When I was a teenager, I learned what it was to be powerless.
To make a long story short, my father was diagnosed with a terminal illness and died just over three years after the doctor's message. In that time, he deteriorated slowly until finally his lungs could no longer function. That meant that I spent the better part of my early adolescence being an in-home hospice nurse. It involved the sort of inglorious and undignified necessities in which no boy ever expects to aid. I slowly came to a realization I was too timid to speak. No matter how much I toiled, no matter how many hours I slept, no matter how many horrible humiliations I endured, and even no matter how much guilt I heaped upon myself--all was in vain because he would still die. I wasn't powerful enough to save him.
My next exposure to Reformed theology came after he died. I was under the sway of a couple of teachers and friends who were wrestling their way through thee tenets of Calvinism. I was honestly rather uncomfortable with it. I had never met anyone who very seriously entertained predestination at all. I knew where I was and what I believed, firmly entrenched in the Baptist Arminian position. Still, as they persisted on their journeys I was learning about Reformed theology and the simple five-points to which it has been reduced: the TULIP.
The "T" of the TULIP stands for Total Depravity. I was initially uncomfortable with this. Total Depravity is a doctrine which essentially states that man is totally depraved--wicked throughout in his natural condition. My first impressions were not accurate though; I wish that someone would develop some other acronym that didn't use it. I thought it meant that all unsaved people (and all saved ones before receiving Jesus) were as nasty and wretched as Adolf Hitler or Josef Stalin.
This is not a fair picture and I have come to a better understanding of what John Calvin meant since then. "Total Depravity" would better understood as "thorough sinfulness" or "powerlessly enslaved to sin". It's not that unsaved people are incapable of friendliness, kindness, or even civic good, but that they are incapable of doing any good warranting salvation.
There was nothing in me worth saving. Every wicked and evil thought and deed in my heart doomed me justly to Hell. For as much conversation as there has been recently about whether or not Hell is real and literal, it seems that most people are thinking about the fate of other people. Few think about how they themselves deserve hell. I know that I am not Hitler, but I have wronged God greatly. I was powerless in my sin, addicted to evil, and enthralled with darkness. I was God's enemy and stood justly under His wrath. It's not because I don't have enough self-confidence or because I am a guilt-ridden person. It's because I spit in the face of God--the ultimate victim for He has never done anyone wrong yet has been wronged by everyone.
An uncharitable reader may think that I have reached the conclusion of Reformed theology based upon a jarring experience in my past. This is a risk I must take in order to have fidelity and heartfelt connection with my readers. But to that uncharitable reader--one who would credit my conclusion to my psychological experiences and nothing more--I must point to an example from history. A psychological approach would say that the Jewish historians ought not be taken seriously because they have great reasons to exaggerate the horrors of Nazism. Yet no group has done a better, honest job of documenting and archiving the Holocaust than the Jews. No one with credibility can suggest that the Jews have distorted the facts in doing so. On the contrary, they have done the best job because of their experiences. In that same spirit, I argue that my experiences have made me more sensitive to the nuances of human depravity.
God saves me from my filth and unites me to Himself. I don't have to save myself or save others. I can't anyway. Only God can save the world, save my father, and save me. We are totally depraved because we are incapable and fallen. We're stuck and only the Savior can save.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Hell's Bells!
Several years ago I had the supreme misfortune of reading Rob Bell's Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith. I do the best I can to remain a critical, neutral reader of everything I read. I prefer to test everything and hold onto the good without being too sore about the chaff I rubbed off. This one was different. Maybe it has to do with the circumstances surrounding my first run-through of the book. Maybe it was because I watched that first Nooma video four times in one summer at youth service ("We're gonna make it, buddy! Daddy knows the way!" Ugh...) Maybe I was just a little puffed up after my freshman year of college.
Or maybe the way he writes like this.
All the time.
And how a guy who wants to appear environmentally-sensitive wastes huge swaths of the page to appear profound while dooming hundreds of innocent trees to the slaughter. That with every.
Drawn-out.
Thought.
Ultimately it's probably Bell's trendy, artsy way of carrying himself and churning out videos that makes him more popular than I'll ever be. Or how he never seems particularly cranky, unlike me. In the end, I may be unable to stand him because I'll never be that cool.
