A critical aspect of Christian theology is the confession that salvation comes to those who are "in Christ." But what does that mean?

For some it means orthodoxy, right belief. Those who are "in Christ" are those who overtly and publicly confess that "Jesus is Lord."

The trouble with that notion is that Jesus explicitly teaches against that view: Matthew 7.21: "Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven." So there seems to be more to being "in Christ" than the confession that "Jesus is Lord." It seems that, to be "in Christ," we have to "do the will of the Father." Here we move away from orthodoxy to orthopraxy, from right belief to right practice.

This is an old and ongoing debate, and it sets the backdrop for the most provocative chapter in Roll Bell's Love Wins.

Chapter 6 of Love Wins is entitled "There are Rocks Everywhere."

This is my favorite chapter of Love Wins as it is the most theologically creative. The chapter is, at root, a chapter about Christology (the doctrine of Christ).

Early in the chapter Bell points us to the story in Exodus 17 where the people of God are thirsty in the desert and call on Moses and God for water.

Exodus 17.1-6
The whole Israelite community set out from the Desert of Sin, traveling from place to place as the LORD commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. So they quarreled with Moses and said, “Give us water to drink.”

Moses replied, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you put the LORD to the test?”

But the people were thirsty for water there, and they grumbled against Moses. They said, “Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to make us and our children and livestock die of thirst?”

Then Moses cried out to the LORD, “What am I to do with these people? They are almost ready to stone me.”

The LORD answered Moses, “Go out in front of the people. Take with you some of the elders of Israel and take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will stand there before you by the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it for the people to drink.” So Moses did this in the sight of the elders of Israel.

So, Moses strikes the rock and water comes forth in the desert to quench the thirst of the Israelites. After pointing to this story Bell then goes on to cite the audacious and shocking exegesis of Exodus 17 from the Apostle Paul in the First Letter to the Corinthians:

1 Corinthians 10.1-4
For I do not want you to be ignorant of the fact, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud and that they all passed through the sea. They were all baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea. They all ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink; for they drank from the spiritual rock that accompanied them, and that rock was Christ.

Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is some pretty daring Christology. Paul in 1 Cor. 10.4 states that the rock in Exodus 17 was Christ. Talk about experimental theology...

Here is Bell's unpacking of Paul's Christological analysis:

Jesus was the rock?

How is that? Christ is mentioned nowhere in the story. Moses strikes the rock, it provides water, and the people have something to drink.

Story over.

Paul, however, reads another story in the story, insisting that Christ was present in that moment, that Christ was providing the water they needed to survive--that Jesus was giving, quenching, sustaining.

Jesus was, he says, the rock.

According to Paul,
Jesus was there.
Without anybody using his name.
Without anybody saying that it was him.
Without anybody acknowledging just what, or, more precisely, who--it was.

Paul's interpretation that Christ was present in the Exodus raises the question:
Where else has Christ been present?
When else?
With who else?
How else?

Paul find Jesus there,
in that rock,
because Paul finds Jesus everywhere.

Theologians would call this a "high Christology," an example of a "cosmic Christology" where Jesus is understood to be woven into the very fabric of creation. As Bell says, "Paul finds Jesus everywhere." The classic example of this high or cosmic Christology is John 1:

John 1.1-3
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.

The high Christology of John is very different from the lower Christologies found in the Synoptic gospels. Compare "In the beginning was the Word" with the opening of Matthew:

Matthew 1.1
This is the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah the son of David, the son of Abraham...

It's one thing to be the Messiah (low Christology) and quite another to be the Logos through whom the world was created (high Christology).

Both sorts of Christology are on display in the New Testament, and we really don't need to choose between them, but the high Christology of John 1 and 1 Cor. 10 can radically reframe what it might mean to be "in Christ." Consider, as Bell does later in Chapter 6, the high Christology of Colossians 1:

Colossians 1.15-20
The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.

Here we find echos of the Christology of John 1. Through the Son "all things were created." More, all things were created "for him." The Son is the telos, the goal, the direction, the end point of creation. Everything is heading toward the Son. Still more, "in him all things hold together." The Son is the animating force of the cosmos, the fabric or web holding everything together. Here we see the idea Paul was gesturing toward when he said "that rock is Christ." Jesus is everywhere in creation. Finally, the Son will "reconcile to himself all things...making peace through his blood shed on the cross."

All things.
Created. Held together. Reconciled.
Past. Present. Future.

In light of the high Christology of Colossians 1, 1 Corinthians 10, and John 1--where Christ is "everywhere" and holds "everything" together--we wonder what it means to be "in Christ." If Christ already holds everything together isn't everything, in a sense, already "in Christ"?

In short, a high Christology might radically reconfigure what being "in Christ" might mean. We might, for example, be "in Christ" in the same way the Jews were in Exodus 17. Saved, rescued, sustained, and blessed without realizing Christ is there, without confessing that Christ is present.

This, obviously, raises a host of questions about how Christians relate to other world religions. Might there be Exodus 17 rocks in the experience of other faiths outside of Christianity? Might other religions, like the Jews in Exodus 17, be saved by Christ without their explicit awareness and confession?

What we have in this view is a sort of fusion between exclusivism and inclusivism. Salvation comes to those "in Christ" but with a cosmic Christology "in Christ" has been radically expanded allowing Christ to be the savior for others in an Exodus 17 sort of way. Here is Bell toward the end of Chapter 6 on this point:

[T]here is an exclusivity on the other side of inclusivity. This kind insists that Jesus is the way, but holds tightly to the assumption that the all-embracing, saving love of this particular Jesus the Christ will of course include all sorts of unexpected people from across the cultural spectrum.

As soon as the door is opened to Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and Baptists from Cleveland, many Christians become very uneasy, saying that then Jesus doesn't matter anymore, the cross is irrelevant, it doesn't matter what you believe, and so forth.

Not true.
Absolutely, unequivocally, unalterably not true.

What Jesus does is declare that he,
and he alone,
is saving everybody.

And then he leaves the door way, way open. Creating all sorts of possibilities. He is as narrow as himself and as wide as the universe.

In sum, what we see in all this is how a high Christology can create space for a more inclusive vision of God's saving purposes while holding onto the exclusivistic claim that all are saved "in" or "through" Jesus Christ. It's all a matter of how big your Jesus is. About if you think there are any more Exodus 17 rocks out there.

That said, I think skeptical readers of Love Wins will wonder about Bell's handwaving remarks that his high Christology hasn't thrown out the cross. And to be honest, it's true that he doesn't do a lot more in Chapter 6 to explain how the cross fits into the cosmic Christology he's deployed. So, to end this post, I'd like to sketch out something along these lines, something that Bell could have said in response. And it has to do with how I started the post, with the distinction between confessing "Lord, Lord" (which doesn't save you) versus "doing the will of the Father" (which does save you).

The issue, again, goes back to what it might mean to be "in Christ." More specifically, how does the cross get us "in Christ" when Christ is everywhere?

To get at an answer I'd like to borrow from the panentheistic analysis of Jürgen Moltmann in his book Trinity and Kingdom. Specifically, the "Christ is everywhere" formulation might lead us to assume a pantheistic position where we see an equivalency between God and creation. This doesn't seem very orthodox, but if we resist this equivalency what are our options? What might it mean to say that God creates something that exists "outside" of God? Can anything be "outside" of God? Isn't God omnipresent? And if God is omnipresent then how can creation exist outside of or externally to God? Creation has to be "in God" in some form or fashion, correct? And if so, doesn't that lead to pantheism?

Not necessarily. According to Moltmann, building off some Jewish theologians, God's creation involves two parts. The first part is God's withdrawal. A negative action of God to create space for creation. This "making room" for creation involves an act of self-limitation on God's part. After this negative space has been created the second, positive act of creation can occur. Here God speaks a positive word into the vacuum that was created through God's self-limitation. These two phases of creation are like breathing. First, a breathing in--passivity, vacuum, a pulling in. Followed by a breathing out--activity, creation, a moving out.

