Natalie's Narrative

The clearest and most forceful teaching in the Bible

I already discussed Chapter 6 of Christian Smith's The Bible Made Impossible, but wanted to dedicate a whole post to one part of the chapter that was challenging and convicting:

[I]t seems as if believers—myself included—distract themselves with the more obscure, speculative, and cryptic issues related to scripture precisely in order to avoid having to face and act on the parts that are very clear and directive. Why address the main issues when one can mess around with peripheral details? It is like a kid fixating all day on exactly how much to shut his bedroom closet door to obscure the mess in his room that his mother told him in no uncertain terms to clean. Wanting and trying to know what we evidently don’t need to know is a great way to avoid having to deal with other, more basic things that we already quite clearly know but prefer to avoid, delay, or ignore.

[...]

...the vast majority of American Christians ignore one of the most pervasive, clear, straightforward, obvious, and simple commandments in scripture: to give away their money generously. [...] The vast majority of American Christians—who in fact are the wealthiest believers in all of history and the world today—give away relatively little of their money to the church or other worthy causes. Some give nothing at all. Yet the Bible simply could not be more persistently clear and forceful in teaching that what we do with our money and possessions is of major spiritual significance, that God commands his people to give and share their money and possessions generously, and that those who are selfish and stingy with their money and possessions will be judged by God. Giving money away is not rocket science. Nearly all ordinary people can do it. Yet only a minority of American Christians does so faithfully.

Why then do so many Christians get so invested in figuring out the intricacies of various biblical and theological matters about which the Bible is not entirely clear when they already don’t and won’t obey scripture on the very clear and simple matter of being generous with money and possessions? How are such believers to expect God to work to deepen their faith and knowledge of spiritual matters when they simply refuse to do what scripture has already made painfully plain and necessary? 

(bold emphasis added).  I'm glad Smith reminds us of this point.  I love to debate about theology, church practice, and politics, but too often I let the most clear and simple command Jesus gave us get lost in the shuffle.  

A hungry person does not care whether I am a Calvinist or Arminian.  A person who has more month than paycheck could give a rat's ass whether I'm a biblicist or a post-conservative Christological-hermeneutic-supporting Barthian student of the Bible (whew!).  

I don't think Smith is advocating anti-intellectualism here, but it's healthy to keep quibbles over such-and-such verse or doctrine in perspective.    

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When I would rather deal with blatant sexists...

Even where no strict injustice is perpetrated against women, they are often plagued by a vague but persistent sense of homelessness.  The social world which they inhabit is not constructed according to "their measure"; it is a male world and they often feel as aliens in it. -Miroslav Volf in Exclusion and Embrace

Last week, I finished an article for my legal writing class, in which I dealt with Antonio Gramsci's definition of "hegemony."  When power is accepted or legitimated through cultural and political institutions and organizations, a hegemonic force is born.  

I appreciate how power is defined, because harmful forces like racism and sexism are usually only recognized in their most blatant forms.  Defining a damaging power as "accepted" and "legitimated" includes those who promote that power passively rather than actively, which is just as damaging.

Defining hegemony this way has made me realize that sexism, within the North American evangelical church, is most insidious not when bellowed by Mark Driscoll, but when individuals and institutions who claim to make space for women still engage in subtle marginalization or passively accept "business as usual."  

I still find it worthwhile to criticize Driscoll, and institutions like the Southern Baptist Convention who use one's position on gender roles as a litmus test for who is a Real True Christian. But I wonder if I should expend more energy on deceptively hidden, seemingly harmless forces that shut out women, or at least make no efforts to overcome the men-only default.

Eugene Cho shared a post on his blog by Michelle Garred, who pointed out that, even within groups that allow female clergy, marginalization persists.  Garred related her experience at a denominational conference:

“So, what do you do for a living in Seattle?” The man looks intently at my husband Brent across the lunch table, and the two become engrossed in a discussion of green building design. I sit and listen, enjoying the conversation, and anticipating that at some point the same question will be directed toward me. But that never happens. Our new acquaintance, who holds a lot of stature at this conference, does not appear to connect the topic of making a living with me as an individual. I don’t know why – the ‘gender vibes’ feel palpable, but I try not to jump to that conclusion. Eventually the conversation moves on. It moves on to the previous night’s sermon, which given by a female pastor who, our new acquaintance proclaims, “preached a sermon as good as any man’s.” Oof. 

