Hot off the heels of my frustration with SparkLife, I decided to tackle Ricky Gervais’s “Holiday Message.” Due to its length, I will skip some stuff. I don’t feel like I’ve skipped anything particularly crucial, but correct me if I’m wrong. Let me also say that I think Gervais is a fantastic comedian. I love The Office and Extras.

Why don’t you believe in God? I get that question all the time. I always try to give a sensitive, reasoned answer. This is usually awkward, time consuming and pointless. People who believe in God don’t need proof of his existence, and they certainly don’t want evidence to the contrary. They are happy with their belief. They even say things like “it’s true to me” and “it’s faith”. I still give my logical answer because I feel that not being honest would be patronizing and impolite. It is ironic therefore that “I don’t believe in God because there is absolutely no scientific evidence for his existence and from what I’ve heard the very definition is a logical impossibility in this known universe”, comes across as both patronizing and impolite.

I agree with you, Mr. Gervais: I see no hard scientific evidence for the existence of God either. In fact, I’m working on a blog post on that. The basic idea is this: I can’t prove the supernatural by looking only at the natural.

What some of my theist friends might find patronizing is this bit about “logical impossibility.” I’m glad that you add “known universe” here — what about the unknown?

Arrogance is another accusation. Which seems particularly unfair. Science seeks the truth. And it does not discriminate. For better or worse it finds things out. Science is humble. It knows what it knows and it knows what it doesn’t know.

Again, we are in agreement. Science is pretty honest about what it doesn’t know. However, one of the things that it doesn’t know are those things that are beyond the realm of science. Now, hardcore adherents who put all of their faith in science (and you seem to be one of these) tend to discount that there is anything that science can’t know. That’s where we differ.

…I’m saying God doesn’t exist. I’m not saying faith doesn’t exist. I know faith exists. I see it all the time. But believing in something doesn’t make it true. Hoping that something is true doesn’t make it true. The existence of God is not subjective. He either exists or he doesn’t. It’s not a matter of opinion. You can have your own opinions. But you can’t have your own facts.

OK. Fair enough. But, recognize that you too are putting your faith in something. Namely, you’re putting your faith in science to explain the entirety of the universe (though, at least you admit that we don’t know everything yet). You are looking at the natural world and saying: That’s all there is. I’m looking at the natural world and asking: What else could there be?

Why don’t I believe in God? No, no no, why do YOU believe in God? Surely the burden of proof is on the believer. You started all this. If I came up to you and said, “Why don’t you believe I can fly?” You’d say, “Why would I?” I’d reply, “Because it’s a matter of faith”. If I then said, “Prove I can’t fly. Prove I can’t fly see, see, you can’t prove it can you?” You’d probably either walk away, call security or throw me out of the window and shout, ‘’F—ing fly then you lunatic.”

In this case would you not appeal to the laws of physics to offer a proof for why a human being can’t fly?

This, is of course a spirituality issue, religion is a different matter. As an atheist, I see nothing “wrong” in believing in a god. I don’t think there is a god, but belief in him does no harm. If it helps you in any way, then that’s fine with me. It’s when belief starts infringing on other people’s rights when it worries me. I would never deny your right to believe in a god. I would just rather you didn’t kill people who believe in a different god, say. Or stone someone to death because your rulebook says their sexuality is immoral.

The idea that atheists have not used their (un)belief to infringe upon the rights of others seems to be implied here. This is, of course, untrue. Look at atheistic governments: USSR, People’s Republic of China, Khmer Rouge, North Korea, etc. What you don’t like is when someone’s commitment to a certain ideal infringes upon someone else’s rights. I’m with you. This is not a phenomenon particular to religion, however. We can setup any value as something to fight about.

It’s strange that anyone who believes that an all-‐powerful all knowing, omniscient power responsible for everything that happens, would also want to judge and punish people for what they are.

This statement, no doubt, has rhetorical force in certain circles, but there is no argument here. Simply because something is strange or silly doesn’t make it untrue.

When confronted with anyone who holds my lack of religious faith in such contempt, I say, “It’s the way God made me.”

Ha! I find that genuinely funny…if you said that to me, I’d crack up.

The dictionary definition of God is “a supernatural creator and overseer of the universe”. Included in this definition are all deities, goddesses and supernatural beings. Since the beginning of recorded history, which is defined by the invention of writing by the Sumerians around 6000 years ago, historians have cataloged over 3700 supernatural beings, of which 2870 can be considered deities.