Anyway you slice it, one thing I hated about Velvet Elvis was that I suspected that Bell was way more theologically liberal than he would have us believe. Yet the more I would raise these concerns, the more people around we would say that I was probably over-reacting. Some would hear what I said and reply, "I don't think that's what he meant." When I asked them why then Bell had said it that way, folks would reply, "He's just trying to be thought-provoking." I would then cite sermons he had preached and footnotes he'd left. I even attacked him for the teaching method he used, craving shock factor over solid Truth. Some around me still seemed eager to grant him the benefit of the doubt, maintaining that I must have misread him. Maybe they were right. I bet Rob Bell meant the total opposite of that stuff he wrote, had edited, finalized, then publicly defended against criticism.
I forgot about the issue for a while. Four years later, I logged onto facebook to find a friend had posted a link. I had not long before essentially figured that the Bell bandwagon had run out of steam. After all, by now most people I knew talked about the much-superior Mark Driscoll's Mars Hill over Rob Bell's. Seemingly out of the blue, here was Bell marketing his new book as a "questioning" of the doctrine of Hell. "Is Hell real? Will Ghandi really burn there forever? Does God intend for Jesus to save us from Himself?" he asks during the video. Before I could fully react, it looked as though the entire Reformed blogosphere had already been lit ablaze with criticism of a book which had yet to be released. I was briefly comforted to see that teachers I deeply respected could finally call this false teacher for who he was. Bell had slipped up and overplayed his trendy little hands. Now no one could deny what I had seen all along.
Yet the more I thought about it, the more I realized I may be far guiltier than Rob Bell ever will be. True, I haven't denied a fundamental teaching of the Christian church. (I am a Calvinist though, and to freewill folks that is almost the same.) No, I have affirmed all the right doctrines and could probably explain them better than most. I could probably be really entertaining about it too.
A rare opportunity to please both Yahweh AND Dionysus!
Rob Bell (might) deny Hell by the words in his forthcoming book. I'm afraid that I deny Hell by the way I live everyday. I have to ask if I live as though Hell is a conscious, eternal torment for the unrepentant. Do I evangelize share the gospel as though people will writhe in God's just fury forever? Do I serve as though those who see me might catch a glimpse of the Savior who can deliver them from Hell? I fear that the answer is no.
I wish John Piper, Kevin DeYoung, Justin Taylor, and others had waited for Rob Bell's book to come out before crying heresy. That said, it honestly does look like Bell will crossover into heresy--probably in the unassuming, falsely-humble way he does everything else. Still, I ought to hold my tongue for I fear I have denied Hell in a far more significant way than Bell has. He might (or might not) be misleading people with his trendy videos and falsely-humble questioning. I might be misleading people with the life I live, tacitly watching their ignorant blustering into the flames.
Or maybe the way he writes like this.
All the time.
And how a guy who wants to appear environmentally-sensitive wastes huge swaths of the page to appear profound while dooming hundreds of innocent trees to the slaughter. That with every.
Drawn-out.
Thought.
Ultimately it's probably Bell's trendy, artsy way of carrying himself and churning out videos that makes him more popular than I'll ever be. Or how he never seems particularly cranky, unlike me. In the end, I may be unable to stand him because I'll never be that cool.
Anyway you slice it, one thing I hated about Velvet Elvis was that I suspected that Bell was way more theologically liberal than he would have us believe. Yet the more I would raise these concerns, the more people around we would say that I was probably over-reacting. Some would hear what I said and reply, "I don't think that's what he meant." When I asked them why then Bell had said it that way, folks would reply, "He's just trying to be thought-provoking." I would then cite sermons he had preached and footnotes he'd left. I even attacked him for the teaching method he used, craving shock factor over solid Truth. Some around me still seemed eager to grant him the benefit of the doubt, maintaining that I must have misread him. Maybe they were right. I bet Rob Bell meant the total opposite of that stuff he wrote, had edited, finalized, then publicly defended against criticism.
I forgot about the issue for a while. Four years later, I logged onto facebook to find a friend had posted a link. I had not long before essentially figured that the Bell bandwagon had run out of steam. After all, by now most people I knew talked about the much-superior Mark Driscoll's Mars Hill over Rob Bell's. Seemingly out of the blue, here was Bell marketing his new book as a "questioning" of the doctrine of Hell. "Is Hell real? Will Ghandi really burn there forever? Does God intend for Jesus to save us from Himself?" he asks during the video. Before I could fully react, it looked as though the entire Reformed blogosphere had already been lit ablaze with criticism of a book which had yet to be released. I was briefly comforted to see that teachers I deeply respected could finally call this false teacher for who he was. Bell had slipped up and overplayed his trendy little hands. Now no one could deny what I had seen all along.
