April 30, 2007

Robert Webber's Ancient-Future Journey Was Our Journey

Theologian, scholar, and worship guru Robert Webber died Saturday, April 27. He was 73.

Webber will be remembered (and appreciated, mostly) as the man who gave a name to the quest to recover both philosophy and experience of worship that were endangered by contemporary evangelical practices in the late 20th century: He was the father of "ancient-future worship." His book by that title was followed by Ancient-Future Faith, Ancient-Future Time, Ancient-Future Evangelism. Webber wrote more than 40 books on worship. His most recent works are The Younger Evangelicals and, soon to be released,The Divine Embrace.

Remarkable about Webber is his spiritual journey, and how, a generation ahead of the emerging leaders he later chronicled, he created a new cutting edge in evangelicalism by leaving its "contemporary" expressions in search of older and more mainline ways of doing and being Church.

And he took a lot of heat for it.

In their obituary of Webber, our colleagues at Christianity Today online quote Edith Blumhofer, director of the Institute for the Study of American Evangelicals at Wheaton College and affiliate professor of Church History at Northern Seminary (Webber taught at both of those schools): "If you stand back and look at his life, he represents one of the ways evangelicalism has changed and unfolded, [especially] if you think about [his journey] from Bob Jones University to the Episcopal Church to all of this focus on remembering the ancient as we move into the contemporary."

John Witvliet of Calvin Seminary adds: "In many ways, Robert Webber paved the way for many Protestants, especially evangelical Protestants, to take worship seriously as a primary occupation in both the church and the academy." And he called Webber "a real pioneer."

Webber died of pancreatic cancer at his home in Michigan.

Posted by UrL at April 30, 2007 | Comments (9)

April 26, 2007

Shepherds or CEOs?

Recent excerpts we’ve posted from An Emergent Manifesto of Hope (Baker, 2007), edited by Doug Pagitt and Tony Jones, have generated a lot of discussion. This final installment should keep the trend going. Sally Morgenthaler writes about our cultural shift away from an autocratic CEO model of leadership toward a more reflexive and cooperative model, and why many churches have failed to get the memo.

Significance, influence, interaction, collective intelligence—all of these values describe an essential shift from passivity to reflexivity. We are no longer content to travel in lockstep fashion through life like faceless, isolated units performing our one little job on an assembly line. This attitudinal shift is nothing short of revolutionary. True to form, Western Christendom seems oblivious to its implications. But it is the entrepreneurial church (congregations of roughly one thousand and above) that seems particularly clueless about the shift from the passive to the reflexive. And this, despite all its posturing about cultural relevance.

This disconnect shouldn’t really surprise us. Large-church leaders have been trained in the modern, command-and-control paradigm for thirty years. Here, organizations aren’t seen so much as gatherings of people with a common purpose but as machines. There is no irony here. Machine parts don’t have minds or muscles to flex. They don’t contribute to a process or innovate improvements. Machine parts simply do their job, which is, of course, to keep the machine functioning.

The mechanical paradigm of organization largely explains why modern church leaders are trained as CEOs, not shepherds.

Sheep have their own ideas of what, where, and when they want to eat. They may not want to lie down by quiet waters and go to sleep at eight. They just might want to check out the watercress down by the streambed. Or they might want to head out over the next ridge to see if there are any other flocks out there. Conveniently, machine parts don’t get ideas. They just get to work, and they work according to specification.

Church members who don’t comprehend this three-decade shift in leadership paradigms are frustrated that their CEO pastor is so self-absorbed. They were looking for a shepherd—albeit, one with a big
name and a big flock. What many of them ended up with instead was a “my-way-or-the-highway” autocrat—a top-down aficionado whose ecclesiastical machine whirs only to the sound of his own voice and functions tightly within the parameters of his own limited vision. One doesn’t have to be on the pastors’ conference circuit long to figure out that prime-time clergy (ages forty to fifty-five), are marinated in this kind of thinking. They have been told repeatedly that this is the only leadership model that will ensure success. (And make no mistake: in new millennium America, success equals the greatest number of seats filled on Sunday morning.) Theirs is a mono-vocal, mono-vision world—one that affords the most uniformity and thus the most control. It is a world of hyperpragmatics where the ends (church growth) can justify the most dehumanizing of processes.

