Natalie Burris

Wheaton problems, evangelical problems

It wasn't until my senior year at Wheaton, in 2005, that my friends and I signed up for Facebook.  "Status updates" weren't yet an option.  Twitter wasn't even launched until after I graduated from Wheaton.  This means that my peers and I didn't have an instant social media forum to share our opinions.

Even in our oh-so-ancient pre-Twitter era, we still found a way to communicate, converse, and share opinions on campus, but I bet the advent of smartphones and easily-accessible social media has dramatically changed how information flows in such a tight-knit community.  One such change is students tweeting during chapel services, using the #chapeltweets hashtag.

Each February, usually in honor of black history month, Wheaton has a chapel dubbed "Rhythm and Praise," in which students (of all backgrounds, but the majority are black) lead a "gospel-style" worship service.  Keep in mind that the college is overwhelmingly white, with very few students of color.  Last Friday, some white students sent out a series of racially insensitive and derisive tweets during this particular chapel.  Noah Toly, an urban studies professor and director of the Urban Studies Program, summarized the tweets here.

My heart is heavy for the students who led worship that day.  I can't imagine how painful it must be to know that your fellow Christians take your worship style lightly, or wish for a return to business-as-usual. 

As I'm no longer on campus, I don't want to portray the events incorrectly.  However, I did want to comment on many white students' and alumni's responses I've seen online.  What may seem like an isolated incident at a Christian college reveals, to me, a bigger issue within white evangelicalism as a whole.  One white professor thinks we should be quiet about the incident, because "talking it out" sometimes piles on to the hurt.  One presumably white alum sees nothing wrong with stating a preference toward "traditional" worship styles.

White evangelicals have a complicated, uncomfortable history with our black neighbors, and we don't come to a historically-neutral table.  Christian Smith has asked believers to "stop excluding, dismissing, discounting, and ignoring other Christians" who don't belong to their own "in-group."  Speaking of in-groups, many white evangelicals have created an "insider" culture, with our own unwritten grammar of conduct and nuances of cultural idiom.  

There is absolutely nothing wrong with a preference for a European or white U.S. American style of worship.  But when we white evangelicals convince ourselves that our worship services, music, preaching style, and other aspects of church life are simply "neutral" or "traditional," we effectively shut out Christians of color, even if excluding others is not our intent.  When Christians of color point out how hurtful it can be to "joke around" about a particular worship style--even when the comment was made with no harm intended--a defensive response only makes the wound grow deeper.  

Anthropology professor Brian Howell, who was extremely influential during my own time at Wheaton, explains that a seemingly neutral statement or preference can still perpetuate hurtful racism, even if the person who makes such a statement or has such a preference isn't a racist:

When someone listens to gospel music and declares it "disorganized," (true example from #chapeltweets), he may just be intending to say that he doesn't know where to look; there's a lot going on; he is confused. At the level of intention and reference, nothing racial there. But indexically there are some layers here. Mind you, the performance in question did not involve people forgetting the lyrics, bumping into each other, or not knowing who should step up to the mic. At that level it was orderly. But it was more complex than some other (European based) forms of music. To call it "disorderly" is to make a comparison. To what? To "orderly" worship. To "normal" worship. To "white" worship. 

On a broader scale, I wonder what white evangelicals could learn from this teachable moment.  Perhaps we could realize that worship styles and church services are not race-neutral.  Worship and the theology that underlies it are rooted in a specific context, which includes race.  White evangelicals may not think our views about church or worship have a racial influence. We instead consider them race-neutral.  Only allowing space or only legitimizing white, suburban, middle-class preferences, then, can speak volumes. 

When it comes to worship, one of the most vulnerable times in the practice of one's faith, perhaps we should unpack our preferences and question our assumptions, as Dr. Howell mentioned.  What seems completely natural to one group of believers may have a different meaning for another.  At the foot of the cross, why would we make value judgments or insist that one's preferences are somehow neutral?  

