Our Reductionism Is Going To Kill Us All

So, I live in the suburbs of Washington, DC. My wife and I moved here about a year and a half ago because she was called to a church in the area. It was exciting and terrifying in equal measure, though I think more for me than for her. I remember driving along the Potomac on the Virginia side, all of the monuments visible through the trees, and I asked her, “Did you think you would ever live in a place like this?” Her response, “I was accepted to Georgetown for college…so yeah. I did.” Granted, she didn’t go there, or we wouldn’t have met. However, she did a good job of bursting my small-town bubble. 

This last weekend, I crowded onto the Metro with thousands of others and trekked into the nation’s capital to take part in the Women’s March on Washington. I was packed into the crowd, shoulder-to-shoulder, with all those who had traveled from across the country to hold signs and chant out in the hopes of having their voices heard. I think I will always remember the signs and voices that were raised. They spoke support for LGBTQAI+ rights, affordable college or childcare, access to healthcare for children and women, safety and inclusion of immigrants and refugees, recognition of ecological responses, and positive reforms to address racial tensions. Those were just a sample of the diverse crowd that jammed into downtown DC that day, to recount them all would take my entire post. 

What has hurt, however, is the response I saw when I got home. I had spent the entire day hearing stories and meeting people from all over who wanted to be here in solidarity and support of those who are not heard, and my social media was flooded with those who thought it was frivolous, at best, and destructive, at worst. In the days since, I have contemplated deleting my social media accounts and never going back because I hurt so much for those who criticize to interpret my actions, and the thousands of others who took to the streets across the country, as nothing more than hurt feelings or whining. 

Equally frustrating, were the marchers and allies who attacked critics with equally reductionistic ascriptions. It’s not new that people would let fly more ad hominem attacks at one another, nor is it unique that the response is more of us wanting to shut down instead of get involved and reach out. It hurts to be reduced to the most esoteric of motivations and then dismissed because those are the things no one understands. As we try to navigate such incredibly tumultuous a time as this, we should try and recognize that there are things that are not helping in these situations. 

The constant thread of the last year is that people feel as if they are not being heard. Either we are ignored by the political elites who continually count on us for votes while only responding to the will of their donors. Or the political system itself has ignored us through structural means manipulated by one particular ideology. Some feel as if the economic structures of the global economy are maintained in such a way to alienate those who produce in order to benefit those who invest. Others that the social structures that have created divisions based on such trifling criteria as the color of ones skin or the amount of money in their bank account are now doing everything in their power to ignore the tension that still exists between these socially constructed categories.

These are all serious problems, and problems the Church, since that is what I write about here, should be focusing its energy towards in order to bring the light of the Gospel’s call to justice to bear. That justice will never materialize, however, if we continually reduce people down to the parts of their argument that are the most reprehensible in order that we might dismiss them. In a world that is so filled with color, to say that solutions are only found in black and white is to miss the target in so wide a fashion as to be playing on a different field. Issues of race, gender, sexual orientation, social stratification, political disenfranchisement, employment opportunity, educational access, and healthcare reform, to name a few, are not simple hurdles that can be cleared with simple responses such as, “Well, maybe you should just get out there and make sure the other person gets elected next time.” 

I used to think it was that simple. I had hoped it would be that simple, but it is obviously not. However, we now hold to such a high degree of ideological purity that everything is seen through lenses that remove all the color from the world. We have created for ourselves a world devoid of nuance. Our boundaries are such that everything is “pass/fail” and now we can’t even hear the crowd. We have lost the ability to appreciate diversity, though arguably we never had such an ability in the first place. 

If we continue to reduce our world down to such a pure essence that it has no meaning, and therefore can be easily dismissed, then we will forever be stuck in our present. This kind of reductionism will definitely kill us all.

The Gospel and Politics

                                                                   photo courtesy of Debate.org

Last month, a pastor from Texas wrote a great article in Baptist News Global about the difficulties pastors could be facing in the coming years due to the changing cultural landscape. Without going into too much detail, because I think you should go read the article for yourself, his main point is that many topics confronted within the Gospel narrative have been politicized over the last year. And because of this, there will be those in our congregations who are upset that there is too much politics coming from the pulpit. It seems you can’t through a rock these days without hearing about something to do with our political climate being mentioned in religious settings across the ideological spectrum. Let’s just admit up front that the sermons that will probably anger us are the ones we disagree with and leave it at that.

I remember talking about this during staff meeting at my church this last week. It was during one of those moments where we had not started to address the agenda for the week yet and were just making general comments about the status of our congregation. The senior pastor, one of the calmest ministers I have ever met, said, “That should have always been the case.” His words struck me because I was ready to get on my progressive soapbox and start advocating for our church to be a place that does not flinch in confronting our context with the Gospel, but he was right. It should always have been this way.

