While wandering around the internet this evening I stumbled across Newsweek’s ‘10 Most Overlooked Stories of 2008‘. While some were interesting I couldn’t believe #10: Church Refuses Protection From Pedophiles. I managed to track down an original article from the most recent Southern Baptist Convention here.

Whereas I respect the Convention defending the Baptist distinctive of ‘Church Autonomy‘, I cannot help but disagree. Considering the SBC is the largest protestant denomination in America I find it hard to believe that the creation of a database listing known offenders (even if it is only accessible to ordained SBC ministers) significantly infringes upon the autonomy of local congregations.

But What About Other Churches?

The SBC’s decision aside, this draws a prevalent problem in all small churches to the forefront. How can small congregations cope with the fact that, to just about any individual with pedophilial tendencies, their children are ‘fish in a barrel’? Some churches are actively addressing this issue. My home church in upstate, NY isolates any area with minors and uses a computerized ID system to prevent unauthorized access to areas with children. However, that takes trained staff and expensive equipment. For many churches, that is just not a viable option. For example, my father’s church in rural North Carolina cannot afford to pay a youth pastor. Their youth-staff is purely volunteer with (1) little training in identifying suspect behavior and (2) have little accountability. So what options do they have?

What About Evangelism?

Moreover, how does this affect who we invite to our Churches? My little brother is presently serving the last year of a 3 year sentence for a sex crime. When he gets out I fully intend on inviting him to attend Church with me. After all, who needs Jesus and a loving community more than a person trying to get their life straight? However, this creates a conflict. Not everyone knows the person they’ve invited to church has a history of sex-crimes. Moreover, if the Southern Baptist Convention has problems with pedophilia amongst its ministers, how can we intentionally invite individuals with pedophilial tendencies to participate in loving communion with us? Are the doors of our churches only open to some?

However, I’m just a theology student who used to fancy himself a youth pastor. I have never had to REALLY address this issue other than conceptually. What are your thoughts on the SBC’s decision? Or, more importantly, how does your congregation address this problem of dangerous inclusivity?

Earl

Florrie and I traveled to the North Carolina Museum of Art today. First opened in the 1940’s the museum features: Grecco-Roman, European, American, African, Judaic, and Modern artists in its permanent collections.

While wandering through the collections, I noticed an interesting similarity amongst all the pieces of art. They all functioned beyond themselves. There was no art about art. The sculptures were created to be worshiped, representative of unseen deities. The 1st century jars and flasks carried oils and spices. The religious paintings were a method of educating the illiterate masses. The masks were used in funeral celebrations. Even the works of John James Audubon captured nature for the observation of all. Though each piece possessed and admirable artistic dimension, it also functioned on a much higher, practical level.

This got me thinking. If art can function on multiple levels without asserting its own authority, why do I allow theology do be a narcissistic or self-indulgent task? If a piece of art can carry meaning or utility beyond itself why do we allow evangelical theology to stop at esoteric assertions about the divinity of Christ, the inerrancy of Scripture, or the hundreds of other evangelical theologies that make little difference in real life. If aesthetics can be a auxiliary tool to social or political reform, why can’t theology?

To some extents these are unfair questions. Aesthetics engage the observer in shared experience whereas theology questions reality based on theological premises. However, I refuse to believe that evangelical theology must resign itself to the ghetto in which it presently finds itself. If in no other way, theologians have the obligation to extend beyond esoteric assertions about God, the Bible, and homosexuality to question not just the cursory elements of their society but also the foundations which it finds itself built upon. Although to do so theology may take some reimagining. Theology, to become an ancillary vehicle, must become less concerned with positing absolute reality and instead become a deconstructive element challenging society to become something better than it presently is. However, I’m just a student of philosophy and theology, I’ve not yet arrived at how the reimagination can be fully realized.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Do you agree? Disagree? Is theology too involved with politics or social ethics as it is? Or should we just abandon theology all together as a facet of social, political, ethical, or any other kind of reform?

Earl

I cannot recommend watching this film strongly enough. Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson is a documentary surveying his personal and private life. Thompson, who ended his own life in Feb. of 2005, began his career as a freelance journalist following the Hell’s Angels in California. Later, he personified the cultural shift of the late 60’s as he ran for Sheriff of Aspen, Colorado. His work was re-popularized by the 1998 film ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’ starring Johnny Depp as Thompson. However, none of this fully captures why Thompson’s story deeply moved me.

