Social Justice

There is a guy that I really admire whose name is Shane Claiborne (pictured to the left). You've probably heard of him. He lives in voluntary poverty in Philadelphia and spends his time helping to feed and clothe the homeless. He has written a couple of books, and one of them is called The Irresistible Revolution, which I've quoted previously on this blog and that you simply must read. Shane is a true revolutionary who's life and ministry have brought healing and hope to thousands of people. He lives amongst the most impoverished people in the city. He helps feed as many hungry people as possible. He goes to the forgotten places, and breathes life into people who have lost hope. A couple of months ago, I heard someone criticizing Shane and his approach to ministry. The basis of this criticism was that Shane was not spreading the gospel (i.e., handing out tracts with food) in his helping to feed and clothe the homeless.

I don't understand this kind of criticism. I really don't. I don't understand the impulse to view social justice as merely a tool to persuade people to think like we do. I recently found myself in a conversation with someone who is a Christian. He had heard me talking to someone else about the issue of human trafficking (about which I'm very passionate and believe that it is possibly the single greatest crime against humanity that exists today), and he started asking questions. I thought he was genuinely curious, so I was glad to have the conversation. He asked me if I was a part of any groups or subscribers to any newsletters that address the issue of bonded labor. I told him that yes, I contribute to a couple of organizations that are focused on rescuing people from slavery around the world. He then told me the following: "Well, you need to be careful who you give your money to. Some of these organizations are just interested in getting people back to their home villages and they don't try to convert people after they've helped them." I know that Jesus says we're to be loving to one another, but I really just wanted to punch the guy in the mouth. To suggest that a twelve year-old girl isn't worth rescuing from forced prostitution if she's not going to become a Christian is absurd and offensive. I graciously told him that I would give my money to anyone who would effectively set people free.

I was recently having lunch with someone who is a Christian. He was asking me how things were going at the church where I work. I told him that I was really excited about a ministry that we had started called Oasis. This is a ministry that offers assistance and aid to people who are struggling in some way. One example of this ministry's function was this: there is a woman who is a friend of our community who works with families who are in poverty in Fort Worth. As a service to these families, this woman wanted to teach parents how to prepare inexpensive meals using only a crock-pot. The only problem was that none of these people owned a crock-pot. So, we put the word out, and the Oasis ministry collected over 30 crock-pots and gave them to these underprivileged families in Fort Worth. Now, there are parents in over 30 homes in Fort Worth who can feed their children on an extremely limited budget. After I told this story to this Christian friend of mine, he had only one question: "So, how many of those parents were saved?" I'm not sure I even fully comprehended the question. Saved from what? Starvation? From not being able to feed their children? From hopeless desperation? I'd say all of them. Of course, that's not really what he was asking. He wanted to know how many of these parents, upon receiving their crock-pots, immediately joined a Bible study and started wearing WWJD bracelets (not literally, but I think you get what I'm saying). His question said to me, "I don't care that hungry people are fed. I want to know how many evangelical points you scored."

I am so very tired of Christians expecting each other to have some sort of agenda when they help people. Is this really what we're supposed to do? When the book of James says, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress," did he accidentally forget to add that last part that says, "...so that you can coerce them to agree with your worldview"? I never see Jesus criticizing people for not converting enough "sinners" to his way of thinking. I do, however, see Jesus constantly criticizing religious people for neglecting the poor, oppressed, and marginalized (for example, see Matthew 23:23-24, Matthew 25:31-46; Luke 16:19-31, etc.).

