial harmony.  In the last few decades, however, all these assumptions have proven erroneous.  There never was a single “early Christianity”; there were many, and the idea of “heresy” was unknown.”

Speaking Of…

Are some folks interested in changing theology to make it more ‘believable’?  Probably.  That may well be true in certain cases.  But many, many folks I study and read are simply interested in studying the biblical and historical record to know what a text or doctrine actually meant when it was written, and the context in which it arose. The consequences for theology only come later, if at all.  It strains credulity to imagine this hard work of studying, gathering and analyzing all the evidence from linguistic, archaeological, cultural, literary and historical sources is done simply for the sake of inventing a more believable Christianity!

In fact, Smith himself would prefer us to begin with the answers, pay attention only to evidence that supports his version of orthodoxy, and ignore everything else.  Which does the very thing he claims the “new apologetics” does: it makes Christianity more palatable for his particular audience.  Smith teaches at Calvin College, a private, Reformed institution.  [Cue your favorite tale about “John Calvin” or “Heidelberg” or “ham on buns.”]

This version of the faith is meant to be more amenable to his audience, precisely because it is the same version that his students’ parents hold and the same version his administrators hold, not to mention the donors who fund the whole enterprise.  In seeking to display honest attempts at understanding the Bible and church history as dishonest marketing efforts for Christianity, Smith succumbs to his own charge: he defends the status quo under the guise of honest theological discussion.

Instead of having a response to those who may look at early church doctrine and the influence of Hellenization (i.e., being shaped by Greek thought and philosophy), he wants us to ignore it.  Instead of acknowledging the troubling political realities surrounding the church councils at which some of the core doctrines of “historic Christianity” were founded, Smith would prefer us to just ‘take their word for it’ and carry on, because ‘there’s nothing to see here.’  Who cares if Nicea was presided over by a corrupt Roman emperor who had power and national unity in mind rather than any real interest in theological accuracy?  That’s no business of ours!  Our charge is to assume they got it exactly right, and continue to uphold the “hard doctrines” upon which our forebears spent so much personal capital.  Speaking of ignoring intellectual challenges.

Listen to Calvin College’s own statement of its calling, as articulated by Neal Plantinga:  “We [Christians] learn to distrust simple accounts of complex events and to be prepared for the place human irrationality has in the course of human history. All this equips us to understand the world in which we are to be peace agents. Just as no CIA agent would be sent to an area of which she was ignorant, so it’s folly for us to expect to serve and transform a world we do not know.”

Indeed.

Smith argues that such a “new apologetics” (which, by the way, is a convenient title for something that doesn’t exist) avoids intellectual rigor, but it is clear enough that he is the one advocating for ignoring historical realities that might challenge one’s doctrinal heritage.  Yet to articulate that would ruffle some institutional feathers (something a few of his colleagues learned is not to be done).

I hate to break it to Jamie, but there is no “new apologetics.”  However, there is renewed interest in discovering more closely what was going on in the first century in Galilee and the Ancient Near East, what was behind early church councils that codified doctrines for all time, and what it might look like to live out a meaningful Christian faith today.

Old Faithful

Smith then goes for the bread and butter of his audience:

But it seems to me that this sort of project is predicated on a particular account of faith that is often left implicit.  In particular, it seems to assume that if someone is going to come to believe the Gospel they must be convinced since their belief is a matter of their choice.  Or at the very least, the intellectual hurdles that stand in the way of their believing must be removed.  If we do that, then the way is clear for them to choose to believe.

The new apologetic, in other words, is fundamentally Arminian, perhaps even Pelagian (and yes, I know the difference*).  The drive to eliminate intellectual and “moral” hurdles to belief is a fundamentally Arminian project insofar as it seems to assume that “believability” is a condition for the skeptic or nonbeliever to then be able to “make that step” toward belief.

