A Rant: Removing the Roadblocks

Pardon me, but I need to rant a bit today. That means this post will undoubtedly include some ridiculous overstatement, silly generalization, or other ungodly use of words. So I ask your forgiveness in advance. But I just can’t help myself.

My rant is in response to an email I received recently. It was from a dear friend who was looking for a book recommendation. The book was not for him, but for a family member who apparently has turned her back on the Christian faith (any book recommendations out there?). While explaining his request, he gave a fistful of reasons for her rejection, but the one that really stuck in my craw was one I’ve heard all too often. This young woman–a bright student in finishing her masters degree in biology at a large university–is under the impression that you can’t be a Christian AND be an intelligent scientific thinker. Her proof? The (misinformed) impression she has that all Christians believe (and must believe) that dinosaurs never existed, that the earth is 6,000 years old, that there is no such thing as evolution in any shape or form.

Don’t get me wrong. You are entitled to conclude from your reading of Genesis 1-2 that God created the world in a very short time (even 6, 24 hour days). You may believe, if you really think it best, that the dinosaur bones that have been found just west of Denver were a part of God’s elaborate plan to create a young earth that merely looked old (on par with giving Adam and Eve belly buttons). You can even insist that the earth is a mere 6,000 years old. You may think all those things and I will have no beef with you. Just don’t tell me that I have to believe all those things. More importantly, don’t tell my young friend that she has to.

There are a lot of reasons I’d prefer Christians don’t run around insisting on this narrow interpretation of Scripture. For one, I (and many other Bible-believing Christians) believe that there are other (better?) ways to interpret the text–ways that remain faithful to Genesis’ original intent but not at odds with scientific findings. I think that looking to Genesis 1 to see just how old the earth is and exactly “how it happened” is starting in the wrong place–that when we do that we’re asking questions the text isn’t trying to answer. I think that the text may not be trying to tell us exactly how God created the cosmos (I can’t understand why God would think it necessary to tell us that–first thing!)–but that he created it (I can understand why God would want us to know that). I may elaborate on that in a later post (depending on how much trouble I get in for this one), but that’s not really my main point here. My main point is that there are sound reasons for having a different understanding of Genesis 1 and that to insist that there is only one–and that it’s the one that seems to contradict so much science–is to put up an unnecessary roadblock to the Christian faith. I’d even go to say that, depending on the severity of the insistence, it may even be making the Christian faith about something it is not.

Let me explain that last sentence–and pardon the tangential thinking. Remember, this is a rant.

Here in Denver, it’s not uncommon to see “Darwin Fish” plastered on the bumpers of the Subaru’s in the King Soopers parking lot. You know the ones–they have fins, feet, and often, gaping mouths that are chomping down the “Jesus fish”. There are probably a lot of things that could be said about those fish (either the Darwin fish or the Jesus fish). But for today, just take a moment and notice the interest pairing that is happening here. The Darwin symbol–which represents one interpretation of the way the world came about–is paired with a Jesus symbol. I don’t expect anything on a bumper to be too profound, but in my mind, this should be an apples to oranges comparison–a confusion of categories. After all, when I want people to know Jesus and to become Christians, what I want for them to know is all the life, salvation, holiness, joy, fulfilment, meaning, hope, and redemption that can be theirs in Christ Jesus…not some particular understanding of all the details of the way this world came about. To be sure, we have something to say about that as Christians–but it’s not our main concern. Yet the pairing of the Darwin/Jesus fish on so many bumpers suggests that, at least in the minds of many (presumably) non-Christians–that is our (and Jesus’!) main concern. If that’s the message we’re sending, no wonder so many people remain disinterested–or even scornful–from the “Christian” faith.

That’s one of the tragic ironies of all the energy that many Christians have been pouring into the Creationist debate. They’ve been fighting for “truth” in what may be considered a peripheral issue, but in the process have but up unnecessary roadblocks for those who might come to know the Truth, the way, and the life. In my mind, that is something worth ranting about.

Endings and Beginnings

This week I’ll be talking about our longing for our “home” in the New Creation (Isaiah 11)–a home that will be “set in order” for us when Jesus comes again. One of the thoughts I had kicking around in the back of my mind while I wrote the sermon came from something Eugene Peterson once wrote about atheists (and I may have commented on here before).

Peterson observes that many atheists are what he refers to as “Atheists of Compassion.” They look around the world, see all the war and cancer and genocide and hypocrisy and other monstrosities that human beings are capable of, and conclude that there is no god worth believing in who would allow so much evil.* So their atheism, their refusal to believe in god/God, stems from their compassion for this world.

Peterson notes that in some ways, these atheists are our allies. As Christians, we too ought to be appalled by the brokenness of the creation. Our hearts ought to be just as broken (or more so) than that of a good atheists. So we agree there. We can call ourselves allies in our compassion for those who suffer in this world.

Of course, there are differences too. Namely, hope. We believe that there is a way “out” of this madness–a solution that will not come from the perfect political system or better policies or improved technology or a little more information or right thinking. We believe that one day, God himself will come again in the person of Jesus Christ and he will set all this right again. We believe that, because of his love for this world, God will not toss it in his divine dumpster, but instead will lovingly restore it to (and even beyond) it’s prefallen glory. That’s one of the reasons we long for his coming–because we love this world enough to want him to redeem it.

Here is how Lewis Smedes describes what will happen when Jesus comes again:

“C.S. Lewis said somewhere that when God comes back to earth it will be like having the author of a play called on stage after the final performance; the play is over, he takes his bow, the players leave, and the theater is swallowed in darkness. I do not much care for the metaphor. I believe that the Author of the play will appear on stage not after the final performance, but before the first curtain rises. The players have been turning rehearsals into nasty fights about who gets the best lines and the prime spot on the billboard; [they've been wrecking the set]; the play has become a disaster, doomed before it gets off the ground. it is then that the Author shows up, his original script in hand and with the power to change self-seeking egos into self-giving artists. The theater is bathed in gentle light, the curtain rises, and the play begins a triumphant and endless run. Not the ending, but the new beginning–this is what I hope for.” (172).

