Fundamentalism | Questioning the Answers

Lobsters in the Hands of an Angry God

September 25, 2014 By admin Leave a Comment

Not long ago, I came across an article about gay marriage that someone had posted on Facebook. I wasn’t interested and I would’ve skimmed right over the entire post if the person hadn’t introduced it by saying “God says it’s an abomination.”

I couldn’t help but jump into the thread and drop a comment about shrimp, not to incite a war, but to simply make a point. Several other people jumped into what promptly became a lively and opinionated thread, but, unfortunately, just when it started getting really good, the person deleted the post.

It’s not uncommon for Christians to couple the term “abomination” with homosexuality, usually insisting “God says” or “God thinks,” as if they’re merely doing everyone a favor by upholding God’s clear, unchanging moral standard – one that’s been around since time immemorial. Comments like this even come authoritatively from the pulpit. I’m convinced this is partly why some people want nothing to do with Christianity and partly why God has such a bad reputation.

For starters, before we go around insisting that God thinks homosexuality is an abomination (or that it’s detestable, depending on which translation of the Bible is being referred to), it would be wise to consider some of the other things in the Old Testament laws that are also considered an “abomination.” Things like eating shellfish or certain types of birds or animals. Women wearing men’s clothing. A man having sex with his wife (or wives, as the case may very well have been) during her menstrual period.

Let’s be honest. No one is picketing Red Lobster, passionately insisting that the patrons are detestable in the eyes of God. I personally lean toward thinking shellfish is detestable and I’d take a bacon cheeseburger over lobster anytime. But just because I can’t stand the stuff doesn’t mean I should insist that God says it’s detestable and attempt to bind it on other people.

The Old Testament laws can be some of the most confusing and misunderstood parts of the Bible. And it’s potentially very dangerous.

Here’s one thing that’s important to realize. The laws served a very specific purpose at the time. And although some of them were very progressive for the time and separated the people of Israel from surrounding nations in a very positive way, many of them were not unique at all to the nation of Israel. Anyone familiar with Old Testament laws will notice similarities to those found in surrounding nations. These other legal codes predate the biblical ones and include things like making amends for accidentally flooding a neighbor’s crops or maiming a hired ox, as well as governing sexual relations. Correct; the death penalty as punishment for a man having sex with certain family members or animals didn’t originate with the Law of Moses.

Regardless of how common or unique or progressive any given law may have been, a casual glance at these laws makes it clear that they were not meant to have the word “timeless” attached in any way.

Many of the laws related to real-world medical and scientific conditions, often involving natural consequences. If we can approach them with these things in mind, at least some of them can begin to make more sense, and they can be removed from the framework that leaves us believing that they somehow represent God’s personal feelings about a given matter. Let me illustrate.

When I was in my early twenties, I went to Puerto Vallarta with my parents and two brothers. On our second night, we left the remote resort where we were staying and meandered along a dirt road that wound up the nearby hillside of the jungle. There were chickens running across the road and little kids playing in puddles.

After a bit of a walk, we rounded a bend and moseyed up a final stretch of dirt road, which brought us to our destination: an open-air, rooftop restaurant with stunning views. Nestled against the thick trees and with sand floors, the restaurant made it seem like we were dining in a ginormous tree, a feeling that was reinforced by a massive thatched roof that felt like a canopy of tree branches, where strings of lights hung and began twinkling as the sun sank beyond the distant horizon.

Let me just say that if you ever have a chance to eat in a restaurant that makes you feel like you’re dining in a massive tree, by all means, do it. It was an amazing experience. Mostly.

My dad and one of my brothers ordered the fresh lobster. When it arrived, it wasn’t just the tail; the entire crustacean was served in a stunning visual presentation. As one who finds lobster detestable, I didn’t order it, and it’s a good thing. Even though they both raved about how good it was, something bad transpired. Either the lobster wasn’t cooked properly or my dad and brother somehow nibbled beyond the tail and into the abdomen (the dim, atmospheric lighting and the pina coladas the size of your head may have both played into the latter). They both got extremely sick and the illness lasted several days, putting quite a damper on the rest of the trip.

Whatever the details and regardless of whose “fault” it was, this unique dining experience gone horribly wrong could’ve been avoided altogether if all parties were simply holding to a law that says shellfish is detestable and needs to be avoided. Avoiding the creatures completely makes sense when their improper ingestion could be fatal.

