Theology

Christianity Divided by the Cross

Christianity Divided by the Cross

A guest post by theologian and scholar Marcus Borg – a fitting addition to our series on Atonement. (This piece originally appeared on patheos.com)

American Christians are deeply divided by the cross of Jesus – namely, by how they see the meanings of his death. At the risk of labels and broad generalizations, “conservative” Christians generally believe a “payment” understanding of the cross: Jesus died to pay for our sins so we can be forgiven.

Most “progressive” Christians (at least a majority) have great difficulty with the “payment” understanding. Many reject it. Some insist that rather than focusing on Jesus’s death, we should instead focus on his life and teachings. They are right about what they affirm, even as they also risk impoverishing the meaning of Jesus by de-emphasizing the cross.

It is the central Christian symbol. And ubiquitous. Perhaps even the most widely-worn piece of jewelry. Its centrality goes back to the beginnings of Christianity. In one of the earliest New Testament documents, Paul in the early 50s summarized “the gospel” he had taught to his community in Corinth as “Christ crucified” (I Cor. 1-2). In the New Testament gospels beginning with Mark around 70, the story of Jesus’s final week and its climax in crucifixion and resurrection dominates their narratives. All four devote more than a fourth of their gospels to Jesus’s final week. And all anticipate the end of Jesus’s life earlier in their narratives. It is as if they are saying: you can’t tell the story of Jesus unless you tell the story of the cross.

Thus for Christianity from its beginning, the cross has always mattered. The crucial question is: what does it mean? Why does it matter? What is its significance?

The most common meaning in much of Christianity today is the “payment” understanding: Jesus died to pay for our sins. Insisted upon by “conservative” Christians, it is foundational and fundamental to their theology. Its influence extends beyond. Many, perhaps most, of today’s mainline Protestant and Catholics grew up with it even if perhaps in a softer version. The language of most Christian liturgies is shaped by the payment understanding and thus reinforces it through ritual repetition.

But the payment understanding has serious problems, both historical and theological. The historical problem: the payment understanding was not central in the first thousand years of Christianity. In the New Testament, it is at most a minor metaphor. Some scholars argue that it is not there at all. I am inclined to agree.

But regardless of the verdict on that question, the first systematic articulation of the cross as “payment for sin” happened just over nine hundred years ago in 1098 in St. Anselm’s treatise Cur Deus Homo? Its Latin title means, “Why Did God Become Human?” Anselm’s purpose was to provide a rational argument for the necessity of the incarnation and death of Jesus.

He did so with a cultural model drawn from his time and place: the relationship of a medieval lord to his peasants. If a peasant disobeyed the lord, could the lord simply forgive if he wanted to? No. Because that might imply that disobedience didn’t matter that much. Instead, compensation must be made. Nothing less than the honor and order of the lord were at stake.

Anselm then applied that model to our relationship with God. We have been disobedient and deserve to be punished. And yet God loves us and wants to forgive us. But the price of sin must be paid. Jesus as a human being who was also divine and thus perfect and without sin did that.

To repeat: familiar as it is, the payment understanding is less than a thousand years old. On historical grounds, it is not ancient Christianity, not traditional Christianity, not orthodox Christianity, even though it has over the last several centuries become dominant in Western Christianity. It has become a lens through which a number of New Testament passages that seem to support it are seen. But without that lens, they can be understood quite differently.

The theological difficulties of the payment understanding are even more serious. It seriously distorts the story of Jesus and the meaning of the cross:

*Makes Jesus’s death part of God’s plan of salvation – indeed, God’s will. It had to happen so that we can be forgiven. Really?

*Emphasizes God’s wrath and that it must be satisfied. But is that what God is like?

*Makes Jesus’s death more important than his life, and thus obscures his message and what he was passionate about (for example, Mel Gibson’s movie The Passion of the Christ focuses on the last 18 hours of his life).

*Makes believing in Jesus more important than following him

*Makes Easter irrelevant. Of course, Christians who believe that Jesus paid for our sins also emphasize Easter. But there is no intrinsic connection between his death and resurrection. What matters most is that he paid for our sins.