8 year blogiversary

The other day I realized I published my first-ever blog post eight years ago this month.  I'd never even heard of blogging before, but decided to start after my roommate began posting on her LiveJournal.  

How I cringe when I read my first posts!   The bulk of what I wrote consisted of song lyrics and sermon notes from my Reformed, complementarian church's college group.  I used to sign off with the Bible verse I had read in my daily devotion, too.  

Facebook and Twitter didn't exist yet, and it was rare to even find other women online who also had blogs about faith and politics.  How things have changed...

The enthusiasm and naivete are pretty entertaining, and I'm sure I'll look back at the "2011 me" with amusement as well!  

I haven't deleted my old posts, though.  It's actually fun to read through and detect the changes in my beliefs.  It's easy to see I was slowly learning a more generous worldview through anthropology.  I'm glad I have a record of that, even if it's public.  I also cherish the fact that my dad commented on several of my posts.

A few months ago, Kristen mused about blogging over a long period of time, and says it much better than I could ever convey:

You can say that blogging is narcisistic. You can say that it is solipsistic. You can say that bloggers often hide behind a fake persona, or project idealized versions of themselves to the world. Yes, yes, yes, I say. I would have to regretfully agree with you on all these points. 

But when you say that blogging is a futile waste of time, then you've gone too far.

I have been blogging now for around seven years. My early posts embarrass me, but I leave them up as a reminder of all the ways I have changed. I hope I've become a little less enthusiastic, a little less gauche. And over the last three or four years, I have often played with the idea of shutting it down. We have twitter. We have facebook. What's the point in a blog?

The point is the friends that I have made.

I've broken all "the rules" about good blogging.  My posts are way too long.  I don't post on a regular schedule, have "giveaways," or offer those bolded comment prompts at the end of every post.  

But personally, it's been a great outlet to share what I've learned in classes, help improve my writing, and crystallize my thoughts.  And I'm thankful for the blog-friends I've made.  I really appreciate that you read and put up with my rants and raves.  I also treasure the emails and in-person conversations that have resulted.  Thank you for reading and interacting.

Here's to another eight years! 

Warden Burl Cain and evangelicalism's decision for Christ as Master-Signifier

James Minton of the Baton Rouge Advocate kindly let me know of a correction.  Contrary to the Baptist Press report, Thomas Ward sentenced to death for murdering his father-in-law, not his mother-in-law.  Minton's most recent articles on Angola can be found here.

I'm branching off from reviewing David Fitch's The End of Evangelicalism to share a great example of the disconnect that the decision for Christ can cause for evangelicals.  A few weeks ago, Mother Jones published an in-depth report on an 18,000-acre prison in Louisiana, called Angola, and its Southern Baptist warden, Burl Cain: "Among born-again Christians, Cain is revered for delivering hundreds of incarcerated sinners to the Lord—running the nation's largest maximum-security prison, as [the Baptist Press] put it 'with an iron fist and an even stronger love for Jesus.'" 

The vast land of Angola prison previously consisted of five slave plantations.  Although Warden Cain's turnaround of the prison is much-praised by evangelicals (he told his story twice at Wheaton's chapel service while I was there), much like the history of Angola, Cain's prison has an ugly side.  Three-quarters of the prisoners are black and still work the land at Angola.  An exonerated former inmate describes Cain as a warden with "'a Bible in one hand and a sword in the other.' And when the chips are down, Thompson said, 'he drops the Bible.'"  Angola also has three inmates who have been in solitary confinement longer than any other prisoner in the U.S--over 36 years.

Warden Cain tells Baptist Press about his first execution, which spurred him to start his "moral rehabilitation" campaign at Angola:

Thomas Ward had been sentenced to die for murdering his mother-in-law. Cain viewed him as little more than a criminal whom society had ruled should die for his crime. "I didn't worry about what he must have been experiencing in the hours before his death. I didn't go to his last meal, and I didn't share Jesus with him."

When it was time for the court's order to be carried out, Ward's face was a mask of fear as the deadly fluids began flowing his veins. "There was a psshpssh from the machine, and then he was gone," Cain recalls. "I felt him go to hell as I held his hand."

