As a part of my prayer practice I've been praying through the psalms on a four-week cycle. And it has, to say the least, been very eye opening.

I'm biblically literate. So I felt I knew the psalms. And yet, I'd never read the psalms through in a consistent and concentrated way. And when you do that there is a message in the psalms that is revealed to you, a message I've never heard preached about or that I've read about.

Basically, the sum of the matter is this. The psalms are dangerous.

Let me put it this way. If you were an oppressor you would ban the reading of the psalms. You'd burn them. You wouldn't want an oppressed group to be reading the psalms.

The psalms are a crash course in liberation theology.

The rubric I have tended to apply to the psalms is praise/lament. On the one hand there are songs of praise and on the other hand there are songs of lament. And using this framework I've often encouraged "Summer Christian" churches to explore the material of the lament psalms, the poetry of the "Winter Christian" experience. (See my discussion in The Authenticity of Faith if you're unfamiliar with the Summer vs. Winter Christian distinction.)

I definitely think the praise/lament framework is a good way to get people to read more of the psalms, but I've come to think that the praise/lament framework is inadequate.

First, while the praise/lament framework does get people to read more of the psalms, it still leaves too much material unread. Second, the praise/lament framework can obscure the source and cause of the lament in the lament psalms. The lament psalms aren't just sad songs, "the blues" as it were. The "sadness" in the lament psalms is very often of a particular sort.

For example, Winter Christians often turn to the lament psalms during times of grief and mourning. And yet, if you look at them, most of the lament psalms aren't about loss and grief. Death isn't what the lament psalms are about. And yet, that's the way we tend to use the lament psalms, turning to them during times of mourning.

But here's what we tend to miss in the praise/lament framework, where we have happiness on one side and sadness on the other. We miss "the enemy," "the foe," and the "oppressor."

There are three main characters in the psalms. YHWH, the psalmist and the enemies.

The thing that strikes you about the psalms when you read them straight through is how oppressed and beleaguered is the psalmist. Enemies, hecklers, back-stabbers, two-faced friends, violent oppressors and economic exploiters abound. 

This goes to the source of lament in the psalms. Rarely is the lament about, say, the death of a loved one. The lament is generally about oppression, about the victory of the oppressor.

The lament is about the bad guys winning and the good guys being trampled underfoot.

Consider a classic lament psalm, Psalm 13. Here's how it starts off:

How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and day after day have sorrow in my heart?

That's good sad, depressing stuff. Love it! But where is the sorrow coming from? The very next line:

How long will my enemy triumph over me? 

See? The sorrow isn't about grief. The sorrow is about oppression.

Time and time again that's what you see in the lament psalms, that the source of the lament is due to violent oppression and economic exploitation.

Consider Psalm 55:

Psalm 55.1-3, 9-11, 20-23
Give ear to my prayer, O God;
do not hide yourself from my supplication.
Attend to me, and answer me;
I am troubled in my complaint.
I am distraught by the noise of the enemy,
because of the clamor of the wicked.
For they bring trouble upon me,
and in anger they cherish enmity against me.

Confuse, O Lord, confound their speech;
for I see violence and strife in the city.
Day and night they go around it
on its walls,
and iniquity and trouble are within it;
ruin is in its midst;
oppression and fraud
do not depart from its marketplace.

My companion laid hands on a friend
and violated a covenant with me
with speech smoother than butter,
but with a heart set on war;
with words that were softer than oil,
but in fact were drawn swords.

Cast your burden on the Lord,
and he will sustain you;
he will never permit
the righteous to be moved.

But you, O God, will cast them down
into the lowest pit;
the bloodthirsty and treacherous
shall not live out half their days.
But I will trust in you.

Again, the three characters: YHWH, the psalmist and "the enemy"--violence, oppression, fraud in the marketplace, a backstabbing friend, the bloodthirsty and treacherous. The Psalms is full of this stuff. Consider Psalm 35:

Psalm 35.1-10
Contend, Lord, with those who contend with me;
fight against those who fight against me.
Take up shield and armor;
arise and come to my aid.
Brandish spear and javelin
against those who pursue me.
Say to me,
“I am your salvation.”

May those who seek my life
be disgraced and put to shame;
may those who plot my ruin
be turned back in dismay.
May they be like chaff before the wind,
with the angel of the Lord driving them away;
may their path be dark and slippery,
with the angel of the Lord pursuing them.

Since they hid their net for me without cause
and without cause dug a pit for me,
may ruin overtake them by surprise—
may the net they hid entangle them,
may they fall into the pit, to their ruin.
Then my soul will rejoice in the Lord
and delight in his salvation.
My whole being will exclaim,
“Who is like you, Lord?
You rescue the poor from those too strong for them,
the poor and needy from those who rob them.”

Notice the liberation theology themes. The psalmist sings: "My soul will rejoice in the Lord and delight in his salvation." And what characterizes this "salvation"? This: "You rescue the poor from those too strong for them, the poor and needy from those who rob them."

And it's well known that in the face of violence and exploitation the psalms at times express murderous thoughts about oppressors. 

Historically, all this content makes sense. Many, if not most of the psalms, were written after the fall of Jerusalem and were sung during the time of exile. Once again, this highlights the liberation theology content of the psalms. These were the songs of an enslaved and exiled people. Oppression is the ecosystem of the psalms.

Which goes to my assessment at the start. The psalms are dangerous. If I were an oppressor I'd ban the psalms. No way I'd let people sing these songs.

The psalms are liberation theology.

Recently, the search term

old scratch

brought someone to the blog.

Do you know who Old Scratch is?

I discovered and wrote about who Old Scratch was in 2012.

At our prison bible study Herb, my co-teacher, was leading a prayer. Herb is a Baby Boomer and a son of the South. I'm Gen X and a transplanted Northerner. So our idiomatic expressions are different.

So when Herb was leading the prayer he said, "And Lord, protect us from Old Scratch."

After the prayer was over I asked aloud, "Who is Old Scratch?"

Herb was incredulous. Didn't I know that Old Scratch was the Devil? I did not. Nor, it seemed, did any of the guys in the class.

Apparently, Old Scratch is a name for the Devil that was more widely known a generation or so ago. It apparently started in New England but eventually took hold in the South. Here's the entry from The Free Dictionary:

Old Scratch

n. Chiefly Southern U.S.

The Devil; Satan.

---

[Probably alteration of scrat, from Middle English, hermaphrodite goblin, from Old Norse skratte, wizard, goblin.]

Regional Note: Old Scratch, like Old Nick, is a nickname for the devil. In the last century it was widely used in the eastern United States, especially in New England...Now the term has been regionalized to the South. Old Scratch is attested in the Oxford English Dictionary from the 18th century onward in Great Britain as a colloquialism: "He'd have pitched me to Old Scratch" (Anthony Trollope, 1858). The source of the name is probably the Old Norse word skratte, meaning "a wizard, goblin, monster, or devil."

In literature Aunt Polly describes Tom Sawyer as being "full of the Old Scratch" because of his rebellious and mischievous ways. In A Christmas Carol during the visions of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come Scrooge overhears a conversation describing his death: "Old Scratch has got his own at last."

I find the name Old Scratch delightful. Herb and I now use it all the time. And here and there in our church we hear the name catching on. The name is just too quirky and fun to be allowed to slip away.

