E/emerg/ent/ing: Thoughts on Labels

There has been a huge amount of discussion throughout the blogosphere about the differences between Emergent, emergent, emerging and all other related terms. This is probably because all those who might be described by any of the above terms are thoroughly post-modern in their disposition, and as such, detest being defined and labeled. I've waded through blogpost after blogpost warning about the dangers and differences associated with each label, hoping to rise above it all. And I'm not totally opposed to a basic distrust of labels, necessarily. But from what I've seen, the pomo distrust is occasionally borderline paranoia. There is such a fear of institution and reductionistic lumping into pre-defined categories that tends to make us fearful of being associated with ideas, individuals or organizations that we'd rather not be associated with anyone.

And I won't deny that our language is important. The terms we use articulate the faith and philosophy that we hold. And yet, we are often perhaps too insistent on our terms, particularly in this recent E/emerg/ent/ing debate. Some prefer to avoid the conversation altogether and allow the cards to fall where they may (HT: Kevin Corcoran). Others want to decide between the two and pick the most inclusive (HT: Nick Fiedler). Some might say that association with the terms themselves is not bad, but over-defining is a waste of time (HT: Tony Jones). 

It goes without saying that Emergent is a term that describes an institution, but the terms emergent and emerging are not necessarily. Some have argued that since orally, Emergent and emergent are indistinguishable, it might be wise to disregard the term itself, and stick strictly with emerging.

But for me, the problem with all this defining and line-drawing is that it necessarily adds a flavor of organization and institution to a conversation that is innately anti-institutional. That's not to say that we don't operate in the midst of structures and sometimes even institutions that are the instruments and vehicles of our faith expressions. But these terms, for me, are expressions of my own faith. So, to answer the question of my own "association," I think of myself as a participant in the emergent conversation of Christians hoping to live faithfully in post-modernity. My faith is emerging from the work of God in the midst of my community and context. These words for me are not associations with some formal organization, but are rather adequate terms for my own experience of faith. And I use these terms because they do connect me with other Christians with similar struggles and hopes. And by throwing around the language of emergence and assuming that it necessarily lumps us into a labeled category, the issue is being forced. If emerg/ent/ing do truly indicate loyalty, then we must be loyal to something.

If only we could simply speak and so be. If only I could describe my faith without being lumped into an institution that doesn't really exist. If only we could enjoy our conversations without these silly dissections.

A Christianity Worth Believing, Pt. II

Well, here we are. A post titled part 2.

Pagitt's views on Scripture are not the only potentially controversial expressions in this book. His views on the nature and essence of man are, to put it lightly, not Reformed by any means. In fact, he so adamantly opposes the concept of total depravity with a beautifully tragic story about the local target of criticism on everyone favorite social microcosm: the school bus. The story of the one unfortunate girl picked to be continually ridiculed and permanently marked as "sucking." When thinking back on this story, Pagitt compares the traditional doctrine of total depravity to this mindset, fearing that far too often the church has held this same bully perspective. In an attempt to maintain an absolute need for God's grace, we have deemed the nature of man as utterly inferior or corrupted in some way that claims man is, in Reformed traditions, incapable of good. 

Pagitt makes it clear that man is obviously in need of some sort of redemption, but the essence of the message is that God still calls men and women to participate in God's Good Dreams for the world. When Adam and Eve fell in the biblical narrative, they faced consequences, but they were still expected to maintain their roles of stewardship and co-regency over the created order. God is not "up and away," but "down and in," interested in humanity. God is passionately concerned for people to restore them to their original intent and relationship.

The truth is, in Pagitt's perspective, that God does not view people as if they suddenly went from "good" to total suckage. As the fruit fell off the branches of the forbidden tree, mankind's entire nature and worth did not fall with it. Perhaps it put us in a unique position in need of forgiveness, but it did not ruin the Image that God ingrained into us.

What do you think? What affects did the fall of Adam and Eve have on the essence of human nature? What are the lasting affects of Original Sin? Are its affects or its very rebellious tendency necessarily transmitted through procreation or as some sort of inheritance? What condition are we in, and what are the implications for our doctrines of evangelism or missiology, soteriology and orthodoxy?

A Christianity Worth Believing, I

I suppose I must be becoming a regular, old blogger. Weird. That kinda makes me not like myself.

