Searching for Propositions of Truth

Lots of reading this week. Maybe not the best thing, since I leave for camp tomorrow and haven't started packing yet... but oh well. It'll all get done one way or another. I got a shipment of books that I got with birthday money (thanks Aunt Betty!) when we got back from the lake, and I'm already done with one of them. The other three are The Christian Life, by Sinclair B. Ferguson, The Cross of Christ, by John Stott, and a study book based on the Westminster Shorter Catechism. But this isn't about that.

This is about Why We're Not Emergent (by Two Guys Who Should Be), Kevin DeYoung and Ted Kluck. It's 250 pages, and I read it in four days. Needless to say, I really liked this book. Not only was it intellectually challenging (mainly the chapters by Kevin DeYoung, a reformed pastor), but it was also emotionally stirring (especially the chapters by Ted Kluck). Above all, it was written with a posture of love for others. This does not mean blanket acceptance or tip-toeing hopes. Both authors, out of love, call emergents to account for their words, their actions, and their theology (or conspicuous lack thereof). Emergents will be offended if they pick up this book, just as I was from reading The God Delusion. But there is a profound difference here. I was offended and outraged because Dawkins misrepresented and misread the Bible, and above all, his attitude was one of arrogance: faith in anything (does that include scientific theories?) is incompatible with reason. But with this book, the authors' attitude is one of love, encouraging them to continue in the good things they embrace while seriously thinking about the things they are so quick to reject.

Maybe before I go any farther I should try and describe the emergent/ing church (apparently there is some difference, but I can't figure out what it is). I say try because this, as the authors say, is harder than "nailing jello to a wall." They reject modernism, yet thoroughly use modern techniques of argument (bulleted lists, from/to's !?). They are all about truth and salvation as journeys (searching), not as events. The phrase "searching for Jesus is cool: finding Him isn't." definitely applies. They're big on universal acceptance and tolerance... except for those who argue for concrete moral limits and conditions for church membership. Frustratingly, they're largely opposed to statements of faith or any concrete doctrine, preferring to deal with "proposition" instead. Most of all, anything they produce somehow gets linked back to a "conversation." Books (the ones on the right side are by emergent authors), blogs, discussion-based sermons, retreats, coffee shops, anything. I think the idea is great (how can we communicate what we believe if we're not in conversation with them?) but it gets old pretty quick. So, not feeling like I've done a very good job, that's the emergent church in a nutshell. They're mostly twenty-somethings (which I am), like indie music (which I love), love coffee and guiness (which I'm crazy about), and love Jesus (obviously, me too).

The books scope is those facets of emergent thought (it's a little bold to call it theology) that throw up red flags in the rest of Christendom, whether reformed, evangelical, fundamentalist, or any combination of those. As a result, aspects of emergent thought that the authors agree with go largely undiscussed (but not unmentioned). Social justice, care for the poor and widows, love as a worthy pursuit, and authenticity in worship are all pieces that I'm crazy about. But they aren't the main points.

In my opinion, the emergent church suffers from an overly "fuzzy" view of Jesus. They are of the "great moral teacher" persuasion, but also with elements of some sort of cosmic therapist mixed in. Sort of a Ghandi meets Dr. Phil. One upshot of this view is that emergents believe that people are inherently good. Jesus came because he wanted to make good people even better. (This might be wrong. I'm not emergent, so I can't speak with any authority about this. Besides, they don't really recognize any central or unifying authority on their beliefs, so technically, I'm just as qualified to speak for them as anyone else.) One aspect of popular thought that I cannot get over is the belief, whether emergent, secular humanist, or anything else under the sun, that people are inherently good. I see people ruined by wealth, seduced by lust, and indifferent to the poor. I see myself struggling with arrogance, getting angry at others for menial things, and indifferent to the poor. I see the state of the world around me. I see the ugliness of my sin. And if I didn't know Christ and the free grace He offers, I wouldn't know what to do with myself.

This grace is something that you rarely, if ever, hear about in the emergent church. Their argument is that "the meat of the gospel has to do with justice, compassion, and transformation (186)." Yes those things are there, but that's not the meat of the gospel. The week leading up to and the events following after Jesus' crucifixion are the meat of the gospel. If a call to justice, compassion, and transformation are given without the means of effecting those calls provided, there is no good news at all. Christ came atone for sin and reconcile His people to His Father. Yes, Christ's example is one we should follow, but there is so much more.