This formulation creates a panentheistic position. God isn't equivalent to creation. Nor is creation "outside" or independent of God, a object "beside" or "next to" God. Rather, creation is a space within God, a negative space that God has evacuated to make room for the Other.

This is a very paradoxical space. We are "in God" but in a way marked by the absence of God. We exist in a space that God has evacuated. Because of God's self-limitation the space of creation is marked by god-forsakenness, the loss or lack of God. We exist--positive creation--because God has self-limited--negative creation. The practical implication of this panentheism is that God can only appear in creation--the space of God's self-limitation--as weakness.

This is where the cross comes in. What does God look like in this world? God looks like Jesus on the cross. This is the idea I was trying to communicate in my recent post Your God is too Big which, if you haven't already, you should read as I don't want to say all that again. But let me at least remind you of Dietrich Bonhoeffer's commentary of how God comes to us in this world:

God lets himself be pushed out of the world onto the cross. He is weak and powerless in the world, and that is precisely the way, the only way, in which he is with us and helps us. Matt. 8:17 makes it quite clear that Christ helps us, not by virtue of his omnipotence, but by virtue of his weakness and suffering.

All this is just a theological way of saying that "God is love" (1 John 4.8). Love--that is how God moves in this world, this space of God's self-limitation. This is why some of the church fathers proclaimed that "force is has no part of God."

And this brings me back to the start of the post. What does it mean to be "in Christ"? It means to love. To love as Jesus loved. To live a cruciform life. To take up our cross and follow him.

Yes, it's true that "Christ is everywhere." But what does this mean? I think it means that wherever love exists God is present. Because God is love. And that is how the cross is necessary for us to be found "in Christ." True, in one sense, as created beings, we are already on the "inside," but in a god-forsaken way. To exist is, to some extent, to be on the inside of the omnipresent God, but this existence is in the space of God's absence. So, to really be on the inside of creation, to be with God in creation, we need to go through the cross, to follow the path that Jesus walked. Jesus on the cross shows us the Father, shows us where God is located in this space called "creation." And when we follow Jesus to God, when we go through the cross, when we love, we find the Father in this world. On the cross Jesus shows us that "God is love." So we pick up our own cross to "do the will of the Father."

And this, according to Jesus, is what saves us. This is how the cross allows us to be truly and fully "in Christ."

Last month Rachel Held Evans, author and blogger, was on ACU's campus for Summit. I know many of you follow Rachel's blog and have read her book Evolving in Monkey Town.

During her time on campus the ACU Honors College sponsored and hosted a discussion with Rachel and I about our experience as Christian bloggers. The good people in ACU's Learning Studio have put together three videos, now online, capturing our conversation.

For my own part, I had a blast and felt deeply blessed to get to spend some time with Rachel.

Enjoy!

Part 1: Where we discuss the history of our blogs



Part 2: Where we discuss civil discourse on blogs



Part 3: Where we discuss some of the neurotic aspects of blogging

Halloween is coming!

If you're new here you are likely unaware of my annual odes to Halloween. As will become clear, I really like the holiday. For theological reasons.

Next Tuesday, All Saints Day, the day after Halloween this year, I'm speaking in the "Monsters Chapel" being hosted by my friend and colleague Dr. Kyle Dickson.

I am really excited to speak in the Monsters Chapel, a themed chapel using "monsters" as a way to talk about spirituality and morality, because I've written some about the theology of monsters and I have a chapter on monsters in Unclean.

I was planning on using my chapel time to talk about scapegoating and monsters (sharing the analysis from Unclean). I was going to build the talk around Nietzsche's famous quote:

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.

I was going to show these two clips--one from Beauty and the Beast and the other from the classic 1931 Frankenstein movie (which is great fun to watch)--where angry crowds head out with torches and pitchforks looking to lynch and kill the monster. As Nietzsche warned, in these scenes of hunted and hunter who is the greater monster?

But when I found out that I'd be speaking about monsters the day after Halloween my thoughts turned toward the existential. As I've written about before, I think Halloween functions as a collective memento mori. And in this age of death avoidance, I find this aspect of Halloween to be very healthy.

So with this in mind I wanted to show a clip connecting monsters with death. Zombies are good for this illustration. And the first zombie clip I could think of, being a child of the 80s, was Michael Jackson's Thriller video.



Now the part I want you to pay attention to starts at the 6:30 mark when Vincent Price starts his creepy voiceover (which, I've discovered, is called a sprechgesang).

Now what did you notice about those zombies?

I'll tell you. They come out of graves.

Now why is that of interest?

Well, because you just don't see zombies come out of graves much anymore. In modern zombie movies zombies are more likely produced by toxic waste, radiation, or a virus. In modern movies zombie etiology is biological, not occult. So it's a bit of a surprise to see zombies coming out of a cemetery.

This observation brought to mind another Halloween-inspired essay I wrote about modern vampire films. In that essay I make an observation similar to the one I've made here about zombies. Specifically, in older vampire movies the vampire was the product of the occult. The vampire was undead. But in modern vampire movies, like modern zombie movies, vampirism is caused by genetic mutations and viruses. Again, the etiology is biological.

My argument in that essay, one that struck me again while watching the Thriller video, is how modernity--this Age of Reason--has been hollowing out the monster story. That is, even monster stories have become scientific. Full of talk about genetics and viruses and illnesses and toxicity.

We see a similar hollowing out regarding spiritual categories. Sin is no longer a spiritual condition. The etiology of sin, as with zombies and vampires, is more likely to be biological. Sin is an illness, a disease, an addiction, a product of genetics.

I'm not saying this is necessarily bad. I'd rather not go back to an age were schizophrenics were considered to be demon possessed. I'm just noticing the hollowing out that is occurring during this age of disenchantment where even traditional occult stories are now about science.

More, the rise of science, as I recently argued, is creating increased death denial. Modern medicine and technology creates an illusion of immortality. That through our technological power we can defeat death. And this death denial and avoidance is even creeping into zombie movies. How bad has it become that even zombies can't be associated with death?

But the reality, despite our illusions, is that we can't defeat death with science. And we should remember that from time to time. (Like, say, on Halloween!) To remind ourselves that zombies and death do, actually, go together.

As a college professor interested in the psychology of religion I'm sort of an anthropologist of young adulthood spirituality. That is, I listen a great deal to how my students talk about faith, God, Christianity, and church. I'm particularly interested in listening to what moves them spiritually.

One of the things I've noticed in this regard--something, to be sure, not unique to this age group or generation--is the prominence of a focus on God's bigness. Worship that seems to move my college students, and many other Christians, tends to focus on God's transcendence and awesomeness. "Awesome" just might be the most common word my students, and many other Christians, use to describe God.

This focus on God's bigness is often used in worship to create an acute sense of our smallness in relation. Ecstatic worship is often triggered by a felt sense of God's transcendent power, size, and awesomeness. I leave such worship psychologically stunned and overwhelmed by God's bigness. My sense is that a lot of contemporary worship is explicitly aimed at trying to create this experience. And that makes sense. Worship means "to bow down." Thus, to worship God means to "bow down" before God's power and size.

And yet, I wonder about all this. Particularly from a missional perspective. Specifically, I struggle with how the felt sense of smallness I experience in worship is supposed to transition into Christian mission. I do see how an acute sense of our smallness works as a trigger for ecstatic worship, but find it hard to see how that sense of smallness helps Christians learn to eat with tax collectors and sinners.

Put bluntly, I'm wondering this: How does an experience of God's awesomeness help you learn that God is love?

Let me be clear. I think God is awesome. I think it's good, as a critique of human pride, to experience God's awesomeness. I'm just expressing a concern about how this sort of ecstatic worship transitions into missional living.

In light of all this, here's what I want to say to many Christians: Your God is too big.

