Reflections on the Emergent Philosophical Conversation (p.2)

I mentioned in my previous post some of the highlights of the discussion at the recent Emergent event, but I also mentioned that I was left with some concerns and critiques as well. In the end, although I appreciated Caputo's and Kearney's approach, I simply couldn't go along with their conclusions. And, on some level, I don't think that their conclusions followed from their assumptions and method - in fact, I thought at some points that they were self-contradictory, or at the least inconsistent. But more on that in a moment.

To begin with, another word of appreciation is in order, because it frames my objections well. One of the themes of the discussion was particularity. On a side note, this is another thing that I've never heard carefully articulated by the critics: the reason that postmodern philosophy is critical of metanarratives is not because it does not believe in truth. Rather, it is because it holds that particular narratives reflect truth in different ways. And that isn't to say that truth can't be discussed, debated, or defended - we did a fair bit of that during the gathering, in fact. Rather, it is to say something about the personhood of the one with whom we converse. Caputo (if I recall correctly) put it something like this: if to be human is to be rational, and if to be wrong is to be irrational, then truth claims can be dehumanizing. In a general sense, I think there's something to that - not that we can't disagree, but rather that we must be careful how we disagree, because we're in a sense saying something about the humanity of our conversation partners in the manner of disagreement. Much, much more could be said here, but I'll leave it for another time. The point here is that the concern for particularity is really a statement about the personhood of the ones with whom we converse, and I think it's a valid (and necessary) concern.

However - and this is a big however - I felt like Caputo and Kearney in some sense violated their own rules here in how they approached particular Christian claims, specifically those about the uniqueness or exclusiveness of Christ. One of the things that became quite evident was that they both hold to some sort of universalistic deism, as I understood it - their approach at the end of the day was a fairly standard "all roads lead to God" sort of belief. God is ultimately unknowable by virtue of his transcendence, but all religions point towards something that might be called god, if we had to give a name to it. I had concerns with this on any number of levels, as anyone who's been around here for any length of time will no doubt guess. But one thing that bothered me in particular in this context was that they seemed to be violating their own rules.

Here, for me, is the problem: if postmodernity is in some sense about respecting personhood through recognition of particularities, didn't Caputo and Kearney just give every religion the finger? I mean, it is the particularities, after all, that make for the differences between religions. To try to make Christianity say the same thing as Islam or Judaism or Buddhism or Hinduism or any other religion that has something to say about spirit and being does violence to every single one of them. Each of these religions offers something different, something particular, something that makes it what it is - and in terms of the particularities, these offerings are by and large in disagreement with one another. To try to smooth over these differences, these particularities, is not only disrespectful to each of them - it is in some sense in contradiction to their own stated aims.

Furthermore, I discussed previously the critique that they offered of the "god of metaphysics". This, I thought, was particularly helpful. But I can't really see how this approach that they offered is any different. Instead of a metaphysic of rationality, aren't we just embracing a metaphysic of skepticism? To say that God is fundamentally unknowable is to create a principle before which God must bow - even should he choose to reveal himself to humanity in a way that is knowable. This to me is such a glaring flaw in their approach that I can't help but wonder how they navigate around it - unfortunately, it was never adequately addressed, even though it was apparent that many (although not all) folks in attendance were left with similar questions.

In all, it was a good event. I wish there had been more time for questions and discussion; I was a bit frustrated in that it seemed that we'd just get started on a topic of substance and time was up. That's not really a criticism of the event so much as it is just a recognition that I was ultimately left with more questions than answers from the perspective of the guests. Still, I found much in their approach to appreciate, even if I found their conclusions unsatisfying.

Technorati Tags: Caputo, deconstruction, emergent, emerging church, Kearney

Reflections on the Emergent Philosophical Conversation (p.1)

I had initially thought to interact with the major themes of the Emergent gathering while the event was underway, but I found two things very quickly: first, there were a lot of ideas running around, and I quickly found my head spinning; second, the time just flew by, primarily because of the great connections with various folks that I was able to renew or begin. By the end of the event, I was too far behind to begin and needed a bit of time to process. Now, about a week and a half later, I'm left with a few substantive thoughts that have sort of congealed around a couple of themes.

To begin with, the guests for the gathering were Jack Caputo and Richard Kearney, both of whom Tony Jones called "rock stars of philosophy". I was acquainted with Caputo's work before the event, although I hadn't read any of it personally; Kearney was an unknown to me. Both are a part of the philosophical tradition known as continental philosophy and have worked closely with Derrida, so it should be no surprise that deconstruction was the theme of the conversation. I'll admit that at times I felt out of my league - philosophy is extremely self-referential, meaning that if you don't know the thinkers with whom a person is interacting, you're likely going to feel as though you're overhearing half of a conversation. Still, they did a great job of remembering their audience, and I left with a few constructive ideas as well as some critiques.

The first discussion centered on what Caputo called the "god of metaphysics". (Metaphysics refers to the discussion of the nature of reality and being.) This was, for me, probably the most productive discussion. It began as a sort of whirlwind tour of western philosophy from the time of Plato, with some stops along the way to identify major landmarks. The significant contribution of this section was the discussion of the development of theological discourse in modernity. In brief, Caputo suggested that what happened after Descartes was the introduction of the metaphysical as a criteria for rational thought. In other words, as people in modernity began to define reality in a particular way, theology became subject to that definition of reality, a definition that was framed in terms of rationality. Reason became the standard by which all thought was judged - as Caputo said, God was made to pass before the court of reason to be examined for his suitability for entrance into civilized thought. For example, when Aquinas was describing God, he referred to him as (among other descriptions) the "first cause," the cause of everything else who is himself without a cause. In modernity, God was described as the cause of himself. Note the distinction - instead of God being uncaused, he now has a cause, even if that cause is himself. Why the change? Because everything has to have a cause - even God. God has to play by the rules.

