Holey Hope

Yesterday I reflected on the oft-expressed character of hope in the evangelical tradition which leaves a huge hole in the middle. Is it really there?

My understanding of the opening gambit in Matthew’s gospel to be something of a call to judgment. “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near,” is the first call of both John the Baptist and Jesus as they shape their work and ministry. It’s that word repent that does the trick. For the most part it conjures up ideas of turning back, or turning away. Returning to some notion of an idealised past. How many sermons have I heard with that call to repentance, coupled with the probing question, “Where will you spend eternity?” I can hear the preacher now, pumping up the sense of urgency about making a decision: “If you were to leave this building tonight and be hit by a car crossing the road, where would you spend eternity?” I’m not sure whether it made people think more carefully before crossing the road that night…

The word “repent” is a Greek word which means “to change the mind” or “to think afresh.” Of course this can be a rethink about the way our lives have been lived, or where we might spend the post-twilight years. But it is more than that. John and Jesus step into an atmosphere of despair. Israel was enduring a long occupation by a foreign power. There had been no prophets in the land for centuries. Attempts at liberation had only cost lives. The land was filled with a deep resignation about their lot, with some radical fringes fanning the flames of rebellion.  The notion that the kingdom of heaven was near was about as likely as Melbourne winning the premiership this year (or the Chicago Cubs taking out the pennant!) In this context, one could rephrase this first call of Jesus and John into “Think again! The kingdom of heaven is near!” Now. In the present moment.

The hope of the gospel breaks into the present moment. It is life-changing in the here and now, and into the immediate future. How often do we hear Jesus saying to someone, “Neither do I condemn you. Go your way and sin no more”? A loose translation could be: don’t let the past dictate the present and future! Think afresh about your life and all that God is doing!

Christian theology in this regard has been too much shaped by Augustine and by Paul’s thoughts in Romans 7. Both exhibit a strong negativity towards human identity and character. Paul sums up after articulating his struggles to do what is right: “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?” (Romans 7:24) He seemingly underlines our incapacity to do what is right, even through our best intentions. What then are we to make of the opening to the very next chapter, just one sentence away: “Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death” (Romans 8:1-2)? Think afresh about life! Repent!

Surely the central message of Jesus is that the kingdom of God is near – it’s here in the present moment. Not to be gained by returning to an idealised path, or waiting until this earthly life is over before we can share in it! Hope is alive in the present! In the here and now. Not to be gained by reaching back to an idealised past, but emerging right now! This is one truth which both Jesus and John the Baptist wanted to be sure we embraced.

A 6-year-old writes a letter to God. And the Archbishop of Canterbury answers

The six-year-old's letter was very simple: “To God, How did you get invented?”

The archbishop's reply:

Dear Lulu,

Your dad has sent on your letter and asked if I have any answers. It’s a difficult one! But I think God might reply a bit like this –

‘Dear Lulu – Nobody invented me – but lots of people discovered me and were quite surprised. They discovered me when they looked round at the world and thought it was really beautiful or really mysterious and wondered where it came from. They discovered me when they were very very quiet on their own and felt a sort of peace and love they hadn’t expected.

Then they invented ideas about me – some of them sensible and some of them not very sensible. From time to time I sent them some hints – specially in the life of Jesus – to help them get closer to what I’m really like.

But there was nothing and nobody around before me to invent me. Rather like somebody who writes a story in a book, I started making up the story of the world and eventually invented human beings like you who could ask me awkward questions!’

And then he’d send you lots of love and sign off.

I know he doesn’t usually write letters, so I have to do the best I can on his behalf. Lots of love from me too.

+Archbishop Rowan

Read the Times Report

At the Ocean's Edge

The Melbourne Sunday Age has published my faith reflection today. You can read it here.

From the Outside In?

It strikes me that there are a number of significant hurdles to be contemplated as we reflect on the invitation to theologically reflect on what it means to be a Baptist denomination, any one of which serves as an obstacle of some size on its own, let alone where there is a range of issues in the mix. Let me articulate some of these:

Complexity – “re-imagining the BUV” assumes we can “imagine” it in the first place, and then understand the complex permutations and combinations which changes to structure might cause. Starting this process is like grabbing hold of a loose thread in a jumper – once you start pulling, you risk unravelling the whole jumper. Building aeroplanes in the sky and herding cats are two images which strike me in this process. I wonder whether it is a little too clinical an approach. Theological reflection is an ongoing process in which praxis is essential. One act of reflection (or a time) without consequent action and further reflection is insufficient, and suggests there is a “right answer” to be found.

Experience – it is fair to say that there are those of us who find ourselves at one end or other of a spectrum: there are those who do not have a positive experience of denominational life, for whatever reason. And there are those for whom participation in denominational life has been a complete blessing. We all read the denominational structures through a particular grid of experience, none of which disqualifies us from recording our observations and communicating them for the good of its future (or should I say, our future, keeping in mind Frank’s observation that the BUV is our denomination).

Understanding – from the outside in. How many of us have a real understanding of what is happening inside the denominational office? Of the considerable complexities which reflect the theological, pastoral, ethical, organisational, legal and administrative issues. The question could be asked as to how effective any reflection is from a distance…

Personal Concern. There are those who believe that speaking out about their experience and concerns will compromise them in terms of future pastoral appointments, and therefore choose to continue to suffer in silence. The only way for evil to flourish is for good people to do nothing. But there is another risk in speaking out – not having one’s concerns validated by others. There are times when we haven’t been pastoral in our response to one another. The history of the VBMN list shows this. The use of the anonymous post feature of the list has demonstrated the need for a place to vent in complete confidence.

Incompleteness – sometimes we hold strong convictions about something without necessarily having the capacity to offer a potential solution. That’s OK. It is a function and a privilege of community to hear the incomplete thoughts born of pain, angst, or even joy, and to help one another work through the implications.

From the Outside In? Asking us to reflect on something most of us have only experienced at the margins is problematic. There may be longer term strategies unfolding which aren’t apparent, or to which we may not be privy. A change in organisational direction, theologically and strategically, emerges from familiarity with the systems and their impact in relation to the strategic plan, surely. BUT… let us never forget that the central figure and central story of the Christian faith is found at the margins: outside a city wall, amongst the poor and marginalised. If we are to develop healthy denominational structures, we need to hear all voices, all thoughts, because we should be listening for the voice of the Spirit, and not one of self-defense or self-justification.

My efforts in these writings are an exercise in “thinking out loud.” And certainly – as one who has had little contact with the internal workings of denominational life – from the margins. Theological reflection is a conversation. It is dynamic. We all need to offer our half-formed thoughts, impressions and observations.

Denomination by Association

My first response to the night of theological reflection, and to Frank’s paper is rightly determined to be too theoretical. In retrospect it is my effort to put some parameters around the nature of theological reflection, and to underline that our capacity to determine what God is doing in the present is enhanced by our knowledge of what God has done in the past and of the hope which calls us into God’s future. The question, “What are the implications?” is an important one, but must always be answered with the realisation that all actions and structures express values and embody particular futures. In this light I turn my attention to the Baptist tradition of Association.
From the earliest days Baptists were drawn into association with one another. We need to consider what the nature and purpose of association meant at that time, and how association became denomination…
It is something of a catch cry that the reason for denomination is that there are things that we can do together that we can’t do separately. While acknowledging the truth in such a statement, it does need clarification. Over time it has amounted to a deferral to the denomination rather than the cooperative spirit which undergirds the notion of association. In association, churches found support as they grappled with the implications of the theological convictions which drove them to establish Baptist churches in the first place. In the same way that Paul’s mission to the Gentile world raised questions related to practices such as circumcision, so the embrace of liberty of conscience and commitment to corporate discernment of God’s call pressed the new church to consider the implications. We have studied these movements around theological conviction: General vs Particular Baptist distinctives are but one example, but the ways in which they developed the practices at a local level are as formative as the theological statements produced. Association was about shared conviction, commitment to exploration of this call and its implications, and about supporting one another in this journey, so that individual churches did not feel isolated and alone in the struggle. I do not get the sense of an “Association office” being established to support the work. Rather the Association itself was engaged in the struggle and questions emerging at the local level. They were local church practitioners together. And one would assume, not in large churches by modern standards.
The purpose of Association was directed towards empowering and supporting the local church. This was enhanced by the development of theological frameworks for understanding their mission, although the coming together as Association was arguably founded on this.
One of the arguable outcomes of the shift towards “doing things together” is an increasing disconnect with that which is done corporately from the local experience, to the effect that it looks more like outsourcing than cooperative ministry. By way of example, our Baptist social service and missional ventures are now quite distinct from the local church and disconnected from a significant proportion of those who make up our churches. The major connection, if it exists at all, is through funding rather than an identified partnership in mission and ministry together.
The problem of distance is one which plagues all denominational offices. Ministry at the local church level engages at a different perspective than a denominational office. Not only are they shaped by different concerns, the engagement interface is different. In hindsight, this is one of the troubling thoughts which plagued me on the night and since – the theological reflection undertaken appeared to be largely from the inside-out. That is, we seemed to be reflecting on what is and how to make it better/more effective, rather than taking up the call to reflect on what God is doing in the world and asking how we might align with it. Here I would respectfully disagree with Jeff Pugh’s contention that this is limited to “in those places and with those people who are preaching his message and where the message of the Cross and resurrection is bearing fruit.” Such a limited view of God’s work in the world implies that God is only at work in the church, or in terms which the church readily understands and identifies. If we are to learn anything from the history of the early church and the mission of Jesus it is that God often appears at the margins – even of religious life, inviting us to see His work in new ways and new perspectives. If we limit our theological reflection to what God is doing in the church we risk becoming increasingly insular and inward-focussed. Theological reflection has always been on what God is doing in the world, and where God is leading creation, and those who would follow the call of God.
It is beyond contention that the ministry interface at the local level has changed considerably over the last forty years, perhaps with increasing pace over the last decade. The metaphors and narratives which inform people’s lives are increasingly disconnected from the ones which have nurtured the church’s history and, until recently, Western culture. The risks of and frameworks for ministry have changed considerably. How do we negotiate these in the context of the world and not merely in terms of the risk exposure of the denomination? How do we engage with these in ways which open us up to the new possibilities which God is already creating? How do we prepare ourselves for different ways of being and doing that reflect God’s call in the present and towards the future which God has called us to?
The shift from association to denomination has created a structure where a disconnect between the view from a denominational framework and that from the local pastoral office is not only possible but extremely likely. One potential outcome is the drifting apart of the member churches as they engage more intentionally with their local settings, formulating responses which might be informed by any combination of scripture, Baptist tradition (from the local to the global), openness to God in the present, and understanding of what the future of God looks like. As each develops their own matrix of these (and other) backgrounds into their local church culture, the overarching denominational distinctive gets lost.
Some might argue that the capacity of a denominational body to engage in meaningful ways across the whole state is limited (echoing something of the argument in Federation about the redundancy of the states). As we look back to our associational heritage, we must ask ourselves whether its culture and approach is worth recovering and in what way. Let me offer some food for thought.

