Please excuse the stereotyping in which I'm about to dabble. I'll try and correct it toward the end. It's just more fun to criticize without qualifiers.
Do apologists ever annoy you, or is it just me?
A couple nights ago I was flipping through some apologetics literature (of the conservative Protestant variety). In particular, the apologists were defending the inerrancy of the Bible: the doctrine that the Bible, being God's word, is 100% without error in its original manuscripts whether concerning matters of faith and practice, history or science, and whether in what it teaches or what it merely "touches on". This contrasts with the view that the Bible is "infallible but not inerrant", the school of thought that the Bible is authoritative and absolutely trustworthy in matters of faith and practice, but should not be looked to as the gold standard in matters of, say, history or science, concerning which it might contain errors.
For my part, I'd rather not have to claim allegiance to one label or the other. I affirm that whatever a passage of scripture is meant to communicate must be true (without drawing boundaries as to which academic departments it has permission to speak to). But I'm presently shakier on the subject of secondary inferences (i.e. things arguably "touched on") especially where they seem unrelated to faith and practice. I sometimes feel people try to look to the Bible for authority in ways, matters and details that maybe God isn't actually speaking to. Frankly I get nervous sometimes reading the Bible, sensing legend and myth in some places but wondering if it's okay for me to interpret it that way.
So as I read these apologetics books, the pages glared back at me with a dogmatic tone of convicted orthodoxy. I sensed an insinuation that Jesus himself stood behind the apologist's litigious shoulder casting his righteous glare upon me in all my free-thinking and intransigent presumptuousness. Why did I refuse to accept their arguments? Surely some sinful sacrilege, some heinous heresy, some fetid faithlessness lurketh within mine heart, callousing it unto the truth!
Well, and for sooth mayhaps some such foulor doth indeed lurk therein. It's both tempting and foolish to laugh off that kind of possibility. It is also quite possible that the apologist I was reading wouldn't mean to project the sort of attitude I sense from the page. But my focus here is the result in the reader, not the intent of the writer.
Recently I watched a TED talk about listening better (http://www.ted.com/talks/julian_treasure_5_ways_to_listen_better.html). Among the fellow's recommendations was to pay attention to different positions you might take in your listening. One of the pairs of stances he mentioned was critical / empathetic.
I often get the sense in reading theological arguments that the writer listens to his or her opponents with a strictly critical stance; when they articulate oposing arguments, they make little effort to show that they can empathize with where their opponents are coming from. I think this can be problematic. To their credit, often the apologists need to favor a critical stance; what they criticize or fight often needs serious fighting. And in the Bible, prophets, apostles, and Jesus all often dispute error sharply without any apparent empathetic concession, and I take it they were right to do so. Maybe they too would have irritated me. Especially if I'm like most of the folks they rebuked.
So what's the problem? The problem is in building trust. If I don't think you really understand where I'm coming from, I'm liable to question whether you really know the solution to where I'm coming from as well as you may think you do. This adds on top of the emotional knee-jerk reaction that if somebody's just flat out attacking me (and attacking my notions can sure feel like attacking me) they must be my enemy, someone to be resisted and (ideally) defeated. And that emotional reaction can be difficult to completely tame. The difficulty in taming it is no excuse for not trying, but mightn't it be preferable in general for the arguer to make it less of a challenge?
Another barrier to trust has to do with assumptions. Apologists tend to assume some conviction a priori and then look for arguments in their favor to use for persuading others. They may be justified in doing so, but in principle this approach makes me trust them less. I've encountered apologist types not only of the conservative Protestant fold, but also of Catholic, Mormon, and Islamic varieties, and more often than not, I've come away impressed. It's my sense that skilled debaters can generate fine-sounding arguments for all sorts of conflicting views, even arguments that are difficult to debunk or see through. Now suppose I assume neither that the apologist's conviction is correct or incorrect, but would like to learn the truth of things. Their arguments don't carry as much weight with me as the reasoning of somebody who confronted the issue with an open mind would: in the event that the apologist's assumption is wrong, they're highly biased to be blind to their fault, and probably capable of doing a fine job defending it. They're much more like lawyers or politicians than witnesses or scientists.
It helps if I can have arguments presented by both sides and see them interact with each other. It also helps if the arguers admit victories for the other side, things they don't understand, and mistakes of their own. Though that might count against them in front of a shallow audience, it is evidence that they are humble people who realize their thinking is fallible and who value honesty and learning. And those values are cause for trust. I'm more inclined to put energy into open-mindedly working through arguments from that sort of person than to bother listening hard to someone who exudes proud confidence but seems presumptuous in their understanding of others (except maybe for the questionable pleasure of trying to show why they're wrong).
Now, stepping back, I should acknowledge that not all apologists fit the negative portrait I've drawn. Take for instance my friend Peter Payne (whose website may be found at www.crediblechristianity.org), who has worked for years as a professional Christian apologist. He tends to show an understanding of various sides of a given controversy. He comes across as respectful, and though he is very knowledgeable and credentialed, he doesn't intimidate or belittle. He admits to finding some questions people use to poke at Christianity personally challenging, the sorts of things he has some answers to offer, but admits to not being completely satisfied with the answers he has. If he persuades, it is through things like careful reasoning and evidence, not his own charisma. I really appreciate and respect all that. I've also read apologetics books by Brian McLaren (A Search for What Makes Sense) and Timothy Keller (The Reason for God) that lacked the annoying aura I've been clawing at. I bet McLaren dislikes it even more than I do, but that's a subject for another blog.
Before wrapping up, I want to make clear what I'm saying, and what I'm not saying. Assuming the audience is unconvinced of the apologist's claim, and would like to learn the truth of the matter...
* A lack of empathetic consideration of opposing arguments and perspectives reduces an audience's trust, and it should.
* That same lack encourages a spirit of close-minded animosity in an audience (whether it should or not).
