"Go" is not the main verb of the Great Commission. The Greek is quite clear; "go" is subordinated within the adverbial phrase "as you go." The main verb is what we translate as "making disciples."
As such the Great Commission is essentially "As you go into the world, make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them to obey all that I have commanded you," though even there it's worth noting that the Greek word ethne refers to ethnic groups and not to political entities.
Essentially the Great Commission is a directive to transform society where we are and everywhere we go by disregarding all the racial and cultural barriers that separate us, by acts of a supreme love that invites us to discover eternity through the experience of finding Christ as he turns our poverty into satisfaction.
That's far harder and more disruptive than what we often settle for in terms of evangelism and/or mere "engagement."
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Sunday, January 04, 2015
Friday, September 19, 2014
Things that keep me outside the camp
Some time ago, a friend of mine at church expressed surprise when I told him that I don't consider myself an evangelical.
I guess I can see why he might feel that way. I follow Jesus Christ. I think a commitment to faith is important. I read the Bible regularly. I was on the missions field for about two years, from 1992-94. Still, all that said, I often find myself outside the evangelical camp -- originally pushed there, but now here of my own volition -- for a number of reasons.*
1. I don't see the Bible as inerrant. If you want, I can even supply some pretty glaring inconsistencies.
2. I usually vote Democratic. Often I am stumped how a person of faith can support many of the social and economic policies of the GOP.
3. I regularly find myself appalled by the bloodthirstiness and bizarre sense of justice practiced in the Bible. And don't get me started on the subject of genocide.
4. I've never read anything by Rick Warren, and am wary of megachurches, particularly once they have radio stations.
5. I think the earth is 4.5 billion years old. Evolution fits into my faith just fine, and makes more sense to me than six-day creationism, both scientifically and theologically.
6. When somebody escapes injury or misfortune and says, “Wow, God was looking out for me today," I want to ask about the other people not so fortunate, and whether God had it in for them or just wasn't paying attention. Athletes giving credit to God for their wins just make me roll my eyes.
7. I ask a lot of annoying questions. Once when I was told to stop asking questions and just have faith, I ended my membership in that church.
8. I have issues with authority. I have a hard time heeding it in people who don't have or who have lost my respect. This includes a lot of evangelical leaders, past and present.
9. I mislike altar calls, which I find emotionally manipulative, especially for children.
10. As I read the Bible, I can't help but feel that sometimes the people who wrote it, just got it wrong.
11. I support gay rights; I'd even officiate at a gay friend's wedding if she asked.
12. I don't have a problem with Islam the way I do with Christians who vilify Muslims and mock their beliefs.
13. With notably few exceptions, I don't listen to Christian music, watch Christian movies, or read books from a Christian bookstore, because (aside from those few exceptions) they all stink, horribly.
14. I think there's room to criticize Israel, and I do.
15. I don't think Jesus is the answer to all my problems. Good planning, good health care, and good friends go a long way too.
I suppose the thing that drives me nuts the most is the evangelical approach to sharing the faith. Jesus proclaimed that the Kingdom of God had arrived, and set about healing the wounds of this world. Rather than follow his example, the evangelical approach is to spend so much time trying to convince people that they're sinners that in the end all they're convinced of is that we're jerks.
Still, to be fair, I should say what I find nice about evangelicalism.
1. By and large, evangelicals take the Bible seriously.
2. Evangelicals often provide the backbone financially and personally for world missions, including medical care, infrastructure and economic development in the developing world -- and this quite often is done without an eye toward gaining converts.
3. Stereotypes to the contrary, evangelical Christians aren't ignoramuses. A creationist is probably going to know more about the details of evolutionary theory than your average college graduate.
4. Evangelicals often have a sense of the immediacy of God that I wish I had more of.
5. There are signs that younger evangelicals are pushing the movement to the Left and taking a broader, more socially responsible view of things.
* N.B.: I want to stress that this post reflects my thoughts on evangelicalism itself, and not a critique of evangelicals qua believers. As a movement, evangelicalism historically has been a much broader, more encompassing movement than it is now, one that allowed for a wide range of doctrine and views. My prayer is that it would return to those roots. and shake off the narrowness that has defined it for the past thirty-some years.
Tip of the hat to Rachel Evans
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1. I don't see the Bible as inerrant. If you want, I can even supply some pretty glaring inconsistencies.
2. I usually vote Democratic. Often I am stumped how a person of faith can support many of the social and economic policies of the GOP.
3. I regularly find myself appalled by the bloodthirstiness and bizarre sense of justice practiced in the Bible. And don't get me started on the subject of genocide.
4. I've never read anything by Rick Warren, and am wary of megachurches, particularly once they have radio stations.
5. I think the earth is 4.5 billion years old. Evolution fits into my faith just fine, and makes more sense to me than six-day creationism, both scientifically and theologically.
6. When somebody escapes injury or misfortune and says, “Wow, God was looking out for me today," I want to ask about the other people not so fortunate, and whether God had it in for them or just wasn't paying attention. Athletes giving credit to God for their wins just make me roll my eyes.
7. I ask a lot of annoying questions. Once when I was told to stop asking questions and just have faith, I ended my membership in that church.
8. I have issues with authority. I have a hard time heeding it in people who don't have or who have lost my respect. This includes a lot of evangelical leaders, past and present.
9. I mislike altar calls, which I find emotionally manipulative, especially for children.
10. As I read the Bible, I can't help but feel that sometimes the people who wrote it, just got it wrong.
11. I support gay rights; I'd even officiate at a gay friend's wedding if she asked.
12. I don't have a problem with Islam the way I do with Christians who vilify Muslims and mock their beliefs.
13. With notably few exceptions, I don't listen to Christian music, watch Christian movies, or read books from a Christian bookstore, because (aside from those few exceptions) they all stink, horribly.
14. I think there's room to criticize Israel, and I do.
15. I don't think Jesus is the answer to all my problems. Good planning, good health care, and good friends go a long way too.
I suppose the thing that drives me nuts the most is the evangelical approach to sharing the faith. Jesus proclaimed that the Kingdom of God had arrived, and set about healing the wounds of this world. Rather than follow his example, the evangelical approach is to spend so much time trying to convince people that they're sinners that in the end all they're convinced of is that we're jerks.
Still, to be fair, I should say what I find nice about evangelicalism.
1. By and large, evangelicals take the Bible seriously.
2. Evangelicals often provide the backbone financially and personally for world missions, including medical care, infrastructure and economic development in the developing world -- and this quite often is done without an eye toward gaining converts.
3. Stereotypes to the contrary, evangelical Christians aren't ignoramuses. A creationist is probably going to know more about the details of evolutionary theory than your average college graduate.
4. Evangelicals often have a sense of the immediacy of God that I wish I had more of.
5. There are signs that younger evangelicals are pushing the movement to the Left and taking a broader, more socially responsible view of things.
* N.B.: I want to stress that this post reflects my thoughts on evangelicalism itself, and not a critique of evangelicals qua believers. As a movement, evangelicalism historically has been a much broader, more encompassing movement than it is now, one that allowed for a wide range of doctrine and views. My prayer is that it would return to those roots. and shake off the narrowness that has defined it for the past thirty-some years.
Tip of the hat to Rachel Evans
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Tuesday, September 09, 2014
Remembering the forsaken
Let me tell you about Jackie. I don't know the young woman personally; I read about her recently in a recent article from Rolling Stone.
Judging by what the article has to say about her, Jackie seems like an impressive young woman. She's a hard worker who graduated from high school at the top of her class. She's a respectful and dutiful person, religiously devout, and resourceful. Active in school. Active in sports. During her sophomore year at college when she told her parents she was gay, none of that mattered. Her credit cards? Canceled. The phone? Turned off. Her car? Leave it at a certain drop point, or it will be reported stolen.
And the thought of coming home and seeing her family again? Let's not even go there.
The Rolling Stone article interweaves Jackie's story with those of other teens and young adults in her situation. Of an estimated 1.7 million homeless teens nationwide, the Rolling Stone article notes that an estimated 40 percent of those teens identify as LBGT when they seek services. There's no way to know how many of them have stories that parallel Jackie's, but those who do are the shameful legacy of the church from the past 30 years.
For the past 20-plus years, the church in America has beat the drum and steadily raised its voice ever louder to denounce the increased social acceptance of homosexuality.
There have been ominous warnings about the homosexual agenda and the grave danger it poses to the American family, vicious and unfounded stereotypes about gays preying on young children. And as gay marriage has gained acceptability in society, it hasn't been enough for the church to lament a moral decline in the nation, we've also had to claim that gays are persecuting us by asking the state to recognize their unions and for businesses to treat them like any other customer.
This sort of talk, and this sort of fear, don't exist in a vacuum. They have a cost.
These youth are paying that cost. They are our legacy. When we use words like "abomination" so loosely, we teach people that they are worth less if they are gay.
When we call gay marriage an assault on marriage itself, we cast gays themselves as the enemy of marriage.
When we talk about "the homosexual agenda" driven by liberals and the media, we divide the nation and even families into opposing camps, the "good" side of us, and the "evil" side of them. Kids trust and respect their parents. What kind of message is that to receive your entire childhood?