I'm currently reading through the free e-copy of Doug Pagitt's new book A Christianity Worth Believing that was so graciously sent to me by Ian a few weeks back. First and foremost, I'd like to throw out a mad shout-out to Doug (who I know doesn't read this blog) for sending us this advanced copy.

Many people have called Doug Pagitt many things. I've heard him called a heretic, a liar and a pagan (all of those by Mark Driscoll in one sitting). But in my limited time with him, and in all my readings of his books, I have yet to find one claim that is definitively "heretical" or "pagan." This new book is no exception. I could blog about the whole book in one sitting, but I think I will take the lead of the great bloggers in this world and only cover one chapter at a time. (You ought to be warned that I may only ever write about one chapter.)

The sixth chapter deals mostly with Pagitt's opinions of the Bible. In his experience, the Bible has been misused in three incredibly offensive ways.

1. It has been used as a weapon
2. It has been used as an encyclopedia
3. It has been used as a long list of isolated verses

Far too often, the Bible is used in all three of these ways simultaneously. We wield like a heavy reference that dictates what life should look like in a series of pithy statements and commandments with absolutely no bearing on one another. For those of us raised underneath it, we often define our entire worldview by the accuracy of this book's moral code, and rather than looking at the world around us, we simply assert the truth we thoughtlessly find in Scripture. More often than not, the book we cling to for the story of Jesus, the story of a man who loved "sinners and tax-collectors" becomes the justification for division and judgment. We have forgotten the context of Jesus' world, of our world and of the words themselves.

To live in a truly biblical mindset is to enter into a conversation with the Bible. This is not to say that we ought to change what it says, or even ignore it. But rather, we ought to know who we are and in what context. Sometimes the Bible will say things that we don't want to hear. It will challenge us to grow and to live in ways that we aren't comfortable with, but shouldn't we think about these things? Shouldn't we struggle with them so that our experience with the Bible leads us to authentic faith rather than a desire to be the "most right"? 

Pagitt has an obvious distaste for Christians who cling to a doctrine of "inerrancy" to prove their own position or to validate their own prejudices. He says, "I think there are people who argue for an  “ inerrant ”  authoritative understanding of the Bible to support their prejudiced feelings about homosexuals." (p. 63) This perspective, while I'm not sure is universally true, is certainly somewhat indicting, particularly if there is truth behind it.

There is an obvious passion and reverence for the Word of God in Pagitt's writing. Maybe he is slightly "unorthodox" (that's a pun, not a judgment statement) in his vantage point, but the point in the chapter shines through: We, as the people of God, ought not to isolate portions of the Bible for the sake of our egos. But instead, we enter the biblical narrative through study and thoughtfulness in ways that don't simply make us right, but also make us Christ-like and holy.

A Musical Review

I suppose I should leave the reviews to people with a plethora of readers, as their input and endorsements actually make a lick of difference in the world, but I earnestly believe that even my few measly (in number, not in character) readers ought to be listening to August, Inland.

August, Inland is a band of guys who I went to college with (save one who was still in high school in the thriving metropolis of Bolivar). They are Andrew Reeves, lyricist, lead singer, guitar player, philosopher and independent producer extraordinaire. On electric guitar is Joe Still, a beautiful lyricist in his own right, and a folk singer à la Bob Dylan when he's not backing Reeves up. The bassist is Dustin Gamble, an incredibly versatile musician, who when not with August, Inland has been known to sing some of the most meaningful folk ballads since the late, great Elliot Smith.

But in this instance, Reeves' lyrics are show-cased, and they don't disappoint. It seems to me that Reeves' songs embody the typical struggle of an emerging generation in the midst of a complicated society (socially, politically and religiously) that fails to meaningfully address the issues that generation deems truly important. 

My personal favorite song is "i dream of money in my sleep." I'll let the lyrics speak for themselves:

I dream of money in my sleep.

My financial security is more like idolatry,

the demon laying next to me.

And I toss in anger all night

at the government's decision to fight.

When the causalities of war are the poor lying dead in our streets.

And I guess that I'm just scared of what I can't see.

And if all of these things that have such control over me.

It all seems so confusing.

Well, my father, he went down to Africa

and saw a girl no older than my sister was

just playin' in the dirt

oblivous to the pain around her

And I have found in that little girl a song

about the earth and those that I love.