While I disagree with much of Thompson’s licentious lifestyle, I cannot not help but be inspired by his ability to captivate his readers in a participatory experience as well as admire his faith in what America might become. Thompson’s writing draws its reader into something more than a mere subject/ object relationship. Instead,Thomson’s writings become as mind-altering and embodied as the effects of the drugs he writes about. Using vivid imagery, captivating descriptions and an uncanny wit, pieces such as ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’ draw the reader into the story. The reader feels as if he or she is the unseen third or forth person in the car, a silent participant in Thompson’s search for the ‘American Dream’. Moreover, Thompson’s innovative ‘Gonzo’ style of journalism is the epitome of post-modernity, mixing truth with both exaggeration and plain lie to both keep the reader entertained and constantly distrusting of authoritative sources.

Although his official search for the ‘American Dream’ was little more than satire, Hunter’s life can be prominently characterized by a similar pursuit. Hunter hoped against hope that America was not too far gone. He chased the dream by running for sheriff in Aspen. He chased the dream on the campaign trail with George McGovern. He chased the dream as a vehement advocate for universal drug legalization. Ultimately, when he felt all hope had become lost in the pursuit of his ‘America’, when he felt he could chase no more, he took his own life.

While I disagree with much of Hunter Thompson’s morality, I cannot help be infected by his vision. Thompson was able to see through the trappings of modern society and sought to tear it apart, piece by piece. For doing so, many would call him anti-patriotic, amoral, unAmerican, or even a terrorist. Regardless of the opinions of others, Thompson stood up for what he believed in. He was a democrat who supported pornography, drug legalization, a smaller federal government, the NRA. Though many critics undoubtedly accused Thompson of undermining ‘traditional’ values, Hunter Thompson fought for what he envisioned American could be.

For someone who had given up on America, that vision is inspirational.

Earl

“Consciousness is always more concerned in one part of its object more than another, and welcomes and rejects, or chooses, all the while it thinks”
- William James, Psychology: The Briefer Course, p. 37

According to William James, in order for a person to know something their mind must distinguish significant information from insignificant. If you don’t believe him, just think of the last time you felt your clothes while you were wearing them. Despite them perpetually rubbing against your body your brain chooses to ignore them unless something is new or different than usual. How about watching television? Try to focus on looking both at the program and the features of the television set itself. Or, most obviously, when was the last time you thought about breathing? You probably hadn’t until you read that question. These may be mundane examples, but they display the limits of our attention. Our minds consistently ignore certain pieces of information deemed ‘irrelevant’ or ‘familiar’ to focus on new or more interesting information. However, this selection is rarely intentional. To make sense of our world, our minds must choose and object of focus to the exclusion of others. Most interestingly, however, is that its implications are frequently overlooked in religious or literary epistemology.

To illustrate what I mean, let’s look at a common Advent passage (it is the Christmas season after all):

“The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel–`God is with us.’ ” (Isa. 7:14)

This is a traditional citation that is often heard in our churches throughout the advent season. It is tirelessly read in Church services, Christian radio stations and Christian television stations (I just recently found out that there’s a lot of Christian TV stations). This verse is read depicting ‘The virgin’ as Mary and ‘the child’ as Jesus. When read in the context of the New Testament, this verse seems rather straight forward. Although, if read in context its interpretation becomes a touch more difficult:

“Not long after this, the LORD sent this message to King Ahaz:

…“Listen well, you royal family of David! You aren’t satisfied to exhaust my patience. You exhaust the patience of God as well! All right then, the Lord himself will choose the sign. Look! The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son and will call him Immanuel–`God is with us.’ By the time this child is old enough to eat curds and honey, he will know enough to choose what is right and reject what is wrong. But before he knows right from wrong, the two kings you fear so much–the kings of Israel and Aram–will both be dead. The LORD will bring a terrible curse on you, your nation, and your family. You will soon experience greater terror than has been known in all the years since Solomon’s empire was divided into Israel and Judah. The mighty king of Assyria will come with his great army!” In that day the LORD will whistle for the army of Upper Egypt and for the army of Assyria. They will swarm around you like flies. Like bees, they will sting and kill. They will come in vast hordes, spreading across the whole land. They will settle in the fertile areas and also in the desolate valleys, caves, and thorny places. In that day the Lord will take this “razor”–these Assyrians you have hired to protect you–and use it to shave off everything: your land, your crops, and your people.” (Isa. 7:10- 20)

In context, the child is the proof of the prophecy to King Ahaz. Moreover, the child is a sign of judgment upon Ahaz and his people and is consummated by an invasion by Assyria. One must isolate verse 14 from its context to read it as a prophecy about Jesus. If read within its immediate context, for this prophecy to be accurate it must have been fulfilled long before the birth of Jesus. And even if we open its fullfillment to the time of Jesus, the Gospel accounts ignore the impending wrath attached to the birth of the child.

I do not mean to imply that the verse is not a prophecy about Jesus (that is for you to decide), but, rather, I hope to illustrate that somewhere along the line we decided to divorce the verse from its larger context to preserve (or invent) its Christocentrism. This discovery also begs the larger question of where else we might be employing this form of selective attention.