While this might confirm a lot of prejudices, it should be said that this is an odd strategy if one is an Augustinian or a Calvinist–since in an Augustinian account, any belief is a gift, a grace that is given by God himself.  So if God is going to grant the gift of belief, it seems that God would able to grant and empower a faith that can also believe the scandalous.  In other words, God doesn’t need our help.

Here Smith attempts to resuscitate a long-dead theological squabble because he knows mere mention of the word “Arminian” still might rankle a few folks in West Michigan.  To get non-Reformed folks up to speed: Arminianism is based on the theological ideas of the Dutch Reformed theologian Jacobus Arminius (1560–1609) and his historic supporters known as the Remonstrants. It is known as a soteriological sect of Protestant Christianity. The crux of this  Arminianism lay in the assertion that human dignity requires an unimpaired freedom of the will.  In other words, one can choose faith or resist it.  One can choose to follow Jesus, or not. (Seems fairly obvious on the face of it).

Ah… but how do we pair this common sense, seemingly obvious reality with the doctrine that God has elected people before they were born for either heaven or hell?  Forget common sense: nobody chooses Jesus.  Jesus chooses you.  In a word, Arminianism attempted to give people dignity, to show that faith is not a farce, and that God, in essence, hasn’t rigged the game.

But let’s wake up to the fact that such arguments are about things that have little or nothing to do with a life of actually following the very earthy (and earthly) Jesus of Nazareth, whom one can scarcely imagine had time for such esoteric theological squabbling.  Smith is worried we might violate a theological construct from the Middle Ages that almost nobody cares about today.  Rather than constructively present a coherent theological impetus for engaging the world and society today, including concerns about peace and conflict, environment and ecology, and human sexuality, Smith would rather us look worriedly over our shoulder at a conflict from 600 years ago about something that no one can figure out conclusively anyway.

But Smith knows this much: in Calvinistic circles, accusing your opponent of being an Arminian ends the argument.  Case closed!  They’re heretics, so they’re obviously wrong.

In Closing

Jamie Smith’s conclusion: God doesn’t need our help.  He can choose us or not.  He can save our world from ecological or military disaster just fine without us.  He can grow his church without us (wait, I thought we were the body of Christ… but I digress).  Why worry about new constructive efforts for living out the faith today?  Why bother with things like Christian education?  Why even write blog posts on the topic?  Such human efforts are surely irrelevant in the face of this austere and omnipotent Calvinistic Zeus. God must be genuinely grateful for such an eloquent defense of his inscrutable ways (though God knows he doesn’t need it).

Much of this seems contrary to the picture one finds in the Scriptures: a God who willingly partners with humanity, and sets them as caretakers over his entire creation (The original Hebrew hides this line in chapter 2: “Just kidding, Adam!  Don’t need you at all.  Especially if you mess things up.”).

All through the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures God not only needs our help, he asks for it.

A Jewish perspective (which, by the way, precedes later “heretical” developments like Pelagianism or Arminianism by just a wee bit) is that God has chosen to partner with humanity.  That he does, in fact, need us, and has chosen to need us.  To say otherwise is to belittle the hard fought efforts of people such as Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King Jr., and many, many other unheralded people of faith who work hard every day to bring a bit of God’s healing into this broken creation.  And more specifically to Smith’s point on belief: God has used men and women to carry the message of the gospel to people far and wide so that they would believe, from the very beginning.

As Jesus said to Paul on the road to Damascus:
“Now get up and go into the city, and you will be told what you must do.”

God doesn’t need us?  Someone forgot to tell that to Jesus.

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February 15, 2013 · 10:54 am

Think You’ve Got it? Think Again

disagree

On the Problem With Agreement and Disagreement

A guest post by Peter Rollins (originally posted at peterrollins.net)

One of the things that I often see in discussions concerning some thinker is the use of the phrases “agree” and “disagree.” For instance, in relation to my own work I often see phrases like, “I agree with much of what says,” “I don’t agree with everything” or “I disagree with…”

These terms can initially seem like evidence of critical thinking (i.e. someone is willing to critically affirm or question what they are reading), yet these terms are actually more symptomatic of uncritical thought. The reason lies in the way in which these terms imply that the individual is taking the material and simply comparing it with what they already believe is correct. Insofar as what is heard or read corresponds with the persons own position they affirm it and where it differs they reject it.