Such a practical cause-and-effect example can begin to shed a tiny bit of light on at least some of these Old Testament laws. In this instance, avoiding shellfish was merely the safest option for the people at the time. Eating it wasn’t an “abomination” because it was somehow in conflict with a certain level of ordained holiness or morality (PETA might disagree, but you get my point). The whole thing has nothing to do with offending God, as though God has an ego.

I think it would help us to realize that we’re approaching these texts on the heels of thousands of years of developing theology and tradition. We’re seeing them through lenses we don’t even realize we’re wearing. And many of these things draw us further and further away from anything that resembles the original purpose or context of the text.

Some of what I’ve studied shows that these laws were originally understood as having medical or scientific meanings and only became theological in nature over time. The same goes for some of the associated language. “Unclean” didn’t always mean somehow being stained or corrupted in the eyes of God. And “atonement” didn’t always mean some form of making up for one’s sins in order to appease God. It’s a bit mind boggling, but it’s absolutely fascinating and it opens up a completely new world of understanding.

medium_2594318333 — Photo credit: mugley cc

But here we are, thousands of years later, and none of that information makes its way down from the pulpit or into Christian devotional books. Sure, we’ve got apologists who are quick to point out the medical accuracy of some of the Old Testament laws in an effort to prove the Bible is “true,” but I’ve never heard one of them indicate that terms like unclean, holy, and atonement originally had medical or scientific meanings and that the theological interpretations came much later.

Meanwhile, we’re left with a deeply flawed view of God that’s been etched into much of Western Christianity. And because we’re clueless to that fact, we have zealous ministers preaching sermons like “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” and we go around authoritatively wielding terms like “abomination” on God’s behalf because we’re certain we know what we’re talking about.

There is much to be said and studied about the Law of Moses, but it’s clear that it wasn’t a timeless code of morality, nor did it reflect God’s personal and unchanging feelings about matters. We have got to move beyond seeing these laws as such. And perhaps more importantly, we need to let go of the idea that God was somehow personally disappointed or offended by the lack of adherence to these laws as though they somehow exemplified a standard of behavior required to keep God happy and content.

My passion about this is only partly because no one should be branded with a term like “abomination.” That’s hugely valid, for sure. But of greater importance, in my opinion, is that such an understanding of these laws says an enormous amount about who we believe God is. We give God an ego and extrapolate all kinds of beliefs accordingly. Beliefs that can sneak into the core of who we are and shape us in unhealthy ways. Beliefs that tell us God has always had extremely high expectations for our behavior, requiring sacrifices or even death to be appeased.

I’m not attempting to imply that how we behave doesn’t matter. That’s not what this is about. It’s about attempting to shed a tiny bit of light on what these laws were and weren’t, as well as standing firmly by the notion that the Law of Moses does not somehow reflect a snapshot of timeless, unchanging truth or morality.

Many things may lead someone to think it’s responsible to treat the law about two men lying together as a clear, timeless moral expectation by God, all the while happily discarding laws that might impinge on our all-you-can-eat shrimp dinners, but it’s not responsible. At all. In fact, it’s a hugely irresponsible use of the scriptures.

We’re all entitled to our own opinions about things like shellfish, homosexuality, and whether kids should be stoned for disobedience, but we need to own them as our personal opinions and do away with the insistence that God has clearly always felt a certain way about them.

It’s no wonder the terms “God” and “Christian” often breed hostility.

If Only

August 20, 2014 By admin Leave a Comment

A while back, I was at a church service and at one point the worship leader read the words of Jesus from Matthew 22:

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

After quoting the passage, he went on to say that the entire Bible could be boiled down to these verses.

Several people uttered “amen” and although I agreed wholeheartedly, on the inside, I felt my heart sink a little as I thought “If only…”

If only we truly believed that.

If only we lived as though the Bible really could be boiled down to these few verses.

If only these two commands could be the barometer not only for how we express our faith, but how we define it.

If only we could consider that part of the power and supreme importance of these commands lie in the fact that they transcend doctrine and denomination and religion altogether.

If only we could consider how this teaching may have affected those who initially heard it.

Humor me while we think about that last one for a minute. Let’s say I happened to be present when Jesus spoke these words and I was captured as I considered the intensity of a teaching that claimed that all of the law and the prophets – in other words, the equivalent at the time of our Bible – could be summed up by these verses. And if I made the radical step to live the rest of my life accordingly, would that have been enough?