Pity the member who questions the machine and develops any significant influence. Sooner or later, that member will be disposed of—shunned, silenced, and quietly removed from any position of authority on staff, boards, worship teams, or within the most lowly of programs. Unwittingly, this member has run headlong into an industrial age anachronism: “the great man with the plan” methodology. And he or she has lost.

But it is not only individual members who lose. It is God’s kingdom and the waiting world that is being sacrificed. Sacrificed on the altar of pastoral ego. The question is, how long can these antiquated, top-down systems last? As long as people will let them. In a push-back world, hierarchy can function only in the womb of passivity, which may be good news—at least on the survival level—for big religion. Because, if there is anything the entrepreneurial church is good at creating, it is compliant cultures—those Stepford-like minicities populated with otherwise savvy, creative human beings. Yet these otherwise savvy children of God somehow missed the memo: they have a brain, a voice, and a Jacobesque call to wrestle, not only with the living God, but with whatever institution claims to hold all truth inside its too perfect confines. Is it any wonder that megachurches proliferate in areas of the country where the church attendance percentages are well above the national norm?7 This is not quantum physics. It’s the law of supply and demand. Entrepreneurial churches thrive in the most churched areas of the country because they are populated with the already churched, not the unchurched. And their leaders know this, despite their incessant outreach-speak. They know who their real target market is: it is hothoused Christians. And if hothoused Christians are anything, they are passive.

If passivity is a requirement for participation in big-church America, then it is no wonder that most new world citizens wouldn’t put so much as a tire mark on our parking lots. Maybe they get what we refuse to get: supersized ecclesia is as much about power as it is about God. With luxurious facilities bordering on the obscene, organizational hierarchies designed to feed pastoral ego, and constituencies of the robotically religious (who else would tolerate living in a machine?), it’s not hard to figure out that one’s story, creativity, and opinions aren’t welcome. Newsflash: the “Forty Days of Honest Dialogue” campaign is not coming to your local suburban church-plex anytime soon. So much for relevance in a reflexive culture, the members of which will most likely keep driving past our parking lots. No one has to tell a new world citizen that power-and-control religion is about monologue, not dialogue. It is about one leader’s vision; one take on what God is up to in the community, the nation, and the world; one single, often blurry, and out-of-context frame in this speeding movie we call life.

Sally Morgenthaler is recognized as an innovator in Christian practices worldwide. Known best for her book Worship Evangelism (Zondervan, 1998), Morgenthaler became a trusted interpreter of postmodern culture and a guide to the crucial shifts the North American church must make if it is to become a transforming presence within pre Christian communities.

Posted by UrL at April 26, 2007 | Comments (33)

April 24, 2007

Out of Context: John Ortberg

"If I'm to preach to people effectively, I must be freed from my need for their approval and applause. As long as I am chained to that need, then my preaching will really be trying to fill up something in me that I can never fill."

-John Ortberg is pastor of Menlo Park Presbyterian Church in Menlo Park, California. Taken from "My Holy of Holies: How all-too-human preachers can prepare their souls to preach." in the Spring 2007 issue of Leadership journal. To see the quote IN context, you'll need to see the print version of Leadership. To subscribe, click on the cover of Leadership on this page.

Posted by UrL at April 24, 2007 | Comments (4)

April 20, 2007

Dancing with Consumerism

Url: You moved from a career in advertising to pastor a Mennonite church. Is that reflective of a generation that’s reacting against consumerism? Do you see a trend of younger people preferring smaller, less market driven, ministries?

Hipps: We are a consumer culture. I am a consumer. I understand that it’s insidious and dangerous, but I am still a consumer. That’s just how we’re shaped. That’s the cultural currency. And so mega-churches will thrive. They will always thrive. The emerging church used to say mega-churches are going away. They’re not going away. They’re predicated on the metaphor of consumerism. And as long as consumerism is the dominant mode of our culture mega-churches will always thrive. Some are saying that this next generation hates that. They don’t. They love it.