Yet the more I thought about it, the more I realized I may be far guiltier than Rob Bell ever will be. True, I haven't denied a fundamental teaching of the Christian church. (I am a Calvinist though, and to freewill folks that is almost the same.) No, I have affirmed all the right doctrines and could probably explain them better than most. I could probably be really entertaining about it too.
A rare opportunity to please both Yahweh AND Dionysus!Rob Bell (might) deny Hell by the words in his forthcoming book. I'm afraid that I deny Hell by the way I live everyday. I have to ask if I live as though Hell is a conscious, eternal torment for the unrepentant. Do I evangelize share the gospel as though people will writhe in God's just fury forever? Do I serve as though those who see me might catch a glimpse of the Savior who can deliver them from Hell? I fear that the answer is no.
I wish John Piper, Kevin DeYoung, Justin Taylor, and others had waited for Rob Bell's book to come out before crying heresy. That said, it honestly does look like Bell will crossover into heresy--probably in the unassuming, falsely-humble way he does everything else. Still, I ought to hold my tongue for I fear I have denied Hell in a far more significant way than Bell has. He might (or might not) be misleading people with his trendy videos and falsely-humble questioning. I might be misleading people with the life I live, tacitly watching their ignorant blustering into the flames.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Forgive Us Our Debts
Roughly one month ago, a reader known only as Anonymous posted on my Why I Am Reformed entry. Mr. Nymous posted, "quick question - Matt. 18:23-25". I immediately shifted into the mindset of the critical historian, puzzling over the scrawling like an archeologist over a piece of papyrus. I carefully noted the lack of capitalization on all but the Scripture. I cataloged the oddly-placed hyphen. But most obvious to the critical reader is this fact--this was not a question. Written questions in English usually begin with interrogative pronouns or helping verbs and end with a mark something like this: "?".
So because this wasn't actually a question, I will answer the question I think the commenter was asking, "What is your take on Matthew 18:23-25?" I read it. Since again no actual question was left, I must guess at what the controversial nature of the text was. I assume that it isn't that the Kingdom of Heaven is a monarchy as opposed to a democracy. I assume it isn't that the king lent money, though there was a time when usury was thought un-Christian. It could even be assumed that Mr. Nymous is objecting to the use of political similes for theological concepts. However, I think that the objection must be thus: the Kingdom of Heaven is compared to a king who orders a debtor and his entire family sold into slavery.
(The reader may think I am being altogether dismissive of Mr. Nymous by introducing all the possible objections one may have to these three verses. Rather, I am trying to prove that any of these could be considered offensive to various observers. Slavery is uniquely offensive to a twenty-first century American; the fifteenth century Reformer or the fourth century Roman would not have regarded this.)
This might be a fair complaint had my charitable reader been as charitable to the Scripture as he has been to me. However, I think he has not been fair. In context, we see a much different story. Peter has asked Jesus how many times he must forgive those who transgress against him, offering the number seven. The Lord responds seventy times seven. Those fools who suppose themselves clever shall take this to mean the may keep a running ledger of offenses and cease to grant mercy at the 490th infraction. The humble reader will see Jesus' point for the hyperbole it is--forgiveness must be unlimited. After all, Peter thinks he is being generous because in ancient Hebrew culture three was the number of times a person was supposed to forgive. Jesus denies this, saying that forgiveness is as abundant as grace.
Then the Lord tells a story to emphasize His point. He tells of a king who has servant owing him a great sum. According to the ESV Study Bible, the sum in today's dollars would be somewhere around $6 billion (ten thousand talents was about twenty years' wages). The king prepares to sell the servant and his family into slavery. This was a common way to pay off debt in the ancient world. I can prove it without a textbook. Instead he forgives the servant his debt. The servant then goes to another servant who owes him about $12,000 in modern money (again according to the ESV Study Bible) and throws him into prison until he pays it. The king, upon hearing this, has that first servant also imprisoned for his wickedness.
