Autumn

Autumn is here officially. Sixty was the high today and I reached back into my closet for a sweater I haven't worn since early spring. This is my favorite time of the year. October is hands down the best month -- carmeled apples, football, flannel, hot cups of java, hay rides, and love.

Why love? Because I fell in love in the fall nine years ago with a new freshman who had just arrived on the campus of Greenville College. I had overheard some guys in my dorm talking about who they were going to ask out and the name Courtney Probst popped up. "Not before I do" was my thought as I raced across campus to write a note on the dry erase board hanging on her door. I scribbled some nervous, banal comment like, "Hi, this is Greg. I hope you remember me. We should hang out sometime. Call me."

It all worked out in the end. We walked to the local Marathon station, drank some cheap pumpkin spice cappuccino, talked about our favorite books, and I fell head over heels in love. It's a good thing my classes were easy that semester in the fall of 2000 because I couldn't focus on anything but her. She made me chicken soup when I got a cold. I picked her up after her shift at Hardee's and we drove out to Patriot's park to look at the stars. It was a classic college romance that, if sprinkled with some unrealistic witty banter, would probably smell of a B-rated Jennifer Aniston movie.

Now nine years later I find myself with the same woman. We've graduated from college, lived in six different apartments/houses, taught English in China for a year, had two girls, weathered the storms of seminary finals, and moved to the inner city. But we're still going strong. She knows me very well -- too well -- since she's seen me at my worst. Yet she continues to love me. Likewise, I love her more than ever despite seeing her bad moments.

Autumn is upon us and as I watch the fall leaves change color and switch from drinking frapuccinos to cappuccinos, I fall in love again. And I thank God for my life partner that has been with me these nine autumns and counting.

Ex Nihilo?

As children of the Western Enlightenment and its subsequent devotion to empiricism and rationalism, we approach the ancient Hebrew Scriptures with certain presuppositions. Some of those presuppositions can be inbred so deeply within us that we become completely unaware of them. A prominent example of this appears in the way we speak about human origins. We ask a set of questions such as, "Where did the universe come from?", "Has matter always existed", and "Did God create the world we experience or did it come from the process of evolution?" Those who want to defend the authority of the Bible (and those who want to attack it) oftentimes approach the beginning of Genesis with similar questions since, Christian and non-Christian alike, we are all children of the Enlightenment.

However, what if these were NOT the questions of the ancient Hebrew people? What if their set of questions were entirely different? What if they didn't really even care about where matter came from? In his book The Lost World of Genesis One, Wheaton professor John H. Walton suggests precisely this. Walton, who has immersed himself in the original texts of the ancient near east, contends that Genesis 1 says absolutely nothing about the material origins of the universe. In fact, he points out, a close examination of Genesis 1:2 reveals that the author actually assumed matter (i.e. "stuff") already existed when God "created" the heavens and the earth. One wonders where "the waters" came from in verse 2. Answer: the writer didn't care about the question of material origins as we do. He was up to something totally different.

So what was he up to? Walton claims that the writers of Genesis 1 sought to explain the functional origins of the world, not the material origins as we would like to read the story. The question in their minds was not, "Where does everything come from?" but "How is there order and function in the world?" and "To what end is this world created?" This changes everything. If the writer of Genesis wanted to communicate how order was brought out of chaos (the literal implication of the Hebrew word bara which we translate "create") and did not intend to provide us with an orthodox doctrine of ex nihilo, then to ask the text to give us an account of material origins is a foreign imposition on the text and an anachronism.

So what does all of this mean? Well, its implications are radical. It means that when science produces an account of material origins (such as the "big bang" or "theory of evolution"), it cannot contradict the Bible since the Bible and modern science are addressing different questions altogether! It is perfectly rational to believe that evolution accounts for our material origins, but to also accept the authority of Genesis 1 as an account of the functional origins of the cosmos. The fundamentalist demand that we contort Scripture such that it answers our modern questions was an attempt made in good faith by people who wanted to cling to the Bible as a source for truth. Ironically, in their fervor for preserving the Bible, fundamentalists (and most evangelicals) actually did a great deal of damage to the Scriptures by making it less credible to the scientific community who came to believe that they had to choose between their scientific work and their religious beliefs.

To make this even more simple, Genesis one wants to tell us this: God made this world for a purpose and organized it to accomplish that purpose (which, by the way, was to serve as a temple for himself in which he could rest). Science, on the other hand, attempts to tell us where stuff came from. It's like we're arguing over which statement is true: does 2 + 2 = 4 or does a square have 4 sides? The answer is "yes!"

I find this liberating because I can accept the findings of modern science (yes, even evolutionary theory) and still hold to the authority, inspiration, and accuracy of the Bible. And doing so is not some sort of cop-out or desperate hermeneutical gymnastics. It is in fact being a faithful exegete of Scripture.