Probably my favorite part of this book was DeYoung's epilogue. He issues calls to both emergents and the church in general from the book of Revelation, specifically the letters to the churches. There are seven churches addressed, symbolizing the universal church (the number seven symbolizes completeness). "In other words, the problems in these seven churches are the root problems in all churches. Their strengths are our strengths and their weaknesses are our weaknesses (239)." He encourages the non-emergent church to let their light shine: many congregations believe all the right things, but they make no effort to live a life of love for neighbors. He pleads with the emergent church to not be prey to false teachings. Furthermore, that they understand the difference between love and tolerance. When we ignore someone's sin because we think it is for their own good, that isn't love: it's unfaithfulness. Yes, accept them, welcome them, love them. But the best way to love someone is to remind them of the gospel, whether they are a Christian or not.

In your sin, you are worse off than you could ever imagine. Christ loves you more than you could ever hope. When we trust in the atoning power of His blood, through faith, His blessings are more than we could ever have asked for.

Mowing the Yard

I've been reading a book by Jerry Bridges called The Discipline of Grace. I'm leading a book study on it next semester, and am trying to get through it and the study guide before the craziness of camp starts (we leave Friday!). I hit it pretty hard this weekend, reading a lot at the cabin and in the car. There have been lots of good things in there, points that get my mind going or that stir my heart in ways other books don't. But I'm still kinda stuck on the title.

In my mind, discipline and grace are two contradictory things. Discipline and grace seem to occupy two completely different spheres of life, and sometimes I think that they are incompatible. I mean, if it's God's grace that is the basis for our justification, the source of our sanctification, and our hope in glorification, where does discipline fit in? The cool thing is that the more I understand the Gospel, the more I "preach it to myself," the less I struggle with this conflict. I am convinced that legalism and over-license both have their source in a misunderstanding of the Gospel.

Legalism says "be good, for that's what God requires." It suggests, some seriously, some unconsciously, that God will not look upon us with favor if we do not earn his love. If we slack off in our quiet times, or our mind wanders during prayer, or anything, then God will look less favorably on us. He will not bless us. And this view is profoundly flawed. It completely ignores the fact that even on our best days, we are still desperately in need of God's grace. Furthermore, it downplays the work of Christ. Legalism, like the doctrine of purgatory, cheapens and reduces Christ's death on the cross to less than complete in redeeming us to the Father.

Over-license, on the other hand, says that "Christ died for sins, so why not live it up?" This too, misunderstands the Gospel. Christ did not just cover our sins. He credited to us His righteousness. He gave us hearts of flesh instead of hearts of stone. He commits to growing us, sanctifying us. United with Christ, we are to die to sin. As Paul says, "How can we who died to sin live in it?" We are to be transformed.

For example, take alcohol. A legalistic view might say "Don't drink, because you might get drunk, and drunkenness is forbidden in scripture." Over-license, on the other hand, would dive right in and enjoy the "blessing" no matter what the outcome. The Gospel says to think about it. Is your drinking going to cause others around you to stumble? (Consider others.) If you're prone to alcoholism, is drinking a good choice for you? (Considering your limitation.) In any case, are you drinking in a self-controlled manner? (Considering our calling.)

So how do we reconcile grace and discipline? Today I mowed the yard (at my parent's house). And, especially after an 8-hour day, I hate mowing the yard. Yet, it was easy for me to do, and I wasn't asked. Honestly, I got about half-way through before I remembered that I genuinely hate mowing. At that point, I got to thinking about why I was doing it, why it was so easy. I was grateful for the mini-vacation this past weekend, eating out sometimes, a place to sleep every night, that sort of thing, but I've been grateful for that for a long time, and it has never motivated me to mow the yard. There is no doubt in my mind that my parents love me. Mowing the yard was not in an effort to earn their love (I know I already have it). Rather, it was an expression of gratitude for that love, and more specifically, for how their love for me is manifested. (It's one thing to have an attitude of love. It's another to do something about it.)

As I kept thinking about it, I asked myself why I didn't do that sort of thing in summers past. It's not that my parents didn't love me, it's that I hadn't grown as a person. This past year I grew a lot in the area of self-discipline (this came with a corresponding struggle with self-righteousness, but that's another issue for another post). As such, I am more ready and free to please my parents AND AT THE SAME TIME HAVE IT BE A JOY TO ME. That is the relationship between discipline and grace. Grace is God's evidence of His love for His children. All of our discipline, all of our quiet times and praying and scripture memorization and mortifying of sin should lead us to find joy in pleasing God. Pursuing spiritual disciplines frees us to give God glory! They aren't restraining: they're liberating.