We often read the Bible to find endorsements for our twenty-first century Western notions of equality and freedom and social justice. The truth is that the Bible stands outside of and above all cultures and human philosophy. This does not mean that the Bible contradicts everything about our society. It means that some of the things we find really offensive are not offensive unto the Lord. Much more humbling should be the fact that many things we don't find offensive--like being unmerciful to a debtor--inflame the wrath of the Lord. So how is the kingdom of Heaven like a king who threatens to sell a servant into slavery? Because we Christians have been forgiven of a far greater debt than $12,000 or even $6,000,000,000. We have been forgiven the penalty of Hell by the death of Jesus Christ--God Himself--on the Cross. Love keeps no record of wrongs, nor should the Christian.
So because this wasn't actually a question, I will answer the question I think the commenter was asking, "What is your take on Matthew 18:23-25?" I read it. Since again no actual question was left, I must guess at what the controversial nature of the text was. I assume that it isn't that the Kingdom of Heaven is a monarchy as opposed to a democracy. I assume it isn't that the king lent money, though there was a time when usury was thought un-Christian. It could even be assumed that Mr. Nymous is objecting to the use of political similes for theological concepts. However, I think that the objection must be thus: the Kingdom of Heaven is compared to a king who orders a debtor and his entire family sold into slavery.
(The reader may think I am being altogether dismissive of Mr. Nymous by introducing all the possible objections one may have to these three verses. Rather, I am trying to prove that any of these could be considered offensive to various observers. Slavery is uniquely offensive to a twenty-first century American; the fifteenth century Reformer or the fourth century Roman would not have regarded this.)
This might be a fair complaint had my charitable reader been as charitable to the Scripture as he has been to me. However, I think he has not been fair. In context, we see a much different story. Peter has asked Jesus how many times he must forgive those who transgress against him, offering the number seven. The Lord responds seventy times seven. Those fools who suppose themselves clever shall take this to mean the may keep a running ledger of offenses and cease to grant mercy at the 490th infraction. The humble reader will see Jesus' point for the hyperbole it is--forgiveness must be unlimited. After all, Peter thinks he is being generous because in ancient Hebrew culture three was the number of times a person was supposed to forgive. Jesus denies this, saying that forgiveness is as abundant as grace.
Then the Lord tells a story to emphasize His point. He tells of a king who has servant owing him a great sum. According to the ESV Study Bible, the sum in today's dollars would be somewhere around $6 billion (ten thousand talents was about twenty years' wages). The king prepares to sell the servant and his family into slavery. This was a common way to pay off debt in the ancient world. I can prove it without a textbook. Instead he forgives the servant his debt. The servant then goes to another servant who owes him about $12,000 in modern money (again according to the ESV Study Bible) and throws him into prison until he pays it. The king, upon hearing this, has that first servant also imprisoned for his wickedness.
We often read the Bible to find endorsements for our twenty-first century Western notions of equality and freedom and social justice. The truth is that the Bible stands outside of and above all cultures and human philosophy. This does not mean that the Bible contradicts everything about our society. It means that some of the things we find really offensive are not offensive unto the Lord. Much more humbling should be the fact that many things we don't find offensive--like being unmerciful to a debtor--inflame the wrath of the Lord. So how is the kingdom of Heaven like a king who threatens to sell a servant into slavery? Because we Christians have been forgiven of a far greater debt than $12,000 or even $6,000,000,000. We have been forgiven the penalty of Hell by the death of Jesus Christ--God Himself--on the Cross. Love keeps no record of wrongs, nor should the Christian.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Pessimism
"What is the matter with the pessimist? [...] I think it can be stated, without undue bitterness, by saying that he is the candid friend. And what is the matter with the candid friend? [...] I venture to say that what is bad in the candid friend is simply that he is not candid. He is keeping something back -- his own gloomy pleasure in saying unpleasant things. [...] [H]e is the uncandid candid friend; the man who says, 'I am sorry to say we are ruined,' and is not sorry at all." -G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy
I recently read a book passed on to me by a wise friend concerning the topic of intrinsic motivation. The thesis was that the typical "carrot-and-stick" method of discipline was rather soul-crushing. The author instead advocated granting a level of ownership and freedom to employees or students and letting their natural creativity take hold. The basic conclusion was that rewarding and punitive motivators for rudimentary tasks such as assembling fast food or stacking papers was effective. For tasks requiring more originality or flair, they became a dismal failure. The take-home for me as an educator was that children are intrinsically motivated to learn. They really do want to learn. Therefore, do not lord over them with deadlines, tests, or projects. Give them as much ownership of the material as possible and they will astound you. It all sounds like the premise for a made-for-TV movie about some Teacher of the Year in a drastically under-performing school.
