Can we debate theology without resorting to labels?

Sometimes I wonder why anyone would voluntarily participate on a panel to update a church hymnal. Some of the most divisive disagreements I've seen have been over what kind of music is played in the church and what hymns should be included. Don’t mess with someone else’s favorite hymn! So it didn't surprise me to see an article Dave found in The Economist on a “Presbyterian problem” about a song that wasn't included in an upcoming hymnal. A Presbyterian Church (USA) panel decided to leave the song “In Christ Alone” out because of the phrase "till on that Cross as Jesus died, the wrath of God was satisfied." 

This could be an opportunity to talk about whether God is wrathful or loving or whether God really insisted on sacrificing Jesus to “satisfy” the price of our sins – both are topics we've explored here and here. There’s a lot more debate on “substitutionary atonement” than I ever knew. Instead the article described it as another instance of conservative vs. “soft-minded liberal Christianity.” Never mind that the alternate wording the panel wanted to use – “"…as Jesus died/the love of God was magnified" – already appeared in a recent Baptist hymnal or that the whole issue is more nuanced than a liberal vs. conservative ideological dispute, as this article in Christian Century describes. 

But this isn't about songs in a hymnal. It’s about how labels can too often turn a respectful debate into an us vs. them free-for-all that goes nowhere. Several years ago, Brian McLaren wrote Generous Orthodoxy, a book with the longest subtitle of any on my shelf: “Why I am a missional + evangelical + post/protestant + liberal/conservative + mystical/poetic + biblical + charismatic/contemplative + fundamentalist/Calvinist + Anabaptist/Anglican + Methodist + catholic + green + incarnational + depressed-yet-hopeful + emergent + unfinished Christian.” One of the premises in his book is that people from different theological backgrounds and perspectives each have something to offer in terms of understanding who Jesus is and what it means to live a Christ-centered life. McLaren urges us to look beyond the “us/them” paradigm and consider what it means to live as “we together.” It’s a dialogue some folks are trying to have while others are still debating the title. 

It’s hard to get past the labels because it’s one way we try to make sense of the world. That’s fine as long as we realize that we all are more than a collection of tags that sort us according to sex, age, political affiliation, religious preference, job title, economic status, health, musical and shopping tastes, etc. Sometimes we say or do things that don’t sit well with others. Sometimes we aren't inspired by someone else’s favorite hymn. Sometimes those labels that don’t completely fit us get in the way of having a reasonable, civil debate. Sometimes those labels we try to project onto God and Jesus – labels based on our particular perspectives – get in the way of recognizing that God doesn't actually fit neatly into those tags. And, whether we want to admit it or not, those labels can become baggage that turn some people off from religion and faith. 

Anyone can write a blog to express an opinion (I’m proof of that!). Sometimes it’s easier to frame a mock debate between you and some “soft-minded liberal” or “judgmental fundamentalist” (depending on your perspective). But that’s not the same as listening to what the other person has to say and trying to understand where they are coming from. When we get caught up in debating the stereotypes, we forget that the real people behind those labels are much more complex, interesting, and worthy than the labels make them out to be. 

Rachel Held Evans recently said it well:

The truth is, that dude whose blog posts totally rub you the wrong way may be the best person in the world with which to watch a football game or talk theology over beer. That acquaintance on Facebook whose pictures make her life seem perfect may struggle with self-doubt, depression, and fear. That stuffy Calvinist you love to hate may melt into a goofy, delightful playmate when he’s tickling his kids on the living room floor. The feminist you always imagine shouting other people down may have an unbelievably tender heart.  The pastor you think is always wrong probably gets a few things right. And the pastor you think is always right definitely gets some stuff wrong.

Perhaps the most radical thing we followers of Jesus can do in the information age is treat each other like humans—not heroes, not villains, not avatars, not statuses, not Republicans, not Democrats, not Calvinists, not Emergents—just humans. This wouldn't mean we would stop disagreeing, but I think it would mean we would disagree well.

Maybe one radical way Christianity pulls us up from our messiness isn't whether God’s wrath or God’s love prevails. Instead, through Jesus, God calls us to enter into relationships where all of our labels and pretenses – and the pressure to “fit” into those labels – are stripped away. I’d like to think that God embraces us no matter where we stand in the ideological debate because God transcends those debates. 

The question is, how do we learn to recognize and move beyond those labels we’re so used to using?

Our pews aren't overflowing with young adults - what are we doing about it?

You don’t have to look at the studies to know that many churches aren’t exactly overflowing with young adults. Go to church on Sunday and look around you(1). If you need studies, here’s one by Pew Research and another one from the Barna Group. You’ll also find plenty of opinions as to why this is. “Why?” may be a good question to ask (as a scientist, it’s one of my favorites), but a better question is “What are we going to do about it?”

Rachel Held Evans has become one of my favorite bloggers and writers because she challenges us to move beyond pontification to action. She’s written in the past about why she left church and why she came back. She recently wrote about why millennials are leaving the church on CNN and in more depth on her blog. The bottom line, from her perspective, is that young adults just aren’t finding Jesus in church. They seek substance and, instead, get superficial style. Here’s an excerpt:

What millennials really want from the church is not a change in style but a change in substance.

We want an end to the culture wars. We want a truce between science and faith. We want to be known for what we stand for, not what we are against.

We want to ask questions that don’t have predetermined answers.

We want churches that emphasize an allegiance to the kingdom of God over an allegiance to a single political party or a single nation.

We want our LGBT friends to feel truly welcome in our faith communities.

We want to be challenged to live lives of holiness, not only when it comes to sex, but also when it comes to living simply, caring for the poor and oppressed, pursuing reconciliation, engaging in creation care and becoming peacemakers.

You can’t hand us a latte and then go about business as usual and expect us to stick around. We’re not leaving the church because we don’t find the cool factor there; we’re leaving the church because we don’t find Jesus there.

Like every generation before ours and every generation after, deep down, we long for Jesus.

No one is going to mistake me for a young adult, but I want the same thing. And I want a church with a solid foundation that will not only help nurture my kids’ faith, but will inspire them to be better disciples of Jesus than I am. 

While some mainline churches offer those things – here’s a response from a Presbyterian (PCUSA) pastor to Rachel Held Evans’ comments on the mainline church –why aren’t more mainline churches thriving? And, more importantly, what are we doing about it?

