:: In.a.Mirror.Dimly ::

I have something surprising, if not shocking to share with you. It’s something so astounding, that you may not even believe me.

Nothing can quite prepare you for this. So I’ll just go ahead and say it:

There are Christians who love Jesus, serve Jesus, and are even saved by Jesus who… disagree with me.

I know, I know, that is shocking news for you. I sometimes find it hard to believe some days.

There are divisions in the church that separate the sheep from the goats, but these divisions don’t necessarily lead to breaks in our fellowship with one another—even if these divisions take issue with my awesome perspective…

If you’ve read my book Coffeehouse Theology, you know that I’m a firm advocate for dialogue with other Christian perspectives. In fact, the diversity of Christian views available makes the Christian faith stronger in today’s context.

Over the past year I’ve given a lot of time to thinking over redemptive approaches to others, and I think division itself can play a somewhat redemptive function, provided we know when to unite.

My grandparents used to have this huge German Shepherd. They loved that dog, but it growled at the grandkids. Every time we came over, the dog was relocated upstairs. We were divided on our views and experiences of the dog, but for the sake of visiting with each other, the dog was hustled upstairs and locked away.

There are some issues in Christianity today where we have sharp disagreements, and so far as I can tell, we’ll always be divided to a certain degree. We can play around with our word choice here, but I think the word “divided” is in the only way I can honestly describe the nature of some debates.

I’ve seen some Christians do admirable work at fostering dialogue and understanding. There is real value to such dialogue, but I’m curious whether each side enters dialogue thinking, “If I just expressed my views perfectly, those other dummies will change their minds.”

There simply are issues where Christians both love Jesus and remain divided. In most cases that come to mind, civil dialogue won’t bring us to a place where many on either side will change their minds.

Our divisions are real, but we don’t have to let them consume us.

Our divisions are real, but they don’t have to cut us off from one another.

Our divisions are real, but we can actually remain united in spite of them.

For the foreseeable future, I don’t see myself attending a church where women aren’t allowed to teach. I will continue to acknowledge spiritual gifts and healings. I can’t imagine ever again tying the Republican party to my Christian faith. I don’t see the point in trying to ban same sex marriage, but I know I’m not as progressive on this issue as many of my left-leaning friends.

Those are just a few of the issues where I differ from some other Christians that I know. These are issues that “divide” us on one level, but I don’t have to let them get in the way of what actually unites us.

Let’s face it, we’re going to hang on to different theologies, support different cases, and attend different churches. The solution isn’t getting everyone on the same page, and sometimes the solution isn’t always dialogue.

Christian unity does not come from our heads. Unity isn’t a list of bullet points. Unity comes from the life of God’s Spirit within us. Our fights and divisions can’t undo the presence of God among his people.

However, we can decide that our issues and divisions are more important than God’s Spirit. We can fail to recognize the means by which God has made us one—sabotaging his uniting work among us in spite of our divisions.

If someone is good enough for God’s dwelling Spirit, then who am I say I’m too good, too right, or too “just” to have fellowship? How could I ever think I have higher standards than God? 

I like to think of myself as a pretty reasonable person. I arrive at logical reasons for what I do and believe, and I’m even kind enough to share them with others, expecting them to follow along.

I’m reasonable, that is, unless I’m not.

A few years ago my family wanted to go on this big kayaking and camping trip. The forecast was for rain, but we went anyway. I remember thinking that it was going to be a huge disaster.

It rained the whole drive up and during our first paddle. The whole time I kept thinking how doomed we were. It was raining during our camping trip! How terrible! I mean, we were surrounded by water, and it was terrible to get wet by water that wasn’t in the lake, right?

Then the rain stopped and we had wonderful weather for the rest of the trip. I had a great time camping out on an island because we didn’t have to worry about bears quite as much, though I’m sure they can swim, and kayaking has to be one of the most relaxing ways to see a ton of scenery.

And who can resist the call of a loon in the night?