Darren Fleet (Adbusters Magazine, October 2013):

Our present age is the final act of the modern obsession with the promise of more. The desire for increase was the impulse at the heart of Caesar Augustus, the Mongol conquest of Asia, the Bantu migration in Central Africa, the rise of the Aztec and Inca kingdoms in the Americas, the British Empire and the current American and Chinese century. At the end of every battle was the promise of pillage. Battle now, get paid later. This make empire financially possible. It is the identical philosophy of the "buy now, pay later" and "zero-percent-down" schemes so ubiquitous throughout the West. The relationship between empire and pillage has changed little, save for the fact that the ability to export nature has now outpaced humanity's ability to exploit one another (though it hasn't replaced it). Where there is a center, there must also be a frontier to feed the center. This translates into a new set of mutually dependent entities: where there is a shopping mall, there must be a factory; where there is energy, there must be ecocide; where there is health, there must be sickness; where there is consumption, there must be waste; where there is pristine, there must be polluted; where there is progress, there must be regression and desire. This material reality has a mental parallel. Within each of us there is also an insatiable thirst for increase and abundance. This is fueled by advertising, propaganda and, increasingly, self-delusion. This internalized graph of progress, one that points exponentially up, governs our relationships, our careers, our sex lives, our friendships, our families, our waist lines, our jobs, our purchasing, our houses, our cars, our travels...everything. According to this way of thinking, satisfaction is a sign of weakness. Poverty is a sign of laziness and ineptitude. Wealth is a sign of attraction and prowess. This new moral compass of modernity, the consciousness of our world today, is dependent on a single paradoxical truth: infinite growth.

This post is a continuation of the thoughts I shared two weeks ago in my post Kenosis as Pouring Out and Vomiting.

To recap, that post was trying to wrestle with what kenosis, humility and "taking up the cross" looks like for a person in locations of abuse and oppression. As I noted in that post and in others, "descending" to a place of "lower status" presupposes that the person is "high status" and on the top. Thus, to be a Christian in these locations is to let go of and to empty oneself of status. To humble and lower yourself.

But how does that work if you are already a low status person, especially an abused and oppressed person? How much lower are you supposed to go?

The worry in all this, as I pointed out in my prior post, is when people tell abused and oppressed people to tolerate their abuse and oppression quietly and passively. In this, in acquiescing to the abuse, the person is told he or she is "being like Jesus." As I noted, pastoral advice like this heaps theological abuse upon physical, sexual and emotional abuse in how it stands with the abuser and the oppressor.

So we definitely don't want to go in that direction. Kenosis, humility and taking up the cross shouldn't look anything like that, siding with the abusers and the oppressors. (Not that we hate the abusers and oppressors, just that we don't provide them with theological justification for what they are doing and that we engage in vigorous, fearless and sustained theological rebuke of abuse and oppression.)

So if that's not the direction we should go, then what does kenosis, humility and taking up the cross look like for those who are low status, those who are being abused and oppressed?

In my prior post I tried to articulate what all that might look like, kenosis in the location of abuse and oppression. So if you missed that post read it to get my take on the subject.

Now here in this post I want to suggest an alternative approach to this same subject, something a bit more provocative and radical.

The basic idea is this. Victims are already Christian. Victims need no conversion.

Only oppressors and abusers require conversion.

Regarding kenosis, humility and taking up the cross victims have already been poured out, humiliated and crucified. Thus, victims have already been converted. In their victimhood victims already stand with and in Christ. Or, rather, Christ has already moved to stand with the victims--sanctifying them, divinizing them. Victims incarnate the Crucified Christ and, thus, they are already Christians.

Hanging already on the cross, victims need do nothing more to become "Christ-like" or to become like Jesus. As I said, victims require no conversion.

This, then, is the root of the problem with preaching kenosis, humility and taking up the cross to victims. You're suggesting that the one already hanging on the cross do something more, to in essence crucify themselves again.  And it's that demand for re-crucifixion--the attempt to convert and preach at the one hanging on the cross--that brings in the potential for abuse.

This is why I think notions like kenosis, humility and taking up the cross often become dysfunctional, hurtful and sadomasochistic when preached at those being abused or oppressed. You're trying to convert the converted, to make people in these locations do something more, to go lower, when they, as victims, need do nothing more.

(The one caveat that could be added here is that we talk about the forgiving victim on the cross. The victim who seeks to create no more victims. Thus, while the victim is holy and doesn't need to become more of a victim to stand with Christ--the victim don't need to submit to additional suffering or lowering or humiliation--there may be internal work that needs to be done to break the cycle of violence, hate and revenge. In short, victims need do nothing more by way of suffering to stand with Christ and to suggest otherwise is abusive. But having been lifted out of the abusive and oppressive context victims will face the hard labor of forgiveness. This circles back to connect with the view of kenosis I articulated in the earlier post, suggesting that the "emptying" of kenosis involves pouring out--even vomiting out--the black bile of the abusive past.)  

In framing these issues in this particular way--the victim needs no conversion--the ideas here might sound strange and provocative. But these are old and biblical notions.

In many ways, what I've just described takes its cue from liberation theology. But instead of God's preferential option for the poor what we have here is the preferential option for the victim. God already stands in divine solidarity with the victims. Thus victims do not need to "convert," they do not need to move from one spiritual location to another in order to stand with and be with God. The Crucified God is already found in the midst of victims and among the victims. Thus, victims need do nothing to find God beyond their being victims. The victim requires no conversion to be with God. Victims are already with God.

Biblically, this is simply the theology of the Beatitudes, the Magnificat and the Nazareth Manifesto. The poor, the meek, the gentle, the persecuted, the least of these are already blessed. And being already blessed victims don't need to do anything more in order to become blessed.

What victims require, and this is the clear teaching of Scripture, is elevation and exultation. Being already blessed and already in God's divine favor the victim needs no further encouragement to be more Christian, more blessed, more Christ-like. To preach conversion to the victim--to ask them to go lower, to re-crucify themselves--is abusive as the only message the victim needs is the Good News of Divine favor: Blessed are you.

You, here in your low estate, have been seen by God. Your cries have been heard and your tears have been counted and gathered into the wineskin of God.

Take my hand, and be lifted up.

As I wrote about last week, observing the Stations of the Cross during Lent deeply shaped me as a Protestant kid attending a Catholic school.

That said, one difficulty some Protestants have with the Stations of the Cross is that some of the stations aren't found in the bible. The traditional Stations of the Cross are these:

1. Jesus is condemned to death 
2. Jesus carries his cross 
3. Jesus falls the first time 
4. Jesus meets his mother 
5. Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry the cross 
6. Veronica wipes the face of Jesus 
7. Jesus falls the second time 
8. Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem 
9. Jesus falls the third time 
10. Jesus' clothes are taken away 
11. Jesus is nailed to the cross 
12. Jesus dies on the cross 
13. Jesus is taken down from the cross
14. Jesus is laid in the tomb

Obviously, as a Protestant kid I was puzzled about Station Six. Who was Veronica?

According to Catholic tradition Veronica was a pious woman of Jerusalem who was moved with pity upon seeing Jesus carrying his cross to Golgotha. As Jesus passed Veronica wiped his face. A miracle occurred in that an impression of Jesus's face was left upon the cloth called "The Veil of Veronica." 

As a Protestant kid, this story was new to me. As were Stations Three, Seven and Nine. I was unaware that Jesus fell, precisely three times, on his way to the cross.