I just finished reading a book by a guy named Hemant Mehta. You may have heard about him; he's the atheist who sold his soul on Ebay and went to church as a result. In case you're wondering, he did not become a Christian as a result of the experiment. He did, however, write a very perceptive and helpful book entitled I Sold My Soul On Ebay. In this book, he offers some incredibly helpful insights on how churches (who claim to want to reach atheists) can best have an impact on the people who are skeptical of Christians and the Church. Mehta writes this:

“When we atheists see how a church is making a positive difference locally and globally by meeting crucial physical needs of people, it’s hard to argue that churches are not a valuable part of society or that they should not be supported in their work. In fact, I wish more atheist groups would emulate that aspect of these churches’ missions." (page 141)

He's basically saying that, from his perspective, the greatest impact that churches could possibly have is contingent on their willingness to come to the aid of people regardless of whether or not they agree with us. When we enter into a scenario to offer help and are perceived as having some sort of agenda, we actually do damage to our own cause. Mehta goes on:

“If the church seemed more interested in helping needy people, that would be a tremendous statement in its favor in the eyes of the nonreligious. And just as importantly, it would generate interest and involvement among church members." (144)

It's more attractive to help people without an agenda. It's more compelling to offer oneself simply because there is a need that can be met. You wouldn't think it would take an atheist to explain this to a Christian, but here we are.

I should say that I do not, in any way, disagree with the act of evangelism. I fully believe that we are responsible to tell others about Jesus and what he has done and continues to do. My point in writing this is not to suggest that we do away with evangelism. I'm simply suggesting that, quite often, our evangelical actions would be much more effective if we would simply concentrate on showing people what Jesus was like instead of always trying to persuade, coerce, and argue. An ironic element to this is that I have always heard Christians say things like, "Actions speak louder than words," but then they just keep talking and doing nothing. Why is it that so many Christians who say this kind of thing don't seem to believe it enough to simply keep their mouths shut and help people with no strings attached? Do we not have enough faith in the power of the act of service to do the speaking for us?

I believe that Jesus called us to make disciples. However, I also believe that Jesus called us to be disciples. And, based on my reading of Jesus' teachings, a disciple is someone who helps the poor and oppressed; who comes to the aid of the orphan, the fatherless, and the widow; who clothes the naked and feeds the hungry. Jesus did not command these things because he knew that they would be effective evangelism techniques. He commanded these things because they reflect the heart of God.

We don't help the poor and oppressed so that they will immediately believe in Jesus (although we pray that they will eventually). We come to the aid of the poor and oppressed because we already believe in Jesus.

Doubts and Questions

One of my most vivid memories from college is of my first week in a class called "Intro to Philosophy." I was very excited to be taking this class. In high school, I had never had the opportunity to study Philosophy (although, I had plenty of chances to try my hand at Agriculture), so I was eager to learn how to think like a real-life intellectual. I looked forward to being at parties and being able to drop in a quote from Aristotle or some other great philosopher during a normal conversation ("Why yes, I would like a re-fill. Thank you for offering. You have re-invigorated my faith in Immanuel Kant's concept of the Categorical Imperative!" or, "Wow, I can't imagine what it must be like to need to work three jobs. You must feel so much like the mythical figure of Sisyphus from the writings of the great Albert Camus." I know what you're thinking: "Awesome.").

Anyway, so I'm in this philosophy class, and it doesn't take long to realize that my professors (there were three philosophy profs teaching the intro class) were bitter and angry old men. And, of course, in a philosophy class it never takes long for the class discussion to veer toward the topics of religion, spirituality, and the existence of God. Now, something you should know is that I had come from a VERY conservative community in rural Oklahoma and even if you didn't believe in God, you never expressed that opinion in public, and you were probably even a member of one of the many local churches in the community. So, you can imagine my intellectual whiplash when, in the midst of a conversation about the existence of God, one of my professors--the one with the ponytail--started to pace the classroom and ask rhetorical questions: "So, how can we truly ever have confidence in anything, let alone the existence of some ambiguous divine entity? How are we supposed to come to any conclusions about this?" Then, he looked across the room with a cocky smile and said, "I mean, should we trust the Bible?" Half of the people in the room laughed. He grinned with satisfaction. I didn't know how to process this. I'd always heard of people who don't take the Bible seriously, but I'd never met one. Who did this guy think he was? I doubted that God looked kindly on his cynicism and doubting. I silently thought, "See you in hell, Professor Ponytail." (I'm just kidding. I didn't think that. I wasn't that clever as a freshman.)