When we wield Scripture like a club to settle an argument, we make ourselves secure in the rightness of our cause, but we also tell people that they're going to hell because of an instinctive attraction that they have no control over. Everyone else can see how self-righteous that is. Why can't we?
When we "hate the sin and love the sinner," what we really are doing is hating the sinner too, but glossing it over by saying that we'll show them that love once they stop doing what we object to. God's response is to pursue the sinner; ours is "to hand them over to Satan" and drive them out lest they corrupt the whole batch. (To our collective shame, this is exactly what John MacArthur advocates we do with our gay children, and he is a respected minister.)
People make a big deal over the silence of Jesus on the subject of homosexuality, but here's what it really boils down to. We don't know where Jesus stood on the moral nature of homosexuality. He never said. What we do know is that he stood firmly on the side of human dignity and respect.
It is entirely possible (though not, all things considered, very likely) that one of my daughters may at some point come to me and say, "Dad, I'm gay." The only response acceptable at that point is to say "I love you" -- because, in the end, that's what people need to hear.
That message is not one often shared in church the past 27 years, and people like Jackie are paying the cost.
Copyright © 2014 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Judging by what the article has to say about her, Jackie seems like an impressive young woman. She's a hard worker who graduated from high school at the top of her class. She's a respectful and dutiful person, religiously devout, and resourceful. Active in school. Active in sports. During her sophomore year at college when she told her parents she was gay, none of that mattered. Her credit cards? Canceled. The phone? Turned off. Her car? Leave it at a certain drop point, or it will be reported stolen.
And the thought of coming home and seeing her family again? Let's not even go there.
The Rolling Stone article interweaves Jackie's story with those of other teens and young adults in her situation. Of an estimated 1.7 million homeless teens nationwide, the Rolling Stone article notes that an estimated 40 percent of those teens identify as LBGT when they seek services. There's no way to know how many of them have stories that parallel Jackie's, but those who do are the shameful legacy of the church from the past 30 years.
There have been ominous warnings about the homosexual agenda and the grave danger it poses to the American family, vicious and unfounded stereotypes about gays preying on young children. And as gay marriage has gained acceptability in society, it hasn't been enough for the church to lament a moral decline in the nation, we've also had to claim that gays are persecuting us by asking the state to recognize their unions and for businesses to treat them like any other customer.
This sort of talk, and this sort of fear, don't exist in a vacuum. They have a cost.
These youth are paying that cost. They are our legacy. When we use words like "abomination" so loosely, we teach people that they are worth less if they are gay.
When we call gay marriage an assault on marriage itself, we cast gays themselves as the enemy of marriage.
When we talk about "the homosexual agenda" driven by liberals and the media, we divide the nation and even families into opposing camps, the "good" side of us, and the "evil" side of them. Kids trust and respect their parents. What kind of message is that to receive your entire childhood?
When we wield Scripture like a club to settle an argument, we make ourselves secure in the rightness of our cause, but we also tell people that they're going to hell because of an instinctive attraction that they have no control over. Everyone else can see how self-righteous that is. Why can't we?
When we "hate the sin and love the sinner," what we really are doing is hating the sinner too, but glossing it over by saying that we'll show them that love once they stop doing what we object to. God's response is to pursue the sinner; ours is "to hand them over to Satan" and drive them out lest they corrupt the whole batch. (To our collective shame, this is exactly what John MacArthur advocates we do with our gay children, and he is a respected minister.)
People make a big deal over the silence of Jesus on the subject of homosexuality, but here's what it really boils down to. We don't know where Jesus stood on the moral nature of homosexuality. He never said. What we do know is that he stood firmly on the side of human dignity and respect.
It is entirely possible (though not, all things considered, very likely) that one of my daughters may at some point come to me and say, "Dad, I'm gay." The only response acceptable at that point is to say "I love you" -- because, in the end, that's what people need to hear.
That message is not one often shared in church the past 27 years, and people like Jackie are paying the cost.
Copyright © 2014 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Tuesday, August 12, 2014
The Blue Monster
Like the rest of the country last night, I was shocked to hear the news that Robin Williams had died.
Williams, whom I grew up watching on "Mork & Mindy" and followed through movies such as "Good Morning, Vietnam," "Dead Poets Society" and "Good Will Hunting," died in his California home on Aug. 11. Reports indicate that his death was an apparent suicide by hanging. News articles relate that he had been struggling with depression.
Not surprisingly, I've heard a few people chime in with opinions on how selfish he was for killing himself, or other similar comments. I want to ask, do you even know what depression is, or what it feels like?
Depression is not being sad, or blue, or grieving for a period. Depression is a void. It's a void that starts out small and slowly, but as things fall into that void and disappear, the void grows larger.
The first thing to go is your happiness, so that things that once brought you pleasure now do nothing for you. Have a job you love? Soon it becomes rote drudgery. A hobby? It's pointless. The tiny little things that made you laugh suddenly don't seem funny any more, and you become a little grumpier when there's not as much left to lift you out of the slough.
The next thing to go is your joy. Happiness is fleeting and on the surface, but joy has deep roots that go all the way to your core. People like your wife and your kids bring you joy; your faith in God may be a source of joy to you. As your depression grows and your joy falls into the void, life itself begins to hurt.
It hurts so bad that you can't see anything worth living for. Every difference of opinion with a friend or a loved one blows up into something too large for words, and then you're left with a handful of shame for overreacting, made only worse when people you love start to demand, "What's the matter with you?"
Once the present has fallen into the void, the future goes next, because there is no longer any hope that things will get better. The past follows soon after, because you can't believe that it could ever have been that good in the first place. By this point, the void has swallowed everything, and all that's left for it to swallow is you.
Depression is patient. It can wait, and it does. It follows you minute after painful minute, day after exhausting day, week after wearying week, until time becomes a ravenous crocodile with years like teeth that will tear into your soul. And as the crocodile follows you, the void beneath you begins to speak.
"It doesn't have to be like this," it says. "You can stop the pain now."
There are always people who say that you can ask for help, and that's true. You can ask for help, if you think it'll be there; but depression robs you of the ability to see help. You can't ask for help if you don't believe that help exists. You can't ask for help if your life is so miserable that you can't convince yourself that anybody cares about you, or ever has. You can't ask for help if you have no reason to believe that anything can ever get better.
There are other people who say that depression is an act of supreme selfishness, and disregard for how others feel. Of course, when you wrapped in depression and it smothers you like a blanket, you can't see the others. You don't know that they're there, that they care, or that your death will be anything but a tremendous relief. People in the throes of depression aren't trying to make other people hurt; they're trying to stop their own pain.
Some people are saying that Robin Williams was a coward for killing himself. I don't believe that. I believe he was exhausted from dealing with something that he had no idea how to deal with further. I believe he made the wrong choice, and I wish to God he could have found the help he needed, but I don't hate him. My heart goes out to his family and his friends, who now must contend with the empty questions of why, and whether they could have done anything to save him.
Robin Williams is gone now; and I pray that he'll never feel depressed again.
Copyright © 2014 by David Learn. All rights reserved. Used with permission.
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Williams, whom I grew up watching on "Mork & Mindy" and followed through movies such as "Good Morning, Vietnam," "Dead Poets Society" and "Good Will Hunting," died in his California home on Aug. 11. Reports indicate that his death was an apparent suicide by hanging. News articles relate that he had been struggling with depression.
Depression is not being sad, or blue, or grieving for a period. Depression is a void. It's a void that starts out small and slowly, but as things fall into that void and disappear, the void grows larger.
The first thing to go is your happiness, so that things that once brought you pleasure now do nothing for you. Have a job you love? Soon it becomes rote drudgery. A hobby? It's pointless. The tiny little things that made you laugh suddenly don't seem funny any more, and you become a little grumpier when there's not as much left to lift you out of the slough.
The next thing to go is your joy. Happiness is fleeting and on the surface, but joy has deep roots that go all the way to your core. People like your wife and your kids bring you joy; your faith in God may be a source of joy to you. As your depression grows and your joy falls into the void, life itself begins to hurt.
It hurts so bad that you can't see anything worth living for. Every difference of opinion with a friend or a loved one blows up into something too large for words, and then you're left with a handful of shame for overreacting, made only worse when people you love start to demand, "What's the matter with you?"
Once the present has fallen into the void, the future goes next, because there is no longer any hope that things will get better. The past follows soon after, because you can't believe that it could ever have been that good in the first place. By this point, the void has swallowed everything, and all that's left for it to swallow is you.
Depression is patient. It can wait, and it does. It follows you minute after painful minute, day after exhausting day, week after wearying week, until time becomes a ravenous crocodile with years like teeth that will tear into your soul. And as the crocodile follows you, the void beneath you begins to speak.
"It doesn't have to be like this," it says. "You can stop the pain now."
There are always people who say that you can ask for help, and that's true. You can ask for help, if you think it'll be there; but depression robs you of the ability to see help. You can't ask for help if you don't believe that help exists. You can't ask for help if your life is so miserable that you can't convince yourself that anybody cares about you, or ever has. You can't ask for help if you have no reason to believe that anything can ever get better.