These extra-biblical Stations may make some Protestants hesitant to observe or use the Stations of the Cross during Lent. However, in 1991 pope John Paul II introduced what is called the Scriptural or Biblical Stations of the Cross. These fourteen Stations are each tied to a part of the Passion narrative in the gospels. Protestants, I'm guessing, would be more comfortable with these, the Scriptural Stations of the Cross:

1. Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane (Matthew 26: 36-41)
2. Jesus is betrayed by Judas and arrested (Mark 14: 43-46)
3. Jesus is condemned by the Sanhedrin (Luke 22: 66-71)
4. Jesus is denied by Peter (Matthew 26: 69-75)
5. Jesus is judged by Pilate (Mark 15: 1-5, 15)
6. Jesus is scourged and crowned with thorns (John 19: 1-3)
7. Jesus takes up his cross (John 19: 6, 15-17)
8. Jesus is helped by Simon to carry his cross (Mark 15: 21)
9. Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem (Luke 23: 27-31)
10. Jesus is crucified (Luke 23: 33-34)
11. Jesus promises his kingdom to the repentant thief (Luke 23: 39-43)
12. Jesus entrusts Mary and John to each other (John 19: 25-27)
13. Jesus dies on the cross (Luke 23: 44-46)
14. Jesus is laid in the tomb (Matthew 27: 57-60) 

To observe the Stations you read each text and accompany it with a prayer (and perhaps also a meditation) fitting that Station. The Stations and texts are the same but the prayers and meditations are diverse. Examples abound on the Internet, here is one from the US Catholic Conference of Bishops.

Also, if you have a smart phone there are Stations of the Cross apps you can get. I have one on my phone and I've been using it to observe the Stations during Lent.

This Protestant kid has come a long, long way.

In 2011 I wrote a piece about how repentance--rather than belief--is the proper response to the gospel. During Lent that seems to be a good theme to revisit:

What is the proper response to the gospel?

In the Gospel accounts, as people like Scot McKnight has helped us see, the "good news" is not a presentation of the "Steps of Salvation."

Rather, the gospel is the declaration that Jesus is Lord, that the Kingdom of God has been inaugurated in Jesus of Nazareth. This is why Jesus himself preached the gospel, well before his crucifixion. For example, after his baptism in the book of Mark Jesus is observed preaching the gospel:

Mark 1.14-15
After John was put in prison, Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. “The time has come,” he said. “The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!”

What is the gospel according to Jesus? It is the declaration that "the kingdom of God has come near." Similarly, when Jesus sends out his disciples in Luke 10 they proclaim the same message:

Luke 10.8-11
“When you enter a town and are welcomed, eat what is offered to you. Heal the sick who are there and tell them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ But when you enter a town and are not welcomed, go into its streets and say, ‘Even the dust of your town we wipe from our feet as a warning to you. Yet be sure of this: The kingdom of God has come near.’

As we reflect on repentance during Lent I think this is a good time to think about the "proper response" to the gospel. Specifically, the "Steps of Salvation" gospel has tended to emphasize a response of faith. Cognitive assent. But when we come to see the gospel as the declaration that the "kingdom of God has come near" the issue is less about belief than repentance. Jesus declares in Mark "Repent and believe the good news." The primacy of repentance is even more clear in the gospel of Matthew:

Matthew 4.17
From that time on Jesus began to preach, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

The role of repentance is also highlighted at the very beginning of Mark (and echoed in Matthew and Luke) when we take in the message of John the Baptist:

Mark 1.1-5
The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God, as it is written in Isaiah the prophet:

“I will send my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way”—
“a voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
make straight paths for him.’”

And so John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him. Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River.

The message of the Baptist is important to ponder, especially during Lent. Prior to Jesus's entrance John is "preparing the way for the Lord" by "preaching a baptism of repentance." To be sure, faith is a prerequisite for all this. Obviously, you'd have to believe John's message before undergoing his baptism of repentance. But this is banal. Such a faith doesn't, in itself, constitute a full and proper response to the gospel. Rather, the response we see is a repentance for the forgiveness of sins. This is how the heart is properly prepared for responding to the kingdom coming.

This makes sense if we consider the gospel to be, as Scot McKnight has argued, the declaration that Jesus is King. Kings don't demand belief or faith. You don't believe in kings. No, you obey kings. You give a king allegiance. So when the kingdom comes the proper response is behavioral, a reconfiguration of loyalties. A new apocalyptic reality has been revealed and we are called upon to readjust our lives to this new reality. This is why the ministry of John the Baptist was necessary.

Why has the role of repentance been deemphasized in many sectors of Christianity? One answer, I think, has to do with what Scot McKnight has pointed out: We've reduced the gospel to salvation. Thus, the crux of Christian life becomes cognitive assent (i.e., faith) rather than readjusting our lives in the face of the gospel--that Jesus is Lord and the rule/kingdom of God has broken upon us. As I described above, it's so much easier to believe that Jesus is King than to obey him as King. The point being, for great swaths of Christianity the message and ministry of John the Baptist has no place. We don't tell people that, to accept the gospel, they need to prepare themselves. All you need to do is believe in Jesus and say the Sinner's Prayer. Compare that with John's baptism of repentance and his message:

Luke 3.10-14
“What should we do then?” the crowd asked.

John answered, “Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”

Even tax collectors came to be baptized. “Teacher,” they asked, “what should we do?”

“Don’t collect any more than you are required to,” he told them.

Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?”

He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely—be content with your pay.”

When people ask "What must I do to be saved?" Christians don't, as a rule, say things like "If you have two shirts give one to the poor." We don't see that action--giving away excess possessions--as an example of responding to the gospel. But it is. It's readjusting your life to the new rule of God.

A second and related reason for the eclipse of repentance is that repentance has become a morbid concept. Christians are ashamed of repentance because it doesn't sell well with the public. And this is understandable. If you've grown up with toxic, guilt-driven fundamentalism the word repentance conjures up notions of shame, self-loathing, and a wrathful, judgmental God. When we hear "Repent!" many of us hear "You're going to hell ya damned sinner!"

But this is where I think the ideas of preparation and allegiance come in handy. Repentance is preparing for the reign of God. It's not about getting down on yourself. It's about clearing out the rubbish and clutter of our lives. Sort of like spring cleaning. (Literally, at times, a spring cleaning. To the point of going through your stuff and giving it away.) More, repentance is about loyalty and allegiance. It's about hearing the declaration of the gospel and switching sides. It has less to do with guilt than about joining up with a new team.

The video of my live chat with Adam Ericksen and Suzanne Ross from the Raven Foundation is now online for about a week (the video will go behind a paywall on March 28th).

You can see the video here at the Teaching Nonviolent Atonement website at Patheos.

And again, continue to keep an eye on the work of the Raven Foundation.

The next to last chapter in The Slavery of Death is entitled "Practicing Resurrection."

When I was at Fuller Theological a few weeks ago Ron Wright and Paul Jones asked me if I got that turn of phrase--practicing resurrection--from Wendell Berry's poem Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.

The poem can be found in Berry's recently published collection The Mad Farmer Poems.

Many of you know the poem, with its profound final line:

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go.

Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

--by Wendell Berry from his collection The Mad Farmer Poems

I told Ron and Paul that I couldn't recall if I got the title for my chapter from Berry's poem. But I can't rule out possibility that I'd come across the line at some point and it was rattling around in my brain.

Regardless, I told Ron and Paul that we need to make some t-shirts the the words "practice resurrection" across the back.

Practice resurrection.

Amen. That will preach. That will most certainly preach.

A had a recent conversation with my preacher, Jonathan Storment, about the nature of "Christian celebrity."

There has been a lot of handwringing about the cult of Christian celebrity and its pernicious effects, on the church and on the celebrities themselves.  Jonathan is interested in this issue because he's a preacher who is weekly on a stage preaching to a +1,000 congregation and he speaks to large audiences across the country.

