Natalie's Narrative

Attack mode

Out to lunch the other day with a couple of co-workers, we ended up, in a moment of self-realization, cracking up at our tendency to contradict anything and everything.  The three of us consisted of two attorneys and an attorney-to-be (will be licensed in November 2012, not that I'm counting down or anything...).  We ended up in healthy debates about a lot of things, from what it's like to own a small business to Derrick Rose's height.  I even resorted to looking up his height on my smart phone to end once and for all the debate over whether he was 6'2" or 6'3" (gah! lawyers!).  

photo © 2011 Keith Allison | more info (via: Wylio)

One of my co-workers jokingly remarked that she does all this research about the Bulls just so she can argue about it later.  Her comment reminded me that I have this same mentality when it comes to my faith and my political beliefs.  I have the tendency to read books, a newspaper article, or even Scripture through the lens of "How can this support my view so that I can refute others if I need to?"  

This tendency probably stems from the fact that, in the last 3 years in school and at my job as a paralegal, I have been taught to read through cases with a bias toward my client's situation.  I'm not sure if most people are sure how our system of law works here, but basically, attorneys have the job of playing up favorable decisions and distancing the harmful ones.  Cases that have been decided in our jurisdiction have the force of law--the same as statutes. (This is why conservatives' whines about "activist judges" come across as so ignorant to me).  Therefore, if a previously-decided case addresses our client's predicament, you better hope the outcome will be in your client's favor.  If not, you better distinguish that puppy.

So when I read books like, say, The Rise and Fall of the Bible, or even fiction ones like The Hunger Games, I am constantly searching for a good point or a helpful argument that can knock down my hypothetical opponents.  I don't think this is healthy, and probably causes me to miss out on actually learning something.  Of course, to rectify this I don't expect to come to any text with a blank slate, and I don't realistically expect to set aside my biases.  This would be ignoring an important point that postmodernism has taught us.  But, I do want to get out of this "attack mode" while reading.  Winning an argument should not be the end goal of learning or reading. Does anyone else do this, or am I the only one?

The "Bible" of the early church

photo © 2006 jkfid | more info (via: Wylio)

 

Thanks to yet another Jesus Creed post, this time by Chris Ridgeway, I came across some more interesting ideas about early Christianity and Scripture.  Ridgeway's post on Jesus Creed is a review of Tim Challies' book, The Next Story: Life and Faith after the Digital Explosion, which Ridgeway is very qualified to review because he wrote his thesis on media ecology and Scripture.  

If you hop over to Ridgeway's blog, theodigital, you can read chapters from his book, which have been a great read so far.  Chapter 4, The Bible as Medium, relates to Timothy Beal's points in The Rise and Fall of the Bible:

A new Christian in Corinth would have heard Paul write, "For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures," (1 Cor 15.3) and understood the scriptures to be that of traditio, the same scripture Jesus understood scripture—the generational stewardship of the story and the witness of the people of God and the past and present action of God.

And new witness to this story was being written. The setting of the New Testament epistles was the Roman system of roads which allowed swift passage of messengers carrying scrolls. The epistolary form of the New Testament books are not disguised, and Paul‘s writings were spoken orally to a scribe—using the traditional Hellenistic forms of the day—and then delivered by a trusted messenger, who was charged not only with delivery but speaking the letter aloud.

Ridgeway mentions that how these writings ended up as "Scripture" was a thorny question.  Many modern-day Christians have super-imposed our view of how the Bible came to be:

Craig Allert explains the "binder mentality" of evangelicals like B. B. Warfield, who viewed each new book of scripture as dropped into a three-ring binder as they were finished—completing in 98 CE when the Apostle John finished the book of Revelation.  Allert argues that one does not need to cede a high view of scripture while acknowledging that the church has quite definitely not always equated scripture ("authoritative") with canon ("defined collection"). Indeed, he convincingly shows that the early church‘s conception of scripture was "fairly fluid," compiling a list of apostolic fathers that cite what would be considered non-canonical today.

Ridgeway then gives an overview of the history of Scripture, all the way to the present, and how its form affects our view of the Bible: 

[A]s we chart the eras of the people of God, we see that that variations in communications media have meant variations in what the Scriptures were. Yes, it‘s fair to say that writing itself has played a majority part in the history of scriptures. But evidence shows that we cannot associate this with the fixity of the printing press and assumptions of mass literacy. The medium and context of their use, who used them and how they were arranged have changed the perception of scripture through time. Scripture is not a Book.