Praise be to God, who acted, in love, on behalf of His own. Glory to God who has ordained that our greatest purpose should also be our greatest joy. Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Culture: Good, Bad, or Ugly?

The theme of the conference I went to last week was glorification (check back a couple posts to see what I'm talking about), but one of the most recurrent motifs that I heard throughout the large group meetings and in each of my seminars was the fact that we need to see things as they are meant to be seen. In our sanctification, we need to see our sin for the rebellion that it really is, and as our sense of our sin grows, our sense of grace will grow with it until we see grace as it is meant to be seen. In our glorification, we are to see all of creation as yearning for its renewal, not its destruction. And in pop culture... well, that's what the rest of this post is about.

One of the seminars that I went to was about pop culture. It really just sought to answer the question "How should a Christian engage culture?" I think this is a very relevant question, and one that every Christian must wrestle with at one point or another. The first day we just talked about the most common ways that Christians usually engage with culture. They're pretty straightforward.

The first is absolute and total rejection. Bunker mentality. Bob Jones university comes to mind, as well as gated communities, black sharpie sensors, and honestly, boredom. It is the position that culture has nothing good to offer, and therefore, must be avoided at all costs. Often, it even goes so far as to shun or judge others that do associate with culture. A great example of this attitude is found in Luke 7:36-50, especially in verse 39. Jesus is dining with a highly respected religious leader, and while there, a woman who is a sinner (probably a prostitute) comes in to wash Jesus' feet with her hair. Simon not only is upset about the sinful woman being in his house, he begins to judge Jesus for letting her wash His feet. Furthermore, it is my conviction that this approach leads inexorably to self-righteousness. (Admittedly, it's difficult for me not to be self-righteous because I think that I think the right things, and am therefore a better Christian than others. Or something like that.)

A more common approach, or at least one that we're all more familiar with, is assimilation. Ark mentality, as this great article calls it. It recognizes that culture has things to offer, but is still wary of the influence it can have. So, it copies it. Instead of John Grisham and Michael Crichton, they have Frank Peretti. Instead of Weezer, Reliant K. Instead of Punk'd, Prank 3:16. Instead of Ninja Turtles (are they still around?), Bibleman. You get the picture. A copy of genre, musical style, whatever, so that Christians can safely enjoy all the products of pop culture. What's so bad about that? Three things come to mind for me.

First, if we're to love other people (Christians and non-Christians), we must have some ground to relate to them on. This pretty effectively kills that chance. Second, most of the time the copies are unsatisfying compared to the original. It's like looking at a picture of the Mona Lisa instead of the masterpiece itself (I haven't actually seen the Mona Lisa, I'm just guessing). The music lacks heart, or Christian elements seem forced in. The message seems to come across, ultimately, as "Come be a Christian! We party just as hard as anyone else! But for Jesus!" And I'm sorry, that just sounds corny. Finally, the biggest problem I see with this approach is that it takes self-denial out of the 'Christian job description' completely. Jesus plainly states that "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. (Luke 9:23)" How are we to do that if all of our desires can be safely indulged?

The last strategy that Christians fall into is immersion. It sets no boundaries. Like assimilation, it recognizes that culture does have good things to give us, but unlike it, it doesn't seek to filter it. And again, self-denial is removed from the equation. Another problem with this method is that the Christian life begins to be completely separated from the secular. The two worlds cannot be justified. Drunkenness is incompatible with temperance and self-control. As much as I don't like to admit it, there are songs out there that I don't need to listen to because they don't build anyone up. This is a problem because Christ seeks to restore and renew us. To make us whole.

So how are we supposed to see things? How is a Christian supposed to rightly interact with pop culture? I think it involves seeing ourselves and the world as they were meant to be seen. Without Christ, we're on the same page before God as our non-Christian neighbors. Without Christ, the world has no hope of redemption. That means that there is nothing on this world that is perfectly good. The problem of sin is pervasive, and the hope for restoration is universal. Creation yearns to be restored.