I’ve been rereading Jurgen Moltmann’s, “The Crucified God,” thinking specifically about the political images the German theologian highlights as conflicts between Jesus and the religious/political power structures of his time. In reading the Gospels from this perspective of the God who suffers with us, it is impossible to avoid seeing how Jesus’ teachings collide so spectacularly with the norms of his day. In a world where “separation of Church and State” would not exist for another 1700 plus years, these collisions are not even subtle.

In the midst of this thinking and meditating, a thought has resurfaced for me from my early days in seminary. The Gospel is not merely supposed to transcend our political boundaries, but to break through them. In the coming days, when we take to our pulpits, the Lectionary texts may lead us in to some troubling waters where we are discussing things that carry intense political baggage, but I must remember that my Savior is not a politician. I may have voted a certain way, I may be rejoicing or grieving the outcome of the Presidential election, and I may even have some politicians who I like what they are saying. But even a cursory reading of American history shows that political climates change. A party who may have started a movement at one time may find that movement becoming the cornerstone of the opposition’s message a generation later. 

What’s important for the church is to remember that we are preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We are preaching a Gospel that we believe comes from God. If politics and culture finds itself butting up against what comes out of my sermon…that’s politics and cultures problem, not mine. 

Have faith in God.

Preach the Good News.

Follow The Most Excellent Way.

Why I feel for Russell Moore: and the power of Congregation

                                                                             Image courtesy of Religion News

Though I am not a part of the same denominational group, I have been interested in the writing of Russell Moore over the last year. Moore is the executive director of the Southern Baptist Convention’s Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission (ERLC). In effect, the ERLC is the lobbying arm of the Southern Baptists, and so Moore has been a public voice of the convention’s positions on race relations and has spoken out against President-elect Trump throughout the campaign. His voice has been a minority one amongst evangelicals. Now that the election is over the outspoken “pastor’s pastor” is receiving a great deal of criticism.

There were times over the last few years where I wondered how Moore was going to keep his job. He seemed to be saying everything Southern Baptists weren’t thinking when it came to faith in the public discourse. It would be more than a stretch to say that I support Moore, but in this time where faith seems balanced on a razor’s edge with an uncertain future, observing this growing conflict within the SBC should give us all some pause. Russell Moore is running headlong into something I talked about previously on this blog.

As Baptists, we place a great deal of our worship focus on the proclamation of the spoken words from the pulpit, as goes without saying. For many, if not all, of us who prepare and proclaim what we hope are words of God each week, we hope to be as courageous in speaking frank truth that counters damaging social movements. Moore has been doing that as the director of the ERLC, and now he seems to be paying to consequences for his courage. The real power of Baptist life is coming to bear, and it could mean either the end of Moore’s job or the ERLC itself. 

As pastors and convention leaders speak of defunding the organization, it sets up another situation where we see that the power is not in those who lead organizations, but in the places where the money comes from. Pastors at the local level who have to deal with the yearly stress of making budgets know this realization all too well. Baptist life and polity present this uniquely precarious situation where the power rests not in the hands of those who are being called into ministry, but with those who are sitting in the pews. While it allows for a diversity of opinions that creates a mosaic from which we build the personalities of our congregations, it also creates the atmosphere where many leaders have to walk carefully between speaking real truth, and acquiescing to the will of those who pay their salaries.

I pray for Russell Moore because these kinds of conflicts can get ugly quickly. While he has not backed away from his statements against Trump or other issues that have raised the hackles of some of his fellow Southern Baptists, I could understand why someone would want to. While it can be absolutely maddening that issues go unaddressed in our congregations, we should look at the predicament that Moore finds himself in as an example of the forces at work all around us. Even in our local congregations, the fear of an uncertain future means that many of us are constantly reminded that we are in a conversation with everyone. Whether they agree with us all the time, or not.

The Problem Christians SHOULD Have with "America First"

                                          Photo courtesy of http://politicalpartiesush.weebly.com/america-first-party.html

Over the course of the last year, the idea that nativist/nationalist tendencies were the motivation for a large group of people was an argument that I was aware of. However, that awareness was academic in nature. Just as I am similarly aware of both General and Special Relativity, my understanding does not include any specific awareness of how relativity intersects my life; though, I am sure someone reading this could explain that to me. 

That all changed today when someone in my circle of influence began to speak of that exact sentiment. The most shocking thing was that there was no nuance or attempt to soften the language. They just specifically said, "America First! We should take care of our family before we help anyone else." Seeing as how I know this person quiet well, I was too shocked to respond. Instead I sat there, mouth agape, as their thoughts were broadcast. I felt sadness and betrayal because I thought I knew them better than that. In truth, they probably know me better than I know them.