Given the theological implications of the payment understanding, it is not surprising that progressive as well as many moderate Christians have problems with it. They should be problems for all Christians.

The rejection of the payment understanding does not make Jesus’s death irrelevant for Christians. On the contrary, it has robust meanings in the gospels and the New Testament as a whole. In my next blog, I will describe those. The purpose of this blog is to invite conversation about the payment understanding and its effects upon Christianity.


Marcus Borg_FMarcus J. Borg is Canon Theologian at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in Portland, Oregon.  Internationally known in both academic and church circles as a biblical and Jesus scholar, he was Hundere Chair of Religion and Culture in the Philosophy Department at Oregon State University until his retirement in 2007. He is the author of many books including Reading the Bible Again for the First Time

Pub Theology Live-Tweet

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TONIGHT at our regular Pub Theology DC gathering, we’ll be LIVE TWEETING – you can join us in person, at the Bier Baron at 1523 22nd St NW – just a few blocks west of the Dupont Circle Metro stop, or you can jump in on the conversation via Twitter using #pubtheology. Be sure to follow me (@bryberg) and (@pubtheology). Here are the topics we’ll be discussing:

  1. If you could name the street you live on what would you call it?

  1. If you received an extra burrito when ordering at your local shop would you say something?

  1. True or false: We should be wary of any efforts to improve human nature.

  2. Did you march on Saturday? Are you marching tomorrow? Does marching lead to justice?

  1. Did Jesus pay for our sins? In what way?

  1. Is hell a just punishment for sinful people?

WE’D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU!  Come on down and join us for a pint, or grab your smart phone, a craft-brewed pint, and hit the Twitters! Starting at 7pm.

Top Blogs – vote for PubTheologian.com!

Vote

Hi friends-
Christian Piatt is rounding up a list of the Top Christian Blogs – it would be great if you’d consider voting for PubTheologian.com!

I’ve been out of the loop a bit the last month or so, but our new series on atonement is up and running (check out the latest comments – next is coming post very soon!), and I anticipate posts upcoming on climate change, homosexuality, immigration, violence, top new beers I’ve enjoyed, as well as Pub Theology recaps. I’m also taking suggestions for any topics you’d like to see posts on! (Comment below). You have to scroll down – I’m somewhere in the 200’s, but I appreciate you making the effort to get into the top 100 or better!

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VOTE HERE!

Thanks for your vote, and for being a reader here at pubtheologian.com! Please share this via Facebook and the Twitters, voting lasts through the weekend!

UPDATE: We’re up to #115 in the rankings. Need some more votes! (It will ask you to login via FB or Twitter, but no worries – the app won’t post unless you want it to).

FINAL UPDATE: We made it to #77, not bad considering there were over 325 other blogs in the running. THANKS for all your support!

Toward a contemplative mind, or moving beyond the facts

Toward a contemplative mind, or moving beyond the facts

Guest post by Harvey Edser, originally posted at The Evangelical Liberal

This is a follow-up to my previous post about moving on from old models of reality, in which I critiqued ‘evangelical modernism’ and suggested that our old paradigms need revising both in science and in faith. This time I’d like to expand on that by critiquing our obsession with facts and factuality as the epitome of truth. It’s an obsession which I believe has tended to impoverish our spirituality.
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Facts are of course central to the modernist paradigm. The modernist ideal of truth is verifiable scientific fact, something which can be shown to be observably, provably, objectively true and real. Such facts or data can be accurately observed, measured, quantified and analysed.

Then by means of logic and reason, these facts can further be fitted into overarching structures of theory that usefully hold together sets of data in ways that accord with the observable behaviour and properties of the physical reality. Thus we can build up a better and better picture of the universe, ultimately filing in all the gaps in our knowledge like the unknown areas in a map of the world.

But then along comes post-modernism and pulls out the rug from under modernism by challenging the very idea of verifiable objective ‘fact’.

Unknowable truth

Post-modernism doesn’t say there are no facts, or that nothing is true; that there is no objective reality, or that we can just make things up as we see fit. Rather it introduces radical and irreducible uncertainty and subjectivity into the equation. It says that there may or may not be truth and objective reality, but that truth is not fully knowable by us in an objective form. It may be there, but we can’t see it directly, any more than we can directly see what we look like in the mirror with our eyes shut (leaving aside photography).