An Association view of our Union of Churches could see:
A move to having say 8-10 Part-time area ministers each with 20-25 churches in their locality to care for the pastors. This would enable regional pastors to engage with ministry at the local level, possibly into smaller churches, thereby putting leadership skills to work where most needed. It could also establish a sense of equality and partnership between pastors and their area minister, knowing that the interface of ministry is fresh for all, that many of the challenges being felt by the area minister are direct and not vicarious, creating a sense of mutuality of support and care in ministry. Area ministers would be based at the local level, and therefore have local understanding of issues and context.
In this scenario, the role of the Director of Ministries would have a significant responsibility for leading/mentoring/pastorally caring for the area ministers, modelling the type of care and support which is hopefully reflected in the local settings. This could enhance the environment whereby the process of theological reflection begins to inform wider aspects of denominational life, and the local level engagement with the wider denominational level is enhanced. Rethinking of denominational funding arrangements might also release funds and other resources to the different areas where decision-making around its use is also enabled. Resources shifted back from supporting denominational initiatives towards initiatives at the local level, with particular emphasis on those conducted in association.
As the listening ear to all that is happening across the various regions within the state, the potential for prophetic leadership role by the denomination, both to the churches and the wider community, speaking to missional and into cultural issues such that the church’s engagement through public theology is enabled and enhanced. Whilst recognising that there will be evident tensions as a consequence of doing so, providing a framework in which engagement with the wider culture and community can be modelled enables the public aspect of theological reflection and engagement to develop.
It might be worth reflecting on how the particular associational groupings are established at a local level, and whether a uniform size for each association is appropriate. One might also want to examine whether the area minister was employed by the denomination, or resourced by the denomination through the local church, or even the local association. In any case, such an approach may well place support into the local context where it is needed, with a degree of mutuality amongst pastoral leaders in the area.
And then there are issues around the operation and culture of the denominational office which I haven’t yet begun to articulate...
Another time, perhaps.

Theological Reflections on Re-imagining

The Baptist Union of Victoria is presently undertaking a phase of ‘re-imagining’, which provided the foundation for a time of theological reflection in a session earlier this week. Principal of Whitley College, Frank Rees, was invited to present a paper, which he has published on his blog. Carolyn Francis, Jeff Pugh, and Alan Marr offered responses. I found it difficult to find the appropriate point of connection to the conversation, partly because of the “so what” question which lingered in the back of my mind, and partly because of the confusion about whether the focus is on the denominational office, or on the Union of Churches themselves. Frank identified this important distinction. Frank’s starting point, however, was one which is worth underlining:

“Frankly it is deeply concerning that so little of our decision-making seems to be guided by any overt theological consideration at all.”

What sort of theological reflection do we need? Two aspects of our theological reflection are perhaps on more solid foundations than the other. We need an historical theological reflection: one which looks back to the scriptural foundations, both the text of scripture and the life and teaching of Christ. While this apparently rests on a sure foundation, there are issues to be addressed not only in relation to the way that particular texts are interpreted, but also to the particular texts we choose to interpret. Keeping the entire corpus in the conversation and reflection is more of a challenge than we like to admit. Certain texts often are chosen as interpretive grids through which all other aspects are filtered. There are uncomfortable tensions within scripture that we need to keep alive. These must also find consistency with the teaching, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, through whom our understanding of God and his work in the world is ultimately shaped.

But our historical theological reflection must also embrace our own Baptist history, looking back to its foundations and its journey through the centuries. As long as we claim to be re-imagining the future of the Baptist church in Victoria, we must be clear about what we imagined it to be in the first place. Again, this is not as simple as it sounds. Not only do we need to hear our founders’ call to liberty of conscience, even to the point of protecting those who choose not to believe, we must hear also the calls of our Victorian founders, whose unusual step to seek government regulation of our constitution sits oddly with the commitment to separation of church and state. And still more recently we must grapple with the source of the unique diversity which our denominational ties represent, forged on the anvil of some difficult debates in Assemblies, but arguably given a mere nod in the present.

Historical theological reflection is important to our understanding of the present. We cannot hope to understand where we are without examining the journey to this point.

The second aspect of theological reflection which perhaps rests on more solid foundations is that of the future. The eschatological hope which calls us forward. At the core this is clear – the reign of Christ and the restoration of God’s order. We believe that God’s future is clearly established in the just reign of Christ. It is hope which shapes our action in the present. It gives us something to work towards, even if we do believe that the end interrupts rather than fulfils the directions of creation. Our task and call is to work consistently with God’s purposes, which are spelled out for us. But again, this is more complex than initially apparent. Interpretations about the way the end will come cloud the apparent consistencies we uphold about what that future might look like – at least in terms of the internal values it represents: justice, peace, grace. Eschatology asks us to articulate what we believe God is calling us to become. This is grounded in scripture, and in the life, death and resurrection of Christ, which if it confirms anything tells us that the purposes of God are stronger and more sure than any systems which earth can array against them.

The third aspect of theological reflections is somewhat more contentions: reflection on what God is doing in the world today. It is a tenet of mission: to find where God is working and partner with it. How are we to do this? It is important that we undertake the first two aspects of theological reflection before entering this phase. We cannot know where we are without understanding where we have come from (how we got where we are), and where we are going. Any interpretation of the present must find its orientation between these two points. And it must be done in partnership with some form of sociological reflection: an understanding of what is happening in the world around us. Jesus once rebuked his hearers for not being able to read the signs of the times. The temptation is to paint this picture in two colours, rather than to engage the nuances of God’s work in the world today. The world is both getting worse and getting better. This curious admixture of good and evil is ever the challenge for the church to negotiate. For the purposes of our own denominational journey, we must constrain our focus at some point to reflection within the churches which make up the BUV, and the denominational office itself. (As much as I support Frank’s contention that the denomination is the churches, we must recognise and articulate the disconnect and individuality of identity. It is the only way we can work to realign them.)

I hesitate at this point to offer some pithy insights which such a reflection might bring, as the complexity of the task is one which requires more than one person. I will, however, make some observations.

First, there is no such beast as “value-free action.” We wonder whether the BUV should lead the churches. It does. The actions it has taken have always conveyed a message to its member churches. One of the best ways to identify the values of anyone or anything is to evaluate its actions. The statement about intentions should always be measured against the actions which are undertaken, and vice versa. Are we doing today that which reinforces the values we espouse? the calling we confess? On Tuesday night I found myself pondering this when the statement was made by someone that smaller churches seem to be grappling most and coming up with the most creative responses to the present missional challenges, and considered the parallel denominational discussions about the viability of small churches. The disconsonant ring between these two points echoed in my ear. Similarly we speak of the BUV as the union of churches, yet our new governance structure seems to reflect a governance model which moves away from empowering churches in this regard.

Second, I had some difficulty understanding whether the focus on re-imagining is about new ways of being church, new ways of being a denomination, or new ways of structuring the denominational office and function. The conversation on Tuesday night left me in somewhat of a quandary here. Perhaps the issue relates to articulating the primary purpose of our churches and structuring our denominational office so that churches can achieve that. Arguably the greatest challenge to be faced is how we build the bridge between our scriptural and denominational heritage and our present setting. With Frank, I believe that our Baptist heritage leaves us well-placed to engage the public realm. Many tenets of Western belief systems are found within our own: liberty of conscience, commitments to freedoms, and to just action. Losing grasp of our denominational heritage has hampered us somewhat here.