Written word as disembodied word

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us...   John 1:14

If you haven't checked out the comments on Wednesday's Jesus Creed post, The End of Evangelicalism 4, you are missing out!  Scot McKnight is reviewing David Fitch's The End of Evangelicalism, and this latest installment dealt with moving away from an "inerrant" view of Scripture, which entails defending its correctness.  

Earlier this week, I explored Timothy Beal's deconstruction in The Rise and Fall of the Bible of the verses that allegedly establish the Bible's inerrancy and God-breathed-ness, as well as the context that brought us the Bible we know today.  In light of Beal's book, the below comment from John Frye caught my eye:

What about all those souls living on orality alone before the Scriptures were written? The Old Testament saints and New Testament believers lived under the authority of God–the Person of God. Think of all the believers who faithfully stayed true to God before the printing press and did not have personal access to the written Word of God. They, too, lived under the authority of the present God. That we have the Bible, a written revelation of God’s Person and Will, is fantastic, but we must not make the Bible something that it does not say it is– a substitute for God or His authority. We are ‘authorized’ by a Person not a Book.

So true.  I have wondered what a strong emphasis on individually studying the written Word in our "quiet times" has done to our faith.  Also, bordering on biblio-atry, evangelicals hold up the Bible (the Ten Commandments part, not the more-challenging Beatitudes!) as the ultimate instruction manual for living, with propositions that create binaries of right-and-wrong, errant-and-inerrant.  Whoever controls the interpretation of this text is the arbiter of right and wrong.  This is our idea of authority, and to be faithful to Scripture, one cannot stray from this definition of inerrancy/authority.

photo © 2008 Mel Silvers | more info (via: Wylio)

Similarly, a link in the Jesus Creed comments led me to N.T. Wright's discussion of Scripture's authority, in which Wright remarked, "evangelicals do not have any tradition.  We simply open the scripture, read what it says, and take it as applying to ourselves: there the matter ends, and we do not have any ‘tradition.’"

Wright's comment may seem contradictory to the idea that evangelicals relish their definition of "authority" of the Bible, because tradition is usually linked to authority.  But I take it as a keen observation of the idea that there is nothing standing between the Christian and her Bible, which at times can devolve into an unhealthy individualism.  The Reformation critiqued the fact that intermediaries were coming between a Christian and God/the Bible, but perhaps we have taken this critique too far. 

I would imagine it would be more difficult to have Scripture play the role of an individual, tradition-less, instruction book in an ancient Near East, oral-based, mostly illiterate, tradition-rich culture - with bulky, communal scrolls.

As perhaps a link between the ancient Near Eastern and the modern Western views of Scripture, Wright shifts the notion of authority from defending correctness to instead rooting authority in the people (church) living out and re-creating God's redemptive story.  He feels that this is one of the reasons that Scripture has so much story and narrative.  When you think about it, the Bible's a pretty sorry rule book - Deuteronomy advises to stone obedient children!  Wright explains:

Story authority, as Jesus knew only too well, is the authority that really works.  Throw a rule book at people’s head, or offer them a list of doctrines, and they can duck or avoid it, or simply disagree and go away.  Tell them a story, though, and you invite them to come into a different world; you invite them to share a world-view or better still a ‘God-view’.  That, actually, is what the parables are all about.  They offer, as all genuine Christian story-telling the does, a world-view which, as someone comes into it and finds how compelling it is, quietly shatters the world-view that they were in already.  Stories determine how people see themselves and how they see the world.  Stories determine how they experience God, and the world, and themselves, and others.  

I recommend reading Wright's entire lecture - it's lengthy but completely worth it.  Here's my takeaway: when the Bible is simply a written word, with black and white text that provides instructions and a moral code, we're missing out on the embodied story we could really be showing the world.  For example, the parable of the prodigal son can in one sense be a lesson (read by myself during my quiet time) that God forgives, and a warning against envy when God forgives a particularly horrible sinner.  

