"Creation Will Be At Peace"--a Sermon

Last week, I threw together, at the very last minute, a sermon to preach at my dad's church. I am not a preacher, and I've only preached about 3-4 sermons in my life, but they were all class requirements. Anyway, my dad knew I had just taken a preaching class, and so he asked me earlier in the week if I wanted to preach when I got home, and I was really interested in doing it because it was to be a sermon concerning the Christmas message of the angels and the lighting of the angel candle, in celebration of Advent.

You see, I've been really stirred by the idea that we are in community with angels at any moment of any day. A very bizarre thought that nobody ever preaches about, but something that appears to be true nonetheless. I wanted to write a sermon that touched on that somehow. I also wanted to touch on the idea that the message of Peace that the angels brought was both an allusion to the peace of Eden, and a foreshadowing of the eternal peace to come at the second Christmas when Christ comes again to make a new heavens and a new earth. But alas, time ran out, and we had to pack up and leave for Arkansas before I could really figure out how to tie it all together into a sermon.

I'm not sure I ever did figure out how to tie it together well, but this is what I threw together in about three hours the night before I preached it (along with a little polishing up). It basically breaks every single rule I was supposed to have learned in my preaching class...but ah well. So if there is anyone out there who would like to randomly read my first Christmas sermon (heck, my first sermon I've ever written that was not for a class) enjoy!

And before I forget... Merry Christmas!

“Creation Will Be At Peace”

Luke 2:8-20:
And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ[a] the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests."

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about."

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.

I want to tell you a story. It is, in a way, the same kind of story that you see in almost every movie you go to. It is “the” story really—the story of which all other stories are really only copies. Have you ever noticed that many movies you go to work kind of like this:

Act I: As the movie begins, life is generally good. Everyone is pretty happy. You watch the characters as they laugh together. You watch the father scooping the little girl off the ground and raising her into the air, and then looking wistfully over at his wife with a cheesy smile on his face because he loves it. Ah… life is good. But then… huh oh… then something bad happens like…say…the wife and the cute little girl are kidnapped. Well, this ushers in Act II, and this takes up most of the movie. In Act II, the father sets out with all of his wit and macho-ness to save his wife and daughter from these bad men who have captured them. The hero-father goes through several trials and tests, almost dies several times, but always comes out alive. A lot of times, it is right when things look the worst for the hero that he begins his victory over the bad guys. Perhaps it is only a hair’s breadth separating him from his fate as he is knocked hard to the ground by the enemy…but wait! Then something happens… like say, he remembers his little girl’s laugh, his wife’s warm embrace, and these thoughts give him the energy he needs to get up off the ground and really take charge. He beats his enemy this time, and comes out alive. Act III. In this final thirty minutes or so of the movie, the father takes charge, beats all the bad guys once and for all (well…unless, of course, there’s a sequel where he does it all again), and he saves his family from the bad guys. And in the last scene, like the first scene, there are lots of giddy laughter and cheesy smiles as we see the family back to “life as normal”…but not quite the same as before because they have grown closer in a way, and a bit wiser.

This is, essentially, the story. Now we often don’t think about this, but it is also the story of God and man. Just as life began in Act I of the movie with everyone happy… so also our life began, in the Garden of Eden. What if we could catch a scene in a movie of Adam and Eve’s life? What if…? I can just see Adam and Eve in that glorious garden. Adam is in the back yard…maybe he just finished building a shed to put his new riding lawnmower in…who knows? Eve is in the kitchen with her 1950’s cooking apron on, maybe she’s baking some cookies for Adam… maybe she’s making some fruit salad… who knows? Well, Adam comes inside, wipes the sweat off of his forehead as he lets out a sigh of relief. “Ahhh… air conditioning.” Hmm… there’s a problem here… I don’t mind giving Adam a riding lawnmower and air-conditioning, but we can’t have kids yet, because they don’t have kids until they get kicked out of the Garden, right? Ok, so instead of kids…of course! They have animals! Ok, so Adam walks in the back door, and their little malti-poo (that is, of course, a maltese-poodle mix—Kara and I have a little malti-poo named Libby, and she’s really cute…)… so their little malti-poo comes running into the kitchen, and goes absolutely crazy with glee, jumping all over Adam and barking anxiously until Adam picks her up. And so, Adam picks up the little white furball of a dog, snuggles it close, and looks wistfully over at Eve with a cheesy smile, and she give him a cheesy smile back. Adam reaches over to the freshly baked batch of cookies, but Eve slaps his hand saying, “No! Don’t you remember, we are having God over to dinner dear… you can have as many as you want once he gets here, because, well… you know, he’s God and he just works like that.” Ah yes, life was good.

Ah, but wait… you see, life doesn’t stay good. You know the story, you know what ushers in Act II… God said to Adam and Eve, “Of all the grocery stores in Arkansas, you can buy as much fruit as you want—on my credit card even. But there is one store I ask you not to shop at, for if you shop at this store—the store down on 1st street with the picture of a pig, yeah that one—you will surely die. But what do Adam and Eve do? Some lawyer (you know… snake…) came along persuaded them that they should go ahead and shop at the Piggly Wiggly, and because of this, they are kicked out of the Garden of Eden.

Now the point of this familiar narrative God gives us in Genesis 1 is not the specifics such as, “What kind of fruit did they eat?” I don’t even think that the fruit was the really point. The point is that Adam and Eve disobeyed God. And you see, when you disobey someone, fellowship is damaged with that person, peace is broken, and thus fellowship and peace was damaged between God and Man when Adam and Eve fell. You see life went from “good” to “hard.” Very hard. All the sudden pain and suffering and death are introduced into the story. Tears fall to the ground. Blood spills onto the earth. People get angry at each other, and fight, and kill, and lie. Hearts and promises are broken. Life is hard.

This is Act II. However, there is another difference between THE story and the hypothetical movie I mentioned earlier. You see in THE story, God’s story, it is not Adam who goes out to defeat the wicked lawyer who tricked them into shopping at Piggly Wiggly… it is God Himself. God is the Father who is trying to save his loved ones from the death that was brought about by the enemy—which is Sin, disobedience, broken fellowship. All through Act II, which lasts pretty much through the rest of the Old Testament, God is trying to restore this community he once had between Himself and Humanity. The Laws given in the Old Testament were a way to help restore this community so that the presence of God could dwell among the people of Israel again. But this is still an imperfect community between God and Man. In fact, because humans are just so stupid and can’t get it right, God’s presence leaves the temple forever, and eventually the people of Israel are sent into captivity. That is where the song “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” comes from—captive Israel, waiting, longing to be freed from their captivity by the Messiah, longing also for that restored community with God, a community of peace and wholeness.

You see, community was, essentially, Act I in the Garden. The Garden of Eden was this perfect community between God and Man, between Man and Man, and between Man and the Creation God placed Man in charge over. Community. But this community was broken because of Sin, and everything God has been doing since then has been to try to restore this perfect community, trying to bring the story on to the conclusion of Act III when life will be good again.

Well, Act III began 2000 years ago in the city of Bethlehem. You see, in Bethlehem, God Himself came to His loved ones from disaster, which is an astounding news considering that, for the thousands of years during Act II, God had been trying to redeem mankind to Himself more or less from a distance, sending prophets and angels to carry his proclamations to the people… Angels—yes. That is the advent candle we lit today: the angel candle.

At this point we have to interrupt the story and ask ourselves, “What is an angel?” Well, the word, “angel” literally means “messenger.” Now, we’re talking about God re-establishing community here, so I’m going to do something crazy here that I think might just help us sink into an idea of community with the people who have come before us: the Hebrews. This is the word the Hebrews would often use when they spoke of angels: “mahlaka.” Hear that as the Hebrews, thousands of years ago, would hear that, and try to feel the community between you and them: “mahlaka.” When Rome dominated the world in the first century, the Roman world spoke Greek. They would read these Gospels and letters of the New Testament we have in the churches. And when they would read anything about angels, they would use this word: “angellos”. Again, try to hear that as if you were a first century Christian, sitting on the dusty floor in a crowded room: “angellos.” “Angel.” “Messenger.”

Many people think that an “angel” is more of an office, a kind of position, than it is a type of spiritual being. I think this is probably true, because if we look at all the different times “angels” are seen in the Bible, there are various reactions. Sometimes angels just look like anyone else. The author of Hebrews even says that many people have entertained angels without even realizing it. But then on the other hand, you get these completely different reactions, such as we get from these Shepherds in the Christmas story who are scared to death when they see the angels. So some angels seem to be scary looking…others not so much…This could mean any number of things such as that angels can assume different appearances, or that it is an office for different kinds of spiritual creatures (such as Seraphim and Cherubim). They could be scared at the startling way in which they appeared all of the sudden… or heck, it could be that some angels are just ugly…like Jay Leno. Who knows? We do understand that demons are fallen angels, so this could further support the idea that “angel” is a kind of office.