* Producing arguments to support a priori commitments reduces an audience's trust, and it should.
* Note, however, that neither of these factors serve to dispute an apologist's argument itself; arguing that someone's argument is wrong because you don't trust the messenger is a fallacy.
* Note also that I am not saying an empathetic consideration is always necessary,
* I am also not saying that people should be perpetually open-minded to all controversial suggestions (though personally I'm not a big fan of dogmatism).
So what are your reactions? Does anyone resonate? Or want to share a contrasting point of view? If you resonate with the annoyance over apologists, did my clawings scratch the nail on the head, or are there other factors in the trouble with apologists?
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
A Spiritual Spring: Part IIIC - The other sprouts
I'm going to indulge one of those culture rants (or whatever we should call them) that pastors and Christian authors seem so fond of. At least I feel like I've heard a related rant before. Usually I feel a need to avoid ranting up popular trees, but there's no harm in barking with the pack every now and then.
Americans these days tend to value the therapeutic side of religion. We want to know that our practices will help us be happy and healthy, and we seek out a sense of agreeable wholesomeness. This isn't just the case for the quasi-religious average Joe American; I think it's also true of dedicated Christians.
Now I would say seeking and valuing health, happiness and wholesomeness is good, and I'm not about to stop. But I'm wanting to highlight something helpful I gleaned from that book by the Puritan John Flavel, a non-contemporary Englishman, that might help people like me from getting too skewed.
I'm used to assuming that negative emotions like sadness are understandable problems that ought to be solved in due course. Who would want to be sad? Isn't it obvious that we're meant to pursue happiness? And don't Christians have reason to "be joyful always"?
I would contend that sometimes the critical problem is not that we're sad and when we want to be happy, but that we're happy and carefree when we ought to be sad and sober. Consider James 4:7-10:
It may be true that God's forgiveness is not contingent on just how much sorrow we work up, but maybe working up a good sorrow is nevertheless a helpful idea sometimes. Maybe we should fast sometimes and welcome some sobering sadness because we want to be serious about listening and changing. Maybe because we love God, we should join him in his concerns this way, even at the expense of our pleasure.
I suspect that as a personality trait, I tend to come across as one who takes life a bit too seriously, with my perpetual philosophical quandaries. Nevertheless, I'm not used to thinking quite in the way I've described, and becoming more like this has been an element of the "fear and humility" sprouts of my new spring. At least it was; I can't say I've had a good long "fasting and sorrow" session lately. But opportunity will likely arise. It also seems tempting to make another therapy practice out of this, which would be bad insofar as it turns seeking God primarily for his sake into something primarily for my sake. But surely I can hope in God to correct me of that too.
Let me know if you have anything to add to this. It can be hard to try and correct your patterns and sensibilities on your own. It's better to do it in community.
Another facet of my "fear and humility sprouts" has been sobritety about doctrine. I've seen (or been reminded) that...
A) God seems to care quite a bit about doctrine in the Bible (maybe more than I might wish)
B) In the Bible, there are stern and serious consequences for adopting and spreading bad doctrine
C) Some of the people and movements I appreciate nevertheless may be making big mistakes in this regard, and I should be wary
D) The answer to the doctrinal problems that make me want to wine is less found in seeking out more agreeable views that could possibly be true, and more in taking on a submissive attitude toward God. (The stuff I wrote about hell and "quietness and trust" in recent earlier blogs are a case in point.)
Does the word "submissive" sound weak, dangerous, shameful and even dehumanizing to your ear? Sometimes it does to mine. It sounds like choosing to be open to manipulation and maybe other bad things too. But if God is real and trustworthy, submitting to him is wise.
Moving on. Let's throw around some more James:
So if I want to be wise and share wisdom, I gather I should watch out about the opinion-sharing I do, judiciously shut up more often, and learn to do more good in a humble spirit.
I've had mixed success with holding my tongue. I've at least been a bit more conscious that I need to be judicious in what I say. On the other hand, an opportunity for the service end of wisdom has arisen and done substantial good in my life. This spring I became a "family mentor" (read: general American friend and assistant) for some Eritrean refugees. It's been a great way for me to grow in brotherly kindness, and in focusing on other people's needs more than on my own. Sometimes it's been taxing, but I don't think that should come as a surprise. I'm hoping this sort of service becomes a sustainable discipline for the rest of my life. So them's the love sprouts.
And I think that's about enough for the Spiritual Spring series. More of a like nature will likely come, but it will come under a different heading. After all, it just turned summer.
Americans these days tend to value the therapeutic side of religion. We want to know that our practices will help us be happy and healthy, and we seek out a sense of agreeable wholesomeness. This isn't just the case for the quasi-religious average Joe American; I think it's also true of dedicated Christians.
Now I would say seeking and valuing health, happiness and wholesomeness is good, and I'm not about to stop. But I'm wanting to highlight something helpful I gleaned from that book by the Puritan John Flavel, a non-contemporary Englishman, that might help people like me from getting too skewed.
I'm used to assuming that negative emotions like sadness are understandable problems that ought to be solved in due course. Who would want to be sad? Isn't it obvious that we're meant to pursue happiness? And don't Christians have reason to "be joyful always"?
I would contend that sometimes the critical problem is not that we're sad and when we want to be happy, but that we're happy and carefree when we ought to be sad and sober. Consider James 4:7-10:
7 Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. 8 Come near to God and he will come near to you. Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. 9 Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. 10 Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up. (NIV)
It may be true that God's forgiveness is not contingent on just how much sorrow we work up, but maybe working up a good sorrow is nevertheless a helpful idea sometimes. Maybe we should fast sometimes and welcome some sobering sadness because we want to be serious about listening and changing. Maybe because we love God, we should join him in his concerns this way, even at the expense of our pleasure.
