Tag Archives: Christians

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Learning to Walk: How the Faithful and Faithless Are Alike

My daughter has recently begun walking. It’s been going on for a little over a week now, and every day she is able to stay upright for a few more steps. She’s by no means an old hand at this skill yet, and if I had to compare her gait to something, the only thing that would lend a comparable picture is some of those moves Jackie Chan displayed in The Legend of the Drunken Master. She flails her arms and points at random objects as she staggers by. And, eventually at some point along her random path, she collapses like Maggie Simpson. A few minutes ago, she fell back against the counter and plunged her hand, which was full of refrigerator magnet letters, into the dog bowl. She then proceeded to suck on those magnets.

Needless to say, she’s not all that accomplished at this walking thing yet, but she is walking. That’s my point.

My last post, along with the subsequent comment section conversations on two different blogs and my Facebook page, has spurred within me a deeper consideration of the similarities between all people, specifically between Christians and atheists. And the more I watch my daughter teach herself to walk, the more I realize that the practice art of living life is something that I am always going to be learning, always going to be improving, and it is also something I’m never going to perfect. Just as I know Katy Jo is never going to be a flawless walker, that she is going to fall down time and again, I know also that she won’t quit. There won’t come a day in years to come when she will wake up and decide this whole walking thing is ridiculous, that crawling is the appropriate means of movement. Aside from wishful thinking of jetpacks and hoverboards (four more years, Zemekis!), or a physical inability that places a person in a wheelchair, you would be hard-pressed to find a person who abstains from the act of walking. Let’s face it, you really can’t get around without it.

There are a lot of people out there on both sides of the “debate” that are convinced there is not a lot of commonality between Christians and those who do not profess faith, or even belief, in a God. I disagree. I think the reason most people feel this way is that disagreements often become quite heated. Unfortunately, sometimes the people we have speaking for our sides possess little patience for the other one. In some of the exchanges I entered into after my post about atheism, I encountered one or two of these people. You know the ones I’m talking about – they are quick to dismiss not only your belief but your very intelligence as well simply because you do not see things the way they see them. Some will even result to name-calling, which always makes me wonder whose intelligence should really be in question. Sadly, these kinds of people are found on both sides of the theism/atheism debate, and all other related disputes. A Christian can be just as nasty, and often without provocation.

Yet it is absurd to me that there cannot exist an authentic, amiable discourse between the two sides. The way I see it, while something very significant divides us, there is so much that we hold in common. The most important thing is the fact that we are all making some sort of effort to be moral people. Sure, we fail at it from time to time, but unless you are a sociopath, you are interested in doing good over doing bad, peace over war, compassion over indifference, kindness over vindictiveness, charity over cruelty, and justice over chaos. Even folks who fully support the war (and I mean the war, not just the troops) support it because they desire that the eventual outcome will be peace. No clear-thinking person supports a war in hopes that it will simply cause destruction and perpetuate agony! One way or another, we are interested in the good things. We want our leaders to be honest and righteous, our government to help people and protect the innocent, and our families to celebrate in joy rather than rage in hate. We are moral people whether we know it or not. We are all teaching ourselves how to walk better.

It stands to reason that, to a certain extent, both Christians and those who reject faith want the same things for our lives. We want to experience love and joy and contentment. We want genuine friends and strong bonds with them. Even if it is not always possible, deep down we still want peace with other people. Take a moment to consider your motivations for, well, everything that you do. At some point, are you not working for some bit of good? Sure, your initial motivation may be selfishness, but, as C.S. Lewis points out in his wonderful work, Mere Christianity, even greed is an immoral longing after money or possessions as a means to contentment. Contentment, itself, however, is good. It is a moral ideal.

Now, I’m not condoning all forms of behavior, honest or sordid, as long as we recognize that our end goal is something essentially good. My point is that, if we will dig down inside ourselves, I believe the vast majority of us will find that we are people who desire good things – who, if given the choice, would choose good over bad ten times out of ten. I believe the vast majority of us will keep on walking, day after day, because when we are completely honest with ourselves, we know that walking will always trump refusing to walk.