Whatever the case…we just don’t really know all that much about angels, but we do know that they know a lot about us. We do not realize this on a day to day basis, but we are being observed, you see, not just by God…but by a whole host of spiritual creatures. I know this sounds like a science fiction movie, but it’s really not. If we believe what the bible and Christian tradition has to say about it, Angels do watch us, and care for us deeply because God cares for us. In a really confusing passage in 1 Corinthians where Paul talks about wearing coverings on heads, one of the reasons he gives is “because of the angels.” People think that this is implying that angels watch us as we worship, and they are exhorted and disturbed even as we do what we do in church and in worship of God. Whatever “angels” or “heavenly beings” are, we are, somehow, in community with them, right now… even though we don’t realize it.

Now you’ve heard all of your life that there are such a thing as angels, but it’s not something that seems truly real, is it? But I imagine that the shepherds heard similar stories of angels, maybe even believed them, but nothing could have prepared them for what they saw. They were scared to death as the angels appeared and they heard them say:

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”

I can just imagine those words, “Peace on whom his favor rests” echoing in their minds. Peace. No more hardship. No more suffering, pain, loneliness. Peace. The good life. Eden. This was a proclamation of Eden—the perfect life of perfect community. And where did the angels say they would find this savior who will bring peace? “lying in a manger.” A manger! Of all the places in the world, the son of God, the messiah, the one who was to bring peace back into the world, bring Eden back to the earth… was born in a cow’s feeding trough? And yet, I wonder if, as God was writing out the story, this movie starring his only begotten son, he added this whole “manger” and “sleeping in a stable” thing, surrounded by all the animals, as a nod to Eden. Could it be Eden? Paul calls Christ “the Second Adam,” and here this second Adam sleeps in a cow’s dinner. Is that just coincidence? I wonder…

Peace on earth. When the Jews would hear the word, “Shalom” or “Peace,” they understood it as a kind of “wholeness” or “complete-ness”. “On Earth, wholeness…” It is a picture of mankind being whole, complete, being just as God planned for us to be, kind of like before we messed it all up, breaking fellowship and peace with our sin. But this is Act III—and thank God for Act III! This is where peace and wholeness begins to happen again as the enemy begins to get defeated little by little.

Do we see absolute peace on earth in our lives today? No. But we do a little. And we have the Gospel that Christ brought to us that gives us a new life of hope, hope of eternal life in perfect community with God, and this is a hope that can make even the darkest hour on earth just a little brighter, an “eternal weight of Glory,” as Paul says. A glorious peace.

“Peace on earth.” It began with Christ, so it is happening right now already, but it is not yet fully completed. That will happen on the second Christmas when Christ comes not as a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, but as a mighty warrior. Ultimate peace happens in the life to come. Peace. Wholeness. It’s already here, but not fully, but that is okay because we have hope. But humanity cannot horde this peace to ourselves. As it fills us, we let it overflow into the rest of Creation! And this is essentially the picture that we see in Isaiah 11. Many people interpret this simply as allegory, symbolic of the peace to come. But I think there is reason to believe that there is good reason to believe that there is more to it than symbol. I am not alone in thinking that this is more like a photograph of the messianic peace that is to come. Please, look at this picture of peace the prophet Isaiah gives us:

“The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling [a] together;
and a little child will lead them.

The cow will feed with the bear,
their young will lie down together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox.

The infant will play near the hole of the cobra,
and the young child put his hand into the viper's nest.

They will neither harm nor destroy
on all my holy mountain,
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD
as the waters cover the sea.”

You see, just as God created the heavens and the earth and filled it with all kinds of life—both in the heavens and the earth—he is working to bring that full life of peace to all of his creation, not just to mankind. I’m convinced that the end of God’s story in Act III will look much like His story began in Act I, much like this picture Isaiah gives—a “new heavens and a new earth” when not just man, but all of Creation will be at peace.

But that peace comes to us, little by little, even now, and it can fill us. Peace, yes, as it overflows from all “on whom his favor rests” to the angels who watch over what is happening in this wondrous story that their God, our God, is writing. Joy to them, I’m sure, as they got to play a part in it, “messengers” bearing God’s glorious message to the shepherds. And peace, also, to the animals who so graciously shared their beds with Mary and Joseph and the little baby Jesus that night. Peace to them, as they slept side by side with the people, feeling the warmth and the joy that came from the new parents.

This Christmas message the angels bring to the shepherds is an allusion, a reminder of the peace in the Garden of Eden, and it is a foreshadowing reminder of the peace that is to come once and for all when Christ comes again and we enter into eternal, perfect Fellowship and community with him and his Creation once again on that blessed second Christmas.

Now imagine, if you will, that hope of life that we have for a second. Imagine all the pains and worries of this world as they pale in comparison to the glory that awaits us. Imagine the peace you feel as you watch these daily sufferings you experience fade away like a mist fades in the penetrating rays of the sun, a mist that you have forgotten was even there by the time you eat lunch. Imagine that peace, and imagine it forever. Let this hope fill you as much as you can stand with peace and joy and hope as we remember the message of these angels this Christmas. Peace. And don’t horde that peace.

Imagine that peace overflowing from you into the angels that are watching you, even when you are alone. Say that something goes terribly wrong, and you are alone, and about to get really frustrated. Think of this Peace proclaimed by the angels on that first Christmas, the Peace of eternal life, and watch that frustration melt away, and imagine that peace and joy overflow into the angels that are watching you, perhaps even those very same angels that came to the shepherds.

As you experience that peace yourself, imagine that peace overflowing from you even the animals that you’re around. Perhaps you have a dog or a cat in your house. Imagine the kind of community Adam and Eve had with the animals, and recognize that this is the kind of community that God wants to restore you to. I know this sounds crazy, but nevertheless, let that community happen between you and your pet, or you and the squirrel climbing up the tree. Be Adam and Eve and bless the life around you, all life. Be creative with it!

Let joy and hope overflow from you in your relationships with people. Imagine the true insignificance of those little annoying things that happen around people—A waiter gets your order wrong, or you have to stand in line for an hour, or someone hides the remote control somewhere and you can’t find it—imagine as all these annoying things fade completely away in eternity. Instead, focus on the thing that will last even into eternity: Love. Let that perfect community that is to come once again start to happen in your relationships with people.

But finally, and most importantly, Give thanks and glory to God. This is part of your community with God, a communication of Thanks and Praise to Him. Follow the excellent example of the angels and say, “Glory to God!” Let His peace and His joy flow more and more into you as you give Him glory for what he has done in this wonderful, unimaginable blessing of a thing we call Christmas.

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.”

Eloquent Preaching: Good Thing or Bad Thing? (C&P)

So... apparently I am sinking into a pattern here. Most of my contemplative writing seems to be done in response to other people's blogs. I suppose it is because I feel more of an impetus, an urgency about writing it because it is done in the context of a specific situation with a specific person. Well, I hate to leave all of that stuff just out there in various places, so I think I'm going to try, when I can and when it is appropriate, to just copy and paste my responses. Here is one such thing "C&P," and it was written in response to this blog.

As I understand it, your argument is essentially: Paul is an example telling us that the Gospel Myth should not be eloquently decorated with rhetoric. Am I on target? Now I would agree with this statement: It is not necessary for the Gospel Myth to be eloquently wrapped to be effective. However, I am not sure I can agree with the former statement.

The question, I think, lies in whether or not Paul's example is to be the rule to which everyone else in every situation should follow. I'm not entirely convinced this is the case with this particular issue, though it is somewhat convincing because Paul points to his weakness as a seal of apostolic authenticity. Suppose, however, that it was simply not Paul's gift to speak extemporaneously (I can identify!). Suppose he was much better with rhetoric in his writing than his oratory skills.

I think a quite compelling case can be made for this. This seemed to be the overall impression that several people had of Paul, and Paul had of himself, based on 2 Corinthians 10. Also, consider what is (to my knowledge) his only real attempt at oral rhetoric when he spoke to the Athenians of the "unknown god" met very little success. Furthermore, I think that a compelling case could be made that the elusive "thorn in the flesh" may be referring to his lack oral eloquence. He does seem to make a connection between the thorn and his weakness, and then his weakness with his unimpressive nature in person. Lastly, Paul's letters are quite often rhetorically eloquent, even utilizing poetry and metaphor.

Then on the flipside, we seem to have another Christian, Apollos, who is traditionally understood to have impressive and persuasive oratory skills, although we have nothing ostensibly written by him (though its contended by some that the very-eloquent Hebrews is authored by him). Considering these things, a quite compelling case, I think, can be made that God uses and blesses eloquently packaged preaching as well as more simplistic preaching.

Lewis seems to make a similar conclusion regarding eloquence and myth in Experiment in Criticism in his chapter on Myth. He does say that it is not necessary for Myth to be packaged eloquently for it to serve its purpose, but he also points out that it often has been expressed eloquently (pointing to Virgil as an example). Here, he seems to be impartial to whether Myth is decorated or no. However, Lewis does believe in the intrinsic goodness of well-crafted form, and says that it is important to note not just the content (the logos) of a piece of art but also recognize it as poeima (something made). And although he is not speaking directly about homiletics, he does ironically end the chapter VIII by pointing favorably to the examples of eloquent sermons that even botch exegesis of the text. "…what he expounds of his author's philosophy may be well worth reading, even if it is in reality his own. We may compare him to the long succession of divines who have based edifying and eloquent sermons on some straining of their texts. The sermon, though bad exegesis, was often good homiletics in its own right." (87) Thus, we can infer that while Lewis would say well-crafted poeima is not necessary to homiletics (any more than it would be necessary in a recipe book), it does not detract from it, but is rather a good thing.