So if the younger generation is not reacting against consumer church, what are they reacting to?

I make a distinction between three different kinds of consumerism. One is mainstream consumerism; the dominant hegemony that happens in our culture. Mainstream consumerism is mega. Walmart exemplifies this kind of consumerism, as does the mega-church. Boomer consumerism is mainstream consumerism.

Then you have counter consumerism, which is savviness. They are aware that Walmart and [Microsoft] Windows are trying to dominate, and they resist just like they resist mega-churches. But the odd thing is they’re no less consumers. They’re just counter consumers. A counter consumer buys Apple. It is absolutely consumer driven. They are consuming an identity that says we’re different; an alternative from the rest of you.

It’s youth rebellion. A reaction against what you’re parents like.

Yep. Instead of Starbucks you’ll go to the independent coffee shops. But it’s still coffee shops and it’s still consuming to form an identity. The emerging church is largely counter consumer. It’s really edgy, hip and trendy. But it’s no less consumeristic.

The third type is anti-consumerism. That is what I would call my context. Mennonites resist both the hip Apples and the hegemonic Windows. They would rather not have a computer. They’d rather make their own clothes, sow their own quilts, build their own homes. They’re very, very, very careful not to consume. That’s anti-consumer.

What is the impact of being anti-consumer?

They are irrelevant. And, frankly, I’m not convinced it’s the greatest thing. If the dominant cultural currency is consumerism and consumerism is insidious, how do you engage it? That is an important question, and simply withdrawing isn’t the best answer.

So what is the answer?

The way that I think about engaging it is…well, let’s look at how Jesus interacted with his culture. Jesus used three primary movements in every context. The first movement is towards. So he was incarnational. He entered. People like to use the word relevant for this. But Jesus also moved against the culture, he was resistant. He overturned tables in the temple and said “You brood of vipers.” So he was both relevant and resistant. And third, Jesus withdrew to quiet places. He was also distant, he moved away. So you have three rhythmic movements of toward, against, and away—relevance, resistance, and distance. And none of those can be static. They always have to be happening.

Shane Hipps serves as the Lead Pastor of Trinity Mennonite Church in Phoenix, Arizona, and the author of The Hidden Power of Electronic Culture: How Media Shapes Faith, The Gospel, And Church (Zondervan, 2006).

Posted by UrL at April 20, 2007 | Comments (29)

April 18, 2007

Death in the Morning

Pastor and professor Scott Wenig understands the profound responsibility church leaders face in the aftermath of a tragedy. Nine years ago his community was devastated when two teenage gunmen entered Columbine High School. Wenig shares the wisdom he gained after that heartbreaking event with church leaders now struggling to respond to the murders at Virginia Tech.

“Death in the morning,” the eighteenth century lexicographer Dr. Johnson said, “powerfully clears the mind.” Just as they did nine years ago at Columbine, our minds once again got tragically cleared this past Monday with the dreadful slaughter of 32 students and teachers at Virginia Tech. In light of this horrendous event, pastors, teachers and other Christian leaders will seek to provide some words of comfort and understanding to those under their spiritual care. What can they affirm that might supply some solace? And what should they avoid lest they unwittingly hurt rather than help?

First, I would suggest that we avoid well meaning words of unintentional foolishness. Telling our listeners that those who were murdered are now "in a better place," or that "God needed him or her for a job up there" or that "Someday we’ll know why this happened" may not be true and almost certainly cannot heal hurting hearts. In our desire to minister, let us be pastorally reflective rather than theologically sentimental.

Second, I would suggest that we avoid any sort of theological pontification.