So next time someone tells me they believe in God, I’ll say “Oh which one? Zeus? Hades? Jupiter? Mars? Odin? Thor? Krishna? Vishnu? Ra?…” If they say “Just God. I only believe in the one God”, I’ll point out that they are nearly as atheistic as me. I don’t believe in 2,870 gods, and they don’t believe in 2,869.

You stole that bit from Christopher Hitchens. It’s clever, but you’re better than that.

I used to believe in God. The Christian one that is.

This story is interesting to me, let’s read on…

I loved Jesus. He was my hero. More than pop stars. More than footballers. More than God. God was by definition omnipotent and perfect. Jesus was a man. He had to work at it. He had temptation but defeated sin. He had integrity and courage. But He was my hero because He was kind. And He was kind to everyone. He didn’t bow to peer pressure or tyranny or cruelty. He didn’t care who you were. He loved you. What a guy. I wanted to be just like Him.

One day when I was about 8 years old, I was drawing the crucifixion as part of my Bible-‐studies homework. I loved art too. And nature. I loved how God made all the animals. They were also perfect. Unconditionally beautiful. It was an amazing world.

I lived in a very poor, working-‐class estate in an urban sprawl called Reading, about 40 miles west of London. My father was a laborer and my mother was a housewife. I was never ashamed of poverty. It was almost noble. Also, everyone I knew was in the same situation, and I had everything I needed. School was free. My clothes were cheap and always clean and ironed. And mum was always cooking. She was cooking the day I was drawing on the cross.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when my brother came home. He was 11 years older than me, so he would have been 19. He was as smart as anyone I knew, but he was too cheeky. He would answer back and get into trouble. I was a good boy. I went to church and believed in God – what a relief for a working-‐class mother. You see, growing up where I did, mums didn’t hope as high as their kids growing up to be doctors; they just hoped their kids didn’t go to jail. So bring them up believing in God and they’ll be good and law abiding. It’s a perfect system. Well, nearly. 75 percent of Americans are God-‐fearing Christians; 75 percent of prisoners are God-‐fearing Christians. 10 percent of Americans are atheists; 0.2 percent of prisoners are atheists.

But anyway, there I was happily drawing my hero when my big brother Bob asked, “Why do you believe in God?” Just a simple question. But my mum panicked. “Bob” she said in a tone that I knew meant, “Shut up.” Why was that a bad thing to ask? If there was a God and my faith was strong it didn’t matter what people said.

Oh … hang on. There is no God. He knows it, and she knows it deep down. It was as simple as that. I started thinking about it and asking more questions, and within an hour, I was an atheist.

I don’t doubt any of this. What I do find troubling is that you are still clinging to these ideas that you formed when you were eight-years old. No doubt, you are a sharper guy than I, but I just can’t think of anything important that I believed when I was eight.

So, I must ask: Have you critically thought about this stuff since then? Have you attempted to see the other side? Have you put yourself in the theist’s shoes and said: “OK, how would things look different?”

I learned of evolution – a theory so simple that only England’s greatest genius could have come up with it. Evolution of plants, animals and us – with imagination, free will, love, humor. I no longer needed a reason for my existence, just a reason to live. And imagination, free will, love, humor, fun, music, sports, beer and pizza are all good enough reasons for living.

I’m on board with evolution. I’m not on board with your reasons to live. Human existence seems horribly depressing — why press on? Do these things bring that much enjoyment? I love imagination, free will, love, humor, fun, music, sports, beer, and pizza (and the Oxford comma I just inserted), but outside of love they all seem so self-centered. If I’m living for only my happiness, then why not just move on from this mortal coil?

But living an honest life – for that you need the truth. That’s the other thing I learned that day, that the truth, however shocking or uncomfortable, in the end leads to liberation and dignity.

Amen!

So what does the question “Why don’t you believe in God?” really mean. I think when someone asks that; they are really questioning their own belief. In a way they are asking “what makes you so special? “How come you weren’t brainwashed with the rest of us?” “How dare you say I’m a fool and I’m not going to heaven, f— you!”

No. Some of us are just curious. I used to be an atheist. I know why I thought that way. Why do you think that way? I really want to know. Thanks for answering.