If we look around, this form of selective attention is often employed throughout Biblical interpretation. Some people selectively read the repudiation of female authorities in 1 Timothy, overlooking everything but “I permit no woman to teach or have authority…”. Others selectively read the Pauline moral codes in 1 Corinthians, focusing on drunkenness, fornication, or homosexuality while overlooking repudiations of wrath, jealousy, and outbursts of anger in Galatians. Even Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins selectively read the prophecies of Revelation and Daniel, overlooking the indiscernible aspects of the prophecies to construct a dispensational story staring Kirk Cameron.

However, selective attention is not just employed in Biblical interpretations. Throughout this previous semester I found myself frequently (and unintentionally) ignoring problematic sentences and statements to make overall sense of a larger reading. We do this in our theologies and philosophies as well. What perhaps is most frustrating is that one cannot avoid selective attention. It is a natural cognitive process and therefore cannot be avoided or renounced. Although it cannot be avoided, it can be accommodated. If we accept that certainty can be achieved only through overlooking the extraneous or (sometimes) conflicting details we then can ask ourselves ‘Why does this verse, fact, hypothesis, etc. make sense?’ (HT: Dr. Kraftchick). Whether it be Biblical interpretations, theological assertions, political positions, scientific findings or even just simple literary analysis, asking oneself why something makes sense allows the overlooked details to percolate to the surface for a second or third consideration. Moreover, from this perspective our understanding becomes more an attempt to grasp reality and less a scientific statement of fact. Our understandings become part of a journey as opposed to a crusade to impose those understandings on others.

Earl

Florrie and I went to my little sister’s 5th birthday party today at Chuck E. Cheese. Inevitably, Florrie talked me into sitting down at a photo booth (it was only $.25) and taking a picture:

Regardless of awkward I felt, the picture turned out really well and I thought that I would share it.

Earl

The Christian church is carnivorously turning upon itself. Defined by separations and accusations of heterodoxy or forsaking ‘the truth’, American churches are progressively polarizing and becoming isolated from one another. Defined by hostility, each side is convinced both of their correctness and their opponents’ traitorous error. One only needs to look at the recent history of the Episcopal Church to see the evidence of such a scathing rupture. From within that ecclesial division, Mark McIntosh has written Discernment and Truth: the Spiritual Theology of Knowledge. Profoundly defined by its cultural context, McIntosh’s work re-imagines the Christian tradition of discernment as a subversion of the inductive theological certitude presently dividing the Christian church against itself.
Published in 2004, Discernment and Truth emerges in the wake of the Episcopal Church’s ordination of Gene Robinson, its first openly homosexual bishop, just a year earlier. McIntosh’s book is a censure of the subsequent divisive response from within the Church. Although thoroughly characterized by McIntosh’s Anglican heritage, Discernment and Truth is not just relevant for Anglicans. It is a universal ecclesiastical call to reconsider many long held believes concerning how the Church knows truth. In this way, McIntosh writes a very contemporary piece, succinct and cutting in its admonishments while maintaining its universal applicability. It calls the reader to find him or herself within the text and to be challenged by it, regardless of their social or ecclesiastical context.

The opening chapter serves as a comprehensive introduction to the entirety of the book., though doing so in an unconventional manner. McIntosh opens the book by introducing the reader to the five phases through which the discerner traverses: (1) Faith as the foundation of discernment, (2) Discretion between “good and evil impulses that move people,” (3) the application of practical wisdom, (4) Discerning “God’s will,” and finally (5) Discernment as a “noetic relationship with God” (McIntosh, 5). The book posits a very spiritual or intuitive form of discernment. Discernment begins with faith and ends with God’s imparting of the Mind of Christ to the discerner. McIntosh, with an obvious high regard for mystical theology, constructs a quasi-mystical theology of discernment. However, unlike many mystical theologies, it is deeply rooted in the intersection of the ethereal and the practical. In many ways, the 233 pages following the first chapter are exposition of and commentary on it. Yet, one should not think of this as a stylistic error. In fact, by showing his hand up front, McIntosh engages the reader in the practice of discernment throughout his book. At first glance, the chapter 1 appears akin to “10 steps to a better prayer life” or other self-help formulas littering local bookstores. However, McIntosh’s book is far from a formulaic self-help guide. It explains to the reader the rich history of discernment, simultaneously drawing its reader into the practice of discernment. For McIntosh, truth is not something to be impassively known or possessed but something in which one participates. Thus, discernment is an experiential process. It is a learned skill of making oneself malleable before God, and therein better understanding the world around them. Two facets of McIntosh’s experiential discernment in particular subvert modern inductive epistemology and its resultant theological certitude: its narrative-centricity and its reliance upon illumination as a definitive source of truth.