Thus for this and other reasons, I would conclude that if it is a persons gift (e.g. Apollos), that gift should not be buried but exercised, and God will bless it. If eloquence is not your gift, no problem—the Gospel Myth will work even in spite of clumsy words because of the message that is being preached. Eloquence should never be an excuse for bad exegesis, but there is something inherently good in it, something that perhaps reaches into the concept of Sehnsucht which shoots people with a pang of longing for Christ. This combination of Sehnsucht and good theology might greatly contribute to the process of theological application because it not only points people to a particular truth, but it gives them the Sehnsucht, the Desire to carry that truth out in their lives, pointing themselves Heavenward: "Further up, and further in!"

The Gospels: Literality, Reliability, and Myth

Ok... so this was written in response to a blog. I thought I would recycle it in my blog, because it holds many kernals of thoughts I'm trying to work through right now concerning the scriptures and understanding what, perhaps, we can learn from Art and Myth when thinking about the scriptures. And know this, that I don't pretend to have answers here, these are just things I'm trying to think through and seek the truth about. I post these things here on my blog so that other people can help me think through these things--so I really appreciate your comments. So... here goes:

New Testament Book Copies and Original Manuscripts

Regarding point #2 "Several hundred years separate the original from the earliest Gospel manuscript we have", this is, to my knowledge, a factual error. There have been discovered several manuscript excerpts from various books of the New Testament that have been discovered and dated within 200 years of their assumed date of authorship, the earliest of which is the John Rylands Fragment (John 18:31-33,37-38) dated 125 A.D. (within a century of the death of Jesus). When compared to discovered copies other ancient writings, the narrow span of 100 years between archetype and ectype is staggering. In Plato (427-347 B.C), the span is 1200 years. Ceasar (100-44 B.C.)? 1000 years. Homer's Illiad (100-44 B.C.) does a little better at 500 years. (For a more detailed comparison see this page on carm.org).

Thus, rather than the span from original to copy being a discouraging thing to faith in the reliability of the Gospels containing the accurate words of Christ, I find it rather encouraging for the authenticity of the New Testament manuscripts. Indeed, there are differences among manuscripts, especially in the NT, however the Old Testament manuscripts have an extremely surprising uniformity. But even in the NT, the vast, vast majority of discrepancies are theologically impotent.

But still, you pose good questions that demand examination.

"Does absolute, infallible transmission of manuscripts really matter?"

I think not. First of all, as you point out rightly, we are in trouble if it is vital to faith because there are, unarguably, discrepancies between manuscripts. But second of all, I think that the imperfection of the scriptures really fits quite well when considering Christianity from a theological perspective.

If we did have all of the original manuscripts of all the books of the Bible, held perfectly in tact with every "jot and tittle," we would be in grave danger of idolatry. It would be even more of a heinous situation if Jesus himself wrote a book preserved in such a way. It would be such a thing, I imagine, that wars would literally be fought over in order to possess. The focus would be so transfixed on this tangible relic of Christ and Christianity that the true nature and purpose of Christianity--community of love and faith--would be overshadowed. The incongruence of the scriptures, then, ideally spurs the Christian to embrace the other important aspects of Christianity such as the community of faith (the Church) and the Holy Spirit.

Jesus: the bridge between Jew and Pagan

I am very heavily affected theologically by C.S. Lewis and his Oxford friends (a.k.a. "The Inklings"--Tolkien, Barfield, Williams, etc.), and so I'm certain what follows will be very biased by that fact.

Consider that Christ is the one who unified Jew and Greek. The religion of the Jews was one of letters, tightly sewn to what had been written in the Law, the Torah and the Prophets. It was a very moralistic religion, a religion primarily consisting of regulations that were to be followed. Although the Jews were certainly not without their stories, the "real" importance (especially around the first century) was on "keeping the Law." Things were very "crystal", clear-cut, and definite.

But then there were the Pagans (i.e., essentially, the non-Jew). Most other religions at that place and time (to my knowledge) placed the emphasis much more heavily on stories--e.g., the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman god-myths. Not that these religions were without their own "rules" (indeed, sacrifice was a major element), but there was not the same kind of extreme emphasis placed on a "God-given, written Law" that was written and studied and followed to the letter.

Enter Jesus--the "Word become Flesh". Rather than writing more rules to be followed, he spoke of morality in parables, stories, thinking it best to that others to pass his words along rather than writing them down himself (a much less "definite" way of doing things). The words of Jesus, these parables (connected to the word "Parabola"), were more ambiguous, slippery, not the kind of crystal, clear-cut laws the Jews received in the Torah. So in this respect, it seems as though he has one foot in the Pagan world (ambiguity), and one in the Jewish world (morality), thus bringing them together.

Yet, Jesus himself was not ambiguous--he was flesh, tangible, factual. Lewis referred to the life of Jesus as "Myth become Fact". Here we see in Jesus a tangible story, a literal consummation of what had been foreshadowed in all prior myths of dying and rising gods. So in this respect, Jesus again has his foot in both the Pagan world (story) and the Jewish world (literality).
The writings of the Christian NT then, having feet in both Pagan and Jewish worlds, would seem to logically have --in contrast to the great pains taken for accurate transmission in the OT--much less emphasis on "exactness" in the transmission. Not that accuracy isn't important, but it is not all-important to Christianity. You see, I think that if everything concerning the historicity of Jesus was absolutely crystal-clear and undebatable, where would the Myth go?

Myth and Fact

In common language, we use the words "Myth" and "Truth" as antonyms, completely unrelated to each other. But is this really the case? People such as Lewis and Tolkien beg to differ. First of all, Myth and Art (I use this term in the broad sense of the arts in general) reveals Truth about life. Just as the very best Art is tied to reality, so Myth is tied to reality. Myth helps us to understand reality with our imagination (which Lewis calls "the organ of meaning").

But also, there is something, they say, that happens in Myth as in the Arts such as story, poetry, etc.: Truth is experienced. There is a kind of "slipperiness" to Myth and much good art, and this "slipperiness" places it just beyond our reach, just outside of the kind of tangibility that breeds manipulation, and this seems to be integral to the experience of Truth. This, I think, is why it was so important for Jesus to ascend and the Holy Spirit to descend. Note that the Spirit is a very ambiguous kind of thing—unseen, almost chaotic. Both Greek and Hebrew words for "spirit" (Greek pneuma, and Hebrew ruach) both also mean "wind." The nature of wind is very "slippery." "The wind blows where it pleases." It is almost chaotic, refusing to be ordered. You cannot hold wind in your hands. It is tangible and yet, in a way, intangible. In The Pilgrim's Regress, Lewis talks about a "Dialectic of desire" that served for him as a kind of empirical, experiential, ontological proof of God's existence, and this dialectic was brought about by an experience he called—among various names—Sehnsucht (a German word for "the desire for something that is out of your reach"). His experience of truth was integral to its being out of his reach—and this the thing that spurred him from atheism to a belief in the transcendental Other (which he later realized was the God of Christianity). Buechner speaks of something very similar in Telling the Truth: Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairytale.

The sort of paradox we get in Christianity presented to us in the 21st century is that the Gospel is both historical and mythical, tangible and intangible. It is tangible in the sense that we do have some proof of its accuracy and reliability, but it is ultimately out of the reach of a kind of "scientific" fact that proves it absolutely, once and for all, without question. This paradox of tangible-intangibility helps us both to infer—based on the evidence we have—that it is true, as well as experience that truth through the slippery, mythical quality it has.

"Does [the fact that we don't have the exact words of Christ and his disciples] matter?"

Yes and no. It does matter that we can at least infer that the essence of what is recorded in the Gospels is historical. It does not matter that it is exact, because that unexactness, that slipperiness, is what gives it more of the quality of myth. Even the stories that we do not think were in the original manuscripts (such as the woman caught in adultery) are worthy of reading because it is essentially true to the Myth of Jesus.

"Does it bother you that we can never truly know what Jesus may have said and what was the creation of some later editor?"

No, because this adds to the mystery behind Christ which creates a sort of transcendental experience. It seems somewhat obvious that Christ did not intend for us to know his exact words. That is why he left it up to other people to pass it on. It is a more organic and, really, personal way to do it, really. It lets Man be partners with God in his work here on earth.

I guess this all presupposes that the scriptures were not written verbatim by God—whispering every single word to the NT writers as they penned their Gospels and books, but that is a WHOLE other discussion, and it is an ideal that, I think, most theologians do not hold today. I could be wrong.

I don't know… let me know your thoughts on this, and where I need to clarify what I'm thinking about.

Thanks!

Truth and "Joy" in the Art of Homiletics

I cannot help but to think of C.S. Lewis when I read about “the Fox” in Til We Have Faces. No, Lewis was not a Stoic as the Fox was. However, he was an atheist – which might be comparable in some respects, especially the common disdain for “superstitious nonsense.” Both Lewis and the Fox had a great affinity for stories, poetry, myth, music, and beauty in general, and this affinity was ultimately the Achilles heel of their atheistic philosophies. The Fox, a Stoic who’s very philosophy of life is to avoid desire because it leads to “passion” and suffering, cannot help but to become enraptured in the mythical poems he shares with his little princess pupils. Something is awakened in him – a great desire and longing for it to be true – but each time he quenches the flames of this would-be passion with his no-nonsense Stoic philosophy.