However, isn't the parable so much more powerful when, as witness to the world, God's people live it out over and over again?  I mean in a really scandalous, offensive way, like showing mercy in the most repugnant of situations.  Living out this story powerfully demonstrates the truth or "correctness" of the Gospel, and thus its authority, as opposed to throwing a rule book at people's heads...

Taking a stand on divisive issues?

The recent controversy with Sojourners' refusal to run a LGBTQ ad reminded me of a post by Emily Hunter McGowin I shared previously.  Emily states:

[T]he luxury of affirming women in ministry as a secondary issue is available only to those who are not of the "second sex." When you are a woman, the will of God for your place in the Kingdom of God is a primary issue--one that cannot be brushed aside simply to avoid conflict.

Fred Clark, aka Slacktivist, commented on the Sojourners controversy yesterday, characterizing Jim Wallis this way:

[Wallis] opposes legal abortion and the full acceptance in the church of GLBT people. Those have never been his primary issues, and he seems to have avoided discussing them whenever possible, seeming to regard them as divisive distractions from his core message and the work that has absorbed most of his life. His take on both matters is also far more nuanced and far less strident than the usual American evangelical approach to them. Indeed, a central theme in his message for his fellow evangelicals has been that these issues should not be of pre-eminent importance to them and that they should stop obsessing about them and get busy instead doing the sorts of things that Jesus actually told them to be doing.

An organization has the right to define its goals and expend energy on whatever it chooses.  I get that.  I also understand that Clark's description of Wallis may not be 100% accurate - Wallis may instead feel bound by Sojourners' more conservative advertisers.  Preserving unity is a worthy goal, and Sojourners has been able to accomplish a lot by being a bridge between progressive and conservative Christians.  

photo © 2005 Joshua Rappeneker | more info (via: Wylio)

However, as a (post) evangelical woman, the lack of willingness to take a stand on "divisive issues" cuts deep. Many Christians hold the belief that, if women were to be in a teaching or governing position within the church, "destructive consequences in our families, our churches, and the culture at large" will result.  This limitation, and the "doomsday" result if I don't hold to these strictures, is an affront to who I am as a human being.

The issue of gender roles is not an abstract theological debate that should be set aside at times for the sake of unity; rather, it's a deeply personal issue that affects how young girls and women view themselves.  It affects career paths.  It affects what some may feel is God's genuine calling on their lives.

Observing the Sojourners flap, I've realized that people who are LGBTQ--regardless of whether they are Christians--may feel the same way.  Yes, avoiding divisiveness to accomplish goals like reducing hunger and fighting immigration injustices is great, but when it comes at a deeply painful cost to some, I have second thoughts.  

I recognize that one's sexuality is not all there is to a human being, but being denied by a community based on your sexuality is a hurtful, personal matter.  It goes beyond a debate about the interpretation of a handful of passages of Scripture.  

So, no, I cannot "stop obsessing" about women's roles, and I'm sure the LGBTQ community cannot stop obsessing about whether their identity is sinful.

As a side note, a common reaction to the OneWheaton campaign by those outside the evangelical community is confusion: why would a gay student choose to attend a school like Wheaton, which has clearly defined its view that being LGBTQ = sin?  I respond with another question: why should a person who happens to be gay be forced to automatically espouse a more liberal faith?  What if many in the LGBTQ community don't necessarily agree with more liberal churches on other issues?

Along those same lines, what if many women would rather remain in their more conservative communities, but instead are pushed out (either directly or indirectly) when they choose to become pastors or theology professors?  Wouldn't it be great if anti-LGBTQ folks, and the progressives who appease them, stopped to think about the deeply personal dimension of their beliefs?

Inerrancy...with a side of fries

"[T]here are significant variants among the earliest surviving manuscripts of Revelation. Although most manuscripts say that the infamous "mark of the beast" is 666, for example, the earliest known copy, which dates to the late third or early fourth century, has 616. Another has 665." (p. 107, The Rise and Fall of the Bible)

While working the drive-through window at a fast food restaurant during a summer home from college, I gave a customer her total, $6.66.  Being in the buckle of the Bible belt, the lady was certainly aware of this symbol from the book of Revelation, and she didn't like the fact that the amount due for her fast food bill somehow meant...well...I'm not sure what she thought it meant.  

The customer I dealt with was concerned about paying this amount of $6.66, and wanted to change it. So she made me ring up a small order of fries.  Oh, and there was a long line of cars behind her...