This is the turn in theology that results in what Caputo called "the god of metaphysics". God is no longer seen as the ultimate reality; now he is merely reality's chief inhabitant who must conform to the nature of reality just like everything else. It's a fascinating thought, once you start to grasp it - it shows up in all sorts of places. A lot (but not all) of discussion of inerrancy, I think, has its roots in this sort of approach. The Scriptures just can't have errors or contradictions or even differing perspectives in them, or they wouldn't be scripture. The problem is that this definition is first assumed and then applied to the Christian texts, resulting in an odd sort of approach that has to go outside of scripture for its doctrine of scripture, while maintaining that the only source of doctrine is scripture. (I'm not trying to get into an argument about the nature of scripture - just using an illustration.)

Deconstruction is a means of getting beyond this enslavement to the god of metaphysics. Deconstruction is, as Caputo and Kearney described it, allowing truth to "break through" the layers of interpretation that have kept it bound. It isn't really about "tearing down", as many seem to like to use the term - they were emphatic about the phrase "breaking through" as a good way of getting at what deconstruction is attempting. Deconstruction is about unmasking those things which keep us from the truth, and so on some level it is more interested in truth than other systems which claim objective, absolute knowledge.

Besides being what I now consider the most helpful time of the event, what became apparent to me rather quickly was that many of the folks who have taken to attacking "postmodernism" in the name of God haven't the faintest clue what they are talking about. These were gentlemen who are schooled in postmodern thought, who are significant contributors to postmodern philosophy, and who have significant connections to many of the philosophers who are seen as sort of the "founding fathers" of postmodernity, so to speak, most significantly Derrida. And the primary theme of the first evening's discussion was, irony of ironies, how to defend the truth through deconstruction. It was a nuanced and intelligent discussion that I'll be considering for some time. At one point, they made the distinction between what they called Dionysian postmodernism, which is the nihilistic, relativistic stream of thought that is set up as the fundagelical bogeyman, and "prophetic" postmodernism - which is where they'd locate deconstruction. Their take was that Derrida himself was appalled at what some have tried to do in his name, although you'd never hear such from the critics. In truth, though, that's hardly surprising - such juvenile criticism, usually framed in militaristic metaphors, is itself in need of deconstruction, in need of motives being revealed and perspectives challenged.

Technorati Tags: Caputo, deconstruction, emergent, emerging church, Kearney

Philly Emergent Stuff

Just thought I'd pass on a reminder for anyone in the Philly area that the cohort meeting this month is being moved up a week - the gathering is this Thursday at the Well in Feasterville. Keith Matthews and Todd Littleton will be joining us for a conversation on spiritual formation - should be a good discussion. Details are at the cohort site.

On another Emergent note, is anyone else planning to attend the Conversation with Jack Caputo next week? It should be interesting - I didn't really connect with the reading overall but there were some interesting tidbits scattered about. I'm curious to see who will be in attendance.

Technorati Tags: emergent, emerging church

How (Not) to Speak of God: Revelation (p. 2)

After a hectic few weeks, things are starting to slow down again. Time to kick the dust off the old blog and get back to more regular posting. Although I still have more thoughts that I want to post on an image-bearing praxis, at the moment I want to pick up again with Peter Rollins's book How (Not) to Speak of God. I mentioned previously that Rollins is discussing orthodoxy from the standpoint of "believing in the right way". He goes on to unpack this perspective in more detail, focusing next on a discussion of the nature of revelation as concealment:

Hence revelation ought not be thought of either as that which makes God known or as that which leaves God unknown, but rather as the overpowering light that renders God known as unknown...Revelation can thus be described as bringing to light the secret of God in such a way that it remains secret.

Here, again, I'm forced to say that I didn't initially like his proposal. But as before, the more I think on it, the more I think that he's got it right. What is striking in the OT, and Rollins pulls numerous examples from that material, is that God's revelation never exhausts his being. The ones to whom the revelation is given seem to walk away from the encounter with less understanding than before - or, perhaps put better, with God having demolished the understanding that they thought they had. The revelation of God overwhelms and befuddles, leaving the one to whom it is given without rational categories but with awe and worship and no small amount of fear instead. And, interestingly enough, faith is the result of such encounters, in spite of (because of?) the reordering and disassembling of those rational categories.

And, of course, the NT is little different. For the Christian, the NT revelation of Jesus as the second person of the Trinity is the penultimate revelation of Godself. But no Christian that is intellectually honest would claim that the incarnation has exhausted all mystery of who God is - if anything, it has deepened the mystery by revealing another aspect of God's being that is beyond our ability to comprehend.

Rollins suggests that the reason for this dialectic of revealing/concealing is that in revelation God becomes "hyper-present":

Hyper-presence is a term that refers to a type of divine saturation that exists in the heart of God's presence. It means that God not only overflows and overwhelms our understanding but also overflows and overwhelms our experience...In the same way that the sun blinds the one who looks directly at its light, so God's incoming blinds our intellect. In this way the God who is testified to in the Judeo-Christian tradition saturates our understanding with a blinding presence. This type of transcendent-immanence can be described as 'hypernymity'. While anonymity offers too little information for our understanding to grasp..., hypernymity gives us far too much information. Instead of being limited by the poverty of absence we are short-circuited by the excess of presence.

