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.

Gran Torino: A Profoundly Christian Movie

Warning: This post contains spoilers. If you plan to watch Gran Torino and don't want the end ruined, then read no further.

Gran Torino tells the tale of a grouchy, hardened Korean veteran whose wife has just passed away. Mad at his kids, mad at his neighbors, and mad at life, Walt Kowalski (Clint Eastwood) gradually experiences a conversion through his relationship with the teenage Hmong brother and sister who live next door. Seeking to payback a gang of ruthless thugs for beating and raping the young Sue Lor (Ahney Her), Walt Kowalski seems set on some vintage Eastwood payback. However, the viewer is surprised to find that Walt, who has struggled with guilt his whole live over his immoral behavior during the Korean war, chooses to instead stand before the gang and allow them to shot him -- ensuring that they go to jail (since there were many eye-witnesses) and effectively ending the cycle of violence which could easily have escalated beyond control.

I found this film to be profoundly Christian in that is serves as an excellent illustration of ancient theories of atonement. As he his riddled with bullets, Walt falls to the ground in the shape of a cross -- a clear allusion to the Christ story. Whereas movies abound which venerate the substitutionary view of the atonement (e.g. Denzel Washington's Man on Fire), Gran Torino points to a much more sophisticated understanding of what exactly happened at the cross. By allowing himself to be consumed by evil rather than resisting evil with violence, Walt attains a victory much more complete than mere retaliation could have ever provided. Christ also chose to remain silent before his accusers and to "absorb" evil, thus defeating it.

Cycles of violence plague our world. Israelites kill Palestinians who kill more Israelites who kill more Palestinian. Violence begets more violence. I must confess that deep down inside I was rooting for Walt to storm the gang's lair and blow off a few heads. And yet, unlike William Wallace in Braveheart or Edmond Dantes in The Count of Monte Cristo, our hero "leaves room for God's wrath" by not seeking revenge. He stands as a model for us all who are confronted with evil. Shall we meet evil with more evil, violence with more violence, or will we walk in the footsteps of Christ and "absorb" evil, effectively opening a door to the deescalation of conflict and paving the path to peace?

I find such a theory of the atonement far more satisfying than the substitutionary view which Steve Chalk has called an example of "divine child abuse." To whom was the "debt" of the cross paid? Not to God who does not demand blood, but to the Satan which thinks it is gaining a victory but is in fact swallowing its own poison. Why did Christ die? Gran Torino and the early church fathers answer the question in this way: He died to show us how we might live. He died to bring "peace on earth and goodwill toward men." He died as a role model to all of us so that we -- humankind -- have an exit from the unending cycle of violence. He died to give us a preview of the shalom which is at the heart of God and which will one day become the Ultimate Reality. This is precisely why the apostle Paul commands us who claim to follow Jesus to "know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead" (Philippians 3:10-11).

Sadly, too many Christians have missed the point. They need to re-read the Scriptures through the lens of non-violent opposition to evil or, failing that, to at least watch Gran Torino several times. Followers of Jesus must cease imitating William Wallace, and start imitating Walk Kowalski.

Who would have thought it? Clint Eastwood teaching us non-violence and atonement theory!

Batter My Heart

I stumbled across this beautiful poem today. John Donne, my favorite poet, was a true mystic. Oh, that God would answer this prayer for me.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

The First Abolitionist

The rise of modern ethical values such as tolerance, equality, and fraternity is supposedly rooted in Western Enlightenment ideals of the 17th and 18th centuries -- or so secular historians would have us believe. Not so, challenges David Bentley Hart in his masterful work "Atheist Delusions." The narrative of Western history which most of us have come to accept, which I had accepted before Hart opened my eyes, sounds something like this:

Once there were rich, diverse cultures that embraced polytheism. No god was seen as superior to another god and, therefore, no religious war needed to be fought. These happy pagans celebrated uninhibited sexuality and enjoyed fine food and wine. Unfortunately, a monothestic, exclusionary religion named Christianity emerged within the pluralistic culture of Rome and eventually began to extinguish all dissenting religious opinions through power, wealth, and corruption. This monster-religion wedded itself to kings and princes in the West and, as a result, scientific advancement was stunted, wars over miniscule points of doctrine were waged, and the freedom of ideas vanished into history. Christianity brought upon the West nothing but ruin -- the dark ages, the Crusades, the perpetual ignorace of the masses, the wars of religion, etc. Thankfully, a few brave individuals sparked a philosophical and rational revolution which would eventually overthrow the tyranny of the Church in what we today celebrate as the Enlightenment. Today's modern values concerning individual human life, ownership of private property, tolerance and pluralism, and the liberty to pursue happiness found their birth only after the tyranny of the Church had been overcome and unadulterated reason was allowed to prevail. In other words, today we celebrate the civil rights movement, the equality of women, the freedom of the press, and so on and so on because a few brave men snubbed the Pope. Or so the great scholars Dawkins, Hitchens, and Co. would have us believe.

