A Good Offense is the Worst Defense

Seems like I’ve spent most of my life arguing. Call it discussion if you want to be generous. Arguing with my parents, with teachers, with fellow students and co-workers, with professors and pastors and what feels like half the world. All I’ve ever wanted was the right to my own life, my own understanding, my own belief, my own faith. I guess I always thought I had to fight for it, defend it from everyone who wanted to trample on it, tear it down or take it from me.

This morning I was reading through A New Kind of Christian by Brian McLaren. I realize I’m a little late. It was published ten years ago. I’ve owned it for two years. I just never got around to it until now.

Yesterday I read the first two chapters. I sincerely wish I had read it long before now. I found myself on the verge of tears before I had finished the introduction. It was like listening to my own voice, like someone else telling me the story of my own life over the past 4 years. A happier ending I suppose. McLaren had several books published and is recognized as a spokesperson for a generation of the struggling postmodern faithful. I was just asked to leave my church. No publishing deals have been forthcoming. Then again, I haven’t seen the end of my own story yet, so I should reserve judgment.

My Honey Oat Blenders cereal patiently soaked up milk as Neo (McLaren’s fictional history and science teacher) described the key historical elements of the development of Modernism. Modernity was/is:

1. An age of conquest and control

2. An age of the machine

3. An age of analysis

4. An age of secular science

5. An age of absolute objectivity

6. A critical age

7. An age of organization and the modern nation-state

8. An age of individualism

9. An age of Protestantism and institutional religion

10. An age of consumerism

In his discussion of Modernism’s critical tendency (point #6), McLaren points out that amidst the spirit of conquest inherent in Modernism, “if your ideas don’t win, they lose.” At those words, I almost dropped the spoon that had been hovering over my cereal bowl for an indeterminate amount of time. In a moment I understood why I’ve been defensive all my life. The church exists under the rule of an intellectual and theological Darwinism - "survival of the fittest." We’ve all been trained to immolate everyone else’s beliefs in order to maintain our own. It's not simply a perception that others are attempting to destroy my belief system, they really are. They're not evil. They just believe they have to disassemble my beliefs if they are going to ensure the survival of their own. And they believe its for my own good. What is worse... I have been far from innocent in this spiritual game of “king of the mountain”; the consequence of developing a good offense as your best defense.

Of course, every age has been critical when it comes to competing truth claims or, more specifically, competing agendas and power struggles. War, violence and martyrdom (Christians can be fine oppressors too) testify to the consequences of such struggles. This is no less true in theological circles. Looking back at the aftermath of many of the early church councils, there is a disturbingly Darwinist trend in the competition of theological ideas in the church; the consequences of a lost battle not infrequently including condemnation, excommunication, exile, and worse. Consider the following:

• St. Eustathius of Antioch - banished at First Council of Nicaea (325 AD).

• Arius of Alexandria - excommunicated and banished at the first council of Nicaea (325 AD); legend says he was even slapped by Santa for his heresy!

• Nestorius of Constantinople – exiled after the Council of Ephesus (431 AD), a tragic story.

• Pope Vigilius – imprisoned at Second Council of Constantinople (553 AD).

• Jan Huss - burned at the Council of Constance in (1414–1418 AD).

Maybe we should consider the possibility that fighting to promote our own doctrinal orthodoxy is not the answer. Not that I disagree with the decisions made at the councils. They have come to define “orthodoxy” as we know it. And I’m not saying that there is no objective truth in these matters, though I think objectivity may often be highly overrated and overstated when it comes to issues of faith. Rather, maybe “survival of the fittest” is the wrong way to go about getting at the truth. Maybe healthy humility and acknowledgment of the tension between ideas is more important than getting a set of answers by which we can measure who is “out” and who is “in” our spiritual clubs.

As for me, I think it’s time I laid down my defensiveness, if I can manage to override my programming, and focus my energies in a more positive direction of creating a theological alternative to many of the commonly held ideas which trouble me. Maybe that’s still a form of arguing, but at least it’s constructive instead of destructive.

Family Perspective

…but grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To Him be the glory, both now and to the day of eternity. Amen. (2Pe 3:18 NAU)

Growing up an only child, I always imagined that having a sibling would be a perpetual slumber party. We would be the best of friends, have endless adventures and never be lonely. Most importantly, I would never lack a partner for board games. Then I had children of my own. Watching them grow together, I was given a revelation from God. Having siblings is like living in a third world country: political strife, relentless competition for resources, and constant war brewing under the surface.