Here's what I think. I think too much focus on God's awesomeness leaves us ill-equipped to see God's smallness in the world. Perhaps we'd be better able to transition from worship to mission if we started focusing on God's smallness rather than on God's bigness. Isn't it one of the purposes of worship to help us see aright? To see God more clearly? If so, perhaps we need to start worshiping God's smallness. Our God has gotten too big.

Let me try to illustrate what I'm talking about.

See the smallness of God in this famous section of Night, Elie Wiesel's memoir of the Holocaust:

I witnessed other hangings. I never saw a single one of the victims weep. For a long time those dried-up bodies had forgotten the bitter taste of tears.

Except once. The Oberkapo of the fifty-second cable unit was a Dutchman, a giant, well over six feet. Seven hundred prisoners worked under his orders, and they all loved him like a brother. No one had ever received a blow at his hands, nor an insult from his lips.

He had a young boy under him, a pipel, as they were called--a child with a refined and beautiful face, unheard of in this camp...the face of a sad angel...

One day, the electric power station at Buna was blown up. The Gestapo, summoned to the spot, suspected sabotage. They found a trail. It eventually led to the Dutch Oberkapo. And there, after a search, they found an important stock of arms.

The Oberkapo was arrested immediately. He was tortured for a period of weeks, but in vain. He would not give up a single name. He was transferred to Auschwitz. We never heard of him again.

But his little servant had been left behind in the camp in prison. Also put to torture, he too would not speak. Then the SS sentenced him to death, with two other prisoners who had been discovered with arms.

One day when we came back from work, we saw three gallows rearing up in the assembly place, three black crows. Roll call. SS all around, machine guns trained: the traditional ceremony. Three victims in chains--and one of them, the little servant, the sad-eyed angel.

The SS seemed more preoccupied, more disturbed than usual. To hang a young boy in front of thousands of spectators was no light matter. The head of the camp read the verdict. All eyes were on the child. He was lividly pale, almost calm, biting his lips. The gallows threw its shadow over him.

This time the Lagerkapo refused to act as executioner. Three SS replaced him.

The three victims mounted together onto the stairs.

The three necks were placed at the same moment within the nooses.

"Long live liberty!" cried the two adults.

But the child was silent.

"Where is God? Where is He?" someone behind me asked.

At a sign from the head of the camp, the three chairs tipped over.

Total silence throughout the camp. On the horizon, the sun was setting.

"Bare your heads!" yelled the head of the camp. His voice was raucous. We were weeping.

"Cover your heads!"

The the march past began. The two adults were no longer alive. Their tongues hung swollen, blue-tinged. But the third rope was still moving; being so light, the child was still alive...

For more than half an hour he stayed there, struggling between life and death, dying in slow agony under our eyes. And we had to look him full in the face. He was still alive when I passed in front of him. His tongue was still red, his eyes were not yet glazed.

Behind me, I heard the same man asking:

"Where is God now?"

And I heard a voice within me answer him:

"Where is He? He is--He is hanging here on this gallows..."

This is a powerful story, with particular resonances for Christians, a people who worship a God who hangs dead on the gallows. And I wonder, when I read stories like Wiesel's, if contemporary Christian spirituality, a spirituality so focused on God's bigness, is able to train us to see God in the figure of that little boy.

How can we learn to see God's smallness?

Perhaps no one described God's smallness better than Dietrich Bonhoeffer did in one of his letters from prison:

God lets himself be pushed out of the world onto the cross. He is weak and powerless in the world, and that is precisely the way, the only way, in which he is with us and helps us. Matt. 8:17 makes it quite clear that Christ helps us, not by virtue of his omnipotence, but by virtue of his weakness and suffering.

It is true that God is awesome. But, as Bonhoeffer observed, "God lets himself be pushed out of the world and onto the cross." God "is weak and powerless in the world." God helps us "not by virtue of his omnipotence, but by virtue of his weakness and suffering."

God is small.

God is that little boy hanging from the gallows.

God isn't powerful and mighty.

God is weakness and powerlessness.

So this, again, is what I'm wondering. Might a spirituality of God's bigness and awesomeness be hindering our ability to see the smallness and weakness of God? God as the child hanging on the gallows. God in the body of the demented mental patient. The craving addict. The senile old person in diapers. The starving child. The drooling retarded. The street walking prostitute. The homeless man on the park bench. The queer kid bullied on the playground.

Might our God be too big? Too big for us to see the smallness of God?

Where is God?

God is here--weak and hanging on the gallows.

Recently I was invited to be a part of a conversation regarding how a community I'm associated with should approach a controversial topic. The stated goal of the conversation is to think about what a "biblical" approach would be regarding this issue.

So I've been thinking a lot about the word biblical and about what it might mean.

Here's my basic observation: Whatever biblical means it doesn't mean biblical.

What I mean is this. Are Catholics biblical? Methodists? Pentecostals? Amish? Presbyterians? Episcopalians? Baptists? And on and on? It seems everyone would own the word biblical. And if that's the case, if biblical can embrace all this diversity, then I struggle to understand how, when I gather to discuss a "biblical" approach to a controversial subject, that anything other than a diversity of opinions will emerge. Strictly from an empirical standpoint, the bible doesn't produce homogeneity of opinion. Rather, it produces heterogeneity of opinion. That is a fact. The bible does not produce consensus. And if you think that it could or should you're just not a serious person.

The point being, a conversation seeking to find a "biblical" view isn't heading toward a fixed destination. Rather, such a conversation will be airing a diversity of views that share a family resemblance. The word "biblical" here is the name we have for that family resemblance. Similar to the label "Smith Family Reunion." Biblical means something like Smith Family Reunion.

Phrased another way, biblical is just a synonym for Christian.

Secondly, biblical definitely doesn't describe the attempt to conform to or recreate the church we find in the pages of the bible. I know of no denomination that looks like the church revealed in the New Testament. Can you point me to one?

And if we can't what does that say about how we are using the word biblical? Suddenly it's very clear that biblical doesn't mean "doing what they did in the bible." Because no one is doing that. So what does biblical mean? Again, whatever it means it's clear that it doesn't mean biblical.

So what does it mean?

This is what I think it means. Biblical is a word Christian communities use to describe their hermeneutical strategies. Biblical is a word that is used to describe how a particular faith community reads the bible. What this means is that the word biblical is a sociological label, a way of describing the interpretive strategies of a particular community.

Consequently, when a faith community gathers to discuss if a view is biblical or not they are asking how a particular view sits with their hermeneutical history and norms. The issue isn't if a position is biblical or not (because, as I noted above, no one is being biblical) but if a position would cause a sociological rupture, a tear in the hermeneutical fabric that has held this community together. If the position can be woven into the hermeneutical web then it is declared biblical. But if the rupture is too great then the view is declared unbiblical.

In summary, this is my definition of biblical:

Biblical is a sociological stress test

When groups gather, as I will be gathering, to have a conversation about what is or is not biblical they are engaging in sociological stress test. Can this hermeneutical community, given its history and norms, accept a change in this area without significant rupture? How much stress can we tolerate? That's the question under consideration. How much stress can we tolerate?

This, as best I can tell, is what it means to be biblical.

Food Crisis in East Africa - MANA from ManaNutrition on Vimeo.

Mark Moore and the Manabago are coming to Abilene on Monday!

Mark is the CEO and founder of MANA. What is MANA? From the MANA website:

Simply put, Mana is RUTF.

What’s RUTF?

RUTF stands for Ready to Use Therapeutic Food, and it’s been designed specifically to treat kids diagnosed with severe acute malnutrition (SAM). RUTF can be broadly defined as peanut butter mixed with fortified milk in an over-sized ketchup packet.

A child diagnosed with severe acute malnutrition can be – literally – on the brink of death. On average, three packets a day for six weeks will revive a child, getting him or her back to normal nutritive levels, healthy, responsive and happy. Better yet, the RUTF track record is such that kids who have been “nursed” back to health from a SAM state rarely fall back into that state again. In other words, when they’re back, they’re back for good!