Indeed, by looking at reality we alter that reality, so that our act of observation becomes part of the phenomenon we’re trying to look at. Similarly by thinking about reality, we change it so that our thinking becomes inextricably intertwined with what we’re thinking about. In other words, there’s an inherent subjectivity in our observation and analysis which can never be fully eliminated.

So post-modernism undermines the objectivity of fact. It also introduces a degree of suspicion about the very idea of ‘fact’, and questions whether the modernist ideal of truth as primarily a matter of facts is actually a helpful one. And it suggests that there are problems which the modernist approach and the scientific method cannot solve, mysteries which they cannot clarify. It seems to me that these are all valid critiques.

Knowing in part

Don’t get me wrong – facts are of enormous practical use in our daily lives. Almost anything we need to do in the physical world depends more or less on the reliability of factual information. Catching a train, using a computer, cooking a meal, wiring a plug, even holding a conversation all rely on the basic accuracy of factual information.

The point is simply that facts, while vital in practical matters, are nonetheless limited, partial and provisional. They cannot tell us everything about all we need to know, and in some areas they can tell us very little of use. There are whole dimensions of our lives in which the kind of information that underpins science and technology is largely useless. These are the areas that deal with things like meaning, purpose, value, rightness or wrongness, human relationships; with things like suffering, death, love, eternity and God. For these we need another conception of truth, one that encompasses the ideas of personal truth, poetic and symbolic truth, non-factual or beyond-factual truth.

When the apostle Paul famously writes in 1 Corinthians 13 that for now we ‘see in part and know in part’, he’s describing an inherent condition of our current state; not something that will change as we get better at science. We can only know in part, for now. It’s just about possible that one day we will be able to unravel all the secrets of the physical universe – though it seems unlikely, given that we still don’t have any idea about the nature of the ‘dark matter’ and ‘dark energy’ that make up most of the universe. But even if we do, we’ll be no nearer to unravelling the mysteries and enigmas of humanity.

Franciscan priest Richard Rohr describes our modern western mind as essentially ‘dualistic’. By this he means that our system of thinking is based around making divisions and distinctions between things so that we can study and analyse them, so we can think and talk about them. While this is essential for science and indeed for much of practical life, reality is always more complex, more paradoxical and less categorisable than this system allows. For dealing with the bigger things, Rohr argues we need instead to cultivate the contemplative mind. I can’t do his argument justice here, so have a look at his book The Naked Now or listen to his Greenbelt talks here.

A question of perspective

Optical illusions may help illustrate the partiality of fact and the importance of personal perspective. Is this well-known picture a rabbit, a duck, both, neither, or simply a set of marks that has no inherent meaning? There’s no real way of saying – it could be any of those.

In fact, something similar applies to any poem or picture or piece of music. I can analyse the Mona Lisa and say what it means and how the effect is achieved, but that does not replace or negate the work of art. The painting remains as a non-reducible entity that defies final analysis or categorisation; it simply is.

Indeed, the same applies to all of our actual experience of the world. Look out of the window and watch the clouds or birds move across the sky, or wind moving in the trees. There are all sorts of ways you could seek to understand and quantify what you’re seeing, in terms of weather patterns or mathematical descriptions, or even psychological analysis of how the scene makes you feel and why. But none of them can adequately describe or replace either the reality itself or your experience of that reality. The ‘facts’ are not enough.

Interpretation and subjectivity

Or finally take a scenario from everyday life. Person A comes in with a load of shopping and slams the door angrily, while Person B is watching TV and doesn’t get up to help. It’s easy to leap to conclusions, but the interpretation of the scene depends on all sorts of things which we can’t necessarily know – the precise relationship between the two participants, the wider context, what’s led up to the situation, etc. Each person involved will have a different perspective, an outsider watching would have a different one again, and any attempt to resolve the scene into factual truth would miss out something vital.