I suspect that as a personality trait, I tend to come across as one who takes life a bit too seriously, with my perpetual philosophical quandaries. Nevertheless, I'm not used to thinking quite in the way I've described, and becoming more like this has been an element of the "fear and humility" sprouts of my new spring. At least it was; I can't say I've had a good long "fasting and sorrow" session lately. But opportunity will likely arise. It also seems tempting to make another therapy practice out of this, which would be bad insofar as it turns seeking God primarily for his sake into something primarily for my sake. But surely I can hope in God to correct me of that too.
Let me know if you have anything to add to this. It can be hard to try and correct your patterns and sensibilities on your own. It's better to do it in community.
Another facet of my "fear and humility sprouts" has been sobritety about doctrine. I've seen (or been reminded) that...
A) God seems to care quite a bit about doctrine in the Bible (maybe more than I might wish)
B) In the Bible, there are stern and serious consequences for adopting and spreading bad doctrine
C) Some of the people and movements I appreciate nevertheless may be making big mistakes in this regard, and I should be wary
D) The answer to the doctrinal problems that make me want to wine is less found in seeking out more agreeable views that could possibly be true, and more in taking on a submissive attitude toward God. (The stuff I wrote about hell and "quietness and trust" in recent earlier blogs are a case in point.)
Does the word "submissive" sound weak, dangerous, shameful and even dehumanizing to your ear? Sometimes it does to mine. It sounds like choosing to be open to manipulation and maybe other bad things too. But if God is real and trustworthy, submitting to him is wise.
Moving on. Let's throw around some more James:
James 3:1 Not many of you should become teachers, my fellow believers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly.
James 3: 13 Who is wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. (both NIV)
So if I want to be wise and share wisdom, I gather I should watch out about the opinion-sharing I do, judiciously shut up more often, and learn to do more good in a humble spirit.
I've had mixed success with holding my tongue. I've at least been a bit more conscious that I need to be judicious in what I say. On the other hand, an opportunity for the service end of wisdom has arisen and done substantial good in my life. This spring I became a "family mentor" (read: general American friend and assistant) for some Eritrean refugees. It's been a great way for me to grow in brotherly kindness, and in focusing on other people's needs more than on my own. Sometimes it's been taxing, but I don't think that should come as a surprise. I'm hoping this sort of service becomes a sustainable discipline for the rest of my life. So them's the love sprouts.
And I think that's about enough for the Spiritual Spring series. More of a like nature will likely come, but it will come under a different heading. After all, it just turned summer.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Question for you
I have a question (set) for you. When was the last time you were sincerely trying to figure out the (morally) right thing to do? How did you go about it? What did you take into consideration?
I just watched this TED talk:
Don't know whether anybody besides my Mom comments here anymore (thanks Mom), but I hope the rest of you give it a crack, take a risk and post. It will warm my philosophical little heart.
I just watched this TED talk:
Damon Horowitz calls for a "moral operating system"
That made me want to ask.Don't know whether anybody besides my Mom comments here anymore (thanks Mom), but I hope the rest of you give it a crack, take a risk and post. It will warm my philosophical little heart.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
A Spiritual Spring: Part IIIB -- Faith Sprouts
In a former post, I mentioned that faith, love, fear of God and humility have been sprouting up with greater force in recent months. I'd like to describe my faith sprouts to you.
Faith Sprouts: type A
Faith seems to have a couple different aspects in the Bible: belief of certain ideas, and trust in certain people in certain ways. In Part I, I already put some of the first kind of faith sprouts on display: evidence for the Christian God acting in history at the time of Jesus has, for whatever reason, seemed more formidable to me than it used to. Further, the many uncanny"coincidences" that faithful Christians experience today while following God's lead have made a similar turn. Together they've made the Christian worldview seem more credible to me, and this nurtures my walk with God.
"But Tom," somebody might ask, "didn't... uh didn't you already know all that? Hadn't you read the apologetics books, and heard the accounts of God's uncanny work in the lives of your friends and family, and even in your own life? And didn't you think that your reasons for thinking the Christian worldview mistaken were decisively stronger than the reasons for belief that you already had? What really changed?" That's hard to answer, but here's a stab at it. When the acid of skeptical, critical thinking is poured on a something like Christian religion, it can (in a sense) dissolve many claims. For example, a lot of the positive feedback in the Christian worldview might be explained by expectations: maybe people puzzle over the Bible until they find a way to interpret it that is intuitively edifying (which is possible even if from a more objective point of view, the text isn't all that edifying). similarly, maybe people see God's hand at work in what is actually meaningless events in life, just because through expectantly looking for it they're able to make "sense" out of all sorts of random events and make lemonade out of almost any lemon . Maybe also through trusting God, Christians willfully ignore and forget all kinds of evidence that they're wrong, but notice and take to heart any evidence that can be construed in the other direction. In fact, I would be surprised if we humans didn't do a lot of all this sort of thing, Christian or otherwise. So the skeptic may lose that positive feedback, and in fact be encouraged to be more skeptical because so much of the motivation to believe doesn't need the truth on its side to work.
Seeing stuff turn to slime, it's easy to suppose that the whole deal is doomed to slimehood eventually. If so much is so easily explained away, maybe the rest of it's bologna whether you see why or not. Still, what happens when you revisit the experiment after a while and find that though some parts have their shell eaten away, something pretty sturdy remains underneath, more than you would have expected? Suppose you give it some extra special attention with your corrosive agents and it still seems more-or-less solid? Time and more kinds of chemicals that you haven't obtained just yet may still do the trick... but then again maybe not. You don't have forever to keep hacking away at this one question. So you start fiddling your theories. Your attention and your expectations may change. Maybe you decide to reorganize your resources to favor different types of investigation.
Does it look to you like there's an obvious reason compelling the change? It actually kinda doesn't to me. But I contend that this sort of processing is exactly how humans work to make sense of things all the time, whether we're scientists or sandwich makers. Maybe it just comes with being Homo sapiens; maybe there's no real way around it. Are these choices to change direction and the shifting currents of our intuitions essentially arbitrary?Are we all just waves on the sea? Well what do you think?