Now more questions come to my mind about theistic evolution such as "If God used survival of the fittest (a very bloody affair), then what does this say about God's nature?" or "At what point did evolving monkeys actually 'take on' the image of God?" But regardless of these quandaries, I am thankful to be able to read the Bible and accept it without having to turn off my brain and scream "you're wrong!" at 98% of the scientists in this world.

So the next time someone starts spouting off about how Christians who believe in evolution are subverting the faith and undermining Scripture, I will simply him them that "I believe you are imposing a set of foreign questions on a text which was never meant to field them. You've been handed a love letter from your wife and are reading it like a Toyota manual. Read it like it was meant to be read and you'll figure it out."

This post is a reflection on John Walton's book "The Lost World of Genesis One" which I highly recommend.

Trading Resentment for Gratitude

Which blade in a pair of scissors is more important? C. S. Lewis compares this question with one often posed in churches today: "Is salvation an act of faith or works?" He writes: "Thus if you have really handed yourself over to Him, it must follow that you are trying to obey Him. But trying in a new way, a less worried way. Not doing these things in order to be saved, but because He has begun to save you already. Not hoping to get to Heaven as a reward for your actions, but inevitably wanting to act in a certain way because a first faint gleam of Heaven is already inside you."

How quickly I forget this simple, straightforward truth! Too often I find this cycle at work in my life:

1) I encounter divine goodness and desire to please God because I love Him and what He has done for me.

2) As an expression of this gratitude, I begin to do good works such as caring for the poor, spending time in prayer, visiting the hurting, etc.

3) Gradually I begin to focus on the works themselves and forget my original reason for doing them (i.e. the love of God).

4) I become unable to do enough good works and begin to feel guilty for my many failures.

5) I worry that I'm not doing enough to be loved by God.

6) I become resentful of a God who demands so much obedience from me.

I must confess that there have been days that I resented God's calling on my life. I start to think thoughts like, "Why did God have to call me to this difficult place and difficult job? Why couldn't he have called someone else? Why can't I just live a normal, comfortable life and why can't that be enough? This is unfair of you, God! Take back this calling!" Then something even worse happens. I start to resent other Christians who have not had the same calling and who do not make the same sacrifices that I make. I begin to look down on them, judge them, and think of them as inferior Christians. What a demonic thought!

But such thoughts creep into my mind because somewhere along the way, I start to think that my salvation is contingent upon my striving and effort. But I've got it all backwards. In my better moments, I don't do good deeds in order to be saved, but because I already am saved. In those moments, my worry, striving, and resentment are replaced with gratitude, joy, and adoration of God.

I must learn to accept the fact that God loves me. Period. End of story. And once I fully "get it," only then am I in a place to serve Him. Only then will I be able to look a fellow Christians who live differently than myself without a hint of judgment. Only then will I wake up in the morning and praise God for the wonderful privilege it is to serve Him in the inner city. Only when I realize that God would love me just as much if I were a parking lot attendant can I truly embrace my vocation of ministry.

A Manifesto for the Disenchanted Evangelical

I'm going to do something very bold that's probably also unwise. I'm going to attempt to speak for a generation. It's a foolish endeavor, I know, because every generation is composed of vastly different individuals who disagree on every subject under the sun. But, on the other hand, there is a sense in which a generation takes on a personality of its own and differentiates itself from the one before it. I'm currently reading a wonderful little memoir called "The Unlikely Disciple" by Kevin Roose who spent one semester as an undercover reporter at Liberty University, the brainchild of Dr. Jerry Falwell and Mecca of the religious right. As I read the book I notice that Roose speaks for a generation that ranges from mildly disenchanted to loudly furious with the evangelical church of our fathers' and mothers' generation. So, with fear and trembling, I present a manifesto on behalf of the young fringe evangelicals.

We don't think the most heinous of all sins is homosexuality. In fact, we're convinced that the Bible speaks much more about materialism and serving the poor than about how reprehensible it is to be gay. We take the Bible seriously, but don't think the Bible demands that we carry around banners claiming, "God hates fags." And when we read the story of Sodom and Gomorra we are quick to note that the sin of their materialism is mentioned more frequently by the author than their sodomy.

We don't think that global warming is some far-fetched conspiracy theory spread by liberal elites in a bid for power. In fact, we find it suspicious that the only scientists who deny global warming, do so from a particularly narrow theological persuasion. We don't think the earth was given to us by God to rule with an iron fist, but rather was given to us to care for in the same way that God cares for his creation.

We don't think God is a Republican... or a Democrat. We think he is above political ideologies. And we are offended when a large segment of the church tries to hijack our faith and use it as a tool to win elections. We believe in "family values" and we are still "values voters," but our values go beyond opposition to gays and blind support of the military.