Rachel Held Evans writes that we need to “sit down and really talk with [young adults] about what they’re looking for and what they would like to contribute to a faith community.” It doesn’t mean that we compromise the basic foundation of our faith, but we need to strip away the baggage to get back to that foundation. In the follow-up article, she frames her message as a vision and hope:

The article wasn’t intended to be a list of demands, but rather an expression of desires, a casting of vision and an articulation of my hope for the Church. Obviously, the real work begins when we come together in community to do the hard, daily work of reconciliation, listening, serving, and worshipping in spirit and truth.

This is one area where I feel I’ve been called in the last few years. This blog – offering a forum to explore tough questions – was a start, but it could use more personal engagement and more young voices (that’s not a knock on those who regularly respond, because I’ve learned a lot from your comments). I’m excited about this fall’s adult discipleship series we’ve planned using the animate Faith and animate Bible materials. But that’s only going to work if we go beyond talking to doing. 

I’d love to hear what you think of Rachel Held Evans’ posts. Do you identify with her views about what’s missing in the church? What would you add? What would you do about it?


(1) Not every church is losing young adults and there lies hope for the future. My church is one of those that is declining in membership and I’m not sure we’re doing much about it. I don’t buy the arguments that it’s the demographics of the area or that it’s a denominational problem and we can’t do much about it. Either we passionately believe that God is at work among us and we need to share that with our neighbors or we need to get out of the way and let God work. Either way, the question stands: We’re not gaining members, so what are going to do about it?

Sometimes we need a kick in the seat… and then a helping of grace

It’s amazing that I can spend a week at camp and come back to find I’m more than a month behind at work, home, and everywhere in between. I intended to write a post last week but the catching up got in the way of catching up. A lot of things are bouncing around what passes for my mind these days, but nothing that sorted itself out first. 

In the chaos of this week, this quote from Sarah Bessey popped up. Several times.

I don’t want to be swallowed by the darkness. Nor do I want to be blinded by the light. No, I want to be part of a people who see the darkness, know it’s real, and then, then, then, light a candle anyway.

After enough times, I got the hint and read the post. Although she wasn’t writing about the aftermath of the Zimmerman trial or the latest political battles, she could have been addressing any of the too many us-vs.-them animosities that snarl across the internet.

From In which faith comes by listening to the right story:

The temptation is to listen to only one perspective or the other. We choose sides, and often that “side” depends on the place from which we engage life.

The temptation is to say that our own narrow experience trumps all other evidence or the experiences of others.

The temptation, particularly for those of us who operate from a position of privilege, is to gravitate towards the good and ignore the very real and true cries of the oppressed and marginalized or even just-plain-different-from-us of our society, to retreat into the worlds of our own making and the brightly lit aisles of a shopping centre, and then point to the good stories as good enough for us. We seek our convenience and comfort and safety. Surely these stories of abuse or injustice are anomalies, right?

Or the temptation is to gorge ourselves on sorrow and anger, to fill our hearts and minds only with the tales of hate and evil and horror, until we forget the beauty and peace and justice growing and rising like yeast among us. We keep our face towards the darkness, weeping or raging, and we miss the candles bravely flickering around us.

And then our temptation is to turn the other side into a straw man argument to blithely ignore or burn in effigy. Either way, we don’t have to listen to a straw man.  I don’t think that this is unique to women’s issues or to the Church or to the Internet: we do it in every corner of our life or with any issue.

Yet the word “right” or “wrong” isn’t the proper word for our human experience. Whether it’s a story I love or a story I hate, whether it’s a story that grieves me or a story that angers me, whether it’s a story that inspires me or a story that sickens me, whether it’s a story with a happy ending or an unresolved ending, I often don’t get to decide whether or not it’s right, it simply is what happened. It is the story. It is real. It is true. In our broken world, injustice is just as real as justice.

They are both true: the darkness and the light along with the reality that most of our lives reflect both. There is no either-or to real life.

Jesus walked into a messy world and taught that the kingdom of God works through love, not condemnation. We’re neither too righteous nor too broken, no matter what we think of ourselves. In all our messiness, God sees us as redeemable, worthy of grace, love, and restoration. Not just me, or the people who think, look, act, vote, and believe like me. But also the people who think differently, live differently, and are on the other side of the ideological spectrum. 

Here’s how the “light the candle” quote fits into Sarah’s post:

To me, the right stories are in the Word of God – Jesus – as revealed by Scripture, by the community, and by the Holy Spirit – and He is a story of life and love and hope for us all, for all the Boths and the Ands and the Neithers and the Eithers. Paul wrote to the Corinthians that Christ is God’s ultimate miracle and wisdom all wrapped up in one.

The right story is the old, old story of heaven breaking through, of redemption arching, of justice rolling down, of deserts blooming flowers, of exiles planting gardens, of swords into ploughshares, of life instead of death.

The right story is the one to listen to because it’s the one that makes room for all of us, this is the story that holds all our stories with the promise of life and hope, joy and renewal.

I don’t want to be swallowed by the darkness. Nor do I want to be blinded by the light. No, I want to be part of a people who see the darkness, know it’s real, and then, then, then, light a candle anyway. And hold that candle up in the winds and pass along our light wherever it’s needed from our own homes to the halls of legislation to the church pulpit to the kitchens of the world…. 

Faith comes by listening to the right story. It’s true. And the right story for me, the ones I turn towards when I’m tempted to choose one side or the other, is the Great Story that holds all of them as precious and worthy of love.

I’m thankful for this reminder that God doesn’t let political, ideological, or other baggage get in the way of offering us grace and redemption. I just need a kick in the backside every now and then to remind me of it.

Does God still talk to us? How do we know?

Now the boy Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his room; the lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was. Then the Lord called, “Samuel! Samuel!” and he said, “Here I am!” and ran to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But Eli said, “I did not call; lie down again.” So he went and lay down. The Lord called again, “Samuel!” Samuel got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” But Eli said, “I did not call, my son; lie down again.” Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him. The Lord called Samuel again, a third time. And he got up and went to Eli, and said, “Here I am, for you called me.” Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the boy. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, “Go, lie down; and if he calls you, you shall say, ‘Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.’” 1 Samuel 3:1-9

This week’s question from Tony Jones’ e-book Questions that Haunt Christianity: Volume 1 is “Why Do I Not Experience God?”:

… Why do I not experience God like I have been taught I should? Why don’t I hear his “voice?” …If Christianity is for real, why am I not able to have experiences of God?