Above, you were incredulous that people would find you patronizing and impolite. Claiming that those who believe in a god have been brainwashed is impolite.

Let’s be honest, if one person believed in God he would be considered pretty strange. But because it’s a very popular view it’s accepted.

Indeed, that would be strange. Most unpopular views aren’t “accepted.” Atheism is now a popular view so it is generally accepted. If one person was an atheist, that would be strange, right?

And why is it such a popular view? That’s obvious. It’s an attractive proposition. Believe in me and live forever. Again if it was just a case of spirituality this would be fine. “Do unto others…” is a good rule of thumb. I live by that. Forgiveness is probably the greatest virtue there is. Buts that’s exactly what it is -‐ a virtue. Not just a Christian virtue. No one owns being good. I’m good. I just don’t believe I’ll be rewarded for it in heaven. My reward is here and now. It’s knowing that I try to do the right thing. That I lived a good life. And that’s where spirituality really lost its way. When it became a stick to beat people with. “Do this or you’ll burn in hell.”

Don’t want to dwell on this here, but I disagree with you. I don’t find this to be a nice idea. Rather, I find the idea of judgment by an omniscient, omnipotent being to be quite terrifying.

Again, we come back to the moral argument. Where do these ideas of what is good and virtuous come from? Who/what created them?

Thanks, Mr. Gervais, for posting your thoughts. I really do appreciate your humor and candor. Now get back to making television so I can laugh!

This post is long. Deal with it!

One of my students recently referred me to a post on the SparkLife blog called “Life as an Atheist.” After reading the article, I remained annoyed, so I decided to post the article here and offer up some thoughts.

Here it is:

You might have read the title of this post and gasped. “An atheist!? Oh, the horror!” Or maybe you thought, “What does that even mean?” Or, maybe, you had no reaction other than “eh.”

I’m an “eh” person here. I used to be an atheist, so I’m not surprised that they exist.

Usually when I state my views on religion, I get the first response. Angry stares, shocked expressions, silent condemnations, and some people even walk away. All because of one little sentence: “I’m an atheist.”

I know it’s not like this everywhere. Some cities and states are extremely open-minded. Unfortunately, I do not live in one of those places. I live in Colorado Springs, Colorado. And Colorado Springs is unlike the rest of Colorado. Colorado is mostly Democratic, liberal, and extremely open-minded. But Colorado Springs… is the total opposite. And really, extremely Christian, which puts me in a distinct minority.

I do apologize if people really treat you this way, esp. if they are Christians. That’s not what we’re supposed to do. Forgive us. (Question: How do you know it’s a condemnation if it’s silent? Not to be too deconstructionist here, but perhaps that’s just your interpretation.)

I generally keep my views to myself (because I’m shy and like to avoid conflict), but it can be hard. At least two of my teachers always bring up religion in class, and when I don’t get biblical references, I’m questioned.

What do you mean when you say “I’m questioned”? Do you feel like you’re being interrogated? Just curious…

Today I’m going to answer questions, but not about the Bible. These are my answers to the most common questions I get about my beliefs…

This is where I start to get excited about this post. Here is an atheist who is going to prove atheism to me. Unfortunately, “Contributor” does nothing of the sort.

Why are you an atheist?

This is the most common one, and the hardest to answer. I’m very opinionated, and I’ll easily go on for hours about why God can’t exist, why, if He did, there are so many inconsistencies and caveats… like I said, I can go on. So, unless I know the person is willing to debate with me, I shrug and say “It seems illogical.”

Two thoughts here:

1. You’ve already contradicted yourself. Earlier you said that you avoided confrontation, but here you make it sound like you love talking about it. Though, of course, your actions (e.g., this blog post) don’t show that.
2. Another contradiction — you told us you were going to give us answers to common questions. Yet, for what is possibly the biggest question (“Why are you an atheist?”) you offer no answer. This is frustrating for me.

Here’s the problem with many Christian vs. Atheist debates. The atheist never feels like the burden of proof is on him/her. Instead, they can bully the theist ad infinitum requesting evidence for his/her theistic assertion. Atheists, please realize that you too have made an assertion that requires evidence. You have asserted there is no God. Show me evidence. “Contributor”, please tell me what “seems illogical.” I find it hard to believe that your sense of logic is that much better than most of the greatest thinkers of all time. Help me to see their error.