The third comment emerges from what appears to be an elephant in the room. Not one conversation picked up on Frank’s observation that “churches in general, including Baptists, will continue to experience significant decline in numbers, finances and viability.” If any piece of information should cause us to pause and reflect, surely this is one. This is a challenge of imagination as much as anything else, something which perhaps requires a paradigmatic shift in our thinking about church properties and denominational assets. Currently about half of our denominational office is funded from a source whose original charter proscribed its use for such a purpose. This has the dual impact of reducing funds available to churches for the original purpose of the fund, and covers up a question related to the longer-term viability of our collective ministry through the denominational office.

This is an important conversation, and a welcome initiative from the BUV leadership. Getting one’s head about its complexity perhaps requires that we be less focussed on the immediate structural responses and more about articulating the correct questions to be asking. I thank those who presented their reflections on Tuesday night, and who engaged in response. I would say, however, that the demographic in the room also gave some pause for reflection…

Pope Benedict on the Global Economy

I read with interest news stories of the latest papal encyclical - it read as a breath of fresh air into a world where profit and economic growth have been slavishly served to our detriment. Then I received this wonderful summary by email this morning, so post it here, with a link at the bottom to the full encyclical, which runs to 30000 words.

As the G8 Summit begins in Italy, Pope Benedict XVI has released a new encyclical on the global economy. Despite the sometimes dense philosophical and theological language, his message is clear: The economy must be guided by the criteria of justice and the common good. It is a comprehensive document, and while I haven’t yet read the entire encyclical, from news reports and a quick skim, a number of important things stand out.

Caritas in Veritate (Charity in Truth), is rooted in a stream of papal teaching on economic justice that goes back to 1891 with the encyclical Rerum Novarum (Of New Things). It is a far-reaching look at the relationships and issues that the global economy has created, and their impact on the world’s people.

From the beginning Benedict states his basic foundation, that “charity in truth is the principle around which the Church's social doctrine turns.” It is:

a principle that takes on practical form in the criteria that govern moral action. I would like to consider two of these in particular, of special relevance to the commitment to development in an increasingly globalized society: justice and the common good.

And, he says, those principles are both in service and involvement in the political arena.

The more we strive to secure a common good corresponding to the real needs of our neighbours, the more effectively we love them. Every Christian is called to practice this charity, in a manner corresponding to his vocation and according to the degree of influence he wields in the pólis. This is the institutional path -- we might also call it the political path -- of charity, no less excellent and effective than the kind of charity which encounters the neighbour directly, outside the institutional mediation of the pólis.

He deals with profit, writing that while it is useful, once it “becomes the exclusive goal, if it is produced by improper means and without the common good as its ultimate end, it risks destroying wealth and creating poverty.” The current economic crisis, he writes,

obliges us to re-plan our journey, to set ourselves new rules and to discover new forms of commitment. ... The crisis thus becomes an opportunity for discernment, in which to shape a new vision for the future.

He discusses globalization, which has “led to a downsizing of social security systems as the price to be paid for seeking greater competitive advantage in the global market, with consequent grave danger for the rights of workers,” and cites how

budgetary policies, with cuts in social spending often made under pressure from international financial institutions, can leave citizens powerless in the face of old and new risks; such powerlessness is increased by the lack of effective protection on the part of workers' associations. Through the combination of social and economic change, trade union organizations experience greater difficulty in carrying out their task of representing the interests of workers, partly because governments, for reasons of economic utility, often limit the freedom or the negotiating capacity of labour unions.

The crisis of world hunger and lack of clean water lead to an affirmation that:

The right to food, like the right to water, has an important place within the pursuit of other rights, beginning with the fundamental right to life. It is therefore necessary to cultivate a public conscience that considers food and access to water as universal rights of all human beings, without distinction or discrimination.

He writes about the “pernicious effects of sin” in a market where there is a “speculative use of financial resources that yields to the temptation of seeking only short-term profit” that does not make “a real contribution to local society by helping to bring about a robust productive and social system, an essential factor for stable development.” Financiers, he says,

must rediscover the genuinely ethical foundation of their activity, so as not to abuse the sophisticated instruments which can serve to betray the interests of savers.

The encyclical also addresses the rise of global inequality, the threats to the environment – “we must recognize our grave duty to hand the earth on to future generations in such a condition that they too can worthily inhabit it and continue to cultivate it” – and the need for new solutions to the world’s energy needs. “The fact that some States, power groups, and companies hoard non-renewable energy resources represents a grave obstacle to development in poor countries,” Benedict writes.

The international community has an urgent duty to find institutional means of regulating the exploitation of non-renewable resources, involving poor countries in the process, in order to plan together for the future.

Perhaps the most provocative and controversial suggestion is his call for a reform of the United Nations that would produce a “true world political authority” and would give “poorer nations an effective voice in shared decision-making.” Such a world body would “need to be universally recognized and to be vested with the effective power” to “ensure compliance with its decisions from all parties.” That power, he suggests, could include the ability

[t]o manage the global economy; to revive economies hit by the crisis; to avoid any deterioration of the present crisis and the greater imbalances that would result; to bring about integral and timely disarmament, food security and peace; to guarantee the protection of the environment and to regulate migration...

Near the end of the encyclical, he underlines his basic premise:

While the poor of the world continue knocking on the doors of the rich, the world of affluence runs the risk of no longer hearing those knocks, on account of a conscience that can no longer distinguish what is human.

Caritas in Veritate is well worth our careful and thoughtful study. Its richness and depth will add new insights to Catholic social teaching. The entire text is available here.

(reproduced from Sojomail 07.09.09)

Religion is Ridiculous?

Ridiculous, and worse. So say the new atheist books: In *God is Not Great*, Christopher Hitchens does not mince words, calling religion "violent, irrational, intolerant, allied to racism and tribalism and bigotry, invested in ignorance and hostile to free inquiry, contemptuous of women and coercive toward children." Now Bill Maher's movie *Religulous* lampoons the plausibility and social effects of all religion, ominously concluding that the world will end if religion does not end. But I suggest that social science data point to a different conclusion than do the new atheist anecdotes of hypocritical and vile believers.

Many in the community of faith gladly grant the irrationality of many religious fundamentalists - people who bring to mind Madeline L'Engle's comment that "Christians have given Christianity a bad name." But mocking religious "nut cases" is cheap and easy. By heaping scorn on the worst examples of anything, including medicine, law, politics, or even atheism, one can make it look evil. But the culture war of competing anecdotes becomes a standoff. One person counters religion-inspired 9/11 leader Mohammed Atta with religion-inspired Martin Luther King, Jr. Another counters the genocidal crusades with the genocidal atheists, Stalin and Mao. But as we social scientists like to say, the plural of anecdote is not data.

Maher and the new atheist authors present anecdote upon anecdote about dangerous and apparently irrational religious behavior, while ignoring massive data on religion's associations with human happiness, health, and altruism. The Gallup Organization, for example, has just released worldwide data culled from surveys of more than a quarter-million people in 140 countries. Across regions and religions, highly religious people are most helpful. In Europe, in the Americas, in Africa, and in Asia they are about fifty percent more likely than the less religious to report having donated money to charity in the last month, volunteered time to an organization, and helped a stranger.

This finding 'that the religious tend to be more human than heartless' expresses the help-giving mandates found in all major religions, from Islamic alms-giving to Judeo-Christian tithing. And it replicates many earlier findings. In a Gallup survey, forty-six percent of "highly spiritually committed" Americans volunteered with the infirm, poor or elderly, as did twenty-two percent of those "highly uncommitted." Ditto charitable giving, for which surveys have revealed a strong faith-philanthropy correlation. In one, the one in four Americans who attended weekly worship services gave nearly half of all charitable contributions.

Is religion nevertheless, as Freud supposed, and Maher's film seems to assert, an "obsessional neurosis" that breeds sexually repressed, guilt-laden misery? Anecdotes aside, the evidence is much kinder to C. S. Lewis's presumption that "joy is the serious business of heaven." For example, National Opinion Research Center surveys of 43,000 Americans since 1972 reveal that actively religious people report high levels of happiness, with forty-three percent of those attending religious services weekly or more saying they are "very happy" (as do twenty-six percent of those seldom or never attending religious services). Faith (and its associated social support) also correlates with effective coping with the loss of a spouse, marriage, or job.

Maher would surely call such religiously-inspired happiness delusional. But what would he say to the* *surprising though oft-reported correlations between religiosity and health? In several large epidemiological studies (which, as in one U.S. National Health Interview Survey, follow lives through time to see what predicts ill health and premature death) religiously active people were less likely to die in any given year and they enjoyed longer life expectancy. This faith-health correlation, which remains even after controlling for age, gender, ethnicity, and education, is partly attributable to the healthier lifestyles (including the lower smoking rate) of religious people. It also appears partly attributable to the communal support of faith communities and to the health benefits of positive emotions.