[...]

The next day’s lunch queue is very long, so Brent and the man ahead of us strike up a conversation. Where-are-you-from, and what-do-you-do for a living, etc. After three or four minutes, the man eventually looks toward me…because he wants to know: “Do you have any children?”

[...]

...even within this wonderful group of Christians, which has been making ‘space’ for female clergy since the 1970s, there are many people who do not appear to have much space for female professionals. 

Garred illustrates the battle is not over the moment an institution formally allows women leaders.  It might be more difficult to uproot lingering sexism when a group has taken a stand to allow women in leadership.  

I see a lot of parallels with racism: it does not automatically mean one is no longer a racist simply because he doesn't fly the Confederate flag or use the "N" word.  And perhaps a white person becomes less open to recognizing her lingering, unintentional racism when she has acknowledged her privilege and reads Tim Wise.  

In the same way, I don't think efforts to ensure women are not silenced simply end once male-only leadership is formally outlawed.  I'm tired of seeing church after church say leadership roles are not limited to men, yet their entire staff consists of men.  The faces seen at worship services are entirely male (oh, except for the backup singer in the band).  

I can't hear these churches say they accept women because their actions speak so loudly.  The message is still sent to young women: no theologizing for the womenfolk, and male dominance is legitimated by only presenting male faces.  

That women made up only 10% of the pastorate in 2009 reinforces male hegemony.  When females comprise more than 50% of Christians, yet female theologians are rare, male hegemony is reinforced.  Rachel Held Evans threw out a question on Twitter the other day, "Who would you say is the world's most preeminent (contemporary) female theologian?"  Many responded that a woman didn't easily come to mind.  Despite the fact that women are numerically the majority in the church, Volf is right, it's still a male world and Christian women are often made to feel as aliens in it.

Sometimes, to be honest, I'd almost rather deal with communities who openly exclude women, rather than those who claim to make space for all, but still ultimately present, hire, and mentor all men.  But when I start feeling that way, I remember the women and men who are subversively and creatively fighting against this hegemony, and am encouraged...

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Churches and the history of white suburbia...

The always-challenging Efrem Smith recently pointed out the "missional" movement's whiteness:

[T]he missional church conversation is mainly a European-American conversation and to this degree is presented as if the European-American Church is the pioneer of missional ministry in the [U.S.]. I also have an issue with the lack of focus on issues of justice and racial righteousness that is avoided in much of the missional conversation. But, what is really troubling, is that the Black Church and the Urban Church in the [U.S.] is ignored as the true pioneering and Christ-centered forces behind a historic and present model of the Missional Church. Ignoring these church models makes it seem as if an emerging generation of European-American evangelicals discovered a missional approach to ministry through theologians such as Bishop Leslie Newbigin.

A main reason for ignoring black churches is white evangelicals' complicated, uncomfortable history with their black neighbors.  We don't come to a historically-neutral table, even if many white evangelicals claim "It's not my fault, I'm not a racist!  I wasn't alive in the 1950's and '60's!"  

The circumstances behind the creation of the white suburban middle class shouldn't be ignored if white suburban Christians want to be missional.  And, once white suburban Christian realize they should partner with Christians of color rather than exclusively with whites, the suburbs' history still can't remain unacknowledged.

The mass migration from urban areas between the mid-1950's and the 1970's was largely fueled by white privilege, economic injustices, and institutional racism.  As a white suburban Christian myself, I wish more of us acknowledged the ugly past that formed our residential and worship communities.

Anecdotally, I know many white families moved from "the city" to the mostly white town I grew up in when city schools were de-segregated.  White parents did not want their children attending schools with black children, so part of my town's growth was fueled by racist responses to integration. 