Faith Sprouts: type B
A retired theology professor from my old church has a way of trying to lend me books I don't want to read. In an earlier meeting, I essentially opted out on an unfriendly book about predestination. As we continued to meet, he kept on pushing this stuff across the table. The Westminster Confession of Faith and some other book of a similar stripe met with a similar reception to Predestination. The next book that made its way in my direction was a little book by an old Puritan named John Flavel called The Mystery of Providence. My friend thought it would be relevant to my faith struggles, perhaps because there is evidence for God's existence to be seen in how he provides for us. I think he had other reasons too, but I don't always grasp exactly what goes on in his head. Anyway, I gave it a try.
Puritans aren't really known for being buckets of fun. I'm not about to dispel that stereotype. But there are more important things in life than either having fun or being fun, and this guy's got some of those. His reverent fear of God and proclivity for talking about duties to God and working one's self into a proper mindset may feel a bit disagreeable at first to people like myself. But with some patience, I've found humbling depth there.
Being able to satisfyingly explain something away doesn't always mean you should.
I've been missing out and negligent when it comes to looking for God's hand at work in things. Supposing God is in fact orchestrating all sorts of events together for my good, he doesn't have to make it obvious from the face of things, and if he likes to develop our trust muscles, he may have reason not to. It's a solemn shame not to give him credit for it. Suppose he gives me lemons with the express purpose of making lemonade. I'm kind of a loser if I say "hm. Lemons." and sit around with a sour face. There's all kinds of joy and encouragement waiting for us in trusting that God's at work in the entirety of our lives, and meditating on what he could be up to.
It might even help me notice the stuff that's harder to explain away; God seems to do more uncanny things when people, in faith, take risks serving him. And if I'm paying attention to what he's doing and saying, God may actually respond by leading me and helping me grow in ways that wouldn't have happened otherwise.
Maybe the "doubt", the "double-mindedness" that James 1 says keeps us from receiving God's generous gifts of wisdom has to do with asking for God's help, but not really putting your attention and trust in providence, and thus not giving him credit when he does stuff for you. He doesn't get the thanks and honor he deserves, and you don't learn from the lessons he gives you, because you don't study them or even acknowledge what they are. Maybe you even complain. So why should he try to teach such people? He wants us to work with him, not sit around hoping maybe there's an off-chance he'll just zap us with instant understanding. Nor is it enough to ask him to work with us and show us what we need to know through our own projects; though he may on occasion graciously condescend to that, he's the Lord in the relationship, and we need to act like it.
I've resolved to not be "double-minded" like that. I think I was being "double-minded" in this way a fair amount, and I need to stop. To trust more clearly and fully in God's wonderful providential hand to be at work in the pleasant and the uncomfortable things, whether or not I have any idea exactly what he's doing, and to work to be attentive and fittingly responsive to what he is up to, this is growth in faith.
But I need help making sure it happens. It would be a pity if this all turns out to be a passing phase, with pious-sounding words that don't end up meaning a whole lot in my life. Part of the help I need comes through Christian community. If you're part of my Christian community, would you remind me of all this and encourage me in it, should you see times when it might help?
Faith Sprouts: type A
Faith seems to have a couple different aspects in the Bible: belief of certain ideas, and trust in certain people in certain ways. In Part I, I already put some of the first kind of faith sprouts on display: evidence for the Christian God acting in history at the time of Jesus has, for whatever reason, seemed more formidable to me than it used to. Further, the many uncanny"coincidences" that faithful Christians experience today while following God's lead have made a similar turn. Together they've made the Christian worldview seem more credible to me, and this nurtures my walk with God.
"But Tom," somebody might ask, "didn't... uh didn't you already know all that? Hadn't you read the apologetics books, and heard the accounts of God's uncanny work in the lives of your friends and family, and even in your own life? And didn't you think that your reasons for thinking the Christian worldview mistaken were decisively stronger than the reasons for belief that you already had? What really changed?" That's hard to answer, but here's a stab at it. When the acid of skeptical, critical thinking is poured on a something like Christian religion, it can (in a sense) dissolve many claims. For example, a lot of the positive feedback in the Christian worldview might be explained by expectations: maybe people puzzle over the Bible until they find a way to interpret it that is intuitively edifying (which is possible even if from a more objective point of view, the text isn't all that edifying). similarly, maybe people see God's hand at work in what is actually meaningless events in life, just because through expectantly looking for it they're able to make "sense" out of all sorts of random events and make lemonade out of almost any lemon . Maybe also through trusting God, Christians willfully ignore and forget all kinds of evidence that they're wrong, but notice and take to heart any evidence that can be construed in the other direction. In fact, I would be surprised if we humans didn't do a lot of all this sort of thing, Christian or otherwise. So the skeptic may lose that positive feedback, and in fact be encouraged to be more skeptical because so much of the motivation to believe doesn't need the truth on its side to work.
Seeing stuff turn to slime, it's easy to suppose that the whole deal is doomed to slimehood eventually. If so much is so easily explained away, maybe the rest of it's bologna whether you see why or not. Still, what happens when you revisit the experiment after a while and find that though some parts have their shell eaten away, something pretty sturdy remains underneath, more than you would have expected? Suppose you give it some extra special attention with your corrosive agents and it still seems more-or-less solid? Time and more kinds of chemicals that you haven't obtained just yet may still do the trick... but then again maybe not. You don't have forever to keep hacking away at this one question. So you start fiddling your theories. Your attention and your expectations may change. Maybe you decide to reorganize your resources to favor different types of investigation.
Does it look to you like there's an obvious reason compelling the change? It actually kinda doesn't to me. But I contend that this sort of processing is exactly how humans work to make sense of things all the time, whether we're scientists or sandwich makers. Maybe it just comes with being Homo sapiens; maybe there's no real way around it. Are these choices to change direction and the shifting currents of our intuitions essentially arbitrary?Are we all just waves on the sea? Well what do you think?