That's a lot to ponder. If you're getting the impression that Rollins is something of a mystic, I think that would be an accurate characterization. I also catch echoes of Rudolph Otto here - I have to dig out my copy of The Idea of the Holy and see how this compares to Otto's discussion of the "numinous". Still, the obvious connection that I see here is that, contrary to theological approaches that lead to pride in one's ability to grasp God (intentional or unintentional), this approach cannot but help lead in a different direction - to worship.

Technorati Tags: books, emerging church, How (Not) to Speak About God, Peter Rollins

How (Not) to Speak of God: Faith (p. 1)

Rollins begins the book with a discussion of faith and theology:

Christian faith, it could be said, is born in the aftermath of God. Our fragile faith is fanned into life in the wake of what we believe to have been the incoming of a life giving encounter in which we feel connected with, and transformed by, the source of everything that is...For Christians testify to having been caught up in and engulfed by that which utterly transcends them. In short, the experience that gives birth to faith, at its most luminous, is analogous to the experience of an infant feeling the embrace and tender kiss of its mother.

On the other hand, theology could provisionally be described as that which attempts to come to grips with this life-giving experience, to describe the source from which everything is suspended and from which our faith is born. In faith God is experienced as the absolute subject who grasps us, while in theology we set about reflecting upon this subject...In faith we are held, in theology we hold...To take our ideas of the divine and hold them as if they correspond to the reality of God is thus to construct a conceptual idol built from the materials of our mind.

Two pages into the book, Rollins has already set my brain to spinning. He goes on to discuss a shift from a Greek understanding of orthodoxy as "right belief" to a Hebraic understanding of orthodoxy as "believing in the right way":

Thus orthodoxy is no longer (mis)understood as the opposite of heresy but rather is understood as a term that signals a way of being in the world rather than a means of believing things about the world.

I mentioned in my earlier post that I really didn't like this book the first time through. There seems something a bit Burke-ish in this statement, a device of a sort to redefine heresy and make it a wonderful and virtuous thing. But I've sat on this and thought about it long and hard, and I don't think that's what Rollins is after here at all.

Here's what I think he's saying, and the more I think about it, the more I'm forced to concede his point: we make a pretense of saying things like all theology is provisional and all interpretation is subject to critique and whatnot. But Rollins comes right out and incorporates that stance into the very heart of his project. He's basically conceding at the very beginning that everything that he says, indeed everything that we all say, about God is at least a little bit of crap. We can never come to the point where our theology grasps all that is God. In fact, much of the Christian tradition has long held that to do so is to create an idol. We try to grasp God, indeed we must try to grasp God, so as to understand the One who has grasped us. What marks out orthodoxy, in Rollins's terms, is not so much the content of that grasping but rather the way in which it is held. Love, openness, humility - these, I think, would characterize orthodoxy in Rollins's terms.

But I don't think he's saying that what we believe doesn't matter. I don't think that's in any way his point. Rather, I think this is an understanding that orthodoxy is a journey towards truth. It begins with an understanding that we don't have it right, and it sets off towards the truth, recognizing that we will never completely arrive this side of eternity. The theology that doesn't recognize it's own provisional and incomplete character - this theology is no longer a grasping towards God, but is rather the fashioning of an idol.

You know what? I think he's onto something here.

Technorati Tags: books, How (Not) to Speak About God, Peter Rollins, emerging church

Great Conversations

I looked at my site yesterday and realized that I haven't posted anything this week. That feels odd, because I've written more than I have in a long time. But most of it is hidden in the comments of some of my earlier posts - I've been having a great conversation with Grace on my thoughts about power and structure in communities. Grace is an excellent thinker and writer, and my thoughts are more clear thanks to her questions and (gracefully spoken) corrections. So in lieu of a full post, take a read through the comments here and here - I think there are thoughts in there worth reading.

On another note, I had an opportunity to attend the Philly Emergent cohort again this week. John Franke came to discuss thoughts about mission and its origins in God's very being. What a great conversation - I won't get into the details here because it deserves a full post of its own, but you can check out the overview here if you're interested. It also, coincidentally, meshes quite well with my thoughts on image, so I certainly want to pull some of those insights into my current reflections on that subject.

One more note - this is a bit late, but I did want to post a link to an upcoming conference that I think sounds fantastic. Off the Map is hosting the Revolution conference in Seattle Nov 3-4. Sounds like a great lineup, including Barna, McLaren, and a host of other great folks. I attended an Off the Map event last year and was impressed. A few of us were able to hang out with the Off the Map folks after one of the evening sessions, and they're wonderful people. (And I don't just say that because Jim Henderson picked up the tab. ;) If I could make this event, I would definitely be there - Seattle is a bit of a hike for me, so I'll be reading about it and envying thinking of those who will be attending. You can get more info here; the blog is here with some interesting content, including an interview with Spencer Burke who is the nicest guy I've ever disagreed with. ;)

Technorati Tags: emergent, Off the Map, John Franke

Heretic's Guide - What's Good? (p. 5)

My head feels clearer and my thoughts more coherent, so I thought I'd jump back into things with a more positive note. Thus far, I've been rather critical of Spencer's book A Heretic's Guide to Eternity. But the book isn't all bad - Spencer does, I think, rightly identify some of the problem of the typical evangelical approach to the gospel, and that's a good thing. Spencer and I agree on at least one thing - the gospel is bigger than a transaction and means more than spending eternity in a really happy place.