What we long for when Christ comes again is not the day he will whisk us away from this mess, then destroy the world and toss it on the cosmic scrap heat. No, we long for the time when he will renew all things. We long for God’s restoration of the world he loves (and we ought to love). We long for the time when we can experience the joys and comforts of home.

It’s something to think about in the midst of our advent longing. Does our longing for his coming stem out of a disregard–even a disdain–for this world that God made? Or does it grow out of our love and compassion for it? Do we look at all the brokenness around us and just want to “fly away” and “be done with it all”? Or do we look at all the brokenness around us and hope that Jesus will come again and finally fix it–make it the way it’s supposed to be? Do we sit around with our heads in the sand and wait for the sweet by-and-by? Or do we join Him in his big redemption project, even while we wait?

*This is the “problem of evil” argument. It’s compelling, but it raises its own questions. For example: How do you measure evil, and at what point do you say there’s “too much” evil. Or more significantly, what do you do with all the good in the world? (I call this the “problem of good”). Who gets the credit for that?

Revelation

A week or two ago, someone at church handed me a copy of Jon Krakauer’s book Under the Banner of Heaven. The book looked interesting, but after glancing at the cover, I wasn’t sure I wanted to read it (just yet). You see, I’ve just read some other books that are rather disturbing (namely: “King Leopold’s Ghost”) and wasn’t sure I was ready for what Krakauer had to offer: an investigation into the murder of a young mother and her daughter at the hands of two brothers, Dan and Ron Lafferty–two Fundamentalist Mormons who carried out the killings after receiving (they claim) a direct command from God.

Well, Jill was gone last week and I found myself with a little extra time on my hands and nothing to read. So I grabbed Under the Banner of Heaven and dug right in. I’m glad I did.

The book was fascinating to me because Krakauer didn’t just tell the story of the murder. Instead, he chose to dig into the “roots of their crime [which] lie deep in the history of an American religion practiced by millions”–Mormonism. Krakauer gives a fairly detailed history of Mormonism (and more specifically, the underbelly of the Mormon Church–Mormon fundamentalism) and, occasionally, pauses to apply his observations of Mormonism to religion in general.

One particular aspect of Mormonism/religion that seems to fascinate Krakauer is the idea of “revelation”. And with good reason. After all, when Joseph Smith founded the Mormon Church 170 years ago, it was on the basis of a (alleged) revelation from the Angel Moroni (near Jill’s hometown of Palmyra, NY, by the way). During the following years, Smith (and his followers) reported countless revelations/interactions with God detailing everything from where they should settle to what they should drink to whom they should marry to when the Civil War would begin. Krakauer’s fascination with religious revelation is also understandable because (as I mentioned above), it was on the basis of a Revelation from God that the Lafferty brothers committed their murders.

From my perspective, Krakauers discussion of the Mormon Church, the Lafferty Brothers, and revelation stirred up two related thoughts.

First: What is it that leads Mormons to believe, so fiercely, that they have indeed had revelations from God? As a Christian, I don’t (necessarily) doubt the possibility of God communicating with individuals. But I DO (as a Christian) presume that at least 97% of the supposed revelations received by Joseph Smith and his followers are in fact false. So what are we to make of this (and for that matter, the “revelations” received by adherents to other religions)? Are these individuals simply deluded? Have they been duped? Do they just have a bad case of indigestion? Or have they actually heard “voices”, but mistaken the voice of God for the voice of someone/thing else? How do we explain this phenomenon?

The second point, related to the first, concerns the “Revelations” that we claim to be true as Christians. Because, make no mistake, even if we don’t believe that God communicates directly with individuals anymore (a hotly debated question in some circles), our religion is nevertheless a revealed one. It’s a “revealed religion” because, even though we can deduce some general truths from reason/nature (e.g. “God Exists), ultimately, we need the Revelation of Scripture (and the Person of Jesus Christ) in order to show us the full truth.

So, that being said, how do we know that our “revelations” can be accepted as from God? How do we know that we’re not crackpots, misguided zealots, or just plain gullible people who have been duped? How do we know that we can trust the apostle Paul, Matthew Mark and Luke, Moses, Isaiah, and the other writers?

This has actually been a question that has troubled me for some time. And after reading Krakauer’s book (and let’s face it, sometimes after reading Scripture itself), it’s easy to see why people might be skeptical. But regrettably (in my opinion), this is one area in which it’s hard to get to a real nuts and bolts, “rational” answer. Sure, we can point to things like historical/archeolotical evidence and manuscript studies–but these only take us so far. At some point, I think we simply have to believe it because, well, we believe it. It’s a matter of faith. It’s a matter of the Spirit’s testimony in our hearts. It’s a matter of trust. We believe the Bible because the Bible (and the Spirit) says we can believe it. It is a vicious circle, and probably not the most satisfying answer to skeptics (Christian or non*), but thus far, it’s the best answer that I can come up with. Anyone smarter than me have a better one?

*Krakauer, a self-proclaimed agnostic, would likely shake his head at disgust at my answer. In the prologue of his book, he writes: “Faith is the very antithesis of reason, injudiciousness a crucial competent of spiritual devotion.” Krakauer also adds this rather provocative charge: “when Religious fanaticism supplants ratiocination, all bets are suddenly off. Anything can happen. Absolutely anything. Common sense is no match for the voice of God–as the actions Dan Lafferty vividly attest.” (xxiii)