I do still have morals!

I agree with some of the morals that Christianity and other religions propose, and I follow them. I don’t have to believe in God to believe that all people should be treated fairly, and I try to live by that rule. Basically, I make up my own morals. If I feel that something should be done, I do it.

Question: How do you go about making up your own morals? Where do those moral ideas come from? How do you know what justice and fairness are?

Why, if there were no God and no such thing as Hell, would people be good?

Why wouldn’t they? Everything you do is up to you, and if you want to be good, well then, problem solved. If you don’t want to do nice things, no one can change that. People live by the morals they believe are right, and if that happens to be “good,” then awesome.

This seems like a silly question, and I’d never ask that. Here’s what I want to know: If morals are relative, how do we know what “good” is? Is there even such a thing as “good” or “morals” if all things are equal and it is left up to the individual to decide what is “right” and “wrong”?

What happens when we die?

I don’t even have an inkling. Personally, I believe that we just stop existing, and that’s that. But I know other atheists who believe that their soul will carry on, just not their corporal body. It varies, basically.

Fair enough.

Are you telling me I shouldn’t believe in God?

Not at all. If you believe in God, and you’re happy with that, then I’m happy for you. All I ask is that you’re happy for me, and don’t try to shove your beliefs down my throat. I accept you, and you believe in God. And I’m totally fine with that.

I understand your frustration with people “shoving it down your throat.” I’ve been there. However, put yourself in a Christian’s shoes for just a moment. It is not possible for me to be “happy for you” in this particular case. Sure, I might be happy that you’re doing well, that you made a new friend, or received a job offer or whatever. But I cannot be happy about your choice to believe the tenets of atheism. As a Christian, I see you as lost. I would never say: “Oh yea! That little boy is lost!” Out of love for you, because I believe that you were created in the image of God and worthy of my love and respect, I am compelled to tell you about Jesus. Sure, some of my friends don’t have a lot of tact, but we are just doing it out of concern for your well being.

OK, you can get out of my shoes now.

I hope you have had some of your questions answered!

Unfortunately, no. You’ve not really answered any questions. Instead, you’ve just said: “I don’t know.” This is not compelling or interesting.

My intention is not to offend you, I promise. If you have any more questions, or just want to talk about anything, please leave me a message in the comments!

Sorry, can’t leave stuff in the comments because that would require me to sign up for a SparkLife account, and I just can’t bring myself to do it.

I would love for you to answer the first question. Why are you an atheist? When you answer that question, please give me some evidence to tell me why you believe there is no God or gods. (No need for you to attempt to disprove Christianity, yet. Start by disproving theism since that is what you are adamantly opposed to.)

Has atheism ever appealed to you?

Yes. I was an atheist for much of my youth. However, when someone asked me to disprove the existence of a god, I started to have trouble.

Dear readers — your thoughts?

So whatever you wish that others would do to you,
do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets.
— Matthew 7.12 (ummm…words of Christ in red)

This verse is so familiar. Long before I was a Christian, I remember learning the Golden Rule in elementary school. Not surprising since the Wikipedia article on “The Golden Rule” shows various formulations of the rule across continents and time — it is not really unique to Christ or Christianity.

Most of us hear this, and consider what Christ is commanding us to do. However, in considering Thomas Merton’s meditations on the nature of hatred in chapter 10 of New Seeds of Contemplation (“A Body of Broken Bones”), a new way of interpreting the Golden Rule strikes me.

Merton argues that hatred for others is really just a manifestation of our own hatred for ourselves. Some realize their shortcomings, and project those shortcomings on to others and then, in an attempt to compete in the human rat race (aka “the bogus world system”), they denigrate those shortcomings in order to raise their own status, in order to make themselves feel better or justified about who/what they are. Others are so disconnected from themselves that they don’t realize that they have shortcomings — but their subconscious knows that something is amiss.

I’m sure Merton may be charged with invoking pop psychology here, but I think he’s on to something.

What if the Golden Rule isn’t so much a rule but, rather, a law of human nature? We could formulate it in this way:

You do unto others,
as you would have them do unto you.

The way that we treat others is a manifestation, a projection of the way that we really feel about ourselves, of the way that we feel we deserve to be treated. If we feel unworthy of love, then we will treat others as though they are unworthy of love; if we feel hatred toward some other person or group, it’s because we feel hatred for ourselves; etc.