Hart debunks this mythology piece by piece. He demonstrates how Christianity has been a force for good in the West and how the grander ideals of our moral consciences are rooted in the biblical, Judeo-Christian story rather than in the godless Voltaires that Dawkins so admires.

One example. Much to my delight, I have recently discovered that abolitionism was born not out of the post-Enlightenment West. No, the earliest abolitionist is none other than Gregory of Nyssa. And the precursor to all the brilliant diatribes of Fredrick Douglass, William Lloyd Garrison, and Sojourner Truth was preached during Lent in the year 379.

Hart explains: "Whatever it is we think we mean by human 'equality,' we are able to presume the moral weight of such a notion only because far deeper down in the historical strata of our shared Western consciousness we retain the memory of an unanticipated moment of spiritual awakening, a delighted and astonished intellectual response to a single historical event: the proclamation of Easter. It was because of his faith in the risen Christ that Gregory could declare in his commentary on the Beatitudes, without any irony or reserve, that if Christians truly practiced the mercy commanded of them by their Lord humanity would no longer admit of divisions within itself between slavery and mastery, poverty and wealth, shame and honor, infirmity and strength, for all things would be held in common and all persons would be equal one with another" (180).

Just imagine... the thought of abolitionism was almost unthinkable to most Unionists even during the American Civil War in the 1860's! (We are, by and large, incapable of thinking outside of our context. Hence we who read Western history are often aghast to find even the most powerful of intellects spewing forth prejudice and ignorant hatred). And yet we find sprouting up within the fertile soil of post-resurrection Christianity a single shoot already reaching to the sky and crying, "Free all slaves! Slavery as an institution is vile!" Abolitionism does not date back merely to the mind of William Wilberforce; it can be found over 1300 years earlier in the mind of a Christian mystic and theologian.

This is but one example of Hart's demolition of the atheist's narrative of history. But I revel in it. I glory in the rich, life-giving, beauty-embracing ethic of my faith. David Hart gives Hitchens the academic middle finger and I applaud it and laugh with delight as he does.

The Medium is the Message

"The medium is the message" was a famous statement made by Marshall McLuhan and I am reflecting on its veracity. Having been raised in the evangelical tradition, I have always been taught that the media we use to present the gospel does not have any significance -- the unchanging message is the only thing that matters. But does something about the message of the gospel become cheapened or compromised by plastering it on a billboard or summarizing it in a pamphlet or blaring it on the radio or broadcasting it on TV? Evangelicals have always been at the forefront of harnessing new technologies for the sake of "winning souls." Whether it was the dawn of the printed page or the radio or the TV or the internet or Facebook, evangelicals have had no hesitations about adopting such media for their cause.

But something within me fears that our uncritical inculcation of new forms of media has actually changed the message. Let's take Jesus for example. What were Christ's media? First, it was the spoken word and the telling of stories. Second, it was in eating; the bread and the wine communicated the gospel to people. Both of these methods are what I would call incarnational. They meet people where they are in the flesh. They are personal, intimate, and community-oriented. Contrast this with the new "Drive-thru churches" or "e-churches" popular in our day. Such media communicate that the gospel is essentially about information rather than relationship, about abstract propositions instead of community. The spoken word and food seem to be the preferred media of God because the form of media that we use is not morally neutral. Media itself communicates a message and can either strengthen that message or undermine it.

When I preach on Sunday before a small, intimate audience of hurting people who are haunted by fears and anxieties and I declare, "Take heart for God has overcome the world!" this is a very different experience than a televangelist impersonally pleading for money before a video camera and persuading his listeners with the words, "Take heart for God has overcome the world!"

I believe that it is no coincidence that teens and twenty-thirty somethings are flocking to churches which use liturgy, symbols, proclamation, and ancient forms of worship such as the Eastern Orthodox Church. In an age so saturated with multiple forms of media, young people hunger for intimacy, community, and incarnationality. Perhaps we would do well to return to the ancient practices of the church rather than trying to innovate by planting churches in hollowed out movie cinemas. Let's trust Christ's preferred media and assume that he knows what he's doing by offering us Word and Sacrament.