Many people who believe in God have wrestled with this question at one time or another. If God is real – if my faith is real – then shouldn’t I be able to hear or experience God in some tangible way? Some responded to the question by saying, “you have to repent your sins and come with a pure heart” or “you’re not listening/praying hard enough.” Some suggested practicing certain spiritual disciplines. In other words, “It must be something you’re not doing right.”

Tony Jones’ responded in “I Don’t Hear God Either”: 

The problem with those answers, of course, is that the audibility of God’s voice depends on me, and that can’t possibly be right. If the God of the Universe is intent on communicating with me, then S/He can surely break through all of the chatter that surrounds my everyday life. … I do not think it’s reasonable to believe that the ability of God to communicate is somehow contingent on our ability to hear. 

If God does communicate with human beings, then God is entirely able to do that with no help from us. I realize that there are biblical examples of God coming in the “still, small voice,” but generally God shows up in much bigger ways: pillars of cloud fire, descending clouds and doves, loud voices, and a presence that splits rocks and lights shrubs on fire. In other words, the Bible portrays a God who cannot be ignored or overlooked. 

Maybe the “problem” isn’t that we’re not properly preparing ourselves to hear or experience God. Maybe the issue is that we haven’t learned to recognize God’s voice or presence in our lives. Samuel needed Eli’s help to recognize that God was calling him. Today, hearing voices is more likely to be considered a sign of an overactive imagination or insanity rather than God speaking. If all we hear about are the burning bushes, angels who have to begin with “Do not be afraid”, talking donkeys, disembodied hands writing on the wall, and strange visions, we might miss the whisper of ordinary life.  

Tony Jones asked, “If God does communicate directly with us, isn’t it most likely that the communication would be un-ignorable?”

But, if we don’t talk with each other about how we have heard or experienced God in our lives – and how we determined it was God – how will others learn to recognize it? 

God hasn't come to me in a voice that says, “God speaking. Here’s what I want you to do.” And God doesn't often come when I sit in quiet meditation, prayer, and contemplation (actually, sleep usually comes to me then). I'm more likely to encounter God when I'm actively reading or writing. It's amazing how often I plan these weekly posts only to find them going in another direction once I start writing them. I've heard what I believe is God’s voice in something I've unexpectedly encountered in the Bible or another book, or in something someone else has said – wisdom that unexpectedly goes to the heart of something I've been turning over in my head. And the only reason I attribute it to God and not to my subconscious is that the advice is usually something I wouldn't come up with or choose to do on my own (maybe not a sure-fire measuring stick). 

I've encountered God in the faces and lives of those I think I’m helping, whether they are kids in the youth group, people I've served food or helped with a home repair project, or my own kids. When I realize it’s not about what I’m doing, but what God is doing among us, I tune into God’s work here and now. And I realize there’s more going on than I imagined. 

Jones closes with the example of Mother Teresa. After having an intense vision in which she felt Jesus call her to the ministry that would be her life, she never had another vision like that again. She wrote to Rev. Michael Van Der Peet, “Jesus has a very special love for you. As for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great that I look and do not see, listen and do not hear.” 

In her struggle, Tony Jones finds faith to continue to believe in God and Jesus. Maybe that’s also one of Mother Teresa’s many legacies. 

Now your turn: Have you experienced God speaking to you? How did you recognize it as God and not as your imagination or wishful thinking? What advice would you give to someone who says they’re not sure they've heard or experienced God in their life?

I toss out this week’s question not knowing for sure if I’ll be able to read or add to comments as I head off to scout camp for the week. But we’ll jump in all the same and, hopefully, I’ll find a signal and time to check in during the chaotic week.

Why does God’s goodness seem arbitrary?

This week we return to Tony Jones’ e-book Questions that Haunt Christianity: Volume 1.  The original questions and responses can also be found on his Theoblogy blog. 

Lisa believes that her life has been blessed by God, but still sees so much poverty and suffering in the world. It lead her to ask, “Do I believe God is Good, or do I believe God is just good to me?” Or, as Tony Jones framed it, “Is God’s Goodness Arbitrary?” Tony Jones’ response was “God Is Arbitrary, and That Is Terrifying”. Actually, he says more than that, so be sure to click on the link to read it.

At the heart of the question is a challenge to examine closely what we believe about God. Is God the dispenser of all blessings? And, if so, does that mean that God must also be the source of all suffering? How does God determine who is blessed and who suffers? Or does God determine that at all? And, if you believe God blesses those people who have prayed “hard enough” or “sincerely from the heart,” then how does that settle with what you know about grace? 

This is a variation of “why do good things happen to bad people?” and vice versa. I like it because it’s the kind of question someone who is trying to understand the nature (or even existence) of God might ask. It asks “How engaged is God in this world?” and “If God is engaged, help me understand why God’s actions seem arbitrary.” It’s not the kind of question that will be satisfied with clichés but demands a thoughtful (not to mention prayerful), honest answer. Lisa said she didn't know why she believes God is good but points to the Gospel of Jesus as her reason for doing so. It’s just as likely that the question will come from someone who is struggling to make sense of what seem to be arbitrary actions on God’s part in the face of pain, suffering, and death to so many whose “sin” appears to be little more than to be born in an impoverished and/or violent, unsettled time or place. The person may be questioning God’s engagement, or even existence, in light of what they see.

The question is more likely to arise from a deeply personal experience or confusion and frustration from actual events. Each of us who believes in God and Jesus has had to struggle with times when tragic events shook our belief. Or times when God’s blessings don't make sense. I watched my parents die relatively young, never having the opportunity to see a grandchild. I've watched dear people I knew die young and I've prayed enough to realize that God’s healing doesn't happen consistently in hoped-for ways. And I have looked to God and asked “Why?”

On one end of the spectrum of responses is “God doesn't always answer prayers the way we want” or “God’s ways are too mysterious to understand.” That may be true, but it’s not the kind of response that heals a broken heart. On the other end of the spectrum is the response that such things only show that God doesn't exist. Both of these responses begin with the premise that God is all-powerful and controls everything that happens in the world. The first response accepts that premise; the later rejects it. 