I suppose it’s not all bad. There are, of course, periodic moments of tenderness, harmony and forgiveness. There are certainly endless adventures. Unfortunately, they generally end in controversy and injury. And despite the presence of two other children, there is still the persistent ache of loneliness and a scarcity of partners for board games.

That’s why I always smirk a little when people use phrases like, “We are the family of God.” The metaphor itself causes me no particular difficulty. In fact, it is a wonderfully accurate picture of humanity under God’s authority and love. What troubles me is the temptation to take one half of the metaphor and ignore the other half.

It is true that the concept of family implies unity, but it is a unity amidst diversity and division. It is true that family supports one another emotionally and financially, but anyone who has any extended family knows that some will need a lot of support and that some, of course, will take advantage of it. It is true that family is an ideal example of love and loyalty and at the end of the day, when the muck hits the fan and all hell breaks loose, the underlying foundation of love and loyalty within the family of God is the only thing that will hold it together… if we don’t kill each other first. So, let’s make sure we’re honest with our metaphors.

Still, I think the family metaphor is the only one that stands a beggar’s chance of explaining all the different opinions, perceptions and obsessive-compulsive doctrinal statements that cause such strife within the Christian religion. Further, I believe it helps us to understand why religion misses the point of the Christian faith.

Imagine a father with twelve children (since we want to be biblical). The father loves all his children equally, but his relationship with each child is different and it is through that relationship that each child understands the father. One day at school, the children are asked to tell the class about their parents. The oldest child has a penchant for mischief and tells of his father’s discipline. The second child is self-conscious and fearful and speaks of his father’s encouragement and unconditional love. The third child, a daughter, relates the intimacy of her father’s embrace in the midst of her loneliness. The fourth child, with a kind and tender heart, tells of God’s justice and care for the hurting and broken. And so it goes, each child relating a different picture, some conflicting with others but all representing a truth - though somewhat distorted in emphasis - about the father.

Later that evening, prompted by their earlier classroom discussion, a conversation develops as they await their father’s return from work.

Mary: I wonder what it was like for Daddy before we came along? It must have been dreadfully lonely.

James: Well, he did have Mother after all. And besides, Father is an independent man and surely doesn’t need any of us to make his life complete.

Peter: But it does make me wonder why he made us in the first place.

Timothy: Yes, and why does he allow terrible things to happen to us? It’s been a whole month since my bicycle broke, and he still hasn’t replaced it!

James: Or more importantly, why he still hasn’t disciplined you for taking my skateboard without permission.

Timothy: Oh, get over it! I gave it back to you eventually.

James: But you never asked me for permission! That’s stealing, and Father hates sin!

Timothy: Then he must despise your prideful self-righteousness, you little snit!

Martha: Oh, knock it off you two! We have better things to do than listen to your whining. You’re both in the wrong and you know it.

Paul: Besides, the Father loves both of you anyway!

John: As long as you love each other… you know how important that is to Dad.

Mary: You don’t really think Daddy would stop loving us because we fight with each other, do you?

John: I can’t say for sure, I only know he commanded us to love each other or there would be consequences.

James: He also said that righteousness was extremely important… Timothy! You better be careful or… or… he might even kick you out of the family forever!

Mary: No!!!

Paul: I think that might be going a bit too far.

James: So, are you saying that we can just do whatever we want without consequences? Because if that’s true, then there’s no reason I shouldn’t do… this!

Timothy: Owww!! Why did you hit me!?

James: Why not?

Paul: Because it’s wrong. And I never said there would be no consequences. But saying father would kick someone out of the family forever is going too far.

Peter: No offense, Paul. But no one understands you anyway.

John: Besides, all this boils down to what Dad is like. He is love.

Timothy: Forgiveness.

James: Justice!

Paul: Trustworthy.

Peter: Righteous.

Martha: Responsible.

Mary: Daddy!

Inevitably the question emerges in any serious contemplation of the Christian faith, “How is it possible for Christians to have the same God but so many opposing convictions?” This simple thought exercise illustrates an answer to that question. It admits of our human inability to obtain perfect knowledge, of course, which is like urine in the baptismal water for some who want to believe that they have all the right answers. However, it demonstrates how genuine, faithful believers can be in an active and healthy relationship with God in Christ and still have different and opposing answers to fundamental questions of the faith. Our individual answers may be true, partially or relatively true or even completely false, but they were never terribly important anyway.

