Some people do need religion.

My friend Mike Todd shares some thoughts about our tension with growth played out in the idea of evolution.

“The fundamental question in this line of thought is whether or not you believe in evolution. The evolution of humanity, of consciousness, of thought, and of faith. I’ve said before that I believe that God never changes, but our understanding of God certainly should. Always moving forward, always expanding, always freeing God from the current box we’ve trapped God in, into–admittedly–another box, but at least a larger one. A trajectory of movement, of growth, of expansion.

If you don’t believe that, then what you want is religion. Something fixed, rigid, unchanging and infallible. Until it fails miserably. Until it is so out of phase with the world around it that it either explodes and dies, or makes a sudden, lurching shift, a dramatic change in it’s unchangeable tenets, then replants itself firmly in the ground as the world around it continues to move.”

I was struck by the his comment, “If you don’t believe that, then what you want is religion.” One of the things I dealt with heavily in Discovering The God Imagination is the construction of the religious construct in human history.  As human beings we need to deal with our own sense of guilt and perception of God.  So we invent religion to do that.  We attempt to bribe God, even though God doesn’t need the bribe.

Yet here we are two thousands years after the cross and we’re still dealing with it.  And Mike’s follow up suggests why.  We want something rigid and fixed, unchanging and infallible.  We’re willing to participate in the religious system because we’re that broken.  We need to try our way first, to discover it doesn’t work. And one of interesting things about the narrative in Scripture is that God was willing to meet our demands, to meet us in the midst of our own broken religious system and say, “Okay, I’m up for that.  I’m willing to go that far to help you through this.” God uses the religious system to remove it, to reveal its lack of efficacy, to exhaust its validity as a system for dealing with the root problem.

Hmmm.

Image courtesy of Bartlomiej Holowaty

[Note: This video contains strong language.]

I love artists. Artists are given a special permission in our culture to speak what others would not say. But by doing it in artistic form we seem to accept it in ways that we normally wouldn’t, had it come in direct form.

It’s interesting to me as we begin to wrestle with the freedom to speak freely, inevitably that freedom leads us to speak about religion. The young man uses humor, music, and performance to speak how he feels. This is what artists do. In some eras this would have gotten him exiled. Yet we now live in a world that allows him to speak his mind. Is it mockery to speak how one feels, blasphemy even? Would it be better for the artist to be silenced?

Watch this 3 min video and tell me what you think?

One of the central tensions I ran into while writing Discovering The God Imagination, was the confrontation with the traditional stories that informed my understanding of the Gospel. I had reached a point where I could no long live with the “traditional” theories of penal substitution, or even ransom in their existing form as reasonable alternatives.  I believe Scripture was communicating an idea of ransom and substitution but logic suggested to me that our understanding of these terms was deeply flawed.  So all I did was open myself to the possibility of another way of seeing the story.

Buddhism begins with a serious commitment to reality.

At the heart of my desire to understanding the Gospel was a desire to know God.  I have never really doubted that something happened in both the Garden of Eden or at the cross.  I have always been profoundly impacted by the cross and what Jesus did.  I just wanted to give in meaning that reconciled.  I chose to seek out and hold onto a commitment to reality.

And then I ran into this little audiobook called, The Universe In A Single Atom by His Holiness, by His Holiness the Dalai Lama.  Its a somewhat autobiographical account of the Dalai Lama’s interest and exploration into the world of science.  It’s a fascinating work to say the least for many reasons but one has consistently hit me square in the face as I’m listening.  Buddhism begins with a serious commitment to reality.

As he recounts his encounter with science, the Dalai Lama reveals that even the Buddha suggested that his followers use experience, then reason, then the Scriptures as a basis for reality.

“If when we investigate something we find there is reason and proof for it, we must acknowledge that as reality, even if it is in contradiction with a literal Scriptural explanation that has held sway for many centuries, or with a deeply held opinion or view.  So one fundamental attitude shared by Buddhism and science is the commitment to keep searching for reality by empirical means and to be willing to discard accepted or long held positions if our search finds the truth is different.  By contrast with religion, one such significant characteristic of science is the absence of an appeal to Scriptural authority as a source of validating truth claim.”

Hearing the Dalai Lama say that kind of blew me away.  The Buddha himself was suggesting each person wrestle with the experience of reality, even if it contradicted the Buddha.  That my friends is ballsy and a deep commitment to honesty, even at the expense of the ego.  He explores the nature of science which includes a sense of healthy skepticism that continually tests theories for the sake of reality.

I do believe Christianity has a commitment to truth, but many times it seems to begin with long held theories that are sacred cows.  And instead of listening with healthy skepticism, even with long standing theories, we begin with those theories as already established in stone.

What would happen to Christianity if we held the same ethic as Buddhism?

This is a very interesting video of Jon Stewart interviewing Marilynne Robinson.  She explores the tension between science and religion and suggests that scientists are not being honest about their own science.  For the sake of good atheism they need to admit their limitations.