Mark recently wrote about his discovery of the "miracle food" (aka, peanut butter) at the Huffington Post. To help raise awareness and funds for MANA Mark and others are driving a groovy 1971 Manabago through the United States. The stated goal of the Manabago tour is to help save the lives of 10,000 kids by Christmas 2011.

The Manabago is in Abilene on Monday. Again, surf the MANA website for more about RUTF and its uses in treating children with severe acute malnutrition. And look for the Manabago coming to a city near you!

I've recently been asked to contribute a paper to a journal where I'll respond to five papers dealing with the subject of love from both psychological and theological perspectives. So on my bike ride to work I was thinking about the Greatest Commandments:

Matthew 22:36-40
“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

As I pondered these words it struck me that three loves are spoken of:

Love of God: "Love the Lord your God."
Love of Other: "Love your neighbor."
Love of Self: "as [you love] yourself."

Obviously, these loves have different foci:

Cultic
Humanistic
Therapeutic

(The word "cultic" might need some explaining. I'm not talking about "cults" like what you hear about in the media. The word cult here is referring to religious activities that are devoted to the care and honoring of a deity. The word cult comes from the Latin colore, meaning to "cultivate" or "care for" in a gardening sense. Applied to religious life, then, cultic activity is the "care for" a God or gods--usually through rituals of worship, honoring, and veneration. Thus, going to church on Sunday to worship God is a cultic activity.)

As I thought about these loves and their different emphases I was struck how they exist in tension with each other. For example, in Unclean I spend a great deal of time talking about the tensions between mercy and sacrifice in stories like Matthew 9.9-13. In that story we see cultic love ("sacrifice") coming into conflict with humanistic love ("mercy").

I also discuss in Unclean the tensions between love of self and love of others. I recently wrote some more about this and received some pushback from some of you. Recall, I've expressed some skepticism about the modern therapeutic focus on healthy boundaries. However, many of you have argued that healthy boundaries, as a form of self-love, are necessary before we can love others in a healthy way. Thus we face another tension: Love of self (setting boundaries to preserve the self) and love of others (allowing the self to become expended on behalf of others).

In short, the ideal of love seems to exist in the middle of a triangle at the center of these three foci of love:
Using this model we can examine/describe various faith communities by looking for imbalances, where one vertex/corner might be being privileged over the other two. For example, when we find self love dominating in a faith community we have a group strongly focused on self-care and therapeutic issues (e.g., self-esteem enhancement). In communities where cultic love dominates we'll find a strong focus on pleasing (or displeasing) God, often through correct doctrine and rituals (e.g., religious dogmatism and fundamentalism). Finally, in communities where love of other dominates we'll find a strong humanitarian and humanistic community, with lots of discussions about things like justice and poverty.

We might even go further and create two-point codes showing how particular faith communities combine two loves to create a distinctive life. For example, a Unitarian group might get a SO code (Self/Other) if they have a therapeutic/humanistic vibe, with little interest in "religion" (the cultic love). A social justice oriented evangelical group (think Jim Wallis or Tony Campolo) might have a CO code (Cultic/Other) where there's a strong impulse to obey God that is mainly expressed through social justice activism. In contrast, more conservative evangelical churches might get a CS (Cultic/Self) code where obedience to God mainly results in benefits for the self, either salvifically or therapeutically (I'm trying to capture in this the huge self-help aspect of a lot of contemporary Christianity).

The ordering of the codes might also be used to communicate relative emphasis. For example, your typical therapeutic evangelical community might get a CS (Cultic/Self) ordering, but someone like a Joel Osteen might get that switched around with a SC (Self/Cultic) ordering to communicate an excessive focus on self love (where we start seeing that health and wealth gospel stuff emerging).

I'm just brainstorming with all this.

Anyway, to wrap this up, it does seem like some sort of balance is the key. And in light of that, I'm intrigued by the trinitarian structure.

So what do you think of this model? And for those of you in the social sciences or working with churches, have you seen a model like this anywhere else?

A couple of weeks ago I looked at the bible Brenden, my eldest, age 14, was carrying to church. I think it was a gift from the church when he was, if I recall, going into 1st Grade. He's in 8th grade now. So the bible was looking a little juvenile, for a kid in elementary school. Not for a kid starting High School in less than a year.

So I told Brenden I'd get him a new bible, something he could grow into and that would support his early explorations into the text.

Thus we found ourselves, one Saturday, heading for Mardel, our local Christian bookstore.

This may surprise you, but I love Christian retail stores. I really do! I find Christian bookstores absolutely fascinating. All around you is Christian clothing, Christian jewelry, Christian home decor, Christian music, Christian books. You can even buy a shofar if you like to blow a ram's horn on Sunday morning!

I just have the best time looking around. Given my research interests Christian bookstores combine two of my very favorite things:

Crazy + Christian

And I'm not just window shopping. I got my "Love Your Enemies" t-shirt at this Mardel. And I actually bought a book by John Howard Yoder in this store. (My thought upon seeing the book, if I recall, was something like "What the hell is that doing in here?").

That said, this is also the Mardel that had banned Derek Webb's Mockingbird album.

But back to our story, my mission to help Brenden pick out a bible.

The bibles are on the back wall of the store. And above each shelf of bibles is prominently displayed the version to be found underneath. King James Version (Happy 400th Birthday!). New King James Version. New International Version. New Living Translation. English Standard Version. Contemporary English Version. New American Standard. New Revised Standard. The Message.

Underneath each version where a host of options, a bible in that particular version for all sorts of things. There were Metal Bibles, Waterproof Bibles, Camouflage Bibles and Chunky Bibles. There were bibles for mothers, fathers, men, women, businessmen, hunters and soldiers. And, of course, lots and lots of bibles for "teens."

What to get Brenden?

Initially, we went two different directions. First, I pulled a few study bibles I thought were good. I've gotten good use from the NIV, NLT, and NRSV study bibles I have. So I had Brenden look at these as I wanted him to have something that would help him make sense of this sprawling and confusing collection of books known as "the Bible."

We also pulled a collection of "teen bibles" aimed at Brenden's demographic. Personally, I didn't like the look or approach of these bibles but, hey, it wasn't going to be my choice. It was going to be Brenden's call and he was interested in looking at them. So we collected a stack.

Surrounded by stacks of bibles I sat Brenden on a bench and said, "Look through all these. Take your time. I'm going to look at the shofars and see if I can get the staff to blow one for me. When I come back, after the walls of Jericho fall, you can tell me what you think."

When I returned from shofar shopping Brenden had ruled out the big study bibles. They were a bit too much.

But Brenden was also struggling with the the teen bibles. I said, "You don't look too excited about these bibles either."

He wasn't. He kept flipping through the pages and finally asked me, "Why is there all this stuff in the middle of the page?"

If you've not flipped through one, teen bibles have a magazine sort of feel. Every page has pictures of cool kids making cool observations about how cool Jesus is. There are little surveys in the bible. Little checklists. Little bits of advice about teen issues. And around it all, hidden in the background, is the biblical text.

Brenden asked, "Why can't you just read the bible without this stuff getting in the way?"

I responded, "Well Brenden, here's the deal. The people who made this bible don't think kids will, well, actually read the bible. So they put all this other stuff in there hoping that you'll at least read that. It's a bible if you aren't interested in reading the bible."

Epilogue:
So we were stuck. Brenden seemed to be "in between," developmentally speaking. Too young for the hefty study bibles I liked and too wise, spiritually speaking, to be comfortable with the hyper, radical, ADHD teen bibles with words like "awesome" and "revolution" blasting off every kinetic page.

So we went back to the shelves and, after bit of searching, found something really good. Let me recommend the new NIV Student Bible for those of you shopping for a good bible for a teen. Here's what I like about this bible. First, it's mainly a bible. About 90% of every page is just the text. Second, the other 10% of the page (along with all the other study helps) is devoted to illuminating the story in the text rather than trying to make the bible "relevant," "radical," and "cool." (Note: Philip Yancey was involved in writing the study notes.) And, finally, the aesthetics (font, page layout, design) of the bible are very attractive and ageless. Though the bible is aimed at teens and college students, it's a bible that you could hand anyone just starting out with the bible.