"Then the thought came over me: I just killed that man. I said nothing to him about his soul. I didn't give him a chance to get right with God. What does God think of me? I decided that night I would never again put someone to death without telling him about his soul and about Jesus."

Now, there are five chapels in the prison, the largest with 800 seats, and the inmates themselves are the preachers.  Mother Jones reports that 2,000 inmates have made a decision for Christ since Cain's arrival. Angola has seen a decline in violent crime, rape, drug use, and assaults on prison staff, although many have pointed out that these rates began dropping prior to Cain's tenure.

Angola is a great illustration of the narrowness of the decision for Christ.  Warden Cain, at his first execution, was disturbed that he had not shared his version of the Gospel to which the death-row prisoner could mentally assent.  Cain was less disturbed (or not bothered at all) by the fact that our society kills killers to somehow show that killing is wrong.  

The focus is on individual conversions, without addressing how the whole Gospel can rehabilitate not only prisoners, but the system that incarcerates so many people, mostly poor and African-American.  One out of every 55 Louisiana residents is in prison, the highest incarceration rate in the U.S, and if you count those on probation and parole, the number jumps to 1 out of 26.  The death penalty and harsh treatment of prisoners continue, without any regard for the dignity of human life.  

But never mind the injustices that remain, because individually, many prisoners have made a decision for Christ.  The brokenness of the system that brings these prisoners to Angola in the first place and that perpetuates the cruel treatment once they're at Angola reveals the emptiness of the "decision for Christ" as a Master-Signifer, but nonetheless, evangelicals will continue to praise Cain, produce documentaries, and invite him to speak at conferences and chapels...

Photo credit

Review of the End of Evangelicalism - Part 3: Decision for Christ

	I have prayed this prayer for the first time
	I have prayed this prayer in the past and I renewed it today

An enthusiastic campus ministry leader approached me my freshman year of college.  We discussed the ministry's events and meeting times, and eventually the sweet woman asked me whether I had made a decision for Christ.  I had.  A couple of times, actually.  When I was six, I "asked Jesus into my heart," When I was around fourteen, I felt the decision I made when I was six somehow didn't "stick," so I prayed the sinner's prayer again, made another public confession of faith, and was re-baptized.  In my eyes, I wasn't truly saved until I was fourteen.  

Growing up Southern Baptist, a common part of the church service is the "invitation," or "alter call," after the sermon.  It includes an emotional song and exhortations from the pastor to come forward and make a decision for Christ.  Often, the alter call can be emotionally manipulative, convincing many that perhaps they aren't truly saved, or maybe they didn't really mean it the first time around.  

Or, your initial decision for Christ did stick, but you've backslidden since then, so you can go forward during the invitation to announce you want to "rededicate" your life to Christ.  There is no limit on the number of times one can rededicate.  I don't mean to say that the emotional manipulation is intentional on anyone's part, but these feelings often result.

I shared my experience with the energetic campus ministry leader.  However, she persisted in sitting down with me to draw out the bridge of salvation and explain how I could be saved.  

I felt very awkward at this point, explaining to her several times that I'd already made the decision, and had used this very bridge illustration to lead others to make the decision for Christ.  It didn't matter.  The ministry leader still had to make sure I'd heard and mentally assented to the correct steps to salvation.  Or perhaps my prior decision(s) hadn't stuck properly, so she would be responsible for my being outside the fold if she didn't show me the bridge illustration.  

This emphasis on cognitive, personal conversion is another empty Master-Signifier in David Fitch's The End of Evangelicalism.  During the modernist-fundamentalist controversies, an exaggerated split developed between the decision to receive pardon for sin in Christ and the decision to live in the Spirit.  As a result, many evangelicals today have coalesced around the decision for Christ, an individual, voluntary act that is "nurtured through individually acquired learning and worship" (p. 79).  This emphasis turns the conversion experience into mainly a cognitive one.  Discipleship is receiving information and instruction, and church becomes "an informational gathering centered around the sermon" (p. 80).  

