21 Guns

This past Sunday I watched a portion of the Grammys and was taken aback by the powerful lyrics of Green Days's "21 Guns." The song led me to comment on Facebook that Green Day may well be one of our best theologians today. How could that possibly be? The thought will no doubt receive criticism from many, but I am compelled by the thoughtful words of Phyllis Tickle: "More theology is conveyed in, and probably retained from, one hour of popular television than from all of the sermons that are also delivered on any given weekend in America's synagogues, churches, and mosques." There is often more substance, raw honesty, and profundity related to how we percieve God and our world in an episode of "The Simpsons" or "Lost"--or in this case, a punk rock band's song--than in many of the sermons I've heard in my lifetime.

A friend of mine who took my comment seriously considered the lyrics and blogged about it, suggesting that the lyrics are a fine portrayal of the Christian notion of surrender. I think he's right on target, but I want to go a little deeper . [If you are unfamiliar with the song, the lyrics are provided here -- and I encourage you to watch the outstanding music video on youtube!]

"Do you know what's worth fighting for? When its not worth dying for?" Immediately and throughout, the song is a double entendre, calling for a truce, peace, and surrender, both on the personal level and the political. The chorus rings out, "One, 21 guns/lay down your arms, give up the fight/ throw up your arms into the sky, you and I." It is interesting that, in a culture where many people on both sides of the political aisle are tired of the fighting and death in Iraq (except for, perhaps, the "Christian" company that has a $660 million contract with the U.S. military to build gun sights), in a time when when anti-war protesting is higher than it has been since Vietnam, the idea of personal dependency, surrender, and choosing faith and trust over self-will and self-preservation are not given a lot of air time. This notion of giving up control, of a self that recognizes it is passive in the wake of what comes in the future, of the power of powerlessness, is the distinguishing feature of Kierkegaard's notion of human subjectivity. Kierkegaard offers the examples of Abraham in Fear and Trembling and Job in Repetition, both who gave up everything in a moment of madness only to impossibly receive it back again from Whom "all things are possible" and Who reminds us that "Whoever tries to keep his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it."

The simple question raised by Green Day, "What worth fighting for?" is an incredibly profound question. I wonder how many people in the Christian culture wars enraged over the issue of homosexuality (whether for or against), for instance, have stopped to ask, "Is this worth fighting for?" Are my views on this issue "worth dying for"? Is it in my top 10 (or even top 100) list of theological nonnegotiables?

Still further, the song continually makes a point about the nature of our lives and the nature of faith. We all have been hurt, been pained, been betrayed. The list could go on and on of the things that have been done to us -- and the things we've done to others. Amidst it all, there could be a silver lining, not a reason for the pain and hurt, but a passion that proceeds from it. Green Day asks, "Does the pain weigh out the pride? . . . You're in ruins." And still later, "When you're at the end of the road / And you lost all sense of control / And your thoughts have taken their toll / When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul." We can try to think and reason about the meaning of what has happened in our lives, we can search for answers to the horrors and evil in the world, but such strivings often leave us wanting, even crushed in spirit, "and a crushed spirit dries up the bones," said a wise sage long ago. All of this leads to the profound statement by Green Day: "Your faith walks on broken glass." -- which Paul tells us, we see through "darkly."

Even more could be said. By the end of the song, Green Day touches on many more themes that could be developed such as longsuffering ("And the hangover doesn't pass"), repentance, forgiveness, and idolatry ("Did you stand too close to the fire / Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone"), redemption ("And you can't get another try"), brokenness and disappointment ("Nothing's ever built to last" and "Something inside this heart has died."), and resurrection, or the very Christian notion the life so often arises through death, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes ("When it's time to live and let die." As Jesus reminded us, only when a seed is put in the ground and "dies" that it produces fruit [Jn. 12:24; cf. Gal. 2:19]).

The Shack and Universalism (Part 1)

So it has been a while since my previous post, and I was right in the throes of discussion issues related to the book, The Shack by William P. Young when the full force of this semester's obligations took over! So this post will involve another afterwards, but hopefully less time will commence between the two.

In my previous post, I highlighted a number of criticisms that have been leveled against William P. Young’s book, The Shack. In this post, I hope to address one of them, namely the issue of universal salvation that some say the book teaches.