Would that it were true.
The unfortunate reality both in the classroom and in life is that there are genuinely people who crave failure, not success. I most eagerly believe that at some point everyone was intrinsically motivated to success and not failure. I also grant that most likely at some point a soul-crushing instructor or an over-bearing employer or a cruel coach quenched any lingering thirst for achievement. Perhaps they learn to anticipate failure and find it a twisted form of success to assure all listeners of a disappointing performance and bend over backwards to deliver. Diagnose as you please; the honest observer must admit that there are people in the world who really do relish failure.
They are those truly toxic people in the world. They predict heinous outcomes to all ventures. Should the endeavor prove fruitful, they shall shrug and chalk it up to the Law of Averages while already yearning for the next triumph of the Law of Murphy. The very next iniquitous try (no matter how far separated from their last failed dire prediction) is a private triumph. In layman's terms, I think the optimist's favorite phrase is, "It's not so bad." The pessimist's is, "I told you so."
It will always be true that there are small men who enlarge themselves in their own minds by casting the first stones. I find the modern sophisticated, urbanite, twenty-something to be the best example of the classic pessimist. They live lives chock full of irony. They make snarky remarks about Bush and Obama on the same issue in the same breath. There are only a few movies they enjoy, mostly the ones by nihilistic or European directors with an equally jaded outlook as theirs. No book is as good as Catcher in the Rye or some nonsense by Foucault. They believe in Nothing. It's not that they don't believe in anything, it's that they put their stock in Nothing. They love the Nothing. They stared into the Abyss and found something wonderful in all the horror. And the more movies and politicians and songs and ideas and heartfelt yearnings they can reduce to Nothing, the happier they will be.
In the end, the pessimist sees all too well that misery loves company. Nevertheless, he is blind to the fact that company can hardly stand him.
I recently read a book passed on to me by a wise friend concerning the topic of intrinsic motivation. The thesis was that the typical "carrot-and-stick" method of discipline was rather soul-crushing. The author instead advocated granting a level of ownership and freedom to employees or students and letting their natural creativity take hold. The basic conclusion was that rewarding and punitive motivators for rudimentary tasks such as assembling fast food or stacking papers was effective. For tasks requiring more originality or flair, they became a dismal failure. The take-home for me as an educator was that children are intrinsically motivated to learn. They really do want to learn. Therefore, do not lord over them with deadlines, tests, or projects. Give them as much ownership of the material as possible and they will astound you. It all sounds like the premise for a made-for-TV movie about some Teacher of the Year in a drastically under-performing school.
Would that it were true.
The unfortunate reality both in the classroom and in life is that there are genuinely people who crave failure, not success. I most eagerly believe that at some point everyone was intrinsically motivated to success and not failure. I also grant that most likely at some point a soul-crushing instructor or an over-bearing employer or a cruel coach quenched any lingering thirst for achievement. Perhaps they learn to anticipate failure and find it a twisted form of success to assure all listeners of a disappointing performance and bend over backwards to deliver. Diagnose as you please; the honest observer must admit that there are people in the world who really do relish failure.
They are those truly toxic people in the world. They predict heinous outcomes to all ventures. Should the endeavor prove fruitful, they shall shrug and chalk it up to the Law of Averages while already yearning for the next triumph of the Law of Murphy. The very next iniquitous try (no matter how far separated from their last failed dire prediction) is a private triumph. In layman's terms, I think the optimist's favorite phrase is, "It's not so bad." The pessimist's is, "I told you so."
It will always be true that there are small men who enlarge themselves in their own minds by casting the first stones. I find the modern sophisticated, urbanite, twenty-something to be the best example of the classic pessimist. They live lives chock full of irony. They make snarky remarks about Bush and Obama on the same issue in the same breath. There are only a few movies they enjoy, mostly the ones by nihilistic or European directors with an equally jaded outlook as theirs. No book is as good as Catcher in the Rye or some nonsense by Foucault. They believe in Nothing. It's not that they don't believe in anything, it's that they put their stock in Nothing. They love the Nothing. They stared into the Abyss and found something wonderful in all the horror. And the more movies and politicians and songs and ideas and heartfelt yearnings they can reduce to Nothing, the happier they will be.