These indications of the personal and social benefits of faith don't speak to its truth claims. And truth ultimately is what matters. (If religious claims were shown to be untrue, though comforting and adaptive, what honest person would choose to believe? And if religious claims were shown to be true, though discomfiting, what honest person would choose to disbelieve?) But
they do challenge the anecdote-based new atheist argument that religion is generally a force for evil. Moreover, they help point us toward a humble spirituality that worships God with open minds as well as open hearts, toward an alternative to purposeless scientism and dogmatic fundamentalism, toward a faith that helps make sense of the universe, gives meaning to life, opens us to the transcendent, connects us in supportive communities, provides a mandate for morality and selflessness, and offers hope in the face of adversity and death.

article written by David Myers, a professor of psychology at Hope College and author of A Friendly Letter to Skeptics and Atheists: Musings on Why God is Good and Faith Isn't Evil (Jossey-Bass, 2008).

*Sightings* comes from the Martin Marty Center at the University of Chicago Divinity School.

Dobson and Obama: Who is 'Deliberately Distorting'?

(from Sojourners - some interesting comments, not only on the US election, but the relationship between religion and politics in general...)
James Dobson, of Focus on the Family Action, and his senior vice president of government and public policy, Tom Minnery, used their "Focus on the Family" radio show Tuesday to criticize Barack Obama's understanding of Christian faith. In the show, they describe Obama as "deliberately distorting the Bible," "dragging biblical understanding through the gutter," "willfully trying to confuse people," and having a "fruitcake interpretation of the Constitution."

The clear purpose of the show was to attack Barack Obama. On the show, Dobson says of himself, "I'm not a reverend. I'm not a minister. I'm not a theologian. I'm not an evangelist. I'm a psychologist. I have a Ph.D. in child development." Child psychologists don't insert themselves into partisan politics in the regular way that James Dobson does and has over many years as one of the premier leaders of the Religious Right. He has spoken about how often he talked to Republican leaders -- Karl Rove, administration strategists, and even President Bush himself. This year he tried to influence the outcome of the Republican primary by saying he would never vote for John McCain or the Republicans if they nominated him, then reversed himself and said he would vote after all but didn't say for whom. But why should America care about how a child psychologist votes?

James Dobson is insinuating himself into this presidential campaign, and his attacks against his fellow Christian, Barack Obama, should be seriously scrutinized. And because the basis for his attack on Obama is the speech the Illinois senator gave at our Sojourners/Call to Renewal event in 2006 (for the record, we also had Democrat Hillary Clinton and Republicans Rick Santorum and Sam Brownback speak that year), I have decided to respond to Dobson's attacks. In most every case they are themselves clear distortions of what Obama said in that speech. I was there for the speech; Dobson was not.

I haven't endorsed a candidate, but I do defend them when they are attacked in disingenuous ways, and this is one of those cases. You can read Obama's two-year-old speech, [audio link] which was widely publicized at the time, and you can see that Dobson either didn't understand it or is deliberately distorting it. There are two major problems with Dobson's attack on Obama.

First, Dobson and Minnery's language is simply inappropriate for religious leaders to use in an already divisive political campaign. We can agree or disagree on both biblical and political viewpoints, but our language should be respectful and civil, not attacking motives and beliefs.

Second, and perhaps most important, is the role of religion in politics. Dobson alleges that Obama is saying:

I [Dobson] can't seek to pass legislation, for example, that bans partial-birth abortion because there are people in the culture who don't see that as a moral issue. And if I can't get everyone to agree with me, it is undemocratic to try to pass legislation that I find offensive to the Scripture. ... What he's trying to say here is unless everybody agrees, we have no right to fight for what we believe.

Contrary to Dobson's charge, Obama strongly defended the right and necessity of people of faith in bringing their moral agenda to the public square, and he was specifically critical of many on the left and in his own Democratic Party for being uncomfortable with religion in politics.

Obama said that religion is and always has been a fundamental and absolutely essential source of morality for the nation, but he also said that "religion has no monopoly on morality," which is a point I often make. The United States is not the Christian theocracy that people like James Dobson seem to think it should be. Political appeals, even if rooted in religious convictions, must be argued on moral grounds rather than as sectarian religious demands -- so that the people (citizens), whether religious or not, may have the capacity to hear and respond. Religious convictions must be translated into moral arguments, which must win the political debate if they are to be implemented. Religious people don't get to win just because they are religious. They, like any other citizens, have to convince their fellow citizens that what they propose is best for the common good -- for all of us, not just for the religious.

Instead of saying that Christians must accept "the lowest common denominator of morality," as Dobson accused Obama of suggesting, or that people of faith shouldn't advocate for the things their convictions suggest, Obama was saying the exact opposite -- that Christians should offer their best moral compass to the nation but then engage in the kind of democratic dialogue that religious pluralism demands. Martin Luther King Jr. perhaps did this best, with his Bible in one hand and the Constitution in the other.

One more note. I personally disagree with how both the Democrats and Republicans have treated the moral issue of abortion and am hopeful that the movement toward a serious commitment for dramatic abortion reduction will re-shape both parties' language and positions. But that is the only "bloody notion" that Dobson mentions. What about the horrible bloody war in Iraq that Dobson apparently supports, or the 30,000 children who die each day globally of poverty and disease that Dobson never mentions, or the genocides in Darfur and other places? In making abortion the single life issue in politics and elections, leaders from the Religious Right like Dobson have violated the "consistent ethic of life" that we find, for example, in Catholic social teaching.

Dobson has also fought unsuccessfully to keep the issue of the environment and climate change, which many also now regard as a "life issue," off the evangelical agenda. Older Religious Right leaders are now being passed by a new generation of young evangelicals who believe that poverty, "creation care" of the environment, human trafficking, human rights, pandemic diseases such as HIV/AIDS, and the fundamental issues of war and peace are also "religious" and "moral" issues and now a part of a much wider and deeper agenda. That new evangelical agenda is a deep threat to Dobson and the power wielded by the Religious Right for so long. It puts many evangelical votes in play this election year, especially among a new generation who are no longer captive to the Religious Right. Perhaps that is the real reason for Dobson's attack on Barack Obama.

Lines of scripture

Random thought: It is easier to make our theology, perception and practice based on two or three lines in scripture. Much more difficult to base it on lines running through scripture.

Walter Brueggemann's 19 Theses

1. Everybody lives by a script. The script may be implicit or explicit. It may be recognized or unrecognised, but everybody has a script.

2. We get scripted. All of us get scripted through the process of nurture and formation and socialization, and it happens to us without our knowing it.

3. The dominant scripting in our society is a script of technological, therapeutic, consumer militarism that socializes us all, liberal and conservative.

4. That script (technological, therapeutic, consumer militarism) enacted through advertising and propaganda and ideology, especially on the liturgies of television, promises to make us safe and to make us happy.

5. That script has failed. That script of military consumerism cannot make us safe and it cannot make us happy. We may be the unhappiest society in the world.

6. Health for our society depends upon disengagement from and relinquishment of that script of military consumerism. This is a disengagement and relinquishment that we mostly resist and about which we are profoundly ambiguous.

7. It is the task of ministry to de-script that script among us. That is, too enable persons to relinquish a world that no longer exists and indeed never did exist.

8. The task of descripting, relinquishment and disengagement is accomplished by a steady, patient, intentional articulation of an alternative script that we say can make us happy and make us safe.

9. The alternative script is rooted in the Bible and is enacted through the tradition of the Church. It is an offer of a counter-narrative, counter to the script of technological, therapeutic, consumer militarism.

10. That alternative script has as its most distinctive feature, its key character – the God of the Bible whom we name as Father, Son, and Spirit.

11. That script is not monolithic, one dimensional or seamless. It is ragged and disjunctive and incoherent. Partly it is ragged and disjunctive and incoherent because it has been crafted over time by many committees. But it is also ragged and disjunctive and incoherent because the key character is elusive and irascible in freedom and in sovereignty and in hiddenness, and, I’m embarrassed to say, in violence – [a] huge problem for us.

12. The ragged, disjunctive, and incoherent quality of the counter-script to which we testify cannot be smoothed or made seamless. [I think the writer of Psalm 119 would probably like too try, to make it seamless]. Because when we do that the script gets flattened and domesticated. [This is my polemic against systematic theology]. The script gets flattened and domesticated and it becomes a weak echo of the dominant script of technological, consumer militarism. Whereas the dominant script of technological, consumer militarism is all about certitude, privilege, and entitlement this counter-script is not about certitude, privilege, and entitlement. Thus care must betaken to let this script be what it is, which entails letting God be God’s irascible self.

13. The ragged, disjunctive character of the counter-script to which we testify invites its adherents to quarrel among themselves – liberals and conservatives – in ways that detract from the main claims of the script and so too debilitate the focus of the script.

14. The entry point into the counter-script is baptism. Whereby we say in the old liturgies, “do you renounce the dominant script?”

15. The nurture, formation, and socialization into the counter-script with this elusive, irascible character is the work of ministry. We do that work of nurture, formation, and socialization by the practices of preaching, liturgy, education, social action, spirituality, and neighbouring of all kinds.

16. Most of us are ambiguous about the script; those with whom we minister and I dare say, those of us who minister. Most of us are not at the deepest places wanting to choose between the dominant script and the counter-script. Most of us in the deep places are vacillating and mumbling in ambivalence.