You see, our calling has never been to know more facts, but rather to know God deeper in relationship. In fact, Paul tells us in the first of his two existing letters to the Corinthians that knowledge “puffs up” while love “builds up.” Focused on our relationship with Christ (and expressing that love toward our fellow humans being), I suspect we will be drawn closer in unity than any theological argument will draw us to agreement.

Goodnight Maya...

I think maybe it’s important to sit a while with death. Get to know him. See what he has to say. Even if all he says is nothing.

I put our dog to sleep today. Maya was a good dog and we loved her very much. We woke up this morning to find her bleeding all over the floor from a tumor the size of a softball that’s been growing in her leg for the last couple of years. So I killed her.

I guess that’s what it boils down to. I tried to explain it to my 5 year old son as “putting her down,” “putting her to sleep,” “letting her go to be with Jesus.” I just couldn’t bring myself to say it, “I’m going to kill our dog… for her own good.”

I brought my kids in for a few minutes after the doctor gave her the initial sedative, to say goodbye. I don’t want them to be afraid of death, like I am. When it looked like she was about to have a seizure, I sent them out. She did have a seizure. I had to tuck her tongue back in her mouth. It’s not supposed to happen like that, but it did. Nice, easy, slow, peaceful… that’s how it’s supposed to go. Complications. Life is full of them. I don’t suppose death should be any different.

After a few minutes they shaved her leg, inserted the needle and stopped her heart. I scratched her ear and rubbed her head for a few moments, that’s what she always liked. She didn’t feel it. She was dead. The experts say it’s important to say that word. Dead. It’s such a simple, blunt word for such a damned ugly, frightening thing. She was always scared of the vet. I let her die in a room that terrified her. The experts are bastards.

She doesn’t have to suffer anymore. I think that’s what I’m supposed to say. She’s going to a better place. It’s just a dog. Life goes on. God is in control. Try explaining that to crying children. Is that really the best we can come up with to say to death?

I wonder if that’s what they’ll say about me. He doesn’t have to suffer anymore. Life goes on. He’s just one guy. God is in control. Will they let me die in a hospital room, terrified? Will they sedate me to death? Will my family gather around my bed for a while and cry, then head out for dinner and thank God that I’m no longer bleeding all over the place?

Will my life be reduced to memories that cut out my teeth and blunt my edges? I like my edges. Will they say how sad it was that I didn’t do all those things I wanted to do? Will they wish they had just one more moment to say, “I’m sorry,” “I love you,” “I always hated that about you.” Will they just forget and move on? Life goes on.

Death has lost its sting, but kept his teeth. He runs down the weak, the sickly, the slow and sometimes in moments of sheer ferocity strikes down the strong and fast. Jesus has given us victory over death, but sometimes we still feel like prey. But I will not run from him. I will sit quietly, look him in the eye and trust that Life is stronger than death.

Being Somebody...

"...Nevertheless, the firm foundation of God stands, having this seal, "The Lord knows those who are His,"

- 2 Timothy 2:19 NAU

I’m officially old enough to be president. It’s really kind of surreal. I still remember sitting on the floor of my kindergarten classroom talking with my friends Jason and Steven about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I had on those stupid looking white socks with the multi-colored stripes at the top. Yeah, I don’t think they were cool then either. But it didn’t matter, our moms told us what to wear back then.

We wanted to be presidents, and astronauts and rock stars… and Superman. We wanted to be famous. We wanted to be rich. We wanted to be successful. We wanted to be on television. We wanted to be somebody. Isn’t that what everybody wants? To be somebody? Even at age five, we just want people to know our name.

I wanted to be Captain Kirk from Star Trek. William Shatner looked like my Dad, and back then my Dad was about the coolest guy I knew. Except on nights when he drank too much, then he was just a jerk. But he was still my Dad, and I loved him. He doesn’t drink anymore. But he can still be a jerk. And I still love him.

The reason I thought Captain Kirk was so great was because he always got the girl. Even in Kindergarten I was fixated on girls. I gave a girl a ring for the first time when I was five. I got the ring from one of those quarter gumball-type machines filled with prizes in little plastic bubbles that refused to open unless you smacked them up against something or stomped on them. Her name was Amy and when I gave her the ring I thought we were married. I served her with divorce papers the next day when she left me for a boy in first grade. She kept the ring.

These days Shatner has a new television show, $#*! My Dad Says. He doesn’t look nearly as cool anymore. He’s old. 80 years old this year, in fact. And unless he finds a way to cheat death like Kirk did with that Kobayashi Maru test, time is going to stroll right past his grave without blinking. He will be archived on the internet. His autobiography will experience a brief spike in sales. And when he is laid to rest, it will probably be under the shadow of a tombstone that reads in a variation of, “Here lies somebody.”