Crucially then, facts and data always need to be interpreted, and at this point the element of subjectivity inevitably creeps in. Five people can witness the same event and each interpret it in different ways; and there may not be one single correct version that we can pin down. With the benefit of CCTV we may possibly be able to arrive at a more-or-less factual account of what took place, but certainly not its full meaning or implications.

Facts always need to be fitted into a larger picture or schema which can make sense of them. But again we have a problem here, for the larger schema is always just a model and never a perfect one. Furthermore, we can often fit the same set of facts into very different, even mutually opposing, models of reality.

In an earlier post ‘Born to believe?’ I listed a number of pieces of evidence that can be interpreted in diametrically opposite ways depending on your starting assumptions. For example, the discovery that we’re apparently hard-wired to believe in God could be evidence for atheism – that religious belief is just down to our evolutionary programming. But it could equally be evidence for religious faith, that the Creator has built into each of us the hardware and software that we need to start our search for him. 

Facts and Christianity

So facts are good, facts are useful and important. But they are not all, and they are not enough. Facts are not the ultimate expression of truth or reality.

And in one sense, I don’t actually think ‘facts’ or ‘information’ matter a great deal in Christianity. By which I don’t mean that Christianity has no factual basis. I just mean that I don’t believe we actually need any kind of factual understanding in order to belong to the Kingdom, to be ‘in Christ’, to be redeemed. Nor do we need to convey factual information to others to get them into the kingdom, to get them to be ‘saved’. The kingdom has to be something that is equally open to an infant, or to someone who’s illiterate, or to a person with a condition that prevents them from being able to learn or process factual information.

I would argue that the kingdom is about openness or receptiveness to Christ’s light, life and love – none of which require intellectual understanding at all. It’s about ‘seeing’ rather than analysing and explaining. It’s about becoming alive, and being transformed. It’s about being loved and learning to love. It’s fundamentally incarnational rather than intellectual.

I love both theology and science and I think they can both be very beneficial and life-enhancing. But I don’t believe either is necessary for salvation. And one day, when we know in full even as we are fully known, I suspect we won’t have need of either.

In the meantime, I think we need to find new approaches that take account of the factual but somehow go beyond mere factuality to deeper truth. I suggest we need to develop Rohr’s non-dualistic contemplative mind – an ability to hold paradoxically contradictory truths together, and to accept reality as it comes to us rather than always trying to analyse or categorise.


The Evangelical Liberal is a blog to explore more open and liberated ways of being a Christian, particularly for those who have struggled to find their way within the evangelical tradition.

A Philly Priest Visits Pub Theology DC

kirkb2Guest post by Fr. Kirk Berlenbach, rector of St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church in the Roxborough neighborhood of Philadelphia. He has been facilitating the parish beer club (The Franklin Club) since 2007. Originally posted at So This Priest Walks Into a Bar.

WASHINGTON DC – One of the great things about the internet is that, no matter how obscure your interest or hobby, the net allows you the chance to seek out and connect with other people who are just as off kilter.  When I began to take this whole faith and beer thing more seriously one of the first things I tried to do was see who else out there might be doing it too.  I was pleased to find I was not alone in the universe.  I came across and have since corresponded with a couple of kindred souls.

Among them are guys like Michael Camp, author of Confessions of a Bible Thumper: My Homebrewed Quest for a Reasoned Faith, which is next up on my reading list.  Another book on the subject is Diary of a Part Time Monk by J. Wilson which I just finished reading.  I referenced J’s quest to emulate the monks of old in this post.  In short, he attempted to follow the Lenten discipline of monks who fasted existing only on their dopplebock.  The book is his account of this remarkable experience.

Then there is Bryan Berghoef.  When I finished reading his book, Pub Theology, I knew we had to at least correspond.  We hit it off and found we had a lot in common, not just in terms of our love of beer but also in terms of our approach to ministry and the Church’s need to find new ways to connect with the ever increasing “spiritual but not religious” population.  We discussed the idea of a visit but never got around to making specific plans.

Then, a few months ago I got the bright idea to do an event on the whole “beer-faith connection” as part of this year’s Philly Beer Week.  (more on this in next week’s post).  Anyway, when I was thinking through other clergy who could work with me on this event, Bryan was on the short list.  I contacted him and he was very excited at the possibility.  But I thought it was important to meet the man I was going to work with.  Moreover, I wanted to see an example of one of his “Pub Theology” sessions up close and personal.