With that in mind, I think it is possible and beneficial to engage culture (again, keeping an eye out for those things that are not beneficial or uplifting). We learn things about others, and about ourselves. We see elements of truth in the Qu'ran, the Bhagavad Gita, Harry Potter, Star Wars, music, movies, literature, everything! Not perfect Truth, but certainly not useless. For example, I've been listening to Radiohead's Creep pretty much on repeat as I've been writing this. And truthfully, I think it's a more honest, more heartfelt expression of our human predicament than any pop Christian song I've heard. "I wish I was special." "I'm a creep." "What am I doing here? I don't belong here." This song gives credit to Augustine's confession to God that "Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee."

Thankfully, God has not just given us culture. Through Christ, He gives us Himself. We can learn about our neighbors, we can enjoy different expressions of truth that we see all over the world, but ultimately we must return to the Word to nourish and refresh us. We must seek communion with Christ who can satisfy the deepest longings of our heart. And if we really love those around us, culture can be a meeting ground, a medium through which to invite them to do the same.

Obsession

Well, school has been done for almost a week. More, if you consider that my last final was ridiculously easy. I'm at home for another couple days, and then it's off to Florida for RUF Summer Conference. And then back home for a few days, then off to Austin for a wedding. Then back home for a few days, then off to Virginia for a weekend at the lake. Then back home for a few days, then camp! But in spite of all the summer preparations, packing up and moving from Raleigh, and working for Dad the past three days, I have been able to get some reading done.

David James Duncan is definitely in my top five of favorite authors. God Laughs and Plays, a collection of his essays, articles, and speeches (maybe?) was wonderful. Lots of good quotes, lots of good thoughts. And most importantly, even though it is clear that he is passionate about what he believes, he doesn't cram it down your throat or become overly preachy. He is well-versed in the art of rhetoric.

River Teeth was highly enjoyable. I still remember the beach trip where I read the whole thing on the way, and then went back and reread my favorite short stories over the course of the week. In fact, just the other day I was having coffee with a friend, and somehow conversation turned to children's books, and I made the comment that Are You My Mother? always reminds me of the first story in that collection (I can't remember what it's called, but it's about that childhood experience we all have of grabbing the wrong 'mom's' hand or mistaking a stranger for Daddy). Coincidentally, she's the one that recommended The Master and Margarita, and out of gratitude for me actually reading it, she's supposed to be working on The Brothers K this summer.

The Brothers K was ... fantastic. Outstanding. Phenomenal. (Great segue, huh?) Baseball, Russian Literature, Hindu metaphysics, Vietnam, draft-dodgers, and so much more. I highly recommend it. (It's fiction, by the way.)

But I digress. The book I'm currently working on is The River Why. It's 'about' fishing. But not really. It's about Augustine 'Gus' Orviston, the son of a father who is a fly-fishing legend and a mother who is a staunch, unwavering, 'plunker': a bait fisher...woman. He is highly accomplished at both. His little brother, Bill-Bob (his mother names him that mainly to irk his father), in stark contrast to the rest of the family, doesn't care for fishing at all. So fishing is the medium through which Gus evaluates his relationship with his father and mother, their relationship with each other, and most importantly (I think) the medium he must shed and leave behind in order to relate to and love his brother.

One of the things that's struck me on this reading (I read it 4 years ago, my senior year of high school) is what obsession does to a person. With Gus, it's fishing. It starts out as a passion, but quickly turns against him. He hears water even when he's sleeping. He talks to, and weeps over, his pet fish. But most importantly, he looses the ability to talk to people about anything but fishing. That's what obsession does to people: it makes them so preoccupied with one thing that anything else (even good things) loose their flavor.

Darwin complained about this late in his life. As a younger man, he enjoyed the arts, especially good literature. But as he looked back, after much of his research on natural selection, he realized that he had lost all love for Shakespeare. Poetry became dry and boring. And, I would guess, in all of his conversations with others, natural selection, if not the topic, was at the front of his mind. I think to some extent, this can happen with anyone. Hyper-Calvinists, environmentalists, overly-politically minded people, people that get drawn into sports or their jobs, anyone.

The worst kind of obsession, I think, is self-obsession. Pride. I know that you've met someone who wants to talk about nothing but themselves. It gets old fast. Not only is it annoying, I firmly believe that it is idolatry. It's putting yourself before God.

But for most faults, there is a positive side. If we're obsessed with the right things, if our preoccupations are in the right place, they can be for the benefit of others. If service for others is at the front of our minds, even if it's not the center of our conversation, it will flavor our interactions. As always, love for God and love for others should take first place. If it does, our obsession turns to infatuation. What better place to be?