We're tired of a church that has been loud, angry, and very vocal to American culture about things that really don't matter that much. We wish that instead of getting in a huff about the use of "happy holidays" instead of "merry Christmas," the church might actually get angry about hundreds of thousands of kids starving or the plague of AIDS in Africa or genocide.

We are slowly coming to see that things are not as black and white as our forefathers wanted to present them. We find it difficult to divide people easily between "good" and "bad" or even between "believers" and "non-believers." We see faith as a journey and a process that takes a lifetime. It doesn't end at a single trip to an altar nor does "saying the magic words" sum up the totality of the Christian experience.

We are very uncomfortable with a God who claims to love everyone, but who damns most of them to hell simply because the weren't born in a country where they never heard the name "Jesus." We think that's unfair and we find it hard to worship such a God. We prefer to cling to the hope that God's grace and mercy will extend far beyond what we have ever even imagined on this side of death.

We're so sick and tired of shallow, consumer-driven, superficial staged performances on Sunday morning. We're not drawn to a church because it has a slick band or nifty powerpoint graphics. We hunger for a place that is honest and genuine and that delves deep into the mystery and joy of community. We're not impressed by the mega-church, by the airport-sized buildings, or by the Starbucks lattes in the foyers. We long for someone who will love us, listen to us, and give us a place to belong. We're willing to overlook imperfections in the way church is "performed" if it offers us a place to be real.

We don't think the words of James Dobson, Pat Robertson, or Chuck Colson are infallible. We like to listen to a variety of perspectives and we're not convinced that the conservative, religious-right evangelicalism of our childhood is THE PUREST FORM of Christianity. In fact, we are drawn to a broad variety of traditions -- Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anabaptist, Coptic, and so on.

We think that the Christian story must involve more than individuals simply getting their butts into heaven. We want a Christianity that is relevant to THIS LIFE. We want a religion that can change us and that can change society. We don't want some hyper-inward, invisible faith; we want something tangible, something we can sink our teeth into, something more akin to what Paul described when he spoke of the "redemption of all of creation."

We're unsatisfied with the traditional means of spirituality that we've inherited. The whole "read your Bible and pray every day" thing is good, but we demand more. We want a faith that goes beyond just "Jesus and me" and instead enfolds us into a community that lives out a radically different, alternative ethic. We value meditation, fasting, time in nature, blogging, exercising, and chatting about Jesus over a cup of coffee. And we think that these things are legitimate ways to draw close to God -- just as legit as daily bible reading or individual prayer.

We want a faith filled with mystery. We don't respect a person that has all the answers. We're not attracted to someone who claims to be "the Bible Answer Man." Instead, we want someone who is willing to live within the ambiguities of life and embrace them. We want to participate in ancient rituals of the church that have been around for thousands of years and, no, we don't need to understand or dissect these rituals until all the mystery has been eradicated from them.

We want to be loved as we are and not judged. We don't want to have to measure up to a standard before we're accepted. We like Jesus. Jesus just loved people and healed them and gave them hope. He wasn't preachy (or when he was, he was usually preachy at the religious establishment of his day). He liked the down-and-outers and brought them into the fold. That's the type of guy we want to follow.

We get a little antsy when people start demanding that we "go out and evangelize people." Not because we don't believe in sharing good news, but because for so long the church has reduced people to projects. For too long we've been dogmatic and preachy and know-it-alls who stand aloof of all the pathetic unenlightened masses that don't know Jesus. We'd prefer to enter the world of the "sinner" on their own ground, get to know them, listen to them, hear their story, and have a conversation with them about life and death and meaning. We prefer to think of EVERYONE as having a spiritual journey and a story to tell. In fact, we think that we can even learn from non-Christians (gasp!).

We hate racism. We hate how Sunday mornings at 11 am are still the most segregated hour of the week in America. We long to meet other cultures, break bread with them, and cross the barriers that divide us. Seeing an all-white congregation makes us sick to our stomach because we have this sinking feeling that something is very, very wrong. We're comfortable in a multi-cultural context and wouldn't want it any other way.

We're tired of a religion that legitimizes violence against other people. Muslim children are children too... that God loves. We are angered when people in power utilize our faith for their warmongering. We follow the prince of peace, the lamb of God who refused to retaliate. We're tired of religious wars and we want to learn to (at a minimum) coexist with people of other religions and at best to join hands and party with them.

So there it is. A manifesto for the disenchanted young evangelical. Undoubtedly many of my own generation will disagree with how I've put things. But it was worth the risk. I don't think I'm alone in thinking these thoughts.