There are other people who say that depression is an act of supreme selfishness, and disregard for how others feel. Of course, when you wrapped in depression and it smothers you like a blanket, you can't see the others. You don't know that they're there, that they care, or that your death will be anything but a tremendous relief. People in the throes of depression aren't trying to make other people hurt; they're trying to stop their own pain.
Some people are saying that Robin Williams was a coward for killing himself. I don't believe that. I believe he was exhausted from dealing with something that he had no idea how to deal with further. I believe he made the wrong choice, and I wish to God he could have found the help he needed, but I don't hate him. My heart goes out to his family and his friends, who now must contend with the empty questions of why, and whether they could have done anything to save him.
Robin Williams is gone now; and I pray that he'll never feel depressed again.
Copyright © 2014 by David Learn. All rights reserved. Used with permission.
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Sunday, June 15, 2014
Grace, just not to you
John MacArthur, you've really missed the boat on this one.
MacArthur, well known both for his books and for his daily radio program "Grace to You," recently took a question from a follower who wanted to know how to respond now that an adult child has revealed himself to be gay. MacArthur's take? Shun them, that they may learn the error of their ways. Alienate them, don't have meals with them. Keep them at arm's length until they have repented.
MacArthur is advocating this position because of a flawed understanding of what holiness is, a view that a holy God cannot abide the presence of sin, and thereby removes himself. I say this is flawed because the story of the Christian Scriptures from Genesis through Revelation is that of a God who pursues a relationship with those who sin.
Adam eats forbidden fruit and hides; God comes looking for him in the garden, and calls out to him, "Where are you?"
Israel turns away, and so God sends judges, kings and prophets to call them back to him. The people continue to sin, but God sends a deliverer anyway, or even offers to give them everything he promised, even though he won't go with them.
Humans commit acts of great wickedness; and yet God sends the rain upon the just and the unjust; and at the heart of the Christian gospel is a message that God has begun the redemption of the world by raising one man from the dead and appointing him as savior of us all.
Holiness pursues and seeks to restore; holier-than-thou shuns and rebukes.
It's God's kindness that leads to repentance. (Romans 2:4)
No disrespect to John MacArthur, but come on; we're better than shunning our family members.
Copyright © 2014 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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MacArthur, well known both for his books and for his daily radio program "Grace to You," recently took a question from a follower who wanted to know how to respond now that an adult child has revealed himself to be gay. MacArthur's take? Shun them, that they may learn the error of their ways. Alienate them, don't have meals with them. Keep them at arm's length until they have repented.
MacArthur is advocating this position because of a flawed understanding of what holiness is, a view that a holy God cannot abide the presence of sin, and thereby removes himself. I say this is flawed because the story of the Christian Scriptures from Genesis through Revelation is that of a God who pursues a relationship with those who sin.
Adam eats forbidden fruit and hides; God comes looking for him in the garden, and calls out to him, "Where are you?"
Israel turns away, and so God sends judges, kings and prophets to call them back to him. The people continue to sin, but God sends a deliverer anyway, or even offers to give them everything he promised, even though he won't go with them.
Humans commit acts of great wickedness; and yet God sends the rain upon the just and the unjust; and at the heart of the Christian gospel is a message that God has begun the redemption of the world by raising one man from the dead and appointing him as savior of us all.
Holiness pursues and seeks to restore; holier-than-thou shuns and rebukes.
It's God's kindness that leads to repentance. (Romans 2:4)
No disrespect to John MacArthur, but come on; we're better than shunning our family members.
Copyright © 2014 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Friday, March 14, 2014
The church's biggest failing is irrelevance
It's no secret that churches in America are getting older. As children grow up and get older, they decide it's not for them, and they don't come back.
Over at Ron Edmondson's web site, he shares some reflections by Jordan, a millennial who grew up in a church and still attends one. Her take: Church is fake. People don't talk about their problems, own up to their weaknesses or admit to their struggles. Everything is happy in Jesusland, and as phony as a three-dollar bill.
I'm not a Millennial, so perhaps my perspective is going to be off-kilter, but I don't know that authenticity is really the issue here, as much as relevance.
The evangelical church has done its best to drive away both myself and my fellow Gen X-ers from the time we came of age to the present. It attacked our gay friends and our commitment to women's equality. It ignored the sins of accumulating wealth and power. And it did it by retreating into behind cloistered walls with its own culture, entertainment, language.
A lot of people in my generation asked, "What's the point of that?" and I think Millennials are simply following suit.
We can argue whether this is fair, but today the church in America is known for hating gay people, and for being an angry electorate.
Jesus, meanwhile, was known for hugging lepers, partying with drunks, and befriending prostitutes.
Jesus also healed the sick, and came to restore the relationships humanity has with God, and that humans have with one another. My daughters' youth group does gross games with Jell-O and marshmallows, and gets talked to every week about stuff that my girls find of no practical interest.
So really, what's the point of church?
The church could do things like Jesus did, things that matter. We could make it a point of building homes for the homeless; feeding the hungry; protecting the rights of women, gays and minorities; reducing waste and trying to mend broken ecosystems. Church youth groups could do this too.
We could, and if we did, I think we could answer that question "What's the point?" by showing it. But while some churches do things that, and while some organizations do things like that, it's not what the church as a whole is known for.
Jesus came to mend a broken world. If we followed his lead, we'd find a lot more people willing to hear what we have to say.
Copyright © 2014 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Over at Ron Edmondson's web site, he shares some reflections by Jordan, a millennial who grew up in a church and still attends one. Her take: Church is fake. People don't talk about their problems, own up to their weaknesses or admit to their struggles. Everything is happy in Jesusland, and as phony as a three-dollar bill.
I'm not a Millennial, so perhaps my perspective is going to be off-kilter, but I don't know that authenticity is really the issue here, as much as relevance.
The evangelical church has done its best to drive away both myself and my fellow Gen X-ers from the time we came of age to the present. It attacked our gay friends and our commitment to women's equality. It ignored the sins of accumulating wealth and power. And it did it by retreating into behind cloistered walls with its own culture, entertainment, language.
A lot of people in my generation asked, "What's the point of that?" and I think Millennials are simply following suit.
We can argue whether this is fair, but today the church in America is known for hating gay people, and for being an angry electorate.
Jesus, meanwhile, was known for hugging lepers, partying with drunks, and befriending prostitutes.
Jesus also healed the sick, and came to restore the relationships humanity has with God, and that humans have with one another. My daughters' youth group does gross games with Jell-O and marshmallows, and gets talked to every week about stuff that my girls find of no practical interest.
So really, what's the point of church?
The church could do things like Jesus did, things that matter. We could make it a point of building homes for the homeless; feeding the hungry; protecting the rights of women, gays and minorities; reducing waste and trying to mend broken ecosystems. Church youth groups could do this too.
We could, and if we did, I think we could answer that question "What's the point?" by showing it. But while some churches do things that, and while some organizations do things like that, it's not what the church as a whole is known for.
Jesus came to mend a broken world. If we followed his lead, we'd find a lot more people willing to hear what we have to say.
Copyright © 2014 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Sunday, February 16, 2014
The essential progressivism of Christ
I’m tired of hearing about conservative Christian values. For the record, Christian values are properly understood as progressive.
I’m not necessarily thinking about politics. It’s a serious error for either Democrats or Republicans to claim Jesus as their own, and it’s just as disingenuous for any movement or philosophy to do that, however much we may strive to base our worldviews on him and his teachings.
But it is the nature of conservatism to hold onto what was, and to resist change; and the Kingdom of God intrudes on the order of things as it moves us inexorably toward a greater future.
In the Parable of the Mustard Seed, Jesus compares the Kingdom of God to a small seed that, when planted, germinates and grows by degrees until it ultimately transforms a garden into a bird sanctuary. That’s a progressive view. The original purpose of the cultivated area is lost, and in its place stands something new.
We see this progression in the march of Scripture. Humanity is exiled from the Garden of Eden, and barred from ever returning. In the end we receive the vision St. John of Patmos: not a return to the garden, but an epochal arrival in the City of Eden. This is a story of redemption that does not punish us for straying until we have earned our way back; it is redemption that builds on what we have, and moves us ever onward, ever forward to a redemption unimaginable in scale greater than what was lost.
That Jesus embodies and advances this sort of progress also should say something about the Torah, when he claims that he has not come to abolish the Law but to fulfill it. The Torah itself was intended as a vehicle of mercy, to set a limit on punishment. Under the Torah,a criminal would not lose his life for an eye, a killer’s family is not executed along with him, and debts do not last forever.
To follow Jesus is, by default, not to be a conservative and simply to hold onto to what was past. It is to bet everything on the progressive views of Christ, on human dignity, on compassion, and on social justice. These are the values expressed in his life and teachings, and 2,000 years later they’re still more progressive than contemporary norms/
Faced with a woman caught in the very act of adultery, he refused to shame her. Asked about the death penalty he opposed it even when it was prescribed. In a time of violence, he advanced pacifism. In a land torn by ethnic strife, he upheld people for the virtues they regularly were held to lack.