Perhaps this makes me an idealist, but I’ve never really considered that a bad thing. In fact, I consider that to be an inherently Christian thing. If we can agree that there is such a thing as Good, basic philosophy and our own mind are capable of stating the possibility of a Perfect Good. An ideal Good, if you will. As a Christian, I believe this ideal is revealed to us in the person of Jesus, and in God who created and set in motion all things. To live toward an ideal Good is to live toward this God. Thus, there are some people who are closer to God than they might think. It’s not such an unsettling thought if one remembers that we’re talking about a Perfect Good, not the lesser, mortal description so many religious folks point to. In truth, if God is the Perfect Good (and I believe he is), then he must be so far above what even those who profess belief in him try to say about him.

“The superficial and the slipshod have ready answers,” writes Peter De Vries in his novel The Blood of the Lamb, “but those looking this complex life straight in the eye acquire a wealth of perception so composed of delicately balanced contradictions that they dread, or resent, the call to couch any part of it in a bland generalization.” What we need are Christians and atheists (and everybody in between) who are committed to “looking this complex life straight in the eye.” What we don’t need are Christians who revel in dishing out just desserts or ludicrously attempting to prove God, nor atheists who don’t believe in God because they don’t like these Christians, or because the mystery surrounding faith in God is too unsettling for them.

So let us all keep walking. And just as I sometimes let Katy Jo clutch my finger to guide herself across the floor, helping her in her learning, perhaps we can help each other learn to be better people. Truly moral people. Perhaps minds will be changed, hearts will be softened, and true friendships will be forged.

Will you walk with me?

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Should Christians Celebrate Bin Laden’s Death?

What’s a Christian to do with the news that Osama Bin Laden – the world’s most wanted man – was killed in a firefight with American soldiers in Pakistan less than twenty-four hours ago? Smattered across the cable news networks and websites are pictures of people who, immediately upon hearing the news, took to the streets brandishing American flags and signs extolling the greatness of the occasion. Every major newspaper in America, as well as most others across the globe, featured block-letter headlines, some with the terrorist’s picture, and most including shots of the excitement and celebration had upon the news of his demise. In some places, it looked like New Year’s Eve festivities minus the earmuffs and confetti.

President Barack Obama and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton called the operation that ended in Bin Laden’s death a “victory” and a significant milestone in the war against terrorism and Al Qaeda. News commentators, radio hosts and pundits alike have hailed the man’s death as wonderful tidings for family members of the victims of the 9/11 attacks , not to mention those who have suffered losses from the embassy bombings in Africa, the U.S.S. Cole attack, and the various terrorist acts committed across Europe in the past few years.

Among members of the American Church, there has no doubt been rejoicing. The question is, should we be rejoicing?

Let’s move beyond mere consideration of the concepts of punishment or vengeance, despite the fact that these seem to be the unspoken synonyms of justice in the minds of many people today. I’m not interested in whether or not we should value punishment and vengeance, even when such a thing seems fair and just and righteous. On the contrary, I’m concerned with the heart of the matter – that of celebrating the death of a person, even if that person is our worst enemy.

“You’ve heard it said,” Jesus is recorded to have taught, “love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I say, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of the Father who is in heaven.” Why are we to love our enemies? Why are we to pray for them (and, just to be clear, this does not mean to pray for them to die)? So that we may be sons of God – that our identity might be recognized in union with the kingdom of God. As Americans, we long for justice to come to those who have attacked us, but, as Christians, there is an allegiance that supersedes even the healthiest of patriotic passion. Jesus references that there was an older way to view our enemies. A more human way. In short, a more normal way. However, he was very clear that it was not his way. Not at all. We are meant to be “sons of the Father,” children of the kingdom of Almighty God. Thus, we are to celebrate only those things that glorify the kingdom. Hatred for our enemies is not one of them. Death to evildoers is not one of them. Certainly God is just, but his kingdom is one marked by unconditional love and abounding grace. There is no room in the kingdom of God for revelry at a person’s death, even if that person has vehemently rejected this God we serve.