Worship and Prayer

Prayer is not something that my generation takes seriously very often. God gets addressed relentlessly as "daddy," "dude," or "home boy." Reverence is far from consideration, as is a posture of humility and submission. Our prayer is full of us requesting things from God and rarely contains just adoration and praise. We don't thank God for the things He has done: we only ask Him to act in the future. I know that I'm definitely guilty of this from time to time.

One of the means of grace that reorients my prayer life is worship. The hymns that I'm such a fan of (like those that get posted on Sundays) are, in a very real sense, prayers and confessions. They affirm truths from scripture, rejoice in the blessings of salvation, and seek to give glory to God. But more than just the words we sing, worship is a posture before God. It recognizes that He has done great things for us, and as a result, we come to Him in humility and gratitude.

One of my high school graduation gifts was a book called Valley of Vision. I highly recommend it. It is a collection of Puritan prayers on topics as general as sin and prayer or as specific as the love of Christ and God as the source of all good. They serve as a great example to me of how prayer serves as affirmation and thanksgiving, not just supplication or confession. One of my favorites is a prayer on worship. For me, it captures, better than I could ever say it, the posture and aim of worship. Enjoy.

Worship

Glorious God,
It is the flame of my life to worship thee, the crown and glory of my soul to adore thee, heavenly pleasure to approach thee.
Give me power by thy Spirit to help me worship now, that I may forget the world, be brought into fullness of life, be refreshed, comforted, blessed.
Give me knowledge of thy goodness that I might not be over-awed by thy greatness;
Give me Jesus, Son of Man, Son of God, that I might not be terrified, but be drawn near with filial love, with holy boldness;
He is my mediator, brother interpreter, branch, daysman, Lamb; him I glorify, in him I am set on high.
Crowns to give I have none, but what thou hast given I return, content to feel that everything is mine when it is thine, and the more fully mine when I have yielded it to thee.
Let me live wholly to my Saviour, free from distractions, from carking care, from hindrances to the pursuit of the narrow way.
I am pardoned through the blood of Jesus - give me a new sense of it, continue to pardon me by it, may I come every day to the fountain, and every day be washed anew, that I may worship thee always in spirit and truth.

O Day of Rest and Gladness

God is continuously teaching us, whether we realize it or not. It could be the importance of repentance, the rest He offers us, how to effectively battle sin, or, as I recently talked to a friend about, the fact that God wants all of us all the time, not just our half-hearted worship on Sunday morning and a Thursday afternoon Bible study. If we don't take time to reflect on where we've been and what God has taught us, we miss an opportunity to give Him praise. We'll still have grown, we'll still have been taught and guided by Him, but if our chief end is to glorify God, we'll have missed a blessing.

With that in mind, I've been looking back over this semester this past week. Without a doubt, God has been and continues to teach me the importance of the Sabbath. And that it lies both in fellowship with the body and an opportunity for us to experience the rest that Christ promises us.

First, what has come for me is the importance of being part of the body of Christ. For the past four years I've been very active in RUF (Reform University Fellowship), but haven't really committed myself to the church. I mean, when I'm here I go, but I would go with other RUF people, sit with RUF people, and then leave with RUF people. This semester, though, I've started helping to play music on Sunday mornings. I don't lead, but I do play back-up guitar. Anyway, because the whole worship band isn't RUF people, it's gotten me connected to the church in new and different ways. I know people beyond my own peer group, and because those connections are there, it gives more opportunity for fellowship, encouragement, and growth.

If you're in a similar situation (ie, in college and attending a church regularly but don't consider it your home church or even feel connected), I would encourage you first to look for ways to serve the body. Nursery on Sunday mornings, participating in set-up or take-down (if needed), or, as some of State's RUFers have done, offering child care for couples going to small groups. If nothing else, these things will put you in situations where it is more comfortable and natural to introduce yourself and strike up a conversation.

If you're in a similar situation (ie, in a church that has college students but you don't really know them), I would encourage you to ask a college student to lunch on Sunday after church or to have dinner with you some night. Free food is a great way to get college students to do ... anything, really. If you're going to watch the game, invite some students over to enjoy it in a place other than their dorm room. Interactions don't have to be to impact or teach: just hanging out is more than enough.