Compare that to conservatism, where the Law is meant to punish lawbreakers with the goal of maintaining order. And when it comes to the more radical aspects of the Law like feeding the hungry, the Jubilee and debt forgiveness, we claim that such efforts are impractical, or lie beyond the scope of governmental responsibility.
We can differ over details on how we pursue the Kingdom of God, but ultimately our views on taxation, race relations, abortion, women’s rights, education and voting rights all should be rooted Christ and what he promises in the back of the book.
Jesus equated religious piety with mercy and guarding the dignity and welfare of others, and considered the redistribution of wealth to be act of worship. These are shockingly radical notions, not old-fashioned ones.
Jesus was progressive and put the value of other people first, always. Dare to be like him.
I’m not necessarily thinking about politics. It’s a serious error for either Democrats or Republicans to claim Jesus as their own, and it’s just as disingenuous for any movement or philosophy to do that, however much we may strive to base our worldviews on him and his teachings.
But it is the nature of conservatism to hold onto what was, and to resist change; and the Kingdom of God intrudes on the order of things as it moves us inexorably toward a greater future.
In the Parable of the Mustard Seed, Jesus compares the Kingdom of God to a small seed that, when planted, germinates and grows by degrees until it ultimately transforms a garden into a bird sanctuary. That’s a progressive view. The original purpose of the cultivated area is lost, and in its place stands something new.
We see this progression in the march of Scripture. Humanity is exiled from the Garden of Eden, and barred from ever returning. In the end we receive the vision St. John of Patmos: not a return to the garden, but an epochal arrival in the City of Eden. This is a story of redemption that does not punish us for straying until we have earned our way back; it is redemption that builds on what we have, and moves us ever onward, ever forward to a redemption unimaginable in scale greater than what was lost.
That Jesus embodies and advances this sort of progress also should say something about the Torah, when he claims that he has not come to abolish the Law but to fulfill it. The Torah itself was intended as a vehicle of mercy, to set a limit on punishment. Under the Torah,a criminal would not lose his life for an eye, a killer’s family is not executed along with him, and debts do not last forever.
To follow Jesus is, by default, not to be a conservative and simply to hold onto to what was past. It is to bet everything on the progressive views of Christ, on human dignity, on compassion, and on social justice. These are the values expressed in his life and teachings, and 2,000 years later they’re still more progressive than contemporary norms/
Faced with a woman caught in the very act of adultery, he refused to shame her. Asked about the death penalty he opposed it even when it was prescribed. In a time of violence, he advanced pacifism. In a land torn by ethnic strife, he upheld people for the virtues they regularly were held to lack.
Compare that to conservatism, where the Law is meant to punish lawbreakers with the goal of maintaining order. And when it comes to the more radical aspects of the Law like feeding the hungry, the Jubilee and debt forgiveness, we claim that such efforts are impractical, or lie beyond the scope of governmental responsibility.
We can differ over details on how we pursue the Kingdom of God, but ultimately our views on taxation, race relations, abortion, women’s rights, education and voting rights all should be rooted Christ and what he promises in the back of the book.
Jesus equated religious piety with mercy and guarding the dignity and welfare of others, and considered the redistribution of wealth to be act of worship. These are shockingly radical notions, not old-fashioned ones.
Jesus was progressive and put the value of other people first, always. Dare to be like him.
Copyright 2014 by David Learn. Used with permission.
Sunday, February 09, 2014
The Loneliest Man in the Bible
Let me tell you about the loneliest man in the Bible.
There's a lot we don't know about him. We don't know where things went wrong for him, whether he had once been wealthy and fallen on hard times that became too much for him.
We don't know if he had parents whose hearts broke when they thought of him, or brothers and sisters who were ashamed to acknowledge their relationship to him. We don't know if he once had had a wife whose heart skipped when she saw him, or children who loved to climb on his chest and rub his beard with their hands.
We don't know if he was once a pillar of the community, the center of a coterie of friends, the toast of the bar, or the champion at dice. We don't even know this fellow's name.
What we do know is how far he had fallen.
By the time the Bible brings us to this man's story, he is completely alone. At one point, people used to bind him with fetters, but he fought them so fiercely that he always broke the chains and got away. God only knows how he must have looked, bleeding where the iron had dug into his wrists and ankles, swinging broken chains whenever he raised his hand because he felt threatened. Eventually they left him alone. One imagines the good, clean people drove him out of town first, probably by throwing stones at him until he ran away, but in the end, they left him alone.
Alone is how he passed his days, and alone is how he passed his nights. There was no one to laugh with, no one to hold him when he cried, and given how people act when they're alone, it's safe to say that he probably did a lot of both. Aside from the jackals and the rats, his giggles and his shrieks were probably his only company. The gospel of Mark tells us that he lived amid the rows of the dead, and day and night would cry out in the desolation of the tombs and around the mountains where he wandered.
I've known people who say there is no hell, but they're wrong. This man lived there. He knew its every inch, its every uneven stone. He knew its unbearable heat and its unbearable cold. He knew its unbearable godforsakenness.
When Jesus asked him his name, he was probably the first person in years to attempt a conversation with this man. When he clothed him, he was the first to care about restoring this man's dignity.
Is there any place more desolate than the one where this man lived? Living among the dead is bleak and haunting enough, but when this man speaks to Jesus, he refers to the area where he lives as chora, a Greek word that means "the space lying between two places or limits" or "an empty expanse." This is a man with no place that wants him, no country that he can call his own. He's perfectly miserable, and he's terrified that Jesus will upset that status quo and send him from this chora, to some place where he'll be with other people.
We usually think of this man as possessed by a demon, or perhaps even by a thousand demons because of the memorable response he has when Jesus asks him his name: "I am Legion, for we are many." In the gospel of Mark at least, the writer specifically does not use the word demon. There is such a term in Greek; it's pneuma ponêron (evil spirit) or even daimonion. The writer of Mark's gospel instead uses the term pneuma akatharton, "unclean spirit." The word akatharton usually is used in conjunction with ritual uncleanness, the sort that makes you unfit for the company of other people, and unfit to enter the presence of God. Unclean spirits in Judaism were believed to inhabit desolate regions -- like the tombs -- and sometimes were equated with pagan gods
Legion's story is one of the most familiar passages in Mark's gospel. The unclean spirits afflicting this man beg Jesus to let them enter a herd of swine nearby, and he does. The pigs -- about 2,000 of them -- rush down the hill and drown in the lake, presumably bringing financial ruin to the owners of the herd, and when people hear what has happened, they beg Jesus to leave the territory immediately.
The region this all happened in is just outside the Decapolis, in what is modern-day Jordan. The Decapolis was on the eastern frontier of the Roman Empire, and had been settled after the death of Alexander the Great, and during the time of the Seleucid dynasty that succeeded Alexander. This, incidentally, was the same Seleucid dynasty that conquered Judea and tried to Hellenize the Jewish people. Among other things, the Seleucids desecrated the Temple by sacrificing swine in the Holy of Holies. The eventual Jewish victory over their oppressors is celebrated every year during Hanukkah.
So here we have Jesus, fresh on the heels of the parables in Mark 4 that illustrate how his heavenly kingdom will grow, bringing restoration and deliverance to the most tragic figure imaginable. His mere presence is enough to overthrow the Greek gods, represented in Legion, and to purify an area polluted with the unclean animals that once had defiled the Temple.
When the encounter ends, Jesus commissions the former madman to become the Billy Graham of the Decapolis, traveling throughout the region and telling people what Jesus had done for him. Rome employed the services of heralds like this all the time, when it would send them into newly conquered lands to declare the evangelion of Caesar, that the country was now Roman territory, that the people would now enjoy the benefits of Rome's peace, protection and wealth. The gospel notes that when Jesus returned, the people awaited his arrival eagerly.
The entire experience is something of a Bizarro Hanukkah, affirming both the sovereignty of Jesus and the peaceable nature of his kingdom.
Of the people in the story, which one should we identify with? Are we Jesus, bringing deliverance to the lost and lonely with no sense of belonging; are we trembling madman tormented and afraid of being well; or are we the people of the Decapolis?
I think we want to be the first and believe we used to be the second; but I think that too often we belong in that third group: basically decent, satisfied with who we are and our place in the world, just waiting until that moment when a former madman will come by and upend our world.
Copyright © 2014 David Learn. Used with permission.
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We don't know if he had parents whose hearts broke when they thought of him, or brothers and sisters who were ashamed to acknowledge their relationship to him. We don't know if he once had had a wife whose heart skipped when she saw him, or children who loved to climb on his chest and rub his beard with their hands.
We don't know if he was once a pillar of the community, the center of a coterie of friends, the toast of the bar, or the champion at dice. We don't even know this fellow's name.
What we do know is how far he had fallen.
By the time the Bible brings us to this man's story, he is completely alone. At one point, people used to bind him with fetters, but he fought them so fiercely that he always broke the chains and got away. God only knows how he must have looked, bleeding where the iron had dug into his wrists and ankles, swinging broken chains whenever he raised his hand because he felt threatened. Eventually they left him alone. One imagines the good, clean people drove him out of town first, probably by throwing stones at him until he ran away, but in the end, they left him alone.