The point is, this number of 666, the "mark of the beast," means a lot to some people, because one book in the Bible has apparently assigned it this meaning.  Therefore, because the infallible, inerrant, God-breathed Holy Bible finds the number 666 important, so too must good, Bible-believing Christians.

photo © 2004 Karin Dayspring | more info (via: Wylio)

In chapter 5 of The Rise and Fall of the Bible, author Timothy Beal discusses the idea of a closed canon and the "inspired" nature of the Bible.  To early Christians, there was no concept of a closed canon. Rather, scrolls and letters were passed around and copied, from community to community.  

So what does it mean, then, when II Timothy 3:16 says that "all Scripture is inspired by God"?  Which Scripture?  Beal points out that Paul was probably referring solely to the Jewish Scriptures, as there was no such thing as "the Bible" at this time.  In fact, the earliest of the Gospel accounts wasn't even written until long after Paul's death.

Another reference in the Bible to (what we think is) the Bible itself is found in Revelation 22:18-19, which gives a warning to those who add to the "words of the prophecy of this book."  Beal points out that the Greek word biblion also means "scroll."  It should mean "scroll" in this context.  He explains:

This passage is often used to argue that the Bible claims its own authority, that its perfect inerrancy is built in, and that messing with even one jot or tittle of it is grounds for damnation.  But just because this writing, originally a scroll [...], eventually ended up as the last book of the New Testament and thus the Christian Bible doesn't mean that its warning here refers to the whole Bible.  "This scroll" (a more accurate and less misleading translation) circulated independently for hundreds of years before it was bound together in a big book along with what eventually became the Christian canon of Scripture. (p. 107).

Beal makes another interesting point about the inclusion of Revelation in the official canon. "[It] was a matter of dispute among many Christian leaders well into the fourth century.  And its author could never have even imagined such a thing as the Bible.  Not even in his wildest dreams." (p. 107).

Beal's exploration of the very verses that give the Bible its own authority is a reminder that the world, Christianity, and church that gave us the New Testament are probably not what we imagine.  Perhaps we should be careful, then, not to assign meaning to the text that isn't supposed to be there.

A third gender

India conducted its census earlier this year, and the government made an interesting change to the census forms.  They added a third option for gender.  I just came across an article from the Population Reference Bureau, which explains:

Hijras have a long tradition in South Asia. Their dancing and singing at births and marriages are seen as good luck by many as well as being somewhat annoying. They are given money on these occasions as well as in some holiday seasons. More attention has been focused onhijras since campaigns against HIV/AIDS got underway in India and they are usually considered a high-risk group. Much support and care for HIV-positive hijras has been provided by the Naz Foundation, headquartered in Delhi who welcomed the development as treating eunuchs as legitimate members of society.

The “third sex” is far from a recent concept in many parts of the world, having existed for thousands of years. References to a third sex (triteeyaprakrti in Sanskrit) appeared at least as early as the 2nd century B.C. In Pakistan in 2009, the Supreme Court ordered that eunuchs be given national identification cards identifying their special gender status. But the inclusion of a three-response question on sex in a traditional census enumeration must be a first.  And, not long afterwards, Nepal announced that it will do the same in its 2011 Census, which begins in May.

I'm intrigued by the fact that such socially conservative countries have granted these rights and recognition to its transgendered population.  India, Pakistan, and Nepal aren't the only nations facing differences in how we think about gender -- I previously shared how, in Papua New Guinea and in Kenya, constructs of gender are different than the constructs we see here in the U.S.  Also, I was surprised by the long history of the notion of a third sex.  

Photo credit

The missional church and multi-ethnicity

Efrem Smith shared a post yesterday that is a must-read.  The missional movement is, as Smith describes, "both about a theological foundation known as missional ecclesiology and the process of the church engaging culture for the advancement of the Kingdom of God."  But, a lot of its key players and experts are white.  

While reading these experts' books on the missional church, Smith realized that, by virtue of being raised in the African-American and multi-ethnic urban church, he has been part of a truly organic missional movement.  However, Smith points out that the conversations about the missional church have been dominated by white folks -- and if I may add, they have been dominated by men as well. Smith continues:

The African-American Church has a history of community engagement, development, and transformation. You can look at the missional impact of the Civil Right  Movement as an example. Why missional theologians and practitioners ignore and marginalize the African-American Church is hard to understand. 

