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Christian Top 1000

I noticed that Brandon is listed on the Top 1000 web site, so I decided I would get myself listed over there as well. I'm not sure what I'll gain from it. Perhaps some conservative Christians will wander by to argue. I suspect that very few people read past the top 20 or 50 or so. You could waste tons of time over there, and some of the titles alone made me chuckle. I mean, who wants to click on "Jesus is the only way to heaven dot com"? Not me. Might as well be "burn in hell filthy pagans dot com." Anyway, I'm gonna play along.

They even include an adorable image for your page:

You'll also notice a "how to go to heaven" link at the top of the page. It links to a page on the SBC website. Do people really believe heaven is a place you go? I know John Hagee preached a sermon once in which he said: We'll be raptured off the planet, and we'll soar past Jupiter, past Mars, past the Milky Way, into the waiting arms of Jesus. So, Jesus is somewhere past the end of the Milky Way galaxy? And does Jupiter really come before Mars, or is John being raptured off a different planet, Neptune maybe? And wouldn't he then hurtle into the sun? And would that be like hell, or is that fire different? Do souls burn? It's late.

Fellowshipping with the Royal Keiths

Phil has an excellent evaluation of a recent service at a hydra-headed megachurch in TX. What Phil may not know is that this is the same mega that mass-mailed $5 Starbucks gift certificates to celebrate the opening of their new campus. The catch? You had to redeem them at the Starbucks in the new Fellowship campus. See what I mean? Doesn't that make you tired? I'm supposed to be sleeping damnit!

My Argument Bone is Broken

I've been withdrawing from conflicts all over the net. I have three emails in my inbox from the other Porky awaiting a response (it's about pacifism and hermeneutics as I recall). I deliberately avoided a debate this morning about an article I wrote for the Oklahoma Gazette about churches moving away from poor, urban neighborhoods. I haven't called my older brother since he screamed at me a few months ago. Apparently, a post-Barthian hermeneutic is considered liberal in some Southern Baptist circles. Whooda guessed? I have lost faith in the ability of dialogue to change us. I have lost faith in the goodness of humanity for a while. (You Calvinists out there, spare me the lecture of total depravity. That's another argument I'll do without for now.)

In short, I'm tired. Tired of arguing. Tired of hearing the same rhetoric over and over. Tired of using the same questions and traps and syllogisms over and over. Tired. Tired of my own arguments. I'm willing myself to stop believing myself for a few weeks. I think it's time for contemplation and meditation again. I love blogworld. I love the multiplicity of voices. It's like a busy street in a large American city with hawkers and merchants and street preachers and whores and pimps and credulous gawkers and the blissfully unaware. It is Americana on the WWW. And I am weary of it for a while. I will keep posting, but I am tired of arguing for a season. If you love me, just let me be wrong for a while. If you hate me, go read something else for a while. I'm glad you're here, and I'm glad you're blogging too, and I'll keep reading, but I'm really tired of arguing. In fact, I'm going to sleep now. Grace and peace.

New Seminarian Embarks on Blogventure

My friend Tiffany is beginning her seminary career at Baptist Theological Seminary of Richmond (VA). She's promised to blog through her experience. Her first post is online here.

Serial Killer Spotted at Border's

The hot, imaginative hairdresser wife and I are at Border's tonight. I'm looking through magazines; she's watching some guy on the next aisle. The following conversation ensues:

"You have to see this guy," she says.

"What guy?" I ask absent-mindedly.

She grabs my arm and drags me to the next aisle. She points to a man in a denim jumpsuit.

"I think he's a serial killer," she says.

"Why?"

"That's what serial killers wear," she says.

"Other people wear them too."

"Who?"

"Old men."

"He's not old," she points out, rightly.

I start to walk away. She grabs my arm again.

"See how clean his hands are?"

"So?"

"So I think serial killers probably have clean hands and wear serial killer unitards."

By the way, my wife hates bookstores. I'm sure this is a game she plays to kill time until I make a selection. After making my selection we move toward the counter.

"Keep an eye out for him," she says.

"Why?"

"Cause I don't want him to follow us and kill us."

Of course. I love that woman.