17. This ambivalence between scripts is precisely the primary venue for the Spirit. So that ministry is to name and enhance the ambivalence that liberals and conservatives have in common that puts people in crisis and consequently that invokes resistance and hostility.

18. Ministry is to manage that ambivalence that is crucially present among liberals and conservatives in generative faithful ways in order to permit relinquishment of [the] old script and embrace of the new script.

19. The work of ministry is crucial and pivotal and indispensable in our society precisely because there is no one [see if that’s an overstatement]; there is no one except the church and the synagogue to name and evoke the ambivalence and too manage a way through it. I think often; I see the mundane day-to-day stuff ministers have to do and I think, my God, what would happen if you talk all the ministers out. The role of ministry then is as urgent as it is wondrous and difficult.

The accompanying audio from which this was transcribed can be found here.

World Vision's Triennial Council

Jim Wallis makes some interesting and encouraging reports on the most recent World Vision triennial council in Singapore.

A World of Hope (by Jim Wallis)

Last week I had the great blessing of participating in World Vision’s Triennial Council held in Singapore. It drew together almost 500 people—World Vision’s country directors and many staff, board chairs, and members from every region of the world, as well as the international board of directors who will guide and govern what has become the largest relief and development organization in the world. World Vision has grown enormously, especially in the last several years, and is seeking to determine its future direction. The organization serves 100 million people in almost 100 countries, with 23,000 staff members and an annual budget of $2 billion. It was indeed a privilege to deliver the opening and closing addresses and to have many opportunities to interact with this extraordinary and significant group of people each day of the conference.

I saw an organization in the dynamic process of moving from alleviation to transformation. I felt the passion of an international community of humanitarian faith-based workers who care deeply about the poorest children of the world, and who clearly yearn to embrace a God of justice, not merely a God of charity. That was the call they responded to in Singapore. The response was especially powerful from those from the global South, where the churches are growing dramatically and the conditions of life for so many have forced the people of God to address the issues of global justice.

The response of World Vision to the Asian tsunami was especially impressive, along with so many other places where natural disasters and human conflicts have caused so much suffering over the last three years. But we talked about how the greatest “disaster” in the world today is the very structure of the global order itself, and how disasters such as the Asian tsunami and Hurricane Katrina only serve to reveal these underlying injustices. If we are to be faithful to the biblical vision, we must judge those global structures to be unjust.

Organizations such as World Vision have the choice of merely being the beneficiaries of the guilt of the developed world in serving the victims of an unjust global order, or they can serve the poor in a way that shines a spotlight on global injustice and the moral imperative for transformation. It is more and more clear that World Vision desires to make the second choice. Many from the global South told me they had never heard an American speak this way, but the Americans at Singapore were also clearly in sync with the need for World Vision’s prophetic vocation.

We must be Christians first, the World Vision delegates strongly affirmed, and citizens of nations and members of tribes second. Today, globalization seems to have an inevitable logic, but no comparable ethic. But international bodies such as World Vision, which know no geopolitical boundaries, could help create the ethics and values that globalization now lacks.

World Vision now has three organizational pillars: relief, development, and advocacy. Advocacy is the newest and most controversial pillar, but the imperative to deal with the root causes of human suffering, with the injustice that leads to disaster for so many, and with the policies of nations and international organizations that obstruct real solutions to poverty, has developed a real momentum within the organization. And rather than just becoming another lobby group, their deepest response was to the vocation of “changing the wind” of international politics and priorities.

“World Vision changed this week,” many people said to me as I departed. We could all feel it. It seemed that what has been growing within the organization for some time took a great leap forward during those days in Singapore, and there is no turning back. World Vision will not just be a collector of a guilty, affluent world’s donations to sponsor poor children, but rather a catalyst to help build a global movement for spiritual and social transformation. World Vision’s size, influence, and credibility positions the organization very well to be a prophetic leader in that movement for justice on the global stage that speaks truth to power—not just as a service provider when disaster strikes.

On the last day we spoke about a biblical theology of hope in a world of pain, and how hope, backed by faith, was the key to bringing about the global sea changes we desperately need. The choice today is less between belief and secularism, but between hope and cynicism. The theme of the final day was “A World of Hope,” and what I saw and felt at World Vision’s Singapore Triennial Council made me very hopeful indeed.

The Name of God

A Dutch Bishop has stirred some interest with his call for people of all faiths to refer to God as Allah, as reported on the ABC website. Bishop Muskens suggests that God doesn't mind what name he is called, and during an eight year stint in Indonesia celebrated the Mass by referring to God as Allah. It's an interesting and fraught notion.
First, to suggest that it makes no difference to God what we call Him might be stretching matters a bit too far. It is one thing to find a culturally-relevant way to express faith, yet another to suggest that all such expressions are universally relevant and transferable. In some senses, to name God is to reduce Him, to give power over God by the one who names. The great Hebrew name for God can be loosely translated as to avoid that type of limitation: "I am who I am" or "I will be who I will be". God defined by Godself.
The response of Gerrit de Fijter, chairman of the Protestant church in the Netherlands, is enlightening and revealing in many ways, "Calling God 'Allah' does no justice to Western identity. I see no benefit in it."
...the fact that Allah doesn't do justice to Western identity is both a strength and a weakness: in one way countering the blind spots of our own understandings of God, and at the same time potentially denying aspects we would wish to affirm.

An underlying concern is the embracing of a view that we must all see God alike. I'm not sure that is true of any two people. Words have the power to create meanings as well as reflect them. If we are to affirm that the God we worship is greater than us all, we have to affirm the limitations of a particular and therefore culturally endowed understanding. But we must also, as Christians, affirm the notion of incarnation - that God is revealed in particular contexts. Determining the relationship of the universal to the particular and vice versa is an ongoing challenge for us all. But I do believe we are impoverished if we reduce God (or life for that matter) to a one-size-fits-all view.

A possibly complicating issue in this matter is that Islam as a faith does not generally accept the notion of cultural and contextual knowledge, at least in relation to revelation. It is founded on the belief of the timeless and eternal truth of the Koran and the prophet Mohammed. To adopt the term 'Allah' for God in the christian church may be seen either to embrace or to insult Islam, depending on whether we are seen to be seeking to turn the notion of Allah towards Western frameworks.

It was C S Lewis who once said that anything we say about God is a lie, inasmuch as it is not the full truth. A Western view of God, as much as an Islamic view, is both enlightening and limiting, opening up to new vistas, and closing of others. While the Bishop's suggestion is worthy of discussion, it is no panacea.

Suffering which perfects?

The passage in Hebrews which speaks of Jesus "having been perfected by suffering" (Heb 2:10) has always been somewhat problematic... "Why is it that Jesus needed to be made perfect in the first place?" was one question it brought to mind. Yet I wonder whether that is the question the author seeks to address in this passage.

In popular thought suffering is rarely regarded as something worth embracing, or of intrinsic value. Popular Western thought regards suffering as something to be avoided at all costs, viewing it as of little innate value. We justify therapeutic cloning, stem cell research, and many other technological advances on the basis that they reduce suffering. What then of the One of whom it is said that the author of salvation as perfected through suffering?

Clearly suffering is not something which is alien to the character of God. Hebrews indicates that Jesus suffered as we do, yet was in no way diminished by that suffering. On the contrary, it indicates that his suffering was an essential aspect of his work of salvation. Through his suffering came salvation for us all. By his suffering we are redeemed, opened to the life of God through His Spirit. This is not to suggest that all suffering is redemptive, nor that all suffering should be embraced. Neither is it to indicate that we ignore the possibility of reducing suffering. Rather, here we are invited to embrace the possibility of redemptive suffering... the knowledge that some of life's hardest lessons - emerging from our deepest suffering - bring us something of great value.

I have read numerous autobiographies in which the writer has outlined a moment of deep grief in their life which has helped them to refocus and appreciate important aspects of life that were lost. Setting aside the penchant towards hagiography, there is truth in the fact that suffering sometimes brings us to face the deeper questions of life and discover something of the eternal once again.

Of droughts and flooding rains...

When the gods want to punish us, they answer our prayers
(Chinese Proverb)

When Australian Prime Minister John Howard made a public appeal for prayer for rain a month or so back, it provoked significant discussion amongst many of my colleagues. Many questioned the motives of the PM, particularly in light of the increasing propensity for Australian politics to court the Christian vote, much in the same way in which American Republicans have managed to successfully garner the conservative Christian vote over the past decade. Others questioned whether it is appropriate to ask for prayer without being prepared to act at the same time in response to the challenges. Given the PM’s very public scepticism in relation to climate change, and unwillingness - or at least reluctance - to embrace any responsibility for reduction in carbon emissions, which are widely regarded as responsible for the changes in weather patterns which are evident throughout the world, and of which the extended Australian drought is just one evidence. The link between repentance (for actions which bring us to the present problem) and prayer was expressed. Then there were those who applauded the willingness of the PM to acknowledge the existence of a ‘higher power’ and a sense of dependence upon God. Other issues (such as cultural sensitivity) served to push the call into the background, many writing it off as a political stunt. Until...