[...]

In today’s increasing multi-ethnic and multicultural reality, this must change. There is a need for a Post-Black, Post-White Church theology. This theology must include liberation and reconciliation theology. A true missional movement must be Christ-centered and multi-ethnic. If this isn’t the case, all the missional discussion is just a re-hashing and a recycling of the White Church. 

Edward Gilbreath discusses this in his book, Reconciliation Blues, although not specifically in the context of a missional church setting.  Nonetheless, perhaps Gilbreath's book--and Smith's blog--should be required reading along with the Caucasian-American authors who dominate the missional landscape?  

photo © 2008 Sergio Feria | more info (via: Wylio)

And the challenge then becomes practically how to avoid this marginalization...much easier said than done.  I'm far from an expert on this, but I suggest the first step is to get out of our ghettos. Ghettoization (as in isolation from others) is a big problem because we all naturally tend to congregate with those who look like ourselves and share a similar cultural background, whether in a church setting or in our neighborhoods.  

Obviously there is a long, complicated history that explains why we are so separate.  But consciously pushing against this tendency and fighting this ghettoization would be a great first step.  I have learned so much about myself and about others while living in a predominantly Mexican-American community the past 3 years.  Of course this suggestion is just one of many, and isn't a simple one, but it's a start.

Hopefully soon we will begin to see the church as a whole--and specifically those in the missional movement--realize that this venture must be multi-ethnic.  It would be a shame if we didn't move in this direction, especially because the church globally is certainly no longer European.

Incompatible

I came across a couple of posts this weekend that highlighted how incompatible and incongruous it is to be an American and a Christian at the same time.  Learning about the contradictory and completely self-serving nature of American foreign policy--American exceptionalism--has been a major factor in my journey to pacifism.

John Harris at Red Letter Christians shares A Humble Obituary for Osama bin Laden.  He does an excellent job of pointing out that American foreign policy is mired in hypocrisy and relativism.  Harris notes that bin Laden, with his Saudi wealth, "became a leader and an organizer in the rebellion against the Soviet invasion.  He would later work with the US government, receiving economic and military assistance to defend the Afghan people against the Soviets."

Bin Laden began to articulate a worldview and formed a network: "In a similar fashion to the conjecture of the Western nations, Al-Qaeda believed in the use of force to conquer its objectives."  

It amazes me that Americans feel justified in the use of force because we are convinced we are right. Guess what - everyone else is convinced they are right too.

Harris points out that, not only has the U.S. provided aid to bin Laden, but we provide $2 billion a year to the Israeli government, mostly in weapons.  We are exporters of billions of dollars in aid and weapons, and we continue with our drones and other military efforts in Afghanistan and Iraq (and who knows - some top secret SEALS-only efforts elsewhere?)  But it's okay, because "these people" need freedom and democracy.  Gosh, we might kill a lot of them in the process...but it's justified.  

When all sides are convinced that they have the only correct worldview, and it's perfectly acceptable to use force to ensure this worldview is implemented, we all lose.  Or, as the old saying goes, an eye for an eye leaves everyone blind.  So, living in a country that has absolutely no problem with directing billions of dollars, thousands of soldiers' and civilians' lives, and a lot of energy toward using force to spread its view of the world is a challenge to a Christian.  

(I say Christian without any qualifiers because, as Michael L. Westmoreland-White points out, “Christian” should automatically mean “pacifist,” but it hasn’t since Constantine’s shotgun marriage of church and empire.)

photo © 2009 Deborah Austin | more info (via: Wylio)

Of course a nation is going to have a self-serving foreign policy, and of course everyone is going to consider their views the most correct.  And every nation will feel they have the right to defend themselves (however, recent U.S. military actions have been much more offensive than defensive).

It would be ridiculous to expect a nation to think otherwise, so the challenge for me comes to a head when I claim to follow Jesus.  His words are damning to U.S. policy:

How am I supposed to truly pray the Lord's Prayer and forgive those who trespass against us, when I live in a country that dropped two atomic bombs, which killed around 200,000 civilians (no one knows the exact death toll because the bombs caused sheer annihilation)?