He won’t know about it, though. He’ll be dead. Even somebodies die.

My dad, who is about the same age as Shatner, will die too. And I will miss him and wish that I had a just a few more chances to tell him, “I love you.” Amy will die, and probably never return that ring. Jason and Steve will die, and I’ll probably never even remember Steven’s last name.

And I will die as well. I will never be president. I will never be an astronaut. And though I keep holding out hope, I’ll probably never be a rock star. I won’t be able to choose my own clothes when I’m dead either, and I’ll probably be buried in a pair of those horrible striped socks. But it’s okay, because somewhere along the way my dreams changed. At some point I realized that people don’t change the world because they are the president or an astronaut or a rock star or even Superman. People change the world because they love other people well. They love their families well. They love their enemies well. They love God well. And along the way a few people realize that love can make all the difference. And all that will matter is that Somebody knows my name.

Scabs

For he wounds, but he also binds up; he injures, but his hands also heal.
- Job 5:18








Funerals are curious events. In the best of situations, they are celebrations of a beautiful life well lived, now concluded. In the worst, they are full of mourning for a life of regret with no further opportunity for redemption. In most cases, they are some combination of the two. I have never known a life lived without regret. And I have never known a life that was completely void of beauty. But the one thing all concluded lives have in common is that they inhabit the past.

The past is a monstrous thing. It has its own gravity. And it is ridiculously difficult to escape. I say "ridiculously" difficult because it seems that the past is by definition something that should fall behind us as we move through life. The human race however, has the disturbingly beautiful gift of memory. We are keepers of moments adrift on a sea of time, capable of somehow capturing time and carrying it with us as we move through it.

I can only believe this is part of what God created us to be. Over and over we are called to remember in the scriptures. Do this in remembrance of me," says Jesus at the Passover meal before his crucifixion. God says to his people, "Remember that you were slaves in Egypt and the LORD your God redeemed you from there." Sadly, even this seems damaged by the Fall. Our memories last only until death comes to take them from us. Then we ourselves return to dust, held in the memory of Christ who knows all and forgets none who are his, one day to be fully reborn in the world unbroken.

In the meantime, I carry a broken past with me. It is full of snakes and dead things. There is much beauty too, but never without evidence of the rot and ruin folded into this world. And that brings me back to funerals... and scabs.

I shook the hand of a former friend who hurt me deeply at the funeral of a friend. The memories of the wounds he inflicted boiled to the front of my mind, but I tried to ignore them. In spite of my best efforts, it was only a short time before all those memories were screaming for me to pull them out and play with them.

Memories are like scabs in that way. They're fine as long as you forget about them. As soon as they come to mind, you are beset with the irresistible urge to pick at them. So I did. We delighted together for a while; they for the attention, and I for the self-gratification. Then they began to bleed. By the time I left them alone it was too late. They were swollen and painful and I was left to clean up the mess. I should have ignored them.

It's hard to remember that scabs and memories are intended to help the healing process. They harden and protect the soft layer of skin regenerating below. Picking at them only makes things worse. It lengthens the healing process and makes the scars uglier. They will soften and fall away in their own time if left to God's timing. Scabs. Memories. Even this life itself. And some day the healing will be complete.

Sign of Jonah

But he answered them, "An evil and adulterous generation seeks for a sign, but no sign will be given to it except the sign of the prophet Jonah. For just as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the great fish, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.

Mat 12:39-40 ESV

“If you were to die tonight, do you know for certain that you would go to heaven?”

Silence rumbled like the shock waves of a sucker punch up and down the twin rows of mahogany ribs dividing the church sanctuary. Neatly starched and suited men sat politely next to their primly decorated women and stared awkwardly at the floor as matching children squirmed in dress shoes examining the corners of the ceiling. All the while, the eyes of the preacher canvassed the room from behind his oaken bulwark with expectation and a hint of something like predatory hunger.

“If you’re not sure tonight, please raise your hand”

And there sat I again, hand raised alone amidst “the saved, the sure and the serving,” wondering whether it was faith, apathy or ignorance that gave everyone but me such confidence

“If you want to be sure, pray this prayer with me tonight…”

One more prayer, followed by the pastoral reassurance that I could now magically “know for certain” that I was going to heaven. Why? Because I was “obedient to God” in doing what the man waving the heavy leather textbook told me to do. But what about the man-in-black down the street with the crisp white collar? He had some slightly different ideas of what it meant to be obedient to God. How about the kind young gentlemen with white shirts and bicycles? Or the bearded man across town in the building topped with soft-serve? Or the man with the graphing calculator and the cosmic chip on his shoulder? Everyone seemed to have an opinion about this whole heaven thing.