Now, among the criticisms leveled against The Shack on this front, there are really two questions going on here: (1) Is William Young a universalist? And, (2) Does The Shack teach universalism? The answer to (1), according to theologian James B. DeYoung, who is also a friend of William Young, the answer is yes, citing Young “has affirmed his hope that all will be reconciled to God.” Young’s position is that God's primary characteristic of love will ultimately win out in bringing all people to salvation (a similar view can be seen in Philip Gulley’s If Grace is True). DeYoung then suggests that Young’s views are also the position of the Unitarian-Universalist Church (UUC). [you can find a link to DeYoung's pdf article under “Journal Review” here.]

Personally, I don’t know William Young, so I cannot answer (1), but I am interested in (2). While others who point out Young’s so-called universalism merely criticize him for saying that Jesus is merely the “best” way to relate to God rather than the “only” way (109), DeYoung highlights ten ways The Shack endorses universalist views, even though the editors of the book worked hard to erase such claims. I summarize them here:

1) God is primarily a God of love (The universalist creed of 1899 states, “there is one God whose nature is love”).
2) There is no eternal punishment for sin (The 1899 creed states God “will finally restore the whole family of mankind”).
3) Young does not mention Satan, nor the “enormity of sin.”
4) God’s justice is subjugated to his love.
5) Young’s wrong view of the Trinity, that the Father also suffered, which leads to modalism; and making God into a goddess.
6) Reconciliation is effective for all without needing faith as Papa has reconciled himself to the whole world (p. 192), not just those who believe.
7) No future judgment.
8) All are equally children of God and loved by him (155-156).
9) The institutional church is rejected.
10) The Bible is minimized.

In response, I would contest that none of these things implicate The Shack as a book on universalism or necessarily represent the position of the UUC. First, Young cannot be a Unitarian-Universalist, as the UUC ascribes to no creed and represents an incredibly diverse number of congregations. UUC’s commitment to Christian teachings is basically limited to the Bible’s command to love our neighbor as ourselves. In other words, for the UUC, Jesus is simply a good example to follow to bring about social justice in the world. But in stark contrast, Jesus plays an incredibly central role throughout The Shack. Papa says, “Mackenzie, the Truth shall set you free and the Truth has a name; he’s over in the woodshop right now covered in sawdust” (95). And then later on, “Like I said, everything is about him. Creation and history are all about Jesus. He is the very center of our purpose and in him we are now fully human, so our purpose and your destiny are forever linked… There is no plan B” (192). Indeed, this point rebuts the critique that Young falls short by calling Jesus merely the “best” way to relate to God as well. In fact, at one point, Mack calls Jesus “the way in” (177).

Second, to say that Young affirms a “hope that all will be reconciled” seems to be no different than saying God is patient, “not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Pet 3:9). If God hopes for reconciliation is he a universalist too?

As for #1-10, I’m not sure what 5, 9, and 10 have to do with universalism, and I already addressed them in my previous post. #1 and 4 would implicate the Apostle John who wrote repeatedly that “God is love” (aren’t you glad God showed mercy and love to you instead of justice?). #8 would implicate the Apostle Paul who proclaimed to the pagans in Athens, “We are God’s offspring” (Acts 17:29). #6 takes Papa’s statement out of context, as the passage clearly states that “reconciliation is a two way street” (192). #3 can be attributed to The Shack’s neoplatonic view of evil, namely that evil is a privation (e.g., dark is the absence of light) and not really a thing/being (136). This may not bode well with current views of Evangelical thought, but it was widely held by Christians thinkers for a thousand years. This leaves us with #s 2 & 7, which address punishment/judgment. I stated in my previous post that Young has a minimalist position on God’s punishment; however, and yet the absence of explicit affirmative statements about punishment does not mean Young denies it (i.e., arguments from silence are not that powerful). Indeed, at least implicitly, two comments by God in The Shack suggest the possibility of eternal separation. To Mack’s question, “Will all roads lead to you?” Jesus replies, “Not at all. Most roads don’t lead anywhere.” And Papa says later, “It is not the nature of love to force a relationship but it is the nature of love to open the way” (192). In other words, God does not force a relationship where one does not desire it. To those who desire independence from God, life in heaven would be a greater torment than hell--those who are in hell desire to be there (a position C.S. Lewis posits in The Great Divorce and elsewhere).

Well then, if The Shack does not prevent universalism, what is it that it teaches? I will address this in my next post!

What Kind of God Are You?