In this same way Lewis suppressed his longing for God with his rationalistic Atheism – as long as he could anyway. In his autobiography Surprised By Joy, Lewis recalls three points in his life that awakened this sense of unexplainable longing for something:

“…it is that of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction. I call it Joy, which is here a technical term and must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and from Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again. …I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world.” (72-73)

All three of the events he mentions were encounters with someone’s artistic creation. The first experience was when his brother Warnie crafted a humble garden on a tin lid and then showed “Jack” (the name Lewis gave himself) his wonderful creation. Again he was enraptured with this “joy” unexpectedly as he was reading Longfellow’s poem “Tegner’s Drapa.” Upon reading the opening lines, “I heard a voice, that cried, / ‘Balder the Beautiful / Is dead, is dead!’” Lewis says:

“… instantly I was uplifted into huge regions of the northern sky; I desired with almost sickening intensity something never to be described (except that it is cold, spacious, severe, pale and remote) and then...found myself at the very same moment already falling out of that desire and wishing I were back in it.” (17-18)

Yet again, Lewis encountered this overwhelming sense of “Northernness” as he saw an illustration by Arthur Rackham:

“A vision of huge, clear spaces hanging above the Atlantic in the endless Twilight of a Northern summer, remoteness, severity...and almost at the same moment I knew that I had met this before, long, long ago, in Tegner’s Drapa, and that Siegfried belonged to the same world as Balder and sunward-sailing cranes.” (72)

Just like the Fox, Lewis was drawn to this inexplicable truth, but he fought it with his cerebral cortex. Lewis was a man torn in two directions: romanticism (not the Eros type) and logic, and his logic tied pinned him from the supernatural. Yet the romantic in him kept tugging and tugging until the pins popped. At last, it was a discussion on myth that finally led Lewis to the cross. Tolkien and others convinced him that this myth of a dying and rising God had, in fact, become a reality in Christ. “Checkmate.” He did not become a Christian that night, but when he finally laid down his defenses against Christianity, he called himself “the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.”

In these experiences of Joy there was a powerful and compelling truth communicated to Lewis, “something,” he said, “never to be described.” It was a truth one cannot prove through logical argument or a didactic outline with three alliterative points – it was a truth that must be experienced. And Lewis, like the Fox, experienced it through art. Now, throw in the fact that both of them were tutors, and you practically have an allegory on your hands! Ha!

Art has profoundly impacted me. This is my first semester in seminary, and I have come here specifically to try to discover what role the fine arts play/should play in the Christian life and church. I am studying homiletics (preaching) this semester, and I am asking myself questions like, “What role, if any, does art play in a sermon?”

I am learning a lot from the fascinating novelist/theologian Frederick Buechner. He also sees that art can convey something of truth that cannot be explained. In his book Telling the Truth: the Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairy Tale, Buechner talks about how the prophets would speak in poetry as well as prose, thus conveying not only “particular truths” but “truth itself which cannot finally be understood but only experienced.” Likewise, he says that the preacher should do the same. It is okay, he says, to use words to convey “particular truths,” but:

“in addition to using them to explain, expound, exhort, let him use them to evoke, to set us dreaming as well as thinking, to use words as at their most prophetic and truthful, the prophets used them to stir in us memories and longings and intuitions that we starve for without knowing that we starve.” (23)

This sounds eerily similar to Lewis’s description of “Joy.” Indeed, I think that is what Lewis would call what Buechner is describing. This Joy, this longing, this desire is itself an experience of truth that, at least in my experience, has largely not been provided from the pulpit or from Church itself. Instead what we get are only sermonic points, arguments, exegesis, and apologetics.

Even though Lewis was one of the greatest apologists of the twentieth century, he too saw that argument has its limitations and is even sometimes dangerous. He once commented in a letter to Dorothy Sayers that he was frequently uneasy because, “…apologetic work is so dangerous to one's own faith. A doctrine never seems dimmer to me than when I have just successfully defended it." Indeed, the Gospel that has been presented to us has been a feast of fact, but a fast of fiction along with this longing Lewis calls “Joy” and Buechner calls “Truth.” How sad. No one here is advocating that we throw aside the importance of logic, facts, and loving God with our minds, but to do that and neglect the rest of what composes us makes our faith and our love anemic, not compelling.

We need to experience and feed in a way we have largely not been fed from the pulpit, fed not with mere points, arguments, and propositions, but with joy, hunger, and longing: truth itself. Many people who are not Christians experience truth in this kind of joyful way, but they do not know where it comes from. In this kind of truth God only whispers and He never uses His name, so they put the best name to it that they can – whatever that may be. We Christians say that we know where this slippery and joyful truth comes from, the same place all other good gifts originate – God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We need to know God experientially with that really indefinable part of us that is so hungry, a part of us that is fed through well-done stories, paintings, songs, and movies.

And I’m left to wonder, “Can this happen at the pulpit?” Buechner seems to think so. Indeed he made it so in his own spellbinding sermons that dripped imagination, imagery, poetry, narrative. Brian McLaren describes Buechner’s sermon narrative as “a far cry from telling little anecdotes to illustrate points… the story is not like an orange rind, but … is itself the point, or at least the thing that points beyond itself to something more….”

I cannot help but to desire to see this Joy happen more frequently through the efforts of the church and at the pulpit -- whatever that looks like. And although I am not exactly sure how it should be done, I am eager to keep exploring and reading and listening and learning. Maybe I’ll figure it out. Maybe not. Whatever the case, I think there is a need that cries out to be met: many Christians have the opposite of what we see in Lewis’s and the Fox’s battle between joy and intellect. Lewis and Fox were compelled by joy, but could not intellectually assent. Many pew warmers on Sunday mornings intellectually assent because their intellect has been fed, yet they never have this evoking experience of truth that compels them to Joy. We have been cheating, in a way, stuck in our heads, reading the Cliff's Notes instead of the novel. Like Buechner said, we are starving for this truth and we don’t even realize it. We are in a mansion on a hill with many rooms. The banqueting table of Christ is abundant and His breadbasket is bottomless, but we are having trouble finding our way from the study to the dining room.

"We are his Body" ...So What Do We Wear?

I wrote this over a period of days following a class period in which the professor and students talked for about ten minutes about how Christians should always dress up to go to church on Sunday. People who do not dress up for church on Sunday, they said, are not showing respect to our Lord and King. "If you were to meet the Queen of England you would dress up, and Jesus Christ deserves no less courtesy than that." Well, I tried -- very unsuccessfully -- to explain to them some of the very sound theological reasons for coming to church "as you are," but alas my voice was drowned out in the crowd. And so I wrote what I could not say. And here it is:

I began writing this as an apologetic or "defense" for coming to church in ordinary clothes. It was meant not as a thrust to tear down dressing up for church, but rather as a parry, but it was still meant aggressively and defensively. I spent over ten hours working on this, reading, writing, researching, defending. But then I set down the laptop, and stopped. I couldn't believe that I had just spent ten hours doing this! I had so many other things much more pressing that I needed to do. I was so zealous to defend not just myself, but this idea that God has used so obviously to bring so many thousands of people into a relationship with Him. You must understand, I go to a church where I look to my right, and I see a single mom wearing a biker outfit who just recently almost died in a car accident, and I know that the only reason she is now a child of God is because this crazy church said, "Come as you are," and was thus a comfortable place for her to come and check out the Christian faith. I look all around me, and I see hundreds and hundreds of people – from dapper to casual – who came here for the exact same reason: because our church is approachable and not intimidating. One of the key factors to that approachability is that people feel free to come in their ordinary clothes. It pains me deeply to hear people chastise so harshly what I have seen God so abundantly bless.

Yet in this process of making a defense, I also found myself very concerned about defending myself and my own contempt for having to dress up for church as a child. This weekend, God has revealed to me a glimpse of just how far I have yet to grow in my walk with the Lord, how self-centered I am, and how much I really need to learn the discipline of "submission" – not having my own way. And I told the Lord that I was ready and willing to practice "submission" with this "apologetic," to leave it unspoken. But that did not seem to be what he was pointing me to do. As I listened to Him, I realized that he does not want me to parry; he wants me to parley. He does not want me to defend, but rather to humbly plea for you to understand where this "ordinary clothes" idea comes from practically, culturally, and theologically. And it is my hope not that you be converted to my way of thinking, but that you can recognize this as a "disputable matter" (see Rom 14:1-11), and learn to praise God for this approach as much as your own approach.

I begin by acknowledging the cultural climate in which we live. As we have discussed in class, we live in a materialistic society of rabid consumerists, a plastic jungle in which brand names and Who's Whos prey upon the gluttony of the "haves" and the envy of the "have nots." Wherever we go, we cannot seem to escape the unholy chant, "Buy. Buy. Buy. Buy." The "dress up for church" requirement can sound to many just like another voice in the chant, giving many "haves" another reason to indulge in garment gluttony, and giving many "have-nots" a cause for envy as well as the inadequate feeling of being out of place.