Others say that maybe God is not all-powerful or engaged in human history. In saying that God’s goodness is arbitrary, Tony Jones offers this explanation:

God’s first act, the act of creation, was an act of self-limitation. It was an act of humility…. God made a creation that is not God — I am not God; you are not God; that tree is not God.

The only way for God to fashion a creation that is other than God is an act of withdrawal, or self-limitation…. 

Thus, the very nature of the relationship between God and creation hinges upon God’s self-limitation.  [Read more in God Is Arbitrary and That Is Terrifying].

The Bible chronicles God’s engagement with us. The experiences of many lead others to believe that God continues to be engaged with us, even in this self-limitation.  But our experiences also suggest that this engagement appears to be arbitrary. 

Tony Jones concludes his response by saying: 

God’s solidarity with us is so important to God that God entered into human history to experience this arbitrariness. The experience of Jesus was moments of closeness to God (baptism, transfiguration) and moments of the absence of God (Garden of Gethsemene, Golgotha)….

Here’s what I know: Based on what I have experienced, God’s activity in human history is arbitrary and unpredictable, which means it’s terrifying. This, I think, is the “fear of the Lord” that is throughout scripture.

And here’s what I believe: In Jesus, God experienced this terror. And that’s what causes me to love Christ in the midst of God’s silence.

How would you respond to the question? Do you agree with Tony Jones that God’s goodness is arbitrary? If not, how do you explain why some people seem to experience God’s blessings while others experience pain and suffering? Do you believe God is all-powerful or that God is self-limiting in creation? What do you think about Tony Jones’ concluding response?

Does it matter whether the Genesis accounts of creation are literally true?

In comments on last week’s post, Greg Suess asked: “Are the Genesis accounts of creation literally true? Does it matter whether they are or are not?” We've previously touched on questions about the creation accounts here and here. I don’t want to rehash those discussions but Greg’s question offers an opportunity to look at some different aspects, so let’s jump in. 

Some folks believe very fervently that the creation accounts in Genesis are literally true. The world was created in 7 days; Adam and Eve are real, historical figures who lived in a real Garden of Eden and were tempted by a real talking snake. That forms the foundation of their faith in God as sovereign and all powerful and in God’s redemption through Jesus. In fact, they might argue that not accepting Genesis 1-3 as accurate, factual accounts of creation undermines the rest of the Bible. 

I believe that the first chapter of Genesis is more of a statement of faith in God the Creator than an actual account of the creation of the universe. As for Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden, I don’t know if it actually happened as it is presented in the Bible, but I don’t think the fundamental truths of the story are lessened if it turns out to be an allegory or a parable rather than a factual account. In fact, I think it’s possible to miss at least some of the deeper meaning if you insist on it being entirely factual. 

This leads to the first questions to explore: What are the essential messages conveyed in these creation accounts? What do we miss if we believe the creation accounts in Genesis are parables rather than accurate, factual accounts of what really happened? 

I quit trying to change the mind of anyone who believes that the creation accounts are literally true. It shouldn’t make a difference in our common relationship through Jesus, except when some insist that believing in creationism is a condition for being a Christian. Then it goes from being an interesting discussion or intellectual exercise to a potential barrier to the Gospel. In my experience, such an insistence has created an unnecessary tension between science and religion and has only served to turn many people away from Christianity. 

The late Michael Spencer wrote of a Japanese exchange student who attended a Christian school in the U.S. for a year. She told a teacher before she returned home:

“I am an atheist because I believe in evolution. When people here explained to me what they must believe as Christians, I always ask them about evolution, and they say ‘You cannot be a Christian and believe in evolution.’ So I cannot be a Christian, because I believe that evolution is true.”

Spencer lamented that the student didn't hear that many Christians don’t believe science and faith are incompatible or that many Christians accept both evolution and Christ. It’s a false condition that distracts from the Gospel. Fortunately, the perception that religion and science are conflicting or incompatible may be changing. A recent study found that the vast majority of college freshman saw no conflict between science and religion (The (Lack Of) Conflict Between Science and Religion in College Students). Folks who insist that science is hostile toward Christianity (in my experience, it isn't) or that only a literal interpretation of every aspect of the Bible is true to God (I don’t think God’s grace insists on this) may only be pushing others away from the overarching story of God’s relationship with us and how God is at work in the world. And that is far more important than any claims that the Bible also serves as a scientific text for creation. 

Now for the second set of questions: Does it matter whether the creation accounts are literal or not? Why would it make a difference? What do we lose when we focus on debating whether God created the universe in 7 days or several billion years or whether Adam and Eve were historical people or a metaphor? What does it have to do with the Gospel? 

I will add some personal thoughts in the comment section. Hope you’ll join in the conversation!

God, perfection, and extra dimensions: Did God create an imperfect world?

We’re kicking off a series of questions using Tony Jones’ e-book Questions that Haunt Christianity: Volume 1.  The original questions and responses can also be found on his Theoblogy blog. 

The first question is: “Why would a perfect God create an imperfect universe?” The full question and reader comments can be found here. Tony Jones’ response – God is not “perfect” – is here. 

Tony’s response was basically along the lines of “perfection is a quality we get from Plato, not scripture.” While many Christians embrace the platonic concept, he argues “Perfection is a purely imaginary state. It doesn't exist.” 

“I don’t find any indication from either the Hebrew or Christian scriptures that perfection was a quality that ancient Jews or early Christians attributed to Yahweh or to God.” Click here to read the full reply. 

Several of the reader comments to the original post follow that same line of thinking:

Perfect, in the evangelical sense of being “sinless,” perfect in the Hebrew actually means "complete". 

…

Creation by its very nature is on-going, both a noun and a verb. So, in a sense it can never be complete. However, the God of Genesis said it is Good- not Perfect. 

…

All things have a purpose toward "completion". Perhaps the question is what is our purpose in that.

…

Imperfection is woven inextricably into the very being and functioning of Creation. We could live without imperfection. We would not be here (at least in this universe) were it not for imperfection.

I’d like to ask the question differently. If God created us in God’s image and intended for us to live in a relationship with God, why can’t we see and interact directly with God? We’re told that nobody can see God and live (Exodus 33:17-23). From Moses and the Prophets to Jesus and the Holy Spirit, we’ve needed an intermediary. 