It got me to thinking about the idea of nationalism as it has been preached by Christians throughout my lifetime. When I was much younger, I didn't give much thought to those who talked about America being a Christian nation. It was because I agreed with them, mostly because my sphere of experience was small and knowledge was small. Now, when I see it written or hear it preached from a pulpit I cringe. Not because I am angry that they are misrepresenting the faith I share with them, though they are. Instead, it is because in such statements there is very little that says they are trying to hear a voice that might be different from their own.

What do Christians from other parts of the world think when you say that America is special because of our faith?

What do those who are not Christians, but still Americans, think when you say that this nation does not see them as equal to Christians?

What do people who are neither Christian nor American feel when you say that our God has made a special, geographical place for us that they may never be able to participate in?

I know that when I hear it, I feel cheated that my faith has been boiled down to a tribalistic religion reserved for people who look a certain way, speak with a certain accent, and live in a particular place. It took years for me to reach a point where I could imagine a world beyond what I could see, and just as long to conceive that my faith could possibly be bigger than my imagination. As a stereotypical representative of white, middle-class, male, straight, cisgendered America, I know that change is not easy, nor is it quick. However, I don't believe for an instant that where we are is where we are supposed to be.

In the first chapter of the first book of the Hebrew Bible, the text says:

"Then God said, 'Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness'"

And I feel it is incredibly important that we remember this for no other reason than that the text says "humankind." It doesn't say "Americans," or "white people," or "those living in the western hemisphere's northern continent." When I hear Christians talk about "America first" right after they speak of how God has blessed our country, I feel as if I am listening to music where the orchestra is playing horribly out of tune. The dissonance of placing God with country with first are a triad of things that do not go together. 

In three days from this writing, we will be marking another celebration of the birth of our Savior. A Savior that was born in the Middle East, to Middle Eastern parents, speaking a different language, on a different continent. In just over a week from this writing, we will be kicking off a New Year where we again remember the ministry of that Savior that go from "Jerusalem, to Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth."

Just take some time to meditate on that when you hear the preacher or political commentator talk about "America First."

Sorry Franklin Graham, God Is Not In Our Elections

                                                                           Photo courtesy of MotherJones

Just this last week, evangelist Franklin Graham told the Charlotte Observer that it wasn't Russians who intervened in our election, it was God. Taking into consideration that over 80% of those people identified as "White Evangelicals" voted for President-elect Trump, it's difficult NOT to say that people with Christian beliefs had an oversized impact on the outcome of the election. However, I have to apologize to Mr. Graham because he is mistaken. God had nothing to do with the election of Donald Trump, and I know what you're thinking. You are just some progressive who calls himself a Christian and that's where you come up with this argument. And while, "yes"....no that's not what I want to talk about this fine day.

Instead, I want to just discuss this idea that God is in our elections. Throughout the last year, as journalists reported about lewd and misogynistic things the President-elect has said, Christians who support Trump said, "I wouldn't choose him to teach Sunday school," "we're electing a President, not a pastor," or variations thereof. The intent seemed to be that though they have deep issues of faith that are driving their support for a particular candidate, they would never want to deify the man. 

This shift in rhetoric that has taken place after the election leaves me with many questions, and while I could list them, they are really snarky and unhelpful. So, let's get on to the reason I disagree with Franklin Graham.

1 John 4: 18 says, "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love."

Hours after the election results were known, people started reporting violence against vulnerable groups perpetrated in the name of the new President-elect. Another website was started just for people to tell their stories directly from their own perspectives. All of this is a result, either directly or indirectly, of the outcome of the national election. The same election that Franklin Graham has said was influenced by God.

If our holiest texts tell us that God, who is described as "love" earlier in 1 John 4, casts out fear, then there is no way God is in this election. It has nothing to do with demographics, or theology, or denominations, or any other descriptor we could use. The sheer fact that after the election people are afraid is evidence enough that God had nothing to do with who was elected. I'm sorry, Mr. Graham. I disagree with you, and it's because the Bible tells me so.

Too Busy Being Right To Be Church

As a kid growing up in a medium-sized Southern Baptist church, I was repeatedly warned of the dangers of not having my theology just "right." Mostly, these were terms used to address how important it was that everyone have correct theology and doctrine. We were told, "Without strong foundations for our faith, you will be thrown from your feet and your faith will crumble." The focus was on the "man who built his house on a rock," and descriptions of a house of cards that was so easy to topple over. There were classes and retreats that, in hindsight, were very heavy in theology and doctrine. Stories were told of how "secular society," said as if it were some snarling monster from the deep, would try and trick us with intricate arguments, difficult questions, and morally ambiguous situations. So, you can imagine that we were pretty good with understanding our theology.

When I got ready to leave for I was repeatedly warned about how "liberal professors" in "them big cities" would try and scramble my faith in God. In essence I was told the story of "God's Not Dead" while Kevin Sorbo was still staring in the "Hercules" TV series. Joking aside, the focus was on being right in how we thought about God. To think differently than the already accepted narrative was to not have faith at all. It wasn't that there was a different way to understand God. There was only one way and it had many facets. You had to accept them all just as they were presented to you of you weren't the same and therefore not a real Christian.