Even if I never heard another thing about Jesus – how or why he ultimately died, or whether he was thought to be just a rabbi, or a messiah, or somehow divine. I’m not sure how likely such a scenario would be, but it’s not out of the question to consider it and then go on to ponder, “Would that have been enough?”

According to Jesus, it would’ve been, especially if we consider that the gospel of Luke places these commandments in the context of how to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds, “Do this and you will live.”

If it was good enough for the people following Jesus then, is it not good enough for us now?

It’s hard to know what kind of widespread impact such a teaching had on those who heard it, but it must’ve had an impact on at least some the early followers of Jesus. In a previous post, I talked briefly about the Didache, a church handbook that likely dates to the first century and that gives us a compelling look at the teachings and practices of some of the earliest Jesus followers.

Interestingly enough, the Didache calls out “the way of life” and “the way of death.” The way of life begins by loving God, loving your neighbor as yourself, and not doing to others what you would not want done to you. Ironically, for these Jesus followers, the ways of life and death had nothing to do with orthodox beliefs or doctrines. Things were much simpler hundreds of years before a Bible was canonized and creeds were formulated.

But here we are 2,000 years later. And as nice it sounds to sum the Bible up with the two greatest commands as identified by Jesus, it simply doesn’t work for us. It’s as though we have to define what it means to love God properly, and, in doing so, we create the very structures and doctrines and systems of belief that love is supposed to transcend; indeed, that love has the power to completely obliterate… if we’d allow it to. But instead, we effectively create a whole new version of “the law and prophets,” perhaps because we don’t believe that everything will be just fine if only we’d love God and love our neighbors as ourselves.

This is all particularly relevant in my life right now. For whatever reason, God has brought me beyond the boundaries of the Christian box where I’ve spent most of my life. Of course I didn’t realize I was in a box; I don’t think any of us ever do. And I didn’t set out to venture here, but I’m here, having been pressed to truly engage some hard questions and to probe the status quo of my belief system. And at times it’s been terrifying, largely because where I come from, that’s not okay. (Well, it’s okay as long as you ultimately return to the established answers and beliefs.)

No one wants to mess with the box. I certainly didn’t. And I think it’s because we don’t see it as a box; we see it as ultimate truth.

Frankly, the whole situation just sucks.

It sucks because I’ve invested so much of my life into a church family where there simply isn’t room to grow beyond the established ideas, conclusions, and doctrines (in other words, beyond the boundaries of the box that are defined as truth).

It sucks that even though I’ve invested years and years and years, there’s no possibility that there might be some merit to my evolving views. No possibility that I’ve come to new conclusions responsibly and faithfully.

And it sucks to be backed into a figurative corner and effectively told “It’s not okay to believe those things and it’s even less okay to make those beliefs public. If you want to stick around here, you have to believe X, Y, and Z. These things are non-negotiable.”

And, as if all of that’s not enough, it sucks that now I’m somehow seen as a threat by some because I have “divergent views.”

Divergent views that ironically don’t conflict at all with loving God and loving my neighbor as myself.

Divergent views that couldn’t have even been an issue when Jesus was traipsing around Palestine because they’re only in conflict with doctrines or teachings that developed much later.

But as much as it sucks, I get it.

I understand that, to some extent, there’s an institution that needs to be protected. And I get that people’s faith is in differing places and we need to be sensitive to that, not randomly wreaking havoc on the faith of others.

As one author put it, the challenge is that we end up teaching to the lowest common denominator in order to avoid ruffling the feathers of people in the congregation. It hardly seems fair. Stuff that’s been common knowledge throughout biblical scholarship for centuries doesn’t make it to the average church member (for any number of reasons). And it’s unfortunate, because it has the potential to help our faith grow in amazing ways. And if we engage it responsibly, it doesn’t have to be scary or threatening. It might make us rethink some of our certainties, but history has shown us that that’s usually not a bad thing. It’s just not easy.

In fact, one minister I was talking with fully acknowledged that there may not be anything wrong with these so-called divergent views. If people want to dive into doctrines or some of the deeper topics and they ultimately come to a differing opinion that doesn’t mesh with a traditional view, that’s okay. The problem is, in order for ministers to truly understand these things so they can bring a responsible understanding of them to the congregation, it takes work. A lot of it.

Plus, it can potentially get very messy and uncomfortable, which creates even more work as feathers get ruffled within the congregation. And who wants extra work? As a result, many topics get avoided altogether as staff members opt to keep the message from the pulpit as simple as possible.