In my last post, I mentioned my dreadful situation of watching my son choke and my response to the situation. That experience also got me thinking about the nature of God. Depending on your theological persuasion, there are a number of emotions that God does or does not experience. Or if you’re an Aristotelian, you’re inclined to say that God is pure thought, so to speak of God and emotion at all is to venture into the realm of metaphor. Generally speaking, there are two schools of thought on this issue (that’s being reductionistic, of course, but the other views seem to be varying degrees of the following two):

The God of Neoplatonic thought, and Calvinism in many respects,(and what is often viewed as orthodox) has a limited scope of feelings. This God may (metaphorically) experience love, joy, peace, anger, righteous indignation, and desire justice. That may even be going too far; perhaps God IS these things (e.g., “God is Love”), but to say he experiences these things would be to place him in the realm of time. But this God certainly does not experience fear, panic, the pressure of taking risks, courage, doubt, the feeling of second-guessing himself, or the sheer delight of surprise. On the other hand, the God of Open Theism and other related views says that God experiences all of these feelings.

There are people—smart and contemplative people, I might add—on both sides. And they don’t take a side due to some shallow shot at proof-texting. Each position can present reasonable and convincing arguments for their case. And each position caters to a certain list of Scripture passages for support (or a certain method of interpretation of Scripture).

The Calvinist resorts to verses that support God’s omniscience, omnipotence, omnipresence, immutability, impassibility (does not feel emotion), foreknowledge, and timelessness (terms which have come from Greek philosophy, I might point out). They cite, “For I am the Lord, I change not” (Mal. 3:6), “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to me” (Ps. 139:16), “For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son…And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified” (Rom. 8:29-30), “For he chose us in him before the creation of the world” (Eph. 1:4), or “From one man he made every nation of men…and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live” (Acts 17:26).

The Open Theist resorts to verses that support God experiencing emotion (and Christ’s humanity), not knowing what will happen due to human freedom, and working in tandem with man to bring about his goals for the world (e.g., such as prayer changing God’s mind). They cite, “But Moses sought the favor of the Lord his God. ‘O Lord,’ he said, ‘why should your anger burn against your people…’ Then the Lord relented and did not bring on his people the disaster he had threatened” (Ex. 32:11-14), “The prophet Isaiah son of Amoz went to him and said, ‘This is what the LORD says: … you are going to die; you will not recover.’ Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and prayed to the LORD…Then the word of the LORD came to Isaiah: … ‘This is what the LORD, the God of your father David, says: I have heard your prayer and seen your tears; I will add fifteen years to your life” (Isa. 38:1-5), “I thought that after she [Israel] had done all this she would return to me but she did not” (Jer. 3:7), “The Lord was grieved that he had made man on the earth” (Gen 6:6), and “When God saw what they did and how they turned from their evil ways, he had compassion and did not bring upon them the destruction he had threatened” (Jonah 3:10).

My concern is not which position is “right.” If there was a definitive conclusion, one would think that the Holy Spirit would have told us by now or that God would have been a bit clearer in his directions.

I am more interested in the psychology between why someone chooses one over the other. Both positions are concerned with preserving something they consider central to God’s character. The Calvinist wants to preserve God’s sovereignty; the Open Theist wants to prevent God from being the cause of evil. The Calvinist wants to preserve God’s transcendence and sing, “How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out” (Rom. 11:33); the Open Theist wants to preserve God’s immanence, to have a “high priest” who is able to “sympathize with our weaknesses” (Heb. 4:15). We could say, both positions are often argued for out of the best of intentions.

Since Scriptural support can be found for both (and both sides could easily appeal to the Holy Spirit to claim they’ve got it right!), I’m convinced that the majority of people fall down on one side of the spectrum or the other, in the end, because it is the position that provides them the greatest sense of security, hope, or sense of justice (that is, unless they just blindly accept one since its been taught them…). Actually, most people probably hold to the synthesis of the two positions (e.g., I know many professing Calvinists who sincerely believe in the power of prayer), not realizing that, to many philosophers and theologians, they are mutually exclusive. Ironically then, the nature of God’s emotions (or lack thereof) is decided on by emotion! One person finds security in a God who is cool in the face of evil and suffering and death because he is orchestrating it all and knows how it will pan out. Another finds security in a God who creates space for true human freedom. One finds refuge in God’s constancy; the other finds peace in a God who understands the roller coaster that constitutes human existence.

So I ask myself, thinking about the feeling of panic—an urgency that motivated me to action and was fueled with love and deep concern—I experienced when my child was choking, do I want a God who is sovereign but impassible in my time of need or a God who “panics” for the sake of his people? If God is Father, if I’m to learn how to be a good father by looking to the Father (there's another metaphor), what kind of God is helpful for me in this situation? How do I pray to a God who doesn’t understand the feeling of panic when his child is in danger—or can’t share with me in the delight of surprise, for that matter (just think about it, isn't the delight of surprise one of the greatest things about life?)?

