| Two quotes that just nail it dead-on... | |
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Wednesday, August 15, 2007
| Was digging through all the crap (still) in the foyer... | |
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| Quotes worth archiving here | |
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| I live in a stupid subculture. | |
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Great Religious Poetry is...
Nothing much, just a great quote I saw today:
There is no great religious poetry that does not raise-as crucial to its enterprise-the question of whether it is open to the charge of blasphemy, even as there is no great erotic art that does not raise the question of whether it is open to the charge of pornography.
--Christopher Ricks, Bob Dylan's Vision of Sin
Nothing much, just a great quote I saw today:
There is no great religious poetry that does not raise-as crucial to its enterprise-the question of whether it is open to the charge of blasphemy, even as there is no great erotic art that does not raise the question of whether it is open to the charge of pornography.
--Christopher Ricks, Bob Dylan's Vision of Sin
| Art and Faith | |
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| Bring on the dancing bears... | |
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Philosophical Gumbo a la Sean
I've long held that I'm a self-professed postmodern existentialist christian mystic believer in absolute truth. Now, if you've studied philosophy at all, you'll know immediately that those are the kind of ingredients that make one strange and confusing soup in which the flavors don't actually complement each other.
Postmodern:
If Descartes is seen as the father of modernism, then postmodernism is a variety of cultural positions which reject major features ... modern (the philosophical concept of modern, not the chronological necessarily) thought. Hence, views which, for example, stress the priority of the social to the individual; which reject the universalizing tendencies of philosophy; which prize irony over knowledge; and which give the irrational equal footing with the rational in our decision procedures all fall under the postmodern umbrella.
Existentialism:
A philosophy that emphasizes the uniqueness and isolation of the individual experience in a hostile or indifferent universe, regards human existence as unexplainable, and stresses freedom of choice and responsibility for the consequences of one's acts.
Christian Mysticism:
Mysticism is the philosophy and practice of a direct experience of God. In the Christian context this is usually practiced through prayer, meditation and contemplation. Christian mysticism aspires to apprehend spiritual truths inaccessible through intellectual means, typically by emulation of Christ. "If you're a Christian, you're on a tightrope. If you see yourself more as a "Christian mystic" you're on the tightrope but juggling bowling balls." -- from http://www.christianmystics.com/
Absolute Truth:
In general, absolute truth is whatever is always valid, regardless of parameters or context. The absolute in the term connotes one or more of: a quality of truth that cannot be exceeded; complete truth; unvarying and permanent truth. It can be contrasted to relative truth or truth in a more ordinary sense in which a degree of relativity is implied.
How can I believe and hold to all these conflicting tenets? Well, I guess it's that struggle that helps to make me who I am. All I know is that the postmodern in me rejects easy answers and attempts to deconstruct everything to find the "truth" beneath the composition (even though typically postmoderns reject the notion of truth with a capital "T." The existentialist in me acknowledges the isolation of the individuals and places great importance on living well in a world that seems to ignore us (at best) or downright antagonistic toward us (at worst). The living heroically in that world is the greatest human achievement, seeking to be responsible for standing up in the face of that isolation. The Christian mystic in me attempts to makes sense of this all through a relationship with God, and sees that those my existentialism makes the world seem apart and distant and uncaring, the God who created it isn't, that the postmodern who has become jaded and skeptical can ultimately find something solid and real once everything has been deconstructed and laid bare apart from all it's cultural context. And the believer in absolute truth in me gives me hope that there is something real, something firm that holds true, period, and that if I search for it, regardless of its name or what faith has tried to co-opt it, it will be there just as real for me as for everyone else who has the guts to put everything they believe at risk just to find it.
So, beneath the surface of my skin and psyche, all that mixture of philosophical gumbo is going on. And now you know me, the real me. The definition of me, at least in terms of my philosophical understanding of myself, the world, and my place in it. But, in spite of all the heady, self-important crap that is me, I like to watch TV, movies and read books and comics and play (I call it work most of the time) on my computer.