One of the most interesting aspects of McIntosh’s experiential discernment is that one can experience the practice of discernment vicariously through the stories of another. Citing St. Paul, Origen, Athanasius, John Cassian, Bernard of Clairvaux, John Bunyan, Iris Murdoch and others, McIntosh methodically surveys both the historical development and practical applications of discernment. Nevertheless, it goes unmentioned that the majority of authors McIntosh surveys rely upon stories, parables, and metaphors. In charting the history of discernment through chapters 2 and 3, McIntosh systematically builds an understanding that discernment is more caught than taught. McIntosh, himself, even acknowledges the vicarious acquisition of discernment through story saying, “stories… mimic the growth of life experience itself” (ibid., 73). He then continues saying that stories “involve the hearer or reader in a meaning… by a certain vicarious participation, so that the meaning gradually distills itself in the readers as they imaginatively practice the events of discernment themselves” (ibid., 73). Undoubtedly, within McIntosh’s theology of discernment is a loose form of narrative theology.

Narrative theology, generally understood, is the exegesis of Scripture as a series of narratives or stories within the context of a community. It allows for paradox and contradiction between stories, being far more concerned with one finding him or herself in the story, and discerning how to live from it. While McIntosh appeals to extra-canonical sources, this interpretive model permeates Discernment and Truth, and can be seen both in the necessity of community and in the narrative pedagogy that define McIntosh’s theology.

First, according to McIntosh, community is indispensable to the development and implementation of discernment. The communal emphasis makes its voice heard early in the work, and echoes throughout. It acts as a backdrop, to which the rest of McIntosh’s theology situates itself. Early in the book McIntosh argues that discernment is “in no way a merely individualized virtue… but a rescuing, truth-bearing, compassion of God at work within the community” (ibid., 39). Later, one can again hear this communal emphasis, saying, “the work of discernment has to do with the building of the community identity as such, rather than with the condemnation of an individual’s behavior” (ibid., 112). Overlooking the obvious connotation to Bishop Robinson, one can see the emphasis on a formative community throughout the work. Undoubtedly, in doing so, McIntosh’s focus on interpretive communities undercuts the isolation and autonomy often accompanying contemporary religious certainty.

Second, McIntosh’s work also reflects Narrative Theology’s dependence upon various narratives as spiritually formative. First evident in its educating the reader to historical modes of discernment in chapters two and three, McIntosh’s pedagogical method permeates Discernment and Truth. It also is noticeable throughout the “case studies” (i.e. lives and stories of others) throughout the last third of the book. In each chapter, McIntosh carefully selects a piece of historical theology (often multiple pieces) and elucidates an aspect of discernment. He does so seeking to create avenues of identification for the reader. McIntosh is far more concerned with engaging the reader than didactically teaching a system or methodology. He emphasizes that truth is “gradually distilled” as opposed to being systematically extracted. Moreover, McIntosh eludes direct affirmations of what discernment is and how one performs it by veiling it within numerous historical accounts of discernment. McIntosh develops his theology through the historical exegeses of others. This is not to imply that McIntosh disingenuously represents his ideas in the theologies of others. Rather, McIntosh is an astute student of history. His theology is an amalgamation of the rich tradition of discernment. However, he formulates that theology in an elusive manner, in a way that defies purely inductive systematizing or wielding ‘truth’ as a weapon. Rather ironically, the reader must discern McIntosh’s method of discernment.

McIntosh’s theology of illumination, presented through Maximus the Confessor, questions the ability of analytical rationality to accurately discern reality. It does so in two ways. First, McIntosh posits that one cannot truly understand reality without first freeing one’s mind from impure thoughts (ibid., 229) and therefore, second, he argues that truth lies beyond what can be naturally observed. McIntosh reintroduces a pre-modern solution to a very modern problem. He argues that evil thoughts hinder one’s ability to share God’s perspective. Not as an impediment of one’s physical faculties. One’s physical sight is not disrupted by sinful thoughts. Impure thoughts do not prohibit one’s use of a microscope nor do they limit one’s perspective of the observable world. However, impure thoughts limit one’s ability to see beyond the natural world. They veil its divine role and significance. This is the author’s interpretation of Romans 1:21, and his theme throughout the work: “They became futile in their thinking and their senseless minds were darkened” (ibid., 4). McIntosh’s theory of illumination challenges the assertion that an object’s significance exists as available for the observation and comprehension of all. Because of humankind’s darkened mind, even if it accurately sees the world, it is unable to accurately understand the world’s larger significance. In this way, McIntosh’s theology of illumination becomes an apophatic theology.