I walked out of class with such a deflated sense of doubt. I had never really doubted anything so basic as the existence of God. But now, I began to wonder. This professor was clearly intelligent (except for the choice about the ponytail). Maybe he had discovered something that I had not had the wisdom to see. I really felt disoriented. On top of this, I felt guilty for the doubting. That was probably the worst part. I thought I had somehow stopped being a Christian because I was doubting some stuff that I had always taken for granted. Through talking to a few people who are much smarter than myself (mainly my uncle Sam. Not the ominous government entity that wants to send you to Germany to fight the Nazis. I have an uncle who's name happens to be Sam.). I realized that my doubts were actually forcing me to come to terms with what I actually believe. Not what I had always been taught in Sunday School and assumed were true simply because all of the adults in my life believed them--but what I really believed. I discovered that doubts and questions can be some of the most healthy parts of our own journeys.

That's really why I started this blog. In the past two years or so, I've been going through my own personal renaissance (except without the painting) in regard to my own believes and worldview. This has forced me to examine each conviction and idea and ask, "Okay, what do I really think about this?" Some things have been reinforced and I believe them more fully than I ever have. There are other issues toward which I have absolutely changed my opinion. And still, there are others that continue to be loaded with questions and confusion. I have found that the doubts and the questions have given me a renewed sense of confidence in the things that I claim to believe.

I have found that this is something that is deeply rooted in the Christian faith. When we examine the life of Jesus, we have to remember that he was someone who was deeply rooted in the Jewish culture and religious structure. Within this, doubts and questions are a highly valued concept. The great Jewish writer, Lawrence Kushner has written a book called Jewish Spirituality: A Brief Introduction For Christians, which I highly recommend. In this book, he exposes the idea of doubts as a central part of our faith and growth:

"When Jews disagree or argue about the meaning of Torah, they are actually helping one another to become better Jews... Trying to understand the Torah is an endless search. No matter how many times we reread it, or how many times we are sure we understand it, a new interpretation will arise to challenge our understanding" (45-46).

In Judaism, the idea is that anytime someone asks a question that tests or challenges someone else's paradigm, it is a thing to be honored and even celebrated. The idea is that these question can help all of us be better at being who God has made us to be. They keep us moving forward. I have not found that this has been a value that has been preserved for many Christians. I knew some Christians who, after the day that Dr. Ponytail made his crack about the Bible, dropped the class. The fact that this professor was willing to put some of our most sacred beliefs up for discussion was more than they could handle. But shouldn't we look at a situation like that and say, "Okay. He's making me doubt some stuff. I don't like it. But is it at least possible that he's making some fair points? And if I truly disagree with him, then why? What makes me so confident?" Shouldn't we relish the opportunity ask questions and determine what we think and why we think it?

In his book The Gospel According to Moses, Athol Dickson writes, "God loves an honest question." I truly agree with this. I think God has made us curious and inquisitive and had given us the ability to come to conclusions because he truly wants us to be confidence and to understand more and more of the reality within which he has placed us. As if he were responding to one of my classmates who chose to leave the class, Dickson writes this:

"Asking is not doubting. It is trusting…It takes more faith to ask than it takes to fear the asking. It takes faith to be ready for whatever answer comes, and faith to persevere with more questions if the answer is not understood. Asking an honest question means being ready to change in response to the answer and short of martyrdom, change may be the ultimate act of faith" (page 19).

If I am afraid to ask question because I fear what I might learn, isn't this a greater lack of faith than the one who can face a question and wrestle with honesty and curiosity? I often wonder if people resent questions because they really have less faith than even my atheistic professor (who's Doctoral Thesis was titled: "All Of Life Is A Waste Of Time" and to which I ascribed the subtitle, "A Love Story.").

And so, in the words of the writer Paul, who seemed to have a great amount of faith, "Test everything. Hold on to what is good." (1 Thessalonians 5:21)

I wonder how many of us would have a greater confidence if we could simply stop being afraid of questions and the people who might disagree with us.