As evangelicals, we’re heavily influenced by the Puritan tradition (which I personally admire) but that can sometimes tempt us to provide a jeremiad whenever evil rears its hideous head in public. Confusing America with ancient Israel, we occasionally wonder if, in some strange way, God is judging us in events such as Oklahoma City, Columbine, 9/11, and now the slaughter in western Virginia just as He did those disobedient Hebrews. And while that could be true, how would we ever know for sure? And if so, what does that imply about the devastation wrought by Hurricane Katrina, the ongoing slaughter of Sudanese Christians, or the Rwandan genocide of the early 1990s?

Third, I would suggest that we recognize the reality of evil in the hearts of men and women. In doing so, however, I believe our focus should be as much on ourselves as on anyone else, including unbelievers. When word was brought to Jesus about the slaughter of some innocent men by Pilate and the corresponding death of others by a falling tower, he told his audience to repent ‘lest you too…perish’ (Luke 13:3,5). Evil needs to be named – both in the world and in our own hearts.

Fourth, I would suggest that we encourage people to grieve. Standing outside Lazarus’ tomb, Jesus wept at the ugliness of death, and we must allow others, especially those who feel the pain of such horrendous losses, to do the same. The fact that Jesus wept not only reveals that God understands and cares about our pain but it also shows that it’s good for us to grieve, to acknowledge that things in this world are not as they're supposed to be.

Fifth, I would suggest that we strongly affirm God’s gracious and sovereign power. Certainly He saw this tragic event from eternity past and could have done something to stop it but mysteriously, He chose to not too. Apart from the fact that He allows a certain degree of freedom to fallen human beings, we may never know why. But we do know that He is already working in and through this excruciating episode to bring about redemption because that is what He does! As Joseph was finally able to tell his brothers, ‘You meant it for evil but God meant it for good that the lives of many might be saved’ (Genesis 50:20). In the midst of enormous suffering, we need to look upwards in faith and boldly proclaim His redemptive power.

Sixth, I would suggest that we act in accord with the apostle’s admonition to overcome evil with good (Romans 12:21). Just as happened in the days following the devastation wrought by Katrina, the loss of life at Virginia Tech serves as an opportunity for the evangelical community to once again visibly show our love to those in need. Obviously, what that looks like will depend on the needs of families in that community as well as on the level of our own personal and parish resources. But following Columbine, I can attest that there are innumerable emotional, physical and spiritual needs which God’s people can certainly meet. No doubt this is true among the survivors at Virginia Tech as well.

Spurgeon once told his congregation about some visitors observing two sets of paintings in the Palace of Versailles. Bored by the one set of portraits, their sagging interest was revived when they saw the second because those pictures depicted people in action. As he noted, ‘[It is] not the people but their actions that engross attention…If we would impress, we must act. The dignity of standing still will never win the prize….’ Given the horrendous events of this past Monday, now is the time to act with the love of Christ. May we proclaim that to our people and then, together, practice it with them.

Scott Wenig is the Haddon Robinson Professor of Applied Theology at Denver Seminary and the Lead Pastor of Aspen Grove Community Church in Littleton, Colorado.

Posted by UrL at April 18, 2007 | Comments (10)

April 13, 2007

Imus's Scarring Words: An opportunity to learn

LaTonya Taylor is an editor with Ignite Your Faith magazine. Here she offers perspective as a Christian, an African-American, and a woman.

The maelstrom radio shock jock Don Imus started when he referred to members of the Rutgers University women's basketball team as "nappy-headed hos" is winding down. The Scarlet Knights issued a statement accepting Imus's apology for words he called "insensitive and ill-conceived."

I find this outcome so far only partially satisfying. People heard something outrageous and were outraged. They understood Imus's words were both racist and sexist, attacking the Rutgers players' beauty as people of color, as well as their stewardship of their sexuality. And the market spoke. After initially suspending Imus in the Morning for two weeks, CBS canceled the radio show, and NBC Universal canceled his TV simulcast on MSNBC's cable channel.

But part of me hopes that Imus's remarks also lead to a redemptive conversation within the Christian community. I hope we can move from satisfaction over Imus’s punishment to think about ways we can redeem his situation--and others like it.