In the end, the pessimist sees all too well that misery loves company. Nevertheless, he is blind to the fact that company can hardly stand him.
Friday, February 18, 2011
You Only Think I'm Kidding Chapter 3
RUNNING IS THE WORST DRUG FOR YOU
I would have thought this kind of thing went without saying, but it appears that more and more people have been suckered in by the innocuous rhetoric of this peculiar hobby. Try as I might to persuade people of the danger, no one seems to acknowledge it. Wit ye well, noble readers, I have glimpsed the unnatural contortions of mind and soul wreaked upon otherwise reasonable individuals. There are millions across the world who have surrendered themselves ignorantly into the clutches of a dastardly slaver. With Dionysus as my witness, I make my final appeal against this fiefdom of blackest night from the podium of Artery Bloggage. Know now and forevermore that people you love are even now becoming runners. Yes and even you, reader, are but a few quickened steps away from being a cardio-addict.
Some deny that running is a drug at all, much less that it is bad. Perhaps a hypothetical would be helpful. Let's assume that you have two friends. One is named Randy. Randy is a true runner; he runs somewhere around ten miles a day. He is very enthusiastic about fitness and his favored sport. The other friend is a crack head. He can't remember his real name, yet he swears the angel Gabriel has dubbed him Antonio Jones, the Prophet of Funk. "A.J." is very enthusiastic about crack and his favored forms of it. A.J. is a true addict; he smokes around for around ten hours a day. You will begin to notice some similarities between these two as we move forward.
Have you ever been on a long car ride with a guy like A.J.? Say, a two-day car ride out to Texas from your hometown in Virginia. Part way through day 1, Randy grows restless. He really wants to stretch his legs at your first stop for gas. He starts talking about how bored he's getting. By nightfall, he's begun to talk about how slow the trip seems to be going. He mentions a burning, a yearning, a churning craving he can't control. He really missed his "special time" today. By day 2 at lunch time, he's begging for any chance to get it in. He's starting to feel a little depressed because he didn't have any endorphins pumping yesterday or today. He begs for any opportunity for them. You notice by nightfall that he is about to twitch himself out of the seat from sheer restlessness. He claws at the seat belt frantically like a squirrel duct-taped to a car bumper. Must. Have. A. Fix.
Oh, my bad. That was supposed to be Randy. In real life, the crack head is much more subtle.
Some say the worst thing of all is the evangelistic fervor with which the runner proclaims his favorite practice. Running is so good for you, he says. Sure, it's tough at first. Nobody really likes it to begin with, but stick through and I promise you'll love it. It's the best. The runner speaks often about how he can't really imagine how people can live without it.
Others say the worst thing of all is the way it alters your brain. We all have had friends sucked into this mindset. Slowly but surely, they too became runners just like the circuit-riding runner who brought the running revival to them. It soon consumes all their thoughts. The idea of being cooped up in a car for even three hours becomes inconceivable. "But how will I stretch my legs?" they plead. "How will I those calories burned?" These are questions they never asked before. Now, because of running, they can't stop. And they want you to come too. Right now. "Join us in a marathon. Join us. Join us," chants the chorus. "If you'll only eschew the sedentary road trip, the lazy movie, all the droning conversation and debate and embrace the warm burn of the jog at sunrise." They aren't your friends anymore. They're runners now.
I disagree with all that; I think the worst thing about this abominable addiction is the swagger which grows in alongside it. Everyone knows that exercise is good for you. Nevertheless, it's no reason to get all self-righteous about it. Yes, we get that it's your hobby. Yes, we get that you're addicted. But that's the thing about running--many runners reach that awful place where they know they're better than us "normies". Unlike the crack head, who seems perfectly content to hog the crack cocaine for himself and feels mostly shame, the runner will begin to snub you if you don't cave into his social pressuring. Some will say so aloud. Others will say so by gesturing Vanna-White-style to a trendy 26.1 sticker on their rear windshield. Still more will ask you if you're eager to move yet after three hours of Seinfeld marathon. Maybe you're better than me, runner, but you're not better than Cosmo Kramer.
