First Impressions of the MJT - The God Delusion; Emergent Church.

Okay, so I borrowed these Journals (or is it singular - journal?) from Jon Tuesday night. It's the Midwestern Journal of Theology from Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. I was concerned about how accredited a theological journal could be at first, but for some reason or another, my suspicion subsided. I'll be completely honest, I'm ignorant of exactly what this MBTS is, exactly, and if it's accredited, it certainly doesn't smack you in the face with that information. But like I said, I'm honestly not too concerned about it. At least, not as concerned as I thought I would be.

I read a few articles in the Journal(s) from Spring 2007 and Fall 2008. I read a review of The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins. I don't really like Richard Dawkins - I find him to be a pompous douche that brings nothing to the table of religious philosophy and does so with a pretentious smirk on his face, but I'll admit I immediately lost a lot of preconceived notions about the naivity of honest-to-goodness Baptists (as opposed to people who attend Baptist churches). I'm pleasantly surprised to say that I saw a level of civility and even respect toward atheism in this review - I'd never seen it before, and I certainly didn't expect it. I quote, from an annotation, "Atheism puts its best foot forward in J. L. Mackie's The Miracle of Theism: Arguments for and against the Existence of God, Michael Martin's Atheism: a Philosophical Justification, and Antony Flew's God and Philosophy, Revised Edition. All three function at a much higher level than GD (God Delusion), because of their willingness to treat theism as having a case to be answered, as opposed to being essentially dismissed as a juvenile fairytale."

So, I'll say I was definitely impressed. The related philosophical content was... well, I don't know really how to gauge that. The review handled the God Delusion fairly well, but then again, Richard Dawkins is a much better biologist than he is a philosopher.

The other articles I read were on the Emerging Church, which caught my eye because I'd heard the term just after I graduated at T.H.E.E. Camp (The Heaven and Earth Experience). I believe that I heard Matt Gibbons talking about it? Might've been Travis Crim? (Oh, gosh, how I wish I could go back to THEE Camp one year. Dang, I miss it!) I could be mistaken on that. It's an approach to Christianity to find footing in an increasingly postmodern world (at least, as I understood it), so of course I was drawn in, and I found some really good tidbits of information and I think I'll be looking more and more into this Emergent Church thing.

However, there were a few spots in there where I got the impression that the gracious, civil approach to these topics was forced, or at least, clearly not what the author had wanted to say. And while I can understand this, there were lines every once in a while that made me cringe, such as when it referred to authentic worship as a "fad." (I can't possibly rationalize that, to be honest. And I've rationalized a ton of B.S. this past year.) Other notable sections include where a writer completely railed on Brian D. McLaren (whom I have read on my own and absolutely loved his book The Secret Message of Jesus) for being too 'slippery.' All in all, I think I can't really blame the writer for being so harsh on him. It is a changing worldview, after all.

The jump from a modern worldview to postmodern one is a hard one to grasp, admittedly. It favors the subjective over the objective, for example. (I, personally, believe that faith is so much more appreciable and inspiring when it is a faith without objectivity and without 'reason,' or in the face of these things, but that's just me.) For most, like the Baptist who openly railed on McLaren, subjectivity in theology is a bad thing. Granted, the modern culture of "Evangelical Christianity" (as the articles put it - I'm trying really hard to not pull out some of the easier names) are very, very specific in what they accept as a 'right' answer that's determined from their interpretation of Scripture (which is by no means the only one out there, nor the only valid one) that when anyone turns up with a vague approach to it, there are sure to be those who are uneasy, to say the least.

For example, Brian is said to "speak extensively about homosexuality with sympathy, but never ventures to state his own theological conclusions about it. He admits that he has those conclusions, but he refuses to share them." There are a lot of cases like this, and Baptists are very clear about this process of reciprocity. It's almost like British spy cliche, with the secret codes and passwords. You walk up to a guy standing near a taxi, and he conversationally says, "In London, April's a Spring month." He's not going to offer you a ride in that taxi unless you say, word-for-word, "Yes, but here in St. Petersburg, we're freezing our butts off!" (Goldeneye, ftw.) Similarly, when a Baptist asks you an 'obvious' question, such as 'if you were to die tonight, do you know for certain you would spend eternity with God in heaven?' you have a very specific answer you are expected to give. The point is, McLaren didn't give those answers, so they see him as 'slippery.'

I'm reading out of Thomas Merton's book "New Seeds of Contemplation." Yes, I know - it's Catholic, but I'd like to kind of regurgitate this passage from it that might explain McLaren's aversion to typical exploratory questions of Baptist lore. (Ignore the topic and focus on the approach TO the topic, by the way.) Father Merton says, "So instead of loving what you think is peace, love other men, and love God above all. And instead of hating the people you think are warmakers, hate the appetites and disorder in your own soul which are the causes of war. If you love peace, then hate injustice, hate tyranny, hate greed - but hate these things in yourself, not in another."