I'm sympathetic to Spencer's underlying premise, even if I don't buy it wholesale. I'll speak specifically so as to avoid some of what I take to be problematic language on Spencer's part. Conservative Christian religion in the American context has often seen itself as God's power broker. To put it crassly, the way to God is through Jesus, and the way to Jesus is through "us" - whoever us may be. As a result, the Christian faith has been put to the service of all kinds of masters in the interests of power. Let me be blunt - conservative Christianity is not God's power broker. In fact, to the degree that it has failed to recognize its own stance in relation to power, it has also failed in its efforts to embody the gospel as demonstrated by the Cross. Let's not kid ourselves: doctrine is used for threat as well as for welcome, for control as well as for empowerment, for division as well as for cohesion. And that's not just regrettable - it's often simply sinful.

So here's the difficulty - if the gospel is a transaction on the premise of saying a prayer or participating in a liturgy or whatever, then the ones who control that transaction also control eternity. And, yes, that's a ridiculously crass way of putting it. But it's there; it's present in the conservative Christian subculture - a radical minority, to be sure, but at the same time, too many folks pay too much attention to what folks like Robertson and Falwell say for me to think that it's a minor issue. So foreign policy becomes doctrinal and the Pledge of Allegiance becomes liturgical and we all wonder why nobody pays attention to us anymore. When folks like Katherine Harris can campaign for their own election by saying things like to elect people who are not Christians to public office is to "legislate sin", then I have to cry foul. That's not the gospel - it's attempting to make the gospel serve two masters.

So, yes, to the degree that Christian "religion" prevents us from being good neighbors, then I'd say that it's bad. (But I'd also say that it's no longer Christian.) And focusing on a "decision" can, I think, contribute to that. Spencer is right to suggest that Christianity is far, far less about praying a prayer and far more about following Jesus. It's a commitment; it's a way of life. It's something into which we enter as participants and travelers, and not something that we complete. It's more a process and less a moment - although moments, such as decisions or conversions, are absolutely significant and should not be discounted. And it's far, far more about a new creation and God's actions to bring that about than it is about eternal bliss and comfort for the faithful few. It's about the Kingdom being near, and God being with us.

So, then, to the degree that Spencer is critiquing a kind of religion that doesn't represent the fullness of the gospel - then I'm in agreement, even if we may disagree on what to do about it.

Technorati Tags: books, emerging church, Heretic's Guide to Eternity, Spencer Burke

Heretic's Guide - What About Jesus? (p. 4)

I've said a number of times in the comments that I can't go along with Spencer's understanding of the Christian Story as described in his book A Heretic's Guide to Eternity. Up to now, though, I've just focused on some foundational concepts that I think are at odds in the book. It's time for me to dive in and lay out what I think is the fatal flaw in Spencer's book - his failure to deal with what the text actually says and the picture that it presents of who Jesus was and what he did. Spencer reads the text and finds a guide, a path, a messenger of love and inclusion. In his words:

It is not a question of making claims about Jesus as truth but rather one of experiencing the truth of who he is, outside the confines of a religious system. To claim that other religions are true only to the degree that their views of God are the same as Christian concepts is to make a claim that Jesus himself did not make.

This last claim Jesus made in this troublesome little verse in the book of John is perhaps the key to understanding the others [the way, the truth]. "I am the life." Jesus' life, not just his acts on our behalf but the life he lived on earth, is "the life". Living a life like Jesus' is what it truly means to live. Jesus declared his life to be the way to choose - not the way of zealotry or paganism or compromise, but a life committed to God, committed to God's ways, and committed to grace.

Jesus' vision of God is not for the exclusive use of one community. It is not just for Jews or Christians or any other group. It is for anyone and everyone - Jewish, Christian, Buddhist, whatever...The real story, the real scandal, is Jesus' promiscuous view of God. Whatever the role his religion expected him to play, Jesus ignored it and chose instead to forge a new path that included freedom for him to embrace everyone.

To be born again, according to Jesus, is to commit oneself to the kingdom of God's purposes. It is to begin a journey with God in order to make the world a place of grace. It doesn't mean "getting religion"; it means committing ourselves to Jesus' vision of God's kingdom. What did Jesus say that is? In a word, love, plain and simple.

Spencer, I'm sorry. I wish I could go along with you here. It would make my life a lot easier. It would make my task as a person of Christian faith much simpler. It would make my message as a missional believer much more palatable. It would be fun; I could be Tony Robbins or Mr. Rogers or Joel Osteen. (Oops, how'd that get in there? ;)

But I can't.

I can't go along with hippie Jesus who has smiles and lollipops for everyone. It's just not there. It's a painfully selective reading of the text. Yes, Jesus preached a gospel of love and inclusion. Yes, he broke boundaries and welcomed "all and sundry", as NT Wright would say. Yes, he broke the "rules" and did things that offended religious people. But he offended more than just the scribes and Pharisees. He didn't pull punches. He offered a choice: two ways, one of life and one of death. And, he said, most people don't really care to find the first one. (Matt 7:13-14, in case you're wondering.) He said that he didn't come to bring peace, but a sword. He said that judgment was barreling down on the nation, and yet they refused to repent. He said that, in the end, it would go better for Sodom than it would for the cities where he preached and did his miracles.

Was Jesus inclusive? He was - scandalously so. But he was also sharply exclusivistic, and no amount of polishing him up so that he won't offend our postmodern sensibilities can remove it. It's what a professor of mine has called the dark side of the gospel - the awful truth that rejecting his work has a cost, a price that we may find more than we can bear. It's painful and uncomfortable and ugly. But it's there - and to remove it or to ignore it is to do damage to who Jesus is and what he says.

The message of the kingdom isn't that everyone is in. Jesus never said that. It's the announcement of the world's true King and the coming of his Kingdom. Mark says it this way: "The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news!" And good news it is - but it has a warning as well, lurking just between the syllables, a warning that we fail to heed to our own detriment.