Alone is how he passed his days, and alone is how he passed his nights. There was no one to laugh with, no one to hold him when he cried, and given how people act when they're alone, it's safe to say that he probably did a lot of both. Aside from the jackals and the rats, his giggles and his shrieks were probably his only company. The gospel of Mark tells us that he lived amid the rows of the dead, and day and night would cry out in the desolation of the tombs and around the mountains where he wandered.
I've known people who say there is no hell, but they're wrong. This man lived there. He knew its every inch, its every uneven stone. He knew its unbearable heat and its unbearable cold. He knew its unbearable godforsakenness.
When Jesus asked him his name, he was probably the first person in years to attempt a conversation with this man. When he clothed him, he was the first to care about restoring this man's dignity.
Is there any place more desolate than the one where this man lived? Living among the dead is bleak and haunting enough, but when this man speaks to Jesus, he refers to the area where he lives as chora, a Greek word that means "the space lying between two places or limits" or "an empty expanse." This is a man with no place that wants him, no country that he can call his own. He's perfectly miserable, and he's terrified that Jesus will upset that status quo and send him from this chora, to some place where he'll be with other people.
We usually think of this man as possessed by a demon, or perhaps even by a thousand demons because of the memorable response he has when Jesus asks him his name: "I am Legion, for we are many." In the gospel of Mark at least, the writer specifically does not use the word demon. There is such a term in Greek; it's pneuma ponêron (evil spirit) or even daimonion. The writer of Mark's gospel instead uses the term pneuma akatharton, "unclean spirit." The word akatharton usually is used in conjunction with ritual uncleanness, the sort that makes you unfit for the company of other people, and unfit to enter the presence of God. Unclean spirits in Judaism were believed to inhabit desolate regions -- like the tombs -- and sometimes were equated with pagan gods
Legion's story is one of the most familiar passages in Mark's gospel. The unclean spirits afflicting this man beg Jesus to let them enter a herd of swine nearby, and he does. The pigs -- about 2,000 of them -- rush down the hill and drown in the lake, presumably bringing financial ruin to the owners of the herd, and when people hear what has happened, they beg Jesus to leave the territory immediately.
The region this all happened in is just outside the Decapolis, in what is modern-day Jordan. The Decapolis was on the eastern frontier of the Roman Empire, and had been settled after the death of Alexander the Great, and during the time of the Seleucid dynasty that succeeded Alexander. This, incidentally, was the same Seleucid dynasty that conquered Judea and tried to Hellenize the Jewish people. Among other things, the Seleucids desecrated the Temple by sacrificing swine in the Holy of Holies. The eventual Jewish victory over their oppressors is celebrated every year during Hanukkah.
So here we have Jesus, fresh on the heels of the parables in Mark 4 that illustrate how his heavenly kingdom will grow, bringing restoration and deliverance to the most tragic figure imaginable. His mere presence is enough to overthrow the Greek gods, represented in Legion, and to purify an area polluted with the unclean animals that once had defiled the Temple.
When the encounter ends, Jesus commissions the former madman to become the Billy Graham of the Decapolis, traveling throughout the region and telling people what Jesus had done for him. Rome employed the services of heralds like this all the time, when it would send them into newly conquered lands to declare the evangelion of Caesar, that the country was now Roman territory, that the people would now enjoy the benefits of Rome's peace, protection and wealth. The gospel notes that when Jesus returned, the people awaited his arrival eagerly.
The entire experience is something of a Bizarro Hanukkah, affirming both the sovereignty of Jesus and the peaceable nature of his kingdom.
Of the people in the story, which one should we identify with? Are we Jesus, bringing deliverance to the lost and lonely with no sense of belonging; are we trembling madman tormented and afraid of being well; or are we the people of the Decapolis?
I think we want to be the first and believe we used to be the second; but I think that too often we belong in that third group: basically decent, satisfied with who we are and our place in the world, just waiting until that moment when a former madman will come by and upend our world.
Copyright © 2014 David Learn. Used with permission.
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Thursday, January 09, 2014
First Thoughts on the First Disciples
![jesus_and_net[1]](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/marauder34/7883809/16515/16515_300.gif "jesus_and_net[1]")
As Jesus walked beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. 17 “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” 18 At once they left their nets and followed him.
19 When he had gone a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John in a boat, preparing their nets. 20 Without delay he called them, and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men and followed him.
It's just a short passage, there are still a few things that come to mind immediately. One is that Jesus is not calling these, his first disciples, in isolation, but in pairs. Peter and Andrew are brothers, and James and John are brothers. Thus, right from the start, he is affirming the importance of family -- and specifically of siblings -- in the Kingdom of God.
Which is rather interesting, if you consider the history of siblings in the Bible: Cain and Abel, Esau and Jacob, Joseph and his brothers, Amnon and Absalom, and Solomon and Adonijah, just to name a few. I have three brothers, and I think we would all agree that there is no one in all the world who can drive you nuts faster than a brother. Heck, my younger brother is 41, and he doesn't just find ways to annoy the older three of us. He has been known to go out of his way to look for them. Sometimes I suspect the psalmist was feeling particularly wistful when he wrote, "How pleasant and sweet it is when brothers dwell together in unity."
Based on this pattern of behavior among brothers, one might say this enterprise of Jesus is doomed from the start, except there clearly are times when brothers put aside all their differences and band together so that no one will come between them. The author of the book of Proverbs also says, without a trace of irony, "There are those who pretend to be friends, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother," and thus holds up brothers as the gold standard for measuring the value of a friendship. What's that definition? "A brother is someone who will make fun of you relentlessly, and will beat up anyone else who tries."
So, in a sense, Jesus right from the start is building his kingdom on a fractious group. It gets even worse when you consider that the gospel writer notes that James and John left their father, Zebedee, with the hired men. This was a family business that they stood to inherit, making them fairly well-off. Peter and Andrew, meanwhile, appear just to have been hired workers. So the invitation to follow him is made without respect of social class or education. In many ways it's like trying to forge a community out of the children of the 1 percent, and the children of working-class parents.
And what strikes me about this is that in this gospel, Jesus promises Peter and Andrew something specific -- come with me and I will teach you how to fish for men -- but all he says to John and James is to follow him.
Let me close with an observation here that Jesus didn't talk to anyone at this point about morality, or sin. His entire message so far has been "The Kingdom of God is here" and "Come, follow me." Since the apocalyptic tradition of Judaism from which Jesus comes was concerned with the arrival of the Kingdom of God and the radical restructuring of the world order so that social injustice was ended, and not with the stuff that we get so worked up about today, this is a radically different and much more welcoming message from what we're used to hearing. It's not "God wants to save you from the sins you have committed," although that surely is a part of it; as much as it is, "God wants to save the world, and he wants you to be a part of it."
Copyright @copy; 2014 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Monday, November 18, 2013
Picking and choosing
I have a friend who likes to claim the moral high ground whenever we talk about the Bible.
It doesn't matter if we're talking about something like gay rights, the conquest of Canaan, or nomial covenantism. Whenever the discussion centers on hermeneutics, his conservative views trump my liberal views, because he considers his views to be rooted in Scripture and mine in opposition.
"You can't simply pick and choose which parts of the Bible count," he invariably says in a clear signal that discussion is over. "You have to take the Bible as it is."
And that's that. His views are what the Bible actually teaches, while I'm taking a lazy way out and twisting the Bible around to support my own liberal views.
I've always found that a little insulting, honestly. I didn't just wake up one day and decide that same-sex relationships are morally equivelant to heterosexual relationships, or that God was not in favor of the Canaanite genocide. Anyone who knows me well also knows -- or should know -- that the positions I have came after a long, tough slog.
I've spent hours in study and in prayer, wrestling with deep issues like Scriptural inspiration and progressive revelation, socio-historical and literary context, divine justice and authority, the history of Christianity and Judaism, and everything else. And I've had to do a lot of this carefully and slowly precisely because of judgmental reactions like the one my friend keeps having.
If that's the lazy way out, I wonder what it says about people who read two or three verses of Scripture that mandate the death penalty or genocide, and decide "Well, I guess that's OK, then" and never take their inquiry any further, except maybe to rationalize.
As in politics, too often differences of faith aren't a question of being traditional or nontraditional; it's a case of which tradition we want to follow. The Bible itself expresses a broad range of views that aren't always in accord with one another, and questions of how to interpret it are at least as old as the books of the Bible themselves.
In other words, if you look around, you may find some of the most liberal and progressive ideas are actually pretty old, and hold a place of high esteem in church history.
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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It doesn't matter if we're talking about something like gay rights, the conquest of Canaan, or nomial covenantism. Whenever the discussion centers on hermeneutics, his conservative views trump my liberal views, because he considers his views to be rooted in Scripture and mine in opposition.
"You can't simply pick and choose which parts of the Bible count," he invariably says in a clear signal that discussion is over. "You have to take the Bible as it is."
And that's that. His views are what the Bible actually teaches, while I'm taking a lazy way out and twisting the Bible around to support my own liberal views.
I've always found that a little insulting, honestly. I didn't just wake up one day and decide that same-sex relationships are morally equivelant to heterosexual relationships, or that God was not in favor of the Canaanite genocide. Anyone who knows me well also knows -- or should know -- that the positions I have came after a long, tough slog.