Most of us, I'm guessing, know about the logical fallacy known as ad hominem. Ad hominem is Latin for "to the man." According to Wikipedia an ad hominem "is an attempt to negate the truth of a claim by pointing out a negative characteristic or belief of the person supporting it." Basically, in an ad hominem you try to discount the message by attacking the messenger. On strictly logical grounds an ad hominem is a fallacy. That is, there is no logical connection between the content of a message and, say, the virtue or intelligence of the messenger. Flawed messengers can speak the truth. Consequently, each "message" (i.e., argument) should be treated on its own terms.

However, Wikipedia goes on to note that there are situations when what we know about the messenger is relevant to our assessment of the message. As Wikipedia says, an ad hominem "is not always fallacious; in some instances, questions of personal conduct, character, motives, etc., are legitimate and relevant to the issue."

For example, the other day I heard someone make a comment about the Presidency of Bill Clinton, dismissing his leadership because of his extramarital affairs. For many Christians Bill Clinton's moral failings cast a pall over anything good he might have done in office.

And here's the deal, moral failings are relevant data when it comes to leadership. But how relevant are various failings to those seeking elected office? Is any mistake in the past automatically disqualifying? Where's the line? How far back do we go?

What is legitimate data about character and what is voyeuristic mudslinging?

More, when do we forgive and allow people to move forward? I was thinking about this the other day after reading about Robert Downey Jr., during an awards ceremony, asking his industry to forgive Mel Gibson and allow him to work. You'll recall that Downey, due to his drug troubles, had to make his own way back into favor. Downey, now a forgiven industry darling, was asking the powers that be, in light of Gibson's drunken anti-Semitic rantings, to extend the forgiveness he had found to Gibson, his ostracized friend.

I bring up these ruminations about ad hominem because I'm always struck, when reading the psalms, that these are the poems of a murderer. More, a murderer and an adulterer. And I can't help but wonder, if King/President/Senator/Mega-Church Pastor/Movie Star...you name it...David were around today if we'd hold his poems and praise songs in such high esteem. I very much doubt it. I expect that we'd make an ad hominem appeal and shun the psalms. This would seem to be one of those cases where the moral character of the messenger is relevant to the message.

From time to time you do hear preachers point out that David's story is a story of forgiveness. We pause to feel amazed that, given the evil David had done, he's still described as a man after God's own heart. But such sentiments, as I've heard them, seem a bit too easy to me. Emotionally speaking, I think we are missing the scandal of the psalms. Would we, for instance, sing praise songs written by a known murderer and adulterer? I doubt it. So what makes the psalms any different? I think it's a willful act of forgetting and pretending on our part.

This is what I think is going on. I think we don't want to confront the moral scandal of the psalms. Why? Because if we really, truly confronted the scandal of the psalms we'd have to start taking a hard look at the ways we refuse to forgive those around us. It's pretty hard to take a swipe at, say, Bill Clinton, when you're singing the songs of a murderer on Sunday morning.

We shouldn't gloss, emotionally, over what David did. We should struggle to forgive David. We need to keep the scandal of the psalms--as a witness to the scandal of grace--firmly in view. For only then will the poetry of a murderer turn, at last, into the true poetry of praise.

Toward the end of Chapter One of Walden Thoreau shares some reflections about charity.

Page after page, as we have been reviewing in these posts, Thoreau preaches about the virtues of simplicity. The first chapter of Walden is entitled "Economy" after all. And Thoreau discusses at great length how we can live and enjoy life with less.

But in the concluding pages of this chapter Thoreau turns to address questions about charity. Thoreau seems keen to address various criticisms he's heard coming from some within the Concord community. It seems that some had suggested that Thoreau, in living upon less, had turned his back on philanthropy. I'm guessing that wealthy townspeople were justifying themselves in the face of Thoreau's experiment by pointing out that their excess cash allowed them to help the poor. Thoreau, by contrast, could do no such thing. So who was living more virtuously? The reclusive writer sitting in his small cabin? Or the wealthy philanthropist who gave alms to the poor?

Who helps the poor more? The Thoreau-inspired hippie or the businessman? It's an interesting question. But I don't want to get into all that. I'd like, instead, to share something from Thoreau that I think we all should hear.

First, in reflecting on how charity is typically done Thoreau has this to say:

If I knew for a certainty that a man was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should run for my life.

I think we understand what Thoreau is reacting to. There is much within charity that is presumptuous, meddling, demeaning, humiliating, or simply ineffective. Charity is often done for the person giving, usually to assuage their conscience, than for the person on the receiving end.

This isn't to say that Thoreau rejects acts of charity. He's just suspicious of do-gooderism. But if a life of charity comes from a deep place within our souls, Thoreau says, with no small admiration, go for it:

But I would not stand between any man and his genius; and to him who does this work, which I decline, with his whole heart and soul and life, I would say, Persevere, even if the world call it doing evil, as it is most likely they will.

So all in all, while Thoreau was suspicious of charity, he didn't have a wholly dim view. But does he have any positive advice for us? He does. This is the quote I really wanted to share:

If you give money, spend yourself with it, and do not merely abandon it to them.

This is the advice that I think everyone should hear, no matter your politics and views about charity. What Thoreau is saying is this, charity has to be relational. It's not just the privileged giving to the underprivileged. The rich giving alms to the poor. Charity shouldn't be an economic transaction. We should, rather, seek to "spend ourselves."

More and more I'm becoming convinced that, when confronting poverty, the issue is less about economics than about relationships. Rather than thinking about charity we should be thinking about friendship.

This isn't, of course, to say we shouldn't worry about socioeconomic injustices and inequities. It is, rather, to say that when we come to people as anonymous do-gooders the people we are trying to help are likely to be as tempted as Thoreau was to make a run for it. Who wouldn't? Again, there is much within charity that can be demeaning and humiliating. Only true friendship with the poor will help us see the inhumanity in our well-intentioned acts of charity. Because, as many of you know, the rich often presume to know what the poor "need" and what is "best" for them. There is a knowledge and empathy disjoint that gets in the way. This gap of understanding can only be bridged by friendship. And friendship means, as Thoreau noted, spending ourselves.

Let me be very confessional. I'm just beginning to learn this lesson. I'm preaching at myself in this post. But I'm starting to place myself, more and more often, in places where people don't look like me. Ethnically, academically, socioeconomically. My hope, as times goes on, is that friendships will bloom from these repeated encounters. I pray that I'll learn to spend myself. That I'll learn to be a friend.

Postscript:
A good book to start thinking along these lines is Friendship at the Margins.

I started reading today, on the recommendation of my friend and colleague David, Roméo Dallaire's account of the Rwandan genocide--Shake Hands with the Devil: The Failure of Humanity in Rwanda. Dallaire was the commander of the UN peacekeepers during the 100 days when 800,000 Rwandans were murdered, one of the quickest and most efficient genocides in history.

This after the civilized world had looked at Auschwitz and collectively promised, "Never again."

Much of Dallaire's book is an indictment of the UN and the nations on the Security Council, the United States among them, and their failure to act. More, their failure to even care.

Why was the developed world so apathetic? In the Preface Dallaire recounts the assessment of a group of UN bureaucrats who came to evaluate the situation in the first weeks of the genocide. Their conclusion was the Rwanda had no "strategic" interest. No oil. No cache of natural resources. Nothing of value for the Principalities and Powers. Their summary assessment:

We will recommend to our government not to intervene as the risks are high and all that is here are humans.

In the comments to yesterday's post Keith asked me a question about how the Reformed and Arminian traditions view "total depravity." I'd like to share the thoughts I offered Keith and connect those to the doctrine of universal reconciliation.