On the other hand, the God I am now describing is starting to sound a little like Santa Claus, there at my beck and call, or at the very least, a tamed God who I can comprehend and fits within certain parameters and expectations (which is bordering on idolatry). Then again, the God of metaphysics is pretty tame (i.e., predictable).

With all these meandering ramblings, I end this post and return to my fussing child. I wonder how God feels about fussy children (he has lots of them!).

Book Review: The Weakness of God by John D. Caputo

The Weakness of God: A Theology of the Event (Indiana University Press, 2006) is the most recent work by John Caputo, the well-known postmodern philosopher and scholar of the French Deconstructionist, Jacques Derrida. It is a book not for the faint of heart, and yet it is a well-crafted work that seeks interplay between philosophical and theological concepts that usually aren’t given much attention in a genre more known for asking questions like, “Could God create a rock so big he couldn’t move it?”

Caputo’s main argument is that the Christian religion is one prefaced on weakness and that all our attempts at describing God as a metaphysical light and power show we might find on a Hollywood digital effects screen is more of a Nietzschean “will to power” than accurate theology. More specifically, our descriptions of God as sovereign and omnipotent really stem from our own fanciful desires for dictatorial power, my-god-is-bigger-than-your-god mentality, and continued commitment to the world’s economy based on hierarchy and pay-back. By looking at God as an event, or rather, unleashing the event which is housed in his name (a concept I can’t begin to explain), we find a “second order act” (9), or a theology for the weak, the powerless, the full of doubt, those looking to be wooed and called by God rather than forced as a mere pawn.

There are many things I like about this book, and though at times I sense Caputo goes to extremes (and often falls into a modernistic form of liberalism), he offers a fresh reading on texts we often glaze over. What Caputo understands well is at the heart of the message of Jesus is exactly what his disciples never would have expected. They were looking for a Messiah to overthrow the Roman government and return Israel back to the glory days of Solomon and David. Instead, they got a child born in “straw poverty” (as Bono likes to put it) who told his followers to turn the other cheek, forgive until they were blue in the face, love their enemies, and be sure to invite the most oppressed and disenfranchised to all their parties. Truly, the kingdom of the heavens is a kingdom of reversals where the first are last, the greatest are the servants, the exemplary disciples are little children, and justice is brought to the least of these. As Caputo states about this “sacred anarchy”:

“The kingdom of God obeys the law of reversals in virtue of which whatever is first is last, whatever is out is in, whatever is lost is saved, where even death has a certain power over the living, all of which confounds the dynamics of strong forces…The kingdom of God is the rule of weak forces like patience and forgiveness, which, instead of forcibly exacting payments for an offense, release and let go. The kingdom is found whenever war and aggression are met with an offer of peace… The kingdom reigns wherever the least and most undesirable are favored while the best and most powerful are put on the defensive” (14-15).

This is precisely the message of Jesus that puzzled so many who heard him – and continues to do so today. In a world in which we are constantly compelled to “one-up” the person next to us, climb the ladder so that we can stare down at all those below, and like the disciples, always ask “Who is the greatest?,” Jesus words come as a shock. This is a message Caputo describes well and needs to be proclaimed more often.

Caputo goes to great lengths to defend his theology of weakness by calling into question creatio ex nihilo, that most metaphysical heyday in which God best displayed his sheer power and brute strength by creating the world out of nothing. Leaning largely on Catherine Kellor’s Face of the Deep, Caputo exegetes the Genesis creation account essentially to point out that the wild land (tohu wa-bohu) and the see (tehom) were already in existence before God’s first spoken word (1:2-3). In short, then, God is more of an artist than a all-powerful creator, one who takes clay and molds and fashions and forms and transforms (metanoia). Caputo states:

“In the beginning, they are there, wind and waters and land, barren and lifeless, the wind sweeping over the deep, everywhere darkness…Then Elohim was moved to speak to them, and by addressing them to bring them to life, to awaken life in them…He calls them into life; he does not bring them into being, for the whole point is that they were there all along… Genesis is not about being, but about life.” (58)

I am intrigued by Caputo’s argument and agree that the Genesis account of creation has far more to offer than (what some believe) a proof that Darwin is wrong (considering Genesis was written several thousand years before Darwin came along, I hardly believe evolution was the author’s primary concern). However, Caputo’s argument isn’t enough for me to simply punt on my belief in the sovereignty of God (although it may need to be redefined). It is here Caputo makes a huge leap in thought, concluding, that by pulling the rug out of those who hold to creatio ex nihilo he has single-handedly brought down the entire construct of viewing God as “a strong force, a power of this world” (90). This not only has a kind of foundationalist feel, but Caputo also fails to take into account the vast amount of other passages of scripture that speak of God as powerful, sovereign, and as ruler. Even if we accept his rendering of Genesis 1 and that the Jews didn’t believe in creatio ex nihilo (since this metaphysical idea didn’t come around until the second century CE), any God who can call human beings and all that exists in the world “into life” certainly still has quite an astonishing ability.