I've spent hours in study and in prayer, wrestling with deep issues like Scriptural inspiration and progressive revelation, socio-historical and literary context, divine justice and authority, the history of Christianity and Judaism, and everything else. And I've had to do a lot of this carefully and slowly precisely because of judgmental reactions like the one my friend keeps having.
If that's the lazy way out, I wonder what it says about people who read two or three verses of Scripture that mandate the death penalty or genocide, and decide "Well, I guess that's OK, then" and never take their inquiry any further, except maybe to rationalize.
As in politics, too often differences of faith aren't a question of being traditional or nontraditional; it's a case of which tradition we want to follow. The Bible itself expresses a broad range of views that aren't always in accord with one another, and questions of how to interpret it are at least as old as the books of the Bible themselves.
In other words, if you look around, you may find some of the most liberal and progressive ideas are actually pretty old, and hold a place of high esteem in church history.
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Tuesday, August 06, 2013
Shadrach, Meschach, Abednego and Daniel
I know some will find that thought offensive and even horrifying, since it suggests that Daniel failed a test that all of us consider to be a no-brainer. Personally, I find it reassuring, because it means that Daniel is like me. He fails, sometimes spectacularly, but he finds forgiveness, discovers a new beginning, and when the test comes along later on, he shows that he has learned.
God has staked everything on a people who are quick to anger, slow to listen, and far too willing to set convenience before principle, and principle before people. He is far more gracious to us than we expect or allow ourselves to be, and that should give us comfort.
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Sunday, July 21, 2013
Less than the gospel is not the gospel
As headlines go, this one was a doozy: "Manhattan church evicted for preaching the Bible."
The blog post was about The Gallery Church in New York. The church recently was asked to leave the space it had been renting from a restaurant. I'll let Denny Burk, the author of the blog, explain why:
I'll state right now that I don't know exactly what the sermon said, though it's probably safe to guess that the message wasn't "It's OK to be gay; God made you that way." It's possible that the sermon included suggestions like "The compassion of Christ is boundless, and being gay is no barrier to have a relationship with God."
And I definitely feel frustrated on account of Freddy T. and the others of his church who found themselves out of a space they (presumably) had planned to be in for a while. I feel for them, but I’m not sure I see much cause for the outrage I'm seeing in Burk's post.
Here's how the situation appears to have unfolded. First, the Gallery Church had a sermon in which it outlined a "tough stand" on homosexuality. Second, management at the restaurant, which is based in New York and must be mindful of its the views of its customers, decided it would be bad business to be associated with the views expressed in that sermon, and asked them to leave.
If a church wishes to espouse a view it can expect others will object to, but chooses to espouse that view anyway, there’s no cause for complaint when that backlash comes. In fact, when it comes to more serious matters, like the actual gospel itself, Jesus told his followers to expect not just pushback but actual persecution, and the biblical authors enjoined their readers to count it joy to suffer for the gospel.
The gospel, it's worth noting, is not a moral standard. It's a message of reconciliation between God and humanity, and among humanity. It led to the early Christians being persecuted for a number of reasons, not just because they didn't worship the official gods, but also because they stopped paying as much attention to social niceties about whom to eat and drink with, and crossed all sorts of social lines.
So I have to challenge the notion that the Gallery Church was evicted for preaching the Bible. Homosexuality is barely a footnote in the Bible. Given that telling people “Your lifestyle is a horrible sin” is going to alienate people, and given that the message of Jesus and the Apostles was not “You are sinner” as much as “God is calling all people to be reconciled to him through his son, who has risen from the dead,” I don’t think this reaction indicates any antipathy to Jesus or the gospel, as much as it does fatigue with the evangelical message of “You are a sinner and deserve to go to hell.”
Most of American society is familiar with the evangelical message on homosexuality, as it has been proclaimed many times by many people, from many pulpits. What’s lost, because we never get around to saying it, is Jesus’ message of, “I’d like to come have dinner with you. Does this Friday work for you?” or “I’m sorry your parents told you that you couldn’t live in their house anymore when you told them you were a lesbian. Do you need a place to stay?” or even “Want to watch the new Superman movie with me?”
Try a message like that, and people just might start beating the door down to come to church.
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Last April, I preached at a church in New York City called The Gallery Church. It’s a small evangelical congregation meeting in a restaurant right in the heart of Manhattan. Pastor Freddy T. Wyatt had planned a series on sexuality and gender, and my contribution was on the meaning of marriage.A few weeks after my part in the series, another speaker brought a message on what the Bible teaches about homosexuality. As a result of that message, the owners of the restaurant informed The Gallery Church that they could no longer meet in their establishment.
I'll state right now that I don't know exactly what the sermon said, though it's probably safe to guess that the message wasn't "It's OK to be gay; God made you that way." It's possible that the sermon included suggestions like "The compassion of Christ is boundless, and being gay is no barrier to have a relationship with God."
And I definitely feel frustrated on account of Freddy T. and the others of his church who found themselves out of a space they (presumably) had planned to be in for a while. I feel for them, but I’m not sure I see much cause for the outrage I'm seeing in Burk's post.
Here's how the situation appears to have unfolded. First, the Gallery Church had a sermon in which it outlined a "tough stand" on homosexuality. Second, management at the restaurant, which is based in New York and must be mindful of its the views of its customers, decided it would be bad business to be associated with the views expressed in that sermon, and asked them to leave.
If a church wishes to espouse a view it can expect others will object to, but chooses to espouse that view anyway, there’s no cause for complaint when that backlash comes. In fact, when it comes to more serious matters, like the actual gospel itself, Jesus told his followers to expect not just pushback but actual persecution, and the biblical authors enjoined their readers to count it joy to suffer for the gospel.
The gospel, it's worth noting, is not a moral standard. It's a message of reconciliation between God and humanity, and among humanity. It led to the early Christians being persecuted for a number of reasons, not just because they didn't worship the official gods, but also because they stopped paying as much attention to social niceties about whom to eat and drink with, and crossed all sorts of social lines.
So I have to challenge the notion that the Gallery Church was evicted for preaching the Bible. Homosexuality is barely a footnote in the Bible. Given that telling people “Your lifestyle is a horrible sin” is going to alienate people, and given that the message of Jesus and the Apostles was not “You are sinner” as much as “God is calling all people to be reconciled to him through his son, who has risen from the dead,” I don’t think this reaction indicates any antipathy to Jesus or the gospel, as much as it does fatigue with the evangelical message of “You are a sinner and deserve to go to hell.”
Most of American society is familiar with the evangelical message on homosexuality, as it has been proclaimed many times by many people, from many pulpits. What’s lost, because we never get around to saying it, is Jesus’ message of, “I’d like to come have dinner with you. Does this Friday work for you?” or “I’m sorry your parents told you that you couldn’t live in their house anymore when you told them you were a lesbian. Do you need a place to stay?” or even “Want to watch the new Superman movie with me?”
Try a message like that, and people just might start beating the door down to come to church.
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Sunday, July 14, 2013
Knowing your own voice
Whykickamoocow. It's a word my wife picked up from me, and a word I picked up living in New Zealand 25 years ago. It means “out in the middle of nowhere,” but it says it so much more picturesquely than “Podunk” or “the boonies,” and it says so without the condescension in those other two phrases. It's one of a handful of linguistic and behavioral tics I've held onto all these years that still say how much my AFS experience meant to me.
I keep thinking of language as a way to communicate with other people. That Wednesday night I realized, that's not the whole story. My words aren't just how I communicate, they're my voice. They literally are a record of where I have traveled and the experiences I have had. They show who I am.
I grew up outside Pittsburgh in the 1970s and 1980s. You won't hear me say “warsh,” except as a joke; my parents both came from outside the area, and as a consequence, the added R always has sounded wrong to me. Still, you can be sure I'll order a hoagie if we go to Subway together, and I just might wash it down with some pop.
And if yunz tell me that “Kennywood's open,” I know you want me to check my zipper, because you sure aren't talking about the amusement park.
I lived in New Zealand for all 1987, and it left its mark on me in ways other than having a pastoral word for remote locations. Thanks to the relentless teasing of my younger brother, I no longer use British words like “boot” and “bonnet” for the rear and front of the car. On the other hand, I still pronounce my host country's name as New Zilland.
Also, to this day I will not let anyone in my family eat a kiwi. A kiwi is a small, flightless bird, and a Kiwi is a native New Zealander. Those green fruits with a brown skin? Those are called kiwifruits. Calling them kiwis in my presence is a big no-no.
For that matter, I'm as likely as not to remind my girls that they need to wear their gumboots when they go outside during the rain.
After I graduated college, I moved to Haiti, where I lived and worked with a cast of missionaries from the Twin Cities. In their company, I learned to stop asking “Do you want to come with me?” and just ask people, “Do you want to come with?”
Among its many other gifts, Haiti itself gave me my first second language. From Haitian Kreyol I took the word “degaje,” meaning “to make do with what you have.”
I use that word often; my children also hear other phrases with stunning regularity: Ban-m men ou when I want them to give me a hand before we cross the street, or Tann ti momann, oui, when I want them to wait a moment.