Last week in the Hunter Valley region, torrential rain fell - over 170 mm in 24 hours in some zones - causing severe flooding which resulted in the death of at least seven people and property damage estimated to be in excess of one billion dollars, not to mention the loss of personal property, memories, and disruption to family life. It is an unmitigated national disaster. Where in the world would you find a community in the middle of a drought suffering such flood damage?

But these events brought the PM’s request back onto the national agenda. It began in an innocuous way for me, when a parent at school commented, “we prayed for rain, didn’t we?” when discussing the situation. It is a theme which has been picked up by Philip Adams, and The Chaser team on last night’s show (big file, but you only need to watch the first five minutes).

Which brings us back to the nature of prayer.

Did we pray incorrectly (as some have suggested)? Perhaps we needed to be more specific... indicating what, when and how much. But of course this is absurd. It implies a God who is unknowing and uncaring - one with loads of power but no idea how to use it. Jesus said of our anxiety for the basics of life “your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things,” (Mt 6:32) and that “your Father knows what you need, before you ask Him.” (Mt 6:8) To recast God as a cosmic Santa Claus who needs to be manipulated by numbers or words (weight or choice of), diminishes the very character of God we are seeking to acknowledge and esteem. Are we suggesting that God does not know our need? That he doesn’t know how to provide correctly? Of course not (and I am obviously caricaturing).

The Chinese proverb “When the gods want to punish us they answer our prayers” seems salient in this setting. How is it that we, being mortal beings, are able to cast the consequences of our desires and decisions better than the One whose vision and power is not limited as we? We cry out for rain, thinking that this would be good for us, and then are overwhelmed by it. Having cast drought as the an unmitigated evil, we paint rain as our friend. The reality proves otherwise.

When we journey back through the Bible, we see drought playing an important role from time to time in the purposes of God. It was drought that brought reconciliation between Joseph and his family. It was drought that brought the confrontation between the prophets of Baal and Elijah, ultimately turning Israel’s heart back to God. It was in the desert that Israel was formed for entry into the promised land, and it was in drought that Jeremiah emerged to lead Israel. When we call for rain out of our own sense of need, might we be missing the greater purposes of God?

Which is not to say that it is wrong to pray for rain. My voice has been part of that chorus in prayer for some time. But, when we ask for something, we also need to be aware that God might have a different purpose at work. Prayer is about much more, and much greater things, than simply rolling out our requests before God, who has no need of increasing His personal approval ratings, but is more intent on shaping his kingdom ‘on earth as it is in heaven’. When I pray for rain, I need to listen... to discern whether there is a response of the Spirit of which I am called to be part.

There is little doubt that this extended drought has sharpened our awareness of the impact of our lifestyles on the planet. Would we be as aware of climate change without it? Would we be equally willing to make changes to our lifestyles if we were well-watered? The issue of stewardship of creation is firmly in the forefront of our minds as we contemplate shortages in water, impacts on our river and eco-systems, and the consequences of our increasing reliance on fossil-based fuels. Rather than simply telling God what to do about the drought (“send rain”) ought we not also be asking God what we should be doing? There is a partnership in existence since the dawn of time when in the Garden of Eden responsibility was given to the humans to care for the land which we need to reconsider. Our care has been lacking, and a decent fall of rain isn’t going to solve the continuing problems.

If it comes to the point where, in prayer, we need to be very specific about the amount of rain we want, and where we want God to put it, then we have moved so far from where our relationship with the God who created and redeemed us ought to be. Far from expressing dependence upon God, we are making Him our servant, and at our beck and call. That seems to be the exact opposite of where it ought to be.

Losing the Second Generation

We in the West are in angst about the 'lost generations' in church - generally in the age of 30-55; people who have left the church of their parents, many having abandoned the faith altogether. We have a noted rise in alternative spiritualities, which are often grounded in ancient practices.

The Religion Report of May 16 spends some time analysing the shift away from Catholicism in Central America, a report coinciding with the Pope's visit. While the ratio of priests to Catholics is about 1 to 7000, in evangelical churches it is 1 to 300, going some way to explaining the drift from Catholicism to evangelical and charismatic churches. But that's not the whole story. Michelle Crowther reports:

But the Catholic church's great exodus is not only at the hands of its competitors. In pockets of Latin America, the debate is no longer between different faiths. Many of those who leave choose no organised spiritual alternative. In Guatemala for example, polls since 1990 show about 12% of citizens citing no religious affiliation at all. And in Mexico, 43% of second-generation evangelicals have no affiliation with the church. This is a very important reality check for those Christians who imagine that the future vitality for Christian churches in the 21st century, lies in the developing world. Even in the global south, the trend towards European style secularism is beginning to appear. If 43% of second generation evangelicals have no religious affiliation, it may be that the drift towards these sects is just a staging post on the way towards no religion. If they're being born again in Mexico City, it's into a new life of liberalism.

Which gives pause for thought. Is there something about the charismatic/evangelical commitment to the present/immediacy of God that does not sustain? Catholic rites and practices are steeped in ancient tradition... practices and images embedded in daily life. But while the charismatic/evangelical tradition has perhaps countered some of the 'deadness' which often permeates such ritualistic approaches, one wonders whether the roots have been jettisoned also. What is it that sustains faith? What rituals and images bring us back to our centre? That the second generation charismatics/evangelicals abandon at such a rate suggests the roots are shallow... it parallels the well-travelled "back door" of the church in the West. People don't find it sustaining for the long term.

We might want to point our fingers at the wider culture and indicate that it's a type of spiritual ADHD, consistent with the constant clamour for something new, yet that is often the paradigm of worship and spirituality we have embraced... focussed towards "our needs" at the surface level, but apparently missing something at the deeper.

I am one who finds ritual and repetition to be boring after a short period of time. I gave up on a highly liturgical worship after enjoying it for the first couple of weeks because knowing what was coming, both in words and actions, did not help me engage. Yet I acknowledge the place for ritual and repetition, for the disciplines of the faith which bring us back to the same place and remind us of - and tend to - our roots.

This is a continuing challenge. The Mexican experience highlights a reality we have known in the West, bringing it into stark relief. Where to from here?

The Shape of Worship Music

Revhead has moved and redesigned his on-line persona. On this new site I found reference to this thoughtful article on the shape of worship music in the church from Brian McLaren. The letter is adapted from an article which first appeared in Worship Leader Magazine.