How am I supposed to truly love my neighbor, when I live in a country that has a military budget this year of $708 billion, while at the same time, 16,000 children die each day from hunger-related causes?

How am I supposed to truly turn the other cheek when my government finds it completely acceptable to kill its enemy rather than bring him to trial -- and 86% of my fellow Americans approve of this decision?

I wish I could live in blissful ignorance and wave my American flag every time the news breaks about the latest victory in the war on terror.  I wish I could simply interpret Jesus' words to apply only on an individual level (they are just as hard to follow on an individual level, unfortunately).  But I can't - I've already taken that red pill.  So I struggle to reconcile this incompatibility...somehow.

Niche marketing...diluting the Word

[P]opular culture has really become synonymous with consumer culture.  To make something popular requires making it appealing to consumers.  Is there any aspect of popular culture that can't be purchased or made into an object of consumer desire?  If there is, it won't remain so for long.  In this cultural climate, the mission to popularize Christianity, especially the Bible, means promoting it within consumer culture, generating consumer desire for it.  In today's world, the mission of popularizing the Bible, of making it widely available, accessible, and attractive, is increasingly a marketing program.  (p. 73)  --The Rise and Fall of the Bible

Timothy Beal points out in The Rise and Fall of the Bible that American evangelicalism, with American popular culture, has created a "biblical consumerism," where there are "no regulations other than the free market and the consciences of Bible publishers and consumers" (p. 76).

The analogy with consumerism and marketing breaks down, however, because the un-copyrightable Bible is constantly extended into the market, which results in "brand dilution." 

This emphasis on brands and consumerism--how doing church has turned into an experiment in niche marketing--reminded me of Paul Louis Metzger's Consuming Jesus: Beyond Race and Class Divisions in a Consumer Church.  I started reading this book in 2008 right before law school, so I only got about 60 pages in.  However I'm not giving up on it, and Beal's book has motivated me to finish Metzger's.  

photo © 2008 Cliff | more info (via: Wylio)

Anyway, I do know so far that Metzger's goal is to overcome American Christians' interest "only in a privileged few--upwardly mobile, white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, heterosexual males and their families" (p. 3).  He wants to overcome the divisions in race and class in evangelicalism's consumer-market-driven outreach.

Because the focus of evangelicalism is a mandate to spread the Word, we have turned to soph-isticated theories of marketing and advertising to fulfill the Great Commission.  Using these resources isn't necessarily a bad thing -- isn't this the ultimate contextualization?  

But one of the potentially dangerous ideas that can come out of this synthesis of Christianity, consumerism, and marketing is that homo-geneous churches tend to grow the fastest. Niche marketing, so deftly employed by Madison Avenue, works even in a religious context.  Metzger notes: "Many churches find that the best way to grow is to 'target' a particular niche audience or demographic and determine what religious product best scratches that group's itch" (p. 47).  

So evangelical churches see "success" in numbers and growth, but everyone looks like each other. Metzger thinks that Americans have failed "to grasp how evil and dehumanizing the consumer-market forces can be.  We tend to see the market forces and consumerism as benign and basic to our existence--even beautiful" (p. 43).  

Targeting niche groups of people, seeing them as data and figuring out the best way to meet their needs--either in church growth or, as Beal points out, marketing the Bible--has neutered the message of the Gospel.  We have cocooned ourselves within the walls of our churches, and even our Bibles are crafted to meet our needs.  It would be really difficult for a church to truly open its doors to "the other," whether that person is homeless and hasn't bathed in awhile, or is simply a single mom who doesn't fit into the programs and image of a "family unit."  Or, each group has set off on its own. Race provides the most stark example -- 11:00 am Sunday morning is supposed to be the most segregated hour in America.

Because our goal is to spread the Gospel, which has morphed into "appealing to consumers," we can't offend the consumer with a challenge of true communion, reconciliation, or other in-your-face social issues.  Instead, let's keep it somewhat simple and focus on personal piety, throwing in an international/global focus so we're not always navel-gazing.  Oh and look, you even get your own Mom/Teen/Grandmother/Faithgirlz/Men's Bible, just for you.