Stewart is a great interviewer here asking who is more afraid.  He suggests, “the more you delve into science the more it relies on faith.”

I promise you I’m not on a roll about hell.

Strangely enough after posting yesterday’s post, I came across the following post about Carlton Pearson, who as a pastor renounced hell.  His church subsequently fell apart.

Once he starts preaching his own revelation, Carlton Pearson’s church falls apart. After all, when there’s no Hell (as the logic goes), you don’t really need to believe in Jesus to be saved from it. What follows are the swift departures of his pastors, and an exodus from his congregation—which quickly dwindled to a few hundred people. Donations drop off too, but just as things start looking bleakest, new kinds of people, curious about his change in beliefs, start showing up on Sunday mornings.

After reading that “logic” I really had to ask.  Is this the really our assumption about the people’s response if we take away hell as a final consequence?  If anything it seems like a control mechanism for morality, which if we’re honest doesn’t work.

Do you agree with the logic?

I love Andrew Sullivan because he’s constantly finding interesting stuff.  Recently he profiled a letter from a follower of Jesus wrestling with the issue hell.  But it was a comment in the letter that caught my attention.  The reader said:

Most people I spoke with in India shared the same gratitude and love for their beloved Ganesha that I did for Jesus. Does this, as the Bible has been traditionally interpreted to suggest, mean that all those beautiful, hardworking, sincere people are going to hell, forever?

For the first time in such a visceral way, the morality of eternal hell – a cornerstone in the Christian faith – struck me as severely lacking. I returned from India angry, incredulous, and disoriented in and about the faith that I had for years prior really made the compass of my life and work (yes, I work in a church). Hell, I didn’t even know who to pray to or what to say if I did stumble my way into a quiet mind and heart.

I’ve never heard someone put it that way, “the morality of eternal hell.”  Have you? And how would you respond?  You can read the entire letter here.

Recently I was watching a video on a church related topic and one of the people in the video kept saying, “These things must take place to be Biblical.” And something inside of me kept poking me in the side when he said that.  So I sat with it for about six point two seconds and then it hit me.

I think I’ve finally gotten my head around why the word, “Biblical” really bugs me.  When someone creates a distinction of what is Biblical, it creates a framework for that person says the Bible says is acceptable.  It’s a judgment or interpretation the person is making, or in other words, what me must do be considered, “acceptable.”

That’s religion.

And it flies in the face of grace because the Good News is, “We begin acceptable.”  We can’t earn it.  We can only enjoy it and embrace it into our lives.  But once we create a distinction of what is “acceptable” we’ve removed ourselves from that grace.  We’ve gone back to the old way which is to earn it.  And our practices become something to earn God’s love as opposed to something that enhances our enjoyment of the living God.

This was insightful and deeply creative from Jude Simpson.It explores the nature of following Jesus and our insipid desire to dumb it down.

I ask you, what’s the answer, and you just ask me questions,
and I’m like, “hello, I thought you were God?”
Can’t I just download you, pay-as-I-go to decode you -
a quick fix listen on my i-pod?

I ask you, what’s the answer, and you say, “where does the wind blow?”
Well, if Dylan couldn’t find it, then I won’t get too far.
What’s with all this mystery?  How can you say, “follow me”
when I don’t even know where you are?

Your religion needs a makeover, you’ve got to de-clutter.
Make it softer, gooier and spreadable like butter.
I need a faith I can talk about and not sound like a nutter.
You ought to be easy to follow.

Like, a hop-on-and-off open-top bus ride,
a manual with A to Z tabs down the side,
I want a sat-nav path to heaven, not a Lonely Planet guide.
I wish you were easy to follow.

I want a Roman road map to instant glory
a happy-ending-ever-after chick lit story
and you just tell me another foggy allegory
featuring corn and sheep and wine and clay pots.
What are you like?  Do you want followers or not?
Far be it from me to tell you what’s what,
but if you did make it easier I’m sure you’d get a lot
more believers, Jesus.

Give me bite-sized thoughts in a faith shape sorter,
No more spilt blood or living water,
just a pint-sized god who’s a straight talker.
Make it easy to follow.

I want fruit-flavoured shots of the Holy Spirit,
bite-sized, trite truths in Boyband lyrics
“love” and “above” – yeah, that should fill it.
Make it easy to follow.

I want facts on a plate – don’t want to have to question any,
artificial roses every 14th of February.
I want simple faith – blind if necessary.
Why aren’t you easy to follow?

You say, “you are not my servant, now you are my friend”.
You say, “I will be with you until the bitter end”.
And I’m like, “why bitter? – I wanted happiness on prescription.
Isn’t that the whole point of getting religion?
And besides, friendship’s harder – can’t I just buy the subscription?”
Can’t you be easy to follow?

Give me a clear-cut structure, not a friendship’s fragilities,
favourable rights with few responsibilities.
I could follow that plan – yeah – religiously.
That would be easy to follow.