I guess we're all just spinning,

waiting for the sun to destroy us.

So I follow the road down to the coast.

And I try to clear my head in Mexico,

but this heat and the storms and the salt only makes me hurt for her.

So I come back to my landlocked island.

Yeah, the cold dead core of the earth.

Missouri holds me captive,

like a slave who takes his chains to freedom.

And I guess I've always been scared

of running away from you.

And ironically enough, that's what I always seem to do.

and I'm sorry, baby, I'm just a little confused.

Cuz I'm not too far from the businessman

or those kids that I see on those commercials

We're all three looking for some meaning

or chasing some dream for truth.

So I dream of money in my sleep.

And I fight for my rights in those dreams.

Cuz I deserve a tax return,

and reserve the right to say whatever I please,

and there's no need to preach at me.

It's all very simple Darwinian Theology,

no room for equality.

Hey, I'm just trying to make a living here.

Oh well.

We can all get saved by democracy.

Check out August, Inland at VIRB or their myspace. You won't regret it. I promise.

A Eunuch for Christ...?

It's always good to re-connect with people from the places we've been. It's a fresh reminder of who we are and how we got to the place we find ourselves in today. These encounters give us a chance to evaluate ourselves in the here and now, asking questions about the silly things we believed and did back then compared to the hopefully less silly things we believe and do now.

This week, my past has been shoved in my face in two completely different ways. The first way caught me off guard completely. I logged into my Facebook, like I do countless times every other day, and I saw a group invitation. This is slightly more rare, as I have rejected the past 837 group invites that have been sent to me, and people seemed to be getting the message pretty clearly. Well, this invite was different to say the least. Apparently, my high school class has decided that a five year reunion would be in order. Most of us think this will be a good idea, as half of us went to OTC, MSU or Drury and never left Springfield, and the other half hope to show the rest how far we've gone. So, the plans went down. The interesting thing about all of this is that Facebook wasn't around when we were in high school (waaaay back in the day, I know), so most of my current "friends" are from my college years or beyond (the beyond symbolizing one whole, long, brutally agonizing year). So, every time I've logged in since this fateful Facebook event, I've been gaining a gaggle of new friends who are really old friends.

All of this got me thinking about high school. High school was, in hindsight, not so bad. At the time, it seemed like Hell had opened up beneath my feet and then had rejected me for wearing the wrong jeans. In fact, the problem with high school was not the wrong jeans or even the gaping hole to the Underworld. In truth, it was me. I was (WARNING to my "evangelical" readers [like I have readers. Thanks, Mom]) a dick (disclaimer: there simply aren't any more accurate terms in the English language; I sincerely apologize). I was a narrow-minded, egocentric, misogynistic, legalistic, arrogant and pompous, pretentious bastard (Whoops, guess I did find another accurate description). I had 20 pounds of self-righteous shit in a 10 pound manure sack. And I wondered how these people who had known such a Dizzle Bizzle would see me now. And then I wondered if I was really any different.

The second reminder was expected, but my reactions were not. Tonight, a former prof of mine from good ol' Southwest Baptist Univ came and spoke at the Well. He talked about Matthew 19, a passage about marriage, divorce and the third option of castration. Then we moved on to Paul's advice to the Corinthian church about marriage in 1 Cor. 7 (a passage I am contemplating having read at my wedding, rather than the stereotypical chapter 13). This prof (who I suspect might read this blog, seeing as how he knows I read his and to not reciprocate at least occasionally might be considered rude in some corners of the blogosphere) used these two passages and the living illustration of Shane Claiborne to talk about how often we hold back on our pursuit of Christ. We often allow our devotion to be divided by the necessary attention a spouse requires, or by the possibility of promotion or wealth and by a whole slew of other things. So far, I followed. But then we stepped into some uneasy ground for me.

The challenge was that the students (and presumably all people within earshot) ought to focus solely on their devotion to the Lord. They shouldn't pursue a mate, as Paul warns, but they should pursue Christ. The question was then, "For how long do we seek God before we are allowed to find our One and Only True Love?!" And this man's answer is what shocked me. He said that we should never seek a spouse. I find that such an argument could be drawn from Paul's letter, but there were more words following the claim from this man's lips. He reasoned that if God intended for us to have a spouse, God would bring us a spouse. And she would better than the one we could find on our own. It was as I heard the "Amen" from the guy next to me (who is, ironically, chronically committed to one woman or another), that I realized how much I have changed.