I thought that I was so reasonable to doubt the success of our trip. It was quite humbling to realize how wrong I had been. I would have missed out on a great adventure if I’d been my stuck in the mud self and stayed at home.

I’m reasonable with lots of other things, but they’re all different from my judgment about the kayaking trip. I’m pretty sure that I’m right about this stuff. I’m a reasonable person who comes up with reasonable beliefs and practices.

So when I dabble with something like, say, theology, I can come up with all kinds of reasonable explanations that describe God. I have a reasonable God who makes lots of smart decisions.

Come to think of it, God must be a lot… like… me.

Since I like dabbling with this theology thing, here’s a thought:

What if God reveals himself to me as unreasonable?

In other words, I’m not saying that God could be wrong. I’m saying that I could be wrong about God. I could create standards for God that I believe to be reasonable, only to discover that I was wrong.

Can I still worship a God who doesn’t fit my own criteria for what is reasonable? What if I’ve created an image for God in my theology that doesn’t actually reflect the character and nature of God?

We could take this in a bunch of directions. We could get philosophical and talk about what it means for God to change or to not change. We could get personal and talk about issues like pain, evil, salvation, the Kingdom of God, and even homosexuality.

What will conservative Christians do if they find out that God welcomes people that they pegged as outsiders or those deemed to be living in sexual sin?

What will liberal Christians do if they find out that God really will punish those who refuse to believe and that certain sexual lifestyles are not acceptable in his sight?

Theology can only take us so far. We’re dealing with approximations at best when we talk about God. We can study the Bible all we want, but at the end of the day we’re just talking piles of dust and spit trying to define a deity that we can only see in a mirror dimly.

We know some things about God, but as NT Wright says, we can’t be 100% sure that all of our beliefs are right. And if we one day discover that God is different from us, what will we do?

I don’t think you can blog a rebuttal after standing before the judgment seat of God. Actually, I’m pretty sure about that one.

At a certain point we bump into our limitations and the likelihood that we have been wrong about God in some ways. We have to decide whether we’re willing to stick with God even if he dashes parts of our theology to bits, even if he appears unreasonable, intolerant, or too inclusive.

This is why Christianity is about more than an idea or a belief. Christianity is about an encounter with the living God. I’m talking about those moments when the hair rises on the back of your neck because you can sense God’s presence and hear him speak to you.

Our theology helps us seek God out, but at the end of the day, our time in God’s presence where we hear from him make up the substance of daily discipleship for all of us. When Jesus speaks of the final judgment, his criteria is whether we knew him. I for one am glad that I took my last theology test in seminary.

I like to drive to church with worship music on. It often helps guide my mind to the right place. I sometimes see it as putting on my “game face” for worship. In other words, I’m putting on my mask.

This past Sunday I realized that may be a problem.

The fact that I feel the need to somehow change myself into someone different is an indication that I’m not always living my day to day life in touch with God’s Spirit. While it’s good that I could at least realize it and take steps to tune back into God, am I only taking these measures when I’m on my way to worship God in a room full of fellow Christians?

The word hypocrite comes to mind.

Honestly, this whole process is one of the reasons why I go to church: I need reminders and accountability to stay connected with God. Worshipping in community reminds me to pursue God, even if I don’t find most church services today particularly helpful in actually, you know, meeting with God. They tend to be rather busy.

From what I can see, my struggles with hypocrisy have an up side. I at least get an indication of when I’m not on the same page with God. The trick is to only care about what God thinks about this.

We all need to be built up by time with God. We need to be strengthened by the Spirit’s power whether we’re alone all day or  interact with hundreds of people.

When I feel that tug to get my spiritual “act” together for church, I have a clue about my need for God. The trick is to confess my misguided motivations. I need more of God all of the time, not just when I’m around other Christians.

That’s the problem with hypocrisy. It usually leads us to do good things for the wrong reasons. In the case of Christianity, hypocrisy can be exhausting and terrifying. We worry about what others will think about us if they find out who we really are. I forget that I typically have no problem overlooking the flaws of others, but if someone really looked at me, it’s all over.