Many of us see a very real danger in this external emphasis on "dressing up." In a culture that is already demonically and obsessively focused on the external and temporal, dressing up for church can be just another point at which the demonic Uncle Screwtape can easily twist the holy into the profane. For those who can afford to buy such clothes, "respecting the King" can very easily be twisted into "impressing the King" and "impressing the Court." For some, this may be even more of a temptation than others, and if it is an unnecessary temptation it would be prudent and wise (perhaps necessary!) for those people to flee from that temptation by not dressing up for church, even if they can afford it.

Concerning those who cannot afford to dress up many say, "But the church will understand that. They will not judge the person who cannot afford nice clothes, and exclude them from fellowship." Ideally, no they wouldn't. Yet it has happened. Also, the problem is that while that approach may be a platinum theory, it is rubbish in practice because it is not only the mind of the dressed-up church that is in question, but also the mind of the casual newcomer. As the only one not dressed up, that person will most often feel out of place even if nobody says so. Sometimes this feeling of inadequacy can be severe in a person, especially in a person who has grown up being mocked and ridiculed by adolescent classmates because he does have the right clothes, the right shoes, or the right backpack. It is easy for Screwtape to work in this person as well whispering, "This is just another place in where you don't belong, another place where you don't meet standards. Just give it up." And that is exactly what happens most of the time.

Of course Screwtape can just as easily bend "dressing casually" to his appetite, but that will inevitably be harder to do in some than others. Thus, it is my conviction that there should be room in the Christian church for both people who want to dress up and for those who do not – each according to his or her own conscience. In my church, people "come as they are," meaning "dress however you feel like dressing today." There are many people who dress up as they would to any other church, and there are many who come wearing shorts, flip flops, and even (horror of horrors!) hats. And surprisingly enough, even though over 55% of the people who come were previously unchurched before they became a part of our church, in the three years I've been there, I've never seen anyone dress vulgarly. I suppose it may be an anomaly that both kinds of people can be comfortable in the same place, but if it is, I think it is a wonderful anomaly. To have an exclusive policy that leads in either direction would, I think, most likely lead to the temptation of "Christianity and…[dressing up, dressing casual, etc.]." This is something I think we should be very careful of.

I now move to more theological reasons for coming to church in ordinary clothes. One of the major themes in Jesus teachings was a shift of focus from external to internal. The Jews were expecting an external Kingdom of God – deliverance from the Romans – but Jesus showed them instead an internal Kingdom, telling Pilate, "My kingdom is not of this world," (Jn. 18.36). He reveals a God who looks at the heart and what is done in secret, not just on what is seen. In Christ, we see the age-old indictment against Israel: "These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. They worship me in vain; their teachings are but rules taught by men," (Matt 15:8-9).

This shift from external to internal shows us that appearances can be deceptive. One can look holy on the outside, but not on the inside. Paul picks up on this and even flips it around: one can look holy on the inside, and not look holy on the outside – one can have a "circumcision of the heart" and not have a "circumcision of the flesh." (Rom. 2.29) In Romans 14, Paul points out how two people can do the same external deed (e.g. "eating meat"), and one would be sinning in his heart while the other is not. What is holy for one can be a stumbling block for another. In this same way, I believe that requiring a person to dress up can be a stumbling block. For some it can be a stumbling block into materialism, as I mentioned earlier. For others it can be a stumbling block into vanity – impressing others. Still, for others it can be a stumbling block into legalism. Someone who has grown up in a very legalistic church may associate "dressing up" so strongly with "earning righteousness" that it could be a sin against the conscience for this person to dress up, just as it was a sin for the Christian from a pagan background to eat meat sacrificed to idols.

Coming to church in ordinary clothes can also be a way in which that person represents Christ to humanity. We are the church, the image and body of Christ in the world, and thus we are to look like Him. So what does He look like? In the Gospels we see a man, Jesus of Nazareth, the very essence of humility who was at the very same time also Lord and Christ – a paradox of imminence and transcendence, humility and glory. The Gospels reveal a King who was completely approachable. Children, lepers, tax collectors, the infirm, prostitutes, and "sinners" as well as doctors, Pharisees, and soldiers all approached him freely and without intimidation. In fact, he seemed to relish when people would come to him and to God as they are, and detest when they tried to be something they were not. He was the very embodiment of Grace. He does not tell people to go straighten themselves up before he would accept them; he simply says, "Come." Wearing ordinary clothes to church can help a person to be an embodiment of this utterly approachable King.

In his book What's So Amazing About Grace, Philip Yancey points out that the church has failed miserably to be this embodiment of Christ's approachability. He tells a tragic story – one of many – in which a prostitute who has been renting out her two-year-old daughter for kinky sex came to him, unable to buy food. In their conversation, he asks, "Have you tried going to church for help?" He writes, "I will never forget the look of pure, naive shock that crossed her face. 'Church! she cried. 'Why would I ever go there? I was already feeling terrible about myself. They'd just make me feel worse.'" (11). It is a staggering shift in paradigm from the example we see in Jesus Christ – prostitutes running toward him. In his chapter on "Creating a Culture of Acceptance" in No Perfect People Allowed, John Burke (my pastor) writes:

"Church must re-present to others the Body of the One who is willing to accept rather than condemn – who draws near in relationship – who is for them, not against them. Everybody longs to know this – that despite everything, they can be accepted and forgiven. But words alone won't do. Theological statements like 'Christ died for your sins' and 'God so loved the world' have been leached of all meaning for seekers today by what they have experienced. Many people can't believe God will accept them and love them until those who claim to know God start to show them." (92)

Sunday morning remains the primary window for those who are seeking Christ to come to him, and those Churches who try to create a "come as you are" culture of acceptance are simply trying to be that approachable, unintimidating, unexclusive embodiment of Christ to them.

Yet this is not only an important thing for seekers; it can also be important to the Christian as well. The process of sanctification is ongoing, and so the process of approaching the throne of mercy is unending. We often sin, and then feel so dirty and guilty because of our sin that we run away rather than run to our King. Yet, this is the opposite of what we should do. Instead, we should come just as we are – even and especially in our dirtiness – and penitently approach the throne of forgiveness asking for healing. To come to church in whatever clothes are natural to you is a way for some to act out physically how we are to approach that throne every day spiritually.

Coming "as you are" can also lead to a greater continuity between the person you are on Sunday and the person you are the rest of the week. It is a mystery how the body and spirit are inextricably connected to one another. To some, dressing up can disconnect the worship experience on Sunday from the rest of the week, and lead to a very compartmentalized spirituality. The body remembers, "When I am dressed up, I am spiritual; when I am not, I am not." This kind of compartmentalized spirituality is not desired as a Christian, and so the "come as you are" approach is a way to help prevent that disconnect and let the Shalom of God – which is peace, deliverance, wholeness – penetrate our lives.

Those who choose to dress up on Sunday mornings do so "to the Lord." Likewise, those of us who choose not to dress up do so "to the Lord." I hope that this essay has helped to explain that wearing ordinary clothes is not irreverent sloth, but has many beautiful practical and theological motivations behind it. As the body of an immanent and transcendent Christ—his representatives to the world—we would do well to welcome a juxtaposition of clothes into our assembly. Why not strive for Orthodoxy against being Ebionite or Docetic and let blue jeans and shorts represent the humanity of Christ while slacks and dresses represent His transcendence?

So I plead with you to consider that yes, we serve a mighty and glorious God and King who deserves all honor. But let us not forget what that King looks like. We are the court of Jesus Christ, the sovereign assembly of a king that was born in a feeding trough and worshipped by both well-dressed Magi bearing expensive gifts and lowly shepherds who came straight from their pastures bearing dung on their sandals. According to the flesh, our king looked very ordinary in many respects. He grew up in the sticks of Nazareth – a place out of which people thought nothing exceptional could come out. Raised in a very ordinary blue-collar family, our King was (and is) a friend of social rejects and a bunch of goofballs he called his disciples, as well as the well-to-do. Our king was baptized by a grungy weirdo wearing a dead camel, and he has been known for washing crusty fishermen's feet. We serve a very strange king, an unexpected king, a king unlike anything else the world has ever seen. The King of Kings is, in fact, whom we worship, and yet He rode a donkey instead of a steed. And lest we forget, in the final hours before his crucifixion we saw on our King's body the most blessed, disturbing, and beautiful juxtaposition of fine and feral apparel this universe has ever seen: a purple robe and a crown of thorns.

"We are His body."

Worship: "Meeting People Where They Are"

The following is a response to a conversation we had in a class in response to an article in the Baylor Lariate regarding the nature of the chapel service at Baylor. The chapel organizers are making an effort to have chapel "meet students where they are," making it more "customer-friendly." The the general consensus of the class was that "meeting people where they are" violates the true nature of worship. This is my response to that charge.

I regret that the conversation today regarding chapel was so one-sided. It is my own fault as much as anyone. I agree with very much of that “one sided” conversation, yet I think that a couple things should be said that were not said, and I will attempt to do that now, and perhaps play a bit of a “devil’s advocate.” Now I must preface this by admitting that I have not gone to the Baylor chapel yet (being a Truett student, we have our own chapel to attend), however, I can vividly remember the chapel services during my undergraduate studies at Ouachita Baptist University, and I hope this can relate.