Some commenters in the blogosphere, on message boards, and in the mainstream media have raised some important questions: What's the big deal? Some shock jock said something kind of rude, but sticks and stones, right? Don't rappers say worse things every day? Isn't Imus's real mistake mocking the wrong group? And wasn't one of the players overreacting by saying his comments had made her "scarred for life"?

All good questions. It's possible the "scarred" comment was the statement of an overwrought college student. But I don't think so. At one of the most important moments of her life, a moment she and her teammates had striven to reach, a moment culminating years of positive choices, she realized that some will still view her negatively because she is a woman--and an African-American. That's a startling realization, particularly for those of us who've been insulated from some of the struggles of our forebears.

Are Imus's words the final words on this woman's identity? No, and I think she knows that. Is she the only person forced to realize that others may see her through a cloudy, limited lens? Again, no. Should those issues still give people of good will pause? Yes. We can grieve that her moment was marred, and mourn the loss of innocence.

Imus's ugly words also give us an opportunity to learn. I'm convinced part of the reason so much misunderstanding about issues of race and gender exists is that we know so little about one another. I'm pretty sure Imus knew he was out of line when he made that statement. But I'm not sure most of his listeners knew, or understood why the phrase "nappy-headed ho" was so offensive.

I heard his words as a woman who’s aware of historical periods when white men felt free to appropriate the bodies of black women--to decide their identity, to judge their beauty, and to determine their uses, not only during slavery, but beyond. And I'm aware of ways our culture, directly or indirectly, pressures people of color to look less like themselves and more like white people: straighten that hair, lighten that skin, fix those eyes, starve off that booty and those thighs.

I heard Imus as one who notes ways our culture pressures women: be pretty, but not so pretty that people think you're dumb; smart, but not so smart that you're intimidating; assertive, but not aggressive; girlish, but not wimpy; flirty, but not a... well, you know.

Given my cultural location, I heard Imus's remarks as something worse than “a joke gone too far.” They sounded like the words of someone who considered himself privileged to judge the beauty, acceptability, and worth of women and people of color.

That's why one man's defense of free speech and desire to stick it to the PC crowd can raise this woman's concern about being spoken of politely and viewed accurately. Perhaps learning each others' histories--and treating one another respectfully--will provide an example to a world that seems befuddled by these issues.

My hope is that, when it comes to issues of race and gender, Christians find ways of acting out righteousness. Of not limiting this discussion--and the larger issues it raises—to the voices of African-Americans, or women, or Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson, or white men who feel attacked, or those in the hip-hop community who defend the use of this kind of language. I hope listening to all these voices--and, most important, God's voice--will lead toward creative action.

If you're like me, reconciliation and redemption challenge you on the most personal of levels. I think that's why we desperately need the larger body to talk about these kinds of issues--because they do affect us--and to press toward solutions that work in our families and communities and churches. To find ways to act and find ways to redeem, rather than to simply punish people like Don Imus. Or like you, or like me.

At the Rutgers press conference, one woman started by claiming her ability to name herself, and her identification centered in community: "I'm not a ho," she said. "I'm a woman and somebody's child." Although she couldn't be my child—she's closer in age to my sister—this woman belongs to me. She belongs to the beloved community. Her triumphs are ours. Her pain, and the responsibility to defend her, is ours.

So, too, is the opportunity to find God-centered ways to live out the truths rooted in our identities as individuals, and collectively, as the body of Christ.

LaTonya Taylor is a writer and editor in the Chicagoland area.

Posted by UrL at April 13, 2007 | Comments (20)

Name Calling

What is a Christian response to the flap over radio personality Don Imus's description of the Rutgers women's basketball team? Is his firing a concession to pressure groups or an appropriate judgment? In this debate, is there something deeper to be said about language and the coarseness of public conversation? This column by Mark Labberton, appearing in the Spring issue of Leadership and arriving in mailboxes this week, was written before current controversy. In it Labberton speaks to the deeper issues of naming and labeling. He offers a biblical perspective on the words we apply to others and to ourselves.

Every day our naming of the people around us gives life and takes it away. Really? Really.