The Way Things Were Meant to Be (Shalom)

A couple of days ago, I tried to clean out my car. The reason I use the word "tried" is because I was unsuccessful in the attempt. It was too big a job for me. There was way too much junk for me to get it all with one try. I spend about six hours a week on the road and, as a result, my car has become unbelievably messy and gross.

It wasn't always like this, though. I bought the car three years ago and, at the time of purchase, it was perfect. Instead of smelling like some odd combination of Whataburger and Taco Bell, it had that euphoric scent of New Car. The exterior was once a flawless masterpiece; it now features a series of dents and dings from various hailstorms and tightly-packed parking garages. The windshield, which was was once a clean sheet of see-through glass, is cracked in several places. It is no longer the car that it was meant to be.

Often, we look at the world in terms of brokenness. We have no vision for what it was originally meant to be. Rather, we only see what it currently is: a worn-out, battered, exhausted version of what it was meant to be. We forget that the first two chapters in Genesis are not about the Fall and the failures of humanity. Rather, they are a beautiful picture of a creation which are described by God as "good." These first two chapters show us the way things were meant to be. We see a beautiful picture of people fully connected with God, with others, with the environment, and with ourselves. This state of existence is referred to by Jewish thinkers and rabbis as shalom.

In his brilliant book Engaging God's World, Cornelius Plantinga describes shalom like this:

"The webbing together of God, humans, and all creation in justice, fulfillment, and delight is what the Hebrew prophets called shalom. We call it ‘peace,’ but it means far more than just peace of mind or cease-fire between enemies. In the Bible, shalom means universal flourishing, wholeness, and delight—a rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, all under the arch of God’s love. Shalom, in other words, is the way things are supposed to be." (15)

As he points out, shalom is not fully described as "peace." It is a full, holistic return to the way things were meant to be. Shalom does not simply clean out the car; it makes the car new again. As we look through the stories of Scripture, we see that this is what Jesus came to do: to restore shalom and bring restoration to all that has become broken and bruised. This is God's plan for all of creation. In hundreds of different ways, God promises to rebuild what's been broken and to restore what has been soiled.

Our role as the church is to participate in this restoration. We are to bring the presence of Jesus into every corner of this world and to reveal shalom in every possible way. This is the concept of living within the Fifth Act of the grand narrative (see previous post entitled "Narrative Theology"). We participate by bringing justice to people who have none; by offering relief to those who struggle; to refuse to participate in exploitation and oppression; by allowing ourselves to know and be known with others in genuine community; by seeking to claim all of the broken pieces of ourselves and pursuing inner wholeness. We participate in this movement of restoration by seeking the shalom of what was originally meant to be.

I know this hasn't been particularly long or story-laden, but it's just something I've been thinking and reading about a lot lately. I'll end this post with a quote from Shane Claiborne's book The Irresistible Revolution:

"We do indeed have a God of resurrection, a God who can create beauty from the messes we make of our world." (67)

"It Ain't No Sin To Be Glad You're Alive" (Church)

Last week, I attended my very first Bruce Springsteen concert. Until recently, I would have only considered myself a casual listener of his music, but I have since become a full convert to the Cult of Bruce. I have come to a place where I fully understand the kinds of people who would drive hundreds of miles to see a Springsteen concert even though they have already seen him three times on the same tour. When people have asked me how I liked the concert, the best answer I have been able to give is this: "It's like Bruce was backstage with the rest of the E Street Band and said, 'Hey guys, Rob's out there tonight. We've got to make him happy." He delivered. The first three songs in the setlist were among my three favorite songs from the Springsteen catalogue. He played for two and-a-half hours, and I never found myself in any way wanting the show to end.

I've always been moved by great music. There are very few things that I would rather do than attend a good concert. It does something to my soul. As I stood in the middle of a crowd of thousands of Springsteen fans pumping their fists and singing along with their eyes closed, I took a few deep breaths. For those two hours, all was right with the world. Bruce had come to Dallas and breathed into my soul.

I believe that this is one of the primary roles of the church. The church should be a place that allows people to come and to exhale and nurse their wounds and experience something that gives them a glimpse of hope and beauty. When a person leaves on a Sunday morning, they should not primarily feel as though they have been informed so much as inspired.