First, I must respectfully disagree with Dr. Wood when he seems to equate “chapel” with “church.” Perhaps I am “picking nits” alongside Mr. Roberts, but there are several rather large differences between the two. In fact the only two similarities I can think of is that there is (1) a sermon and (2) songs that are sung as a corporate body. The primary and most obvious difference between the two that stares us blankly in the face is the fact that people are required to go to Chapel in order to receive their diploma, in contrast to going to church which is (as Dr. Wood has pointed out all virtues to be) a free choice. As a result, you have several people attending this Chapel service who would by no means attend a worship service in a church under any other circumstance. And this has a natural effect on homiletics (which can be defined as “The branch of rhetoric that treats of the composition and delivery of sermons”), which brings me to my next point.

Second, one of the most fundamental aspects of homiletics is to consider your audience. This is advocated in several books on homiletics (see Fred Craddock’s Preaching¸ Haddon Robinson’s Biblical Preaching, and Frederick Buechner’s Telling the Truth: the Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairy Tale, as well as many others). Walter C. Kaiser even advocates that the audience should be taken into consideration even during the process of exegesis – (which can be defined as “the study of the text of Scripture in order to bring out the meaning of it.” See chapter 7 “Homiletical Analysis” of Toward an Exegetical Theology). The most commonly explained objective of a sermon is to bring the truth of the “then” (the Biblical text) through the process of exegesis and homiletics into the “now” of the audience. However, many preachers (and those in the congregation) seem to have the notion that this cannot be done, and this notion results in two “sins” at the pulpit: (1) speaking only of the “then,” thus leaving the past in the past instead of bringing it into the present and (2) speaking only of the “now,” thus failing to connect the “now” to the truth contained in the textual “then.” Of course there are also many shades of mistakes between these two extremes as well.

I am convinced that it is a mistaken notion that you cannot effectively bring the “then” into the “now.” I think those in our class (including myself!) lean more toward favoring the “then” approach to homiletics. We tend to want more Biblical knowledge, we want our understanding to be increased, and this is not a bad thing at all. We are to love the Lord with our minds. The purpose of bringing the text into the now is to make it (and yes, I am also beginning to hate this word too, but it is true) “relevant” (i.e., “What does this knowledge mean for me?”).

I have seen several examples of preachers bringing the “then” into the “now” quite effectively in Chapel. It may be difficult, but it is not an impossible task. I remember watching in awe as the late, great theologian Dr. Stanley Grenz took the basic thrust of his systematic theology (Theology for the Community of God) and connected even with the most remote and usually disinterested people in our chapel. I was astounded and moved! A preacher can (and should!) take a biblical text and bring it to a communicative level that can reach most of the listeners wherever they are. On that note, I think it is ridiculous to say “By meeting someone where they are, you cannot take them anywhere.” How preposterous is that! What, I cannot take my friend to the airport by meeting him at his house? Nonsense! You meet them where they are, and then you take them (or at least point them) to where they should be.

Frederick Buechner and others would agree emphatically that the preacher is, in a sense, “on the same level” as the listener, and must speak to the listeners “where they are.” The beginning of the article in the Lariate states the fact that the students who come are required to, and they typically come to chapel with the presupposition that it is “not worth their time.” It also points out the fact that many of the students who come are not Christians. This is “where they are,” and it would be a grave mistake of a preacher to not take that into consideration when developing their sermon. This is the difference between Chapel and Church – at church the people who come (save the children) do so as a free choice. And here lies the great weakness and challenge of chapel sermon – this yawning chasm between the disinterested unbeliever and the eager and hungry believer. How does a preacher meet both of these listeners “where they are”? I do not envy this ominous obstacle to the chapel speaker. I think it is possible to navigate this obstacle, but it must be tremendously and overwhelmingly difficult. And so the preacher (and the Chapel planner) is usually left playing to either one or the other listener: the non-Christian (one might use the word “seeker,” however this is a misnomer since they are required to come) and the Christian.

During my years in the church, I have noticed that different people respond dramatically to different approaches to worship, each approach resulting in staggering spiritual formation. I have heard critics of the “seeker sensitive church” (I’ve even been one!) say that this type of church has no place in Christianity. But I have seen literally thousands of people who have been dramatically changed and grown surprisingly strong in their Christian walk who came to know Christ simply because someone thought that it was important to speak these transcendent Gospel Truths in a way that they could understand and connect with, a way that many a “Traditionalist” would consider “un-Christian.” Likewise, I have heard the critics of the “Traditional” or “high church” worship service, and have to disagree with them as well. I have also seen people who grow dramatically as a result of a more Traditional or “high church” approach to worship. I hate to play the part of the post-modern relativist in this way, but if it is true that “You will know a tree by its fruit,” I have seen fruit as a result of both forms of worship, and must conclude that both approaches are valid and pleasing to the Lord.

Although ideal, I’m sure it would be rare to find someone that can effectively preach to the full spectrum of listeners present at chapel. So I would think it would be good for Chapel planners to compromise at this point and have variation in the Chapel services. On this point, I would say that it is even a holy act for believers on both ends of the spectrum take the example of Christ in Philippians 2 and “consider others interests instead of only their own” when it comes to attending these chapel services. A wise person once told me, “It is an act of holy submission and unity with other believers to say cheerfully ‘Have it your way,’ during the worship service.” However, take heed to Screwtape Letters and beware of the spiritual pride that comes with this act of humility. I fear that temptation even as I write this, but I think it would be a sin for me to omit what I feel is the truth out of fear. But there is another perhaps even more important point I think worth considering. My pastor once pointed out to me that we often mistake “learning something new” with “being spiritually fed.” I may not learn something new in a “seeker friendly” sermon, but I am always reminded of something that I have not mastered in my walk.

One final thing I think we should remember: the unbeliever in the Chapel service does not go to church on Sunday whereas the believer does. If by compromising my desire for a theological lecture, the Truth of the Gospel is then successfully communicated and received by even one unbeliever, it is well worth it.

I don't intend this post to be an apology for the Chapel planner's decisions or comments in the Lariate, but I think that we must recognize that even if it is to an extreme, there is a goodness behind their objective to "meet people where they are." We must not fall into either of the extremes. The answer to the question “What should a Christian worship service look like,” still remains a great mystery to me. I do not pretend to have all the answers, and I am eager to hear your perspectives on this issue because I yearn to grow in my understanding. Please, if you had the patience and fortitude to read this whole thing, share with me your thoughts, and help point me in the right direction where I have (I’m sure!) missed the boat!

Faith and Certitude

In my understanding (and the understanding of several prominent theologians) of what "faith" means in Christianity, there is really no need for an absolute certitude (i.e. "I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am correct in saying 'Christianity is true.'"), there is only the need for (a) a knowledge (Notitia) of the Gospel, (b) an assent (Assensus) that the Gospel is true and (c) an act of faithfulness (Fiducia) to that assent.

For example, I do not have to have an absolute certitude that my office chair will hold me up when I sit on it. I believe it will hold me up, based on that belief I sit. In that act of sitting, I have acted out my complete faith and confidence in the chair that it will hold me up.

There is always the possibility (however unlikely) that the chair will break when I sit on it. My faith in the chair is not negated by my realization of that. I could be mistaken to place my faith in that chair because (a) I do not have an exhaustive knowledge of the chair (i.e. of the chairs engineering and if everything in the chair's engineering is in the right place and unbroken) and (b) I cannot see into the future of what will happen if I sit in the chair. But my faith is demonstrated and completed in the act of sitting. There is no need for absolute certitude; there is only the need for a confidence (assensus) that provokes an act of faith (fiducia).

I think it is the same way with our faith in Christ. I am not omniscient, thus I cannot know with absolute certitude that the Gospel of Christ is true. However, based on my experience with Christ and from what I have learned in history and logic, the only proper response for me is to have a faith in Christ and the claims of His Gospel. Placing my confidence in Him, I aim to trust Him with my heart and my obedience. I have yet to be disappointed in my decision to place my faith in Christ, however that doesn't mean that I am not wrong to do so. The one and only way we can know for sure is when we die and are/are not resurrected. What matters is not that I have a certitude that Christianity is true. What matters is that I have the kind of confidence (assensus) in Christ that provokes act of Faith (fiducia).

All the rest is gravy. No?

The Da Vinci Code "Skubala"

"Skubala."  Great word.  If you lived in the Roman Empire in the first century, you would have probably seen the once-famous chariot bumper sticker with the Greek word "Skubala" followed by the Greek equivalent of "Happens."  If you were Paul, you would have said that you count your many works as "skubala" compared to knowing Christ.

If Paul was with us today, I think that he might say of the Christian reaction to The Da Vinci Code: "The skubala has hit the fan."  Indeed.

You know... if you would have asked me two weeks ago, "Adam what is the proper way to react to the DaVinci Code coming to the theaters?" I would have said, "I can't wait. I'm definitely going to go see it, and I am going to talk to people about it like crazy, defending the faith in a very winsome way!

"But then I get this e-mail containing a rant on DVC by Barbara Nicolosi. It is an extremely sharp-tongued and berating indictment on this whole "dialogue" approach to DVC. "What the heck??" I thought. If I would have seen this from any other "fundamentalist" schmuck, I would have shaken my head, sighed, and prayed for them to get a grip...but Barbara Nicolosi??? Act One Barbara Nicolosi??? Church of the Masses Barbara Nicolosi??? What the heck???!!!