So last week I took the train down to DC.  Bryan met me at the station and we headed off to the pub where that night’s conversation would take place.  The whole concept of Pub Theology is “Beer, Conversation, God.”  The gathering is open to anyone who wishes to attend and the topics are sent out a few days ahead of time.  On the heels of the massive Oklahoma tornado the topic included God’s role in natural disasters, as well as more abstract topics like, “Was there a time before time?” and “Scientists say dark matter is inferred, not seen.  Can you call that faith?”

We talked over burgers and beers and then made our way to the back part of the bar to wait and see who would show up.   Over time the group grew to a very respectable 15 people.  Many were members of Bryan’s new church planting project, Roots DC.   Others were visitors and one was a local clergy colleague.  People’s perspectives varied,  greatly (and thanks to the presence of a young woman from South Sudan, also went beyond just an American lens) and at least one person was by openly an atheist.

As the conversation progressed and folks ordered their 2nd or third beer, people definitely became more vocal.   Yet a no time was there a hint of disrespect or even frustration.

What Bryan has built here is no small accomplishment.  To create an environment where people, many of whom are strangers, can speak openly and honestly about the deeper issues of life is quite extraordinary.  As I have reflected on this I began to see the genius of Bryan’s concept.  While such a group could take place over coffee or in a park, the setting of the bar is really critical to its success.

Where else but in a bar can friends, acquaintances and strangers all engage impassioned debate yet still remain not just civil but even jovial?   Now it is true that often times those debates are about how the manager is mishandling the bullpen and not dark matter.  But there are many times I have heard focused discussion about politics, God and the meaning of life coming from the other end of the bar or the next table.

It seems to me that if the bar is indeed the new Forum, then Bryan has indeed hit upon a valuable insight into how the Church can connect with the world outside its walls.  The key lies first in a willingness to go out to where the people are rather than insisting that they come to us.  But just as important is the setting.  In order to get people talking about what they really believe about God and what  truly matters in life, then you can’t do much better than your local pub.  And, at least in my opinion, the best way to start any meaningful conversation is over a good pint.

So here’s to Bryan and Pub Theology and the rediscovery of a great way to talk about God and all things that matter most.


You can read Kirk’s latest thoughts at So This Priest Walks Into a Bar: Beer, Music, and a Thirst for God, or find him enjoying a craft beer somewhere in Philadelphia.

Every Bush is Burning

Discerning Authentic Spiritual Experience

burning_bush_smallIn Exodus 3, Moses was having an average day: tending the flock, hanging out in the desert. But then, the text notes, “he led the flock to the far side of the desert.” And there he has the profound and epic experience of meeting God in a bush. We spent some time on this passage in a recent gathering of Roots DC, the faith community I’m a part of here in DC.  In the text, Moses is told to take off his sandals, for “the place where you are standing is holy ground.”

This led to some discussion: what made that ground special? What was the significance of taking off his shoes? At what point in this experience did Moses realize that it was more than just an oddity of nature, that God was meeting him there?

This led to further ponderings on divine encounters or spiritual experiences in general: what are they like? How do you know when (or if) you are having one? When to believe someone else’s account of such an experience?

I recently came across some helpful guidelines by Gerald May, whose work I’ve come across since I’ve begun working at the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation, a center for developing contemplative spiritual practice and leadership. May practiced medicine and psychiatry for twenty-five years before becoming a senior fellow in contemplative theology and psychology at Shalem.

May notes that when someone speaks of having an encounter with the Divine, we wonder: Is this “real” or is it an illusion contrived by ego?

In having this discussion, he reminds us that the line between reality and illusion can be very close: “Because our minds continually create images of reality through our senses and conditioning, it would be true to say that all experience is at least somewhat psychologically contrived.”

In other words, all of our experiences in life have a psychological component, whether it be chatting around the coffeepot at work, checking the mail, or a profound spiritual encounter.

He outlines eight qualities that can be useful in judging whether a spiritual experience is authentic, while noting “our experiences cannot be based on content alone”, but “must be integrated in the larger picture of life: in context, in community, and over time.”