Technorati Tags: books, emerging church, Heretic's Guide to Eternity, Spencer Burke

Heretic's Guide - Scandal of Grace (p. 3)

As I've mentioned previously, Spencer's categories in A Heretic's Guide to Eternity are religion and grace. I've already touched on his treatment of the term religion; now I want to tackle his definition of grace. In his words:

Could it be that love finds us no matter where we are and we don't have to do anything more to get it? Could it be that - beyond religion, reason, and conventional wisdom - grace is something to be opted out of rather than opted in to? Is it not something you get but something you already have?

What is grace? For me, it is a subversive and scandalous twist in human history - an unexpected and revolutionary turn of events that offered a new way of relating to the sacred and each other. Religion declares that we are separated from God, that we are "outsiders". Grace tells us the opposite, that we are already in unless we want to be out.

The problem, I think, at least in the Christian tradition, is that grace seems to have no meaning apart from sin. The two concepts are always linked. It's not that I think sin is a myth or that everyone is perfect; it's just that I believe linking grace to sin detracts from its beauty and intensity.

The problem with Spencer's definition here is precisely that last bit - the two concepts are linked in the Christian tradition because that's at the very heart of the Story. Wanting them to be disconnected does not make it so - grace, which I'd describe more in terms of favor or kindness that is unearned and undeserved, is subversive and scandalous precisely because of sin. This goes back to the very beginning of the narrative in Genesis. It's beautiful and intense because it is undeserved, because it is freely given, because it is unconventional and it smashes boundaries and breaks down the dividing walls that separate us from the love of God. But without that separation, where's the beauty? Where's the scandal?

Don't get me wrong - I know what Spencer's trying to say. But I don't like how he's saying it. I think what he's going after is what Scot McKnight has called "grace-grinding". But I think he fails somewhat by minimizing the problem of sin. As I mentioned in my last post, part of the role of a religious system is to define the problem - what's wrong with the world? (I'm borrowing that straight from Wright's NTPG, btw.) Grace is God's response to the problem - it's inextricably linked to sin in our experience, because that's how we describe what is wrong. Spencer would be well served here to reflect on a Christian description of the problem.

The concept of sin is meant to address the quality of our relationships, with each other and with the world in which we live, but the church has turned it into a "petty moralism that no longer speaks to...human persons in their complete intermingling."...Although the link between grace and sin has driven Christianity for centuries, it just doesn't resonate in our culture anymore. It repulses rather than attracts. People are becoming much less inclined to acknowledge themselves as "sinners in need of a Savior." It's not that people view themselves as perfect; it's that the language they use to describe themselves has changed. "Broken," "fragmented," and "lacking wholeness" - these are some of the new ways people describe their spiritual need.

Two thoughts to conclude. First, just because an idea is unpopular isn't an indication of whether or not it's true. And that's particularly true, I think, for those of us who claim the Christian faith as our own. Pacifism, for example, is unpopular - but I still hold it to be a true description of a Christian ethic. How much more, then, the core narrative that holds all Christian ethic together? Second, Spencer offers what I think is a better, more compelling definition of sin than "moral misdemeanors" - right before he abandons the concept almost entirely! Frankly, I don't get it - instead of advocating a disconnection of the ideas of grace and sin, why not simply rehabilitate the concept of sin so that the concept of grace means more of what it's supposed to mean in the first place? Then, Spencer, you can stand in a healthy place of tension between the scriptural narrative and common interpretations of it - as it is, you abandon a thoroughly useful concept that is absolutely central to the biblical text and that would lend support to your argument rather than detract from it, for what I can't see as a gain of much of anything.

Technorati Tags: emerging church, Heretic's Guide to Eternity, Spencer Burke

A Heretic's Guide: Picking Good Examples (p. 2)

One of the primary challenges I'm facing in reading A Heretic's Guide to Eternity is the suspicion that I'm being faced with a false dichotomy. Ok, that's an understatement - I don't buy the principle division of the book, namely that of religion vs. grace. I touched on this in my previous post, and I thought I'd be able to move on to the first part of the book. But I find that it's a difficulty that keeps hitting me in the face. I can't get past it. A few examples may help:

Admittedly, all religions probably have a fringe element, but just the same, what is it about traditional religion that breeds dogmatic, sometimes fanatical, and even violent responses to the rest of the world? Over the years, terrible things have been done and justified in the name of God. Just look at any history book. Is it any wonder the world's population is beginning to look for alternatives? Frankly, fundamentalists of all kinds are scaring people off. The more zealous and powerful these people become, the more potential followers they drive away.

We need to move past religion. I believe the time is right for another way of looking at the Christian message, freed from the confines of religion and open to the possibility of a radical new incarnation and manifestation. The message of Jesus needs to evolve for our times.

I believe that the next phase of faith is to move beyond religion. Nowhere does Jesus call his followers to start a religion. Jesus' invitation to his first disciples was to follow him. It was a call to journey, a process that leads us away from some things and toward others. It wasn't a call to adhere to a set of rules for all time. In fact, one of the most commonly heard critiques of the Christian message is that it is out of touch with what is really going on in the world around us.

I guess I'm just not really sure what all of this means. Spencer, I think this argument is beneath you - I'm being serious on that statement. You're pitting the worst of "religion" against the best of - well, whatever else there is, I suppose. Have atrocities been committed in the name of religion? Absolutely. Please find one person of religious belief that will deny that, because I don't think they exist. And, yes, fundamentalism can lead to oppression and violence. But "progressives" have committed their share of atrocities also - let's not forget that there's been just as much violence done against religion in the past century as there has been for it. Evil doesn't need to borrow the name of God - it does just fine in human guise.