Something that one learns quickly in a first year philosophy class is the need to suspend this attitude of agreement and disagreement so that we might enter into the world of the philosopher we are reading and let their vision impact our own.

While reading a thinker the question, “where do I agree or disagree with them,” effectively domesticates them and acts as a defense against the possibility of their work actually vacillating our existing paradigm. By vacillating our existing paradigm I mean the experience where one remains within ones intellectual frame, while experiencing it as a frame.

This is a vital experience in the critical process for we need to be exposed to other thinking in order to gain a vantage point over our own way of seeing the world; all the while avoiding the fantasy of being able to step outside of it.

To understand the process we can compare it to being immersed in watching a movie on an old TV set. Imagine that, half way through the film, the screen shakes. At such a moment we gain a distance from the movie while still watching it. We are then reminded of its status as a movie. In the same way the intellectual process involves allowing another to vacillate our paradigm (something apologetics courses are fundamentally set up to avoid). This process involves entering the others world and asking, “where would this thinker agree and disagree with me?”

By doing this one enters into a properly antagonistic relation with the thinker, a relation that is more likely to lead to a development and deepening of ones own thoughts.

–
Peter Rollins is a widely sought after writer, lecturer, storyteller and public speaker.  He is the author of the much talked about How (Not) to Speak of God. His most recent work is entitled The Idolatry of God.

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January 28, 2013 · 3:35 pm

Religion May Not Survive the Internet, Then Again… It Might.

"Does your pastor know that?"

“Does your pastor know that?”

The End of Religion?

An article appeared several days ago on Salon.com entitled: Religion May Not Survive the Internet.  (Originally written by Valeria Tarico for Alternet.)

I was curious about this, so I checked it out.  Perhaps my favorite line was the following:

“Tech-savvy mega-churches may have Twitter missionaries, and Calvinist cuties may post viral videos about how Jesus worship isn’t a religion, it’s a relationship, but that doesn’t change the facts: the free flow of information is really, really bad for the product they are selling.”

I get it.  There are many approaches to religious faith that seek to maintain a following through controlling what information is accessible (and acceptable) to its adherents.  I recall a church expressly forbidding its members from reading books by a certain author.  Not just: we disagree with that theological approach, but: “If you want to be a member here you will NOT read those books.”  The article states: “Such defenses worked beautifully during humanity’s infancy. But they weren’t really designed for the current information age.”  Precisely.

To me, such an approach to faith and to God is getting it backward, and perhaps its for the best if these narrow religious approaches do not survive the internet.

After all, when did telling a group of people not to do something prevent everyone from doing it?  It’s a losing approach from the start, particularly in today’s info-accessible age.

The article goes on to note:

“A traditional religion, one built on “right belief,” requires a closed information system. That is why the Catholic Church put an official seal of approval on some ancient texts and banned or burned others. It is why some Bible-believing Christians are forbidden to marry nonbelievers.  It is why Quiverfull moms home school their kids from carefully screened text books.”  (This really does happen!)

Per my recent post on Harvey Cox’s book The Future of Faith, I think there is a shift in religious circles away from exclusive focus on “right belief”, particularly of the closed-system sort, toward a faith that embraces mystery, and seeks to engage one’s life in all of its facets (spiritual, emotional, physical; work, play, relationships; art, nature, beauty).  Less and less folks are content to be told: “You have to believe this, and you cannot read this.”

I hope the Internet does as the author of this article suggests: kills such approaches.  Perhaps they’ve been allowed to thrive for too long as it is.

"This online communion just isn't the same."

“This online communion just isn’t the same.”