A Troubled Glance

I know it's not the title of this blog, God, but I have to give you a troubled glance right now. I cry to you from the pit of despair and I ask for You. I need a Friend -- someone who can watch the kids for me or clean the house or write my sermon for me or go and visit all the needy people who depend on me. I need You, God, but I don't know where you are. If I did know, I'd spend my last penny to buy a plane ticket to get there. My girls are sick... again. More coughing, runny noses, and crying at night. My wife is burned out. Too much work, too little appreciation, not enough time off. She never gets a day off, ever. I'm overwhelmed too. I have people all around me who need me to counsel them because they're are so screwed up, but who's gonna counsel me? (I'm just as screwed up as any of them). I have sermons to write and practice, books to read and theological thoughts to think, board meetings to prepare for, vision to cast, staff members to keep happy, enemies who need to be reconciled, sour old ladies who need a word of rebuke spoken to them, a charity house across the street that is on the verge of going under for lack of finances. At home I have dishes to do, babies to bathe and change and discipline and wake up with early and make lunch for and clean up after and put to bed. When am I supposed to take time for my wife? When do we get to spend time just loving each other? Not this year, I guess. Maybe next. Most of all I need you, God, because when you are far off I am filled with emptiness and despair in my gut. Normally I can function and deal with all of the stuff as I run around a million miles per hour, but not when things aren't right with You. So where are you? Can you give me a call? I need someone just to tell me that it's gonna be okay and that I'm not a failure and that all my striving is not in vain. Well, I gotta go. Looks like I can't pray right now. My daughter is eating chalk. Have your people talk to my people and we'll get together sometime.

My 2 Cents on Healthcare

The hot topic recently in politics has been the question of universal healthcare. I thought I would take a brief moment to offer some of my own reflections on the issue.

THE LEAST WORST OPTION. I stand with many other Americans in their distrust of big government. I am concerned about the ever growing budget deficit and think we need some fiscal responsibility. However, we need to look at our options. The status quo is obviously not satisfactory with 46 million Americans currently uninsured. This includes many who have worked hard, paid into the system for years, lived honest lives, but have been laid off because of the recession. At the risk of oversimplification, I see two main options: 1) the continuing privatization of health care or 2) government-run healthcare. The former option leaves people's health decisions in the hands of CEOs and boards which ultimately only answer to their shareholders. Their primary concern is to increase profit margins and if they have to engage in practices such as denying coverage to someone with a pre-existing condition or utilizing recision, then they will do so. In my opinion, I would rather have elected officials who have been chosen by the public to look after the common good oversee healthcare rather than these CEOs from the corporate world. So although government-run healthcare may not be a great option, it is the least worst option.

THIS IS A MORAL ISSUE. When I met the middle aged woman on Monday morning who came to me and asked for prayer, I had no idea what a fire she would ignite in my heart for this debate. She looked me in the eye and told me that she was dying from a treatable form of cancer. However, she could not afford the medications or chemotherapy. So she wasted away day by day praying for a miracle or for a rich philanthropist who would intervene on her behalf. Looking into her eyes, I realized that healthcare is a moral issue -- it is not simply a cold economic calculus of supply and demand, guided by the invisible hand of the free market. To watch a woman die young because her nation refused to treat her is a tragedy that we might expect to happen in Niger or Congo, but not in the riches nation on earth. As we read the story of the good Samaritan, we are left with no doubt that a nation which leaves millions of sick people stranded on the side of the road with no help stands condemned in the sight of a merciful God. We are morally obligated to care for the poor. If even 1% of our nation was uninsured, it would be too many.

We might do well to think long and hard about this question: "Is it moral to make a profit off of someone's basic healthcare?"

IS UNIVERSAL HEALTHCARE UN-AMERICAN? Interestingly many have argued that a "socialized" form of medicine is un-American and betrays our sacred ideals of rugged individualism, entrepreneurship, and total economic freedom. Well, I have several responses. First, is the idea that we care for our marginalized un-American? What about looking out for the common welfare (after all, we do ensure that every American can get a free education)? Is it un-American for us to create a system in which middle aged women don't have to die a death that could have been prevented? If the answer to these questions is "yes," then go ahead and call me un-American. I'd rather be labeled un-American than indifferent to those in need. Perhaps completely economic liberty is not the highest good. The Bible certainly seems to challenge such an assumption.

HEALTHCARE IS A RIGHT, NOT A PRIVILEGE. As our system currently stands, the wealthy of America have the best healthcare in the world. They can demand all the treatments no matter how crackpot they may be (provided that they can shell out the cash). The poor, on the other hand, get screwed. In other words, a young woman's right to life is dependent upon what class she is born into. If she's born into wealth, she has no worries; if poverty, then she may fall through the cracks like so many others have done. But I believe that the right to see a doctor and receive minimal medication and care ought not to be a privilege of the wealthy. Instead, it should be available to all regardless of economic standing. Think of the absurdity that we mandate the government to provide a school and education for all children, but don't guarantee that they can be made healthy enough to attend that school. Which is a more basic human right? I would argue that physical health is even more foundational than education. But currently we provide one and not the other.