You hate and scorn others,
because (you believe) you deserve to be hated and scorned.

You hurt others,
because (you believe) you deserve to be hurt.

You love others,
because (you believe) you deserve to be loved.

Notice that it’s a two-way street — we can do beneficence to others because of our healthy self-image.

If this is the case, if the Golden Rule is really a universal law of human nature, then we have to ask ourselves this: How do we attain a healthy self-image that will allow us to live out the Golden Rule/Law in a positive way (i.e., “love others”)?

Great question. Merton’s response would be to connect with God through contemplation, to deny the false self that you’ve spent your whole life creating in order to discover your true identity in Christ.

Easier said than done…?

]]> http://www.witheringfig.com/ministry/rethinking-the-golden-rule/feed/ 3 http://www.witheringfig.com/ministry/i-am-%e2%88%b4-i-am-selfish-ambition-deadly-reason/ http://www.witheringfig.com/ministry/i-am-%e2%88%b4-i-am-selfish-ambition-deadly-reason/#comments Thu, 05 Aug 2010 15:00:11 +0000 Stephen Hebert http://www.witheringfig.com/?p=1866

I’m re-reading Thomas Merton’s New Seeds of Contemplation, and, to be quite frank, I am blown away by my own lack of spiritual life and understanding. Allow me to make three brief points inspired by Merton:

I AM ∴ i am

The Source, God, offers Himself to each one of us — a free gift of the divine to our broken humanity, adopting us, giving us sonship (and daughtership!) as heirs to His royal and divine kingdom. Reading Galatians 4:1–7 confirms this for me:

I mean that the heir, as long as he is a child, is no different from a slave,though he is the owner of everything, but he is under guardians and managers until the date set by his father. In the same way we also, when we were children, were enslaved to the elementary principles of the world. But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!” So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God. (ESV)

The point is this: I exist and live because He exists and lives. Without his pure personality, I have no personality; without his redemption and adoption of me, I am less than dust.

He is; therefore, I am.

Selfish Ambition

In describing the contemplative life, Merton derides selfish ambition as the contemplative killer. Confession time: so much of what I do, even when it doesn’t seem to be, is done out of selfish ambition. Right now, I’m spending a great deal of time preparing for the classes that I am going to teach this next semester. In and of itself, this is not a bad thing. However, there is a part of me (Calvinists, here’s your Total Depravity!) that desires to do this only in the vain pursuit of approval in my students’ eyes — I want them to believe that I am smart!

If I truly understood and recognized my place in His kingdom, perhaps I wouldn’t be so ambitious and wouldn’t worry so much about the approval of my fellow humans.

Deadly Reason

Merton believes that the West has robbed Christianity of the mystical by treating God as an object, a thing to be grasped, rationalized, and understood. He’s right on this point too, and I’m guilty of that hyper-western mode of theological reflection.

In my favor, I have said on this blog before that the pursuit of a systematic theology is potentially useless. I summed that up with this statement: Infinitude defies finite system. I think I’m right here, and I happen to think some weighty 20th century thinkers like Merton and Lewis would agree with me here.

However, in spite of my contempt for systematic theology, I find myself systematize things spiritual and turning God, spirituality, etc. into a thing to be grasped — an object to be attained, understood, etc.

I have been slapped on the wrist.

Houston Christian High School, under the auspices of a program called Project 20/20, is working towards developing a relationship with a school on each continent. At the moment, our first school is Joma Methodist Primary School in the village of Joma not far from Accra, the capital of Ghana. On July 21st, 2010, nine members of the HCHS community (three teachers, the chaplain, and five students) traveled to Joma to work with students and teachers there.

(L) Students working at the Joma School. (R) A portrait of a student at Joma.

Because I will have each of the five students in class next year, the school invited me along as one of the teachers. This was really my first time to:

(a) travel internationally for a mission trip;
(b) experience an unindustrialized culture at close range;
(c) work with students as young as three years old.

First, let me link you to my flickr set. That will supply you with some more photos to checkout.