And none of this even considers the bits of accent that flavor my speech and the speech of my children. Sometimes, but usually only when we've been visiting her friends or her brother, I can hear the Southwest in my wife's voice. Often I've heard the city in the tones and cadences of my daughters' speech.
The way we speak can speak worlds about where we come from and where we've been. And as my wife inadvertently demonstrated last week, our words even can say something about whom we've been with and the company we keep.
Do you ever wonder what your words reveal about you?
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Saturday, April 27, 2013
Stand with the Outcast
It is a horrible thing to demean someone because you don't like her religious beliefs. It is a horrible thing to demean someone because you don't like what you assume her religious beliefs to be. Religion is one of those things that define us as individuals and as communities. Belittle a person's faith, and you are not only belittling and demeaning them, you are belittling something that defines them, inspires them, and connects them not only to the Transcendent but to the teeming masses of humanity.
Mocking that, belittling that, or discriminating against a person because of their religious beliefs is wrong, wrong, wrong. I wish everyone could see that.
Which is what makes what is happening in Washington state right now so aggravating.
Washington state Sen. Sharnon Brown (R-Kennewick) is sponsoring a bill that would grant an exemption to the state's anti-discrimination laws, so that business owners could refuse to serve customers if doing so would violate their religious principles. As reported by Rachel La Corte of the Associated Press, the bill has its genesis in a lawsuit the American Civil Liberties Union has filed against florist Barronelle Stutzman.
Stutzman, you may recall, made national news on March 1 when she refused to provide flowers for a same-sex wedding, because she believes homosexuality to be sinful, and gay marriage immoral. (Stutzman has told TV station KEPR that she is a Christian. I regret that this disclosure does not surprise me.)
Of the law that Stutzman ran afoul of, and that Brown is trying to amend, Joseph Backholm, executive director of the Family Policy Institute of Washington state put it like this: "The government is now saying if you have a conviction about an issue that we happen to disagree with, then you as a business owner are going to be fined or shut down because of that. People should and do have the right to their own convictions."
Well, yes; people do have a right to their convictions. There is nothing in the law that says that people can't have their convictions. Our Constitution guarantees all of us the right to our convictions, and even our right to express those convictions. That's a cornerstone of our free society, and it's been put to the test repeatedly; only last year, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the right of Westboro Baptist Church to proclaim its virulent hatred of gays even at funerals.
It's really hard not to appreciate the irony here, that Brown essentially is arguing that Stutzman has a right to discriminate against gays and lesbians, and that denying her this right is discriminatory. But let's be clear about this: No one's convictions give them the right to decide who they'll do business with. If Stutzman and her attorney want to argue that she has that right, then they're on shaky ground. Deep-South segregationists also wanted to decide whom they would and wouldn't do business with, and they also claimed that their convictions were based in Scripture.
I'm also really curious to know what Bible Stutzman and her supporters are reading from that give divine sanction to take this stand. It's safe to say that Jesus encourages his followers to stand by their convictions, but it's also plain to see that the most basic conviction Jesus wants us to have is one of compassion.
See a man who's blind, heal him. Bump into a woman who has been bleeding for years, then you not only heal her, but you also stop and pay a little attention to her. Hug a leper, commend the faith of a heretic, eat and drink with gluttons and drunkards, love the hookers, and welcome the outcasts. Whatever Jesus' view on the righteousness of any given behavior, the gospels make one thing clear time and time again: Jesus valued people more than he was bothered by their sin.
It's worth noting that there was one group in the gospels that was really offended by the sins the people committed, and they were shocked that Jesus allowed prostitutes to come near him. They would go to great lengths to make sure that people knew what God thought of their sin, so that they could repent and be forgiven. I suspect they would approve of Stutzman's decision not to serve a gay couple. This group was called the Pharisees, and Jesus had some harsh words for them. Their words were even harsher; and, in the end, they had him killed.
Perhaps no one gets to the heart of the issue like Victoria Childress. Back in 2011, Childress, who runs a bakery from her Iowa home, refused to sell a wedding cake to a lesbian couple. As she explained to KCCI-TV, "It is my right, and it's not to discriminate against them. It's not so much to do with them, it's to do with me and my walk with God and what I will answer [to] him for."
Exactly. Christians believe that we ultimately will stand before God and have to answer for the choices we made, including the choice to devalue the worth of another human being because we don't approve of their lifestyle, exactly the choice that Jesus rejected, and exactly the choice he castigated the Pharisees for making.
Discrimination is wrong. Cloaking it in the mantle of religion and claiming divine sanction for it is even worse. We need to stop justifying morally reprehensible behavior, and we need to hold accountable those who want it to be legal.
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn. Used with permission. All rights reserved
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Sunday, March 31, 2013
Faithless Google, Google-less faith
Google has a custom of altering the logo on its main page to mark major holidays, significant events and anniversaries, and just because it can. A lot of these doodles are fun, like the time it replaced the Google logo with a functioning Pac-Man game. (My daughter still plays that.) Others are educational, like the time Google honored M.C. Escher. Other times, they're just odd, like the logo honoring the 150th birthday of L.L. Zamenhof, the creator of Esperanto. (For what it's worth, I speak the language, and just shrugged at that one.)
But heck, it's their logo, they can do whatever they want with it. Right?
Apparently not. On Easter Sunday this year, Google honored Cesar Chavez, a labor activist born on March 31, 1927, and not the Resurrection, and that, apparently, was too much. Glenn Beck got all snarky at the imagined disrespect; other Twitterfolk suggested that Google was elevating Chavez over Christ, or even found it a tremendous insult to their religion.
Come on, really?
I fully understand that Christians on Easter may greet one another with cries of "He is risen!" and "He is risen indeed!" But it's silly, it's pointless, it's completely un-Christlike, to demand that everyone else celebrate the Resurrection with us, and to take offense when a corporation like Google, with users who are Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, Jewish, agnostic, atheist, Jainist, Shinto, Sikh and Wiccan as well as Christian, does not take the time to affirm our particular set of religious beliefs, or even to celebrate our holiday with us.
The empty tomb on the first Easter is foundational to my faith. It is the basis for my belief that Jesus is the Son of God, the foundation of my hope that one day I too will rise from the dead, and for my conviction that God's dream is for us one day to live in a world free of pain, disease, death and infirmity, for us to walk with him as his people and for him to walk with us as our God. I don't need a Google Doodle to affirm my faith today, and even if Google actually savaged Christians today with a doodle that declared "He's dead, you nitwits," my faith would be unrattled. (Though at least in that case I could understand being upset.)
But, in fact, Google's choice of doodles today is one that affirms my faith, and if you're a Christian you also should find it encouraging.
Cesar Chavez, after all, was a tireless advocate for the rights of poor workers. Himself an American farm worker, Chavez was a leader in the labor movement in the 1960s and also worked for civil rights, encouraging Mexican Americans to become registered voters involved with the political process. With Dolores Huerta, he co-founded the National Farm Workers Association, a labor union that worked to ensure laborers were paid well and treated with dignity. One of the hallmarks of his activism was his strict commitment to nonviolence.
Chavez, it should be noted, was a devout Christian, He drew his inspiration for all these stands and for his actions from the person, the teachings and the life of Jesus Christ.
And isn't a transformed life the best way to honor the man we believe rose from the dead?
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Friday, March 01, 2013
The 'Djesus Uncrossed' flipout
So were you offended by “Djesus Uncrossed,” Saturday Night Live's riff on Quentin Tarantino's
latest film?
I wasn't, but judging by the reaction
of the nation's culture warriors, I should have been. Once the sketch
aired last weekend, the Internet erupted with the predictable cries
of foul. Fox News ran an opinion piece by Todd Starnes
melodramatically claiming “NBC Declares War on Christians.” Michael Farris, chancellor of of Patrick Henry College called it the
“worst possible attack on the person and character of Jesus
Christ.” Seriously?
For its part, the American Family Association, in its official
statement, essentially consigned those involved with the sketch to
the flames of hell.
Something is missing amid all this
outrage: a sense of perspective.
“Saturday Night Live” hasn't stayed
on the air the past 40 years for its biblical scholarship. It is a
variety show built around short comedy sketches. Comedy works on its
ability to surprise us, and the strength of its surprise often lies
in the unexpected juxtaposition of unrelated ideas, especially if the
link breaks a taboo.
That is why we laugh at a faux
commercial for edible Pampers.
This is why it was funny to listen to a Eddie Murphy and a reggae band sing about killing white people, at an American Legion fund-raiser. The images are too bizarre, too contradictory, too
exaggerated. They make no sense. So we laugh.
In the case of “Djesus Uncrossed,”
the writers at Saturday Night Live link the excessive and gratuitous
violence of Quentin Tarantino's movies – “Django Unchained” and
“Inglourious Basterds” specifically – to the figure of Jesus.
The joke requires viewers the recognize the jarring disconnect
between the violence of “Djesus Uncrossed” and the essential
pacifism of Jesus in the gospels.