Watering down the conversion and formation of a Christian to information and tallies of decisions has exposed the decision for Christ as an empty Master-Signifier:

The recidivism rate of those who make "the decision for Christ" is famously high.  Eternity Magazine reported as far back as 1977 that evangelistic crusades among evangelical churches could locate only 3 percent of those claiming to have made "a decision" as being found in any kind of Christian church.  Billy Graham said publicly on David Frost's PBS show in the 1990's that he believed only 25% of the decisions recorded in his crusades resulted in people actually being born again.  At the time, this shocked evangelicals.  One of the largest evangelical denominations reportedly disclosed that there had been 384,057 decisions for Christ within their churches in 1995, but only 6 percent could be accounted for in any way the following year. (p. 82).

Separating the decision from the changed life that is supposed to result makes the poor recidivism rate palatable, because adding anything to the decision would be salvation that is not by faith alone.  To evangelicals, a works-based salvation is worse than thousands of people who initially show an interest in following Jesus, but cannot be found the next year.  

The most damning result, though, is that the hallowed decision enables Christians to claim allegience to the Gospel, yet makes "little to no demands on changing one's life" (p. 84).  It unites people, helping to identify them as evangelicals, yet requiring nothing of said people.  As a result, complete inconsistency with the confession to follow Christ and the behavior afterward is common.  The nebulous personal relationship with Christ is the goal (praying, reading Scripture, attending church services), as opposed to believers making sure they are "doing" something, transforming their behavior, or helping others -- because over-emphasizing "doing" is too dangerously close to "works."

One example of an irruption hit very close to home: holiness codes of evangelical colleges.  Fitch says these behavioral requirements reveal that making a decision for Christ often does not affect the practice of a convert: "we are saved, but this does not effect [sic?] how we live, therefore we must make sure it effects the way we live!"  

Yes, I held to the Community Covenant at Wheaton, but it mainly served to bind a disparate group of people converging on campus from a variety of denominations.  Isn't it redundant to require the students to follow this covenant while at Wheaton -- shouldn't we already behave this way, regardless of our status as Wheaton students?  The agreement itself almost becomes a mini Master-Signifier, because it ensures that students, while all professing Christians, conform to an expected, uniform standard of behavior, usually with regard to evangelical biggies like sex and alcohol.  Yet in reality, the covenant was empty at its core, as students would drink and have sex anyway (married sex is allowed, from what I hear...).

This chapter was definitely my favorite.  I agree wholeheartedly with the assessment of the personal, individual, nebulous decision for Christ.  I would add that this inward-focused, non-transformative element that divorces action from being a Christian has also crippled evangelicalism's ability to be a true force in righting social wrongs.  As long as I read my Bible in my daily personal quiet time and follow the other items on the checklist of a good Christian, the social realm is too easily forgotten.  Fitch does excellently address this in the next chapter, but I think the decision for Christ has contributed to avoidance of social justice just as much as, if not more than, the belief in a Christian nation.  

So for my next post, I want to share a great example of this disconnect/avoidance of social issues that the decision for Christ brings.  The subject of the Zizekian critique actually spoke at Wheaton's chapel a couple of times, too, to much applause...

Photo credit - first photo

Photo credit - second photo

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?

OneWheaton

Through some fellow Wheaton alumni I follow on Twitter, I found out last Friday about an alumni group that went to Wheaton's campus and circulated a letter affirming the full dignity of every human being regardless of their sexual orientation or gender identity.  Their website is here.

Reading the letter broke my heart, because I can't imagine the pain that LBGTQ Christians must feel.  I can't imagine how bad it must hurt to be told that your identity is tragic, broken, and sinful.  

I did get a taste a few months ago, when I was with a group of what happened to be Wheaton alums. Someone made a comment that she could not imagine marrying anyone with children.  That opinion is perfectly valid, and I respect it, even though I chose to marry someone who already has children.  But the conversation devolved into a hurtful critique of the decision to date and marry an individual with children.  I was so shocked and hurt that I didn't speak up, and my tears afterward when I was with Manuel were not only from pain, but from anger with myself for not speaking up.