My own sense is not that religion will not survive the internet, but the converse: religion will thrive in the age of the Internet.  A healthy approach to religion embraces the free flow of ideas.  This is exactly the idea behind my book: Pub Theology: Beer, Conversation, and God.  That our faith grows when exposed to a diverse set of ideas and approaches, and that when we don’t engage  other religious and philosophical approaches, it stagnates, closes in on itself, and eventually goes on life-support.  The faith life of many is being given new life as the Internet age opens up new vistas of spiritual perspectives and practices.  Additionally, through online connections many new relationships are allowed to begin and flourish as people find willing conversation partners and co-collaborators.

The Salon article goes on to praise the wonders of science (who am I to argue?), but goes further than I would in declaring that science and a materialist worldview are as sufficient as, or perhaps superior to, any religious approach.  I certainly wouldn’t go that far, though I sympathize with the desire to see humanity move toward a more open, inquiring approach to life, one that doesn’t see differing ideas as competitors as much as different lenses through which to look, and through which one might see something one hadn’t noticed before.

Does the Internet spell the end of faith?  Maybe for a few (like those who aren’t allowed to use it).  But for myself and many others, it is a resource that allows us to engage God and each other at new levels.

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January 25, 2013 · 5:13 pm

Thumb Drive: DNA to be used for data backups

Wish you could store those files, photos, music and video but running out of space?

If you’re like me, you’re constantly shifting stuff off of your aging laptop onto a hard drive that you hope will last long enough for the day you’ll need to access it.

What if you could store data on yourself?  Like maybe your forearm, or… forehead?

DNAThe latest in biotech says that may not be a stretch:

A team of Harvard and Johns Hopkins geneticists has developed a new method of DNA encoding that makes it possible to store more digital information than ever before.

Apparently I’m not the only one running out of space – according to Robert Gonzalez: “Humanity has a storage problem.”  He goes on to state that “With data accumulating at a faster rate now than any other point in human history, scientists and engineers are looking to genetic code as a form of next-generation digital information storage.”

In fact, they say the world’s information is “doubling every two years,” which is probably a conservative estimate, based on my own Instagram usage.

The story goes on to  note:

Archival storage is where DNA comes in. As storage media go, it’s hard to compete with the universal building blocks of life.  At theoretical maximum, one gram of single stranded genetic code can encode 455 exabytes of information. That’s almost half a billion terabytes, or 4.9 * 1011 GB. (As a point of reference, the latest iPad tops out at 64 GB of storage space.) DNA strands also likes to fold over on top of themselves, meaning that, unlike most other digital storage media, data needn’t be restricted to two dimensions; and being able to store data in three-space translates to more free-space. DNA is also incredibly robust, and is often readable even after being exposed to unfavorable conditions for thousands of years.

My question is: when will I be able to tweet hands-free, and device-free?  And when I can I take a photo with my eyeballs?  My 20-20 vision could use some filter options, however, and perhaps a zoom lens.  Clearly I don’t understand the technology, because I tried to write this blog post simply by thinking it.

Can you read me?

Can you read me?

But a serious question becomes: what are the ethical ramifications for this, if any?  Will we hire people to donate DNA to store data on them?  Will people get “DNA storage” tattoos as a way to make some extra cash?  Or worse, will we begin cloning mindless beings to simply act as data storage units?  Or maybe we could find a way to make cats useful.

In any case, this gives new meaning to the term: “thumb drive.”

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January 2, 2013 · 5:43 pm

The Return of Faith

Sometimes a step back is necessary for us to move forward.

Faith vs. Belief

Every once in awhile I run across a book that keeps me up late and has me excited to wake up in the morning.  Harvey Cox’s The Future of Faith is one such book.

In the first chapter he notes that contrary to earlier predictions, faith and religion are as vibrant as ever.  But things are shifting.  People are turning to religion more for support in their efforts to live in this world and make it better, and less to prepare for the next.  “The pragmatic and experiential elements of faith as a way of life are displacing the previous emphasis on institution and beliefs.”  In short, Cox claims that we are moving from an era of ‘belief’ to an era of ‘faith.’  But aren’t belief and faith the same thing, you ask?  No, and understanding the difference is vital, not only for one’s own spiritual journey, but for grasping the undercurrents of the larger shifts in the world of spirituality.