Perhaps McLaren is merely hating all the old familiar topics of Christian discussion in himself, and not in others. Perhaps he feels that to give birth publicly to his own opinion on the matter is only going to serve as a means to separate himself from those he wants to reach out to. In the world of opinions, everything is offensive to someone, and in this matter, by not giving out his own opinion on the matter, he avoids burning bridges with others.

Sometimes I think this is a valid approach to Scripture. There's that theology, yes, but there's also Jesus' teaching - and I think Jesus' teaching is how we should approach others with said Law. I don't know if I'm making ANY sense here at all, honestly. Of course there are "the rules," and "the expectations." Those certain buzzwords and buzz-phrases that most Christians cling to for affirmation of spiritual brethren, but how often do we read Christ's teaching (not the theology behind Christ's sacrifice or resurrection, but what the guy actually said) and think of applying that to how we approach others with the law - if at all? I think there's a lot to be said here about the passage where Jesus draws a line in the sand and says "He who is without sin, cast the first stone."

In this way, I think McLaren did the right thing by not expressing his own personal views. But to continue on with a direct quote that really, really pinned down the obvious cultural differences in the modern vs. postmodern worldviews: "In McLaren's book, The Story We Find Ourselves In, after a discussion of heaven, the ostensible author, Dan Poole, asks about those who reject the grace of God. McLaren's character, Neo, responds, "Why do you always need to ask that question? [...] Isn't what I just described to you enough?"" No, it is not enough, but in this subtle way, McLaren tries to make us feel guilty about even asking him about Hell."

I found that to be very, very telling. Really, who's job is it to say what is or is not an acceptable answer to these sorts of questions, especially after been given an admitted ostensive answer? The baptists in question seem to think it is their job, and not only do they believe this, but they act as if it is the most obvious, most natural thing in the world. Such... "faith?"

In conclusion (ugh - finally!), I was impressed by the level of maturity, intelligence, and civility presented in what I've read so far. Although there are plenty of slips here and there of typical Baptist stereotype that comes out every now and again that has me unable to shake the feeling that the rest of it is disingenuous - but I'm trying my hardest. Admittedly, didn't read a whole lot and probably read too much into it, but I stand by what I said so far on the matter. I'll continue to read more later, but those are just my first impressions. Feel free to clarify / berate / whatever. I'll welcome it all, gladly.

I've been a jerk, lately (as in, the last year or so), and I want to start over again with all of this. With Christ... everything. I want to rediscover it all. I've said it before, but this is the first time I've said it AND done something, too. I don't know if it's going to work this time, but I'm... man, I want to try. I really, really do.

"Love / Hate"

Enemy; familiar Friend. My Beginning and my End.
Broken truth whispering lies... And it hurts again.
What I fear and what I try... The words I say and what I hide
All the pain, I want it to end...

But I want it again
And it finds me; the fight inside is coursing through my veins
And it's raging; the fight inside is breaking me again.

I hate feeling like this. It is at these moments when I feel weakest. Weak compared at least to what I've experienced in retrospect. I hate to pull a Nietzsche quote out so early, but really, he says it best in Beyond Good and Evil, §68: "'I have done that,' says my memory. 'I cannot have done that,' says my pride, and remains inexorable. Eventually, memory yields."

I guess I feel a little regretful at my behavior as of late. I bitterly remember a time when I was happy, and strong in my faith in Christ - the Christ that I was taught. It stings, really. To know that I was once so in tune with things that seemed to matter at the time. The sense of community, the inner peace, and most painfully, the remembrance of constant personal improvement - if even through Divine mandate. It doesn't matter what it really was - if I really was just talking to shadows on my walls or voices in my head, but the experience of it all, the belief that I really was interfacing with the Creator of the Universe was a peaceful thought to me. And sometimes, I could have sworn it wasn't me that played that once-in-a-lifetime lick or fill in the middle of Blessed Be Your Name or Fields of Grace or Indescribable that I know I couldn't have pulled off in a million years.

It is in these moments that I remember that peace. I look back, past the scarred, immolated terrain of the life I have built with my own two hands, and see a gleaming blue sky of innocence and instinct. Blissful ignorance, without a shred of belligerence. It seems that where I once knew how to build bridges and create ties, I know only know how to burn bridges and distance myself from those I loved. Part of me wants to believe that I'm simply making a change in personality and that nothing is wrong here - that cliques are independent of "Good" or "Evil," no matter what the group is. But still, I regret it, because I know for a fact that I have not merely fallen off the edge, but taken a running leap off of it, with a big "fuck You," to the past and the only peace I'd ever known before all of this.