Quentin Tarantino's movies routinely
make a spectacle of violence. Compare that to Jesus, who went
peacefully when he was arrested, rebuked his disciples when they
raised arms, and told his followers “Do not resist an evil person.”
Pairing Jesus with Tarantino's love of violence isn't blasphemous;
it's humorous. It works because we know that Jesus isn't the kind to
cut someone's head in half.
Put simply: The joke would fail if the
writers didn't count on us to respect Jesus as a peaceful man.
Where's the blasphemy in that?
Is the issue that Saturday Night Live
used the likeness of Jesus in a manner that doesn't match the
preapproved evangelical manner? That's a narrow attitude to take.
Christianity has provided the framework for Western thought for
nearly 1,700 years. In America its influence predates the founding of
the Republic.
With that sort of legacy, it's only
natural to use the language and the symbols of Christianity to
communicate and to critique Western thought, civilization and art.
Is the issue that Saturday Night Live
portrayed Jesus specifically in a violent manner? Perhaps it is. Either way, I think we have
deeper problems than “Djesus Uncrossed.”
Years ago, some people complained that
Jesus too often was being portrayed in popular culture as a hippie sort of flower child,
powerless and weak, the sort of guy who gets sand kicked in his face
at the beach. The Jesus pushed by the Right has the opposite problem.
The Right too often has used Jesus to stoke up people's anger, to
justify invading Iraq and other Muslim countries, to marginalize gays
and lesbians, and even to deny women access to contraceptives. This
Jesus is no milquetoast; he's the guy who's going to kick sand in your face at the beach.
The difference is that Saturday Night
Live portrayed the vengeful Jesus as a joke, while the Right is
completely serious about theirs. Who's committing blasphemy now?
Starnes asks rhetorically why Saturday
Night Live never pokes fun at Judaism – I guess he never saw“Harry
Hanukkah Saves Christmas” – and never tells jokes about Islam.
I'd wager it's not because they're afraid of offending Muslim
viewers, nor because they hold a special regard for Islam, as much as
that it's rude to pick on the little guy.
Because the truth is, in America at
least, Islam remains a minority religion, with only about 2.6 million adherents in a nation of 300 million people. For all the complaints of
the Religious Right that Christianity in America is under siege,
Christianity remains the dominant narrative of our culture. Christmas
is a federal holiday, not Eid al-Fitr. Everyone in America knows what
Easter celebrates; I doubt you'll find one Christian in 10 who knows
what Shavuot is, or what its relationship is to the Day of Pentecost.
The Religious Right loves to play the
persecution card. The message it has been hammering for years is
pretty simple: Be afraid. There's a war on Christianity, and we're
losing. Liberals are attacking God. Our culture, our heritage, our
legacy, are all under attack.
Faith should lead us to reach out to other people and to forge connections with them. If the most it inspires someone to do, is to tell you to be afraid, do yourself a favor.
Faith should lead us to reach out to other people and to forge connections with them. If the most it inspires someone to do, is to tell you to be afraid, do yourself a favor.
Tune them out. Their attitude is the
most offensive thing of all.
Copyright © 2013 by David Learn. Used with permission. All rights reserved.Tweet
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Resisting grace
"All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful."
-- Flannery O'Connor
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-- Flannery O'Connor
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Saturday, December 15, 2012
Light a candle
When night falls, as it so often does, we
often fall into one of two errors. The first is simply to shake our
fists at the night and inveigh against the darkness. In doing this, we
forget the light as well, and make our darkness even deeper. The second
is to cast well-meant but empty platitudes upon the wind, and to assure
the afflicted that an inscrutable purpose is at work, that God is in
control, and something good will emerge
in time. This denies the very presence of the night, and it cheapens Day
into a tawdry bauble of little worth.
When night falls, and it does, there is only one way to respond; and that is to take the hand of those next to you, hold them, and say nothing. Weep with them if they cry, make their grief yours and howl along with them, and never let go, no matter how bad it gets.
I have walked in darkness myself, and I say that this is the only way that night can come to an end, and the sun rise once more.
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When night falls, and it does, there is only one way to respond; and that is to take the hand of those next to you, hold them, and say nothing. Weep with them if they cry, make their grief yours and howl along with them, and never let go, no matter how bad it gets.
I have walked in darkness myself, and I say that this is the only way that night can come to an end, and the sun rise once more.
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Sunday, August 12, 2012
1 Soccer
Paul, called to be an apostle of Soccer by the will of God. To the Nova Bastille Soccer Club, to those who love Soccer, together with all those everywhere who love the game. Grace and peace to you from God our coach.
I always thank God for you because of the talent God has given you. You have been enriched in every way, in all your dribbling and tackling and kicking. You do not lack any talent as we wait for the end of this great Soccer game we call life.
I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, that all of you will agree with one another so that there will be no divisions among your team. Some have informed me there have been quarrels among you. What I mean is this: One says, "I want to win." Another says, "We should have fun." Another says, "I want to make great plays." And another says, "Everyone should get a chance to play."
Is the game divided? Should we have one team for the jocks and another for the clueless? I think not. But we should all play together in love and fun.
When I came to you, I came not as an expert in Soccer, but as someone who loved the game. I could not make spectacular saves. I did not make any amazing plays. But I came preaching joy, and fun, and love for the game. You are not ready for more complicated lessons, because you haven't even learned how to play as a team.
It is actually reported that one of your fullbacks made five goals in a row, running all the way down the field to sink the goal into the net. And you are proud! Shouldn't you rather have been filled with grief? Your boasting is not good.
Now for the things you wrote to me about. It is good to use the broken-in soccer ball; but sometimes, since some of your members have trouble kicking that one as far, it is good to use the shiny new one. And play in Nova Bastille, but for those who live in Hoover Point, play there sometimes too.
Now about athletic gifts, I do not want you to be ignorant. To each is given talent for the good of the entire team. Some can pass well; others tackle. Some make leaping catches; others kick a great distance. Some play offense; some play defense. All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and the Spirit gives them to each one just as the Spirit determines.
The team is a unit, though it is made up of many team members. The team is not made up of one member, but of many. If a fullback would say, "Because I don't get to shoot any goals, I am not part of the team," he does not cease to be part of the team. If a forward were to say, "Because I do not defend our goal, I am not part of the team," she would not for that reason cease to be part of the team. As it is, there are many members, but one team.
If I make amazing midair catches and keep the opposition from scoring a goal, but have not teamwork, I am worthless. If I can receive a pass when two fullbacks and a center are crowding me, and send that ball soaring into the goal right past the goalie, but I have not teamwork, I am nothing.
Teamwork is patient and kind, teamwork looks out for all members, teamwork is not self-glorifying but is willing to give up glory for the sake of another. Teamwork always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres, and teamwork always shares the ball with the weaker members.
I, Paul, write this with my own hand. If anyone does not love Soccer, a curse be on him or her. My love to all of you.
Amen.
Copyright © 2012 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, that all of you will agree with one another so that there will be no divisions among your team. Some have informed me there have been quarrels among you. What I mean is this: One says, "I want to win." Another says, "We should have fun." Another says, "I want to make great plays." And another says, "Everyone should get a chance to play."
Is the game divided? Should we have one team for the jocks and another for the clueless? I think not. But we should all play together in love and fun.
When I came to you, I came not as an expert in Soccer, but as someone who loved the game. I could not make spectacular saves. I did not make any amazing plays. But I came preaching joy, and fun, and love for the game. You are not ready for more complicated lessons, because you haven't even learned how to play as a team.
It is actually reported that one of your fullbacks made five goals in a row, running all the way down the field to sink the goal into the net. And you are proud! Shouldn't you rather have been filled with grief? Your boasting is not good.
Now for the things you wrote to me about. It is good to use the broken-in soccer ball; but sometimes, since some of your members have trouble kicking that one as far, it is good to use the shiny new one. And play in Nova Bastille, but for those who live in Hoover Point, play there sometimes too.
Now about athletic gifts, I do not want you to be ignorant. To each is given talent for the good of the entire team. Some can pass well; others tackle. Some make leaping catches; others kick a great distance. Some play offense; some play defense. All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and the Spirit gives them to each one just as the Spirit determines.
The team is a unit, though it is made up of many team members. The team is not made up of one member, but of many. If a fullback would say, "Because I don't get to shoot any goals, I am not part of the team," he does not cease to be part of the team. If a forward were to say, "Because I do not defend our goal, I am not part of the team," she would not for that reason cease to be part of the team. As it is, there are many members, but one team.
If I make amazing midair catches and keep the opposition from scoring a goal, but have not teamwork, I am worthless. If I can receive a pass when two fullbacks and a center are crowding me, and send that ball soaring into the goal right past the goalie, but I have not teamwork, I am nothing.
Teamwork is patient and kind, teamwork looks out for all members, teamwork is not self-glorifying but is willing to give up glory for the sake of another. Teamwork always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres, and teamwork always shares the ball with the weaker members.
I, Paul, write this with my own hand. If anyone does not love Soccer, a curse be on him or her. My love to all of you.
Amen.
Copyright © 2012 by David Learn. Used with permission.
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Thursday, August 09, 2012
Prayer of Saint Francis
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
And it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
Amen.
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Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
And it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
Amen.
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