But why do we need an intermediary? Why would God create something with which God cannot interact directly? Why is it so hard for so many people to even recognize God at work on earth? Is it because we’re so imperfect and/or sinful/unholy that we’d perish in the presence of God? That seems to go back to the original question and opens up a lot of messy implications (see the post Are we totally depraved?). Is it because we are not yet complete (in some manner) and can’t fully comprehend God? That might explain why the first disciples could spent their daily lives with Jesus but didn't fully understand who he was until after the resurrection. 

Here’s an idea that has bounced around in my head for a few years. I’m not sure if I buy it, but I’ll toss it out. Maybe we can’t fully comprehend (or see) God because we don’t exist in the same dimension as God does. Bear with me for a minute. The idea was inspired by a book called Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions, written by Edwin Abbott, an English schoolmaster and theologian. The book, a satire of Victorian culture, describes a two-dimensional world that is visited by a three-dimensional sphere. The two-dimensional creatures can’t comprehend the sphere until they see it in three-dimensional space. Those who don’t experience it not only deny the existence of a three-dimension space, but forbid anyone from talking about it. It’s beyond their comprehension that anything can exist outside of what they can see and know. 

What if we can’t fully comprehend or directly interact with God because God exists in a dimension beyond ours? What if, for instance, God exists in a dimension in which time is not linear? Much like the two-dimensional characters in Flatland, we can only experience that portion of God we encounter in our particular slice of time. It might explain why we find different aspects of God emphasized in scripture passages that span time. Following on last week’s discussion, it might also explain how different cultures that developed in different times and locations could end up with different but complementary experiences with God to share. Or it may be none of that, except for my imagination, and all I've done is create confusion.

So back to the original question: Tony Jones concludes his answer by saying perfection is not something Christianity promises. Instead, 

Christianity promises a narrative that meshes with our experience — and my experience of life is rife with inconsistency and paradox. What Christianity offers me is a vision of God that more or less matches my experience of life. 

Do you agree with Tony’s response? Is there anything you’d add? Why do you think we can’t (or don’t) directly encounter God in our lives?

Is the Holy Spirit confined to Christians?

NOTE: This summer I plan to explore some of the questions in Tony Jones’ ebook Questionsthat Haunt Christianity: Volume 1, which grew out of a discussion series bythe same name on his Theoblogy blog. But on the way to that first post, I was sidetracked by something I read in Brian McLaren’s book Why Did Jesus, Moses, the Buddha,and Mohammed Cross the Road?: Christian Identity in a Multi-faith World. You may call it “easily distracted,” but I’ll go with “work of the Spirit.”

Brian McLaren wrote that “the Holy Spirit preexists all religions, cannot be contained by any single religion, and therefore can’t be claimed as private property by any one religion.” [p.150]

In the Gospel of John, Jesus told his disciples that God will send the Holy Spirit to teach us everything (John 14:15-31); And in Acts, the Spirit came down upon Jesus’ disciples at Pentecost (Acts 2:1-13). But does that mean the Holy Spirit is unique or exclusive to Christianity?

Acts isn’t the first appearance of the Holy Spirit. In the beginning of Genesis, we read that the “wind from God” (also translated as the Spirit of God) swept over the waters at creation. The prologue to John tells us that the Word was with God from the beginning (Some interpret that to refer to Jesus; others suggest this is the Spirit, or an intermediary). There are other passages in the Old Testament that mention the Spirit, although the work of the Spirit is not ubiquitous (unless we include the prophets or the acts of God). But, there are indications that the Spirit of God was at work before Acts.

Nor is the Spirit confined to those who consider themselves God’s chosen. Peter discovered that the Holy Spirit didn't distinguish between Jews and Gentiles (Acts 10). We also see glimpses in the Bible where God (or God’s Spirit) is also at work through non-Israelites: Melchizedek, a priest of God, blesses Abraham (Genesis 14:17-24); in Deuteronomy, the Israelites are told to leave the descendants of Esau and of Lot alone because God had already provided them land (Deuteronomy 2:1-9); God worked through Israel’s enemies when the Israelites turned their backs on God, and to restore Jerusalem (Ezra 1); Amos suggests that the Philistines and Arameans had their own Exodus experience (Amos 9:7).

Not all of those passages clearly mention the Holy Spirit, but they do show that God’s work in the world is not confined to one people or one religion. If we work from that premise, then McLaren suggests two implications (and this is where I’d like to focus the discussion):

First, encounters with the Spirit (or presence) of God can occur anywhere, including the world “outside of church control”; in other words, the secular world [p. 151 in McLaren's book]. That means, among other things, that “the scientist studying interstellar dust is investigating the domain of the Spirit.” As a scientist, I've found that, by studying the broad spectrum of God’s creation, we also get a glimpse into the nature of God. In fact, some physicists have described their studies as looking into “The Mind of God.” It also means that we can be inspired by music, art, books, and other things that are not strictly “Christian” (a pet peeve of mine).

Second, people outside of Christianity may have had (or have) encounters with the Spirit (just as Peter discovered with Cornelius’ Gentile family). Under differing circumstances and without a common language or understanding, the may describe it differently than we would.

Before dismissing McLaren’s ideas as heretical, read what he says:

That is not to deny the presence of unique divine revelation in any one religion, nor is it to affirm that all religions are the same, nor is it to imply that the Spirit should be credited or blamed for everything going on in our religions. Instead, it is simply to propose that each religion, based on its unique location and history, would have a unique, particular, and evolving perspective from which to encounter the Spirit in a unique way. That would mean that differences between religions would not necessarily mean contradictions. [p. 151]

That also does not diminish our particular Christian experience. Instead, McLaren writes, it means three things:

First, we Christians can make a strong claim to have received a real revelation through real encounters with the real Holy Spirit in specific locations and at particular times in creation. Second, we have something unique to offer members of other religions, based on our unique and real encounters with the Spirit. And third, it would mean other religions have something to offer us as well, based on their real and unique encounters with the Spirit. To refuse to receive those gifts would be tantamount to dishonoring the Holy Spirit’s work beyond our group’s own experience. [p. 152]

McLaren's book invites us to consider an alternative to the too-often pervasive us-vs-them exchange between Christianity and other religions and asks us to consider that maybe even God’s Spirit is inviting us into conversation that crosses the traditional borders that separate us [p. 152]. He’s not advocating that we abandon the core of our Christian faith but to consider that God may be calling on us to reach out to our neighbors with the same love and grace Jesus brings us.