The church is to give glory to God, take care of and support the members of its body, and to be Christ's witness to the world. In my understanding, the first and third purposes are improved as we work toward the second. That is, as we come together as a body, not just a collection of individuals, we are more able to glorify God by our witness to each other and we are more able to point those outside the body to Christ by living out life in Christ.

The other factor of the Sabbath is the rest that Christ promises us. As I heard the other night, "Our grandfathers' generation called it 'the Sabbath', our fathers' generation called it 'Sunday', and we call it 'the weekend'." And that's very true. In my whole time at school I have not made any effort whatsoever to participate in the blessings of Sabbath rest beyond worship on Sunday morning. Homework gets pushed to Sunday night, laundry gets put off until the afternoon, and the day that's supposed to be for us to rest, experience Christ, and to fellowship with other believers ends up being one of the most stressful days of the week.

God made the Sabbath for man, and when we neglect it (as I am very guilty of) we effectively say that we don't want the gift He offers us. In light of this realization, I've taken some very real steps to ensure that I am able to rest on Sunday (and I would encourage you to do the same). Managing my time during the week so that Sunday afternoon doesn't have to be spent on homework has been a growing consideration. In addition, a renewed sense of the fact that I am not to work on the Sabbath has been impressed on me. I don't have a constant job this semester due to my course load, but I have been searching for and doing odd jobs such as moving and yard work. It's been challenging (and costly) at times, but making sure the only work I do on Sunday is works of mercy has been a blessing.

As I'm wrapping this up, I realize that it might come off as prideful and 'copy me.' That's not even close to what I'm trying to say. Here's my point: look at the words of Christ. Look at His promises. Look at the way that the Bible instructs us to live in response to the work of Christ. And do something about it.

Wonder

Yesterday (Easter) in church, one of the main points of the sermon I heard was that we need to wonder at the mystery of the resurrection. All of our scientific research and material pursuits have not led us to be able, at all, to explain the miracle that occurred on that first Easter: that Jesus Christ, a man who was dead, was risen from the grave. Not only that, He appeared to others, nearly 600, as proof of His resurrection. In fact, all of our scientific reasoning has only served to decrease our wonder and amazement at this most miraculous, most glorious of events. We reduce the resurrection to a myth, and in the process, take away all of the mythic splendor and otherworldliness that accompanies the historical event. The resurrection cannot be seen as a myth: it is no explanation of why things are the way they are, no abstract statement of an apparent truth. No, the resurrection must be seen as an unexpected, unimaginable, miracle. Any other conception of it steals the mystery, the amazement, the wonder.

One of my favorite authors, David James Duncan, has a few things to say about wonder in his most recent book, 'God Laughs and Plays.' It is not a Christian book, but it does make some very powerful, very convicting observations about the state of Christianity and the church in our world. (His fiction is fantastic. The River Why and The Brothers K are two of my favorite books.) Here is what he has to say:

"Wonder is my second favorite condition to be in, after love - and I sometimes wonder whether there's even a difference: maybe love is just wonder aimed at a beloved. Wonder is like grace, in that it's not a condition we grasp: wonder grasps us. (Contrast this with the statement from the Time article that says 'sin is what separates us from grace.') We do have the freedom to elude wonder's grasp. We have the freedom to do all sorts of stupid things. By deploying cynicism, rationalism, fear, arrogance, judgmentalism, we can evade wonder nonstop, all our lives. I'm not too fond of that gnarly old word, sin, but the deliberate evasion of wonder does bring it to mind. It may not be biblically sinful to evade wonder. But it is artistically and spiritually sinful.

Like grace, wonder defies rational analysis. Discursive thought can bring nothing to an object of wonder. Thought at best just circumambulates the object, the way a devout pilgrip circles Golgotha, the Bo Tree, Wounded Knee, the Kabbah. Wonder is not an obligatory element in the search for truth. We can seek truth without wonder's assistance - but seek is all we can do: there will be no finding. Until wonder descends, unlocks us, turns us slack-jawed as a plastic shepherd, truth is unable to enter. Wonder may be the aura of truth, the halo of it. Or something even closer. Wonder may be the caress of truth, touching our very skin (pg 8, 2006 edition)."

New Sins for a New Society

What's this!? Two posts in one day! That's crazy talk! Preposterous! Well you better believe it, sister.