Second, let me tell you that a trip such as this tends to have a greater impact on the server than the one being served. While I can only hope and pray that the students at Joma felt blessed by our work at their school (we painted and also taught), I know that I was touched by the villagers happiness in the face of enormous odds. These children contract malaria multiple times a year; they swim, eat from, drink, bathe, and play in a lake that is polluted and disease-infested; they have nothing to their names but a school uniforms, a few fishing nets, and huts with thatched roofs. Yet, upon seeing nine white folks hop out of a van, the smiles on their faces were incredible. We brought them one soccer ball, and you’d think it was Christmas morning?

How is it that we’ve lost touch with ourselves? How is it that we’ve allowed wealth and possessions to dictate our feelings? How is it that we are no longer connected with the earth, its rhythms and its cycles?

Lord — just give me the opportunity to live simply.

Natalie and I always joke that if I hadn’t found her, I’d be off living the monk’s life somewhere. How I crave some of that now! (Though, I really like having the wife around…so we’ll have to find a way to make both work!)

Recently, I listened to a 2005 episode of This American Life called “Heretics,” an episode in two acts that follows the rise and subsequent fall of American pastor Bishop Carlton Pearson, an Oral Roberts protégé. After enjoying incredible success as an evangelist, Pearson’s community deserted him in the wake of his decision to start preaching a version of universalism¹ that he developed called “The Gospel of Inclusion.” Pearson lit upon his new understanding while watching a television report about violence in Rwanda. During this report he claims to have had a conversation with God who told him that we’d all gotten it wrong.

This post is not about the doctrine of Hell, really. Though, I will say that I happen to believe that Hell exists and that people do need the grace and love of God if they’d like to avoid it.²

Rather, this post is about the very idea of heresy.

The Oxford American Dictionary (OAD) has this to say about heresy: belief or opinion contrary to orthodox religious (esp. Christian) doctrine.

When I look at that definition, one word sticks out as particularly problematic: orthodox. Here’s what OAD has to say about that: (of a person or their views, esp. religious or political ones, or other beliefs or practices) conforming to what is generally or traditionally accepted as right or true; established and approved.

Obviously, what is orthodox for one group can be heretical to another and vice-versa. So, where do we draw the line? Who determines what is really orthodox and what is really heterodox?

Conventional wisdom would tell us that the victors are the one’s who determine orthodoxy. The history of the Christianity is full of victories and triumphs over heretics; one need only skim through Irenaeus’s Adversus haereses to see that this has been the mode of fashion of the church from a very early time period. Really, though, we can go back even further to Paul himself to see this split; Paul frequently writes about people who have turned aside.³

The question I am frequently faced with is this: If orthodoxy is determined by the victor, then is it possible that what we consider “orthodox” is really just a set of teaching determined by aggressive dudes with an agenda who weren’t acting in accordance with the Holy Spirit?

Yes. That’s entirely possible. We can look at just about any major doctrine of the Christian faith and find a battle (sometimes bloody, sometimes not). However, simply because the victors won doesn’t make them wrong.

How then do we go about determining what is orthodox and what is not? The easy answer is Scripture. I say this is easy because some folks are totally satisfied by that. The Bible says so…therefore, it must be. However, the Bible is open to interpretation on multiple fronts. These various interpretation sometimes fall outside of the range of established orthodoxy, and, voila!, we have a controversy. Take Hell for example. There are very few passages which describe how this whole eternal punishment thing works. When the annihilationists and traditionalists go at it, they are often using the same exact passages as proof. The traditionalist says: “Oh yeah? What about Revelation 20?” Then the annihilationist fires back and says: “Yeah! Revelation 20 proves my point!” The epic smackdown that ensues is fueled by differing interpretations of the same exact chunks of Scripture!

The harder answer to our question is this: “I don’t know.” Early Christians talk about the “canon of faith.” This idea is developed thoroughly by Father John Behr in his book The Way to Nicaea. In Greek the word kanōn (κανών) means rule, limit, or principle. This is what a carpenter would use to make things straight — it’s a guide. The canon of faith then are the principles, the guides, the limits, the rules that keep things inbounds. This canon for the early church consisted largely of their new interpretation of the Hebrew Bible in the new light of Christ. In a post-Christ world, these radicals flipped the script on the Hebrew Bible and found it to be the precursor to Christ, a record of all the events that foreshadowed and announced his appearance.