There is only one death that we celebrate, and every year on Good Friday we do so humbly, with awe and reverence and thankfulness beyond words. This is the only death that truly glorifies the kingdom. It is the very thing on which this kingdom is built. It is the only death that matters, because it is the only one that didn’t last.

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The Journey Lately – Part Three

I’m finally ready to finish this…

Last week, I was chatting with a student about deep spiritual things. The things we were talking about, in my opinion, were not necessarily “deep” by definition, but pointed to a realm of spiritual curiosity that, sadly, few people – and even fewer Christians, willfully enter.

In my last two posts, I realize that, despite my best efforts, I may have come across as one of the following: pompous, pious, elitist, judgmental or overly cerebral. Obviously, I do not mean for these posts to be taken in any of these ways, nor am I proposing that just because I am one of the few who enter the “realm of spiritual curiosity” as I have mentioned means that I am in some way or another a better Christian or a more grounded and realistic religious man. Far from the truth. There are days, in this journey, in which I feel more lost than I have ever been – in which I wonder if maybe I didn’t veer off the correct course back in my early twenties and am actually hiking on some version of the broad road rather than the narrow.

The fact is, I spent twenty years of my life scraping and striving to be a “better” Christian. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized that there is no such thing. There are Christians and there are non-Christians. There are no good Christians and bad Christians no matter how many people choose to turn the word “Christian” exclusively into an adjective. In reality, there are good people and bad people. There are disciplined people and confused people. There are joyful people and angry people. In each category, you will find Christians. Of such, oddly enough, is the kingdom of God.

As I was talking to this student, I was saying essentially the same thing. I was trying to explain that becoming a Christian is not about seeking to fit into a particular mold. If anything, salvation in Christ is about the realization that there is no set mold. Rather, there is freedom. Why else would there be countless denominations from which to choose (all full of the good, bad, disciplined, confused, joyful, angry, etc.)? As the conversation turned to the dilemma of navigating a plethora of denominational choices – of philosophy and polity and practice – I tried my best to explain my view of denominationalism, and, to a greater extent, religious identity. What I have come up with is a metaphor that borders on the ridiculous, but I ask that you graciously bear with me.

I explained to this student that, in my opinion, denominations are like clothing. As far as my particular journey of faith is concerned, the way I have dressed throughout my life is quite similar to the way I have interacted with various denominations and their doctrines. For instance, when I was a little baby, I didn’t wear a lot of clothes, but once I did, it was not I that chose this apparel, but my parents. Equally, it was not I that chose to be christened in a Methodist church, but my parents. The same goes for my childhood in a Southern Baptist church. My parents made the call, so I wore what I was given to wear and I accompanied them to the churches they chose to attend.

Eventually, however, I became more concerned about my appearance, because, socially speaking, it was no longer my parents’ responsibility, but my own.Interestingly enough, around the same time clothes became important, so did my faith. Luckily for me, I had parents willing to buy me most of the threads I selected, and I had a genuine, intentional youth minister who encouraged me to seek truth and follow Christ.

For the majority of my adolescence and a considerable portion of my twenties, I dressed the way I saw others dress. I strived to remain in fashion. I think many will agree that this is stressful. But I did everything I could to look as close to the norm as possible, lest I be shunned as a spazz, dork, nerd (or some other derisive 90′s slang). I still remember begging my mother to buy me a pair of Girbaud jeans in eighth grade so that I seemingly wouldn’t be the only one without. Subsequently, at the eighth grade dance, I wasn’t by myself the entire night. I’m not sure if it was the jeans that got me on the dance floor, but I know it wasn’t my self-confidence either.