Heavens abound, with vast catalogs of images to translate their Elysian beauty and indescribable splendor into the all-too-describable banalities of this world. And while opinions vary, the general consensus is that all other roads lead to Hell, or Rome depending on how you slice your eschatological pie.

Every religious system has its own apologetics, evidences and experiences to validate its individual beliefs. According to my own investigation Christianity, properly and humbly understood, is easily the most satisfying intellectually and spiritually. However, while some belief systems perform better than others, all require the engine of faith. Without that engine, even Christianity goes nowhere. In the absence of faith, we are left with only the rigid skeletal remains of religion. Religion is dead, and dead stuff stinks.

And the grand smelly truth is that the atheists have a point. It is impossible to know anything about subjects like God and heaven “for sure” according to the modern concept of knowing. Knowledge requires fact, fact requires demonstrable proof and the only thing demonstrable about heaven is that people are just dying to get in.

Faith is the anima of Christianity. And faith, simply put, is trust. Practicing faith is practicing trust in the God who created the universe, called himself our Father, came to live among us and subjected himself to the curse of death which we brought upon ourselves, so that we could be free from its fear and power. It is not a summation of facts. It is a call to trust in the character of a God who reveals himself in Christ to be the essence of selfless love.

To those who proclaim or insist on some indisputable fact or irrefutable sign, God offers only the sign of Jonah. This sign also must be accepted on faith and stands only on the evidence of the gospels and the truth inherent in the words and actions of Christ. It is a truth that can only be “known” by faith, by the willingness to believe in something so ridiculously crazy that it could only be true: that God loves us so much, he would suffer and die for the freedom of those who murdered him. That because of such scandalous love, he can be trusted.

Love and Glory

No man has seen God at any time; the only begotten God, who is in the bosom of the Father, He has explained Him.

John 1:18 NAS

God, after He spoke long ago to the fathers in the prophets in many portions and in many ways, in these last days has spoken to us in His Son, whom He appointed heir of all things, through whom also He made the world. And He is the radiance of His glory and the exact representation of His nature, and upholds all things by the word of His power. When He had made purification of sins, He sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high…

Heb 1:1-3 NAS

I hear much about God’s glory. Worship music revolves around it. We “give” it to God in public prayer. Pulpits abound with preachers zealously proclaiming it, defending it, demanding it and lamenting the loss of it. Still, in spite of all the noise, I think some people have little idea what they’re talking about. From the way certain people speak about God, it is understandable that others leave the church with an impression of God as petty, self-centered, egomaniacal, an attention-seeking infant with self-esteem issues.

I cringe every time I hear the phrase, “God’s primary concern is His own glory.” I hear it a lot. I hear it from people I know and love, people who love Jesus very much. They want to lift God’s name high and defend it all costs. They don’t seem to understand that God doesn’t need to be defended. I think they fail to realize they are lifting Him out of the reach of the very people He came to deliver. In the words of Rich Mullins from the Lufkin, Texas concert before his death, “They’re not bad, they’re just wrong.”

A being primarily concerned with his own glory would never descend to this rat-hole of a world. And he certainly wouldn’t die for the rats. Honestly, he would probably torch the whole damned thing. He might possibly be convinced, out of a narcissistic desire for praise - and all that nagging - to leave cracked the door to the heavenly servants’ quarters. Even then, however, I think he would station Saint Peter nearby with instructions to weed out the riff-raff. And the bad singers.

The book of Hebrews says that Jesus is the exact representation of God’s nature. In other words, if you want to know what God is like, look at Jesus. He came to be a servant (Mat 20:28). He was homeless (Mat 8:20). He was spit upon, beaten and mocked (Mar 14:65). He was crucified for our sin (Gal 3:13, Isa 53:5). He never acted for his own glory. Everything he did and said was for the deliverance and redemption of humanity; and of course, for the glory of the Father (Joh 7:18). Such a deliverance could do nothing less than bring glory to the Father because it displays the greatest love imaginable (Joh 15:13).

Genuine selfless love, fully understood and accepted, always results in praise from the beloved. But assuming praise and glory to be God’s primary goal misses the focus of Jesus’ every word and action, denies the very selflessness in which he was glorified. You see, it is His love that makes Him glorious. The pursuit of glory could never make him love.