On a broader scale, only the economically privileged had the wherewithal to move to suburbs.  Initially, living in suburbia necessarily meant commuting back to the city for work, so an automobile was a must.  And newly-constructed highways cut into urban neighborhoods, whose residents lacked political connections to fight the construction.  Such an imposition "was a traumatic and oppressive event for the people uprooted by the highway's swath."¹  I've discussed the conspiracy behind the beginnings of our "car culture," which suburbia depends on. 

Suburbia wasn't only fueled by injustices, but it perpetuated racial and economic inequality.  Racially restrictive covenants in deeds prohibited white buyers from renting or selling to blacks, which made many suburban areas racially homogeneous and kept many blacks from pursuing the economic mobility that whites enjoyed.

What does the church have to do with the history of the suburbs?  Willow Creek, Saddleback, and countless less prominent churches saw corresponding growth by virtue of their suburban location.  This growth, and megachurches' later influence in evangelicaldom, is not neutral.  

When many well-meaning suburban churches approach the "inner-city" or their low-income suburban neighbors to minister to them, many use simplistic, individual-level solutions that ignore the very reasons behind poverty.  

There's nothing wrong with feeding the homeless, conducting toy drives, or renovating a blighted home, but I would love to see recognition of past harmful structural forces.  Maybe then the church can creatively come up with solutions beyond the individual level.  I like what Shane Claiborne describes here - while still an individual-level response, it allowed a suburban congregation to serve inner-city folks in a dignity-preserving way.  Smith himself provided suggestions yesterday for churches seeking to be missional. 

Also, it's disingenuous to benefit from suburban growth--growth fueled by institutional racism--to enjoy the benefits of participating in an economically-successful Christian movement, and then to turn around and expect our black fellow Christians to simply start over with a clean slate.  

It seems disingenuous to expect to effectively evangelize or serve low-income populations and/or people of color while ignoring the privilege from which white suburbanites benefit.

It seems odd, too, that it rarely occurs to white suburban churches, when they want to focus on the Gospel's economic-justice facets, to partner with black churches, even though black churches have been articulating these facets for years.  (I recognize white suburbanites and black Christians are not monolithic, but use these designations for the sake of critiquing evangelicalism's general historical naivete and homogeneity).

Listening to and joining with a marginalized group, which has often articulated the justice-seeking heart of the Gospel better than white evangelicalism has done, is an important step in addressing historical and current injustices.  It will be more crucial as suburbs become less racially and economically homogeneous.  The poverty rate in the suburbs is on the rise, so the traditional urban-suburban divide is fading.  

Rather than moving even further out to the exurbs or simply shuttering their doors, it would be exciting if white suburban churches acknowledged they benefited from a history of racial and economic injustice.  It would also be exciting if these churches determined not to repeat past mistakes, and resolved to face present-day changes in the suburbs head on.  

___________________

¹ Kevin Douglas Kuswa, Suburbifcation, Segregation, and the Consolidation of the Highway Machine, 3 J. L. Society 31, 45 (2002).

Photo credit - 1st photo (Map of Chicago. Red dots = white population, blue dots = black population)

Photo credit - 2nd photo

Biblicism disguised as colonialism?

In Christian Smith's The Bible Made Impossible, Chapter 6 encourages us to accept complexity and ambiguity.  I have a slight issue with some points, but overall, Smith's critique of biblicism moves us away from marginalizing the other.

Smith wants us to "accept the real scriptures that God has provided us as they are," suspending preconceived notions as much as possible.  This is troubling because no one approaches the text in an unmediated way.  I do appreciate Smith's reminder to read the Bible with humility and to acknowledge its humanness, rather than as an error-free instruction manual.

But, even accepting ambiguity, the text is still shaped by the reader's gender, socioeconomic class, and race/ethnicity.  And even while acknowledging these factors, no one can completely shed preconceived notions.  I wish Smith would have been more careful in this regard, but he later articulates a helpful approach that de-centers those who traditionally control theological discourse.

Also, as I continued reading, Smith notes we can't force out the unambiguous parts of the Bible, quoting Gordon Fee:

God did not choose to give us a series of timeless, non-culture-bound theological propositions to be believed and imperatives to be obeyed. Rather, he chose to speak his eternal word this way, in historically particular circumstances and in every kind of literary genre. By the very way God gave us this Word, he locked in the ambiguity. One should not fight God and insist that he give us his Word in another way or, as we are more apt to do, rework his Word along theological or cultural prejudgments that turn it into a minefield of principles, propositions or imperatives but denude it of its ad hoc character as truly human. 