I chose to walk this path. I chose to let this happen. It was my doing, and no one else's. I cannot point this bitter, crooked finger of blame toward anyone. Nor do I want to. I may be an extremely self-depreciating asshole with very little self-respect or reverence in matters of religion, but I do know when I've overstepped certain lines. (No - not the line of personal comfort; I could honestly care less about that one. I'm talking about the threshold between what can and cannot be tolerated. In admittance, I have toed the line, and peered across. I have intentionally refused to explain my views to most people of faith I know that are significantly younger than I, though. This is the first "proverbial safety net" that I speak of often.) But this is all on me, and that's the point I need to make. I don't give a damn whether it's acceptable to absolve anyone else of responsibility for my actions (thinking of the girl, here, whose apparent vitality showed me what love really was, but it was all a lie). That's what I'm doing, because You don't have a monopoly on forgiveness. I don't care if it has any real power - I would willingly sacrifice myself for someone else that hates me to spare them Your so-called 'wrath.'

I've always had a problem with the line between "healthy skepticism and pernicious cynicism." Always. But I used to be able to keep it in check. I almost wish I hadn't studied - because I do have legitimate problems with Biblical Doctrine. I have legitimate problems with Church History, and numerous theological details that just aren't a concern to people. It's not that they're not important, but obsessive digging isn't an inherent aspect of the Christian walk these days, and is in fact treated with disdain and disgust. (It's as if it doesn't really matter what's true as long as it's comfortable and consistent - that's what I find disgusting.)

My problems with Christianity, however, are akin to "throwing a raincoat in the ocean and gawking and how badly it does what it's supposed to do." (I'll never get over that one, Jesse.) They are crippling to me because I chose to see things from this view. I had a choice between embracing my skepticism or ignoring it and going with what I already believed. So, again, the fault is my own. But my problems with Christianity do not have to be your problems, and I've always, always allowed this. (This is the second "safety net," by the way. I have always allowed the retreat into "faith," but never taken it myself.)

I bitterly find myself in deep longing for the peace I once had (however naïve I would make myself believe it to be now). And I hate feeling this remembrance of love. Perhaps nothing is more compelling than a calm quiet, matter-of-fact offering of forgiveness in the face of a destructive windstorm of rage, anger, and pain. That quiet, matter-of-fact insistence that your truth transcends, over arcs, and encapsulates, and loves even those views that blatantly reject it...that is what is moving about it. And I hate that.

But I don't want Your forgiveness. Forgiveness is a concept alluring to anyone, yes. But I don't believe I deserve it, and I refuse to ask for it. That doesn't mean I am happy with where I am in life, it just means I'm aware that it's my own damn fault - not Yours. I hate that You're so forgiving - it makes my blood boil into venom and it's killing me. Sometimes I wish I could be the one that drove the nails in. In the most literal way possible. I want to watch You bleed - I want to watch You show some weakness. I want You to hate me - I want to be able to turn all of this hatred out on you. But all of this pain, anger, and hatred is just... swallowed up in the idea of You that all it accomplishes is that I grow angrier, more belligerent, and more self-hating because of it.

It destroys my humanity and destroys the person I was. It takes away everything I had going for me. I'm not only good enough for You, but not good enough for her, not good enough for them, not good enough for any of this. And I hate that I want to be. I wish I didn't. We humans are inherently selfish creatures, though, aren't we? And You would know that, regardless. You've taken it all - just because You can. But it's not enough. It'll never be enough. I'm not strong enough to do this forever with you. You try to tell me You can heal me but I'm still bleeding. And you will be the death of me. Whether that's tragically literal or beautifully and prodigally metaphorical, I don't know yet. But You sure as hell do, so why should I even try to fight anymore? Does it even matter? No matter where I end up, someone of Yours is going to be certain that I'm wrong and make every move to make sure I know it.

I hate You.

I hate the very idea of You. I hate the person You've let-- no, made, me become. Because at least You can take every ounce of my rage without even so much as a blink. Right now, I know I can't. And as much as I hate You, I think I accept You. And here I am, talking with You as if we've known and loved each other for years. Is this pathetic or what? The dichotomy of Love and Hate, the balance of Faith and Doubt, the inherent contradiction and Divine paradox. I can almost hear You whisper, "Just because I can," around every corner. The war within me pulls me under, and without You, the fight inside would break. Me.

----

It's a day of rebirth, a day of redemption, a day to "make all things new."

I hope you all had a wonderful Easter.