I’ll be honest with you, I feel that tug to sit with God right now. I’m just sitting in my living room on a Wednesday morning. No one will see the immediate impact of God on my life, but I hope that as God changes me and I live for him, those incremental steps will make me the kind of person who can drive to church at peace with God, not worrying about the way I’ll appear before others.

I’ll still take my mp3 player along just in case I’m in the mood for some music.

After a few days off to move into a new apartment, I’m continuing my Christian Survival Guide series that addresses common problems that hinder Christian growth. 

Last week I talked about the problem of not being able to stop sinning, and my response began by addressing the information we need to know about Christ, the cross, the Resurrection, and the implications for our victory over sin…

So now that you read the post about being free from sin, I’ll bet you’re free from sin forever. I mean, I practically quoted the Bible in a stealthy way that presented the good news of salvation in a nice little section that exposed sin for what it is and made the goodness of God practically irresistible, right?

Who would go and sin after reading all of that?

Well, the answer is me—and you. Most Christians know this stuff. Some of us may live relatively sin-free, but for the majority of Christians, sin is tough to shake. We go through our lives crippled by these dark powers that sometimes tug at us in the dark and other times rise to the surface in very public, humiliating ways.

The trouble is that no matter how much information we consume from the scriptures, we run into a desire problem. We know the truth, but giving in to sin feels good or even inevitable.

Like a persistent pimple, sin attaches itself to us and convinces us that it’s part of our lives. And in fact, we can’t imagine our lives without it. We desire the pleasure, the rush, and the comfort that our sins bring to our lives in the moment, even if we are wracked with disappointment and guilt afterwards.

However, sin often sets up shop in our lives because our desires are out of wack—we lack a desire for God. This is something that John Piper addresses in his book Desiring God. Piper is right on the mark in saying that we latch on to sin–expecting it to bring us pleasure.

The problem all along is we don’t know what true pleasure is since God is the source of true and lasting joy. Once again, God is not in heaven trying to shut us down from having a good time. In fact, he wants our desires to be oriented in healthy directions that will lead to the good pleasure he has created in our world—pleasure that does not result from being completely consumed with ourselves and our desires.

I remember a friend who returned to visit family while away for a few years. When he gathered with his former church he felt the joy of God’s presence and wept with joy because he’d forgotten how wonderful it is. If I’m seeking after sin, then I have a desire problem that can only be completely fulfilled by worshipping God, confessing my sins, and enjoying him.

However, there’s more to this sin problem, and in our next post we’ll look at the ways we can actively fight sin when it shoves its way into our lives.

I’ve been asking myself a few questions lately that I’d like to play with here, spurred on in part by Harvey Cox’s book The Future of Faith (which I don’t necessarily agree with as a whole, but I find a great read):

What did Jesus leave us?

Why did he leave those things and not others?

How far dare his followers expand and innovate upon them in order to remain faithful?

The list could be longer, but in a sense he left three key things: a group of followers, a meal for them to celebrate, and the Holy Spirit. While he certainly taught a great deal, he never wrote down his sermons, trusting his followers to pass them along under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. He didn’t leave us with a creedal statement, but rather a ritual meal along the lines of a reimagined Passover celebration.

So that leaves me wondering what we should infer based on these things.

If I may dare to speculate, I wonder if Jesus was telling us that it’s far more important to focus on him, on one another, and on the Spirit rather than any kind of written account or a creed, even if those things have a place. In fact, Jesus may have been passing along a way of living more than a set of beliefs. How can we make Jesus’ priorities our own without descending into a holy mess?

Let’s remember that God knows how to give commands, to write lists, and to dictate scripture. However, Jesus focused on creating a community that was shaped by a meal centering on him and the leading of the Holy Spirit.

I wonder if Jesus knew we’d turn scripture into an idol if he wrote anything down directly? I wonder if he knew we’d become so enamored with truth and scripture that we would miss the more important parts of his message: imitating his way of life, focusing on his death and resurrection, and living in accord with his Spirit.