I mean it, America. Runners' high is still a high.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Because I Wasn't Always: Why I Am Reformed Part 2
My first experience with Lutheran/Calvinist soteriology (beliefs about salvation) came when I was fifteen. I was on a mission trip to New Orleans to work on a week-long project at the Baptist seminary there. (This was before the hurricane.) I was getting awfully bored on the drive so I picked up an issue of Breakaway, a Focus on the Family magazine for teen boys. They were going through a series where they compared and contrasted different Christian denominations. There they laid out in a very simple diagram the five points of Calvinism and Arminianism. This first taste of Reformed theology was not particularly positive.
Upon comparing the two charts, I found that I agreed with four out of five Arminian points. I believed that people could do good apart from Christ. After all, wasn't it good when people who didn't know Jesus fought for justice and freedom? I believed that only those who made the conscious, adult, free choice to follow Jesus were truly saved. I believed that Jesus died on the cross for all people, but that not all choose to follow Him. He couldn't force them to follow Him or else it wouldn't be willing. Thus, those who went to Hell went because they wanted to be there. I believed God would never force someone to go to Heaven who didn't wholeheartedly want to.
In fact the only thing the Calvinists seemed to get right was the issue of eternal security or perseverance of the saints. Classical Arminian theology teaches that people can lose their salvation through habitual sin or choosing to leave Christ. I have quite frankly always been convicted that nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. I don't need to look very far to find justification for that conviction. The notion that Jesus' sacrifice does not cover over sin once and for all is so offensive to me that I don't know that I can actually hold a conversation at once civil and serious on that point. "Jesus saves you, but your good behavior keeps your ticket to Heaven valid!" Revolting.
Upon comparing the two charts, I found that I agreed with four out of five Arminian points. I believed that people could do good apart from Christ. After all, wasn't it good when people who didn't know Jesus fought for justice and freedom? I believed that only those who made the conscious, adult, free choice to follow Jesus were truly saved. I believed that Jesus died on the cross for all people, but that not all choose to follow Him. He couldn't force them to follow Him or else it wouldn't be willing. Thus, those who went to Hell went because they wanted to be there. I believed God would never force someone to go to Heaven who didn't wholeheartedly want to.
In fact the only thing the Calvinists seemed to get right was the issue of eternal security or perseverance of the saints. Classical Arminian theology teaches that people can lose their salvation through habitual sin or choosing to leave Christ. I have quite frankly always been convicted that nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. I don't need to look very far to find justification for that conviction. The notion that Jesus' sacrifice does not cover over sin once and for all is so offensive to me that I don't know that I can actually hold a conversation at once civil and serious on that point. "Jesus saves you, but your good behavior keeps your ticket to Heaven valid!" Revolting.
So I was what I called a "Baptist Arminian". I said "Baptist" versus "Classical" because I had never met a Baptist who denied eternal security. This was an opinion that I not only found to be very self-consistent and easy, I also found it to be the majority opinion of adults I knew. Most folks my age were not particularly conversant on the subject. Thus, I found a lot of grown-ups who affirmed my conclusion. In fact, I found none to dispute it.
At the root of it all, I thought that a love wasn't love unless you were free to choose it. A free choice is one which is based wholly on free will. Therefore, God can't force people into anything; they have to freely choose. We're not robots, after all. How could a loving God overwhelm our freedom?
Some of these opinions I would hold, some I would shed, but most I would simply modify when I switched teams a few years later...
At the root of it all, I thought that a love wasn't love unless you were free to choose it. A free choice is one which is based wholly on free will. Therefore, God can't force people into anything; they have to freely choose. We're not robots, after all. How could a loving God overwhelm our freedom?
Some of these opinions I would hold, some I would shed, but most I would simply modify when I switched teams a few years later...
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Optimism
"What is the evil of the man commonly called an optimist? Obviously, it is felt that the optimist, wishing to defend the honour of this world, will defend the indefensible. He is the jingo of the universe; he will say, "My cosmos, right or wrong." He will be less inclined to the reform of things; more inclined to a sort of front-bench official answer to all attacks, soothing every one with assurances. He will not wash the world, but whitewash the world." -G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy
Some friends often accuse me of being something of a cynic. I assume they do so because I occasionally have sardonic sense of humor. I have never been shy about mocking those things which have proven huge disappointments. A long time ago I found this to be a very effective coping mechanism. If your college promises that Spring Formal is the most magical night of your life and the sound system shorts out, is it really so cynical to loudly wonder if a wizard has hexed your dance? (Okay, maybe if you then say that the senior class president who made the comment is an evil wizard setting us all up for failure.)* But I long ago realized that there are times in life when you have to laugh to keep from crying.