An excerpt from Chapter One:

It is true that for many people “faith” and “belief” are just two words for the same thing.  But they are not the same, and in order to grasp the magnitude of the religious upheaval now under way, it is important to clarify the difference.  Faith is about deep-seated confidence.  In everyday speech we usually apply it to people we trust or the values we treasure.  It is what theologian Paul Tillich (1886-1965) called “ultimate concern,” a matter of what the Hebrews spoke of as the “heart.”

Belief, on the other hand, is more like opinion.  We often use the term in everyday speech to express a degree of uncertainty.  “I don’t really know about that,” we say, “but I believe it may be so.” future_faith_book_520Beliefs can be held lightly or with emotional intensity, but they are more propositional than existential.  We can believe something to be true without it making much difference to us, but we place our faith only in something that is vital for the way we live.  Of course people sometimes confuse faith with beliefs, but it will be hard to comprehend the tectonic shift in Christianity today unless we understand the distinction between the two.

The Spanish writer Migual Unamuno (1864-1936) dramatizes the radical dissimilarity of faith and belief in his short story “Saint Manuel Bueno, Martyr,” in which a young man returns from the city to his native village in Spain because his mother is dying.  In the presence of the local priest she clutches his hand and asks him to pray for her.  The son does not answer, but as they leave the room, he tells the priest that, much as he would like to, he cannot pray for his mother because he does not believe in God. “That’s nonsense,” the priest replies. “You don’t have to believe in God to pray.”

The priest in Unamuno’s story recognized the difference between faith and belief.  He knew that prayer, like faith, is more primordial than belief. He might have engaged the son who wanted to pray but did not believe in God in a theological squabble.  He could have hauled out the frayed old “proofs” for the existence of God, whereupon the young man might have quoted the equally jaded arguments against the proofs.  Both probably knew that such arguments go nowhere.  The French writer Simone Weil (1909-43) also knew.  In her Notebooks, she once scribbled a gnomic sentence: “If we love God, even though we think he doesn’t exist, he will make his existence manifest.”  Weil’s words sound paradoxical, but in the course of her short and painful life—she died at thirty-four—she learned that love and faith are both more primal than beliefs.

Debates about the existence of God or the gods were raging in Plato’s time, twenty-five hundred years ago.  Remarkable, they still rage on today, as a recent spate of books rehearsing the routine arguments for and against the existence of God demonstrates.  By their nature these quarrels are about beliefs and can never be finally settled.  But faith, which is more closely related to awe, love, and wonder, arose long before Plato, among our most primitive Homo sapiens forebears. Plato engaged in disputes about beliefs, not about faith.

Creeds are clusters of beliefs.  But the history of Christianity is not a history of creeds.  It is the story of a people of faith who sometimes cobbled together creeds out of beliefs.  It is also the history of equally faithful people who questioned, altered, and discarded those same creeds.  As with church buildings, from clapboard chapels to Gothic cathedrals, creeds are symbols by which Christians have at times sought to represent their faith.  But both the doctrinal canons and the architectural constructions are means to an end.  Making either the defining element warps the underlying reality of faith.

The nearly two thousand years of Christian history can be divided into three uneven periods.  The first might be called the “Age of Faith.” It began with Jesus and his immediate disciples when a buoyant faith propelled the movement he initiated.  During this first period of both explosive growth and brutal persecution, their sharing in the living Spirit of Christ united Christians with each other, and “faith” meant hope and assurance in the dawning of a new era of freedom, healing, and compassion that Jesus had demonstrated.  To be a Christian meant to live in his Spirit, embrace his hope, and to follow him in the work that he had begun.