Do you think the work of the Holy Spirit is intended only for Christians? Can God’s Spirit come to us through someone who is not a professed follower of Jesus? Have you had any experiences that would lead you to believe that God is working only within a Christian community or that God is working in the world beyond the church?

What does it take to be a disciple of Jesus?

As we reach the end of the education and youth group “year” at church and shift into planning for the next “year,” I've been thinking about what kinds of things help us become disciples of Jesus. A couple of premises underlie my thinking. 

First, I see a “disciple” as someone who is intentionally and actively learning from Jesus – not about Jesus, but from him. A disciple also seeks to embrace those teachings in the way they live and interact with God and with each other. Discipleship, then, is intentional, active, applied, and ongoing. 

Second, I’m a believer in the kind of education reflected in this quote from Albert Einstein:

“I never teach my pupils. I only attempt to provide the conditions in which they can learn.”

So, how do we create an environment that encourages us to become disciples of Jesus? And how can we grow in that discipleship?

Is offering (or attending) weekly worship services enough? What about Sunday school classes… or posting questions for reflection on a blog? What about weekly youth group gatherings and occasional retreats and work camps?

Is reading the Bible sufficient? Daily or weekly? Alone or with a group? What about praying, meditating, practicing spiritual “disciplines,” or serving?

What about something like this?

Source: http://www.journeywithjesus.net/Essays/20080114JJ.shtml

Or this?

Source: Grace Youth Group Facebook page

The first followers of Jesus didn't become disciples by picking up a book on Jesus’ interpretations of the law or Jesus’ rules to live by. They didn't attend a Jesus lecture series and go home and try to figure out how to apply it to their lives. They didn't become disciples by reading scrolls and studying scripture for a few hours each day. Instead, they accompanied him day in and day out, watching, listening, learning, asking questions, walking, eating, drinking, assisting, and otherwise living with him. When Jesus spoke, he more often used parables that challenged them to think rather than rules to follow. Jesus showed his disciples how to live more by living than by talking about it.

How do we create that kind of environment today? The Internet Monk ran a week-long series on Spiritual Formation this past week. A few things jumped out at me:

1. Discipleship “training”, spiritual formation, spiritual growth (or whatever term you want to use) is not about a program, it’s about life: “The Christian life is not Bible study, prayer, solitude, silence, fasting, giving, and so on. These are ways we walk with Jesus in secret so that we can live life differently with Jesus in the course of ordinary life. The Christian life is life lived Christianly. It is not some special, different variety of life. It is life.”
2. The primary focus is on Jesus, not any particular religious doctrine: “Growth happens through walking with Jesus, living with Jesus, eating and drinking with Jesus, watching Jesus work, listening to Jesus teach, asking questions of Jesus, fulfilling the callings Jesus assigns us, and living the life with God that Jesus showed us and makes possible for us.”
3. God intends growth to happen in community: “Spiritual formation is about the development of a people, not just individuals…. The growth and development of human beings is meant to happen within a community of love, support, and mutual service in which all members, at different stages of life, are being nurtured into greater health and well being, becoming wiser and more loving.”
4. Spiritual growth and discipleship is not part of a one-size-fits-all program. Each of us have unique circumstances in our lives. 

What kinds of things would you like to see the church do to help us become better disciples? What kinds of things are you doing now? What do you need more help and encouragement in doing? 

How do we keep from becoming miserable comforters?

If you visited here to see the response to the question in Grace’s bulletin, here’s the quick response:

• Haven't we run out of questions yet? Well, no. Exploring questions about my faith help me better understand what I believe and don’t believe, and bring me closer to God. The questions evolve and, even if they don’t, the answers often do.
• Are we going to keep asking and exploring questions through the summer?  I’m not sure how many folks from Grace actually read the blog (the recent Adult Discipleship evaluation suggests not too many), if blogspot’s stats are to be believed, several somebodys are checking things out each week. So, we'll give it a try for a while longer.  

That was going to be the quick Memorial Day weekend post since a lot of folks will probably be kicking off summer and won’t be checking blogs (or at least that’s how it should be). But, in the aftermath of the tornado that devastated Moore, Oklahoma, some Christians made declarations along the lines of the tornadoes being part of God’s work either to punish us for something we've done or to call us to repent. We've explored whether natural disasters were part of God’s wrath after hurricane Sandy hit the east coast. Not that we “resolved” anything, but I want to look at a different question… or at least point you to a post that does just that.

Chaplain Mike provided a good write-up this week about the controversy stirred up by a couple of tweets by John Piper and the reactions to those tweets at the Internet Monk. Referring to the book of Job, he says that what we should be offering is “expressions of solidarity and mutual grief,” not theological explanations or moralizing (what makes for miserable comforting):

Even with both tweets, perhaps especially because of both tweets, Piper represents a “miserable comforter” who, remarkably, still has not learned the wisdom of Qoheleth: there is “…a time to keep silence, and a time to speak” (Eccles. 3:7).

     I have heard many such things;     miserable comforters are you all.     Have windy words no limit?     Or what provokes you that you keep on talking?

          - Job 16:2-3 (NRSV)

 By steadfastly refusing to be silent, to take his place by the side of those who are suffering with mouth shut and heart open wide, he misses the point of the very Bible book he cites in a misguided attempt to bring theological perspective to the Oklahoma disaster.

Now when Job’s three friends heard of all these troubles that had come upon him, each of them set out from his home—Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. They met together to go and console and comfort him. When they saw him from a distance, they did not recognize him, and they raised their voices and wept aloud; they tore their robes and threw dust in the air upon their heads. They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.- Job 2:11-13 (NRSV)

This is the high point of the three companions’ friendship and ministry to Job. Silence. Tears. Presence. Symbolic expressions of solidarity and mutual grief.