When I was in high school, I took a vow not to date until I was sixteen, a vow that I gracelessly broke. But even despite my weakness, I still believed that God had one girl out there for me, and maybe this girl was it. Maybe that's why I had fallen from the grace of faithful adherence to my own word. Well, when that relationship ended rather brutally, I tried another and another, always deep in prayer, looking for the one who God had to compliment my weaknesses and fit together with me like some pair of cheesy half-heart necklaces.

But as I think back on who I was then and begin to see some of who I am now, I realize that such a perspective, though I'm willing to admit it might be right, scares me because it is incredibly self-centered. When my former professor encouraged the students to never seek a partner, and wait for the Lord to bring them one, I began to shift in my seat like a man about to fart in court. It made me incredibly uncomfortable. And as the "amen's" echoed of the high ceilings in that chapel, I wondered what a faithful man who truly waited for a spouse would look like. If I were that man, and such a woman did come along, I think I would be inclined not to genuinely care for her. I wonder if such an attitude is almost a cop-out, putting the beauty and wonder of that woman as secondary and her place as a reward for my patient endurance as the primary. I also feel that if a woman were truly dropped on my lap, I would have no realistic expectation of how much time and work it would require.

I don't intend to argue with Scripture, as I tend to think it's right. But at the same time, I think Paul does clearly point out that marriage as an institution that takes time and energy is a somewhat timeless truth. It always has, and it always will. I fear that teaching young people to wait for a lifelong mate to be dropped on our laps is like handing a loaded Glock 9mm to a kid who plays too much Halo.

And I don't wonder if Paul's perspective on marriage wasn't based on his belief that "the times [were] shortened." The Parousia of Christ was not far off, and what time did we have to waste with the concerns of this world? Money, relationships and countless other distractions would soon be entirely meaningless because the coming Christ would soon fully bring a new kingdom. And maybe the question of marriage and spouse-seeking has some new considerations these days, not that Paul's advice was bad or is somehow now irrelevant. But instead, maybe we've been listening too intently for too long and have begun to live in ways that are not entirely sensitive to reality. Maybe we have read Paul point blank, taking him so literally as faithful adherents to Scripture that our application of his words might cause more harm than good.

When I think about who I was in high school, who these new old Facebook friends remember me as, I think that I was exactly that kind of person. I was so sold on religion as a magic remedy to a sin problem that I built a sturdy fence with barbed wire and electrical currents to keep myself isolated from distractions and devoted solely to the Lord. Unfortunately, I might have left great war-torn patches of dead, exposed earth and bleeding corpses in my wake of insincerity and judgment.

Maybe I oughta consider this eunuch thing...

Samson and the Pirate Monks

I don't typically write book reviews via the blogosphere, but I wanted to pass along the word about this particular book. It is not the most theologically profound work, nor is it the most inspiring self-help book. Instead, it's just a story.

It's the story of Nate Larkin, a Princeton seminarian and former pastor who struggled with sexual addiction for years. It is the story of his earnest desire to overcome the things that controlled him. Larkin's story, like most of our own dealings with sin, started with private prayer and personal piety. Ultimately though, like most of our dealings with sin, Larkin's personal and private attempts left him farther in the pit of despair. As time went on, Larkin's struggles and his secretive attempts to overcome them left a path of immense destruction in its wake. His marriage in shambles, his career a joke and his self-identity nearly to schizophrenic levels from years of lying, Larkin finally sought encouragement through a support group. Throughout his experiences with various support groups, Larkin and a few friends eventually decided to start a new society of friends who could honestly discuss their faults and confess their weaknesses. Named after the famous macho man of the OT who struggled and died entirely alone, the group is an attempt to rescue men from the isolation that associates shameful weaknesses.

I read this book because a chapter of the Samson Society is starting here in Warrensburg tomorrow. I'd recommend this book to any men who feel entirely alone, entirely pathetic and entirely desperate for something new. But this book is just a book. I hope that you might read it and walk away from it with the resolve to find a place of friendship and camaraderie to encourage you and challenge you to rise above your struggles in grace.