It rained yesterday: an unusual occurrence here in Raleigh over the past 3 months or so. In order to further enjoy the precipitation (and a little bit of humidity), I took my newly arrived edition of Time Magazine out to the front porch, plopped down in a camp chair, and set to reading. Articles about the governor of New York who recently resigned due to exposure of involvement in a prostitution ring, the decline of the movie star, and the 'reinvention' of Jesus as a Jew (you mean he isn't white!?) all drew my attention. But the one that was the most thought provoking was the final essay in the magazine.

Titled 'The New Road to Hell,' the essay comments on the Vatican's new additions (unofficially, I think) to the list of the seven deadly sins. According to the Pope, "We are losing the notion of sin." Their (the Papacy and some Catholic officials) solution is to, in a sense, broaden the list of sins which must be confessed. To sins like lust, pride, and gluttony are added a laundry list of social sins: " "You offend God not only by stealing, blaspheming or coveting your neighbor's wife" but also by polluting, cloning, taking drugs, promoting social injustice or becoming obscenely rich." (Double quotes are Gianfranco Girotti's, #2 official over confessions and penitence)

As Gibbs, the author points out, "...sin is the saboteur that keeps us from grace, separates us from God. The new list is about what separates us from one another." She suggests that this broadening of the spectrum of sin will ultimately "make sin smaller, not bigger or more relevant."

I agree with her, but for different reasons. It is not the "abstraction" of formerly intimate failings, as Gibbs suggests, that will make sin diminish in severity. Rather, it is the object of our sin that will result in this decline. Joseph, in his defense against Potiphar's Wife, says "How can I do this great wickedness and sin against God?" (Gen 39:9) David, in confessing his sin with Bathsheba, declares to God "Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight." (Psalm 51:4) Paul, on the road to Damascus, is questioned by Christ (who, by this point, has ascended), who says "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?" and "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting." (Acts 9:4 & 5) Clearly, the understanding of sin in the Old and New Testaments is that sin is always against God.

This poses a problem. Sin is only as bad or serious as the one sinned against. (I'm pretty sure somebody else said that, but I can't for the life of me remember who.) The problem with the new list of sins is that it switches the victim of our sin from God to men. When that happens, the severity of our sin lessens infinitely: men aren't so great, so what's the big deal if we offend a couple? But if we maintain a right view of sin, that it is always against God, the seriousness of our sin and our plight remains. God is infinite, and therefore we, in our sins, are infinitely in need of grace. The glory of the cross is that our infinite God came to Earth in human form (for only a man could pay for the sins of man) to pay the infinite cost of our sin. The triumph of the resurrection is that this infinite God credited to us His own infinite righteousness, allowing us to come before Him in prayer, supplication, and praise.

Bay St. Louis, But Not Really

As I promised, here's a little report on our time in Bay St. Louis. Well, report yes. Little, we'll see.

Sunday, after church, our group went to New Orleans for the afternoon. One thing that really struck me there was the extent of the poverty there, and the accepted, almost institutional nature of it. When we got off the highway to go to the French Quarter, there was literally a village of tents underneath the freeway. Among the pillars supporting the eight lanes of highway were an overwhelming number of tents crammed together. It was such a strange picture of the prosperity that New Orleans experiences (you don't have eight lanes of highway for nothing) blended with the abject poverty that is simultaneously ignored and accepted. As we drove toward the French Quarter, we saw some of the nicest hotels and malls that I have ever seen, and it killed me that people live and 'thrive' in that environment without even glancing at the homelessness and hunger that surrounds them. It reminds me of the sign that we keep in our house, in a strange way.

We have this road sign that we encourage visitors to The Estate to sign. At first, I was proud of the sign, and as I came out of my room I would look at it, inspect the names, and when new guests came, encourage them to sign immediately. But, as the semester went on and new faces were less frequent, the sign just blended into the house. It's definitely a part of the house, and when people come over for the first time they invariably ask about it, but it's not something that I, as a resident, notice anymore. My guess is that the same thing happened in New Orleans. I heard a little kid (maybe with a family of other tourists, but also maybe one who lives there) ask his parents why a man was sleeping on the sidewalk, and the mother hurried him along. You can see signs of poverty and need everywhere. But. It's almost like that poverty has become part of the city that is no longer noticed by those who live there. Newcomers notice it, but don't have the permanence or means to do anything about it. It is a terrible, ignored, and accepted reality.