Greetings, fellow songwriters, fellow worshippers, fellow leaders in worship, fellow musician/artists, and fellow followers of Jesus:
For the last few years, I have been privileged to be “on the road” a lot, speaking mostly with young emerging leaders. I suppose I was asked to speak to them because of some over-forty quota system, and also because many emerging leaders are grappling with the issue of postmodernity, an issue I lost most of my hair grappling with myself - and about which I have written some books. Back home, I am a pastor serving a church that has committed itself to enter the postmodern transition and deal with its issues boldly and confidently. I say “boldly and confidently” knowing that there are as yet no maps to guide a church in this adventure - so we have no real idea where we’re going except that we’re trying to follow Jesus. I guess we feel very much like the children of Israel having left the Egypt of modernity and crossed the Sea into the unknown wilderness - we’re trusting that a God-sent cloud-pillar and fire-cloud will guide us by day and night.
One of the side benefits of travel - as a musician myself, I have truly enjoyed hearing dozens of worship bands and worship leaders, and spending literally hours at almost every event being led in worship. There are many observations and affirmations I could imagine sharing with you who are worship leaders. There are so many encouraging trends, along with a few persistent problems. But one observation stands out. It is actually a request more than an observation: a request for the songwriters among us to explore and then lead us into some new lyrical/spiritual territory.
One hears a lot of complaints about lame music, trite lyrics, theological shallowness, etc., etc., in the world of contemporary Christian music. Some of these complaints come from people who secretly wish we would go back to singing hymns, like they did back in the -50’s (18- or 19-, your pick). I am not interested in complaining, and I have little interest in the -50’s (except maybe the 2050’s).
No, here’s what I’m after: Many of us believe that we are entering (or well into) a significant theological/cultural/spiritual transition period, very possibly as significant historically as the reformation period, when the medieval world gave way to the modern world. Now, as the modern gives way to the postmodern world, we should expect to see a revolution in theology (in the end, helping us be more Biblical, more spiritual, more effective in our mission - and, please God, more clear about what our mission is). But here’s the rub.
In the modern world, theology was done by scholars, and was expressed in books and lectures. In the postmodern world, many of us believe that the theologians will have to leave the library more often and mix with the rest of us. And the best of them will join hands and hearts with the poets, musicians, filmmakers, actors, architects, interior and landscape designers, dancers, sculptors, painters, novelists, photographers, web designers, and every other artistic brother and sister possible - not only to communicate a postmodern, Christian theology - but also to discern it, discover it. Because one major shift of this transition is the shift from left-brain to whole-brain, from reductionistic, analytic rationalism to a broader theological holism - a theology that works in mind and heart, understanding and imagination, proposition and image, clarity and mystery, explanation and narrative, exposition and artistic expression.
Our songwriters could play a key spiritual role in the rooting of this more holistic theology in our people.
But sadly, as I have sat in scores of venues listening (and usually participating in) extended times of worship around the country, I have sensed that our song lyrics are too seldom leading us into this new territory. They are in some ways holding us back. Please, please, don’t hear this as criticism, but as a suggestion – “a gentle but heartfelt request” – for change.
Let me make this specific: To many of our lyrics are embarrassingly personalistic, about Jesus and me. Personal intimacy with God is such a wonderful step above a cold, abstract, wooden recitation of dogma. But it isn’t the whole story. In fact - this might shock you - it isn’t, in the emerging new postmodern world, necessarily the main point of the story. A popular worship song I’ve heard in many venues in the last few years (and which we sing at Cedar Ridge, where I pastor) says that worship is “all about You, Jesus,” but apart from that line, it really feels like worship, and Christianity in general, has become “all about me, me, me.”
If you doubt what I’m saying, listen next time you’re singing in worship. It’s about how Jesus forgives me, embraces me, makes me feel his presence, strengthens me, forgives me, holds me close, touches me, revives me, etc., etc. Now this is all fine. But if an extraterrestrial outsider from Mars were to observe us, I think he would say either a) that these people are all mildly dysfunctional and need a lot of hug therapy (which is ironic, because they are among the most affluent in the world, having been blessed in every way more than any group in history), or b) that they don’t give a rip about the rest of the world, that their religion/spirituality makes them as selfish as any non-Christian, but just in spiritual things rather than material ones. (That last sentence may be worth another read.)
I don’t think either of these indictments are as true as they would sound to a Martian observer; rather, I think that we songwriters keep writing songs like these because we think that’s what people want and need. The scary thing is that even though I don’t think these indictments are completely true - they could become more true unless we take some corrective action and look for a better balance.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but some of us are thinking right now, “If spiritual songwriting is not about deep, personal intimacy with God, what else is there?”
Let me offer a list of Biblical themes I think we would do well to explore in our lyrics:
1. You’ll be surprised to hear me say “eschatology” first - and let me assure you that I don’t mean putting the latest apocalyptic novel to music. (Please! No! Not that!) By eschatology (which means study of the end or goal towards which the universe moves), I mean the Biblical vision of God’s future which is pulling us toward itself. For many of you, raised like me in late-modern eschatologies, you’ll be surprised to hear that there is a whole new approach to eschatology emerging (led by some theologians like Walter Brueggeman, Jurgen Moltmann, and the “theologians of hope”). This approach doesn’t indulge in “modern” charts or shaky predictions. Rather, it bathes itself in the Biblical poetry of Isaiah, Jeremiah, Revelation - poetry which, when it enters us, plants in us a vision of a world very much different from and better than ours. And when this hope grows and takes root in us, we become agents of it. What joy I can imagine being expressed in songs that capture the spirit of Isaiah 9:2-7, 25:6-9, 35:1-10, 58:5-14! Who will write those songs?
They need to be written, because people need hope. They need a vision of a good future. They need to have in their imaginations images of the celebration, peace justice, and wholeness towards which our dismal, conflicted, polluted, and fragmented world must move. This is much, much bigger than songs about me being in heaven. It’s not about clouds and ethereal, other-worldly imagery. Dig into those passages, songwriters - and let your heart be inspired to write songs of hope, songs of vision, songs that lodge in our hearts a dream of the future that has been too long forgotten - the dream of God’s kingdom coming, and God’s will being done on earth as it is in heaven.
2. You may be equally surprised to hear me suggest that we need songs of mission. Many of us believe that a new, larger sense of mission (not just missions, and not just evangelism, but mission - participating in the mission of God, the kingdom of God, which is so much bigger and grander than our little schemes of organizational self-aggrandizement) is the key element needed as we move into the postmodern world.
This strikes at the heart of our consumeristic culture, which is “all about me, all about me, me, me.” Jesus came not to be served, but to serve - and as he was sent, so he sent us into the world. The very heart of our identity as the church in the new emerging theology is not that w are the people who have been chosen to be blessed, saved, rescued, and blessed some more. This is a half-truth heresy that our songs are in danger of spreading and rooting more and more in our people - inadvertently, of course. No, the heart of our identity as the church in the new emerging theology is that we are the people who have been blessed (as was Abraham) to be a blessing, blessed so that we may convey blessing to the world.
For many of us, the worship exists for the church. It is like a strip mine, and people are mined out of it to build the church, which is what really matters. In the new emerging postmodern theology and spirituality, that image is terrible. It mirrors the raping and plundering of the environment by our modern industrial enterprises. In it, the church is another industry, taking and taking for its own profit. How different is the image of the church as the apostolic community, sent into the world as Christ’s hands, feet, eyes, smile, heart. We need songs that celebrate this missional dimension - good songs, and many!
For inspiration, we have to again go back to Scripture, and read the prophets, and the gospels, and engage their heart for the poor, the needy, the broken. Shouldn’t these themes be expressed in song? Don’t they deserve that dignity? As I write, I am struck by this thought: perhaps we have so over-emphasized the role of songs in worship - to the exclusion of many other liturgical options (poetry, historic prayers, silence, meditative reading, etc.) -- that we have forgotten the role of song in teaching. Remember Colossians 3, where Paul talks about singing the teachings of Christ to one another in songs of the spirit?
3. You may be equally surprised to hear me recommend that we re-discover historic Christian spirituality and express it in our lyrics. As Robert Webber, Thomas Odin, Sally Morgenthaler, and others are teaching us, there is a wealth of historic spiritual writings, including many beautiful prayers that are crying for translation into contemporary song. Every era in history has rich resources to offer, from the Patristic period to the Celtic period to the Puritan period. On every page of Thomas á Kempis, in every prayer of the great medieval saints, there is inspiration waiting for us - and when we look at the repetitive and formulaic lyrics that millions of Christians are singing (because that’s what we’re writing, folks), the missed opportunity is heartbreaking. These “alien voices” will stretch our hearts and enrich them immeasurably - and eventually, these voices will become the voices of friends, of brothers and sisters, because that is what they are - if we invite the into our worship through songs
4. You will likely be less surprised to hear me say that we need songs that are simply about God - songs giving God the spotlight, so to speak, for God as God, God’s character, God’s glory, not just for the great job God is doing at making me feel good. And similarly, we need songs that celebrate what God does for the world - the whole world - not just for me, or us. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, read the Psalms, because they love to celebrate what the Lord does for the whole earth, not just the people of Israel. Many of the songs we need will also celebrate God as Creator - an important theme in Scripture, but not for most of our churches. We have lacked a good creation theology in the modern era, and we need songwriters/artists and theologians to join together in the emerging culture to celebrate God as God of creation, not only 15 billion years ago (or whenever) but today, now - the God who knows the sparrows that fall, whose glory still flashes in the lightning bolt, whose kindness still falls like the morning dew, whose mysteries are still imaged in the depths of the ocean and the vast expanse of the night sky.
5. I should also mention songs of lament. The Bible is full of songs that wail, the blues but even bluer, songs that feel the agonizing distance between what we hope for and what we have, what we could be and what we are, what we believe and what we see and feel. The honesty is disturbing, and the songs of lament don’t always end with a happy Hallmark-Card-Precious-Moments cliché to try to fix the pain. Sometimes I think we’re too happy: the only way to become happier is to become sadder, by feeling the pain of the chronically ill, the desperately poor, the mentally ill, the lonely, the aged and forgotten, the oppressed minority, the widow and orphan. This pain should find its way into song, and these songs should find their way into our churches. The bitter will make the sweet all the sweeter; without the bitter, the sweet can become cloying and too many of our churches feel, I think, like Candyland. Is it too much to ask that we be more honest? Since doubt is part of our lives, since pain and waiting and as-yet unresolved disappointment are part of our lives, can’t these things be reflected in the songs of our communities? Doesn’t endless singing about celebration lose its vitality (and even its credibility) if we don’t also sing about the struggle?
While I’m at it, may I offer a few stylistic observations and requests - again, not trying to be critical, but trying to be helpful, and to offer ways which you, with your gifts, can better serve the church and our mission in these transitional times? I’ll offer them in the form of some questions.
First, may I suggest that we fully and finally get over King James English in our new lyrics, even if we choose to retain it in our old? Enough said.
Second, may I suggest that we be careful about using gratuitous Biblical language - Zion, Israel, go forth, on high, etc., etc.? If there is a good reason to use such language - in other words, if we are using it intentionally, not just for a “spiritual feel,” then fine. Otherwise, if we can find contemporary language and imagery that would communicate more crisply, poignantly, immediately, and deeply to people who don’t already have a lot of pew time - then let’s use it, in the spirit of I Corinthians 14, where intelligibility to the spiritual seeker is a gospel virtue.
Third, may I suggest that in an era of Columbines and Islamic fundamentalism, we be careful about the language of jihad and holy war I suppose there is a time and place for that, but I don’t think this is it. We all need a strong dose of Anabaptist peace right about now, in my opinion.
Fourth, musically, am I the only one wishing for more rhythmic variety? Why is it that I a being blessed so much by creative drummers and percussionists wherever I go?
Fifth, can our worship leaders enrich the musical experience by reading Scripture, great prayers of the historic church, creeds, confessions, and poems over musical backgrounds? You may not like rap music, but it’s trying to tell us something about the abiding power of the spoken word, the well-chosen spoken word that is. (We have far too many less-than-well-chosen spoken words already, I think you’ll agree.)
And finally, can our lyricists start reading more good poetry, good prose, so they can be sensitized to the powers of language, the grace of a well-turned phrase, the delight of a freshly discovered image, the prick or punch or caress or jolt that is possible if we wrestle a little harder and stretch a little farther for the word that really wants to be said from deep within us? Sadly, while many of our songs have better and better music, but the lyrics still feel like “cliché train” - one linked to another, with a sickening recycling of plastic language and paper triteness.
Isn’t our God, our mission, our community worthy of more lyrical quality than we are offering so far?
Thanks for considering these things. I hope this will be the beginning of an important and ongoing conversation.
Your fellow servant,
Brian McLaren

God is Imaginary

Discovered a series of web sites designed to debunk the christian faith. The doorway I found was the video below entitled "God is imaginary".