And thus my comfortable "dialogue-hey-I-can't-wait-for-this-movie-to-come-out" stance was shattered. She is not someone you can sweep under your rug. She must be listened to and considered. And so that's what I've been doing the past two weeks -- considering, researching, praying, listening, arguing, meditating...perspiring! aggravating! perplexing!

And that's where I am. Still. I'm still processing this. I'm arguing "Dialogue" with the "Othercotters" and I'm arguing "Othercott" with the "Dialogue-ers." And then I process some more. Rinse. Repeat. Hope (that I come to a conclusion before opening weekend!).

I'm trying (trying) to weigh this all against the scriptures, "What did Jesus do? How would he react today? How did the church react to similar things back then?"

What is really frustrating to me right now is that the Othercotters (so far...) seem for the most part to be completely apathetic (or worse?) to the idea of trying to find a Biblical foundation for their reaction. Now sure, anyone can "prooftext" a "biblical foundation" for anything. Churches in the South (both of America and Africa) were infamous for having a "biblical foundation" for slavery and apartheid. Yes, you can prove almost any point through "prooftexting", but you can't prove any point through solid exegesis, and that is what I'm talking about.

What is equally frustrating for me right now is how flippantly the "dialogue-ers" are taking the DVC, and how freely and unquestioningly they are willing to toss their money into the coffers of a false-teacher, and "vote" for more blasphemous movies like DVC (which, according to the Machine that is Hollywood, is exactly what you are doing by buying that ticket) to be produced.

I think the real answer to all of this begins with the questions:

"How should Christianity interact with culture?"
"Is there a disconnect between a heretic and the art of a heretic? Should we treat both the same way?"
"When the art of a false teacher becomes a major component in our culture, is that a point of withdrawal from culture?"

...and I'm not sure right now what the Biblical answers are...if there are any.

I cringe at the ideas that Dan Brown is so unapologetically sowing into the soil of our culture, I really do. But there is also something in me that resists a boycott of art (or even pseudo-artistic entertainment). It has long been a question of mine, "How can I honestly expect people to listen to my ideas and to receive my art if I am totally unwilling to listen to and receive theirs?" I don't know, but it seems almost hypocritical to encourage and hope for "non-believers" to go see Passion of the Christ, Narnia, Left Behind (er...well... you get what I mean...), when we refuse to go see anything that differs from or challenges our own beliefs. It seems like hypocrisy to get irate over and boycott (or "othercott" -- "a rose by any other name...") DVC and then get upset or disappointed when people steam and boycott over the next Christianity-kosher movie.

Perhaps our axiom should be "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."  It is interesting that Jesus reverses this from a negative into a positive axiom.  "Because I want you to listen to me, I am going to listen to you."  "Because I want you to see my movies, I'm going to go see your movie...even if you don't ever come see my movie."  Jesus doesn't promise that the Golden Rule practiced will cause those good things to come back to you.  Nope -- that's karma.  Jesus kicked Karma's butt with Grace.

Hmm.... ARRRGH!! It's so frustrating and perplexing...Where is Neibuhr when you need him?...still processing all of this...I will be sure to blog when I have found all the answers to this.

Don't count on ever seeing that blog...-adam

Spritual Autobiography: My journey thus far

So I'm applying to start seminary in the Fall, and in the application they ask for your "Spiritual Autobiography". Some of you already know this story, but most of you probably don't. Of course, this is a very, very brief spiritual biography and very much is left out, but this is my best attempt at trying to "break it down" to around 750 words...hehe. Ask me again 20 years from now, and I will probably tell this same portion of the story completely differently.

I was born deep in the Bible-belt of West Texas to a Southern Baptist pastor and his musically-inclined wife: a perfect small-church ministry team. I grew up in both the North and the South, living in Texas, Indiana, and Arkansas. One Sunday when I was almost five years old, I walked to the front of the sanctuary and asked Jesus into my heart, which officially began what was really already in the works since I was born a life in Christ.

All analogies break down at some point, but I suppose you could best describe my life in Christ as an artist trying to paint a beautiful picture, a commissioned painting for a person he dearly loves. However, whenever the dearly-loved patron described what he wants in the painting, he spoke in parables that were difficult to interpret. Then the patron went away on a long trip, but he promised to be back when the artist least expected it, and when he returned, he was eager to receive the painting. The artist, then, (without the Patrons cell number) is forced to find the meaning of these parables by examining what he knows and what he can find out about the life and history of the Patron, getting to know His word and his works, and stealing as many secrets from the Patrons wife that he can. I am the artist. The LORD Jesus Christ is my dearly-loved patron. The scriptures are the Patrons parables and the record of his word and his works. My life is the painting. The patrons wife is the Holy Spirit. The rest of my biography should be read with that in mind.

Shortly after my profession of faith, I started singing in church, and Ive been singing in church (and elsewhere) ever since. Perhaps this is also where my passion for the Arts began. The Lord has given me many talents. Gifts. Things I did not train in or earn or work hard to achieve. Gifts. Over the years, I have won awards for singing, acting, fiction writing, poetry, script writing, essay writing, drawing, print design, and even journalism. The Lord has gifted me in the arts, and my life has been spent enjoying those gifts and trying to discern how to use them for His glory (as well as trying to figure out what exactly His glory means).

Also, I have always been full of questions about God like, What makes me think my religion is true? and all of that questions inevitable subfolders. I talked to my parents about these questions and they would give me answers that only slightly placated my ridiculous and relentlessly probing mind, yet the answers were good enough for me to be able to sweep it under the rug and carry on with life as normal for a while.

The discovery of C.S. Lewis was perhaps the most influential part of my development on almost every level of my identity. Lewis inspired me and, in a way, mentored me academically, spiritually, apologetically, theologically, and artistically, while I lived in a small town where such a dynamic combo was almost impossible to find. In Lewis, I saw what I would want to be myself one day: an artist/theologian.

I went to college and started out as a music major. However, my love for music was overshadowed by the many questions I still had about faith and Christianity, so I switched my major to Theology, and minored in music. I encountered a very fresh Christianity at Ouachita Baptist University. I grew up with the (perhaps self-induced?) conception that Christianity was mainly about sacrifice and duty, "dying to yourself," giving up things you like for the one who gave up His very life for us. In college, I was lead to encounter Christianity not as a faith based on rules and duty, but a faith based on love and desire. It was like my faith became alive at that point. It had purpose, relevance, and more than anything Truth.

I met my wonderful wife, Kara, in college. We were blessed with the opportunity to go on a mission trip to Southeast Asia together. There, a new passion for the spread of Christs influence across barriers came to fruition in my heart. The Lord gave me a vision of the film industry as a sort of mission field. I wanted to see Christians going into the industry as "tentmakers" similar to going into a closed country where evangelism is prohibited blessing and influencing the industry through meaningful relationships and quality work.

So that's what we did. I graduated college with a B.A. in Theology, earning the highest G.P.A. in the Pruett School of Christian Studies that semester despite my AD/HD. Then, my wife Kara and I moved to Austin, TX where I began immediately working in the film industry, trying to approach it in the way I mentioned above. I learned quite a bit about life in "the industry", and what it means to be a Christian there. Even more questions aroused -- practical questions that can really only be asked and understood by those who have been there. I have learned first-hand from many failures and accomplishments, yet I still hunger to understand, and not just to understand but to know how to wisely influence and shepherd other people who have the same struggles. Yet still, I want to engage culture myself, influence it, create quality art, and be a respectable presence that can be a channel through which the grace and love of Christ can freely flow.

A Reaction to Frederica Mathewes-Green on Art and Church Tradition

Today, I attended the third C.S. Lewis Conference in Austin, TX on Truth, Goodness, and Beauty with speakers William Lane Craig, Peter Kreeft, and Frederica Mathewes-Green. This blog is a reaction to her speech on "Beauty" in the Christian faith in the form of an e-mail that I just sent to her.

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Hello!

I didn't get to meet you at the conference. I used to be the person that shot like a laser to the front of the auditorium after the speaker was finished, but in recent years I have tried my best to respect the time of the speakers unless there is something incredibly urgent I need to share or ask.

Thank you so much for your words! It is not an everyday occurance to have a brush with the Eastern Orthodox church. What a blessing!

My e-mail is in regards to your comments on art in the church. I have spent quite a deal of time ruminating on this issue, though I've only scratched the surface. I am about to embark on Masters work in Theology and the Arts, and I am looking very much forward to plowing into this beautiful and rich field. I'm sure you have been asked these things before... in that case please feel free to copy and paste your answers to my questions.

The thought that kept beating in my brain was somewhat of an echo of Craig's speech on Objective Truth. It was mentioned that there is objective truth, and there is subjective truth (e.g., allergies and matters of "taste"). Postmodernism is making the mistake of saying that matters of objective truth are really matters of taste. It seems to me that you are making the opposite mistake.