Faith Sprouts: type B
A retired theology professor from my old church has a way of trying to lend me books I don't want to read. In an earlier meeting, I essentially opted out on an unfriendly book about predestination. As we continued to meet, he kept on pushing this stuff across the table. The Westminster Confession of Faith and some other book of a similar stripe met with a similar reception to Predestination. The next book that made its way in my direction was a little book by an old Puritan named John Flavel called The Mystery of Providence. My friend thought it would be relevant to my faith struggles, perhaps because there is evidence for God's existence to be seen in how he provides for us. I think he had other reasons too, but I don't always grasp exactly what goes on in his head. Anyway, I gave it a try.
Puritans aren't really known for being buckets of fun. I'm not about to dispel that stereotype. But there are more important things in life than either having fun or being fun, and this guy's got some of those. His reverent fear of God and proclivity for talking about duties to God and working one's self into a proper mindset may feel a bit disagreeable at first to people like myself. But with some patience, I've found humbling depth there.
Being able to satisfyingly explain something away doesn't always mean you should.
I've been missing out and negligent when it comes to looking for God's hand at work in things. Supposing God is in fact orchestrating all sorts of events together for my good, he doesn't have to make it obvious from the face of things, and if he likes to develop our trust muscles, he may have reason not to. It's a solemn shame not to give him credit for it. Suppose he gives me lemons with the express purpose of making lemonade. I'm kind of a loser if I say "hm. Lemons." and sit around with a sour face. There's all kinds of joy and encouragement waiting for us in trusting that God's at work in the entirety of our lives, and meditating on what he could be up to.
It might even help me notice the stuff that's harder to explain away; God seems to do more uncanny things when people, in faith, take risks serving him. And if I'm paying attention to what he's doing and saying, God may actually respond by leading me and helping me grow in ways that wouldn't have happened otherwise.
Maybe the "doubt", the "double-mindedness" that James 1 says keeps us from receiving God's generous gifts of wisdom has to do with asking for God's help, but not really putting your attention and trust in providence, and thus not giving him credit when he does stuff for you. He doesn't get the thanks and honor he deserves, and you don't learn from the lessons he gives you, because you don't study them or even acknowledge what they are. Maybe you even complain. So why should he try to teach such people? He wants us to work with him, not sit around hoping maybe there's an off-chance he'll just zap us with instant understanding. Nor is it enough to ask him to work with us and show us what we need to know through our own projects; though he may on occasion graciously condescend to that, he's the Lord in the relationship, and we need to act like it.
I've resolved to not be "double-minded" like that. I think I was being "double-minded" in this way a fair amount, and I need to stop. To trust more clearly and fully in God's wonderful providential hand to be at work in the pleasant and the uncomfortable things, whether or not I have any idea exactly what he's doing, and to work to be attentive and fittingly responsive to what he is up to, this is growth in faith.
But I need help making sure it happens. It would be a pity if this all turns out to be a passing phase, with pious-sounding words that don't end up meaning a whole lot in my life. Part of the help I need comes through Christian community. If you're part of my Christian community, would you remind me of all this and encourage me in it, should you see times when it might help?
Saturday, June 4, 2011
A Spiritual Spring: Part IIIA -- The Big Heck
As I write, Part III is getting too big. I'm afraid people won't get around to reading novella-sized posts. But I told you last time that part III would contain certain details. So what's the solution? Why re-labeling, of course. Nobody said Part III couldn't have sub-chapters...
The Big Heck
Hell is a problem.
It's played a big role in my doubts about the Christian message. I frequently have mulled over just how disturbingly sick and deranged the traditional Christian notion of hell seems to me. I could rant about it to you in the strongest terms if you liked. I've wrestled for a sense of divine permission to believe lighter, less horrific pictures of what goes on with hell. I could argue to you on their behalf if asked.
But God's word to me on this, as I hear him, is neither "you're right, Tom, those traditional views are deeply flawed and you shouldn't believe them", nor "you must fully believe all those things about those views that you resist, and do it now", but rather,
“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength,
but you would have none of it."
See, for all my knowledge and airs of sophistication, there's a heck ( a hell?) of a lot out there I don't understand. There's a heck of a lot that no human understands, that maybe we can't understand. I suspect a great deal concerning the afterlife is part of that Big Heck. Though not quite all of it for Christians.
So will this ignorant child throw a tantrum about it? How big of a deal will he make of what he doesn't understand? I think it's reasonable to share my issues with God and with friends, to ask for help and see if any sturdy answers are available. But in the end, there's an invitation to "quietness and trust". Will I have some of it?
I've decided I think I will, thank you. I think I'll choose to trust God with the problem. That doesn't necessarily mean giving up all hope that reality is more agreable than the traditional views suggest. But it does mean being open to the notion that those terrible things really are true, being willing to believe it if God would have me believe it, and being ready to move ahead in faith and hope with whatever God gives me on the matter. And it means repenting of the way I had let the matter suck the joy and peace out of life when it doesn't seem like God would have it do that.
It's an interesting sort of choice for an agnostic-ish person. Maybe my inveterate challenges such as the hell stuff do point to the Christian theological system being utterly flawed and thus not underwritten by any living God who happens to be out there. Maybe the value of faith and trust and the emphasis of my ignorance can be slapped on to patch every logical hole conceivable in all sorts of great falsehoods, and maybe that's basically what's going on. I wouldn't be shocked. Nor am I inclined to blame you if that's what you think is going on. I could choose to trust in my own reasoning more than in the God who Christians know. But quietness and trust seems... better to me. There are risks and benefits in trusting, and risks and benefits in not trusting, and in this case the former looks like the better deal.