What happened to me is absolutely nowhere comparable to the situations that LBGTQ Christians face every day, but just seeing a glimpse of the hurt and rejection that Christians can (often unwittingly) so aptly deliver has made me realize that I need to do a better job of supporting those on the margins.  

I was so wrapped up in my own little world at Wheaton (and still very much am today), so I wish that I would have had the wherewithal to speak up alongside my brothers and sisters who were hurting then.  Therefore I'm speaking up today, as an alum.  I've added my name to the list, and am looking for more ways to support than simply being a signatory.  Who's with me?!

The Bible as cultural icon

I wanted to share more from Timothy Beal's The Rise and Fall of the Bible, especially his thoughts on how some view the Bible as an icon.  

Our current understanding of the Bible is a relatively new one.  Different versions of the Bible have always existed, and in the past, the concept of a singular Bible would be foreign to most Christians.  There was never a standard edition, and even after the invention of the printing press, there were still thousands of different versions, according to Beal.

Beal believes that the Bible as we now know it--as a singular and cultural icon forged by Puritans, fundamentalists, and modern-day evangelicals--has come to a dead end:

The icon of the Bible as God's textbook for the world is as bankrupt as the idea that it stands for, of religious faith as absolute black-and-white certainty.  Just as the cultural icon of the flag often becomes a substitute for patriotism, and just as the cultural icon of the four-wheel-drive truck often becomes a substitute for manly independence and self-confidence, so the cultural icon of the Bible often becomes a substitute for a vital life of faith, which calls not for obedient adherence to clear answers but thoughtful engagement with ultimate questions.  The Bible itself invites that kind of engagement.  The iconic image of it as a book of answers discourages it. (p. 21).

Pastor Mark Driscoll tweeted the other day that a lot of Christians "treat the Bible like a gun collector treats a gun. Holding it, studying it, & admiring it but never going to war & firing it."  I strongly object to his use of violent imagery, but I have to admit that I agree with his underlying point.  Or rather, Christians use the Bible as a weapon, firing it at others, but not actually reading its contents to discover the ethic of Jesus that asks us to put down our guns...

photo © 2009 Ken Wilcox | more info (via: Wylio)

I suspect that the book will explore the modernist view of the Bible, and how this view fails us today.  A more postmodern understanding may help us resolve the contradictions and inconsistencies found in Scripture.  During my last year of college I wrote a few posts about postmodernism and faith, and I have them categorized under the tag "postmodernism."  It will be interesting if Beal takes the book in this direction.  Also, the philosopher Jean-Luc Marion uses the idea of "icon" in his writings, and I was exposed to some of his work in college as well.  Marion sees the icon as a positive thing, so the interplay between Marion and Beal could be interesting.

Evolution and Pauline theology

On Sunday I caught part of BBC's Science in Action on NPR.  One of the topics was "Evolution of language."

photo © 2009 Blatant News | more info (via: Wylio)The segment reminded me of some resources that Dean Arnold, one of my anthropology professors at Wheaton, shared in our Human Origins class.  This article discusses how scientists have pinpointed the gene that provides the blueprint for language acquisition and rapid articulation.  This gene developed around 120,000 years ago, so at that time humans had the cognitive ability to communicate with each other--identical to how we communicate now.

50,000 years later, humans began exhibiting artistic behavior, without any additional physical evolution.  Scientists think that acquiring language skills jumpstarted the culturally-creating process.

Putting aside the debate about the interpretation of Genesis, this evidence can present a theological problem for Christians who find it imperative that Adam and Eve were all of humanity's ancestors.  Otherwise, how is God's image--as well as sin and death--passed down?  The concept of salvation is linked with the literal nature of Adam, too, because of the analogies that Paul draws with Christ.  Also, if we have beings who are not quite fully human, but may have some rudimentary cognitive ability, what of their salvation?