My reasoning is as follows:

(1) Normative absolutes can sometimes be subjective in Christianity, as we see in Romans 14 in the matter of eating "meat," etc. (we are "many members of one body")

(2) Matters of taste (e.g., art, music, etc.) are also perhaps always subjective

(3) It would seem to follow that music (which is so closely -- perhaps inextricably -- connected to matters of taste) in the church practice would also be subjective

A second, parallel line of reasoning following the history of musical evolution from which I can reasonably draw conclusions concerning other branches of the fine arts:

(1) What I know about music history seems show only a very gradual evolution of musical style throughout the centuries, but as time progresses, the speed of the evolution exponentially increases, and things are "out of fashion" (or "outside the realm of the collective contemporary taste") very quickly.

(2) I would assume that the music of the early church was formed around the collective contemporary taste of their day, though I would also assume that the "collective musical taste" of the Hellenistic church would have differed the Jewish church. Thus, the music in the church at this time would be a descriptive, not normative issue.

(3) Because musical style and collective taste only very slowly evolved at that time, I would postulate that there would be little question or contest over what "style" of music to play in church.

(4) The more time that passes, it seems only natural that what was once only a descriptive issue would evolve into a normative issue by means of the flesh (we are creatures of habit) not necessarily by means of the Spirit, and thus become a normative part of authoritative tradition. (of course, this is all based on the Protestant presupposition that Tradition is not authoritative).

Also, you mentioned that what is important is not that we have a marketable service that is appealing to the masses, but that we truly worship. I think you are making a false dichotomy here, assuming that "what is marketable" cannot be "truly worshipped" to. On the contrary, this "marketable music" is exactly what many people most "truly worship" too (whatever "truly worship" means). Again, this results in matters of taste. To one person, a chant might be most conducive to "true worship"; to another, a contemporary praise song; to another a Charles Wesley hymn. I personally prefer a combination of them all: (1) songs from the past that remind us that there were Christians before us, thus tying us into a sense of historical unity with the Universal Church and (2) newly created songs from the present to acknowledge that we are a living and breathing and growing community of faith, not a record played over and over again, thus following the exhortation of the Psalmist "Hallelujah! Sing to the LORD a new song, his praise in the assembly of the saints." (Ps 149:1. Note that "new song" here is in the context of corporate worship. cf. "new song" Ps 33:3, 40:3, 96:1, 98:1, 144:9, Isaiah 42:10, Revelation 5:9, 14:3).

I suppose that any real dialogue on this subject between an Orthodox and a Protestant would be quite restricted because of the foundational differences in the authority of Tradition. Nonetheless, I felt like I should share my thoughts anyway so that you could hear yet another Protestants perspective on the subject matter of your very eloquent speech.

By the way, I love your voice! I could listen to it all day!

Blessings...

Adam

My Poor Excuses

I have always had the following rationalizations for not giving money to the poor. Mind you, not necessarily because I just wanted to keep my money (though this is probably an underlying motivation), but because I wasn't sure that giving them money is the best thing to do for them. Instead, for a while, I toted several canned foods in my back seat for the sign-holders at street intersections. Perhaps I was right to do that. Perhaps wrong. I still think it is the best thing to do. But I've since made these curious observations about my excuses and Jesus' words and actions. Do with them what you will...

Excuse 1: "But I'm thousands of dollars in debt! I'm technically poorer than them!"

Jesus Response: The Widow's Mite Mark 12:21-44

Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins,worth only a fraction of a penny.

Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, "I tell you the truth, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on."

Excuse 2: "But they'll just spend it on drugs and booze." Jesus' Response: The Benevolent Father (a.k.a. "The Prodigal Son) Luke 15:11-31

I won't post the whole thing here, but I'm struck by the fact that the Father just gave it to Him, knowing (I'm sure) full well what his son would spend the money on. And yet he gave it to him anyway. He didn't even give his son a "Now, don't spend it all in one place." He just gives, extravagantly, wastefully, non-sensically, and yet lovingly.

Excuse 3: "I've worked for this money! He/she doesn't deserve it." Jesus' Response: Grace on the Cross.

"I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter into it." Mark 10:15

Grace is just this: giving to someone something they do not deserve. We did not deserve His grace. We didn't earn it. We cannot earn it. He just gave it. And if we are to enter into the life he offers, we must do so like a child, completely empty of any thought of "earning it" or "deserving it." Likewise, are not we supposed to be Christ to the world, like the Benevolent Father, dispensers of Grace completely undeserved?

THE TRIUNE NATURE OF ART

Last night in our class on the Arts in the Church, David Taylor spoke of the Triune nature of creation, echoing some thoughts of Dorthy Sayers. It stands this way:

1. Idea = God
2. Formation = Christ/Logos
3. Animation = Spirit

The idea comes from God, Christ is essentially "the hand that forms", and the Spirit is who gives life to the creation.

This is the Triune nature of Creation that is somewhat analogous to the triune nature of an Artist's creation. As I was reflecting on this, I also thought about the first chapter of the book Art and Fear which explains that the importance of art is different between the Artist and the Receiver. It occurred to me that it also seems like the Triune Nature of Art is different between the Artist and the Receiver. I think the Triune nature of Art for the receiver might look something like this:

1. Idea = God
2. Communication = Christ/Logos
3. Inspiration/Response = Spirit

There are essentially three things involved when we humans encounter/receive the Christian God: God, God as seen by/heard by/revealed to Man (i.e., Jesus), and the moving power of God that changes Man as a result of this encounter (i.e., the Spirit). There is the same kind of Triune quality in our reception of Art. There is (1) the Artist's idea/concept that he/she wants to communicate (2) the medium through which that idea is communicated which we see, hear, touch (i.e., the "idea as communicated" through a painting, a story, a film, etc.), and then there is (3) the inspirational power that the communicated idea exerts on the receiver, the way it moves him, affects him, changes him. I don't know...but it's fun to think about.

A Precis: Art as Adaptation

I was brainstorming further on this idea of Art as Adaptation (i.e. Art ex mundi?) vis-a-vis Art as Creation (i.e., Art ex nihilo). The following is a basic outline of the logic I'm toying with. This is just an idea I'm exploring rather than a dogma I believe in. I'm sure there is fallacy in one or more of these points, and I'd love your insight as to how I could polish this up (or flush it down the artistic Toilet…lol).

Logic: Human Art as Adaptation

1. IF our Art can be described as the creative expression in aesthetic form of what "Is"

2. IF what "Is" can be described as the Creator and His created order including all its physical, metaphysical, and historical-sociological manifestations.

3. IF the created order can be described as the Creator's Art.

4. IF "adaptation" can be described as a rewrite or reworking of a piece of art for another medium.

5. THEN all art is essentially an *attempted adaptation, parody, or satire of the Creator's art.

*Modifier "attempted" because human art is that artist's understanding of what Is, which is not always accurate.

CHRISTIANS AND THE ART OF ADAPTATION

Adaptation. Every time it is announced that a widely-loved book is going to be adapted into a film, the reaction it causes among the book-lovers is like a drop of soap touching the surface of dirty, oily water -- it scatters. There is always, instantly, a wide circumference of opinions on how it should be done, why it should be done, and even if it should be done at all. Yet these opinions are many branches shooting out from the trunk of the same sincere love for the book, the same reverence for the author, the same hate for the idea of an adaptation that blasphemes the original art and author.

Interesting, I think, that we get the same sort of reaction to the arts in the church. We have the Catholics who embrace the arts, images of Christ's body hanging on the cross, stained glass windows telling Bibles stories, magnificent architecture, ornate robes. On the other extreme we have those who -- like Calvin and Zwingli -- have completely rejected the arts within the church, and stripped their church buildings of anything beautiful because they were afraid that it would lead to -- among other things -- blasphemy. Then we have those who lie somewhere in the middle, which is probably what we see in most Baptist churches today -- hymns, the occasional drama skit, a banner here and there, etc. All perspectives on art in the church stem from the same love for God, and the same respect, the same fear.

I do not think it is an accident that the reactions of Christians appear similar to the reactions of the book lovers. And I wonder if, perhaps, there is even a shared motivation as well.

An idea occurred to me this weekend that I have never heard mentioned before (although I am sure it has been thought of):

"Everything we create as artists, every painting, every song, every story, is really either an adaptation, parody, or satire of the original art of God."

When we paint a picture of Christ we are making an adaptation of God's art in Christ to a painting. A film about Jesus is taking God's original story and adapting it to film. It is only natural and proper, then, that we should pay this adaptation the same kind of reverence -- yes, even more -- that we pay to the adaptation of, for example, the Chronicles of Narnia. C.S. Lewis was utterly repulsed at the idea of a film with Aslan as a man in a lion suit; this, he thought, was blasphemy. What would God think of our art depicting His Christ, I wonder?

Yet, perhaps the same principle should apply when we do any type of art. I used to think of artists as "creators", and that by creating art, we are becoming like the Creator. But now I am not so sure. Now I wonder if not every piece of art we create is really an adaptation of God's original art. The preacher in Ecclesiastes said, "There is nothing new under the sun." (Ecc 1.9) And then Paul writes "For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things." (Romans 11.36) I wonder, are these just passages taken out of context that have absolutely nothing to do with our creations as artists? or are we indeed adapting our Creator's original art in everything we make? If it is the latter, I wonder, how do we keep from blaspheming Him and His art in our own adaptations, our parodies, and our satires?

I welcome any comments as I continue to reflect on this idea. Thanks!