Category: Scattered Thoughts

If you haven’t read this article, you should

http://www.slate.com/articles/life/faithbased/2012/02/mars_hill_pastor_mark_driscoll_faces_backlash_over_church_discipline_case_.html

For those of you that don’t want to take the time to read it, it basically details an incident at the Mars Hill Church in Seattle, which neo-Calvinist pastor Mark Driscoll leads. The incident in question involves a church member who, it was discovered through his own confession, was engaging in pre-marital sex with his fiance and other sexual acts with another woman. Following this member’s confession, he was, to use the classical church vocabulary on this, excommunicated. What’s more, other church members were instructed to not engage in any contact or fellowship with this man as a part of his punishment.

There has been a lot of outcry on this matter, and rightfully so. Driscoll has always been on my radar because of his authoritarian, over-masculine, and, well, Calvinist beliefs and teachings. But while many agree with him theologically, this incident has put him under scrutiny from even many of his neo-Calvinist followers.

And I think this outrage is rightfully deserved. Our general instinct is that this crossed the line. I think the general public opinion here is that Christians ought to be able to love and entertain and fellowship with people in our churches who have made mistakes. This is why we are upset.

But here’s the thing: do we actually practice this ourselves?

I’ve seen and heard about a few church scandals in my day. Never once have I seen the pastor respond in these situations by telling the church members to ostracize the person.

But most times, the person has been ostracized by the church community. See, this is something we do on our own quite well.

Now, please hear me: I don’t mean to say that Driscoll’s actions were right. By no means. What I would like to point out, however, is that the outrage we express at Driscoll’s actions ought to be reflected in the way we treat these same kinds of people in our own churches without the pastor’s instructions.

I can’t help but think that this particular person would’ve experienced the exact same abandonment and public scorn in most of our churches. The only difference is that at Mars Hill, it was sponsored by the leadership officially.

Is it this way at your church? My hope is no, but my suspicion is yes. And we ought to be at least a little leery of taking the speck out of the other’s eye when we have a big nasty plank in our own. And we ought to pray that protect all of our eyes from a clearly unsafe lumber yard. (Over-extending the metaphor five!)

May we take our outrage on this issue seriously. May we be the kinds of people that when such an issue arises in our own churches, we remember how upset we were that the church was not able to be there for this man, and reach out to those in our congregations who have lost their way. And may we, only with God’s help, be the kinds of churches that show grace and love freely.

This post has been on my mind for months and months now. I had the basic idea for it way back when, and have been developing it (very) gradually since, but now that I have a functional computer and am reading a book that accelerated the thought process for me, it is time I put this down.

The basic premise for this post comes from countless conversations I’ve had with Christians and non-Christians about the way I’ve come to believe about the world in light of my Christian education. Let’s take a few examples: I have come to believe that the life and teachings of Jesus call me to a life of redemptive non-violence, that therefore war is never justifiable, and that the best way to conquer one’s enemies is through love. I have come to believe that the livelihood of the poor and the disenfranchised in the world falls upon the entire community, especially the Christian, because we are committed to the belief that all are made in the image of God, and that everything I have is not my own (not because I have earned it or even deserve it), but is given to me by God in order to serve the world.

Now, the many objections I have received to these suggestions typically sound something like this: “That’s nice and all, Kevin, but that’s not the way the world works. It’s just not practical to believe that way.” It’s chalked up to being nothing more than naive optimism, and I’m usually told that when I’m older, I’ll understand better. It is believed by what I would suggest is the vast majority of the population that violence can be redemptive, and is sometimes the only option in a given situation. President Bush was criticized for his “bring the fight to them” tactic in response to 9/11, and yet shortly after entering office, President Obama sent more troops to Afghanistan, giving his own speech about war being necessary and redemptive.

With that as the backdrop, I want to take a look at a brief verse I think most of us are familiar with. Hebrews 11:1 reads, “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see.” I want to ask the question then, What is it that we hope for, and yet do not see?