The sacraments, specifically, and the entirety of creation, generally, may be understood as a form of apophatic theology. According to McIntosh, they convey a certain “sign-fullness” that cannot be naturally observed. While sacraments have an individual function and meaning in themselves, they also turn one’s attention to a much larger reality. They point to a reality that is imperceptible through mere physical observation. For many, asserting the sign-full nature of the Eucharist is an uneventful caveat. However, McIntosh goes beyond many conventional sacramental theologies. He argues that divine intention permeates all of creation, not just the sacraments. That this divine intention points toward a superior reality (ibid., 243). In this manner, all creation becomes sacramental. Rocks become sacramental. Trees become sacramental. Most significantly, one’s neighbor becomes sacramental. These all become signs, calling the believer to participate in the divine life and view the world as God does. Moreover, they call one to assist all things towards their divinely ordained end. Rather than as their adversary, through discernment, one recognizes their neighbor as a fellow sojourner and potential participant in the divine life. Through discernment, truth becomes participatory. It becomes a way of living in the world. Although it is a non-traditional form of apophatic theology, discernment sees all of creation pointing beyond the physical matter. Discernment sees beyond the sensible and rational. McIntosh’s apophatic illumination therefore reflects a purely inductive system’s inability to perceive divine meaning. A microscope cannot see beyond the sum of an object’s parts. Moreover, a purely inductive epistemology declares that truth is universally visible and manifest for the observation of all. It denies mystery and it forces God within the sensible world. It refuses to acknowledge what cannot be formularized and sensible observed. It assumes that one merely needs the correct system, method, or tools to ascertain and objects meaning. It mandates that God must be contained within the lens of the microscope. This method prevails throughout modern societies and unfortunately, according to McIntosh, it has prevailed within theology as well.

McIntosh’s refutation of the universal observability of truth calls many modern forms of Biblical hermeneutics into question as well. It questions the sufficiency of citing Biblical “proof-texts” to assert divine reality. Just as a microscope fails to expose an object’s broader divine perception and meaning, purely inductive forms of textual hermeneutics too fail to discern divine perception and meaning. An object’s truth exists beyond the sum of its pieces. So too must Biblical assertions of divine reality be illuminatively discerned. Unfortunately, however, many such Biblical interpreters center on one or two issues or texts, discerning reality through the lens they provide. Through John Henry Newman, McIntosh brilliantly addresses such insularity, saying that such theologians “confess the truth which makes all things easy… They have their one or two topics, which they are continually obtruding, with a sort of pedantry” (ibid., 172). Through the words of John Henry Newman, one can visualize American Evangelicalism’s overarching preoccupation with homosexuality and abortion. Moreover, one can clearly see McIntosh’s critique of such limited perception. While, much of Christianity cries out that definitive morality is contained within an isolated interpretation of a handful of Biblical texts, McIntosh, in turn, cries out that much of Christianity has missed the point.

Although, this does not mean there is no room for improvement. With its intuitive or pre-modern epistemology, its more conservative critics may rail against Discernment and Truth as being morally relative, ambiguous, or ‘liberal.’ However, McIntosh is far from advocating radical relativism. He is very concerned with a definite moral truth. For McIntosh, the question of ‘right or wrong?’ has no more than one correct answer. Nonetheless, this form of discernment does lend itself to conflict and contradicting ‘truths’. How the community resolves contradicting discernments goes unaddressed. Whereas Discernment and Truth guides the individual through the formation of their discerning faculties, it overlooks a similar formation of communities. In many ways, to have made his book a comprehensive “how to…” guide to discernment would have been counter intuitive. However, a “case study” of conflicting discernment is clearly needed. Although it is only a minor flaw in an otherwise outstanding work, a discussion of how communities discern a path amidst drastic disagreement would have rounded the work off well.

McIntosh’s epistemology, or his proposed form of experiential discernment, argues that truth is not contained within the modern categories of ‘subject’ and ‘object’. It does not exist in the observable sum of an object’s pieces. Nor can it be discerned in isolation. Instead, truth is a relational paradigm that one receives through a progressively deepening communal participation in the divine life. Moreover, Discernment and Truth elicits the reader into such participation. Through the stories of Origen, St. Paul, John Bunyan, Iris Murdoch, and others, it draws its reader into the practice of discernment. It not only questions the efficacy of modern inductive ways of knowing, it also prophetically calls its reader to transcend sterile, divisive, egocentric ways of looking at the world. Practically applied, Discernment and Truth neither advocates nor repudiates the Episcopal Church’s decision to ordain Eugene Robinson. To do either would defeat McIntosh’s intention. It, however, does provide a paradigm for one to come to such a conclusion. Through communally participative narratives and divine illumination one submits him or herself to meanings unrestricted to one’s isolated perspective. This does not negate one’s ability to think for oneself. Nor does McIntosh necessarily negate one’s plain reading or synthesis of Biblical texts. Instead, he undermines one’s ability to unquestionably “prove” truth purely through insulated inductive readings or syntheses. Moral certitudes achieved through anything other than relational divine illumination is the seduction of the modern fallacy that the Church is the master of its world and its destiny. Discernment and Truth conveys a message of divine dependence and hope desperately needed by an increasingly divided and insolent Christianity.