Being rightly named means being truly known. It changes our lives. Embedded in our words, and in our actions, are the names we give to and receive from others. Gestures of value, nods of recognition, glances of curiosity, looks of compassion, signs of paying attention build one another up.

God created by naming: “Let there by light,” and “let us make humankind in our image.” In turn, the human beings named with unflinching instinct, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.” Yet right from the start our very capacity for rightly naming includes our freedom to misname. “Did God really say . . .” are words that rename God’s intent, and reality cracks. “This at last is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh” easily becomes, “The woman you gave me.”

Misnaming misidentifies who we are and our relation to others. The tragic consequences are everywhere.

Power can be measured by our capacity to give names that stick. Middle school teaches us this, if nothing else. If we carry the wrong name given us through some powerful voice at some vulnerable moment, we can be crippled.

Every time the church gathers in worship, we gather as those bearing names not our own: Inadequate. Failure. Bad Parent. Fat. Together. We can be deluded or oppressed by the naming and misnaming we experience and perpetrate on others.

Suffering, individually and collectively, intensifies when it’s not named or wrongly named. Injustice wracks our world with the complex legacy of God’s treasured creatures misnaming God, misnaming ourselves, and misnaming our neighbor. This abuse of power is our undoing.

Dalits (“Untouchables”) in India are required by Hindu law to be given one name, and it must be derogatory: Ugly, Stupid, Dung. Imagine the transformation when they discover that in Jesus, God came as a dalit (itself an extraordinary shock of rightly, if unexpectedly naming, God), and that he has the power to rename them: Chosen. Holy. Beloved.

“Behold, all things are new.” Indeed.

As pastors and leaders, ours is a vocation of naming. By God’s grace, our calling is to live into our own real names as we help others discover theirs, so that in turn they can so live and name the people and the world around them that what has been lost is found, that those who are blind may see. When we live this way, we participate in “doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly before our God.”

Mark Labberton is pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Berkeley, California.

Posted by UrL at April 13, 2007 | Comments (7)

April 12, 2007

(Some) Sinners Welcome

This week the New York Times ran a story about a controversy dividing a church in Carlsbad, California. Outside Pilgrim United Church of Christ hangs a banner that reads “All are welcome.” Now that claim is being tested.

In January, a 53 year old attender at the church, Mark Pliska, informed the congregation that he had been convicted in the past for molesting children. The leaders and members of Pilgrim United Church of Christ now face a dilemma. Can the church be inclusive, even to convicted child molesters, and still be a safe environment for children and adults healing from past sexual abuse?

The pastor of Pilgrim United Church of Christ, Rev. Madison Shockley, finds himself caught between two factions in the congregation. The Times reports:

Before introducing Mr. Pliska to the congregation, Mr. Shockley spoke to a few congregants who had been abused as children and to parents, and none objected to Mr. Pliska’s inclusion.

But Mr. Pliska’s introduction unlocked a flood of emotions among the 300 members.

“The scariest moment,” Mr. Shockley said, “was when I got the feeling in the congregation about whether Mark could attend or not, and we needed more time, yet people were saying ‘If he stays, I leave,’ or ‘If he leaves, I leave.’ ”

One member of the congregation, David Irvine, who was sexually abused as a child, recognizes that welcoming Mr. Pliska will mean excluding others.

“There are people who feel that if we don’t welcome Mark, we lose who we are. But what do you say to one member who was abused for 10 years, several times a week? By welcoming one person, are we rescinding our welcome to some of the survivors among us, people in pain and healing, members of our family?”

Can a church welcome former child molesters, and others on the margins of society, and still maintain its core? Or, must a church clearly define who is welcome and who is not? We encourage you to read the article on the New York Times website and share your insights. We look forward to reading your stories and opinions.

Posted by UrL at April 12, 2007 | Comments (15)

April 10, 2007

Muscular Christianity or Fluid Theology?