We tend to view optimism as a character asset. In fact, we consider pessimism and optimism to be an opposing pair of virtue and vice much as we do Courage and Cowardice or Love and Hate.
Some friends often accuse me of being something of a cynic. I assume they do so because I occasionally have sardonic sense of humor. I have never been shy about mocking those things which have proven huge disappointments. A long time ago I found this to be a very effective coping mechanism. If your college promises that Spring Formal is the most magical night of your life and the sound system shorts out, is it really so cynical to loudly wonder if a wizard has hexed your dance? (Okay, maybe if you then say that the senior class president who made the comment is an evil wizard setting us all up for failure.)* But I long ago realized that there are times in life when you have to laugh to keep from crying.
We tend to view optimism as a character asset. In fact, we consider pessimism and optimism to be an opposing pair of virtue and vice much as we do Courage and Cowardice or Love and Hate.
Or Bacon and Vegetables
But I wonder if there isn't something to what Chesterton is saying. Having been through a fair share of grief and frustration, I found that the most unhelpful advice came from people simply telling me to buck up and look on the bright side. Most of them were probably at a loss as to what to say. I know their intention was nothing but helpful and noble. I retrospectively appreciate their expression of support though I find their words far from truly supportive.
I think that oftentimes the best thing to do when addressing problems and evil in life is not to downplay them but to accept them in all their dreadful gravity. We might want pithy statements about silver linings when the car won't start or I have a fight with my sister. I don't want to hear about how "things always work out for the best" when my life crumbles under the crushing weight of disease, loneliness, hopelessness, or death. I need someone to tell me that the world sucks and its ruined and broken and the only hope for man exists altogether outside it. The world should be acknowledged by any serious and honest observer as more than merely unjust occasionally; it is an unjust place by nature. But this is the sin of the optimist for he whitewashes the world.
I, like Chesterton, would never consider pessimism to be a virtue either. I will address the issue of pessimism in the coming weeks and the ultimate alternative to both foolish extremes. Still, I want to leave the reader with the very serious possibility that an optimistic view of life is hardly the best. I think it very unlikely that the world can be saved from within. Man has had thousands of years of recorded history to fix injustice and suffering. Maybe progress has been made. After all, we got rid of slavery, right? Why then are people more morose, listless, and suicidal than ever? (Ecclesiastes, anyone?) Maybe they just aren't being optimistic enough... but I think it more likely that they have been sold a falsely positive view of the world and can't cope with the reality. All those cynics are disappointed romantics.
*This was not a true story. It was a hypothetical. I always liked the senior class president.
But I wonder if there isn't something to what Chesterton is saying. Having been through a fair share of grief and frustration, I found that the most unhelpful advice came from people simply telling me to buck up and look on the bright side. Most of them were probably at a loss as to what to say. I know their intention was nothing but helpful and noble. I retrospectively appreciate their expression of support though I find their words far from truly supportive.
I think that oftentimes the best thing to do when addressing problems and evil in life is not to downplay them but to accept them in all their dreadful gravity. We might want pithy statements about silver linings when the car won't start or I have a fight with my sister. I don't want to hear about how "things always work out for the best" when my life crumbles under the crushing weight of disease, loneliness, hopelessness, or death. I need someone to tell me that the world sucks and its ruined and broken and the only hope for man exists altogether outside it. The world should be acknowledged by any serious and honest observer as more than merely unjust occasionally; it is an unjust place by nature. But this is the sin of the optimist for he whitewashes the world.
I, like Chesterton, would never consider pessimism to be a virtue either. I will address the issue of pessimism in the coming weeks and the ultimate alternative to both foolish extremes. Still, I want to leave the reader with the very serious possibility that an optimistic view of life is hardly the best. I think it very unlikely that the world can be saved from within. Man has had thousands of years of recorded history to fix injustice and suffering. Maybe progress has been made. After all, we got rid of slavery, right? Why then are people more morose, listless, and suicidal than ever? (Ecclesiastes, anyone?) Maybe they just aren't being optimistic enough... but I think it more likely that they have been sold a falsely positive view of the world and can't cope with the reality. All those cynics are disappointed romantics.
*This was not a true story. It was a hypothetical. I always liked the senior class president.
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