Despite the impossibility of eliminating "theological or cultural prejudgments," Fee's point is the heart of Chapter 6, and Smith comes close to acknowledging what I quibbled with:

All of scripture is not clear, nor does it need to be. But the real matter of scripture is clear, “the deepest secret of all,” that God in Christ has come to earth, lived, taught, healed, died, and risen to new life, so that we too can rise to life in him. On that, the Bible is clear. But to try to claim a plenary clarity, consistency, and completeness of information for all passages of all of scripture is futile. There are parts of scripture that we do not understand and probably never will understand. We might as well admit that fact.

Greater humility would help recognize ambiguity.  Many evangelicals elevate the importance of their group's doctrines into dogma.  And many elevate their opinions to doctrine level.  I find that lack of humility (and naivete about eliminating all preconceived notions) can be addressed more fruitfully when we de-colonize our theology and build a bonfire of that table where only certain North American and European men can sit.  Smith's sociology background becomes helpful here:

[P]eople predictably tend to inflate the goodness, importance, and credibility of anything associated with the social groups to which they belong (their “in-groups”) beyond what is objectively real and justified; and they predictably tend to depreciate the goodness, importance, and credibility of anything associated with groups that are socially different and to which they do not belong (“out-groups”). It is all unfortunately part of “normal” social-psychological personal and group identity construction and maintenance. But that does not make it right, good, or helpful when it comes to Christian theology and church unity.

Smith unequivocally states that Christians must "stop excluding, dismissing, discounting, and ignoring other Christians who do not deserve that kind of treatment."  To which I say, "Hurrah!"

Smith doesn't explicitly mention post-colonial theory or race and gender, but points out that biblicism's logic sets up the reader as truth-arbiter - "absolutely definite, divinely authorized, universally valid, indubitable truth," which I think results in marginalization of the other.  It's difficult to believe a "biblical" truth tentatively, to recognize one's interpretation might be incorrect, or to concede the plausibility of other interpretations.  

I would add that many biblicists are European/North American and have exported this logic, either through missions or by simply controlling the discourse within the West for so long.  Biblicists are traditionally those with the most power and money.  So, what's actually imposed is what European/North American biblicists deem biblical truth.  When many think they are exporting solid biblical truths, in reality, they're exporting (or imposing on minorities within U.S./Europe) a particular interpretation of Scripture that conveniently shuts out dissenters, even when the dissenter truly wants to follow Jesus.  

Biblicism becomes colonialism in disguise.  It doesn't matter whether the colonized have an alternative perspective, because truth is truth and the inerrant, universal Bible said so.  Thus, I appreciate Smith's suggestions that de-construct harmful ideas about biblical interpretation.

Don't put me on a pedestal, when you've really locked me in a cage

Southern Baptist Russell Moore posted an article last week that, on its face, sets forth an idea I would applaud.  In Women, Stop Submitting to Men, Moore argues the hierarchy many Christians pratice in the marriage context has been improperly applied to all relationships between women and men.

Initially, I was encouraged by Moore's clarification.  However, something problematic is going on in this article.  The overall tone and reasoning for women to stop submitting to men in general strikes me as paternalistic and condescending to women.

Pastor Todd, after reading my thoughts about news outlets' bias toward white women, sent me an op-ed by Leonard Pitts Jr.: America's obsession with missing white women.  Pitts writes that this bias reflects a paternalistic, property-like view, depicting white women as "damsels in perpetual distress, helpless little things under constant threat from the harsh vicissitudes of a big, mean world:"

To imply it is somehow more important, more heart-rending, when a young white woman is in danger is, at best, a backhanded compliment. The implication is laced with a certain condescending paternalism that finds echoes throughout history, from assurances that women ought not trouble their pretty little heads with voting to debates over whether they belong in the workplace.