Me? I'm not much of a celebrity. I'm generally invited to speak to academic audiences. I've never been in front of a Christian conference crowd over 500. Still, I do speak a lot. So I'd say I'm a B-list celebrity.

Anyway, Jonathan and I were talking about this subject and I made the following observations.

I don't think there is anything wrong or worrisome for someone to be in the spotlight talking to thousands and thousands of people.

In my opinion, standing on the stage in front of thousands--or selling a lot of books, or having a lot of social media followers--doesn't make you a celebrity, it just makes you popular. And there's nothing wrong with popularity.

Because, generally, people are popular because they are talented. They are charismatic speakers or great writers. Consequently, we want to hear them speak or read what they write. But there's nothing wrong with talent. Talent doesn't make you a celebrity.

The point I was making to Jonathan is that we shouldn't get all neurotic about a person stepping out into the limelight to speak to thousands of people. The speaker shouldn't worry about it nor should the audience.

Speaking to huge, exited crowds just means you are popular, it doesn't make you a celebrity.

So what does make one a celebrity?

In my estimation what makes one a celebrity is when one begins to separate themselves from the crowds they are speaking to or writing for. Celebrity involves a sense of distance, elite distance, from "the common person." And this, creating distance and separation from the crowd listening to you, is the toxic part of Christian celebrity. Because, at root, creating and maintaining this interpersonal distance is anti-Christian and anti-Christ.

In short, the diagnostic test that you are dealing with a Christian celebrity isn't the fact that the person is in a spotlight speaking to thousands. Because that might just be a talented and popular person up there. And there's no shame or elitism in that. What makes the person a celebrity or not isn't the size of the crowd.

What makes the person a celebrity is where the person is before and after the talk.

Let me repeat that.

The test of Christian celebrity is where the person is before and after the talk.

If the person giving the talk is in the audience before and/or after the talk then that's not a Christian celebrity. That's just a talented and popular speaker. By coming "down from the stage" to be with the crowd--it's an Incarnational move here--the speaker is erasing any elite distance or distinction between themselves and their audience. Connecting with the crowd before and after is an act of solidarity, hospitality, humility and service. The speaker is making themselves available. And that availability is the exact opposite of celebrity.

Here's another test. If there are other speakers on the program does the person stay and listen to others? Is the speaker willing to be educated and challenged by others?

If a popular speaker stays and listens to others that's not a celebrity. Because that person is both willing to talk and willing to listen.

By contrast, a speaker who doesn't stick around to sit in the audience to listen to others is a celebrity. That is a person who only likes to listen to themselves. That is a person whose behavior tells us that they think they are the only person worth listening to.

In short, to not listen to other speakers is a disdainful, scornful act of pride and inhospitality.

Now the response you'll often hear in reaction to all this is introversion.

Specifically, you'll often hear speakers say that the reason they don't go into the crowd before or after talks, or the reason they don't listen to others speak, is that they are introverted. They need their alone time.

Listen, introversion is no excuse for being an asshole.

As an introvert myself I'm fully aware how effortful and taxing it can be to interact with others before and after talks. It can be hard, hard work.

But so what?

Think of all the hard, backbreaking work being done in the world. You were just paid hundreds or thousands of dollars for talking for 30-60 minutes and you can't talk to people for another 30-60 minutes? Because you're too tired? Because you're too introverted?

Please.

And beyond whining about being tired after giving a speech as compared, say, to picking fruit as a migrant worker in Florida or laying shingle for eight hours in the Texas summer heat, there's the Christian aspect of this as well. Wouldn't Jesus make himself available to the crowd?

To be sure, the crowds exhausted Jesus. And my best guess is that Jesus was an introvert. So yes, as we see with Jesus going off alone, there will be times to be alone and recharge the batteries. But that time isn't after your talk. That time will be later. After the talk it is time to work. There is a time for solitude and time to be available. After you give a talk is the time to be available.

Because you've just asked people to open their hearts and minds to you. You've gotten into their souls and said some things that messed them up a bit. You might have changed their lives forever. They have become very, very vulnerable for you. And you don't do that to people and just walk off. There is some residual pastoral work yet to be done. So stand there and do that work.

Again, introversion is no excuse. Yes, you are tired. But we are all tired. Single moms are tired. People working two jobs are tired. The people running your conference sitting at the registration table are tired. The night shift worker who will clean the toilet in your Green Room long after you're gone is tired. Welcome to the human race.

I don't care if you are tired or introverted. Stand there and be available.

Let me conclude with two positive examples of what I'm talking about.

A couple of years ago it was my extreme pleasure and privilege to co-present with Walter Brueggemann at Rochester College's Streaming conference.

Now I'd consider Walter Brueggemann to be one of those popular, celebrity type people. And I didn't know what to expect from Walter Brueggemann. It's hard to predict the egos of high-profile academics. A lot of elite academics--being huge nerds--have pretty poor social skills. And they tend to be introverts, a prerequisite for a life of scholarship and writing. And being used to being the smartest person in the room they can also be prima donnas.

So while I was very excited about meeting and presenting with Walter I was also a bit apprehensive. What would he be like?

My fear was that he'd behave like a Christian celebrity, that he'd do the talks he was paid to do and leave, not interacting much with the conference.

The exact opposite happened. Walter stayed for the whole conference. He worshipped with us. He listened to the other speakers, taking notes for himself. He stood in the cafeteria line with us. Took his tray to a table and sat with us. He stood around and talked like everyone else between sessions.

Listen, I don't have a huge behavioral sample of Walter Brueggemann. You might have had very different experiences with him. And maybe Walter just particularly enjoyed Streaming. Streaming is a really neat venue and experience. (BTW, Greg Boyd and I are speaking at Streaming this year. Details to follow.)

But my point is this: that weekend Walter Brueggemann showed me clearly what Christian celebrity is and isn't.

My other example here is Rachel Held Evans.

I've seen Rachel up close and in person when she visited ACU. And she was tireless, after a whole day of speaking, in standing there and giving her full attention to a line of undergraduates. Students not just wanting an autograph, but wanting to share their story or seek spiritual counsel. And I know for a fact those brief conversations with Rachel had a profound spiritual impact upon those students, especially the female students.

Rachel Held Evans is a writer and a speaker, yes, but she's also a pastor, the pastor of a large church sprinkled across the US and the world. And the reason she's become a pastor for so many--from taking confessions to weeping with the broken to giving spiritual counsel--is because she makes herself available. Even when she's exhausted.

To conclude, Christian celebrity isn't the fact that people like Rachel or Walter Brueggemann are paid to speak to a large audiences. Both are brilliant and they shouldn't be ashamed about being talented. Nor should audiences be ashamed about being so excited about hearing them or others speak. Big crowds will follow talented, charismatic people and no one needs to worry about that. It's just naturally going to happen and it's really fun and exciting.

So when that popular speaker steps into the limelight in front of thousands of people everyone--speaker and audience--should just feel really, really excited and happy. Enjoy it. Have fun.

In my estimation, the question of Christian celebrity all comes down to what happens before and afterwards. Where does the speaker go? Do they go back to the Green Room, protected by handlers and bodyguards? Do they quickly head back to the hotel? Do they take the money and run?

Or do they come out into the audience? Do they sit and listen to the next speaker?

I do think we have a Christian celebrity problem. I just think we're looking for it in the wrong places. There's nothing wrong or worrisome about popularity. That's a fun and exciting thing. The issue of celebrity boils down to availability versus elite distance, insiderism and cliquishness.

Celebrity isn't about the size of the spotlight, the stage or the crowd.