All this heady stuff, and I'm still a shallow wack job, huh? But you have to love me for it, right?
(Wait, don't leave. Please...)
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
The Matrix Revisited
I finally saw The Matrix Revolutions last night.
All I can say is that the Wach Bros have a better understanding of Christian theology than most of the Christians I know.
And I have to say that I really didn't see it coming either. I really assumed that the Wach Bros "postmodern gospel" was going to be purely surface stuff only, as I was led to be believe in the first Matrix film.
But no, they really went deeper (and not the mamby-pamby, psycho-theology babble of Reloaded) and really presented a story that covers not just the surface archetypes of a "gospel" story -- many movies do this, most of Spielberg's films for example will destroy and otherwise good story just to tell a "Christ- tale" -- but even more important (at least to a critic with my POV) the more subtle underpinnings that many people, particularly Christians themselves miss about the Christian theology.
1. Christ didn't just die for the club. He died for the world. Christian theology in the Bible teaches that the whole world was "groaning" after the fall, and Christ's death brought peace not just to the people, but also a promise of an unfallen environment again as well.
2. The machines were not the real enemy. The real enemy was a threat to both. Just as in the early days of Christianity, Christ tried to help people see that the Romans weren't the real enemy -- sin was. And sin infected and hurt both Christians and Romans equally, just like Smith infected both the machine/human world and the Matrix.
3. Christ was ultimately a man of peace, not a man of war. He warred again the "invisible thing" at the root while other people warred against what they assumed was the enemy (other physical presences). This is a lesson we in contemporary Christianity would be hard pressed to re-learn. The enemy is not the other folks around us -- liberal politicians, secularists, atheists, homosexuals, pro-choicers, etc. The real enemy is sin, and dealing with that will help us find the one thing we all have in common. We're all fallen. We're all on equal footing in the mud and slop.
4. Christ didn't battle sin to defeat it. He had to become it to defeat it. Neo defeated Smith in the only way that would work -- he had to become Smith in essence in order to destroy Smith's power for good.
All in all, a good flick, I thought. Perhaps a little heavy-handed at times and with a psycho-babble drag in the middle, but certainly more fun that Ishtar, right?
I finally saw The Matrix Revolutions last night.
All I can say is that the Wach Bros have a better understanding of Christian theology than most of the Christians I know.
And I have to say that I really didn't see it coming either. I really assumed that the Wach Bros "postmodern gospel" was going to be purely surface stuff only, as I was led to be believe in the first Matrix film.
But no, they really went deeper (and not the mamby-pamby, psycho-theology babble of Reloaded) and really presented a story that covers not just the surface archetypes of a "gospel" story -- many movies do this, most of Spielberg's films for example will destroy and otherwise good story just to tell a "Christ- tale" -- but even more important (at least to a critic with my POV) the more subtle underpinnings that many people, particularly Christians themselves miss about the Christian theology.
1. Christ didn't just die for the club. He died for the world. Christian theology in the Bible teaches that the whole world was "groaning" after the fall, and Christ's death brought peace not just to the people, but also a promise of an unfallen environment again as well.
2. The machines were not the real enemy. The real enemy was a threat to both. Just as in the early days of Christianity, Christ tried to help people see that the Romans weren't the real enemy -- sin was. And sin infected and hurt both Christians and Romans equally, just like Smith infected both the machine/human world and the Matrix.
3. Christ was ultimately a man of peace, not a man of war. He warred again the "invisible thing" at the root while other people warred against what they assumed was the enemy (other physical presences). This is a lesson we in contemporary Christianity would be hard pressed to re-learn. The enemy is not the other folks around us -- liberal politicians, secularists, atheists, homosexuals, pro-choicers, etc. The real enemy is sin, and dealing with that will help us find the one thing we all have in common. We're all fallen. We're all on equal footing in the mud and slop.