My question, though, is whether religion is the problem in and of itself. Frankly, I don't see it. Religion has just as often offered a critique of power as it has misused it. Slavery, civil rights, terrorism - all are issues where the problem might be seen as religion, and yet the resources for resolving the problem also come from religion. Religion, at its best, serves as a voice for justice, for the oppressed, for peace, and for understanding. It's simply not tenable to lay all of society's ills at the feet of organized religion as though just removing the "external and dogmatic belief systems" will usher in an era of warm fuzzies and hugs all around.

Let me offer my definition of religion, or specifically, what I take to be the core of the Christian faith qua religion. Is religion - is faith - simply an "external and dogmatic belief system"? Frankly, I hate that definition. It sounds violent and coercive - it makes it seem as though, if I were more spiritual, I wouldn't hold to my belief system. But that's untenable. Religions - faiths, and the Christian faith in particular - offer a particular view of the world, a particular story about what it means to be human, what is wrong with us, and what the solution to our problems might be. It's that story, that narrative, that forms the basis for a religion - not dogmatism or rules. Religions exist because we as people need a way to explain our experience as humans. As a Christian, I hold to a particular telling of that story. Other religions, of course, tell the tale differently. And, yes, those differences sometimes lead to conflict. But I believe that we, as humans, are storied people - we simply can't help crafting narratives in which to live. In the absence of religion, other narratives will be told as well. One currently powerful narrative is that told by consumer capitalism - it's not a "religion" in the technical sense, but you'd better believe it has the power to shape the way we think and interact with one another in ways that are undeniably religious.

So, from the beginning of the book, I feel as though I'm being fitted for Procrustes' bed - I'm given the choice between fundamentalism or freeform spirituality, and I frankly think it's a false dichotomy. I'm quite convinced that one can hold to the historic Christian faith and still offer a critique of "power-based interpretations of foundational texts". In fact, I think that the Christian story by its very nature critiques such interpretations.

Technorati Tags: books, emerging church, Heretic's Guide to Eternity, Spencer Burke

Heretic's Guide: The Question of Language (p.1)

I'm about halfway through Spencer Burke's new book, A Heretic's Guide to Eternity. I thought I'd go ahead and start my interaction, because I'm finding that I have a lot to say and I don't want to lose my thoughts as I go forward. Before I begin, I want to reiterate my respect and appreciation of Spencer as someone I've had the opportunity to meet and get to know just a bit. I've said previously and will say again that he's one of the nicest and most winsome guys I've ever met, and his love for and appreciation of people is profoundly evident from the moment he walks into a room. I've struggled, consequently, with this review, because I have some challenging things to say as a result of the book thus far. I want, then, to be crystal clear that my differences are not with him as a person, but rather with his ideas as presented in AHGtE. Ultimately, though, I've come to two conclusions that I must hold in order to speak with integrity: first, when I'm asked for my opinion, I have a responsibility to present it honestly and fairly and to not cover it for the sake of maintaining an appearance of camaraderie; second, respect means not minimizing the differences between two positions, but recognizing them and speaking truly about them. With that said, Spencer, if you're ever in the Philadelphia area again, you have an open invitation to call me up for a beer or coffee or dinner. My treat. ;)

So, now that I've completely telegraphed where I'm headed with this, I want to begin by expressing something of why I find this book frustrating to read. Bob has already commented on this; so has Scot. But I want to reiterate what others have said: Spencer's use of terminology in this book is maddening. Maddening as in water torture maddening. Put briefly, Spencer is using language in unconventional ways in this book - and it makes digesting it difficult. The title is a case in point, although one that I won't belabor - what Spencer means by "heretic" is not what is normally meant by the term. Read Bob's post for further interaction with this point - I don't see a reason to restate what he's already done quite well. That's not the point of language that's a sticking point for me. The premise of the book, as I'm tracking it thus far, seems to be the contrast between "religion" and "grace". But here's where Spencer begins, I think, to invest these words with something of a different sense than what is commonly meant by them. For example:

To be honest, religion doesn't really work for me anymore. Being aligned with an institutional church or a particular system of worship seems increasingly irrelevant to my ongoing journey with God. In my experience, the customs, traditions, and even language of religion often seem to get in the way of honest dialogue about God. What's more, religion's airtight explanations and all-or-nothing theological arguments seem out of touch with the complexities of twenty-first-century life.

So, as Spencer continues through the book to engage this idea of religion vs. grace, I have to ask myself to what it is that he's exactly referring. The description that he gives doesn't seem to me to be religion per se; if that is, in fact, what he's saying, then I have to cautiously suggest that the entire book is based on a false dichotomy, and I think Spencer is no doubt smarter than that. Is he saying that all religion functions this way, or only some types of religious expression? I think the latter - but I'm not sure, because he never comes out and says it. As a result, I'm left with a choice that I have to make as a reader - is he being either frustratingly imprecise in his use of language, or harmfully stereotypical in his view of religion? I'm attempting to read generously here, so I'm opting for the former - but I concede that I might be wrong on that assumption. And I'm not going to begin to tackle the question of what he means by "grace" - that's for another post.

Some will no doubt say that I'm being needlessly pedantic about the meanings of words, that Spencer is merely being creative and pushing the language in a different direction, that it's helpful and challenging and stretching and all kinds of fun stuff like that. And I concede that I may have less patience for that sort of thing than I once did; I've become used to a certain level of technicality when reading theology, and Spencer is clearly not attempting to head in that direction (not a criticism, just an observation). But at it's most basic, language is about using shared symbols to communicate meaning. There is a sense in which it can be stretched and pushed, and then there is a point after which it looses its capacity to perform its intended function. In other words, stretch the meaning of a word too far and it looses its meaning altogether, like expired elastic that can no longer maintain its shape. And what is true of language is true of an intimately connected means of communication - that of story. But that's another post.