Celebrity is about the size of your ego, your heart, and the welcome you extend to others.

I wanted to let you know that tomorrow (3.19.14) at 11:00 CST I'll be having a live chat with Adam Ericksen and Suzanne Ross from the Raven Foundation. You can find out how to register for the chat (it's free but you need to register so a link to view the chat can be sent to you) and other details at the Raven Foundation's Teaching Nonviolent Atonement website at Patheos.

If you don't know about the work of the Raven Foundation you should. The Raven Foundation is a thought and educational leader in disseminating the insights of René Girard regarding mimetic theory and the dynamics of scapegoating with the goal of creating more peaceable communities.

And if you don't know Girard's work, his insights have revolutionized how many of us think about the atonement. Explore both the Raven Foundation and the Teaching Nonviolent Atonement websites for resources on this and related subjects.

Hope to see you live tomorrow during my conversation with Eric and Suzanne. I'm really looking forward to exploring the connections between two towering thinkers, Ernest Becker and René Girard. Both men articulated theories that posit simple dynamics--mimesis leading to rivalry in the case of Girard and terror management leading to worldview defence in the case of Ernest Becker--but that have huge explanatory scope and power. To date, however, little work has been done exploring the intersections of these two influential paradigms. I don't know how much we'll get into that topic tomorrow, but it's a subject I've been thinking about a lot.

See you tomorrow at 11:00 CST.

In 2011 I wrote an autobiographical post about being a Church of Christ kid who started going to a parochial Catholic school in the 6th Grade. On the surface it's a story of theological culture shock. But deep down it's really a meditation on the power of liturgy and how liturgy shapes us, especially the rhythms of Lent.

The post was entitled "Growing Up Catholic: A Lenten Mediation":

I have an odd religious history. I was raised in the North where the Churches of Christ are few and far between. The church of my youth was about 90-100 members. A small, tight-knit community.

The dominant religion of my hometown is Catholicism. Private school in my hometown means parochial school with kids marching off to school in their distinctively colored school uniforms. Yellow and green for Blessed Sacrament. White and blue for Our Lady of Peace. Brown and yellow for St. John's. Red and blue for Sacred Heart. And so on.

From K-5th grade I attended a public school. And when I hit 6th grade I left my grammar school to attend a large public middle school that was attached to a high school. This was a rough school in a rough part of town so I, as a little 6th grader, was pretty vulnerable on a school ground that mixed the middle school and the high school kids. One day, in the middle of the year, I came home crying from being bullied repeatedly. And that convinced my parents to make a change. They were going to send me to a private school.

So in the middle of my 6th grade year I showed up at Blessed Sacrament, the school that served the Catholic parish that included our address. I recall going to the special store where I got my forest green pants and yellow polo shirt. Two of each. I had my uniform for school on Monday.

For most of the day Blessed Sacrament was a lot like my public school experience. Class followed class. Subject after subject. But there were some things I had to get used to. To start, I had to get used to some oddly dressed teachers who were addressed as "sister." As in, "Sister Mary, can I get a drink of water?" My peers told me that these women were called "nuns" and they lived together in that building, called a "convent," across the street from the school. And they never married! Confusingly, there were some other sisters at the school who didn't wear black and white clothing. They seemed to dress "normally." So, I asked, are they sisters too? Yes, I was told, they were. Just from a different convent. Not every sister wears a habit. Which put me on the alert. Apparently, there were undercover sisters. Sisters passing as ordinary folk. And I remember walking around the mall trying to spot which normally clad female might, in fact, be a sister...

(Hint: Look for large cross necklaces.)

The other thing I had to get used to at Blessed Sacrament was having a religion class. Didn't have one of those at the public school. But as a Protestant I didn't have to participate in the class. Me and a Baptist kid could sit on the last row and do homework during the class.

I gradually learned that this class was helping my classmates get ready for something called "confirmation." I had no idea what that was. Walking home with my friends I eventually found out that each had already been baptized. As babies! They called it a "christening." Which blew my mind. How can you believe, confess, and repent as a baby? Don't you have to do these things prior to baptism? Apparently not. But you do, at confirmation, have to endorse ("confirm"), as an adult, your baby baptism. And that's what the religion class was helping with. It was something they called "catechesis." And again, I had no idea what that was. I knew what bible study and Sunday School were. But catechesis?

So it was whole new world. And it took me years to connect all the dots. Like why my friends prayed to Mary and why, in some perverse coincidence, we always had fish for lunch on Fridays.

I first heard of Lent in that 6th grade religion class. I recall Sister Damian going around the room asking each of my classmates "what they were giving up for Lent." I didn't know what they were talking about. I only knew the answers clustered around "TV" and "candy." The Baptist kid and myself were skipped. Thank God, I thought. It was not the first or the last time in my life at Blessed Sacrament that I was thankful for being Protestant.

On the walk home from school that day I quizzed my friend Billy about what this "giving up TV and candy for Lent" was all about. What, exactly, was Lent? Billy was no theologian so I didn't get a whole lot of clarity from his answers. But I got the sense that Lent had something to do with being sorry for your sins and getting ready for Easter.

And then Ash Wednesday came.

One of the benefits of going to parochial school was all of the Holy Days. On Holy Days we'd get out of class early and go to Mass. The entire school. Not that any of us loved Mass. But anything was better than school.

So that Wednesday we were told that we wouldn't be having our final period because it was a Holy Day and we'd be going to Mass. Hooray! No 7th period! It's a Holy Day!

And what an odd Holy Day it was. Everything was basically normal (I had been to mass before on prior Holy Days) until all my classmates filed down to the front and returned to their seats with something black smeared on their heads. I was totally freaked out. As a Church of Christ kid mass was spooky enough. Now they were smearing black stuff on their heads?! What kind of devilish, occult practice was this?

Walking home with Billy I found out, as he wiped his forehead clean (again, Billy wasn't very devout), that the black stuff was ashes. And why, I asked, are you smearing ashes on your head? Isn't that kinda weird? Billy agreed that it was strange but that the ashes were symbolizing the start of Lent, a time of sorrow about your sins. It also signaled, Billy sadly reported, the start of his TV fasting.

And more surprises were in store. On Friday we headed back to Mass to celebrate what my teacher called "The Stations of the Cross."

Now I'd never really noticed it before, but around the Blessed Sacrament sanctuary were pictures. Well, I had noticed the pictures, with their candles in front, but I'd never noticed how the pictures were connected. The connection became clear as the priest, along with cross and altar boys, moved from picture to picture as we read aloud a meditation at each stop. Soon it became clear that the pictures were moving through the Passion. Jesus is condemned to death. Jesus is given his cross. Jesus falls the first time. Jesus meets His Mother. Simon of Cyrene carries the cross. Veronica wipes the face of Jesus. Jesus falls the second time. Jesus meets the daughters of Jerusalem. Jesus falls the third time. Jesus is stripped of His garments. Jesus is nailed to the cross. Jesus dies on the cross. Jesus' body is removed from the cross. Jesus is laid in the tomb.

Much of this I knew. But some of the stages were unfamiliar. I'd never heard of Veronica. And I'd never heard of Jesus falling exactly three times on the way to Golgotha. In fact, I found out later, only eight of the traditional fourteen Stations are found the the bible. The rest come from church tradition. (Recently, Pope Benedict approved an alternative to the traditional Stations called the Scriptural Way of the Cross where all 14 Stations are connected to the biblical testimony.)

To this point, as I've recounted, my experience with Catholicism had been characterized by confusion, shock, bafflement, and foreboding. Nothing about this faith attracted me. But that changed after The Stations of the Cross.