The author follows a series of convoluted and contrived arguments to reach the conclusion "God is imaginary". Having followed his discussions (I say 'his' because it is a male voice in the video), I can only say that I agree. If we talk of a God whose only response to prayer is "Yes", "No" or "wait", we are not talking about the God of the Bible, who is far more than a repository for wishes and who exhibits a strong history of independence. Granted, the author is relying on quotes from Christianity.com, and a number of scientific studies about prayer to back up his arguments. Yet the author fails to address the greater complexities of God's action throughout scriptures: calling people from one place to another, giving guidance, direction, even commands which come completely 'out of the frame' of a simple Yes/No/Wait paradigm. A conception of God so limited is not the god of the bible, nor the God of the Christian (or Jewish, or Islamic) faith, and I am happy to agree that such a god is imaginary. I am also happy to admit that there are christians who hold to such a notion of God... but since when has an idea been responsible for those who believe in it? In fact, I would be happy for the author to continue to debunk such absolute notions of God (which is not to say that there are no times when the simple answer to a prayer is either yes, no, or wait.)

Of course, the problem with scientific studies on prayer is that there is no way to guarantee that the control group is completely without prayer. And often assessments of the relative merit of outcomes implies that to be healthy is better than to be ill, to be perfect physically is to be better regarded than a person with some physical limitations (which of course diminishes some of the greats of history), and that suffering is always completely without merit or value.

And that's not to mention the response of a colleague who indicated that his wife could well respond yes/no/wait but cannot be equated with a jug of milk.

In the end, the pejorative claims "you are a smart person" allows me to see through the smokescreen which purports to be conclusive argument.

Shaped by Images

In the movie Dead Poet’s Society, Robin Williams’ character is a teacher, John Keating, who inspires his students to reflect on the opportunity which stands before them. He takes his students down to the hallowed entrance halls of Welton Academy where pictures of past students adorn the walls. He asks them to look into the faces, look into the eyes, see their dreams, their hopes, and identify with their idealism. And know that they are all dead. He encourages them to “Seize the Day”, knowing that opportunity slips by quickly.
This is but one of many movie scenes which captures my imagination. I am a lover of movies for two reasons: the images they present which implant enduring ideas in our minds, and because movies tell stories. One rabbi once said that God made people because he loves stories.
In an episode of the Simpsons entitled Colonel Homer, Bart takes Lisa into see a horror movie. As one particularly horrific scene is about to be played out, Lisa covers her eyes and tells Bart to let her know when it has passed. Bart tricks her into looking earlier, meeting loud complaints. Bart’s response: “How are you going to be desensitised to this unless you watch it?”
Jerry Mander once argued, quite powerfully, I would suggest, that “we evolve into the images we carry in our minds. We become what we see.” Mander was concerned about the impact of television, but he strikes upon a broader truth we do well to contemplate.
Stories are told of Vietnam Veterans who were surprised during their first real battle that those who were killed did not stand up and walk away, just as they did in every war movie they had seen.
Vincent Van Gogh saw the real world as an imitation of the paintings he saw in the museum.
we evolve into the images we carry in our minds. We become what we see.
When Paul encountered the Christians in Corinth, he drew three very different images of glory: "Jews ask for signs, Greeks search for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified." (1 Cor 1:22-23)

I love this story about a young boy's struggle with maths:
A ten year old boy was finding fifth grade maths to be the challenge of his life. Science? A piece of cake. Geography? No big deal. Spelling? Ha! Give me a break... but MATHS? It was devastating! To not only him, but his mom and dad, too! And not that they weren't doing everything and anything to help their son...Private tutors, peer assistance, CD-Roms, Textbooks, even HYPNOSIS! Nothing worked.
Finally, at the insistence of a family friend, they decided to enrol their son in a private school. Not just ANY private school, but a Catholic school. Nuns. Weekly mass. The whole shootin' match.
Well, the first day of school finally arrived, and dressed in his salt-and-pepper cords and white wool dress shirt and blue cardigan sweater, the youngster ventured out into the great unknown. His mother and father were convinced they were doing the right thing.
They were both there waiting for their son when he returned home. And when he walked in with a stern, focused and very determined expression on his face, they hoped they had made the right choice. He walked right past them and went straight to his room - and quietly closed the door.
For nearly two hours he toiled away in his room - with maths books strewn about his desk and the surrounding floor. He only emerged long enough to eat, and after quickly cleaning his plate, he went straight back to his room, closed the door, and worked feverishly at his studies until bedtime. This pattern continued ceaselessly until it was time for the first quarter report card.
After school, the boy walked into the home with his report card, unopened, in his hand. Without a word, he dropped the envelope on the family dinner table and went straight to his room. His parents were petrified. What lay inside the envelope? Success? Failure? DOOM?!?
Patiently, cautiously the mother opened the letter, and to her amazement, she saw a bright red "A" under the subject, MATHS. Overjoyed, she and her husband rushed into their son's room, thrilled at the remarkable progress of their young son!
"Was it the nuns that did it?", the father asked. The boy only shook his head and said, "No."
"Was it the one-on-one tutoring? The peer-mentoring?", asked the mother.
Again, the boy shrugged, "No."
"The textbooks? The teacher? The curriculum?" asked the father.
"Nope," said the son. "It was all very clear to me from the very first day of Catholic school."
"How so?" asked his mom.
"When I walked into the lobby, and I saw that guy they'd nailed to the plus sign, I knew they meant business!"

Sometimes we have questioned our Catholic brothers and sisters who cherish crucifixes, largely because we want to remind everyone that Christ is risen. But this did not seem to be a problem to Paul: "we want to preach Christ crucified," he said. There was something about this image which Paul wanted to be implanted firmly upon the brains of the Corinthians. It would be a recurring theme throughout the epistle. It’s not that Paul didn’t believe in the resurrection – there is a powerful argument for it in chapter 15. It is just that Paul wanted to counter a misconception in the Corinthian church about what it meant to follow Jesus. And the powerful corrective was the crucified Jesus. The enduring image for the Christian was Christ crucified. We evolve into the images we carry in our minds. We become what we see.

We might ask ourselves where in history is the most powerful moment of the revelation of God? Perhaps the Exodus? The Ten Commandments? Elijah on Mount Carmel? David and Goliath? Paul would answer unequivocally: the cross of Jesus Christ: the place where the centurion declared, “Truly this man was the Son of God”; the time when the temple curtain was torn in two. It was for this reason that Paul wants the cross of Christ to be an enduring image in our minds. It reveals something central to the character of God, and to our own formation.

The cross of Jesus stands in the way of triumphalism – which was certainly a problem in the Corinthian church, where it was the powerful and influential who were most admired, and for this reason Paul, with his infirmities struggled to gain acceptance as an apostle. It stands behind arguments about who was baptised by whom (which appear earlier in the chapter).

Paul did not regard the cross as an aberration on the way to the resurrection, nor that the resurrection denied the validity of the cross - the place where the cry of abandonment ("My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?") becomes the most poignant moment of revelation in human history. The resurrection of Jesus is an affirmation of the cross: the heavenly hand affirming that Jesus by his death was revealing something about God.

This is an important image to hold on to. If the death of Christ becomes a focus of God’s revelation, what does it say about our own struggles and suffering? We discover God not bydenying these realities, but by facing them. God’s power is at work in the cross of Christ, and is equally at work in the frustrations and deaths of our own circumstances. We do not need to look out of these to find God, but to look into them, and walk through them. So that even when we encounter the risen Jesus, he bears the marks of crucifixion. He is the crucified one who has been raised. In resurrection he remains who he always was.

Rabbi Zusya tells a story to his followers as the one which has most moved him to tears. He pictures himself in a dream coming to the gates of heaven, and finds that God does not ask him, “Why have you not been more like Abraham?” or “Why have you not been more like Moses?” Instead God asks him, “Why weren't you Zusya?”

Paul asks us to carry at the forefront of our minds an image of Jesus crucified: a reminder that the Lord of the church is true to his character as the one who walked the streets of Galilee and became the crucified one. Foolishness, yes, but an image which reminds us that - as ones who follow in the footsteps of Jesus - our call is to be ourselves, walking in the purposes of God. Walking in all our brokenness, in the depths of our questions and struggles, in moments of abandonment as well as triumph.

We evolve into the images we carry in our minds. We become what we see.

What is the image of yourself you see most? What is the image of Jesus?