Barry Taylor is back with another excerpt from An Emergent Manifesto of Hope (Baker, 2007), edited by Doug Pagitt and Tony Jones. As our culture abandons any sense of certainty, how should Christians respond? Taylor invites us to consider a less dogmatic and “muscular” view of our faith in favor of one that is comfortable in the ever-shifting currents of our world.

The times in which we live are intense on any number of levels. The threat of terror haunts the world like a specter; issues of global poverty and disease are constant reminders of economic disparity
and human despair. Our world has also recently been rocked by a series of natural disasters, the sheer force of which has raised renewed concerns about environmental issues and the ramifications
of our commitment to fossil fuels, chemicals, and other resources on the planet. The impact of globalization and its many discontents on various parts of the world is a continuing part of our daily lives. Along with this, we in the West find ourselves drowning in choices, trying to balance our rampant materialism with a renewed desire for meaning and purpose.

These are certainly not the times to be seeking self-preservation, but that seems to be the general focus of the church today. Everywhere we turn we see books, conferences, workshops, and a host of other
resources that focus on what can be done to preserve the church, and we are willing, it seems, to employ any marketing device to make it happen. Trend watchers and marketing strategists offer ways in which churches can connect with the culture. We brand and market Christianity in attempts to make it viable again.

But what if we let go of our need for a branded and marketable entity and turn instead toward a new way of living and being in the world? This is not an entirely new idea. Dietrich Bonhoeffer posited a “religionless Christianity” in the 1940s, but what if it is an idea whose time has finally come? What if “religion,” and by this I mean the institutional and organizational form around faith, is no longer necessary for the future of faith?

Religions exist in certainty and sanctity; faith lives in inquiry and fluidity. The reason traditional faiths are having a hard time of things is that the present situation is one in which certainty is suspect and sanctity is being redefined.

We should consider letting go of our obsession with certainty; we do, after all, “see through a glass darkly,” as the apostle Paul reminds us. It is hard to claim clarity when shadows linger over what is revealed. The future of faith does not lie in the declaration of certainties but in the living out of uncertainty. “Believing that one believes” is how philosopher Gianni Vattimo puts it: “To believe means having faith, conviction, or certainty in something, but also to opine—that is, to think with a certain degree of uncertainty.” Our declarations about matters of faith are always fragmentary and provisional.

This idea challenges religion’s commitment to sanctity. Sanctity implies security and inviolability—the territory is delineated, the lines clearly drawn. Contemporary society is reluctant to draw such lines of division; sometimes it is difficult to tell where one idea ends and another begins.

One of the most interesting dynamics of the present time is the collapse of distinction between the sacred and the profane. Contemporary society allows for the “holy” to be found in the most unexpected places. As Christopher Partridge writes, “The new spiritual awakening makes use of thought-forms, ideas and practices, which are not at all alien to the majority of Westerners. They emerge from an essentially non-Christian religio-cultural milieu, a milieu that both resources and is resourced by popular culture.” The future of Christian faith lies in its ability to inhabit this gray world, not attempting to “sort it out” as much as to be available to help others navigate and negotiate the complexities that such a dynamic raises. To “go with the flow” might seem a trite way of describing theological engagement, but a commitment to fluidity and a willingness to swim in the cultural waters rather than insisting on one’s own paddling pool is a necessary perspective.

All of these thoughts can be summarized as a commitment to weakness rather than strength. “Muscular Christianity” and “robust faith” are views that worked well in modernity’s concrete world, but the viability of Christian faith in the twenty-first century is not guaranteed by claims to power and declarations of strengths and doctrinal postures. This is not a slide into relativism but a commitment to nondogmatic specificity. We can tell the gospel story without resorting to competition, exclusivism, or elitism.

Barry Taylor teaches at Fuller Seminary in California, where he has developed a number of courses focusing on the intersections between theology and popular culture. He also teaches on advertising at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena.

Used by permission of Baker Books, a division of Baker Publishing Group, copyright © 2007. All rights to this material are reserved. Materials are not to be distributed to other web locations for retrieval, published in other media, or mirrored at other sites without written permission from Baker Publishing Group.