I was floored. Emotionally. Theologically. Spiritually. Nothing in my experience had prepared me for walking with Jesus, step for step, stumble by stumble, word for word, to the cross. And then through his dead and burial. By the end of the service I was transformed.

And then it ended. Jesus was laid in the tomb. And the service ended.

Wait a second!, my heart screamed out. That's not the end! Aren't we going to get to the good part? The resurrection?

Apparently, we weren't. We were going to end on Station 14, Jesus laid in the tomb and the stone rolled over the grave. Service over.

And next Friday we did it again. Same depressing conclusion.

And again. And again. And again. Jesus is dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Every Friday of Lent we would go to Mass and go through the Stations of the Cross. It was a shattering experience. For a child who was told in the Churches of Christ that we remembered the death of Jesus every Sunday around the Lord's Table this was something unprecedented. Never had I experienced such an intense, prolonged, and sustained spiritual reflection. Slowly, very slowly, the whole notion of Lent was starting to come into focus in my young mind...

I remember going to church that Easter in 6th grade, after waking up to my Easter basket full of chocolate, and just being very, very happy. Unusually happy. I knew that my church wasn't going to celebrate Easter in any meaningful way. In fact, we might intentionally ignore it. Collectively protest against our surrounding Catholic culture. Worse, I knew I might get a sermon that would attack Easter.

But it didn't matter to me. For I knew it was Easter. Alone in my church I had gone through the Stations of the Cross week after week with my classmates at Blessed Sacrament. Even if no one else did, I knew what day this was. And I was happy. After weeks of ending on Jesus being laid in the tomb I was ready for some Good News. Today was Easter! The stone had been rolled away! Jesus was alive!

And that's how I celebrated Lent for the next six years. After middle school I went to a Catholic High School. And every year I went through Lent, the silent Protestant kid at the Mass, with my Catholic friends and teachers. And every year I would sit in the Church of Christ on Easter Sunday with a very different frame of mind than my brothers and sisters around me.

Eventually, I graduated and went off to a Church of Christ college. I left Catholicism, Mass, Holy Days, and the nuns behind. That first year I hardly noticed autumn turning into winter and winter moving into spring. Like most freshmen I was preoccupied with school, sports, girls, and goofing off with friends.

So that spring I was surprised one Sunday at the Church of Christ I was attending when someone greeted me with a "Happy Easter!"

Wait? Today is Easter?, I thought.

And I'll never forget the very next thought I had.

It can't be Easter. I'm not ready.

And in that moment, I realized, how very Catholic that Protestant kid had become.

A final post about my time at Fuller delivering their Integration Lectures.

The other breakout session I attended was led by Drs. Brad Strawn and Al Dueck entitled "Pastoring Our Personal Congregations: Clinical Integration, Multiplicity of the Self, and a Peaceable Psychology." Brad is the current Chair of Integration at Fuller and Al is a former Chair.

There were two central ideas in the session, both really intriguing.

The first idea was that the self is multiple. Rather than being a single "self" we are "selves," different selves at different times in different contexts. And often different selves vying for recognition at the same time.

This isn't meant in any strange dissociative sense, like in Multiple Personality Disorder (now called Dissociative Identity Disorder). This is simply the recognition that we can find ourselves in inner conflict and tension in relation to our selves.

For example, I can judge myself. How does this happen, where one part of the self stands in judgment over another part of the self?

We can also disagree with ourselves. How's that possible if the self is a unity?

We also say things like, "I'm not myself today." Well, who are you if you're not yourself?

Commenting on all this Brad contrasted the metaphors we use to describe the self. A common metaphor is depth. Our "true self" is the "deepest" self. Thus, to find our "true self" we look deep into the psyche to locate the self at the foundation of our personhood. Somewhere deep down is our true, authentic self. We might call this the vertical self where the self is located along a shallow to deep continuum with the more "authentic" self being located at the deep end.

In contrast, Brad suggested that we replace this vertical metaphor with a horizontal view of self. Specifically, instead of "going deeper" to find a "true self" we should instead think of the self extended temporally, as different selves emerge over time. For example, I am a certain self now, here at home, but a different self will soon emerge when I go to work. And importantly, neither of these selves are more or less "authentic" or representative of "the real me."

And even more interesting here is how I might like or dislike these selves. I might like how I am at home and dislike how I am at work. More, these selves might want different things and come into conflict.

So that's the first idea. The self is multiple and temporal. There is no true self deep in the psyche. There are simply different facets of the self that emerge over time and in certain contexts.

Which brings us to the second idea, the way the selves treat each other.

Specifically, if the self is "multiple" then psychological distress and dysfunction can be caused when the "selves" come to treat each other harshly, judgmentally and violently.

Consider self-loathing. Here some facet of the self--the judging self--is expressing judgment and revulsion toward some other self. The selves have come into conflict and psychic violence is taking place. We are internally aggressing against ourselves.

Thus the notion of a "peaceable psychology." And the peace here is a non-violence that is practiced internally, with the selves coming to treat each other kindly and gently.

Al's metaphor for all this was learning to "pastor our internal congregation."

The idea here is that, in light of the multiplicity of selves, we might think of our inner life as a "congregation" that needs "pastoral care." Psychological well-being in this instance is achieved by learning to care for ourselves. Or, rather, to care for our selves.

Just like a pastor would gently care for the people under her care in a congregation, so should we gently and peaceably care for all the selves that make up our identities, our internal congregation. And much of this will involve learning to forgive our/selves.

In sum, we should practice pacifism...toward the self.

My second time on the Newsworthy with Norsworthy podcast talking with host Luke Norsworthy about my latest book The Slavery of Death.



(If the embed code isn't working follow the link above.)

Podcast topics include:

• Why I write such depressing books. Or what I call "The Death Trilogy."
• How I discovered Thérèse of Lisieux.
• Luke coins the term "Jumped the Horse."
• How "illusions of immortality" affect us.
• The distinction between basic and neurotic anxiety. 
• The "shame-based fear of being ordinary" (Brene Brown).
• If "acquisitiveness" is a word I made up for the book.
• I play a game trying to connect lust and pride to death anxiety.
• A weird discussion about the show "The Bachelor."
• How our identities rest upon a "lie."
• How death anxiety makes me check blog statistics.
• The Orthodox view of sin.
• The cultivation of an eccentric identity.
• Prayer and doxological gratitude.
• How the experience of grace helps us give our lives away.
• Why everyone is "fine" at church. And why everyone is lying about that.
• Why I got my hair cut and Jana's suspicion that I'm trying to dress like a homeless person.

As a part of the lectures at Fuller I also attended some of the breakout sessions. One I really enjoyed was led by Drs. Ron Wright and Paul Jones from Southern Nazarene University.

I got to know Ron and Paul last year when they invited me to give a lecture at SNU. It was a wonderful time. Beyond being brilliant, welcoming and absolutely hilarious, Ron and Paul are doing really innovative work rethinking Christian pedagogy, in both their graduate and undergraduate programs at SNU. And you can see it paying off. As I shared with Ron and Paul, when I was at SNU the camaraderie I experienced between the psychology majors and the faculty was remarkable. 

Ron and Paul's session was about re-envisioning Christian higher-education. Much of the intellectual foundation of the session was taken from James Smith's book Desiring the Kingdom. I don't know James Smith but from his online persona my hunch is that Dr. Smith would think that I'm a complete heretic, too liberal in all sorts of ways. Regardless, I agree with Ron and Paul that Desiring the Kingdom is a great book and I have my own faculty at ACU reading it. I also taught a class at church about the book.