Gilbert Bilezikian, in Community 101, points out that when God creates in his image, he creates community.  Genesis 1:26 states that God, when creating humans, said, “Let us make human beings in our image, in our likeness."  Just as God himself is always in community in the trinity, humans too are always in community with each other.

When casting Adam as a literal, historical person, evolution's continuum may not present such a theological challenge when put into the context of community.  And perhaps the reason evolution is viewed as a challenge to our theology stems from our individualism.  The image of God was not meant to be thought of in individual terms only.  Perhaps in order to truly to have the image of God, humans need to be involved in a community.  

This would make sense especially in light of scientists' discoveries about the language gene, because a sole human being would have no need to develop culture or a verbal language.  Dr. Arnold thought that, if forced to choose who on the evolutionary continuum would be Adam, the most language-capable people would be a good starting point.

photo © 2010 Johan Hansson | more info (via: Wylio)

Although I'm certainly no theologian, I wondered how this communal take on the image of God plays out in Pauline theology because of Paul's reliance on analogies with Adam.  John Howard Yoder viewed Paul’s writings in a more communal, rather than individualistic, way.  Yoder believed that the righteousness Paul discussed had a social dimension.  Paul’s concerns were not at the individual level, such as personal guilt, but instead were at the social level.  To be justified, then, deals not with being declared blameless and absolving all guilt, but with the social reality of the church, the establishment of community:

The work of Christ is not only that he saves the soul of individuals and henceforth they can love each other better; the work of Christ, the making of peace, the breaking down of the wall, is itself the constituting of a new community [...] (The Politics of Jesus, p. 219)

With a pray-the-sinner's prayer brand of Christianity, you individually must pray the prayer and "ask Jesus into your heart" as a counter to Adam's literal, individual fall.  Yoder's view may see no problem with the lack of a historical Adam.

As a side note, I recently came across the Biologos Forum website, where there is a series of posts titled, "Was Adam a  Real Person?"  I especially found part 3 helpful, because it addresses how the lack of a literal Adam does (or does not) affect Paul's analogies.

Agree to disagree?

In moving away from a conservative faith, I have strugged with the idea of exclusivity and absolutism.  In November 2009 I shared a Martin Marty piece about this: Armageddonist Absolutism.  His piece dealt with how difficult it is to dialogue with people who feel they simply can't change their mind or reconsider their interpretation of Scripture, because the stakes would be very high.  Deviating from what they believe to be Truth-with-a-capital-T means that they would be heretical, and thus bound for hell.  It seems like this belief may be fairly common among theological/political conservatives - or at least I feel this because I behaved exactly this way as a conservative Christian.

Previously, I didn't have a problem with firmly entrenched beliefs because the stakes were high.  I felt proud to defend my faith and ensure it wasn't watered down, and looking back, I also felt threatened, because where I would spend eternity was potentially at stake. 

Since I've moved away from digging my heels in and insisting my version of faith is the only correct one, I am attempting to behave generously to my more conservative sisters and brothers.  

I try to remind myself of the atmosphere I was lucky enough to witness at Wheaton.  Believers from all over the spectrum co-existed...most of the time in peace!  It was encouraging to see healthy, respectful debate, without anyone reaching the conclusion that so-and-so must not be saved if she believes that.  Of course what I saw at Wheaton wasn't perfect.  Disappointingly, a professor who converted to Catholicism, and another who would not disclose his reason for his divorce, left the college.

Although flawed, a community that espoused the idea of "in essentials, unity; in differences, liberty; in all things, charity," taught me a lot.  Another often-repeated idea was the Augustinian notion of "faith seeking understanding."