To God or not to God: The Megilloth

The Megilloth are five scrolls of the Hebrew Bible read in conjunction with five Jewish festivals. They are:

  1. Ecclesiastes, read at Tabernacles
  2. Esther, read at the Purim
  3. Lamentations, read at 9th of Ab (commemoration of the destruction of the Temple)
  4. Ruth, read at Festival of Weeks
  5. Song of Songs, read at Passover

It is too much to say that these five books don't mention God, but it's also a bit much to say that they give us any encouragement that God is active on our behalf. For example, the sole reference in Esther is the encouragement to Esther that perhaps she is at this place and time to save her people. That's it. An allusion to providence? Probably. Ecclesiastes. As Peter Kreeft pointed out, Ecclesiastes paints a bleak picture of the world without God. The emendation at the very end was likely not in earlier manuscripts. Ruth? Your God shall be my God. That's about it. Song of Songs? Uh-uh. Lamentations? Oh yeah. YHWH is all over Lamentations: destroying, exercising his wrath, taking vengeance, delivering judgment, killing, punishing, and ultimately redeeming.

Here's the observation I'd like to make. As early as post-exilic Judaism, there is a notion that God doesn't intervene to help very often (if at all). Yes, this was the same people whose identity was formed in the Exodus and reiterated in the return from exile, but they were still trying to understand how the exile had happened. How is it that the city of God has been destroyed? Unless God has no continuing city on earth. Unless God has no continuing presence on earth. Unless God is not involved in the politics of the kingdoms of this world. Jews versed in the Torah and the prophetic canon couldn't really accept this. But in the five scrolls they chose to read at five of their festivals, God is absent or only shows up to vent his fury. There is an affirmation of doubt, of abandonment. Yet there is also an affirmation of the necessity of community. What does that say to us?

It says, to paraphrase Prof Marty, that the heavens have been torn open and God has come down to us and showed us how to live. God's continuing presence finds its locus in the Church. The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord, and the lordship is exercised by the Church living according to the Way Jesus taught, not by whoring ourselves out for secular political power. The presence of God is mediated in the community of God's people. How much more do we need? The beauty of the Jewish idea here is that if anyone is to be helped, it must be her neighbor that helps. If anyone is to be supported, it must be his neighbor that supports. If anyone unlovable is to be loved, it must be a community of people who believe that love is an ultimate ethic that loves her. If anyone is hungry, he must rely on his neighbor to feed him. Naked? Cold? Lonely? Sick? We are here for each other. It's not that God is absent, nor is God some sort of transcendent cipher whose very essence is so nebulous that it can't be nailed down. In fact, the essence of God was nailed down because the essence of God is the life and death of Jesus. In the Christ event God embraced a way of weakness and compassion and non-violence, and in that demonstration of meekness, the powers were overthrown because the Way of Jesus was vindicated. I think we miss a vital point of theology and theodicy when we miss the essential nature of non-resistance, endurance and longsuffering. It's not a popular message, and I'll be the first to say it sucks in the midst of suffering, but we are here to alleviate the suffering of the "other" and each other. We look to God for much of this, but much of this has been left to us as vicars of the grace and presence of God. We are a sacrament for the sake of the world, after all. Grace and peace.

Chavez via the BBC

Read this. No, really; read it.

The Aftermath

I've been avoiding talking about the Pat Robertson fiasco precisely because I'm not surprised that he's an idiot. Then when he lied about what he said, that annoyed me enough to comment on two other blogs, especially since his remarks were broadcast and documented. His lie was so obvious, everyone knew this "Christian leader" was lying. But now...now that he's apologized I have to say something. Why? Here's what the AP reported:

When the AP had called Robertson on Tuesday for elaboration, spokeswoman Angell Watts said Robertson would not do interviews and had no statement about his remarks. He also declined several interview requests Wednesday.
So, he's willing to make remarks off the cuff during his own broadcast when he's in complete control, but he's not willing to be held accountable on someone else's program? What definition of Christianity is Robertson operating under? How does he understand accountability? If you make such a public gaffe, shouldn't you make a public apology and be willing to answer for it publicly? Does posting an apology on his website without addressing a television audience (the place where the stupidity was uttered) count as repentance? Seriously, let's not politicize the truth this time. Can Christians of all kinds demand of him that he apologize publicly, contritely, and with some humility? I know the last two are anathema to him, but at some level the testimony of the Church is at stake here.

To God or not to God

This post contains spoilers. If you’ve not read The Sparrow or not seen The Believer and you don’t want to know how they end, don’t read. This will be longer than usual, so hang with me.

Mary Doria Russell’s The Sparrow is a science fiction novel that is as much theological investigation as story. A party of explorers travels across space to meet with a race of “singers” whose signal has been detected on earth. The party is funded and manned by the Jesuits, although some non-Christians are in the party. The planet is populated by two races; one is social, communitarian, peaceful, and agrarian; the other is predatory, capitalist, exploitative, hierarchical, and violent. The predatory race rules the planet.