A central thesis of Desiring the Kingdom is that we humans are less thinking animals (Aristotle) than we are desiring animals (Augustine). Consequently, we should replace the overly rationalistic formulation of Rene Descartes--"I think therefore I am"--with "I am what I love." We are lovers. Consequently, according to Smith love is what Christian education should be focused on.

But the trouble with this is that love cannot be "taught" in a purely intellectual way. Love directs our desires and our desires aren't changed by multiple choice tests. To affect love you need a process of formation rather than information. And such formation will focus on the ways liturgies and practices shape and direct our habits. And key here for Smith is how we are always embedded in both secular and sacred liturgical practices that shape our desires. Shopping at a mall, to borrow an example from Smith, is a liturgy, a habit-forming practice that shapes our desires and affects what we love. Standing for the Pledge of Allegiance during sporting events is also a liturgy/practice that shapes what we love.

And so is, Ron and Paul pointed out, the pursuit of a grade in a classroom. A college classroom is a sort of "church" where something is "worshiped." And as a place of worship the classroom shapes your desires, causes you to love something.

Given all this, the goal of Christian education is less about teaching Christian ideas (getting students to articulate "a Christian worldview") than it is about shaping and directing the desires and loves of students toward a vision of "the Kingdom God." Again, Christian education is more about formation--becoming a certain kind of lover--than it is about information.

To illustrate this Ron and Paul showed a video clip of child psychiatrist Robert Coles talking about his work and relationship with Ruby Bridges.

You will recall that Ruby Bridges was one of six black students who, because they had passed tests showing that they were academically prepared, were ordered to integrate the schools in New Orleans. Two of the students, however, stayed at their black schools. The other three students were bussed to another school.

And so it was that Ruby Bridges had to go to William Frantz Elementary School all by herself.

And we all recall what was waiting for Ruby at the school. Captured in the iconic painting by Norman Rockwell, Ruby had to be escorted by federal marshals and others past jeering mobs shouting hateful things at Ruby.

Day after day. Week after week.

Given his work in child development and interest in civil rights, Coles wanted to observe Ruby. Coles was worried that the hate and hostility Ruby faced each day would eventually take an emotional and psychological toll.

But as time went on Ruby seemed to be doing just fine. Coles was happily surprised, but perplexed. What was making Ruby so psychologically resilient?



Coles's final observations go to the heart of the distinction between information and formation. It's one thing to pass a test on the Sermon on the Mount in a bible class in college. It's quite another thing to be formed and shaped by the Sermon on the Mount.

It's one thing to have a 4.0 GPA in biblical studies.

But it's quite another, as Coles says, "to get the kind of 'A' Ruby got."

Dr. Cynthia Eriksson from the Fuller School of Psychology was the fourth and final respondent to the integration lectures I delivered at Fuller Theological Seminary.

One of Dr. Eriksson's areas of expertise is trauma, and she brought that perspective to her response, reading the lecture from the social location of oppression and trauma, of woman in particular. And that perspective helped problematize some of the ways I'd been framing kenosis in the lecture.

Specifically, in following the trajectory of Philippians 2, kenosis is the downward path from privilege to serventhood.

Philippians 2.4-7a
Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. 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 emptied himself,
by taking the form of a servant...

The trajectory here is from high to low, from "equality with God" to "the form of a servant." This was the trajectory I spent most of my time talking about, about how we are to move from places of privilege to the location of servanthood.

But the trouble with this, as I pointed out in the lecture an in The Slavery of Death, is that our neurotic anxieties make this movement difficult. Thirsting for attention, applause and accolades it's hard to step out of the limelight and into the wings to serve unnoticed and unrecognized.

To illustrate this, I asked the question posed by Henri Nouwen: "Who am I when nobody pays attention, says thanks, or recognizes my work?" According to the hero system of our culture the answer is obvious: You're a nobody.  And because that answer stings we don't want to "take on the form of the servant." We don't want to be a nobody. We want to be a somebody. So we resist the downward, self-emptying path of kenosis.

This is all well and good and is a message most of us need to take to heart. But the problem with this framing, Dr. Eriksson pointed out, is how someone already at the bottom of society--the oppressed, humiliated and abused person--is to follow this "downward path." What does kenosis look like if you're already at the absolute bottom?

What if your answer to Nouwen's question isn't a hypothetical but your lived reality? No one pays attention to you. For real. No one says thank you. For real. No one recognizes your work. For real.

And if that's your life how can you be expected to go any lower?

These are questions I've wrestled with. For example, when I argued that humility is the privilege of the privileged. As with humility it seems kenosis--the ability to go downward--is also a privilege of the privileged. You have to be on top to give you room to go down.

In short, what does kenosis look like at the bottom of society? What does it look like in locations of abuse and oppression?

We all know what it shouldn't look like. We don't use kenosis, servanthood or the cross to justify telling the abused person to stay in the abusive situation. Such advice heaps theological abuse on top of physical and psychological abuse.

And yet, we are still left with the questions. If that's not what kenosis looks like in abusive situations--submitting to the abuse the way Christ submitted to his abusers--then what does kenosis look like for the abused?

Because we can see how abused persons have been tempted (by self and others), in the face of Jesus's example, toward those tragic conclusions. This is why Christianity chaffs non-Christians who advocate for the abused and oppressed. In its valorization of Christ's suffering, it is argued, Christianity preaches "divine child abuse" and espouses a sadomasochistic ethic that threatens to justify abuse or, at the very least, puts pressure upon those being abused to suffer the abuse quietly and passively in order to "be like Jesus."

The point here is that the cross is great when preached at the abusers. If you're an abuser you need to go to the cross to stand with your victims. That is the prophetic power of the cross in a violent world full of oppression.

But what is the message of the cross for the one being abused? Carry your cross of abuse? Passively and quietly endure your abuse to be like Jesus?

We're back to our questions. What does humility, kenosis or the cross look like for those at the bottom of society, especially those in abusive situations?

These are the sorts of questions that feminist theologians wrestle with, but they should be questions we are all engaging with, as difficult as they might be. These are theological questions of the utmost practical importance. The issues involve life and death.

During her response to my lecture Dr. Eriksson said something that I think is a part of the answer, at least in regards to kenosis.

Specifically, Dr. Eriksson described a client of hers who had been filled with such toxic experiences that kenosis for her--the process of emptying--was vomiting out all the blackness within her.

There is an emptying here, but of a very different sort. In the Q&A afterwards I described this as "positive kenosis." In negative kenosis the self is emptied to descend. In positive kenosis the self is emptied to rise. In negative kenosis the self is emptied to offset the positive, the pre-existing privilege. In positive kenosis the self is emptied to offset the negative, the toxic self-images and darkness.

Pondering all this now, I don't know if "positive" vs. "negative" kenosis is the best way of describing all this. Because I do think the emptying in both instances is fundamentally the same.

Specifically, what is being emptied is the hero system--the ways we have internalized social and cultural standards of significance versus insignificance, success versus failure, worthiness versus unworthiness, light versus darkness, pure versus defiled, whole versus damaged. The "emptying" of kenosis is becoming indifferent to, dying to, this hero system. I describe this in some detail in The Slavery of Death.

The only difference is where we find ourselves within the hero system. For many the hero system places us on top. At the top, self-esteem and social respect are easy pickings. But the call of Jesus is to become indifferent to all this.  That is experienced as a "descent" of sorts.

But for others, the hero system places them at the very bottom. And all too often, this is internalized. You feel that you "deserve" to be at the bottom, deserve the abuse. Because you are insignificant, damaged, unworthy, and full of darkness and pollution.