Posted by UrL at April 10, 2007 | Comments (31)

April 6, 2007

Out of Context: Miles Finch

"When our goal of worship is to receive God's help to be successful, pride is taking over. Then we are just using God to further ourselves. Could it be that we want church-growth secrets, or even God's Spirit...for the wrong reasons? Have we slipped into a proud and competitive mode? Is this part of the reason why the American church seems so crippled right now?"

-Miles Finch recently retired as pastor of New Life Christian Center in Polson, Montana. Taken from "Surprised by Pride" in the Spring 2007 issue of Leadership journal. To see the quote IN context, you'll need to see the print version of Leadership. To subscribe, click on the cover of Leadership on this page.

Posted by UrL at April 6, 2007 | Comments (10)

April 3, 2007

Jesus and the Art of Automobile Maintenance

Leadership’s editor-at-large, Gordon MacDonald, is back with further reflections on life and faith. This time he addresses the nature of spiritual brokenness—a truth incarnated by his temperamental 1950 Ford. (Sorry, I have a weakness for bad puns.)

My first car was an 8-year old 1950 Ford (stick shift on the steering column) purchased for $200. Its mileage was north of 100,000. To call it a lemon is not an exaggeration. The starting motor was a fifty-percenter, meaning frequent pushes. The radiator leaked like a sieve. The fuel gauge was accurate to the nearest 25 gallons. The engine drank a quart of oil every 200 miles. The tires were bald, and the muffler was absent without leave.

On cold winter nights, I had to park the Ford at the crest of a hill near my college apartment and drain the water from radiator to prevent a freeze-up. In the morning I would refill the radiator, nudge the car downhill, release the clutch and hope that the engine would leap into life. No amount of prayer seemed to directly affect the success of this process.

I used to imagine that the Ford talked to itself when it saw me coming. “Looks like he’s in a hurry today. I’ll slow ‘em down.” Or, “he looks like he’s dressed for a date. Probably wants to impress a pretty girl. He’s toast.” I tell you, it was not hard to believe that the Ford despised me.

The Ford was, in a word, broken, and I had to accept its mechanical eccentricities as a normal part of my life. I couldn’t fix it because I wasn’t a mechanic, and I couldn’t afford someone who was. Add to that my suspicion that the Ford didn’t want to be fixed because its brokenness gave it a strange kind of “control” over me.

Today, decades later, I drive a relatively new vehicle (a Suburu Outback). Every time I turn the ignition key and the Outback starts, I am freshly surprised because I still (to this day!) instinctively anticipate the “click” of a balky starting motor. I believe that, unlike the Ford, the Outback likes me and thinks nice things when it sees me coming. It appears committed to my happiness.

Nevertheless, if I had to liken myself to a car, I’d have to identify with the broken Ford and less the friendly Suburu (this side of Heaven anyway). I know I’m supposed to say that I’m a sinner (because I am), but it’s more helpful to me to regard myself as broken—a person far, far less functional than God designed me to be and in possession of the same rebellious spirit I once imagined to be in the Ford.

Perhaps we are all like broken Fords who sometimes start and sometimes don’t, who may make it to an intended destination but, then again, maybe not. We’d like to appear as if we just came from the showroom. But the truth is that most of the time, we deserve to be towed to the junk yard.

The 12-stepper understands this rationale every time he introduces himself with the words, “Hi, my name is ________, and I’m an alcoholic.” Which is not unlike saying, “My name is Gordon, and I’m broken.”

Thinking like this helps me to appreciate the remarkable grace and kindness of the Savior, Jesus, who searched for and loved broken “Fords” (then and now) and enjoyed rebuilding them and increasing their reliability factor. And thinking like this helps me to look at others (and at myself) with the understanding that they—like me—sometimes have more characteristics befitting an old broken Ford than a brand new Outback.

When seeing things from that perspective, one can get excited when anybody (beginning with myself) actually starts up and gets where they are supposed to go. You could have a pretty fine church if everyone saw each other like this.

Posted by UrL at April 3, 2007 | Comments (11)