The reappearing and reapplying of this verse to me and the resolution that followed were part of my Spiritual Spring.
The Big Heck
Hell is a problem.
It's played a big role in my doubts about the Christian message. I frequently have mulled over just how disturbingly sick and deranged the traditional Christian notion of hell seems to me. I could rant about it to you in the strongest terms if you liked. I've wrestled for a sense of divine permission to believe lighter, less horrific pictures of what goes on with hell. I could argue to you on their behalf if asked.
But God's word to me on this, as I hear him, is neither "you're right, Tom, those traditional views are deeply flawed and you shouldn't believe them", nor "you must fully believe all those things about those views that you resist, and do it now", but rather,
“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength,
but you would have none of it."
See, for all my knowledge and airs of sophistication, there's a heck ( a hell?) of a lot out there I don't understand. There's a heck of a lot that no human understands, that maybe we can't understand. I suspect a great deal concerning the afterlife is part of that Big Heck. Though not quite all of it for Christians.
So will this ignorant child throw a tantrum about it? How big of a deal will he make of what he doesn't understand? I think it's reasonable to share my issues with God and with friends, to ask for help and see if any sturdy answers are available. But in the end, there's an invitation to "quietness and trust". Will I have some of it?
I've decided I think I will, thank you. I think I'll choose to trust God with the problem. That doesn't necessarily mean giving up all hope that reality is more agreable than the traditional views suggest. But it does mean being open to the notion that those terrible things really are true, being willing to believe it if God would have me believe it, and being ready to move ahead in faith and hope with whatever God gives me on the matter. And it means repenting of the way I had let the matter suck the joy and peace out of life when it doesn't seem like God would have it do that.
It's an interesting sort of choice for an agnostic-ish person. Maybe my inveterate challenges such as the hell stuff do point to the Christian theological system being utterly flawed and thus not underwritten by any living God who happens to be out there. Maybe the value of faith and trust and the emphasis of my ignorance can be slapped on to patch every logical hole conceivable in all sorts of great falsehoods, and maybe that's basically what's going on. I wouldn't be shocked. Nor am I inclined to blame you if that's what you think is going on. I could choose to trust in my own reasoning more than in the God who Christians know. But quietness and trust seems... better to me. There are risks and benefits in trusting, and risks and benefits in not trusting, and in this case the former looks like the better deal.
The reappearing and reapplying of this verse to me and the resolution that followed were part of my Spiritual Spring.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
A Spiritual Spring: Part II
There's a place in Psalm 25 that goes like this:
8 Good and upright is the LORD;
therefore he instructs sinners in his ways.
9 He guides the humble in what is right
and teaches them his way.
10 All the ways of the LORD are loving and faithful
for those who keep the demands of his covenant.
11 For the sake of your name, O LORD,
forgive my iniquity, though it is great.
12 Who, then, is the man that fears the LORD?
He will instruct him in the way chosen for him.
13 He will spend his days in prosperity,
and his descendants will inherit the land.
14 The LORD confides in those who fear him;
he makes his covenant known to them.
15 My eyes are ever on the LORD,
for only he will release my feet from the snare.
Over the past few years, I have dearly wanted assurance that if there is a God, he will guide me and teach me the way he wants me to be. Not as in, "there Tom, you've got the Bible. That's more than enough. Believe it Or Else." Rather, I've hoped for the sort of friend and teacher who sees and understands my problems and challenges, shows it, gently helps me work through them, and makes sure I understand what I need to. It would also be nice if he didn't get upset with me every other moment. It seems to me like that's what (who) I need if "my feet" are to be "released" "from the snare".
Reading this Psalm, I'm encouraged that maybe this is true. But there do appear to be some contingencies: it's "the humble" who get guided, "those who fear him" who get confided in, and "those who keep the demands of his covenant" who receive the LORD's love and faithfulness.
"The demands of his covenant" are framed differently among Christians these days than in the psalmist's time, but 1 John 3:23 seems to give a decent summary of what the Christian God asks:
23 And this is his commandment: We must believe in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ, and love one another, just as he commanded us.
So then I've found I have some problems on my hands. For one I'm not the humblest of individuals. No, I tend to think like I'm pretty hot stuff actually. A paragon of insight, intelligence and nobilitude. Still, despite this character flaw, I do regularly seek God in humility, so that part's not what gets me.
There is a nagging gadfly voice that pipes up, the same one that likes to announce that "all you need is the Bible" line above. It points out that I don't believe there's a God, therefore I don't believe in Jesus, therefore I'm disobeying God's command, out of keeping with his covenant and had better get myself back in line Or Else. Plus, it claims, James 1:7 says God will happily give needed wisdom to everyone who asks except doubters like me, so if I want wisdom, I'd better make myself Believe and not doubt Or Else.
"Hey!" I say, "But I have conscientious objections! I'm 'doubting' because of a good faith effort toward honesty. And how, aside from willful ignorance, do I just decide to 'believe' something? Maybe despite first appearances these passages somehow mean something more reasonable?" And the gadfly replies, "You're whining; stop. Your 'reasonable' is not God's reasonable. If God commands something, you're accountable to do it. God's said what he's said. Just Believe the Truth." These sorts of conversations generally leave me anxious, insecure and a little angry.
That's been typical of my spiritual dry spell. I've already shared the above with some of you months ago. What does it have to do with the recent spiritual rains, this little Spring?
The thing is, this Spring, I've been seeing and thanked God for sprouts of humility, the fear of God, a mindset of faith and a life of love: just what I need.
But I'm not gonna elaborate til Part III.
Let me know if you have any thoughts about the gadfly voice. What do you think it is? Where do you think it comes from? Is it familiar to you? How would you deal with it?
8 Good and upright is the LORD;
therefore he instructs sinners in his ways.
9 He guides the humble in what is right
and teaches them his way.
10 All the ways of the LORD are loving and faithful
for those who keep the demands of his covenant.