Once they opened their mouths, it was all downhill. They became “miserable comforters.” It is not simply a matter of timing. The friends’ words came after the accepted period of silent mourning. Their words were wrong. And so it is with John Piper. It is not as though Piper’s words, inappropriate in the tender moment, would be appropriate once wounds have healed somewhat, once things have calmed down and we have time to gain perspective on the tragedy. No, his understanding and application of the book of Job is wrong. He has taken his place with Job’s friends, not with the argument of the text.

Chaplain Mike describes Job as one of those “conversations in God’s kitchen” where a variety of viewpoints are presented and argued (one of the reasons we’re called to engage with the Bible). He argues that the book of Job counters the concept of God as vengeful enforcer of the law:

The argument of the book is that the approach of Deuteronomy and Proverbs is too simplistic, too pat. God is bigger than the sovereign, retributive monarch that those traditions made him out to be. His ways are more complex, mysterious, and unexplainable than obedience – blessing/disobedience – curse.

Why do so many some Christians feel compelled to espouse this view of a God who continues to punish us for our wayward ways? [I’m not sure it’s a majority, although the ones espousing this view are very vocal and visible]. Is that really what we get from Jesus and the gospel? 

How should we respond? How would Jesus respond to such a tragedy? How would he respond to those who say either God is punishing us for our sins? Shouldn’t we do the same? And how should we respond when we think that something being espoused as a "Christian response" conflicts with the Gospels?

Why pray? Can we change God’s mind? Even if we are persistent?

This may be coherent, but I just spent the weekend on a camping trip with energetic boy scouts, so there’s no guarantee. First, some background and questions bouncing in my head, partially strained for extraneous digressions:

There are probably as many reasons to pray as there are people praying, but I want to focus on those prayers in which we ask God to intercede or bring about a change in some event (often an illness). In a post called Does Prayer Change God’s Mind?, Scot McKnight wrote:

Any reasonable examination of “intercessory” prayer admits of two explanations: either we are seeking to bend God’s will to ours — or seeking to change the mind of God — or we are merely aligning ourselves with God’s will in the act of communing with God.

Do you believe it’s possible to change God's mind through prayer? Or do you believe that, instead, God uses prayer to align our wishes with God’s will? Some might argue that it is possible to change God's mind as long as what we're asking for is aligned with God's will, but if that's the case, are we really "changing" God's mind?

I've been all over the board on this but the following passages (and several more like it), in which, Jesus talks about praying with persistence, keep me pondering (my emphasis in bold):

"Suppose one of you has a friend, and he goes to him at midnight and says, 'Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, because a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have nothing to set before him.' 

"Then the one inside answers, 'Don't bother me. The door is already locked, and my children are with me in bed. I can't get up and give you anything.' I tell you, though he will not get up and give him the bread because he is his friend, yet because of the man's boldness he will get up and give him as much as he needs. 

"So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened."

- Luke 11:5-10

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up. He said: "In a certain town there was a judge who neither feared God nor cared about men. And there was a widow in that town who kept coming to him with the plea, 'Grant me justice against my adversary.' 

"For some time he refused. But finally he said to himself, 'Even though I don't fear God or care about men, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will see that she gets justice, so that she won't eventually wear me out with her coming!' " 

And the Lord said, "Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?"

- Luke 18:1-8

Jesus tells his disciples to pray persistently. Does that mean that, if we are persistent, God will give us what we’re asking for? As I interpret it (and maybe I’m being selective), God will respond with what we need (not the same as what we want). Not material goods, not physical healing, but something with deep spiritual significance… something that brings us closer to God.

There's one other aspect that steers me away from “Why would we think our prayers might change God’s mind?” to “Why wouldn't it, if the circumstances are right?”. If we are called through Jesus to be a part of God's work on earth now (and I believe that), is it all a one-way interaction? If we are called into a relationship with God (through Jesus or through the work of the Spirit), is it a one-sided venue where God calls all of the shots? Or can it be a collaboration? Is it possible that God doesn't have everything laid out for us in advance but is open to our suggestions?

What if we focused on being disciples of Jesus now rather than on being saved after death? A tribute to Dallas Willard

“In order to become a disciple of Jesus …one must believe in him. In order to develop as his disciple one must progressively come to believe what he knew to be so. To enter his kingdom, we believe in him. To be at home in his kingdom, learning to reign with him there, we must share his beliefs.“As his apprentices, we pass through a course of training, from having faith in Christ to having the faith of Christ (Gal 2:16-20). As a proclaimer and teacher of the gospel of his kingdom, I do not cease to announce a gospel about Jesus. That remains forever foundational. But I also recognize the need and opportunity to announce the gospel of Jesus (Mark 1:1) – the gospel of the present availability to every human being of a life in The Kingdom Among Us. Without that, the gospel about Jesus remains destructively incomplete.” Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy: Rediscovering Our Hidden Life In God, p. 319-320

If you dropped in expecting to encounter the question listed in this week’s bulletin at Grace, this isn’t that question. Shortly after I sent out the bulletin blurb, I heard that Dallas Willard died after losing a battle with cancer. Willard wrote about spiritual formation and the kingdom of God. A few years ago, after deciding to spend some time studying the Sermon on the Mount, I came across Willard’s book The Divine Conspiracy almost by accident (or divine intervention). That book led me to view the Sermon on the Mount not as a collection of laws and sayings but as a teaching on what it’s like to live in the Kingdom of God now. 

Not only did that encounter become the inspiration for an adult education discussion class on the Sermon on the Mount and a later foundation for our youth group’s exploration on the sermon, it continues to nudge me into finding more ways to better orient my life toward participating in God’s work now.  

According to Willard, the good news is about more than being good and sinning no more. It’s a growing process in which our whole lives – not just some “spiritual segment” we set aside from our day-to-day lives – are transformed through the Holy Spirit. Being good and sinning no more are not obligations for being Christian or even measuring sticks to see how Christian we are. We move away from sin when we align our will to God’s and participate in God’s kingdom now. They are not the quality of our lives but point to a quality in our lives that comes from God.

The call to repent “is a call for us to reconsider how we have been approaching our life, in light of the fact that we now, in the person of Jesus, have the option of living within the surrounding movements of God’s eternal purposes, of taking our life into his life.” (p. 16)

Jesus’ call is about far more than future salvation from hell. It is about joining in God’s kingdom now, participating with God now, acting now, following God’s lead now. And, in so doing, we move farther away from a hell that comes from the absence of God… a hell that is also going on now. And, hopefully, with God’s help, we can bring others along with us into God’s kingdom now and in the future.