Unfortunately, it puts people with said divergent views in a tricky spot, because when differing views haven’t been engaged from the pulpit, they’re seen as threatening. And if word gets out, it can get messy, which means more work for the minister.

And so, the easiest and cleanest way to deal with a situation like this is to say, “It’s not okay to believe these things and it’s even less okay to make these beliefs public. Either toe the party line or leave so as to not disturb anyone else.”

Sigh. Really? Those are the only options, lest I end up being marked as “divisive”?

So here I am on the heels of such a mess, trying to process the conflicting and at times overwhelming emotions that come raging in like a tidal wave.

Anger. Rage. Sorrow. Pain. Confusion.

In some ways, it feels what I imagine a divorce might feel like. An unnecessary divorce, at that.

Plenty of people have pointed out that it’s best this way. It’s best to be in an environment where my path is not only welcomed, but encouraged, perhaps even celebrated. An environment where questions aren’t seen as a threat and where faith is greater than doctrine and tradition.

And many have posed the question of why I’d want to even try to be somewhere that doesn’t allow that.

Yeah, yeah, yeah – I get it. And I agree wholeheartedly. But it still sucks, because the pain isn’t any less real.

And as I try to process it all, I circle back to the words of Jesus.

“‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind’…and… ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

And I think “If only…”

If only.

What the Hell, People?!

July 7, 2014 By admin Leave a Comment

His eyes lingered on her as she passed. A first look was to be expected, but something kept him rapt. Perhaps it was the subtleness of the sultry confidence that she walked with. Regardless, the temptation was too great to look away, so he kept his eyes on her, unaware of the gravity of his decision.

Unaware that one day he’d be at the pearly gates, watching in horror as this scenario played out on a big screen, leaving him desperate to explain his questionable actions to St. Peter.

But alas, there was no escaping the lake of fire that awaited him.

It’s been more than 30 years since I was a kid staring at the aforementioned black-and-white cartoon imagery on an evangelism tract that Christians left at my home. But it’s still as clear in my mind today as it was back then.

Hell.

Lakes of fire. Weeping and gnashing of teeth. Eternal, conscious torment for those whose names aren’t written in the Book of Life.

And perhaps the ultimate motivator.

Although we often talk about how we’re compelled by Christ’s love and not by fear of burning in hell for eternity, the fact is that the fear of hell can be quite compelling.

Many people in the Christian community aren’t aware that the doctrine of hell has come under careful scrutiny as scholars, theologians, and “average” Christians have all started to realize that the typical understanding and teaching of hell is actually quite problematic.

The word itself didn’t exist when Jesus was walking around Palestine. When Jesus spoke of hell, the Greek word used by the gospel writers was Gehenna and it referred to a garbage dump outside of town. It was an actual, physical dump with a history that included children being sacrificed in the fire to pagan gods.

This certainly adds some perspective and context around the words of Jesus when he spoke of being in danger of the fire of hell.

I’m not going to get into a lengthy discourse about the various aspects of this debate or how the concept of hell has evolved over the course of the last two thousand years. Those who are interested can certainly do their own study on the matter.

But I’ve found it odd that in the midst of this conversation, some people get very defensive – even protective – about hell.

When Rob Bell’s book Love Wins started climbing the bestseller lists, it created quite a furor in the evangelical community, revealing something peculiar.

It seems that many people can’t imagine Christianity without hell.

One concern that I’ve seen rise to the surface frequently is that if there’s no hell, what motivation would there be for people to be Christians? Or for Christians to “reach out” to others?

Wow.

Okay, I understand fully how alarming and even unsettling this topic can be. But let’s back up for a minute and try to objectively consider what these questions imply.

Does this mean that loving for the sake of loving has no value? Serving for the sake of serving has no value? Meeting needs simply because there are needs to be met has no value?

Does this mean that the incredible teachings of the Sermon on the Mount – those that are often entirely counterintuitive in nature and yet simply offer a better way of living – have no value in our lives if there’s no fear of hell?

Does this mean that the hell we create for ourselves and others due to living in ways that are counter to what Jesus often taught isn’t pain enough? Does eternal torment have to be in the equation?

And perhaps most importantly, must Hitler enter the conversation as a clear example of why a literal hell simply has to exist?

Now obviously, if there’s a possibility that we’ve had the whole hell thing wrong, it raises a lot of very valid questions, some of which clearly raise more questions which, in turn, can raise even more questions.