Do Arminians believe in total depravity?

Yes and no. If by total depravity we mean that "all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God" (Rom. 3.23) then Arminians do believe in it. But this isn't really what we mean by total depravity. Romans 3.23 is speaking to universal sinfulness, which is a bit different.

The issue goes to how the Reformed and Arminians view the human will. According to the Reformed humans are totally depraved, even our wills. Our will is broken, non-functional, and sinful. Thus, even if we were "able" to choose God that choice would be a sin, a form of selfishness, wanting/choosing God for the wrong reasons. In short, humans are incapable of "choosing" God. Or at least choosing God in a way that would be holy. The human will is depraved, unholy, stained with sin. Martin Luther called this "the bondage of the will."

Thus the doctrine of election. If we can't choose God then God has to choose us, God's will has to make the choice because we can't do it.

Arminians see this a bit differently. Arminians believe in free will (in contrast to Luther's "bondage of the will") and, thus, see human choice as morally neutral. That's the key difference. The apparatus of choice is morally neutral. More, the apparatus of choice is functional. Consequently, humans have the capacity to freely choose God. And in a way that isn't morally contaminated. Consequently, there is no need for the doctrine of election. With the will functional and morally neutral the initiative can sit on the human side. The point here is that the will isn't "totally depraved" as it is in Reformed thinking.

Now it's at this point where the Reformed counter with a very strong argument. The counterargument from the Reformed is that if human choice is allowed then that choice is a "work" and, thus, cause for boasting. This negates grace.

This argument makes sense. If I can be blamed for my choice to reject God (as Arminians believe) why can't I be praised (and boasting is just self-praise) for my choice to accept God?

That's a strong argument.

So what are our options? The doctrine of election? The belief that God picks some (regenerates the will of the elect) and doesn't pick others (leaving their wills depraved and in bondage)?

Seems like there is no good choice here. Grace gets screwed either way. In the Arminian view grace is screwed because humans have a cause for boasting. In the Reformed view grace is screwed because God limits grace to the few.

It's a real pickle.

That is, unless, you endorse the doctrine of universal reconciliation. Grace actually wins in universalism. On both scores. First, God's love extends to all. Second, because humans are finite and broken creatures God will have to decisively intervene within our biographies to move us toward perfection. God doesn't "regenerate" the will in an instant. Rather, the process is more like parenting. Coaching, punishing, supporting, prompting. In universalism "becoming perfect like our Heavenly Father is perfect" is the goal. But it's a developmental process.

But the key is this. You can't look back at that process and say, "I could have done this on my own." Because you couldn't have. The Divine Initiative is what saves you.

You have to stand in heaven and say, "There is no cause for boasting. I'm here because of grace."

For those of you interested in the topics I discuss in Unclean I wanted to point you to a sermon recently preached by Jeremy Jernigan entitled "The Disgust of Holiness." Jeremy is a minister at the Central Church in Arizona. Jeremy also blogs at Tomorrow's Reflection.

The Disgust of Holiness from Central Christian on

I'm stunned that Jeremy got so much of the book into his sermon. For those of you thinking about using Unclean in small group or class settings you might find Jeremy's sermon video a useful discussion starter, particularly if class/group members aren't reading the book. For those wanting Jeremy's list of verses where Jesus touches people before cleansing/healing, you can find those on his summary post at the Central blog.

In light of my last post--Four Reasons Why I'm Church of Christ--some of you wanted me to clarify the distinctions between the Churches of Christ and evangelicalism.

Let me start with Dana's comment about Scot McKnight's definition of evangelicalism. According to McKnight evangelicalism is defined by four things:

1. The centrality of the Bible.
2. The centrality of the atoning death of Christ.
3. The centrality of the need for personal conversion.
4. The centrality of an active mission to convert others and to do good works in society.

Dana asked, if this is the list/definition of evangelicalism, would the Church of Christ be considered evangelical. And the answer is yes.

But as I noted in my comments to Dana, Scot's definition of evangelicalism is intentionally trying to create a "big tent." And he's to be commended for that effort.

Still, when a lot of people hear the tag "evangelical" they have a much narrower conception in mind. I like the way qb looked at it, a contrast between "formal evangelicalism" and "popular evangelicalism."

So in this post, while there is no distinction between the Churches of Christ and formal evangelicalism, I'd like to make a few contrasts between the Churches of Christ and popular evangelicalism.

Contrast #1: Evangelicals are more politicized than the Churches of Christ
I mentioned this in my prior post. The Churches of Christ tend to be apolitical. This, to my mind, is one of the biggest contrasts with popular evangelicalism. Let me give a couple of illustrations.

First, as noted in my last post, the Churches of Christ don't have flags in our churches. Nor do we have patriotic displays in our worship services. For example, a couple of years ago there was an outcry on the ACU campus about a patriotic display being used as a part of our start of school opening ceremony which is a chapel service. You'd expect to see this sort of outcry at an Anabaptist school. And that's my point. There's an Anabaptist strain in our movement that pushes back on "God and Country" conflations.

A second illustration: we don't preach about religious values issues. I've been a member of the Churches of Christ my whole life and have attended conservative and liberal churches within our movement and I've never heard, not once, a sermon about abortion or gay marriage.

A third illustration: We don't talk about Presidents or political parties from the pulpit. I've never heard a sitting American President--Republican or Democrat--discussed from a Church of Christ pulpit. I'm sure it happens, but it's not the norm. More, Church of Christ preachers tend to speak to their congregations assuming that both Republicans and Democrats are in the audience. When we criticize one party we tend to criticize the other one in the next breath.

All that said, please note that these historical trends seem to be changing here and there. Some Churches of Christ are becoming more politicized. But this is a recent trend. Historically speaking, the Churches of Christ have been apolitical. And the best of them remain so.

Contrast #2: Churches of Christ have a more sophisticated understanding of Scripture than evangelicals
Perhaps an illustration will best get this across. Every faculty member at Wheaton--widely considered to be a flagship school of American evangelicalism--has to annually sign a statement of faith that confesses the following:

WE BELIEVE that God directly created Adam and Eve, the historical parents of the entire human race...

This isn't just the case at Wheaton. Over the last decade there have been a number of high profile incidents where scholars at evangelical schools have been let go or asked to leave over the issue of evolution.

In contrast, faculty members in the Churches of Christ schools can believe in evolution. In fact, if you polled every faculty member across every Church of Christ university campus I bet the majority would endorse evolution. The point being, the intellectual conversation about the bible on Church of Christ campuses is more sophisticated than on evangelical campuses.

Contrast #3: Churches of Christ have an Arminian, rather than Reformed, soteriology
Not all evangelicals are Reformed, but a lot of them are. Thus, as a point of contrast Churches of Christ don't believe in original sin, predestination or the doctrine of election. More, we have a more optimistic view of humanity, seeing the Imago Dei rather than total depravity.

Contrast #4: Churches of Christ have an amillennialist/preterist eschatology
This might not seem like a big deal, but increasingly it seems to be from what I'm witnessing in evangelical churches and among political candidates courting the evangelical vote.

Churches of Christ don't believe in the end times thinking ascendant in many evangelical churches. We don't believe in the Anti-Christ, rapture, tribulation, thousand year reign, or Battle of Armageddon. Our reading of Daniel, Jesus's eschatological discourses, and Revelation are preterist. That is to say, most of us think everything foretold in the bible has already happened, with most of the prophecies pointing to either the fall of Jerusalem or destruction of Rome. Why do we believe this? Well, we read Revelation 1.1 literally:

Revelation 1.1
The revelation from Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place. He made it known by sending his angel to his servant John...

Everything spoken of in Revelation--the Beast, 666, and all that jazz--would "soon take place," presumably within the lifetimes of those to whom the book was addressed to, the seven churches of Asia.