Honestly, I think this is the true meaning (or at least one of the true meanings) behind the common church-goer complaint, "I'm just not being fed." For a long time, I had such a negative attitude toward someone who would say this. I assumed that these were people who were attending the church with the same attitude with which they interact with the food court at the mall. When they stop serving what you want and how you want it, you're shopping somewhere else. I felt that this complaint was a spiritual-sounding way of articulating the emotion of being an unsatisfied customer. However, I think there's at least some legitimacy to this complaint (at least some times). I think what people are saying--although they often don't really know how to say it like this--is that they aren't being inspired. They attend a church service that is entertaining and flashy and well-done, but they leave with no greater sense of hope or restoration. They haven't had an experience. I think this is why it's so difficult for many of us to feel comfortable inviting skeptics and people who are spiritually curious to our church services. It's a lot of information and a lot of style, but at no point has anyone's soul been refreshed.

I read a book last summer called The Shaping Of Things To Come by Michael Frost and Alan Hirsch. This is one of the best books I have ever read about the role of the church in a Postmodern world. In this book, Hirsch and Frost devote an entire chapter to this very concept. They tell us that one of the church's roles in society is to whisper into the souls of people. When I attend a weekend church service, it shouldn't be like attending a seminar; it should feel like my batteries are recharging. When I gather with others in the name of Jesus, I should feel as though I am plugging in to a power source that is bigger than myself. I should be moved.

Then, as members of the church, our role is to enter into the worlds of the people in our lives with this same purpose. This idea flies directly in the face of the notion that my responsibility is to confront non-Christians without the intention of befriending them (or, perhaps worse, befriending them solely to attempt to convert them). This idea of breathing into the soul is the call to simply enter the life of someone and be a constant presence of Jesus in their world. We don't introduce people to Jesus by wearing down their resistance or by arguing until they can't stand being around us. We show people who Jesus is by being a voice of hope and life. Hirsch and Frost say this:

"To whisper into the souls of not-yet-Christians, we need to lie in the grass under a starry sky with them. We need to wander with them through an art gallery." (102)

To continue with the Springsteen-centric theme of this entry, there is a line in the song "Badlands" that says, "It ain't no sin to be glad you're alive." I think the role of the church is remind people that this statement is true. I think it's our job to find the people in this world who have given up and breathe life into their broken souls. This isn't a sales technique. This is who we're called to be. We are to be a people who say to the citizens of this world, "There is a God who has created you, and the fact that you are alive is a beautiful thing."

**************************************************



In case you wanted this (you probably didn't), here's the setlist from the Springsteen concert in Dallas on April 13, 2008:

Tenth Avenue Freeze-out
Radio Nowhere
Lonesome Day
Gypsy Biker
Magic
Trapped
Reason to Believe
Prove It All Night
Because the Night
She's the One
Livin' in the Future
The Promised Land
Girls in Their Summer Clothes
Independence Day
Devil's Arcade
The Rising
Last to Die
Long Walk Home
Badlands
* * *
Meeting Across the River
Jungleland
Born to Run
Glory Days (with Jon Bon Jovi)
Dancing in the Dark
American Land

Not Every Sermon Is A Good One (The Purpose-Driven Pisser)

I really never intended to become a blogger who relies on lots of videos, but you have to see this. There are some who have called this the worst sermon ever. I'm not sure if that's accurate, but it's got to be close. Brace yourself people.

Also, if anyone wants to attempt to comment and articulate what you think this guy's point is, feel free. I'm just as curious as you are.

A Non-Theological Post

I just wanted to share this. It's neither deep nor thought-provoking, but it does have a certain quality of awesome. Enjoy!