While in the throes of trying to be right about everything, my New Testament professor dropped some real enlightenment on my class. For his class, he advised us to just try reading the Biblical text, "like you would read a novel. Just go from the beginning, and don't stop until you get to the end. Stop trying to shift it down into small stories or just your favorite verses. Read the whole thing." 

I decided to give it a shot, and so started reading the Gospel of Mark from beginning to the end. I sat in a quiet part of the library and read it in just a little over an hour. So, I decided that I should keep going. Before the night was over I was half-way through Luke and ready for bed. On that first day, after reading through most of the Gospel texts I got...nothing. I didn't have any great enlightenment or new perspective on how my faith should work. Honestly, true change takes a great deal of time and effort. It was never going to happen over night. 

However, I have kept that practice. I have continued to read the Gospels through as whole books and not pick them apart into stories or sayings. Over time, I have come to learn some great things that make a real difference in my faith. For instance, I see the character of Jesus now, and not just the words. I see the arc of his personality and how the Gospel writers each tell that story a little differently. That character portrait is part of the message they are trying to communicate just as much as the setting or the words that come from the Messiah's mouth. Part of the power of the message is found in who the person of Jesus is on top of what that person says. The consequence being that I have fallen even more in love with Jesus.

Jesus is far more concerned with people who are suffering than he is with being right about how we talk about God. 

Jesus is more concerned with people than how we talk about God.

Really, Jesus does not seem that concerned with how we talk about God as long as it means we are going toward hurting people.

In just these few days after the election, there are a lot of emotions in the air. Some are protesting, some are threatening, some are grieving, and some are cheering all because of these emotions. It seems as if the lines that divide us are only growing in the days following the election. It should be recognized that for the past few years we have all been worried about being right. No matter what what the issue was, we wanted to be right in how we responded to it. And now, some rejoice that they were vindicated through the results of the election and others feel real pain and fear because they do not like what tomorrow could bring.

Here is where the Church gets to decide its future. We can either stick with our struggle to be right; digging deep to make sure that we "rightly divine the word." Or we can decide to be follow the head of the body of Christ. One who was not so terribly worried about being right. One who forgave sins when others said he couldn't, touched those others said he shouldn't, and died for those others wouldn't. 

Totally Different, All Over Again

This last year, with all of the contention surrounding the US election, civil unrest due to race relations, and the ever constant stream of violence the we see around us; conversations concerning the supreme allegiance of the average American Christian are almost constant. Now, we get to add the statements of an NFL quarterback, Colin Kaepernick of the San Francisco 49ers, to a long list of contentious topics for us to run and make a pointed, emotional social media post about. Over the last few years, we have had a series of these conversations that typically come up whenever someone either “stands to defend the Gospel,” or “speaks out against social injustice.” Each separate event becomes a diatribe from an armchair constitutional scholar about the extent to which the 1st amendment protects the individual’s right to speak.

Whether it is a business owner refusing to serve LGBTQ people, Black Lives Matter protesting the the actions of police, a pastor threatening to burn the holy book of another faith, or a celebrity speaking out against the actions of their government, we have had lots of “conversations” about our relationship to the political process as American Christians. Mostly, these are just fights where people throw invective at each other, creating a string of ad hominem attacks that have little to do with the actual topic. A post is made, or something happens in the news that touches our nerves and we unload our best “gotcha” lines to sting the other side, often going back and forth on in comments sections like a wordy version of “I know you are, but what am I?”

In total, none of these conversations are all that helpful. As a group we move from one topic to another, laying out long screeds that perpetuate a an us vs. them scenario with no end. The hard work would be with having a long conversation about our relationship as Christians to the nation where we find ourselves living. 

Are American Christians really American christians?

Are we american Christians?

Or are we just Americans who use Christianity to worship our Americanness?

With this recent ignition of the debate, I have witnessed lots of Christians, and ministers specifically, unload into the aether concerning the correct way we are to honor the American flag. Where is the line between civic responsibility and nationalism? (It should be noted, when I say “nationalism,” I’m denoting a a philosophical understanding that I consider idolatrous. Where we worship our nation and its perceived greatness more than we worship God.) As we approach another national holiday, the remembrance of September 11th, we will no doubt be acknowledging its significance in our services. Some will pull out flags to adorn their sanctuary, and those who constantly fly the flag in their sanctuary will make sure to point to it. 

I know some who will preach on that day, and they are rather uncomfortable with how much they will be expected to massage the “American Spirit” of their congregations. Some have voiced that on days like September 11th, their churches are no longer churches, but incubators of support for America. Maybe we need to keep asking ourselves this question about where the word Christian falls when we are called American Christians.