I found these eight points very helpful, so here they are:

  1. Meaningful Integration. Authentic spiritual experiences do not exist as isolated “highs.” They occur within the context of real life and are integrated in a way that is meaningful for both individual and community. Authentic experiences may contain a perfect end-in-itself quality, but they still have meaning and impact on life.
  2. Bearing Good Fruit. Authentic spiritual experiences lead to good effects for individual and community. Classically, this includes deepened faith, hope, trust, compassion, creativity, and love. Authentic experiences do not lead to privatism or destructiveness.
  3. Decreased Self-Preoccupation. Authentic experiences lead people to feel more identified with and open to the rest of humanity and the world. Experiences that lead to feelings of being more special or better than other people, or to self-absorption, are probably not authentic.
  4. Self Knowledge. Authentic experiences lead to a greater understanding of oneself. Signs of repression, denial, or shutting out of self-awareness indicate a lack of authenticity.
  5. Humility. Authentic experiences lead to a particular kind of humility, one that painfully recognizes more of one’s human inadequacy, yet at the same time increasingly realizes one’s won preciousness and worth as a child of God. It is a humility that is combined with dignity. This is in contrast to experiences that lead either to arrogance or devaluing of oneself.
  6. Openness to Differences. By deepening trust in the power and goodness of God, authentic experiences lead to less defensiveness about one’s own faith and increased respect for and openness to dialogue with people of differing faiths [or perspectives]. Authentic experiences may lead to a desire to share the truth, but they do not result in defensive or aggressive clinging to one’s own understanding.
  7. Open-endedness. Authentic spiritual experiences contain a quality of further invitation: deepened yearning, inspired energy, continued growth and healing. In contrast, experiences that communicate a sense of “having arrived” are cause for suspicion.
  8. Ordinariness. Although authentic experiences may initially be accompanied by celebration and enthusiasm or by fear and trepidation, their integration brings a quality of wondrous appreciation of the ordinary; life is holy, and the miraculous presence of God’s grace flows through all of it. Experiences that lead to a strong separation of the holy from the mundane must be questioned.

Gerald May closes with this thought: “If there is one basic factor that distinguishes authentic from inauthentic experience, it can be found in a paraphrase of John of the Cross: In the end, all of us—and all of our experiences—must be judged on the basis of one thing, and that is love.” (Gerald May’s guidelines quoted in Holy Meeting Ground: 20 Years of Shalem)

Sometimes we long for such a deep, powerful  experience as Moses had with the bush in the desert. We wonder why God hasn’t met us in such a powerful way. Yet perhaps such an experience is nearer to us than we think.

John Philip Newell is a poet, scholar, and teacher of the Celtic tradition from Scotland. He recently visited the DC region for the two day Gerald May Seminar held by the Shalem Institute, an annual event which seeks to carry on the legacy of May’s life and teaching. He spoke on the connection between earth awareness and contemplative practice, noting that there is a profound and deep connection between matter and spirit that perhaps we’ve forgotten. He puts it this way, in his recent book A New Harmony: The Spirit, The Earth, and The Human Soul:

In the story of Moses and the burning bush, in which the Living Presence is revealed in the words “I am who I am” or “I will be what I will be,” Moses is told to take off his shoes, for the ground on which he is standing is holy. He is told to uncover the soles of his feet, a place of deep knowing in the human form. Think of walking barefoot in the grass. Think of placing our bare feet into the coolness of a refreshing stream. When we do so, we see in a new way. Doors of perception are opened in us. Rabbi Nahum, in teaching on this passage from Torah, likes to say that the important aspect of this story is not that the bush is burning, but that Moses notices. For every bush is burning. Every bush is aflame with the Living Presence. The “fiery power,” as Hildegard puts it, is hidden in everything that has being.

An encounter with the divine may be nearer than you think. The title of Newell’s chapter from which I quoted? Every Bush is Burning. The question is: have you paused to notice? Have you made space in your busy life? Maybe it’s time to go for a walk. And don’t forget: leave the shoes at home.

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.


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

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

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

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.

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.

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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