The reason I bring this up is that there seems to be a growing fascination about the "end times" in a lot of evangelical churches. More, these "end times" speculations get wrapped up in geopolitics with the state of Israel playing a key role in bringing about the Second Coming. In short, there is within many sectors of evangelicalism a fusion between end times eschatology and the role of America and Israel in geopolitics. This theology is then used to support or justify various policy decisions in regard to the Middle East. And some of this theology is used to justify war.

I don't here want to comment on the incoherence, immorality and danger of this theology within American evangelicalism. Suffice it to say, there is none of this nonsense in the Churches of Christ.

Contrast #5: The worship of the Church of Christ is less contaminated by entertainment and consumer culture
I might get some pushback about this last, but I thought it worth mentioning. If only to stick up for my tradition.

The Churches of Christ worship in the acapella style. That is, we sing without instrumental accompaniment. No organ, piano, or praise band. Just four part harmony.

This might be the most distinctive aspect of our tradition. Within Christianity only the Eastern Orthodox and the Churches of Christ worship solely acapella. We are a "peculiar people."

Let me be very clear. I have no problem with instrumental music in worship. In fact, I enjoy it a great deal. However, there is a point of contrast here between the acapella tradition of the Churches of Christ and the dominance of praise bands across large sectors of American evangelicalism.

There are good points and bad points about both acapella worship and praise band worship. I don't want to get into all that. I just want to conclude by saying one thing in favor of acapella worship and how it provides an important contrast with a lot of evangelical worship.

In my opinion, here is the single greatest benefit of acapella worship. As churches are increasingly co-opted and tempted by an American culture beholden to entertainment, hipsterism, consumerism, branding, marketing, salesmanship, image, relevance, showmanship, and spectating, the acapella style of worship is a theological breath of fresh air. To be sure, worship ministers around the world are working hard to prevent the worst of these abuses within their churches. But that's my point. Instrumental worship has to swim upstream.

But acapella worship? Acapella worship is so...uncool.

Exactly. That's its genius. That's its prophetic protest and resistance to the cultural forces around us.

...

To conclude, it will be objected that I've engaged with some of the worst aspects and stereotypes of American evangelicalism. That is true, I've not engaged with the best of the movement. But stereotypes are what are called to mind when people ask if we're "evangelical." Consequently, this post is simply meant to highlight points of contrast between the Churches of Christ and "popular" or "stereotypical" or "media presentations" of evangelicalism. And while these characterizations don't fit all evangelicals, particularly their leading intellectuals, these points of contrast are real, legitimate contrasts between the Churches of Christ and much that is found under the banner of "evangelical."

A couple of weeks ago I had a Skype conversation with Tony Jones and the class he was teaching for the Missional Leadership graduate program at Rochester College (directed by my good friend Mark Love).

Before we got into the conversation Tony started me off with a question about why I was a member of the Churches of Christ. On the surface, it doesn't seem like I'm a good fit for the Churches of Christ. Is that impression right?

Here's the answer I gave Tony.

To begin, there are two kinds of Churches of Christ. Some people call these "liberal/progressive" or "conservative/traditional" Churches of Christ. This split isn't formal, but it's widely recognized within the movement. However, I don't like these labels as they aren't very descriptive.

Here are the labels I prefer. There are ecumenical Churches of Christ and there are sectarian Churches of Christ. The ecumenical Churches of Christ have a sense of church history and about where they fit within that history. Consequently, ecumenical Churches of Christ see themselves as just one part of the church universal and, thus, extend the right hand of fellowship to other Christian communities. By contrast, sectarian Churches of Christ don't have a sense of church history and, thus, feel that they are a faithful replication of the 1st century church (e.g., many of these churches have "Founded in AD 33" inscribed on their cornerstones). As such, sectarian Churches of Christ feel that they are the true and only apostolic church. All other churches are forms of heresy and disobedience, a willful refusal to worship according to the New Testament pattern. Consequently, it is widely believed in sectarian Churches of Christ that all Christians outside of the Churches of Christ are in a state of rebellion against God. Thus my label "sectarian."

A lot of people, when they hear "Church of Christ", think of the sectarian Churches of Christ. And as should be obvious if you read my blog, I don't fit into that mold. Thus the questions like the one Tony asked me: Why are you a member of the Churches of Christ?

However, I don't worship with a sectarian Church of Christ. I worship with an ecumenical Church of Christ. And, as I've said on many occasions, I find the ecumenical Churches of Christ to be one of the best places to be within contemporary Christianity. Not that we don't have our problems, but I think the ecumenical Churches of Christ have a lot going for them. Of course, I'm biased in this assessment as my history and biography are a huge part of this.

With that backdrop in mind, here are the three reasons I gave to Tony (plus one extra) as to why I like the Churches of Christ.

1. Keeping it Local: Congregational Structure
Churches of Christ are radically congregational in structure. Each church is independent. There is no hierarchy, conventions, or bureaucracies. Each church is left to govern itself as it sees fit.

The benefit of this, for me at least, is that my church life is very local. I don't give any attention, say, to how the evangelicals and emergents are getting along, or to how the Southern Baptists are receiving the newest version of the NIV, or to how Rome is getting along with the American bishops. All I have to focus on is my life with the Highland Church of Christ that meets on 425 Highland Avenue in Abilene, TX. I'm not a part of a larger movement, conversation, or organization.

I'm just a guy with a blog who goes to the Highland Church of Christ. That's it.

And here's the deal. Truth be told, finding a church home is all about your experience at the local level. If the people in a church love you and you love them I don't think it matters much if that church is Catholic, Church of Christ, Baptist, or Episcopalian. At root, the question "Why are you a member of the Churches of Christ?" (or anything else for that matter) really isn't that critical of a question. If you're happy at the local level then a lot of the global stuff can slide. In fact, a lot of complaints about the global level are really complaints about the local level. When you hear someone say, for instance, "I hate the Churches of Christ" this person is more likely saying that they hate the Churches of Christ they have had experiences with. We don't hate (or love) abstractions. It's all local. The loving and the hating.

2. The Noble Bereans: Biblical but Non-Creedal
The Churches of Christ are non-creedal. We don't have a statement of faith. Nor, incidentally, do Church of Christ universities. According to most Churches of Christ creeds are "the teachings and traditions of men" and, thus, highly suspect. We just use the bible as our guide for faith and practice.

Theologians in the audience are now scratching their heads. How, it might be asked, do you regulate your doctrine without a creed? Good question. Answer: Mainly via tradition and an unspoken creed. The creed is more implicit than explicit.

But an unspoken creed leaves a lot room for diversity. For example, while most members of the Churches of Christ believe in the Trinity (at least implicitly), there is a strong Unitarian strain within our movement. Why? Well, the word "Trinity" isn't in the bible you see. That word, and by implication that doctrine, is a "teaching of man." The examples can abound here. Members of the Church of Christ are generally amillennialists. But you do run into people who believe in the Left Behind stuff. Historically we're Arminian but more and more Church of Christ folk are adopting Reformed beliefs.

It's getting to be a bit of a mess. And that's the point. This theological elbow room works for me. I just add my mess to the mix.

What holds the mess together (at least for now), and is a distinctive mark of our movement, is the consistent and ubiquitous appeal to Scripture. If there is one verse that describes the Churches of Christ it might be this:

Acts 17.11
Now the Bereans were of more noble character than the Thessalonians, for they received the message with great eagerness and examined the Scriptures every day to see if what Paul said was true.

What truly marks the Churches of Christ is this: we examine the Scriptures daily to see if what is taught is true.

So that's what I shared with Tony. What marks me as Church of Christ isn't theology or doctrine. Again, we're non-creedal. What marks me as Church of Christ the centrality of Scripture. How I keep going back to Scripture, day after day.

For example, think about this blog. Have you not noticed that this is a Church of Christ blog? If you can't see this conduct the following experiment. Scroll down to the end of this page and count up the number of Scripture references you see across the posts. Go back a couple of weeks and count them all. Then go to a favorite Christian blogger of yours and do the same, counting up all the Scripture references and quotations.