How do we get our hand on this canon of faith? Again, this is all troubling. I’ve already meandered through several pages here, and I don’t have any answers for you other than this:

1. Careful reading/exegesis of the Bible.
2. Being receptive to the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

Where then do we put Carlton Pearson? He’s a guy who knows the Bible extremely well, and yet he says his 180 on the existence of Hell is a reaction to God speaking directly to him.⁴ Is this guy a heretic? Is he a brother in Christ? Is he, as my Jesuit friends would say, amongst the “separated brethren”? Or, is he a heretic who deserves excommunication? Do heretics deserve punishment at all, or should we simply rebuke and love them and accept them into our fold?

This is the most dissatisfying post ever. Not only is it long and rambling, but I have come to no conclusions other than this:

Love God. Love your neighbor. Deal with it.

Footnotes

1. Universalism, or universal reconciliation, is a doctrine that claims that all humans will reach salvation (i.e., heaven) because of the infinite love and mercy of God. It is considered heretical by most mainline denominations.
2. What happens to people who never hear the Gospel? I don’t know. I’d be speculating wouldn’t I? I’ll leave it to God to do the just thing. I will say here, however, that I have lately been interested in some arguments made by Edward Fudge which support an annihilationist perspective. In some very careful, thoroughgoing exegesis in his book, The Fire That Consumes, Fudge attempts to argue that the traditional perspective that damned souls suffer ongoing, eternal, conscious punishment in Hell may not be the most biblical perspective. Rather, Fudge argues that a soul is annihilated, utterly destroyed, on the day of judgment. If you’re really interested in this topic, you can pick up The Fire That Consumes, and I’m also told that Two Views of Hell is worth a look. Not sure how I feel about all of this, but I think it’s worth investigating.
3. Recently, I have been reading 2 Timothy in which Paul (yes, I realize the authorship of this letter is disputed) mentions folks that have turned aside from the gospel he preached. This is just one example of many in the Pauline canon.
4. After writing this sentence, I realize that in a post-Englightenment, post-modern, and potentially post-postmodern age, the idea of God speaking to someone might sound crazy. I don’t think for a moment that Carlton Pearson is insane. I just don’t.

I’m horrible at prayer. I don’t make it a priority; I can be uncomfortable, and I often feel that discomfort because I feel exposed and open — sort of like Frodo when he puts on the One Ring and can feel the lidless eye of Sauron, ever-watching atop Barad-dûr, consuming him (see image below). Don’t get the Lord of the Rings reference? Well, that might be a good thing. Read on anyway…

This morning, I was reading quickly through a prayer series found over at The Resurgence. While I wouldn’t consider myself truly “reformed,” nor am I in agreement with all of the items in this series of posts, it did make me rethink the simplicity of prayer.

So, I thought I’d share what I typically do.

I use moleskine notebooks to keep track of what’s going on in my prayer life. Everything that I’m about to describe is written down. Why do I write? Because it keeps me focused. I’ve never been diagnosed with ADD, and I don’t think I have it, but when things are kept only in my mind, they tend to float away. I need to be looking at something — even if it’s just my own chicken scratch.

I date the top of a page, and then I start writing to God. Sometimes I take the time to go to the Bible and pull out a passage. I might write that passage in its original language and meditate on it a bit as I’m doing so. But, for the most part, I just write a letter to God.

In doing so, I try to follow the general pattern of the Lord’s prayer. Rather than launching directly into my own wants/needs/desires, I attempt to humble myself and assure that we are in the write position: God is on top; I am on bottom. Doing so almost always leads me into a better experience.

How do you pray? I’d love to read your thoughts…

My lovely and talented wife, Natalie Hebert (check her website out) has a photo feature and an article featured at Living Water International’s (LWI) website. The photo spread and the article were created during her recent trip with LWI to Guatemala.

Check it out:

Photo Feature: Like a Child

Recently a friend of mine told me that he thought I was holding back when I taught. I was taken aback by this, but I did agree with him. In some senses I’ve felt hemmed in by some of the strictures that I have imposed upon my Bible studies (some of these are self-imposed; others are not). So, I asked, “In what way do you think I’m holding back?”

His response paraphrased:

I can tell that you are extremely passionate about Scripture. But, I’m not sure why. That’s what I want to know. What is it that makes you so passionate about this set of texts? I wish you’d just let us have it…

I thought that was a great observation, and probably full of truth. For some reason, when I’m in “teacher” mode, I tend to take on a disconnected, dispassionate persona. In order for me to be a better teacher, I probably need to get away from this — I need to let my theological and emotional hair down and really give in to the side of me that is saying: “YEAH BABY!”