11 For the sake of your name, O LORD,
forgive my iniquity, though it is great.
12 Who, then, is the man that fears the LORD?
He will instruct him in the way chosen for him.
13 He will spend his days in prosperity,
and his descendants will inherit the land.
14 The LORD confides in those who fear him;
he makes his covenant known to them.
15 My eyes are ever on the LORD,
for only he will release my feet from the snare.
Over the past few years, I have dearly wanted assurance that if there is a God, he will guide me and teach me the way he wants me to be. Not as in, "there Tom, you've got the Bible. That's more than enough. Believe it Or Else." Rather, I've hoped for the sort of friend and teacher who sees and understands my problems and challenges, shows it, gently helps me work through them, and makes sure I understand what I need to. It would also be nice if he didn't get upset with me every other moment. It seems to me like that's what (who) I need if "my feet" are to be "released" "from the snare".
Reading this Psalm, I'm encouraged that maybe this is true. But there do appear to be some contingencies: it's "the humble" who get guided, "those who fear him" who get confided in, and "those who keep the demands of his covenant" who receive the LORD's love and faithfulness.
"The demands of his covenant" are framed differently among Christians these days than in the psalmist's time, but 1 John 3:23 seems to give a decent summary of what the Christian God asks:
23 And this is his commandment: We must believe in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ, and love one another, just as he commanded us.
So then I've found I have some problems on my hands. For one I'm not the humblest of individuals. No, I tend to think like I'm pretty hot stuff actually. A paragon of insight, intelligence and nobilitude. Still, despite this character flaw, I do regularly seek God in humility, so that part's not what gets me.
There is a nagging gadfly voice that pipes up, the same one that likes to announce that "all you need is the Bible" line above. It points out that I don't believe there's a God, therefore I don't believe in Jesus, therefore I'm disobeying God's command, out of keeping with his covenant and had better get myself back in line Or Else. Plus, it claims, James 1:7 says God will happily give needed wisdom to everyone who asks except doubters like me, so if I want wisdom, I'd better make myself Believe and not doubt Or Else.
"Hey!" I say, "But I have conscientious objections! I'm 'doubting' because of a good faith effort toward honesty. And how, aside from willful ignorance, do I just decide to 'believe' something? Maybe despite first appearances these passages somehow mean something more reasonable?" And the gadfly replies, "You're whining; stop. Your 'reasonable' is not God's reasonable. If God commands something, you're accountable to do it. God's said what he's said. Just Believe the Truth." These sorts of conversations generally leave me anxious, insecure and a little angry.
That's been typical of my spiritual dry spell. I've already shared the above with some of you months ago. What does it have to do with the recent spiritual rains, this little Spring?
The thing is, this Spring, I've been seeing and thanked God for sprouts of humility, the fear of God, a mindset of faith and a life of love: just what I need.
But I'm not gonna elaborate til Part III.
Let me know if you have any thoughts about the gadfly voice. What do you think it is? Where do you think it comes from? Is it familiar to you? How would you deal with it?
Monday, May 23, 2011
A Spiritual Spring: Part I
In mid-to-late 2007 I experienced a season of spiritual feasting. It was a feast of hearing from God and perceiving him work in my life. This festival spanned a world-between-worlds time of mine, a prolonged airport trip if you will, the phase when I was transitioning from college to the working world; from Ann Arbor, to a 5-month layover in St Joseph MI, to sunny Salt Lake City. Among the things I believed God said to me in that time, that I have treasured up, was Isaiah 30:15:
This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says:
“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength,
but you would have none of it."
This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says:
“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength,
but you would have none of it."
At the time, I was mostly just interested in the nice part of the verse—the first part. Still, I went ahead and recorded the less nice part as an afterthought because it just seemed indecent (and suspicious) to cut the verse midsentence.
While all this was going on, I was in the process of working through my spiritual misgivings and reasons for persistence in following Jesus. Here in Salt Lake City, the place God made ready for me, I dove deeper into spiritual skepticism. I dove believing (usually) there was a good reason for diving, asking God to swim down with me. But in these waters, the bright spiritual feasting I had known before dried up. My reasons for skepticism did not go away. As happens with water, the skepticisms gradually soaked through my skin. Like happens with silt, I stirred up new ones. Trying to live for a God whose existence seemed highly unlikely was becoming more strained.
It seems that what grows in the garden of Christian spirituality is designed to drink full-fledged belief, and much of the garden starts wilting without that water. Cactus gardens can have a special sort of beauty, but exclusive cactus gardeners miss out on a lot too. And even cacti shrivel and die at some point in a bad enough drought.
When I review my journal from this past November and December, I notice I was doing a lot of calling out to God, feeling stale in my relationship with God, crippled in my Christian belief, and mediocre in service to others. I noticed in others things that I was thirsty for. For example, I saw my friend Sarah Martindell pouring out her life for others in the Peace Corps in Namibia, and wondered if a disagreeably large portion of the fruit of my life would pass as a fog of abstractions and worthless self-importance. Later, her reading a sermon she’d delivered describing her recent adventure seeking to know Jesus (figure out what he was/is as well as personally interact with him in the now) and finding what she sought (and more) also made me feel like maybe I was spiritually missing out; maybe there’s more to knowing him than I knew or had or expected. Likewise, reading my Cousin Chelsea Douce’s blog, I saw a groundedness in a faith of peace and love that looked very worth having. Or getting.
I believe this longing and felt need is in itself a blessing. To be authentically humble and ready to grow is part of the good life. To have the longing fulfilled, though, is even better.
All this is tied to the diving expedition. The currents in my skepticism have been shifting in 2011. One of my big prayers for the year is to come to a secure, well-founded conviction of God’s existence and faith in Jesus. We’ll see what God’s timeframe is on that one, but there’s been progress of sorts.