Typically, this verse is interpreted to be talking about a general belief in God. We don’t see God, and yet we believe anyway. Therefore we have faith. Allow me to suggest, however, that in the eleventh chapter of a long discourse detailing the nature of salvation, the identity of Christ, among many other topics, the author of Hebrews is not seizing the opportunity to make a Sunday School argument that we ought to believe in God even though we don’t see God. Especially since the community being written to is already an assembly of believing Christians.

What I would like to suggest, then, is that the things that we hope for and do not see, are those same tenets that Jesus taught and yet we have written off as being “impractical”. Jesus taught that we are to love our enemies, and that rather than retaliation we should more willingly be struck again. He taught that the poor among us are to be treated as if they were Christ himself, and that the way we deal with them has implications for eternity (Matthew 6). And yet we have written off such ideas as pacifism or socialism (gasp!) as being impractical and impossible.

But I think it all boils down to what kind of world we believe in. If we believe that the world is going to hell in a hand-basket, and that we are merely trying to get through this life to get to heaven later, then I would tend to agree with these fatalistic, pessimistic views on social action. However, if you believe that through Christ, God is reconciling the world unto Godself, that the Kingdom of God is bursting forth in the midst of this one, that we live in a world of abundance in which the birds and the lillies never want or need, and where love truly, truly conquers all, then EVERYTHING changes.

This thing we call faith, then, is not simply about believing in God rather than not. Faith is believing that the world really is the way Jesus taught that it is, even though it doesn’t appear to be that way. Faith is believing that responding to violence with redemptive love and humility is actually the best way, even though the world tells us that retaliation is justified. Faith is believing that the destiny of the poor among us falls on our shoulders, even though the world tells us that it is not our burden or responsibility. Faith is being sure that the world we hope for (the Kingdom of God) is real and among us, and certain that the world can be that way, even though we don’t see it fully realized right now.

I will finish with a quote from a phenomenal book I’m reading called How (Not) to Speak of God by Peter Rollins: “Faith, although not born at the crucifixion, is put on trial there.” The crucifixion was the point where all who had followed Jesus believed that it was over, that the movement had died. All practical belief that Jesus was the Messiah ended at the crucifixion, and would not be revitalized until the Resurrection. Crucifixion is where our faith is tested, where what we see is devastation and the death of an “optimistic” view of the world, and we are given the opportunity to either forget all we have learned or to believe that Resurrection is around the corner. I choose to believe that even though the world looks like a place of violence, poverty, greed, and hatred, Resurrection is coming.

With the flurry of discussion per the publishing of Love Wins, and the subsequent publishing of evangelical responses, hell has been on my mind. I haven’t hidden the fact that I support Bell’s book and the ideas found in it. But today I was thinking about these things while I was in the shower, which is where most of my brilliant thought happens, and something hit me.

When evangelicals defend the concept of eternal hell, they do so by making a case that many people deserve hell. One thing I’ve often heard is, “So if there’s no hell, does that mean Hitler is in heaven?”

Because not many people want to share heaven with Hitler. And that seems reasonable. If anyone deserves to go to hell, it’s Hitler right? We are quite comfortable with a doctrine of hell because it matches our sense of justice.

But the same doctrine that says Hitler is burning in hell for torturing and killing Jews also holds that anyone who has not accepted Christ will burn in hell along with Hitler.

What we are forced to accept, then, is that the very same Jews who we hold Hitler in the utmost contempt for torturing and killing are burning in hell right along with him.

And can we really believe that? Because frankly, I have a hard time with that.

Hell doesn’t fit our sense of justice anymore.

Furthermore, how can we suggest that Hitler is deserving of hell for the earthly torture of the Jewish people and in the same breath believe in a God that would send those same people to torture for eternity?

That’s a tough thing to swallow. Can we really believe in a God like that?

Now I know that IF God is truly like that, then it doesn’t matter whether we want to believe in that God. I don’t want to suggest that we construct God based on how we wish God to be.