Doesn't breaking down the body of Christ into easily-marketed-to homogenous units dilute the Word, which is supposed to break down walls instead and bring reconciliation?  Metzger seems to think so. In an incisive critique, he asks:

When Christ returns, will he find faith, the kind of faith that engages suffering and breaks down walls of division between people -- or not?  What he certainly will find is some version of the shopping-mall church, with wonderful sound systems for the praise songs and a latte-to-go.  If we think of latte as a new metaphor for the "opiate of the masses," we can see that the evangelical church often functions as an opiate of the consumer masses. (p. 6)

Re-creating a reality that suits us

 

An interesting part of the events surrounding the killing of Bin Laden is the fact that Sohaib Athar, an Abbottabad, Pakistan resident, tweeted the attack as it happened.  If you read through his timeline, it's clear that Athar, despite being hounded by the media and twitterers since the news broke, is a level-headed and humorous guy.

 

After the attack on Bin Laden's compound, but before any announcement of what actually happened, Athar jokingly--I assume--comments about recreating a reality that suits us.  Later, Athar tweets the above, about the "official story."

I find it so intriguing that one of the only witnesses of such a newsworthy, symbolic event has this perspective -- and even his twitter handle speaks to this phenomenon!  Governments, terrorist networks, religions, and even individuals all carefully attempt to craft official stories and create realities that suit us.

The most convenient and comforting reality created and re-created by my government and a lot of its citizens is that we are the harbingers of freedom, democracy, and capitalism.  Things are much more black and white when "the bad guy" is killed, and any moral shortcomings are of course not on the USA's part.  

For example, reports came out that Bin Laden used his wife as a shield, which I'm sure further fueled many Americans' hatred of him.  Now that a clearer picture is surfacing, we know (or do we really...) that Bin Laden and others with him were unarmed and that his wife ran toward the U.S. attackers before she was shot.  The image in most of our minds, a woman being used as a shield while Bin Laden cowers behind her, quickly dissolves.  Here's a take from Slate, and another one from Salon (h/t Art) on the myths and revised narratives of Bin Laden.

photo © 2009 dennis crowley | more info (via: Wylio)

There are more realities than just international relations-based ones - we have domestic stories, too. For some, the wealthy need the freedom from taxation, so they can stimulate the economy and create jobs. For others, it's not fair for the wealthy to have an equal or lesser tax burden.  "Cutting taxes" is a huge plus for conservatives, but often it's code for placing the burden of budget cuts on teachers, factory workers, and low-income families who are forced to rely on government aid.  

It happens with Christians, too.  The New York Times has a feature on David Barton, who promotes a reality that "the United States was founded as a Christian nation and is on the road to ruin, thanks to secularists and the Supreme Court."  

Whatever side you may be on --or somewhere in between -- usually someone has created a tidy story that justifies which positions to take. Whether it's about a specific historical event, the ongoing budget debates, or the separation of church and state, we are fed a story from the media, government, and even self-styled "historians" like Barton.  So I make an effort to listen and read with care, and I try to avoid taking any "official" narrative at face value.  How do I do this?

• The internet:

The internet makes poking holes in any created reality much easier -- who knows who will be unknowingly live-tweeting the next historical event?  It becomes trickier for a government to craft their version of events when someone else has already described part of what happened.  So I rely on the internet, of course.  The internet has its own set of problems though, as we saw with the recent misquoting of both Mark Twain and Martin Luther King, Jr.  Even still, the democratization and de-centralization of information makes the web a great tool.

• Relationships:

Another important aspect in getting down to the nitty-gritty is actually engaging in relationships and listening to people's stories.  This is especially true for immigration. Each person's anecdotal evidence can obviously end up supporting any side, but I guarantee if you get to know immigrants as fellow human beings, the reality created by some quickly falls apart.  Here's a good example: Undercover Gringo: The microeconomics of an illegal immigrant in Oklahoma.

• Global perspective:

Gaining a global perspective has been an immense help for me in countering the often-incorrect narratives created by governments and Christians.  And it encompasses the first two tools, the internet and personal relationships.  Realizing my place in the world as a wealthy American Christian has affected my views on foreign policy, and I've realized my government is not the pure, moral, democracy-bringing actor it portrays itself to be.

Recognizing that there are many "official stories" in play doesn't mean that I am completely relativistic when it comes to truth.  I just feel that it's important to maintain a healthy skepticism about what the media, governments, and even some Christians tell us.  I wonder what stories I'm still taking at face value, despite my efforts to be aware?