It doesn’t seem to have been a mistake that Christianity was first called “The Way” or that Christian literally means “little Christ.” Jesus left us with a way to live, not a set of creeds that define us as believers.

On one occasion John the Baptist asked Jesus if he truly was the Messiah. In reply, Jesus listed his actions, not his beliefs. He defined himself and his beliefs according to how he acted.

However, us Christians today have swung heavily toward defining ourselves by what we believe. Churches list their beliefs on their web sites and candidates for ministry write doctrinal statements because that’s how we establish our credentials. 

Imagine if we added action statements to our doctrinal statements: we heal the sick, we feed the hungry, we visit the prisoners, we cloth those in need, we gather to worship Jesus, we celebrate his death and resurrection, we follow the lead of his Spirit. That sounds curiously similar to Matthew 25. Underneath these actions there are beliefs, and in fact I would argue that these beliefs are even more valuable and relevant because they prompt us into action.

In fact, it may be that our beliefs are irrelevant unless they are overshadowed by their actions. Maybe the only way to save, preserve, and truly honor our beliefs is by spending a significant amount of time on action, putting them into practice. The people who love truth are the ones who act on it.

That kind of speculation makes my head spin.

I love scripture, and I believe in truth, but I wonder if Jesus would really care about the many things we argue over in relation to the truth. Keep in mind that I devoted a significant amount of time to writing a theology book, so I’m pretty sure I’m not flirting with relativism here. I’m seeking balance here, but in order to arrive there I need to critique the side of certainty that can stumble into conceptual idolatry, while hoping to avoid falling to the other extreme of listless relativism.

The following post is part of the series organized by Christine Sine on spiritual practices.

It’s been two weeks since we made the move to Connecticut. Today I cut apart the last of the boxes in our living room, leaving only 3 in our bedroom out of those which still need to be unpacked.

Our futon frame arrived today and we’ll be shopping for a mattress this weekend.

We’ve been kayaking in the Long Island Sound twice, the UConn Dairy Bar once, and Diana’s Pool at least four times. I’ve been to Home Depot and Aldi twice. On our way back from Diana’s Pool there’s a nice guy with a huge garden and a tiny farm stand where we buy corn, cucumbers, and peppers. Just down the road from him is a lady with pick-your-own blueberries.

In short, we’re settling in.

There’s no semblance of a routine yet. And that is where I can run into trouble. For me, my spiritual life thrives on routines. Whether taking a walk in the evening, reading the Bible at breakfast, or praying before bed, the nature of a move into a new place, new lifestyle, and new routine can throw spiritual practices into a dead halt.

I used to hang out in the garden at our last house digging out weeds, cultivating tomatoes, and harvesting batches of lettuce. There were lessons to learn about patience and attentiveness, while mucking around in the dirt freed my mind to roam wherever God may lead. I often took walks in the evening either before or after my time in the garden.

After being uprooted, I’m now working on carving out a walk in the morning, some semblance of a Bible study around breakfast time, and hope to figure out some more time for prayer and reading. I never realized how dramatically my routines are tied to my spiritual condition. It’s as if I didn’t know where to set down my spiritual roots.

I’m working on taking some steps forward now. The sooner I establish some healthy spiritual routines, the better. They serve as anchors for my day, rest stops and recharging times that reorient me to God’s values and desires.

It’s no mistake that many prayer practices are rooted in seeking God at particular times of the day. These carved out blocks of time provide the regular spiritual recharging that one would expect from three meals a day.

On the other end of a move where my routines and regular practices are disrupted, such lessons scream out. While it has been essential to unpack boxes, find farm stands, and seek out local stores, it is just as important for my spiritual life to take root again in a new soil. In the midst of a move there is too much to do, to figure out, and to set up.

A key part of moving is setting up a solid spiritual routine where practices such as prayer, scripture reading, and meditation can find a peaceful place to flourish, even if the to-do list is growing and boxes loom in the next room.