However, I do wish to suggest that a God that would do such a thing as we have suggested with our doctrine of hell is not consistent with the God revealed to us in Jesus Christ. A God of boundless love, quick to forgive, willing to sacrifice his own self to overcome that which had overcome us. I wish to suggest that those are not the same God, and that if I must choose, I will choose Jesus, who is the fullest revelation of the nature and character of God.

Just some food for thought.

On Facebook I’ve had a bit of a running status series called “Only at Penn Avenue”. I post one of these whenever something happens at my church (Penn Avenue Church of the Nazarene) that is shocking, hilarious, unorthodox, or all the above. Some of my favorites include:

Only at Penn Avenue would you try to point out the guy that looks like Morgan Freeman by saying “It’s the guy sitting behind the woman holding the puppy!”

Only at Penn, a big guy, easily 250, gets up onstage at CR and says ‘Hi my name is flynn, and i struggle with anorexia and confusion’. Brilliant!

Only at Penn Avenue… a woman walked up to me while I was on stage talking, in the middle of a service, and handed me a half-eaten ice cream cone, hugged me and walked away

Only at Penn, a guy just stole two garbage bags of kfc donated for dinner tonight. He is being pursued on foot by several church members.

Now, aside from the theft described in the last one, these statuses describe for me a kind of church without any presuppositions. Penn has something that not many churches have, but a lot of churches badly need: the ability to walk in the door, as you are, and for that to be okay.

Because I really believe that is the kind of church that embodies the Kingdom. Why is it that when we walk into church we feel that we have to have our best face on? Isn’t the Church supposed to be a people of honesty? Of transformation? Of transparency? And yet we’re more comfortable showing our true selves in every other place but the church. We feel the need to fit into some “churchy” mold and not stand out, and we never realize the kind of community we were created to be.

And the saddest part is that we do it in the name of “worshiping God”. What kind of God are we worshiping that we restrict ourselves to solemnity and dishonesty in the house of the Lord? If we are truly made in the image of God, why do we hide our most sincere image when we gather to worship that God?

At Penn, there is no such “reverence”. People often shout out things during sermons. The people with the worst voices tend to sing the loudest. People bring pets and make jokes. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because the same “irreverence” that produces some of these awkward experiences often results in some of the most authentic community I’ve ever seen. In my first month, a man who I had just recently become friends with leaned over to me in the middle of a sermon to confess to me that he had relapsed on drugs. I was able to pray for him right then and our friendship grew from then on. Another time, I heard a man say once, “On Tuesday nights I used to drive down to the crack house and spend all my money on drugs. Now on Tuesdays I drive my kids to soccer practice.”  If that isn’t the Kingdom of God in action I don’t know what is.

I don’t mean to say that Penn is perfect. Nor do I mean to suggest that all churches should have no reverence in worship and just do whatever they want on Sundays. All I mean to say is that at Penn Avenue, I have tasted and seen a church with no presumptions or requirements for dress, behavior, or social standing; and I have seen that it is beautiful.

To finish off this post, I will quote two more statuses about Penn from the past, in the knowledge that it is only because we are the kind of church that produces statuses like those earlier that we are able to produce statuses like these.

A guest speaker at Penn: “If Jesus were to come back today, I believe we would find him sitting there, across the parking lot, eating with people like you.”

“We are just a bunch of unlovely people, serving a very lovely God, who is making us better.”

I’m reading through Genesis 3 thoroughly alongside a terrific commentary (Interpretation Series, Genesis, Walter Brueggemann), and something just struck me that I thought I should write about.

The function of the serpent in Genesis 3 is fascinating. The way that the serpent specifically “tempts” humanity is not how Christians today I think would expect. As Brueggemann writes, “The serpent says back God’s speech in just enough of a twist to miss the point. The serpent grossly misrepresents God in 3:1 and is corrected by the woman in verses 2-3. But by then the misquotation has opened up to consciousness the possibility of an alternative to the way of God. From that point on, things become distorted.”