Technorati Tags: books, Heretic's Guide to Eternity, language, Spencer Burke

Thoughts on Moving Forward

An interesting package arrived in the mail yesterday - an advance copy of Spencer Burke's new book, A Heretic's Guide to Eternity. It's already started to create some buzz; Scot McKnight shared his thoughts on the book, and some of the heretic watching sites have already begun to hammer away at it (about which I will refrain from commenting). I'm looking forward to reading the book - although, I must confess, I have some reservations about it, along the lines of Scot's critique (which, let it be noted, was a great model for how to handle differences constructively). I had the privilege of getting to know Spencer a bit during an etrek course that I took at Biblical a few years ago. Spencer is a great guy, one of the most winsome and personable folks I've ever met, and his comments on Scot's postings reflect exactly the spirit that I remember about him. Having said that, I remember at the time that he had begun to articulate some of the ideas that it appears have now developed into this book. It will be an interesting read, no doubt - I'm attempting to go into this with an open mind, but already I'm approaching with some concerns.

I think the thing that I'm wondering is the degree to which Spencer will be able to ground his thoughts in the narrative of scripture. I don't know what direction he's going to take, so I'm withholding judgment on this until I've finished the book. But I confess it doesn't look good from the back cover blurb. Perhaps I'll be pleasantly surprised - I hope that to be true. At the very least, though, he's going to have to present a very different reading than I think can be sustained in order to arrive at where the description says he's going.

Can I be honest here? My concerns aren't just about Spencer's book. Steve McCoy posted several quotes recently from a book that he's currently reading about church growth. There was some interesting conversation in the comments; I myself don't particularly care for the way the quotes are phrased, but without reading the book itself, who am I to say? Still, the conversation at some point shifted to a discussion about growth in general and whether congregations should be seeking to grow. And the more I reflect on this, the more astounded I am at the fact that we actually need to have this conversation.

What bothers me about this is that, at its most basic, the Christian faith is adherence to a story. It's about aligning oneself with a particular way of understanding what it means to be human, what has gone wrong with our existence, and what must be done to fix it. There are a number of ways to tell that story and remain faithful to the Story. But there are things that all tellings of that story must retain in order to remain the same story. My interest in the emerging church began with a suspicion that the evangelical version of the story that I knew was fundamentally flawed - and that suspicion has long since been transformed into conviction. However, I confess that I'm not hearing much of late that represents a better proposal.

And that's profoundly disappointing. It's, on one level, simply sloppy. It often represents a failure to integrate the basic elements of the story into a cohesive whole - so, for example, when I hear that particular understandings of the atonement described as "cosmic child abuse," I think it's a pile of crap. No serious trinitarian theology can ever say such a thing and remain trinitarian. It's simply not possible. It's sloppy. And, vice versa, when I hear others saying that God is some kind of macho uber-man who "crushes Jesus" for our sins, I think exactly the same thing. Where's the trinitarian theology in that statement? It's sloppy. It's an awful way to tell the story. It's nothing more than American machismo read back into what started as an articulation of the Christian faith.

I had more that I was going to say, but I'm stopping here. This is moving towards a rant, and I really didn't want it to head that way. So - here's what I'm thinking. I have a few more posts on Enns's book remaining, then I'll tackle Spencer's. After that, I want to write about something that I've been thinking about for over six months now. I want to share with you how I read the story - a reading that begins with the image of God in Genesis 1 and continues to New Creation. Hopefully along the way I can present something that might serve as the beginnings of a way forward.

Philly Cohort Gathering for July

One of the things I've been missing over this past year is the opportunity to be a part of the Philadelphia Emergent cohort.  I was able to attend several gatherings last summer before my fall semester began, and I was really impressed with the group.  I wrote about my first meeting here - Dr Joseph Mangina from Wycliffe College in Toronto spoke for nearly an hour on the book of Revelation.  It was phenomenal - and I found myself really impressed with a group of folks that were packed into Scott and Fairlight's living room, completely engaged and immersed in what was being discussed.

My first gathering in almost a year was interesting.  We talked for a bit about what we wanted to see happen in the cohort.  Personally, I didn't have a lot of stake in the conversation - I felt a bit out of my element given that I haven't attended for so long.  But it did prod my thinking for a bit - what is it that I enjoy so much about getting together with this group?  There are lots of things, really - everyone has always been incredibly hospitable and welcoming, which makes it easy for an introvert like myself to plug in.  And there's substantive discussion taking place.  Several of the folks present mentioned that they loved having a place to get together with other folks and talk theology.  Let's face it - we theology junkies don't have that many outlets, you know?  But Scott said something that has stuck with me, that I've been pondering all weekend.  He mentioned that the group is really fairly diverse, as far as cohorts go.  And I think that's true - it's not a group full of "angry young men", as I've often heard these things described.  So far, we haven't gotten together to sit around and rail against everything "modern" or "traditional" or any of the other descriptors that are commonly used to label things we don't like.  It's a group from many different traditions and denominations, some practitioners, some academics, and some (like myself) who are still searching for a niche.  But if you're interested in what God is doing in the Philadelphia area, and you want to get together with other folks who are likewise interested and engaged, then I have no doubt that you'd find yourself welcomed warmly.