In recent months, the difficulty of explaining away the evidence for Jesus’ miracles and resurrection has been more prominent to me. It’s not as if I hadn’t heard the arguments in question years ago. It’s also not as if I don’t have ideas on just how one might go about that explaining away if one had to. Nor is it as if my difficulties with Christian belief seem smaller than my difficulties with unbelief. It’s mostly just that, paying more attention to all the particulars of the records of what went down with Jesus, it has appeared more clearly to me that (like, in my view, Christian belief) unbelief concerning Jesus requires some substantial faith beyond just taking the obvious to heart. The facts need to do some very surprising things behind the curtain, and to choose not to trust the gospel accounts amounts to betting (maybe even betting your life) that those surprising things happen.
This may make me an agnostic of sorts from a factual standpoint: I don’t know whether Jesus rose from the dead! It’s crazy and weird if he did, and crazy and weird if he didn’t! Both highly unlikely options. Sometimes we can just leave things sit that way. Sometimes that’s the better choice over forcing a resolution. But sometimes when we don’t know the truth, it’s appropriate to choose to trust one story or another. If some old geezer says “ it’s gonna flood and yer all gonna die! ” and he has this ark he’s been working on the past few decades, one must decide whether to assume the guy is prophetic or deluded. To shrug and carry on as usual is implicitly to assume something along the lines of the later, whether or not you mean to. As you probably know, I’m invested in trusting the Christian account of things. I was before, but recently it’s been more like trusting in the face of my blatant ignorance and less like trusting in the face of a clearly stronger case for the other side, helping what looks to be a schizophrenic Noah gather his wood.
I would not be surprised if I keep swinging back and forth on this one, as I continue to reevaluate the state of my ignorance and biases, my choices and leads. It’s already happened to some degree. I don’t think I know how to stop the pendulum in good faith. What I do believe is that I should trust God to guide, secure, deepen and purify my faith, come what may.
Enough for now. You’ll have to wait for a future installment to read the rest of the story.
While all this was going on, I was in the process of working through my spiritual misgivings and reasons for persistence in following Jesus. Here in Salt Lake City, the place God made ready for me, I dove deeper into spiritual skepticism. I dove believing (usually) there was a good reason for diving, asking God to swim down with me. But in these waters, the bright spiritual feasting I had known before dried up. My reasons for skepticism did not go away. As happens with water, the skepticisms gradually soaked through my skin. Like happens with silt, I stirred up new ones. Trying to live for a God whose existence seemed highly unlikely was becoming more strained.
It seems that what grows in the garden of Christian spirituality is designed to drink full-fledged belief, and much of the garden starts wilting without that water. Cactus gardens can have a special sort of beauty, but exclusive cactus gardeners miss out on a lot too. And even cacti shrivel and die at some point in a bad enough drought.
When I review my journal from this past November and December, I notice I was doing a lot of calling out to God, feeling stale in my relationship with God, crippled in my Christian belief, and mediocre in service to others. I noticed in others things that I was thirsty for. For example, I saw my friend Sarah Martindell pouring out her life for others in the Peace Corps in Namibia, and wondered if a disagreeably large portion of the fruit of my life would pass as a fog of abstractions and worthless self-importance. Later, her reading a sermon she’d delivered describing her recent adventure seeking to know Jesus (figure out what he was/is as well as personally interact with him in the now) and finding what she sought (and more) also made me feel like maybe I was spiritually missing out; maybe there’s more to knowing him than I knew or had or expected. Likewise, reading my Cousin Chelsea Douce’s blog, I saw a groundedness in a faith of peace and love that looked very worth having. Or getting.
I believe this longing and felt need is in itself a blessing. To be authentically humble and ready to grow is part of the good life. To have the longing fulfilled, though, is even better.
All this is tied to the diving expedition. The currents in my skepticism have been shifting in 2011. One of my big prayers for the year is to come to a secure, well-founded conviction of God’s existence and faith in Jesus. We’ll see what God’s timeframe is on that one, but there’s been progress of sorts.
In recent months, the difficulty of explaining away the evidence for Jesus’ miracles and resurrection has been more prominent to me. It’s not as if I hadn’t heard the arguments in question years ago. It’s also not as if I don’t have ideas on just how one might go about that explaining away if one had to. Nor is it as if my difficulties with Christian belief seem smaller than my difficulties with unbelief. It’s mostly just that, paying more attention to all the particulars of the records of what went down with Jesus, it has appeared more clearly to me that (like, in my view, Christian belief) unbelief concerning Jesus requires some substantial faith beyond just taking the obvious to heart. The facts need to do some very surprising things behind the curtain, and to choose not to trust the gospel accounts amounts to betting (maybe even betting your life) that those surprising things happen.
This may make me an agnostic of sorts from a factual standpoint: I don’t know whether Jesus rose from the dead! It’s crazy and weird if he did, and crazy and weird if he didn’t! Both highly unlikely options. Sometimes we can just leave things sit that way. Sometimes that’s the better choice over forcing a resolution. But sometimes when we don’t know the truth, it’s appropriate to choose to trust one story or another. If some old geezer says “ it’s gonna flood and yer all gonna die! ” and he has this ark he’s been working on the past few decades, one must decide whether to assume the guy is prophetic or deluded. To shrug and carry on as usual is implicitly to assume something along the lines of the later, whether or not you mean to. As you probably know, I’m invested in trusting the Christian account of things. I was before, but recently it’s been more like trusting in the face of my blatant ignorance and less like trusting in the face of a clearly stronger case for the other side, helping what looks to be a schizophrenic Noah gather his wood.
I would not be surprised if I keep swinging back and forth on this one, as I continue to reevaluate the state of my ignorance and biases, my choices and leads. It’s already happened to some degree. I don’t think I know how to stop the pendulum in good faith. What I do believe is that I should trust God to guide, secure, deepen and purify my faith, come what may.
Enough for now. You’ll have to wait for a future installment to read the rest of the story.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)