The second period in Christian history can be called the “Age of Belief.” Its seeds appeared within a few short decades of the birth of Christianity when church leaders began formulating orientation programs for new recruits who had not known Jesus or his disciples personally.  Emphasis on belief began to grow when these primitive instruction kits thickened into catechisms, replacing faith in Jesus with tenets about him.  Thus, even during that early Age of Faith the tension between faith and belief was already foreshadowed.

Then, during the closing years of the third century, something more ominous occurred.  An elite class—soon to become a clerical class—began to take shape, and ecclesial specialists distilled the various teaching manuals into lists of beliefs.  Still, however, these varied widely from place to place, and as the fourth century began there was still no single creed.  The scattered congregations were united by a common Spirit.  A wide range of different theologies thrived.  The turning point came when Emperor Constantine the Great (d. 387 CE) made his adroit decision to commandeer Christianity to bolster his ambitions for the empire.  He decreed that the formerly outlawed new religion of the Galilean should now be legal, but he continued to reverence the sun god Helios alongside Jesus.

Constantine also imposed a muscular leadership over the churches, appointing and dismissing bishops, paying salaries, funding buildings, and distributing largesse.  He and not the pope was the real head of the church.  Whatever his motives, Constantine’s policies and those of his successors crowned Christianity as the official religion of the Roman Empire.  The emperors undoubtedly hoped this strategy would shore up their crumbling dominion, from which the old gods seemed to have fled.  The tactic, however, did not save the empire from collapse.  But for Christianity it proved to be a disaster: its enthronement actually degraded it. From an energetic movement of faith it coagulated into a phalanx of required beliefs, thereby laying the foundation for every succeeding Christian fundamentalism for centuries to come.

The ancient corporate merger triggered a titanic makeover.  The empire became “Christian,” and Christianity became imperial.  Thousands of people scurried to join a church they had previously despised, but now bore the emperor’s seal of approval.  Bishops assumed quasi-imperial powers and began living like imperial elites.  During the ensuing “Constantinian era,” Christianity, at least its official version, froze into a system of mandatory precepts that were codified into creeds and strictly monitored by a powerful hierarchy and imperial decrees.  Heresy became treason, and reason became heresy.

…Neither the Renaissance nor the Reformation did much to alter the underlying foundations of the Age of Belief… The Age of Belief lasted roughly fifteen hundred years, ebbing in fits and starts with the Enlightenment, the French Revolution, the secularization of Europe, and the anticolonial upheavals of the twentieth century.

Still, to think of this long middle ear as a nothing but a dark age is misleading.  As we have seen, throughout those fifteen centuries Christian movements and personalities continued to live by faith and according to the Spirit.  Confidence in Christ was their primary orientation, and hope for his Kingdom their motivating drive. [I cut a fair bit of this and the preceding paragraph for the sake of brevity.]

Now we stand on the threshold of a new chapter in the Christian story.  Despite dire forecasts of its decline, Christianity is growing faster that it ever has before, but mainly outside the West and in movements that accent spiritual experience, discipleship and hope; pay scant attention to creeds; and flourish without hierarchies.  We are now witnessing the beginning of a “post-Constantinian era.” Christians on five continents are sharking off the residues of the second phase (the Age of Belief) and negotating a bumpy transition into a fresh era for which a name has not yet been coined.

–
So, can we make a distinction between ‘faith’ and ‘belief’?

The book, as best I can tell (I’m into Chapter Four), dives further into this delineation, into what got us to where we’ve been, and what might move us forward into the future.

Terrific stuff, and as I read it, it seems to make a decent amount of sense.  And perhaps more pertinent, it seems to connect with what we find in the text: Jesus himself and the earliest believers, it seems, were not motivated by assent to a list of beliefs, but rather a deep-seated and profound faith that God was doing something new and his kingdom was breaking into the world in unprecedented ways.

I find that for some time perhaps I’ve been losing faith in belief, even as my faith continues to grow in new and exciting ways.  It is encouraging to consider this larger movement of God’s Spirit in the world, which, despite our best efforts to constrain it, continues to “blow wherever it will.”

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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.

–

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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