This post is, in a sense, my first foray into this territory. Here’s the question: “What is it that I find so great about the Bible?”

John 1:1 tells us this: Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος — “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” If we continue to read John 1, we’ll find that this Word became flesh (John 1:14), and entered into creation, entered into the world. With all of the power and authority and possibility of God, the Word wrapped itself in the trappings of human flesh, imposing upon itself limitations unfathomable for such an infinite being. I look at the Christ hymn in Philippians 2 and am immediately inspired:

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
did not count equality with God
a thing to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the form of a servant,
being born in the likeness of men.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death,
even death on a cross.
Therefore God has highly exalted him
and bestowed on him
the name that is above every name
so that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bow
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father. (Phil 2:5–11, ESV)

The infinite, almighty, omnipotent, omniscient God took on the form of humans, humbling himself to a staggering degree. That is an amazing statement in and of itself. But, what does this have to do with Scripture and my love for it?

Like many things in the world, parallelism is very present here. I see Scripture and Jesus as parallel. We often refer to Scripture as “The Word of God” or more simply “The Word.” Here we have a tome that contains within it the very Word of God, the Word from John 1, the Word that became flesh and dwelt among us. However, like Jesus who took on the trappings of man, took on the limitations of humanity, humbling himself in order to make himself more accessible to us, Scripture too has been humbled so that we can understand it.

Scripture is the Word of God in human trappings.

Rather than giving it to us straight from the horse’s mouth, God chose to have his Word transmitted from human to human via written communication, a necessarily fallible form of communication that is fraught with errors and the limitations of understanding and interpretation. God could have found a way to communicate the glory of his Word directly, but it’s possible that that might have killed us (I’m thinking of the glory of God when Moses would go up and see him on the mountain — that’s scary stuff…).

This is what I mean when I say “the wretched beauty of Scripture.” The Bible, like humans, is subject to the wretchedness of humanity. It’s crude, really. However, that’s the beauty of it. If it were not contained within this book, within this earthly, fleshly prison, would it be possible for us to understand it? Would it be possible for us to internalize it and for it to be written on our hearts? Would it be possible for us to even look at a page?

I suppose that is what I find so fascinating about the Bible — it is the Word codified in human form. As such, it is subject to attacks and interpretations; it is subject to our limitations. However, like Jesus, in the end it is Truth and reveals a freedom that we can hardly begin to understand.

I hope that explanation at least begins to answer my friend’s question/challenge.

What about you? What do you think of Scripture?

Go ahead…sound off!

Let me tell you what is keeping me up at nights: hermeneutics.

When I say, “Hermeneutics,” I mean it in the rather strict sense that Gordon Fee defines in some of his essays. Fee describes hermeneutics over against exegesis in an effort to create a distinction between the two so that he can talk about two different operations that, for all intents and purposes, would fall under the same blanket term: hermeneutics.

• Exegesis — The interpretation of a text with an eye toward historical context.
• Hermeneutics — The application of a text to our time (e.g., taking the 2000 year old New Testament and applying it to 21st century Western society).

It should be clear that both of these operations are not without their issues. For example, when we look at exegesis, we must immediately ask: “How do we go from text to context?” That is, of course, a classic historiographical issue. With respect to hermeneutics, we must ask an equally basic question: “Should we be attempting to apply these texts to our context in the first place?”

Because I believe that the Bible is the Word of God, and that it is “useful for instruction” (See 2 Timothy 3:16), I must overwhelmingly affirm the application of Biblical texts to my own life. In fact, I take a very serious (some would say “high”) view of Scripture.

Here’s the problem: the texts of the New Testament were written roughly twenty centuries ago. Is it possible that some of the messages contained therein were not meant for a 21st century crowd? Or is it possible that some of those messages weren’t really meant for a 1st century crowd but are enormously important to those of us living in the 21st century? Quite the conundrum.

If our interpretation and understanding of these texts is inccorect, we may be in danger of canonizing culture.

What are your thoughts?

What do you see as the most contentious interpretive issues facing Christians today?

I would love to think about those issues that you find most difficult. So, let’s start a discussion.