When we recall how white men once routinely lynched black ones who were thought to have cast so much as a stray glance at white women, our attention rivets, rightly, on the victims of the violence. But no one ever notes the corollary injustice: the fact that those white men felt they had an absolute, unquestioned right to police the sexuality of “their” women.

This obsession portrays women as "communal property, hothouse flowers in need of constant, vigilant protection," which results in their "competence, independence and self-sufficiency [...] being tacitly demeaned."  Pitts ends his article with this:

Somebody should tell them: a backhanded compliment is just an insult by another name.

Moore's article struck me as a backhanded compliment.  Yes, it's encouraging to see a Southern Baptist leader point out we are all to submit.  It's promising when a conservative evangelical man acknowledges patriarchy's harmful effects.  But, as Dianna puts it, my feminist spidey-senses started tingling as I continued reading:

[T]oo many predatory men have crept in among us, all too willing to exploit young women by pretending to be “spiritual leaders” (2 Tim. 3:1-9; 2 Pet. 2). Do not be deceived: a man who will use spiritual categories for carnal purposes is a man who cannot be trusted with fidelity, with provision, with protection, with the fatherhood of children. The same is true for a man who will not guard the moral sanctity of a woman not, or not yet, his wife.

[...]

Women, sexual and emotional purity means a refusal to submit to “men,” in order to submit to your own husband, even one whose name and face you do not yet know. Your closeness with your husband, present or future, means a distance from every man who isn’t, or who possibly might not be, him.

A good (white) Christian woman must keep herself pure for her husband or future husband. Benevolent fathers, husbands, and husbands-to-be must protect women from predatory, exploitative men, and Moore is doing his part by reminding women they have no duty to submit to a man who is not her husband.  Not only does Moore render invisible women who do not have fathers in their lives or who are single, he also sets forth a troubling paternalism under the guise of honoring women.

This dependence on men is common in romantic paternalism, a concept in critical race feminism. Under romantic paternalism, white women need white men to survive educationally, politically, and economically.  Once white women obtained the right to vote in the 1920's, white men could say, at surface level, that women's rights had achieved a victory.  But, hidden paternalism still lurking under the surface keeps white women dependent on men, regardless of voting rights or other advances.  

In the church, when a woman's worth is tied solely to her role as a daughter and wife, she is still dependent on men.  My intent is not to demean stay-at-home mothers or women who have not pursued a career - the competency and complexity of all women are at stake here.  Paternalism, under the guise of keeping women pure and in-waiting, puts women on a pedestal while locking them in a cage. When viewed solely in relation to their submission to fathers and husbands, women are prevented from being the full persons God intended them to be. Women are restricted from full intellectual participation, whether we're wrestling with theological ideas or ministering to others.

Some Christian men might find it an honor to put women on a pedestal, protecting them from deceptive men.  Some men might find it an advancement to remind women we are only to submit to our husbands or to the men we'll marry someday, rather than all men.  But I find it a backhanded compliment and an insult.  

I am not a helpless little thing who needs my sexual and emotional purity policed and my sanctity guarded (Jamie the Very Worst Missionary recently pointed out that all this purity talk is usually aimed at women and girls only, not men and boys - why's that?).  I, and other women in the church, am a complex, multi-dimensional, capable human being, who also wants to wrestle with theological insights, to be a mom, a wife, and a full participant in the Body of Christ.  At the foot of the cross, there is neither male nor female, so please don't tell me you've put me on a pedestal, when you've really locked me in a cage.

The concept of pedestal and cage, as well as the definition of romantic paternalism, is drawn from critical race feminist and law professor Patricia J. Smith's article, PART I--ROMANTIC PATERNALISM--THE TIES THAT BIND ALSO FREE: REVEALING THE CONTOURS OF JUDICIAL AFFINITY FOR WHITE WOMEN, 3 J. Gender Race & Just. 107, Fall 1999.

The dilemma of evangelical feminists

"If you would just submit to your husband, God would take away your desire for a Ph.D."

"I don't see how any self-respecting woman could associate with such a repressive, patriarchal religious subculture."