“We get a totally different picture of salvation, faith, and forgiveness if we regard life from the kingdom of the heavens now – the eternal kind of life – as the target. The words and acts of Jesus naturally suggest that this is indeed salvation, with discipleship, forgiveness, and heaven to come as natural parts. And in this he only continues the teachings of the Old Testament. The entire biblical tradition from beginning to end is one of the intimate involvement of God in human life – or else alienation from it.” (p. 47)

“It is left unexplained how it is possible that one can rely on Christ for the next life without doing so for this one, trust him for one’s eternal destiny without trusting him for ‘the things that relate to Christian life’.” (p. 49)

Instead of an “arrangement that can get us into heaven,”

“'the gospel' is the good news of the presence and availability of life in the kingdom, now and forever, through reliance on Jesus the Anointed.” (p. 49)

“The eternal life of which Jesus speaks is not knowledge about God but an intimately interactive relationship with him.” (p. 50)

Willard wrote that if we view Jesus’ teachings – his illustrations of what it means to live in the kingdom of God – as laws to follow, then we fall into the trap of being like the Pharisees. If our focus is on keeping the laws, we soon struggle with the challenge of that task. We either take the attitude that we can do it alone (and can be righteous based on our deeds) or we find ways to bend or redefine the rules.

“The key… is to aim at the heart and its transformation… We do not aim just to control behavior, but to change the inner castle of the soul, that God may be worshiped ‘in spirit and in truth’ and right behavior cease to be a performance. We want to become the kind of person who is not dominated by anger and who truly loves and respects others… This means, of course, that the teaching cannot be captured by rules…Anger and contempt toward others is only removed by the vision and experience of God being over all, ensuring that all is well with me and that others are his treasures.”(p. 364-5)

In Jesus’ teaching, it is love that transforms us – God’s love and the love we reflect to others.  We respond to others with love because God loves us.

I could go on (and probably have gone on longer than usual). Instead of asking specific questions, I ask you to reflect on these snippets from Willard. You may say “Amen!” or you may debate them. Either way is good if it moves you to wrestle with what it means to be a follower of Jesus. If you haven’t read The Divine Conspiracy, please consider doing so. It won’t be a quick read – not because it’s filled with dense theological jargon (it isn't) but because it will inspire you to think and contemplate and pray over it – but it will be worth it.

If you have read any of Willard’s books, or heard him speak, I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences.

Are we all totally depraved? What exactly did Calvin mean?

In the first chapter of Genesis, we read that, among other things, God created us in God’s image and that “God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good” [Genesis 1:31]. But the idyllic relationship between humans and God, depicted in the Garden of Eden, soon crumbled (call it pride, a lack of faith or trust in God, the temptation of Satan, the consequence of free will, or original sin) and everything went downhill after that. 

The rest of the Bible chronicles our up-and-down, off-and-on relationship with God. Different people often choose different emphases on the themes: Some focus on the sinful nature of humans and our need to repent; others focus on God’s persistence in reaching out to us and bringing us back into a relationship that began in Eden. Perhaps illustrating our brokenness, great arguments break out over which emphasis is “doctrinally” correct [as an aside: “doctrine” comes from the French word for “doctor” and refers to a “healing teaching” meant to help us better understand God and not to a means of excluding others based on the “correctness” of our thinking.(1)]. 

Along comes an event like the recent bombing at the Boston Marathon. Some see it as another sign of how utterly broken and depraved humanity is, while others see for the acts of good that happened in the midst of the chaos. Bryan Berghoef reflects on these reactions on his Pub Theology blog and on the Huffington Post (my emphasis added in italics):

The consensus [among a group of folks who discussed this at a recent Pub Theology gathering] seemed to be that humanity tends toward acts of goodness and heroism more so than toward acts of barbarism and evil. We also discussed the possibility that even an act that on its face appears evil may well be prompted by what the perpetrator senses is toward a just cause or a greater good, and so in his or her mind, must be carried out.

There is also the theological perspective, which various biblical texts support, that despite being made in the image of God, human beings inevitably "fall short" of God's glory, and are created a "little lower" than the heavenly beings. One such approach goes so far as to claim that humanity is totally depraved, and apart from God, the heart of man is inclined toward "only evil, all the time."

“Total depravity” is one of the five points of Calvinism:

Total Depravity (also called Original Sin, but OULIP doesn’t have the same catch)

Unconditional Election (based on God’s will and not on what we do)

Limited Atonement (Jesus died for the elect)

Irresistible Grace (those elected, or called, by God cannot resist God’s grace)

Perseverance of the Saints (also known as Once Saved Always Saved)

This has led to some theological constructs that I have trouble accepting (see, for example, You might have a soterian gospel if you… ), but those may be more reflective of the people promoting them than what Calvin intended. Let’s focus on the concept of “total depravity” for now.

Are we totally depraved? Are humans are inherently incapable of doing good? If so, why do we see so many people tend toward acts of goodness? What exactly did Calvin mean by "total depravity"? For that, I pulled out my handy Calvin for Armchair Theologians. According to Christopher Elwood, Calvin meant pretty much what it sounds like:

Human sin, in [Calvin’s] view, creates a condition whose effects are “diffused into all parts of the soul.” The “total” in “total depravity” means that there is no part of the human personality that is free from sin and its impact. [p. 66]

Calvin (as well as Luther) was countering the idea that humans, on their own, are capable of doing good and making moral progress apart from God [p. 67]. The emphasis is on God’s grace and not on our deeds. There are those who take offense at the idea that humans are inherently evil and incapable of good apart from God. They point to those with no apparent belief in God who strive to do good and help others out because, as one humanist quoted in Berghoef's article said, that’s what makes life worthwhile. 

Do you agree that humanity tends more toward acts of goodness and heroism than acts of evil? Is there an inherent goodness in humans that leads us to help others and try to make the world a better place? Or do you think that, apart from God, we’re unable to do good, even if we try? If so, is it possible that God sometimes uses people who don’t explicitly believe in God to accomplish that good?


(1) The concept of doctrine as a healing teaching comes from Diana Butler Bass, quoted in Brian McLaren’s book Why Did Jesus, Moses, the Buddha, and Mohammed Cross the Road?