Caputo’s theological lens becomes clear when articulates disbelief in Jesus’ miraculous raising of Lazarus from the dead, for it would have been too powerful of an act for his weakness theology (cf. chapter 11). This is not to get into an argument as to whether all the miracles of the Bible actually did occur (and even if they did, the time periods in which they did are in such small proportion to the rest of redemptive history). It just seems easier to believe the narrative as it is written than to conjure up the “real story” and try to reinterpret all the texts of scripture that don’t seem to fit into the theological framework one would like to create. Again, here Caputo smacks of modernism by forcing his theology of weakness upon the text and makes them fit (and at times, he simply throws out passages he doesn’t like).

Though Caputo addresses many other issues and topics (his exegesis of 1 Corinthians 1, which is central to his theology of weakness, is well worth the read), it all comes to a head with the problem of suffering and evil. Although this long-time question of philosophical theology is not the heading of any chapter in the book, it becomes quickly obvious that the main reason Caputo is arguing for a theology of weakness is to attempt an explanation of the problem of evil. Here, I will let Caputo speak for himself:

“Omnipotence leaves God holding the bag and forces us to offer lame excuses for God to the effect that evil is a little nothing that has leaked into being and that God is only responsible for the being, not the leak, while we, wicked things that we are, are almost all leak, so that a flood is a fitting way to end it all.” (76).

“If you think of God in terms of power, you will be regularly, systematically confounded by … the unevenness of God’s record on behalf of the poor and the oppressed… it is in the end an outright blasphemy to say that God has some mysterious divine purpose when an innocent child is abducted, raped, and murdered...” (90-91).

“God does not steer hurricanes away from the mainland and out to sea, anymore than God has a favorite in the Super Bowl, the NCAA Final Four, or the World Soccer Cup tournaments. God is not a powerful but invisible hand who magically bends natural or historical forces to divine purposes so that in the end things turn out just the way God has planned…” (178-179).

“For the believer, Auschwitz – every Auschwitz… – is an inexplicable and unjustifiable violence against life, against Elohim’s creation… And if sometimes some good somewhere comes out of it, it would be an obscenity to suggest that that is either an explanation or a justification.” (181)

Caputo’s point is well-taken. Amidst the “irreparable losses” (243) of Auschwitz, the Cambodian Killing Fields, Rwanda, Darfur, and every other atrocity in history, it seems trivial and downright blasphemous to hear the president of an NFL team say it was God’s will and blessing that they win the Super Bowl. Really, is God so concerned with his name being glorified on a football field that he fails to notice the 6600 dying of AIDS each day in Africa?

To try to rationalize the senseless death of millions is to be greatly insensitive to those who suffer. However, I’m not sure Caputo’s view is any more consoling. And even more, it is this one issue that seems to steer Caputo’s entire theology, as if because he cannot figure God out and because the circumstances are so deplorable, he must arrive at certain conclusions about God (a kind of a tail wagging the dog scenario, it seems).

For sure, the “strong theologies” of Augustine, Calvin, and Jonathan Edwards do not provide adequate or satisfying answers to the problem of evil, but I’m not sure by veering over to the other extreme will leave us in a better position. Here again, I sense a bit of modernistic either/or, black/white in Caputo. God cannot be strong, so he must be weak to him. Why can’t he be both? This, of course, is what we find in scripture. Jesus is both the Lamb and the Lion. He is the most humble being in the world and yet also holds the world up by his hands. He is the eternal who took on temporal flesh (which is what most confounded the Apostle John).

All in all, Caputo’s work is a worthwhile read. Again, though I sense an unswerving allegiance to modern liberalism (as well as to the genius of Jacques Derrida), the issues Caputo raises are worthy of contemplating and his arguments challenging. Caputo calls into question the status quo interpretations of the scriptures, providing a fresh read that lays bare many of our philosophical presuppositions we often unconsciously bring to the table of biblical interpretation.