Perhaps the most pressing question becomes what happens to people when they die if there’s no hell? Well, throughout church history, there have been three views. There’s the traditional understanding of hell, which involves eternal, conscious torment. There’s the annihilationist view, which puts forth that the souls of people who aren’t “saved” will simply cease to exist. And there’s the view of universal reconciliation, which says that God will ultimately restore everything and everyone.

I had no idea that these different views even existed, let alone that something like universalism is well supported by scripture.

There are plenty of other questions worthy of discussion. I won’t try to get into those now, but I want to mention a couple things that I find interesting.

First, throughout most of the history of the Jewish people as shown in the Old Testament, the belief was that everyone who died – Jew or non-Jew, righteous or wicked – went to a place called Sheol, also known as the grave or the place of the dead. The exceptions were a few notably righteous people who were said to have gone to be with God (such as Elijah, who was whisked up into the heavens in a flaming chariot).

If eternal torment was a potential consequence for one’s way of life, it seems odd that God wouldn’t reveal this. Not to mention it might’ve also been an effective method for trying to break the chosen people of some of their polytheistic tendencies.

Another consideration is something I started noticing many years ago and that’s the fact that Christians often seem far more concerned about teaching people they’re at risk of going to hell than Jesus ever was. As one of those Christians myself, that was an awkward realization. But it’s true.

Jesus simply didn’t spend a lot of time talking about going to heaven or avoiding hell.

Now, in the gospels, there are a number of references to being saved, for sure. But I started realizing that I was reading the gospels through our modern evangelical lenses, so I was reading into the texts an understanding that assumes “Oh, Jesus is talking about going to heaven.” When I stepped back and looked objectively, though, those ideas usually weren’t clear within the texts at all.

Sometimes it’s easy to assume an understanding of going to heaven, such as when Jesus says “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” But other passages are more obscure, like in Luke 7 when Jesus tells the sinful woman who poured perfume on his feet that her faith has saved her.

One thing that gave me pause to broadly interpreting “being saved” as going to heaven when we die was realizing that the word that’s translated as saved is the same word that’s sometimes translated elsewhere in the gospels as being healed or made whole. Examples include the bleeding woman who thought “If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed” (Mark 5:28) and the blind man to whom Jesus says “Your faith has healed you” (Mark 10:52).

This makes me consider the many people I’ve known over the years who have posed questions like “Do you ever wonder if we’ve got it all wrong? If we’re missing the point and focusing on the wrong things?”

Along these lines, many people have pointed out the challenges with what has been dubbed “evacuation theology.”

In other words, theology that not only places an extremely high emphasis on going to heaven when we die, but that also embraces the notion that “this world is not my home, I’m just a passin’ through” to such an extreme that we’re not really concerned at all with the things that are happening in this world. Or at the very least, this world is given far, far less priority than helping to “save” people in the traditional evangelical sense.

I’ve always dismissed such concerns over the years because on the surface the Bible seemed to be clear, but it looks like they may be worth considering.

The discussions around these concerns often result in labels and categories. It seems to become conservative vs. liberal. Traditional vs. postmodern. And in extreme cases, orthodox believer vs. heretic.

But I think labels are problematic. They create barriers and can keep the issues from ever getting engaged.

And frankly, people in all camps are realizing these potential challenges in our theology.

It may be easy to label Rob Bell as a liberal or postmodernist who’s merely trying to appeal to a young generation. But then we’ve got N.T. Wright, a highly respected New Testament scholar who I don’t see getting labeled as liberal or postmodern. Wright has written and spoken extensively on some of these very fundamental issues that deeply shape our understanding of God and Christianity.

A couple years ago, I was having a conversation with several other Christians. I mentioned that I’d been reading one of Wright’s books and I floated the possibility that the point of Jesus’ life was about far more than going to heaven when we die.

They looked at me like I was absolutely crazy. I may as well have had 666 tattooed on my forehead.

But I get it. It’s hard and often scary to entertain possibilities that don’t easily mesh with our traditional beliefs. It doesn’t mean these things shouldn’t be engaged and considered, though.

Maybe instead of being so protective about hell, we could consider that if we’ve gotten it wrong and hell doesn’t exist, it might actually provide more motivation for people. Because, as countless people are pointing out, what does the idea of eternal conscious torment say about who we believe God is?

And if there’s such concern that without hell there wouldn’t be any motivation, perhaps we need to take the time to seriously consider what’s at the heart of our own motivation.