Technorati Tags: emerging church, philly cohort

Removing the Label

Tonight I'm enjoying something that I've neglected for far too long. I'm sitting on my deck enjoying a little something that I picked up in London to commemorate my graduation - a new pipe, specifically a Butz Choquin Cybele, if you're interested in such things, a horn-shaped pipe with some really stunning hardwood inlay in front of the stem. This is my maiden voyage with this particular piece of briar, and it's doing quite admirably. It's smoking a bit hot, though, because I'm trying some Rattray's Hal o' the Wynd that's a bit too dry for my liking. It's an older tin that I should just pitch, but I can't seem to bring myself to do so. The problem, though, is that if I don't, I might damage the pipe - it's too dry to smoke at a safe temperature, instead burning hot which carries the risk of damaging the briar in the pipe.

 I've simultaneously been catching up on my blogosphere reading. I'm woefully behind thanks to my recent blog fast - I think I need to just hit reset on the reader and start fresh. But I'm glad I caught a post from James tonight, because it echoes a lot of what I've been thinking of late. James writes this:

It was one of those moments like the first time you look in the mirror and realize that you are no longer 18 years old and in shape. Your mind may try to convince you that you are still in your prime but the mirror reveals that uncomfortable reality. Similarly, I have always seen myself as somewhat "conservative." But during the conversation with Balmer I realized that I have convictions and beliefs that are firmly outside the conservative label. It was like scales fell off my eyes and I began to see for the first time that there is a large group of self identified Christians who would exclude me from their camp because of the views I have of the Christian faith. In fact, there are some who would not even think my views are Christian at all.

This, I think, describes exactly how I've begun to feel over the past year or so. I've come a long way, in my opinion, in my understanding of many things - the gospel, the nature of scripture, the nature of the church, and the way in which my theology informs my politics. And, on so many of these items, I find myself in an awkward position. Because of my commitment to some quite conservative positions, such as the authority of scripture and the confession of Christ as Lord, I can no longer hold to many of the conclusions that conservative theology advances. I take seriously, for example, that Jesus actually intends for us to love our enemies and, consequently, I've become convinced that I can no longer support conservative positions on war. I take seriously, likewise, the authority of scripture and, consequently, I'm left dissatisfied with many conservative articulations of what I take to be extra-biblical statements about those same scriptures. I could go on - my point, however, is less the particular doctrines and more that a commitment to certain conservative positions results in undermining much of the remaining structure. This, at the end of the day, is what troubles me the most.

I mentioned in my previous post that I was reading a book by Peter Enns called Inspiration and Incarnation: Evangelicals and the Problem of the Old Testament. My initial thought was that I was surprised that it hasn't garnered more attention in the blogosphere - it's a fantastic read thus far that I think many who identify with the emerging church would profit from reading. However, as I began to dig a bit, I found that I'm simply not reading the blogs that have discussed it. There's actually been a fair amount of interaction with it, and not all of it supportive, to put things mildly. Mark, a fellow contributor to meremission.org (where I need to actually contribute, I've been thinking ;) has interacted with some of the criticism, much of which has been rather disappointing, to say the least. But I mention this because one thing that I keep reading is that Enns's proposals are not "conservative" - which, I suppose, is to label him as one of those evil "liberals" and thus avoid interacting with what he actually says. Ironically, his book is based on premises with which no conservative would ever argue - the authority and inspiration of scripture. But because the conclusions that he reaches based precisely on those premises are not in keeping with what the gatekeepers of orthodoxy have deemed acceptable, his book is maligned and condemned.

So I find myself in a position where I've been trying to wear a label that really has begun to chafe. I can't stand having to apologize for it or nuance it enough that it fits who I find that I've become. My friend Scott wrote some time ago about something similar - I find that, like him, like James, perhaps it's time to remove the label.

I've put my pipe down for this evening. The pipe performed excellently; however, if I continue, the bad tobacco will ruin it. I'm reminded of an old adage about old tobacco and new pipes - or was that old wine and new wineskins? I think either serves to make the point. Perhaps it's time to move on.

Thinking About Success

One of the things that struck me rather forcefully on our trip was the way in which the missionaries who hosted us thought about success. Because of the nature of their work, they have a different perspective than, I think, we've come to embrace here in the States. They're working in a context where the people among whom they're ministering are highly resistant to the gospel. One of them commented that they may have to share the gospel hundreds of times before the person with whom they're talking starts to grasp it. As a result, they're simply not seeing large numbers of converts. They're seeing, instead, one here, one there - a small trickle compared to the overwhelming need. Much of their work is building trust, building friendships - slower work that doesn't show immediate results.

I wonder what we'd do here if we were faced with that sort of context. Americans, I think, idolize efficiency - we want everything to be as fast as possible, as cheap as possible, and produce the best possible result. And those aren't necessarily bad things, to be sure. But I don't think we've necessarily come to grips with exactly how much that mindset defines how we approach the work of the Kingdom. Even among emerging church folks, I hear / read a lot of stuff that says, "We don't care about numbers," followed by a statistic detailing how much a community has grown in its first year or some such. We are addicted to numbers, to fast growth, to impressive statistics. And it's one thing to recognize that, to say it and to think we believe it. But would we really work for a whole year to perhaps see one person come to the faith? I'm not convinced we've really begun to think through whether we're serious about that claim yet.

Interview with Shane Hipps (p. 2)

Part 2 of my interview with Shane Hipps, author of The Hidden Power of Electronic Culture:

Interview with Shane Hipps (p. 1)

I've had the privilege of discussing a few thoughts from The Hidden Power of Electronic Culture with Shane Hipps. Shane's website, by the way, can be found