Patricia Hill Collins, a sociologist whom I have mentioned before, translated her experience as a black woman into a helpful concept called "intersectionality:"

black women are uniquely situated in that they stand at the focal point where two exceptionally powerful and prevalent systems of oppression come together: race and gender. Being able to understand this position as something [Collins] calls “intersectionality” opens up the possibility of seeing and understanding many more spaces of cross-cutting interests. (Source)

Although I certainly don't think (mostly white) evangelical women experience the same level of oppression as black women, I find Collins' intersectionality useful in negotiating my identity as a feminist Christian who has remained within evangelicalism.  

Anna Blanch at Goannatree linked to a Christan Century article by Diana Butler Bass, from which I pulled the first two quotes above.  Although the article, Between two worlds: evangelical, female --and a scholar, is almost twenty years old, it still applies today to the intersection between evangelicalism and feminism. 

An evangelical woman with a Ph.D. in religion, Bass shares her struggle in navigating the academic world, which at times is not welcoming to evangelicals, and the evangelical world, which at times is not welcoming to women academics.  The intersection between the bias experienced by evangelical scholars and by women within evangelicalism results in a life on the boundary. 

Bass writes she is a committed feminist evangelical who desires to make "women's voices heard from the history of Christianity and in theology, speaking against the ways that the orthodox Christian tradition (which I deeply love) has oppressed my own gender," "despite the probability of being shot at from both sides" (232).

Bass' remark about being shot at from both sides applies to many evangelical women, not just those in academic theology.  Rachel Held Evans unintentionally demonstrated the difficulty in navigating between evangelicalism and feminism in a recent blog post, "13 Things that Make Me a Lousy Feminist."  Evans incisively critiques the notion of biblical womanhood, so as a result, some conservative evangelicals have dubbed her a “dangerous feminist.”  

Evans intended to point out she is not what many view as a traditional feminist: she honors homemaking as a profession and is pro-life.  However, feminists critiqued her post for furthering stereotypical ideas about feminism (feminists don't in fact hate men or disparage homemaking, etc.).  While Evans' post sparked an excellent, clarifying discussion of the nature of feminism today, her original post still stands as an illustration of the instant labelling that occurs when a woman points out evangelicalism's problematic beliefs about gender roles.

It seems many an evangelical woman has to trot out her evangelical credentials and assure others she isn't a radical godless liberal when she points out women's silencing in the church.  It's discouraging that women who would otherwise be evangelical theologically are marginalized by their faith tradition if they bring up women's issues.  The choices left for those who are evangelical theologically and also feminist are either to leave evangelicalism altogether or navigate the trickiness of a life on the boundary.

Bass' article and Evans' post reminded me of Nicola Hoggard Creegan and Christine D. Pohl's 2005 book, Living on the Boundaries: Evangelical Women, Feminism, and the Theological Academy.  In Chapter 1, Creegan and Pohl point out that 1 Peter 2:11 describes Christians as aliens and exiles in the world, and throughout the Bible, Christians are called to view themselves as strangers and sojourners.  

Our identity as Christians is wrapped up in being not quite sure where our "home" is.  For evangelical women specifically, "[l]ife on the boundary provides the kind of critical distance and alternative perspective that challenges assumptions and practices, institutional arrangements and authority structures." (13).

Already knowing what it's like to live on the boundary and not feel quite at home, evangelical women can bring a valuable critique to our faith tradition, just as Collins notes that black women are uniquely situated due to their intersectionality.  

Rather than dismissing evangelical women as radical feminists, perhaps our sisters and brothers could recognize these critiques not as an imposition of radical feminism, but as a prophetic word coming from aliens and sojourners, living between two worlds.  And my hope is that we evangelical feminists can turn our dilemma into a recognition of other groups who struggle along that boundary-line...

When watertight, insular beliefs are actually identity-markers...

Last week on Anderson Cooper's show, Elizabeth Esther spoke out against Michael Pearl, who advocates hitting children as young as two with plumbing pipe.  Esther grew up in Christian fundamentalism, and previously used Pearl's teachings to raise her children.  After several children died at the hands of Pearl-following parents, Esther now speaks out against these harmful practices. 