It's a toxic situation, this internalized self-loathing, but it's still the hero system. It's just the opposite pole, the shadow side. The hero system is still the way the self is being evaluated, even if it is full of self-loathing and self-destruction.

So an emptying has to occur. The hero system--that internalized filth and shit--has to be poured out. Vomited out.

Come to think about it now, this is an emptying that, psychologically speaking, looks very much like an exorcism. Demons--destructive psychological/spiritual darkness--are being cast out, emptied out.

In sum, if we think of kenosis as being an emptying that involves rejecting the hero system of the culture then we find a common thread.

Kenosis is emptying out the hero system, becoming indifferent to how our self-concepts have been shaped and defined by the culture. For good or ill.

And for many this emptying and pouring out may look more like vomiting. But it is an emptying nonetheless.

The other biblical scholar who responded to my lectures at Fuller was Dr. Love Sechrest, NT scholar at Fuller Theological.

Dr. Sechrest responded to my second lecture where I attempted to analyze the identity of Jesus looking for clues as to how we are to form our identities, in imitating Jesus, so that we might be emancipated from our "slavery to the fear of death" (Hebrews 2.14-15).

In the lecture and in The Slavery of Death I follow the lead of Arthur McGill. Specifically, McGill argues that Jesus had what McGill calls an "ecstatic identity." I prefer the label "eccentric identity" borrowing from David Kelsey, but the idea is the same. Jesus receives his identity from the Father. Jesus's identity isn't a possession or an accomplishment that has to be protected or defended in the face of loss or threat. Jesus's identity is received as a gift. An ongoing gift. And because Jesus does not possess his identity Jesus cannot ever be dispossessed of his identity. This is what makes Jesus non-anxious, non-rivalrous and non-violent: that his identity is located in a place where "death has no dominion."

Reflecting on this psychological analysis, Dr. Sechrest turned our attention to the baptismal narratives of the gospels. These accounts, Dr. Sechrest argued, wonderfully illustrate how Jesus's ecstatic/eccentric identity was received from the Father:

Luke 3.21-22
Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

As Dr. Sechrest noted, Jesus's identity is rooted in "the prior love of the Father." At his baptism Jesus's identity is poured into him: You are my child. You are beloved. And I delight in you.

I agree with Dr. Sechrest, the baptismal narratives are the primordial accounts of Christian identity-formation. Christian spiritual and psychological formation involves finding ourselves, moment by moment, standing in the waters of the Jordan river and receiving our identities from the Father. Over and over.

You are my child. You are beloved. And I delight in you.

And nothing much can happen in the Christian life, especially facing the neurotic shame and stigma in taking up Jesus's cross, until this eccentric identity has firmly taken hold of us.

Search terms that recently brought someone to the blog:

the real nicolae carpathia

If you don't know, Nicolae Carpathia is the Anti-Christ in the (disturbingly) popular Left Behind series.

Now why would anyone looking for the Anti-Christ get linked to this blog?

Ummm. Come to think of it, let's not answer that question.

Actually, a few years ago I read the first book in the Left Behind series. And the actions of the Anti-Christ in that book were so puzzling to me that I wrote a post in 2007 entitled Why the Anti-Christ is an Idiot.

Hard to summarize that post. Let me just say this. Barack Obama, despite what many in the evangelical community think, is not the Anti-Christ.

Dr. Bob Smith is the Anti-Christ.

You'll have to read the post.

It was a real delight to have biblical scholars responding to my lectures at Fuller.

Dr. Chris Hays, professor of Old Testament and Ancient Near Eastern studies at Fuller, responded to my first lecture. Dr. Hays has written a book about death in the Bronze Age and OT--Death in the Iron Age II and in First Isaiah--and in his response he made connections between Egyptian burial practices, Isaiah and some of the ideas of Ernest Becker.

Recall, according to Ernest Becker we engage in cultural heroics to "matter" in the face of death. Here is Becker on this point

[T]his is what a society is and always has been: a symbolic action system, a structure of statuses and roles, customs and rules for behavior, designed to serve as a vehicle for earthly heroism. Each script is somewhat unique, each culture has a different hero system . . . But each cultural system is a dramatization of earthly heroics; each system cuts out roles for performances of various degrees of heroism . . . It doesn’t matter whether the cultural hero-system is frankly magical, religious, and primitive or secular, scientific, and civilized. It is still a mythical hero-system in which people serve in order to earn a feeling of primary value, of cosmic specialness, of ultimate usefulness to creation, of unshakable meaning. They earn this feeling by carving out a place in nature, by building an edifice that reflects human value: a temple, a cathedral, a totem pole, a skyscraper, a family that spans three generations. The hope and belief is that the things that man creates in society are of lasting worth and meaning, that they outlive or outshine death and decay, that man and his products count. 

Given his interest in Egypt Dr. Hays flashed a picture similar to this up on the screen:

As we know, the pyramids were giant tombs. And in this they illustrate two aspects of Becker's theory. First, as noted in the quote above, we try to "build" things that last in the face of death. And secondly, the anxiety behind this effort is often the engine of cultural creation. The pyramids are shrines to death but they also represent amazing feats of art, mathematics and engineering. And as these monuments of death got bigger and more sophisticated human culture advanced. The pyramids are textbook cases of what psychologists call sublimation, where neurotic anxiety is directed into creative and valued outlets. Death anxiety isn't all bad.

But there is a dark side, as Ernest Becker went on to describe. Our attempts to matter and outlast death often cause us to become violent toward others, psychically or physically. And as Dr. Hays pointed out, we see this clearly with the Pharaohs and their tombs. As we know, slave labor was used to build these monuments of death.

What I find interesting in all this is how the existential dynamics described by Ernest Becker can be discerned in this ancient context. For example, a few years ago I was describing some of Becker's thoughts to a colleague in our College of Biblical studies. And this colleague dismissed the analysis, suggesting that existentialism is a modern school of philosophy and, thus, isn't applicable to biblical theology. I was a bit taken aback.

Death, I responded, wasn't an issue for the ancients?

It sure seemed to be an issue for the Egyptians.

Dr. Hays went on to connect these Egyptian burial practices to the book of Isaiah. Specifically, in Isaiah 22 the prophet rebukes Shebna, the governor/administrator of the royal palace for building a personal tomb:

Isaiah 22.15-17a (NLT)
This is what the Lord, the Lord of Heaven’s Armies, said to me: “Confront Shebna, the palace administrator, and give him this message:

“Who do you think you are, and what are you doing here, building a beautiful tomb for yourself— a monument high up in the rock? For the Lord is about to hurl you away, mighty man."

Some scholars have argued that Shebna was the leader of those who were wanting king Hezekiah to make an alliance with Egypt. If so, Shebna's behavior here makes a lot of sense. Specifically, Shebna is making an Egyptian-styled tomb for himself. And for this presumption Shebna is rebuked.

But why is building a tomb presumptuous? The problem, as described by Dr. Hays, is that Jewish tombs were shared. Tombs were communal.

Shebna's presumption was that he was building a tomb--a monument to outlast death--that was purely for himself. Just like the Pharaohs built tombs for themselves.

And that's the connection Dr. Hays made with the work of Ernest Becker.

Specifically, the sin in cultural heroics is the elevation of the self over others in a delusional attempt to outlast death. And we often attempt this self-glorification by climbing over the heads and backs of others, often violently so.

The sin of cultural heroics is the way in which we try to evade death through the glorification of the self and how that self-glorification breaks communion with others.