The problem is that sometimes I don't know how to extend generosity without coming across as accepting someone's beliefs, especially if those beliefs are offensive to me.  I don't know how to "agree to disagree" with those who condemn gay people or who feel that a woman cannot be a deacon.  In my mind, agreeing to disagree doesn't confront the status quo, and I feel like I'm giving up.  I feel like I have some sort of duty to defend those who may not have an opportunity to speak up for themselves (as a result of the church's de-facto or purposeful exclusion, so they're not even present to speak up).

photo © 2008 shizzy0 | more info (via: Wylio)

That is to say, I really don't care if a believer is a Calvinist or Arminian, or a pre-millienaliast or post-millenialiast, or even if she espouses creationism only and claims that evolutionary theory isn't "true."  Differences truly begin to bother me when a fellow Christian's belief results in hurting, excluding, and oppressing others.  

I always think if I would have been around during the slavery or Jim Crow eras, I hope that I would have taken a strong but loving stand against my many, many fellow believers who felt that it was acceptable to treat others that way.  For today's issues, even if it isn't something as obvious or explicit as slavery or racial discrimination, I hope that I can count myself among Christians who are taking a stand for the oppressed.

I don't know how to deal with this.  It becomes difficult to graciously respond to certain beliefs that have not only wounded me, but have caused deep, painful wounds in others.  Any suggestions?  At work, the managing attorneys provide "scripts" for the in-court attorneys to say to judges when certain situations arise, so a script for this situation would be great...  

Just kidding about the script part, but I really would welcome any suggestions!

Enamored with hell

I have a take-home exam due Monday, which of course means I've turned to the internets in procrastination.  A Twitter freakout that involves John Piper and Rob Bell is certainly more interesting than ERISA and qualified retirement plans.

photo © 2008 Steve Ryan | more info (via: Wylio)

The Reader's Digest version of the controversy is that the promotional blurb and video for Rob Bell's new book suggests that he believes that love will win the day and no one will end up in hell, a.k.a. universalism.  It appears that none of the critics have actually read the new book. 

I have not read the book either, nor have I had the opportunity to really flesh out my beliefs on hell and universalism.  But being the dirty socialist liberal that I am, I tend to lean towards the idea that the concept of hell has been way overblown and mentions of it in Scripture are not only sparse, but misinterpreted.

What ultimately disturbs me is the reaction on Twitter to (again, just the promotion) of Bell's book.  "Farewell, Rob Bell."  "Disheartening."  "A wolf in sheep's clothing."  "Not the true gospel."  "Heretic."  "Will rejoice if his book doesn't actually support universalism."

Those who believe in the existence of hell are certainly entitled to their beliefs, but I am growing increasingly disturbed about a faith that so venerates the idea that human beings will burn in a lake of fire for eternity.  It's like people get satisfaction from knowing that anyone who doesn't believe exactly the way you do will endure eternal torment.  A pastor's wife who is blogging anonymously said it much better than I can:

I have been struck lately of how much Christians like the idea of Hell.  There have been a couple of incidents recently that have made me think about this.

First, my Shepherd was teaching a Sunday School class.  Somebody asked about Hell.  The possibility of Hell not being literal fire was discussed.  The reaction was visible disappointment.  No Hell = disappointment.  Hmm.

In an another class there was a discussion of Romans 3.  The Scripture speaks of God revealing Himself adequately for people anywhere to know God.  It is not sufficient to allow the group to ponder God revealing Himself.  Somebody had to quickly jump in with thoughts of people going to Hell if they do not profess Jesus’ name.

It is as though the Church is more excited about sending non-believers to Hell than they are excited about being with the Creator.

She then proceeds to give excellent reasons why this might be true.  Some Christians seem to get so much smug satisfaction out of belonging in an exclusive club, and out of thinking that those who disagree with them will eventually get what's comin'.

And seeing John Piper use the phrase "Farewell Rob Bell" makes me ask who the hell (ha!) made him the Protestant pope - is he excommunicating people now?  If the Gospel is actually good news for everyone, and every soul will eventually end up in heaven, why would that be disheartening and disappointing?  Or if it turns out that the Gospel means that some will end up in eternal torture, why rejoice? Think about how these tweets look to nonbelievers.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, there are going to be a LOT of surprised Baptists in heaven.