Earl

Apparently Christianity is progressively becoming “immoral”, or at least that’s what the Barna Group says.

A survey published earlier this year (August 2008) stated that ‘Mosaic’ Evangelicals (ages 18 to 24) are abandoning traditional moral values. A significant number of younger evangelicals expressed little concern over issues such as gambling (20%), cussing (20%) and admitted intentionally looking at pornography (19%). Moreover, the Barna Group had this to say about the information:

“The consistent deterioration of the Bible as the source of moral truth has led to a nation where people have become independent judges of right and wrong, basing their choices on feelings and circumstances. It is not likely that America will return to a more traditional moral code until the nation experiences significant pain from its moral choices.”

Why do I care?
To some extents, I had forgotten about what a truly evangelical Church is in America. Since Florrie and I are staying with family through the holidays, we decided to go to Church with them. Apparently the pastor knew I was coming because the entire message was preached about how education undermines the Spirit (Although, the pastor constantly preached about how his “double-Masters” qualified his theological views about homosexuality, abortion, tattoos, ‘theological’ exegesis of Greek nouns, etc.). Regardless of how uncharitable the message seemed to me, it abruptly reminded me of how insular evangelicalism can be at times.

I’m not fully sure how to respond, but I’m thoroughly convinced that this theological certitude within evangelicalism is tearing it apart from the inside. This is evidenced in the scornful comments of the Barna Group toward Mosaic Christians. Because they cuss, buy lotto tickets and confess to looking at a bit of the overpowering quantity of pornography on the internet, younger Evangelicals are going to Hell in a hand basket. Rather than open the conversation, the Barna Group responds by labeling the problem and isolating the individuals as youthful rebellion. However, it is not just the Barna Group’s tactic. Conservative Evangelicalism, as a whole, draw lines in the sand using priori arguments and progressively insulate themselves not only from the gifts that younger Evangelicals may offer, but they also from being able to pull those wayward youths back from the perceived precipice.

These, unfortunately, are my responses to both the Barna survey and yesterday’s sermon. My family was proud of their pastor for ’speaking what the Lord told him to’ and ’stepping on my toes’ and it broke my heart. However, I have a suspicious feeling that I am not alone. How many of those evangelicals that the Barna Group surveyed find themselves in similar circumstances? How many are rejected and isolated for living a new form of Evangelical Christianity? If they would look beyond the cussing, gambling and honesty about internet pornography, they would see that we are dedicated to the Gospel. However, we are unwilling to embrace traditional culture masked as Divine Will. But how will they ever see that if they have already made up their minds?

Earl

After a long hiatus, I’m back to blogging.

It’s been far too long since I’ve written here.  As the semester progressed I just became overwhelmed and needed to cut blogging out.  Overall, it paid off.  Putting aside blogging allowed me to finish my first semester well.  However, I’ve got plenty to write about and an abundance of time to write with.

So, thanks for sticking around.  Check back soon for new posts.

Earl

Just in case you didn’t know that already.  I swear the more I edit, the worse my writing gets.  Thanks for reading my blog for content, if not always for flawless presentation.

Earl

Read the Letter: Letter from 2012 in Obama’s America

While wandering through the internet this morning I found this ‘Letter from 2012 in Obama’s America‘ e-published by Focus on the Family Action and was absolutely astounded at what conservative evangelical Christianity is becoming.  This letter is a fictional account written in 2012, looking back on the Obama presidency and how conservative evangelical Christianity has been systematically deconstructed through policies exalting a ‘liberal’ stance.  Not surprisingly, the identifying issues for evangelical republicans are all ‘worst case’ scenarios.

Here are some of the highlights of the letter:

• “younger evangelicals actually provided him with the needed margin to defeat John McCain” (p. 2)
• “It might now be 20 or 30 more years
  before enough new appointments could be made to change the far-left dominance of the Supreme
  Court.” (p. 3)
• “Suddenly homosexual marriage was the law of the land in all 50 states and no state legislature, no state Supreme Court, no state Constitutional amendment, not even Congress had any power to change it” (p. 3)
• “All businesses that have government contracts at the national, state, or local level now have to provide documentation of equal benefits for same sex couples” (p 5)
• “Church buildings are now considered a “public accommodation” by the United States Supreme Court and churches have no freedom to refuse to allow their buildings to be used for wedding ceremonies for homosexual couples.” (p 5)
• “Campus organizations such as Campus
  Crusade for Christ, InterVarsity, Navigators, Baptist Campus Ministry, and Reformed University
  Fellowship have shrunk to mere skeleton organizations, and in many states they have simply
  ceased to exist.” (p 7)
• “Doctors who refuse to perform abortions can no longer be licensed to deliver babies at
  hospitals in any state.” (p 8)

And that’s only some of the content up to the half-way point in the letter.