(Credit to Warren Cole Smith, author of A Lover's Quarrel with the Evangelical Church, for inspiring me to write this post).

Prayer for a Friend

God of Love,

You have existed in an eternal circle of self-giving from the beginning. Your nature is to love, to submit, to please the Other instead of the self. Because you wish for humanity to join in this unending dance, you teach us to love in the same way. We often fall short, but you stubbornly love us anyway. Like a whore, we wander away and sleep with false gods. We squander your wealth in hedonistic wild living. Yet you remain faithful.

My dear friend wants to be reconciled in his marriage. But she does not seem interested. Give him the strength to imitate your love. May he love her as stubbornly as you love us. Give him a supernatural power to love even when she spits at him, insults him, and crucifies him. And in the process, make him your disciple.

Stamp your image on his life. And pursue her until she cannot resist your grace any longer. Reunite these two in a passionate embrace. Work your miracle of peace as you so love to do.

Amen.

Greg Coates is not an evangelical any more.

Tonight I went to a good ol' fashioned evangelical camp meeting. It's not quite the same as it once was when the holiness people would congregate in tents for a week and walk “the sawdust trial.” Today we've exchanged tents for miniature houses complete with cable TV and Wi-Fi, sawdust trails for carpet, four-part harmony for modern generic praise choruses played by a slick college band, and open-air worship for A/C. But one thing has not changed: the altar.

The preacher this evening spoke about the need to give all to God, stop living an ordinary life and start living an extraordinary one, and replacing our comfort zones with radical, dangerous obedience to Christ. Although the man spoke with a far too polished preacher voice, his message was decent and one that I agree with: stop your mundane existence and be a radical for God. In fact, I've become so convinced of the the necessity that a Christ-follower ought to leave comfort, that my family and I have rejected a middle-class neighborhood, a middle-class house, and a middle-class income in order to do just that.

But I was waiting for the preacher to put teeth on his sermon, to unpack for us a bit what it means to live an extraordinary life. And instead of him suggesting that we sell our possessions and give the money to the poor, or go to Africa and try to stop the violence in Darfur, or reject the upward mobility of American culture and embrace solidarity with the marginalized, or enter the world of the drug addict, or stand up against the military-industrial complex of our nation -- instead of saying anything like that he basically said, “So come to the altar tonight and give your heart to Jesus.”

But what does “giving your heart to Jesus” mean? You see, I am convinced that when conservative evangelicals speak of “giving yourself to God,” they are speaking of a very inward, personal, “spiritual,” change of attitude. They are talking about saying a few words between an individual human and God in heaven. In other words, they are offering a hyper-spiritualized message which might have implications for our inner thoughts, but certainly will not involve something like rejecting middle class American values and ways of life.

I don't mean to downplay the significance of inner spiritual experiences. I've had many and they make me who I am. But at what point do these inner experiences cross the line and enter in to how we really live. At what point does my spirituality start to impact my budget, or the car I drive, or the way I eat, or the people I choose to spend my time with?

It is this hyper-spiritualized gospel which has now led me to officially reject the name “evangelical.” Before this night, I had never shed that descriptor. But I am convinced that I am a different animal than the evangelical. When they use terms like “being born again” or “asking Jesus into your heart” or “making Jesus your personal Lord and Savior,” I think that they are almost always talking purely about an inner, mental/psychological, hyper-spiritualized shift in attitude. Well, I want more than that. I want a religion that reshapes societies, that redeems all of creation, that works tirelessly to bring justice into this world on a social and political level. I want a religion that goes beyond the inner heart of Greg Coates and instead offers an alternative way of living which is a foreshadowing of the Ultimate Reality to be revealed in the last day. Yes, I do want the inner transformation of my own heart, but only because I too am part of a creation needing to be redeemed, and not because the main plot of it all it to get me out of hell and into heaven.

I'm sick of associating with a group that claims to “surrender all” to Christ and yet lives almost completely and entirely like the culture around it. It seems to me that today the ONLY defining characteristics of most evangelicals are that they attend church once a week and are perhaps a bit more judgmental than the average person. I've had enough of being part of that group. I hereby renounce the name evangelical and prefer to instead be called a follower of The Way – something much more radical and exciting than the diluted, neutered message I've heard from evangelicals for so many years.