A couple who follow Pearl also appeared on the show, and wrote about their appearance on The Christian Post.  The language they used reminded me of the way many fundamentalists and evangelicals ensure a watertight, insular belief system.  The couple quoted Pearl, who remarked:

The people who condemn biblical chastisement do not believe the Bible. They judge others by their own experience.

The couple also stated, "The only real issue is whether or not you agree with the biblical precepts that are given to us in the Book."  Throwing down the gauntlet in this way is hostile to disagreement.  Using the "biblical" label, Pearl and his followers equate his teachings to the very Word of God, so it becomes difficult for other professed Bible-believers to oppose him.  

Elevating your interpretation to Scripture itself is only one rhetorical move employed by fundamentalists and evangelicals.  Another common tactic is the persecution complex, which Christians often use together with "biblical" rhetoric.  Believing you are a victim of a sinful majority is an excellent way to dismiss opponents:

[I]t is incredulous to believe something simply because a majority believes it. [...] Majority does not matter; only the Bible is our foundation and what it has to say.

[...]

Also noteworthy is the fact that the majority of the opposition does not come from those duly learned in Scriptures, but from mostly secular psychologist, child advocates (which are rarely biblical advocates), and liberal Christians who oppose a lot more conservative points of view on Christianity in general – know your source and research its roots!

Is this the “crowd” you truly want to be in line with? If the enemy, the world, and secular humanistic followers are against it – chances are fairly high that it’s the right place to be and the right principle to stand for.

Framing the issue this way makes disagreement dangerous.  Equating an interpretation of the Bible with the Bible itself, and automatically portraying divergent beliefs as attacks from godless liberals, have formed evangelical identity.  Thus, those who don't want to be alienated from a community they love face high stakes if they disagree.  

Diverging from your church's core beliefs is often a scary, emotional experience.  I have genuinely wondered if I'm going to hell, and whether my disagreement simply means I've been duped by the secular, sinful "culture at large." 

David Rattigan, who has great resources on leaving fundamentalism and evangelicalism, shared an essay by P. James Bowen on leaving a watertight, insular faith, and I see much of these rhetorical moves at play.  Bowen describes his departure as painful and lonely.  In Bible college, he discovered Barth, Bultmann and Tillich. Although alienated from evangelicalism, he was reluctant to leave:

The shape of my faith was radically different from what it had been and there was no going back. But at the time I had no idea how much had changed, and the thought of leaving my evangelical home barely occurred to me. When it did, the thought terrified me. I still wanted to belong. No matter what I thought about charismatics and conservatives now, I still couldn’t bring myself to break away. I had always been one. They were my friends, my family. Where else was there? 

Once Bowen accepted he no longer belonged in evangelicalism, he realized his disagreements were often not theological, but 

a matter of personal identity. I had become, body and soul, a quite different type of person than the good people in that community. I still had a Christian faith. But the shape of that faith was, I finally realised, just too different from the shape of that community. I no longer belonged there. It took years to get from the changes that took place at Bible college to the day I finally left evangelicalism behind. It was a fight between my desire to belong and my inability to belong.

Many evangelicals (often unintentionally) view disagreement with evangelical beliefs as tantamount to heresy, because evangelicalism's identity has been grounded in unwavering "biblical" interpretations of Scripture and portraying dissenters as sneering liberals.  

Although the past decade has shown much promise, there's still little wiggle room for us questioners, even for those like Bowen who have no theological qualms.  As a questioner who has joined a local evangelical church again despite evangelicalism's troubling flaws, I hope to push against this insularity and create some wiggle room, because I know I'm not alone.  

How, then, do I handle truth claims?  I like Rattigan's approach in his FAQ section.  He's not abandoning truth claims, but rather acknowledging that many beliefs "are open to being thrashed out, tested, verified, debated and evaluated."

When Rattigan makes theological claims, he's honest about their "tentative, provisional and subjective nature."  He doesn't insist others accept his interpretation, "or that there will be divine consequences (i.e. punishment)" for those who disagree.