Contrasting this, I saw the nicest church I've ever seen (and got to go in). It is the Catholic church that is in the French Quarter, standing at the far end of a park, facing the water. It truly is a beautiful building. I went inside, took some pictures, asked about its history from one of the many tour guides there, and admired its stain glass windows and ceiling murals. But what I couldn't understand was why I neither heard nor saw any evidence of that church's work at restoration. I saw nothing about involvement in the community, efforts toward rebuilding after Katrina, or even an alms box for the poor. Now, it may be that I missed those things, but it seems to me that it a trend of the church in America to avoid its call to participate in bringing people back to God. In serving and loving. In redemption. We experience such wealth, such prosperity. And yet, we are so attached to what we have deemed 'security' (our bank account and possessions), so lacking in trust that God will provide, and so concerned with other's view of us that we kill ourselves working at jobs that we hate so that we can buy things that no one needs (an enormous house, mountains of clothes, wide-screen plasma televisions, $75,000 cars) for our enjoyment and self-glorification. Why do we ignore the greatest commandments of Christ: love the Lord your God with all you heart, and love your neighbor as yourself? How is love manifested in 'keeping up with the Joneses'? How is our pursuit of our own comfort, our own advancement in social status, loving the Lord?

I'm not advocating that we don't at all enjoy the blessings that Christ gives us. There is a very real sense in which love toward others can mean simply opening your home to others and allowing them to share in the blessings that you are given. But I think that Christians, individually, and the church, as a whole, need to take a long, serious look at how and to what extent others are loved (they'll know we are Christians by our love), blessed (in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed), and ultimately brought closer to Christ to participate in the glorification of God (What is the chief end of man?) because of their existence. What other purpose does the church exist for?

Obviously this has not touched at all on Mississippi. Maybe I'll get around to it next time.

Writing the Storm Out

Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne;
steadfast love and faithfulness go before you.

Psalm 89:14

Here's a little context: it's midnight, I'm tired, and the lights are out in the bunkhouse. Unfortunately, I was awoken by a full-blown stuffy nose about half an hour ago and realized that I was in dire need of not only a Kleenex, but a toilet. Sadly, neither of those were present in the bunkhouse, so I had to come into the main building. While here, the rain started. Now, for those of you who know me, you know I'm a man's man: I'm not scared of getting wet or rained on or anything like that. This is a completely different story. The rainfall is torrential. It's amazing to watch, but frustrating that it stands between me and the prospects of a dry bed.

So here I am, at midnight, wanting to go to bed, but not willing to pass through the Red Sea to get there. While I wait out the storm, I figured a little update wouldn't be a bad thing (I'm in Bay St. Louis, MS, in case you didn't read the previous post).

We are digging a foundation (if you've ever dug a foundation, you'll know why this torrential rainfall ... unsettles me). I came expecting to build a roof or frame a house or fearing to paint. But the thought never crossed my mind that we would be put to work digging. Yet, as we work on the foundation, I realize that we are working on everything else. These people need homes that will last, and that only comes with a foundation that will stand. I'm sure everyone has heard a sermon on the wise man and the fool who each built a house, so I won't go into that here. I do want to talk about foundations, just in a different vein.

Go back and read the verse at the top again. It says that righteousness and justice are the foundations of God's throne. If our lives rest on God, His reign rests on righteousness and justice. Not ironically, these are two aspects of God's character that are most often questioned. How can a just God allow good people to suffer? How can a righteous God allow natural disasters like Katrina or tragedies like 9-11 to occur? Especially here, in the receding but very much lingering wake of the storm, God's justice is a sore subject. Where was justice in the destruction of thousands of homes, of businesses, of infrastructure? In fact, where was God at all?

These questions come from a faulty assumption that we don't deserve tragedy in our lives. That we somehow are exempt from suffering. In addition, there is a lack of trust in the plan of God. Yes the storm was painful, yes the damage and destruction was awful. But. Even now, just a few years afterward, rebuilding is evident. New homes, better than the ones that existed, are going up. Community exists, both in the church and in the streets, that was absent before. People's sinfulness and screwed up lives were revealed for what they really were, and restoration can happen.

One of the greatest challenges for me coming here is identifying with those whose lives are a mess. But I've been reminded (mostly through LPC's little devotion guide) that my life is just as much of a mess as theirs. Without Christ, I have no hope of pulling the pieces together and getting or keeping things in order. Without Christ, I cannot be restored to a right relationship with God. What a blessing it is for me to participate in a physical restoration that points to, with flashing lights and ringing bells, the greater restoration that Christ calls us to.