See, in Genesis 2, regarding the boundaries and prohibition of the trees, death is mentioned, but it is not highlighted. The trees becomes a symbol for the way God created the world to function in structured ways of freedom and vocation and boundaries, for the purpose of life. The serpent presents an alternate view, that God is a God of crime and punishment, of prohibition alone, of death. But God is a God of freedom, allowance, and love as demonstrated in the creation poetry thus far.

Why do so many of us view God in the way of the serpent? We fear a God who judges, punishes, and condemns based on the law, not realizing that the God of creation is Love, and has made all that is for the flourishing of life!

Most interesting, though, is that Christians so often see the biggest threat as atheism. We fear that those who proclaim there is no God are the enemy, and that a world that doesn’t believe in God is taking over.

But the temptation of the serpent is not to deny the existence of God, but to change our view of the character of God. The serpent convinces humanity that God is not one of Love, life, and active participation, but of punishment, law and distance. I think what we learn from this is that far more dangerous than not believing in God at all is falling for a deception of what God’s character is. Perhaps this is why Jesus is so important for a “new creation”: Jesus is the fullest reflection of God’s character, and Jesus was full of love, acceptance, and sacrificial peacemaking.

Any image of God that does not look like Jesus is a distortion, the ultimate temptation. What we believe about the nature and character of God will change EVERYTHING.

May we not be deceived by poor theologies and teachings that show us a character of God other than what we see in Jesus, lest we be tempted just like those in the story of Genesis 3.

While reading John Howard Yoder’s The Politics of Jesus, (a book which every human should read, immediately,) I stumbled upon a brief mention of a theory about Judas, the betrayer of Jesus, that I found very interesting and insightful. My first response was, of course, to blog about it. In thinking about how to approach it, I thought it might be really cool to do it in a first-person, fiction, short-story form, from the perspective of Judas himself. Unfortunately, I soon discovered that I suck at fiction writing. It is definitely not for me. I wrote the first post, thought it was corny, but posted it anyway with the hope of improving. I didn’t. I wrote the second one and it never got past “Save Draft” on account of sheer lameness.

So this is my reconciliation. I’m going to present the idea and the implications of it like every other blog post. I’m going to leave the more creative writing to the Jon Platters of the world and just do my thing and be happy with it.

The theory about Judas comes in a few parts. The first, foundational part of the theory is the Judas was a zealot. In first century Judaism, there were various sects within Judaism, including the Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes and Zealots. In the gospels, we hear primarily of Jesus clashing with the Pharisees, but Jesus was clearly in opposition to all of these forms of response to Roman rule; in fact, authors like Yoder and Claiborne do an excellent job in explaining Jesus’ ministry through the lens of these groups and its implications. Fascinating stuff. The Zealots were the group that chose to respond to Jewish rule violently. They rallied people together, attacked Roman soldiers, vandalized, pillaged, all for the sake of subversion, and all in the name of the Lord. This sounds extreme, but how extreme is it really? With an Old Testament full of tales of battle and triumph, David of Goliath, Gideon’s small army over the Mideonites, would it be that odd to believe that God was on your side against a violent, oppressive, pagan Roman Empire?

A few things support this theory. In the biblical witness, we are told Judas’ fuller name, Judas Iscariot. Many scholars translate “Iscariot” literally as “Dagger-man”. Iscariot wasn’t a surname; 1st century Judaism didn’t operate under our framework of first name/last name. Even his primary name, Judas, is evidence of this theory. In intertestamental literature, (books written between the Old and New Testaments,) Jewish history speaks of man Judas Maccabeus, a war hero for Israel who fought bravely, boldly and most successfully against the enemies of God’s people. Judas Maccabeus  was of high historical importance, and it was rather recent history; less than 200 years before Jesus. To name a child Judas would’ve carried strong significance, and when you combine it with “the dagger-man”, it seems difficult to separate him from the expectations and fulfillment of a war hero. Its probable that “dagger-man” was an earned name.

Apart from the etymological evidence, the gospel of Matthew pairs Judas with Simon,who is listed specifically as a Zealot. By association, Matthew may have been implying a connection. The works of the first-century historian Josephus, though not “biblical”, speak of Judas in these ways.