This is obviously a scare tactic intended to frighten a large number of evangelicals into believing that a vote for John McCain is a vote for freedom as well as a complete demonization of the homosexual community.

All this kind of garbage does is draw unnecessary lines of orthodoxy, deciding who’s ‘in’ and who’s ‘out’.  It makes it safe and acceptable for Christians to hate.  It ruins the Christian testimony in our communities. And I’m pretty sure that this kind of fear and hate mongering makes Jesus pretty sad as well.  Even if He does disapprove of homosexuality, he would cherish and protect their dignity as bearers of God’s image.  And lastly, this completely distorts what it means to be Christian, from the words of Jesus.  Christianity is a countercultural movement intending to reshape and reform the actions and beliefs of individuals, mimicking the Kingdom of God in heaven.  This letter is an attempt to protect a religious and political kingdom of exclusion and status quo through hate and fear.

I’m so disgusted with this that I’ll stop there.

Earl

Dr. John Stackhouse (Professor of Theology and Culture at Regent College), my ever illumining source of hopelessness and educational discouragement says ‘yes, you should’. Stackhouse proposes that a PhD review committee probably won’t care that you’ve written a thesis, but it provides an excellent litmus test to see if you are ‘cut out’ for PhD work.

However, I’m still not convinced. I understand Stackhouse’s arguments for writing the thesis, and they make complete sense- but they do not address the fact that my particular program only allows for 2 years of classes- that’s 16 max. Of those 16, I am required to take 4 classes out of my particular area of interest (Biblical Studies and Cultural Studies), so that leaves me with 12 classes to develop my interests. Now, factor in the fact I will be loosing 2 classes to writing a thesis and the entirety of my MTS exploration to my area of interest (History and Interpretation of Christianity) is limited to 8 classes- 3 of which will probably be delegated to history and systematic survey courses… you get the idea.

While Dr. Stackhouse’s advice is based on sound reasoning and rather cogent, I’m just not sure that it translates well to my situation. I have an undergraduate degree in Biblical Studies and Youth Ministry, I feel that I can do either of those well- but I admittedly am very behind in my understanding of the History of Christian Thought (both historically and philosophically), taking 2 more classes gives me approximately 70 more hours (3 hrs. per week, per class x 13 weeks) ‘face time’ with an incredibly learned faculty and at least as much time reading/ interacting with primary sources.

So what are some other options?

A commenter on Dr. Stackhouse’s blog suggests encouraging students to write academic articles (20- 35 pages) and submit them to scholarly journals for a similar experience. I tend to think that’s an excellent place to start. But I’m going to keep my eye on the comments on Dr. Stackhouse’s blog, just to see how things play out.

I would love to hear your thoughts in the meantime.

Earl

My wife and I (who are currently living 1000 miles apart) racked up a total of approx 4300 minutes last month on our cellphones!  Were it not for free ‘Mobile to Mobile’ my phone bill would cost as much as my school bill.

Earl

The Spring 2009 Candler School of Theology Course Listing was made public today, and I’m pretty excited.

Because I am a 1st year student, I rank rather low on the totem pole for selecting classes. However, I’m still pretty energetic about next semester (am I allowed to be, since I haven’t hit mid-terms for the Fall yet?)

So these are the options:

HT698- Evangelicalism
Balmer Th 2:30p‐5:30p
(Specific Issue in Historical Theology- Class Description Unavailable)

Unless I’m completely mistaken this class is being taught by Randall Balmer. For those of you who don’t remember, Dr. Balmer’s session at Envision ‘08 was the shinning moment of an otherwise lackluster weekend for me. Dr. Balmer spent 2 hours talking about the formation of the Religious Right around Racism and the Reagan Campaign- AND HE WAS ABSOLUTELY FASCINATING!  I’ve already called my wife just to share my excitement (she wasn’t nearly as excited as I was though). Of course, if this is another ‘Balmer’ I’m going to look rather foolish- but I’m still probably taking this class.

Which is killing me because that means I won’t be able to take this class that I was looking forward to:

BI601- History of Biblical Interpretation
Kraftchick Th 2:30p‐5:30p
(Sorry, there’s no course description available for the course. It seems kind of obvious, though.)
Despite my man-crush on and over the top language about Dr. Balmer, I’m still heavily considering taking this class instead.