If you do this you'll see the difference. As best I can tell, as I mentioned to Tony, I quote Scripture more than any other Christian blogger I know. Shoot, I quote more Scripture than a lot of fundamentalist bloggers. Do you know why?

I'm Church of Christ.

3. No Flag Waving
The third reason I find the Churches of Christ congenial is that we're not nationalistic. We don't have flags in our churches and we don't have patriotic displays on the Fourth of July or other national holidays. Of course, this practice varies from church to church. But generally speaking, we don't wave flags.

(Note: In the last decade or so there do seem to be a few Churches of Christ who are drifting toward evangelicalism. Consequently, these churches are slowly becoming politicized and, thus, are starting to wave flags and obsess about election cycles. This is a new and worrying trend.)

In short, there a bit of an Anabaptist and anarchist thread running through our movement. Largely due to people like David Lipscomb, an early leader in the Churches of Christ (and founder of one of our schools, Lipscomb University, where I once taught) who was a pacifist and advocated that Christians shouldn't vote or serve on juries.

So, in a world where Christianity is becoming more and more politicized and where "God and Country" idolatry is an increasing problem, I find the Churches of Christ to be a nice oasis from the political madness of contemporary Christianity.

4. "Welcome each other, as Christ has welcomed you": Open Communion
I didn't mention this to Tony, but I think he would have liked (see his post here) this fourth reason about why I prefer the Churches of Christ: Open communion.

If you attend a Church of Christ you are welcome to take communion. To be honest, I don't think the Churches of Christ have thought much about this topic, but that's our practice. If you are sitting in our pews on Sunday you are welcome to take communion as the trays are passed. The implicit theology is clear: You are welcome at the Lord's Table. No one is left out.

(A story about this. I think this practice of open communion in our churches was one of the most profound and affecting things that the SoulForce--an LGBT advocacy group--riders experienced when they visited our campus in 2006. When SoulForce arrived on a Sunday night they had dinner at a local Church of Christ where there was a communion service afterward for our college students. The SoulForce riders attended the service and, per our practice, were welcomed to partake of communion with everyone in attendance. As I remember it, this act of welcome, and the implicit theology it incarnated, was the most profound experience of the visit for the SoulForce riders.)

To be sure, there are good things and bad things about open communion (as there are good things and bad things to closed communion). But given the vision of radical hospitality I paint in Unclean it should be obvious that I prefer open communion.

So there you have it. That was my answer to Tony. Why do I like the Churches of Christ? Four reasons: congregational/local structure, non-creedal but biblical, strains of Anabaptist/anarchism, and open communion.

Postscript:
I also like the acapella music, the Arminian soteriology, the high view of baptism (and that it's believer's baptism), the taking of commuion every Sunday, the use of Sunday school, the lack of clergy, and the amillennialism/preterism (which keeps us clear of the Left Behind stuff and zany ideas about the state of Israel).

Why does the blood of Jesus signify God's forgiveness?

To start, who was Jesus? Christians confess that Jesus was God Incarnate. The Word that became flesh and dwelt among us.

Only God has authority to forgive sins. Thus, as Immanuel--God with us--Jesus has the authority to forgive sins on earth.

Mark 2.1-12 (see also Matthew 9.1-8; Luke 5.17-26)
A few days later, when Jesus again entered Capernaum, the people heard that he had come home. They gathered in such large numbers that there was no room left, not even outside the door, and he preached the word to them. Some men came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. Since they could not get him to Jesus because of the crowd, they made an opening in the roof above Jesus by digging through it and then lowered the mat the man was lying on. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralyzed man, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”

Now some teachers of the law were sitting there, thinking to themselves, “Why does this fellow talk like that? He’s blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?”

Immediately Jesus knew in his spirit that this was what they were thinking in their hearts, and he said to them, “Why are you thinking these things? Which is easier: to say to this paralyzed man, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up, take your mat and walk’? But I want you to know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins.” So he said to the man, “I tell you, get up, take your mat and go home.” He got up, took his mat and walked out in full view of them all. This amazed everyone and they praised God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this!”

The people know the truth, "Who can forgive sins but God alone?" Forgiveness is the Divine prerogative. But Jesus declares, "Your sins are forgiven." Jesus assumes the Divine prerogative and is accused of blasphemy. But Jesus reveals his Sonship by declaring "the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins."

The gospel of Luke gives us another story that displays Jesus's authority to forgive sins.

Luke 7.36-39, 44-50
When one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, he went to the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table. A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.”

...Then Jesus turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”

The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”

Jesus said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

Again, we see Jesus assuming the Divine prerogative and forgiving sins. And, once again, the people react, "Who is this who even forgives sins?"

The point in all this is that forgiveness of sins has to do with the Divine prerogative and authority. God can forgive whoever God wants, whenever God wants. It is all a matter of authority. As we see in the gospels, nothing else is necessary.

Jesus's claim that "the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins” was vindicated when he was raised from the dead. As Peter declares in Acts:

Acts 5.30-31
The God of our ancestors raised Jesus from the dead—whom you killed by hanging him on a cross. God exalted him to his own right hand as Prince and Savior that he might bring Israel to repentance and forgive their sins.

Jesus brings forgiveness of sins because of who he revealed to be! Jesus was telling the truth! The one forgiving sins on earth really was the Prince of Heaven!

The key issue throughout the book of Acts is the identity of Jesus. And it is the answer to the question we've observed running through the gospels. Does this man have the authority to forgive sins? In the book of Acts the resurrection of Jesus answers with a resounding "Yes!"

It is true, Jesus has the authority to forgive sins.

But if this is so, why is the blood of Jesus associated with the forgiveness of sins? Again, if forgiveness of sin is a matter of authority, an authority Jesus claimed on God's behalf and a claim vindicated at Easter, then why is the blood of Jesus necessary for the forgiveness of sins?

The light shone in the darkness, but the darkness did not understand it. The Son of God came and was killed by a blood-thirsty humanity. And in the face of our violence the Lamb of God remained non-violent.

"He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth."

By refusing to retaliate--refusing to "treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities" (Psalm 103.10)--Jesus loved "to the end" (John 13.1)--to the point of death, to the point of blood.

We know Jesus had both the authority to retaliate (John 19.11) or to forgive (Mark 2.1-12; Matthew 9.1-8; Luke 5.17-26). Jesus chose forgiveness and non-retaliation. Jesus chose crucifixion over vengeance and wrath. In Jesus God "turns the other cheek" and does not "repay evil for evil." In Jesus God "returns a blessing for a curse."

1 Peter 2.20b-24
But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, this is commendable before God. To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps.

“He committed no sin,
and no deceit was found in his mouth.”

When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly. “He himself bore our sins” in his body on the cross, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; “by his wounds you have been healed.”

We are "healed by the wounds of Christ." How? It's right there in 1 Peter. We are "healed" by the blood because "When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly."

As the Son of Man Jesus had the Divine prerogative to either forgive or to retaliate.

He forgave.

"Father forgive them!"

And by refusing to retaliate Jesus was led to his death, to his crucifixion. By refusing to retaliate Jesus's blood was shed. For us. By his wounds we are healed.

That is why the blood of Jesus signifies the Divine forgiveness.

Because what if there were no blood in the story? What if Jesus refused to allow his blood to be spilled? What if Jesus resisted the cross as Peter tried to do when he pulled his sword? What if when they "hurled insults at him" Jesus chose to retaliate?

What if Jesus would have chosen wrath, justice and an eye for an eye? What if Jesus chose to repay evil for evil? What if Jesus, contra Psalm 103, decided he would treat us as our sins deserved and repaid us according to our iniquities?

That would have been a very different kind of story. That wouldn't have been a story of forgiveness and grace. That would have been a story of Divine wrath and judgment.

But that's not the story we find.

Instead we find something totally different, something totally shocking and unexpected.

What we find is blood.

When faced with the choice, he chose to forgive.