Most scholars, whether they affirm it or not, certainly recognize the probability of Judas having been a Zealot. The next part of the theory is much more speculation than historical conclusion, but I submit it nonetheless. The theory says that Judas, when he betrayed Jesus, was not just giving Jesus up for the sake of the money, not because Satan made him do it, not because he was possessed by a demon, and certainly not because God made him do it. Rather, they think that Judas was trying to initiate a confrontation between Jesus and the authorities so that the war could begin.

Think about it: Around this time, having rode into Jerusalem (on a donkey?) and predicting his own death, Jesus would have very much frustrated Judas’ perception of a royal, military Messiah. Judas had witnessed Jesus perform ridiculous healings and miracles, and was there when Peter professed him to be the Christ, the Messiah. Judas would have had the expectation that Jesus would be a military hero, and that Judas himself would have a starring role as one of Jesus’ closest companions. General Judas. Has a nice ring to it.

I wonder if when Judas kissed Jesus on the cheek if he whispered something in his ear, like, “It’s time” or “Here we go”. But like everyone at the time of Jesus, he misunderstood Jesus’ mission. Judas must have been really confused when Jesus taught to love your enemy. Maybe he missed that teaching… And he would’ve been especially upset to hear that Jesus was going to die at the hands of his enemies. The Jewish people had enough dead heroes. Like Judas Maccabeus.

The story also demonstrates that one person got the “violent revolution” memo. Simon Peter pulls out a dagger and cuts off the ear of a guard. But Jesus immediately rebukes him and demonstrates the kind of radical enemy love that is so subversive that it doesn’t make any sense. I can’t imagine the look on Judas’ face when Jesus immediately stopped the impending battle, helped his enemies, and allowed himself to be beaten and taken. Is it any surprise, for a man who had staked his whole life on the idea that God wanted to wage a Holy War on Rome, in the midst of the enemies of God proving victorious even over the Messiah, that Judas would hang himself. The whole purpose of his life seemed for nothing in that moment. Through Judas’ eyes, Rome had finally proved that it was more powerful than even God. The Caesars had claimed Lordship long before, but for the first time, for Judas, they were right.

What do you think are the implications of this? Any critiques?

I am part of a denomination that takes a strong stand on the consumption of alcohol. The stand of the denomination is not moderation, but rather abstinence. It attempts to draw on human experience, scientific findings and social responsibility for justification, since obviously the Bible has nothing against non-abusive alcohol consumption.

The most interesting argument was expressed today in my 8 am class. While it is usually the case that no deep or productive thinking happens so early for me, our class took place in the cafeteria, and coffee was indeed a factor.

The argument went like this: the alcohol industry spends more per year on advertising than the United States spends on education. The alcohol industry is (at least in some way) responsible for the death of minors who consume it and then have fatal car accidents. For these reasons, alcohol as an industry is to be opposed vehemently. Our manual has more to say about alcohol than any other contemporary social issue, and much of the justification is moving toward an opposition to the industry and not necessarily the product.

But using this logic causes some problems. First of all, how are we to justify our support of the gun industry by this reasoning? However you feel about gun laws, it seems to me that we allow ourselves to emphasize personal responsibility when opposing gun control, but throw it out the window when it comes to alcohol. “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.” And from the same lips we hear “Alcohol kills people.” Hypocrisy? I prefer the words of a usually less-than-funny comedian: “Guns don’t kill people. Husbands who come home early do.”

Secondly, how we can take such a “Christian” stance against the industry of alcohol but remain silent when large corporations use abusive child labor to make their product cheaply overseas? How can we object to consuming alcohol but have no moral issue with wearing Nike shoes? How can we object to the negative societal effect of Budweiser and their advertising and then turn a blind eye to the ways that Wal-Mart causes and capitalizes on the failure of small businesses?

If we would like to take a strong stance on alcohol, by means of the effects of it as an industry, we have no right to reverse the logic for products we wish to defend, or to remain silent on industries that violate human rights or subvert progressive and fair economics.