I want three steps to beauty from a teenage advice mag;
Ben and Jerry’s Triple chocolate straight of the ice bag;
ethically traded but with a Primark price-tag -
I could say Amen to those.

I want box-up beliefs wrapped in tissue-paper
presented by Fearne Cotton, and voiced by Tom Baker,
with a hands-free contract to contact the Maker
available from Tesco’s.

I want Quicktime cut-price broadband access.
Simple principles, easily practiced.
Directly transactional prayers – the fact is,
my time is precious, so why should I work?
Why should treasure always require a search?

I want a message that’s acceptable without having to plead it,
that’ll make people instantly realise they need it.
Yeah, thanks for the Bible – but have you tried to read it?
You need to be easy to follow.

I want all the answers set out in a paperback
of less than fifty pages, in the buy-now-read-it-later rack
I’ll skim it on the train down to visit Auntie Kate and back -
nice and easy to follow.

Everyone will warm to its convenient slimness.
It’ll be easily digestible and provoke a certain tingliness,
and every answer will be one sentence long, universally applicable, and in English.
That would be easy to follow.

You see, I think you need to focus and refine your vision,
if you want to market the brand they call “Christian”.
I say, “give me clarity”, you say, “will you marry me?”
With all due respect, Jesus, I don’t think you were cut out for religion.

Download the audio file.

What if John Piper’s diatribe is really a need to convince himself about an angry God?

The Piper dust up has really gotten me thinking about something.  How often have we seen someone really go out on a limb to prove a point about God, or doctrine, or something of significant importance?  And in the wake of that, the person digs in and offers a second helping meant to convince even more.  Piper was no exception.  His first post, which really hit a vein and caused such a stir, required clarification. I didn’t really buy the first post, and I really didn’t buy the second one either.  No worries, John had no shortage of people singing his praises of God’s condemnation in the comment section.

If Piper’s posts did anything it was make me take a serious look at our need to convince. What is the root problem in this desire for intense persuasion?  Is it truth?  Is it the Spirit?  Possibly.  But what if it’s a little more sinister than that.

What if our need to prove something to someone else is really our need to convince ourselves?  What if the denial of the crowd is really trying to tell us something…and we’re just not listening?  What if the moment we dig our heals in is actually the signal that we’re not quite convinced of our own argument.

Because if truth is truth, it’s stands on its own merit.  It resonates in a way that is undeniable.  It speaks louder than we could ever do.  It really, really, really doesn’t need us like we think it does.  And the more we attempt to convince the world around that something is true, the more is potentially reveals that it’s wrong.  We do this don’t we.  When someone calls us out on something, instead of listening, we dig in deeper and work to convince more.  Instead of resonance, which is the absence of noise, we get resistance, which is the presence of noise or a blockage.

To be fair, I would offer that Piper may be getting it right.  If my argument is true, I must leave open the possibility that I am wrong about his original assertions.  Humility demands that I resist the need to continue to defend what is true to those who are not listening.

And this leads me to wonder that like me, Piper is working out his own image of God, if on a much larger stage.  He’s gonna get it wrong sometimes.  And when he does, I want to offer him the same grace that I would want when I’m wrong.

So, much love to John Piper.  Keep working it out brother.

What happens when the thing we’re doing becomes the thing?

Recently I read something about a church that was commended for doing some really great things for helping the poor.  They received some significant recognition from someone who is deeply active in world affairs.  And I commend them too.

But as I read the article, I couldn’t help wonder (mostly because I’ve felt the trouble in the act of giving) if the giving had become the thing.  It got them praise.  It made me wrestle with why I give and how I give.  It was as if my own giving had become magnified in front of me and I had to wonder why I gave the way I do.

If you read this blog for any length of time you know that I write a lot about the concept of love.  Much of my own theology is deeply bent towards understanding love as the solution to the root problem in humanity.  Jesus clarified an entire theology with what scholars call the Great Commandment, which came down to love.  Giving can be a deeply loving act.

But there is this tension with the doing part of love that I wrestle with.  What happens when our doing a thing becomes the thing?  Peter Rollins has a parable about this that explores the idea of a group of people who take Jesus’ command to “go another mile”.  They end up thinking that going another mile, is the thing we’re supposed to do.  It’s becomes the ritual that morphes into the religion they chose to leave.  Giving becomes the act designed to earn praise and love.

What happens when the very act of love becomes the religious practice that once again becomes the thing we think will earn God’s love?

1 cor 13:3 – If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Think about that.  Paul seemed to understand that the risk of what we do could lose the very heart behind it.  The act, or action of the body, could lose the very motivation behind it.

I seriously wonder if this is why Jesus said:

“But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” (Matthew 6:3-4)

What if Jesus understood the very nature of our brokenness was to continually distort our perspective in a way that would rob us of a true experience?  I would seriously hate to think I was being love to someone simply for a religious act.