The alternative is probably going to be this (Which isn’t a consolation prize by any means, I was just looking forward to taking a class with Kraftchick in his forte):

OT 626- Apocalyptic Imagination
Newsom TTh 9:30a‐10:50a
“An investigation of the origins of apocalyptic thought, its development in early Judaism and Christianity, and its transformation in modern religious thought, focusing on nineteenth- and twentieth century American religious movements.”

And unless something drastically changes between now and the start of Spring Semester, these two are definite classes (well, as definite as I can be):

HT645-History of Theology in America
Holifield TTh 9:30a‐10:50a
“Lectures and discussions on theology in America from the seventeenth century
to the twenty-first century, exploring figures, movements, and denominational traditions of Christian thought.”

HT653- The Reality of God
Pacini M 1:00p‐4:00p
“A seminar that explores the question of the being of God in the context of the practices of prayer and meditation. The so-called “ontological arguments” for the existence of God that Anselm and Descartes advanced will be addressed through the context of the literary genre of “mediation” that Marcus Aurelius elaborated and the context of the spiritual observance of the Liturgy of the Hours (Breviary), together with the arguments of its principal critics, Thomas Aquinas and Immanuel Kant, and a contemporary version in the letters of Simone Weil.”

Dr. Holifield is an amazing lecturer and is constantly publishing.  And I recently sat through a Colloquy discussion with Dr. Pacini and, honestly, I want his job some day.  It doesn’t have to be at Emory, but to specialize in Post-Kantian thought provides the perfect synthesis of Modern Historical Theology and Historical Philosophy (something I’ve been trying to figure out how to do).  So it only makes sense to try to take as many classes as possible with these two.

I’ve provided the link at the begining of the post so that you can look at the available courses if you’d like.  I’d love to hear:

1. What you think would be a better choice of class (and why)
2. You can just talk about what you wish you coult take (Candler is still accepting applications!)

Earl

It’s a bit of an obscure question, but it is the question I found myself contemplating compulsively after re-watching ‘Stranger than Fiction’ yesterday during a brief break from study.

For those of you unfamiliar with the film, it is the story of Harold Crick, an obsessive-compulsive, anti-social IRS agent who wakes one morning to find that an unfamiliar British woman suddenly narrates his life: from brushing his teeth to his compulsively counting the number of steps to the bus stop. What’s worse is that only Harold can hear her. Harold, refusing to believe that he is crazy, finally ends up seeking help from a local literary professor. Together, the two discover that Harold is the latest character in one of the most astounding literary works of the past century- the problem is that he dies at the end of the story.

Stranger than Fiction straddles the traditional boundaries of genre, and does so in an intentional and almost satirically self-conscious manner. At one point in the movie, Harold Crick actually keeps tally marks in a notebook to try to determine if, based on how his day unfolds, he is in a ‘Comedy’ or a ‘Tragedy’. The climax of the movie comes as Harold meets the author and reads the entire story and, finally, accepts his role in it. In a moment of surrender, Harold understands that he is not the author of his life and willingly accepts his role in the story. This climactic surrender acts as the epiphany for Harold.  Harold finally accepts that he is not in control. However, Harold also understands that being part of someone else’s story gives his life (and death) more meaning than he could have ever imagined.

In light of such an epiphany, how could I not help but wonder the same set of questions about myself and my story? I found myself asking questions of authorship- Who is the author of my story? Am I? Is God? Perhaps my expectations for myself are the author.

I found myself asking thematic questions- What kind of story am I in? Is it a drama? A comedy? A tragedy? A love story?

And finally, I found myself confronted with questions of participation. I think we would all agree that each person’s story is a combination of multiple genres, often simultaneously- but is our participation that of an active contributer or are we merely fighting against the story- trying to transform our tragedy into comedy or romance? Am I, like Harold, willing to release authorship of my story to something bigger so that the story can have meaning well beyond what I can presently see.

Finally, I want to challenge you to contemplate my question of meaning and ask yourself-

‘What kind of story am I in?’

Earl

Eric Sowell and Regan Ewing discussed my recent post ‘A ‘Pedigree Collapse’ Within Theological Education’ on their inaugural podcast. With Eric being a graduate of Dallas Theological Seminary, I was terrified that my post was going to get torn apart- but surprisingly they agree with me rather readily and carry my ideas into Biblical Studies and the necessity of interdisciplinary study in educational formation as a whole.  I’m extremely flattered and decided to pass the podcast along.

Click here to listen to their podcast.

Site links:
Archaic Christianity
Archaic Christianity: Podcast 1
EarlBarnett.com: A ‘Pedigree Collapse’ Within Theological Education