Story and Scripture

I was in class a couple of weeks ago, and we were discussing the narrative behind the Psalms. One of my classmates (We'll call him Christian Cliche Man, or "CCM" for short) always seems to say the most ignorant things and this particular day was no exception. CCM raised his hand, and when the professor acknowledged him, he said with a very serious look on his face: "One of the things that we've lost in America is the ability to truly tell stories. We can't understand a lot of the Old Testament because we don't understand stories." Now, I'm not totally adverse to some good old-fashioned America bashing. But I've observed that any time a Christian wants to make a point or a cultural statement, the easiest platform on which to stand is, "In America, we've lost ____________" (I'll let you fill in the blank. Go ahead. It'll be fun!). Of course, these statements aren't always inaccurate. This is certainly not a nation without some major blind spots in its ideology. If someone in my class had said that Americans are over-consumers or that we are an unusually hostile nation, I would had trouble offering any vocal disagreement. However, I think that to claim that American society doesn't produce good storytellers reveals one's lack of understanding of American culture. Allow me to offer a short list of American storytellers from various mediums, and you can tell me how egregiously we have lost the ability to understand story:
Mark Twain
Cormac McCarthy
Ernest Hemingway
Orson Wells
Quentin Tarantino
Martin Scorcese
J.D. Salinger
J.J. Abrams
Flannery O'Connor
Bob Dylan
Tom Petty
Johnny Cash
Upton Sinclair
John Updike
Walt Disney
Steven Spielberg
John Irving
Diablo Cody (the woman who wrote "Juno")
Stan Lee
Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster (creators of Superman)
James Michener
Stephen King
Bruce Springsteen (Don't laugh. Just go listen to the albums Born In The U.S.A., Born To Run, and Darkness On The Edge Of Town. You'll see. The Boss can weave a tale)

Obviously, I could keep going, but I think I've made my point. However, I might point out that there is one type of person missing from the list above. Look closely. Closer. Keep looking. What group of people do you not see on this list? Give up? I'll tell you. Christians (not that none of these people could possibly be followers of Jesus. They just aren't known for being nominal "Christians."). Now just settle down for a minute. I'm not saying that Christians are incapable of producing good art or telling great stories. On the contrary, I think Christians should be leading the way in producing great art. However, I think my misguided classmate, CCM, is almost right--there is a group of people who have lost the art of story, but it's not Americans. It's the church.

I don't think I've ever heard a compelling sermon about the Bible. I'm not saying that I've never heard a compelling sermon that uses the Bible. I'm saying that when a preacher stands up and says, "Today, I'm going to preach about why we should love the Bible and how we should use it," I instantly get bored. For one thing, for someone to say that they are preaching about the Bible on one particular Sunday might imply that they neglect to do so on all other Sundays (another topic for another post). For another, almost any sermon I've heard about the Bible tends to fall into one of two categories: 1) "Let me prove to you with archaeological evidence that the Bible is accurate." This inevitably descends into mechanics and charts. Not that this isn't useful information, but it's certainly not inspiring. And 2) "Here are some charts and graphs that should help you categorize the Scriptures and become a better student of the Bible." Again, this could be somewhat helpful, but it lacks any sort of inspiration. In both cases, I'm asleep before the speaker can say, "Turn with me to Zephaniah chapter 1." (Let me acknowledge that there is so much more to say about both of these types of sermons, and I am only scratching the surface. I'm sure I will return to both of these at a later time.)

I think the reason that so many sermons about the power of the Bible fall flat is that they are devoid of the element of story. We try to make the Scriptures something that they never claim to be, and we drain them of any life or beauty. One of my favorite theologians and communicators, Rob Bell, says it like this in his book Velvet Elvis:

“The Bible is not pieces of information about God and Jesus and whatever else we take and apply to situations as we would a cookbook or an instruction manual…We have to embrace the Bible as the wild, uncensored, passionate account it is of people experiencing the living God" (page 63).

What if we began to interact with the Scriptures as though they were a beautiful story? As I pointed out in the second post on this blog, there is a single metanarrative flowing through the pages of the Bible, and to reduce these beautiful words and passages to something smaller than they are, we've done something tragic.

I don't think Americans in general have lost the ability to tell and hear stories. I think the church is the truly guilty party here. I also think it's time to reclaim the story within which we have been placed. What would it look like if Christians began to interact with the world around us as though we were living within the pages of a beautiful story that God is in the midst of telling?

I only ask because we already are.