That evangelicalism's "big four," anti-abortion, anti-evolution, anti-homosexuality, and anti-environmental views, are actually identity-markers--rather than high-stakes "musts" that can't be separated from the gospel--is a freeing, healthy realization.  There are no divine consequences if I don't toe the line.  And many other beliefs, such as gender roles, pro-Republican views, pro-capitalism/consumerism, and pro-violence (including corporal punishment) are just as prominent as the big four in some circles.  It's just as freeing to realize that not toeing the evangelical line on these issues will not condemn me to hell.

De-colonizing my faith

I'm still working out the implications of critical race theory, and will probably do so for quite some time, but I'm especially interested in how critical race theory and a related discipline, postcolonialism, would apply to North American evangelicalism.  

Despite struggles I've shared here, I still love the church and find the most compatibility with the evangelical version.  I've attempted to set aside my judgmentalism, because I find evangelicalism's core beliefs still valuable.  

Slacktivist points out that anti-abortion, anti-homosexual, anti-evolution, and anti-environmental views currently create the boundaries of North American evangelical identity, so for those reasons (plus evangelicals' pro-war attitude and acceptance of consumerism, sexism, and de facto racism), I tend to eschew the label "evangelical," or at least I attach many qualifiers to it.  

But I wholeheartedly embrace this very evangelical idea of a "good news," which should form a people who take this good news so seriously that it transforms their belief and practice into a political existence (a la David Fitch's The End of Evangelicalism).  I still believe that a man named Jesus literally existed, and that the Holy Spirit is here with us.  

So if I'm remaining in this tradition, I feel strongly about helping to de-colonize it.  "Colonization" is a reference to the way that European/White American thinkers have dominated theological discourse.  Post-colonial critics (similar to critical race theorists) examine how Western powers define and control discourse, while the global south is the object, the "other." 

All that is to say, I'm interested in viewpoints aside from those who have historically controlled evangelicalism (white, usually affluent males), as well as how we can move toward an expression of church and theology that is not exclusively dominated by white males.  

I've realized that one of the first steps in de-colonizing my faith is moving away from viewing people of color as "other."  Perhaps for white evangelical men, I could also add white women along with people of color.  This entails allowing the theological views of people of color to truly inform my very Western-focused beliefs.  I've tried to avoid viewing a belief or practice that is not traditionally white as "exotic" or something that I would simply add to my already-existing (white) faith tradition.  

Rather than making my distinctly Western faith the object and frame of reference for all other expressions of Christianity, I've made an effort to realize that I have blind spots, which could be exposed by my fellow Christians who are people of color.  I don't want my privilege to get in the way of following Jesus, who subverted the privileged political and religious groups of his day (not that I think a completely objective interpretation of Scripture is possible, either).

While looking around online for critical race discussions within the context of evangelicalism, I came across a 2009 essay by Steve Hu, The Task of the Postcolonial Theologian.  Hu's goal is to encourage his fellow evangelicals to stop viewing postcolonial theory as an "accessory of theology."  By "theology" I assume he means the version that is common among white North Americans.  Hu says:

When postcolonial theory is employed as a methodology in theological discourse, the resultant product is always categorized as “third-world” theology. Such categorization, Franz Wijsen notes, renders any theology that employs postcolonial theory as “exotic fruit” that merely supplements “traditional” European theology. This delineation only perpetuates colonialism in theological discourse and the dualistic categories of what’s normative and marginal. The theologian who employs Western categories is often blind to such colonialism, and the theologizing that he practices is all but irrelevant to the colonized.

He continues, "by delineating theological discourse, theologians are no longer theologians, but they become powerbrokers who mute the voice of those in the margins."  

To me, it seems like notions of "orthodoxy" and "heresy" are often used as powerful boundary markers that leave out what could otherwise be fruitful, constructively critical perspectives.  Other coded language, including the term "third world" itself, imposes a hierarchy and re-affirms the privilege of Western Europe and North America.

I'm not a part of the evangelical academy, so I don't know if the embedded Western-ness of North American evangelical theology has shown a genuinely welcoming attitude to "other" perspectives.  I can speak to my own personal observations and reactions though, and I often end up considering non-Western ideas as almost novelties that aren't truly allowed to inform my beliefs and practices.  Does anyone know of a good non-Western theologian to start with? 

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