The main character, Father Emilio Sandoz, is a linguist and Jesuit priest. He feels called by God to lead the party, and things initially bear out his faith. Ultimately, after encountering the predatory race, things go horribly awry. The entire party, those who haven’t died from more natural causes on the planet, are massacred by the predators. Sandoz is first treated well but eventually sold as a concubine for the planet’s aristocracy. The novel moves between events on the planet and Sandoz’s tribunal on earth after his rescue. Throughout the novel the reader doesn’t know if Sandoz behaved inconsistently with his faith or was a victim of circumstance.

The key to the novel is an interview with Russell published as an appendix. After two decades of atheism, and with experience writing hard science for journals, Russell converted to Judaism after the birth of her first child. The interviewer asks Russell what it means to be Jewish in a contemporary context. Paraphrased answer: it means accepting that God will not rescue you.

In an interesting move, Russell chooses Jesuits to illustrate her post-Holocaust theological point. This is certainly Sandoz’s experience. Sandoz moves with absolute faith in the divine purpose of the mission. His faith is not rewarded. Indeed, he is crushed, maimed, humiliated, and the one vow that works as a lodestone for him, chastity, is left in doubt throughout the novel. Eventually we learn he was raped, but his chastity is ruined in body, if not in spirit.

In The Sparrow the existence of God is not in question; the goodness of God is. In the 2001 film “The Believer,” the existence of God is in question. “The Believer” is another post-Holocaust theological reflection. It is based on a true story about a young Jewish man who chooses to deny his race and become a neo-Nazi skinhead. Ryan Gosling, who plays the main character, is so self-loathing that he tells no one of his actual ethnicity and actively engages in hate crimes against Jews. Two events shake him out of his denial: an attempted desecration of the Torah and the rape of his girlfriend at the hands of her father. Gosling will not allow his friends to go through with the desecration of the Torah despite his denial of Judaism. At some visceral level he still believes in the God of Israel. When he climbs the trellis outside his girlfriend’s window and witnesses the incestuous rape, the movie moves toward its inevitable conclusion: if there is a God, he has acted as a rapist, as a father who abuses his own children. Gosling realizes his own culpability in the rape of his people and begins to ask the big questions, only to learn that in the opinion of his rabbi there is no God. Had there been a God, he would have rescued his people from the Holocaust. The God of the Exodus would not have suffered his covenant people to endure the Holocaust. After his death, Gosling is shown ascending a staircase, obviously a reference to Jacob’s ladder. He is moving up the staircase toward God. On one landing he encounters the rabbi again. The film ends with the rabbi saying, “There is no one up there.” Gosling keeps climbing anyway.

Christian theology, especially theodicy, has side-stepped the issue of the Holocaust in ways that are all too convenient. Russell’s novel challenges us to examine the object of our faith in light of contemporary realities. We might write both the book and movie off as too pessimistic, but the questions raised do not go away by claiming some tenuous relationship with Jesus by virtue of saying a prayer. In a world that has experienced a Holocaust, the use of atomic weapons by self-proclaimed Christians, a predominantly Christianized country indulging tribal hatred to the point of genocidal slaughter (Rwanda), and an ongoing global conflict with terrorism, theodic questions loom large. How will the community of Christ answer them?

In Praise of Pastors

All right. In the spirit of giving credit where credit is due, and to deflect some of the criticism I frequently receive, this post will be overwhelmingly positive.

We went to KC yesterday to visit Jacob's Well. The service, like many so-called emergent church services, was very much like, well, a church service. Lots of music. Eight songs, in fact. Tim preached for forty minutes. We were expecting something less like church, I guess, but the meeting we had afterward was well worth the drive (and eating at Chipotle didn't hurt). Tim talked to us for about an hour, asking questions about kaleo that help us clarify what we're trying to do and answering questions about Jacob's Well that help us know what to expect or plan for or not worry about. He was forthright about mistakes, chaos, failures, etc. He was honest when he didn't have a good answer. And he told us some things that I think will prove to be very helpful.

We got in late last night (2:45 a.m.), so I slept late this morning (9:00 a.m.). Left my cellphone on the table to charge when I went to Starbucks. When I got back there was a message from a certain hydra-headed megachurch pastor. His paraphrased message was: heard about kaleo, glad you and the hot, singing, hairdresser wife (he used her name) are using your ministry gifts, we're praying for you, do well. What a nice guy. Really, I mean it.

So, today I feel good about pastors.