Ultimately, some of us reach a point where we quit trying to impress with our clothing. That’s why movies like The Devil Wears Prada and Mean Girls fill me with anxiety. There but for the grace of God… In my case, by the time I reached college, I was still interested in looking fashionable, but I also became concerned with being comfortable. I wore sandals when I felt like wearing sandals, plain T-shirts when it worked for me, and I chose jeans that fit well over those that sported an impressive brand stitch. As time passed, comfortability won out over fashion. I even started copping an attitude in department stores (“Thirty-five bucks for a pair of pants!”). Today, if I succeed in being fashionable, it is only after I have ensured that I’m comfortable. That what I’m wearing fits and fits well.

I told my student that the same has been true of my journey of faith, especially in regards to denominations, or at least the particular theological theories and worship practices inherent in many of them. In my late teens and early twenties, I was concerned with matching the emotional and spiritual intensity of the people around me. So I listened to the same praise music, raised my hands like the rest of them and considered secular culture the way most of them considered it. Basically, I tried to force a “look” that simply was not me. And I was never comfortable. I was always worried it wasn’t enough. I could not shake the concern that those around me, if they really took a good look, would realize that my Girbaud’s were bought at Service Merchandise, and it was the only pair I owned. Sooner or later, I would wear them out.

I have stated that the third aspect that drew me to things like the liturgical church, ritual, and contemplative prayer (and other things like Anglicanism, solemn worship, monastic principles and The Book of Common Prayer) was religious symbolism. Truthfully, I don’t see the term to be as intellectual as it may sound. I could write a whole new series of blog posts on the various symbolic elements in many of these things, from the progression of the worship service, to the Eucharist, to chiming the hours of prayer, to chanting canticles, to the Christian calendar, to icons and candles and incense. The list goes on and on. But, in general, religious symbolism simply means that everything points to the reality of God. Everything. For me, the emotional impact of a worship service is not found in a sudden, passionate key change in “Shout to the Lord” or “The Stand,” but in a long string of words and images and sounds that consistently direct my attention back to God. Religious symbolism is the rituals, the archetypes and the writings that work together as one to bring me into full communion with God – a communion of the heart, soul, strength and mind.

Fragmented worship makes me uneasy. A worship service that is segmented (first, we’ll have our worship set, and then we’ll do announcements, and then we’ll sing some more songs, and then we’ll pray, and then we’ll sing one more song, and then we’ll have someone come and bring a message, and then we’ll do one more set of songs, and maybe have an altar call if the Spirit is moving) is typically a worship service that is not working together but is merely a buffet of different forms of expression. In seminary, my mentoring pastor once told me that planning a worship service is not unlike writing a short story or composing a poem. Every image, every word, matters. As a pastor or worship leader, it is imperative that you carefully lead the congregation through the whole of it, and when you come to the end, they have received a glimpse into something much deeper, much fuller, than anything they experience in their day-to-day lives.

The clothes I wear today are ones that make me comfortable. They do not constrict. They do not distract. And, perhaps most importantly, they do not define me. At most, they can offer pieces of evidence regarding the person I am inside. This is even more true of the specific worship practices and doctrines to which I hold. I am no more an Anglican convert than I am an ordained Baptist minister, no more a contemplative or a new monastic than I am a Christian hipster. What is true is that I am a seeker of God and a follower of Jesus. Any doctrinal, denominational, theological philosophical, political or ideological stigma placed upon that is as trivial and vain as the clothes on my back.

My journey lately is about being honest when honesty has become unpopular. It is about being genuine when genuineness can no longer be clearly identified. It is about being reflective when the majority of Christians, whether consciously or unconsciously, spurn incisive examination of their own faith. It is about learning what it really means to love God with all of my heart, soul, strength and mind. Why the liturgical Church? Why ritual? Why contemplative prayer? It has nothing to do with being in or out of fashion.

It’s because they fit me, and fit me well.