4. Christ didn't battle sin to defeat it. He had to become it to defeat it. Neo defeated Smith in the only way that would work -- he had to become Smith in essence in order to destroy Smith's power for good.
All in all, a good flick, I thought. Perhaps a little heavy-handed at times and with a psycho-babble drag in the middle, but certainly more fun that Ishtar, right?
Thursday, June 26, 2003
Jesus is the Answer?
(but who's asking)
I was talking today with a co-worker, and we somehow got onto the idea of how many people walk around having all the answers. Well, it got me to thinking... which got me to journaling...
(You knew that was coming, right?)
Anyway...
Bear with me just a moment as I play both Devil's Advocate and Devil's District Attorney (or would that be Devil's Defense Attorney?).
Devil's Advocate side: You people need to realize that religion is a private matter, and you need to stay out of my private religious and moral choices. Whether or not I have faith of any kind, or sleep with nobody or anybody I choose is none of your business. Sure, you can talk a good talk about loving the "sinner" but hating the "sin," but we all know it's just rhetoric designed to help you pass laws that practically make this country more Judeo-Christian in spite of the changing religious face of the country.
Devil's District Attorney: Well, if you only understood the problem and the spiritual danger that you're in, then you'd be just as zealous as we are. It's like this, if we're right then, the whole world's racing at breakneck speed toward a destroyed bridge that's no longer there, and if we don't stop you and tell you that the bridge is out, we're just letting you race to your deaths. So, if you look at it from our perspective, it's only love that's motivating us to try to help you from a danger you don't realize you're in.
It's been said that the ability to put yourself in the shoes of an enemy is one of the first steps toward peace. (Because I just said it. So there.) And while different religious views may not constitute people as enemies, it can often play out that way in practice.
Regardless.
I once read an essay in which the writer talked about the song "Jesus is the Answer" as the perfect apologetic for its time. Then he mourned in ink that the trouble today is that contemporary Christians grew up in a world in which they were told "Jesus is the Answer" so much that they forgot how to ask questions -- or more important, to take the time to learn what the questions are.
Instead, they became a generation of religious zealots running around with "the answer" to questions no one was asking, ticking people off willy-nilly with their insistence and poor people skills.
I still believe that's true.
Hence the problems in our zeal to determine anything that might have some sort of proselytizing use as being a "tool" (i.e., music, art, plumbing, relationships) and nothing more. And the problems in our inability to interact in any real, two-way dimension with people who believe differently than we. Because if we have "the answer," what do we care about what you think?
And that's sad.
I still remember one of the conversations with a person I'm honored to call a friend. Having working in a building that equates Wicca with all sorts of things from "Satan Worship" to "witchcraft" to "nature worship" and genuine curious to know what adherents or even former adherents considered Wicca to be, I simply asked.
Not to try to argue or look for "wrong" things to give me an opening to "share my faith" or convert anybody. But simply to ask a question I knew I didn't already have the answer to.
And maybe that's the starting point for those of us in this part of the faith camp. Even if we feel we have THE ultimate answer (42, right?), we need to learn that we don't have ALL the answers. And that we can learn a lot of answers still from other people who may believe different ultimate answers than we do.
Personally, I don't talk about my faith to others in conversation unless they're comfortable with it or ask me. And I can't stand those sort of "bait and switch" tactics people are taught to "begin spiritual conversations" just for the purpose of making their pitch. To me, it's just a courtesy I'd hope people would extend to me (do unto others, and all that...).
But I've found that people are open to talking about spirituality and faith if they feel like both sides have something interesting to say are aren't just lying in wait to bombard them with "the answer" as soon as it's their "turn" to speak (which comes off more like a polite debate than a genuine conversation).
So what's the point of all this? I don't know. Not entirely. Because I know I don't have all the answers.
I guess it's simply this. Try on the other person's shoes before we throw our feelings around. Sometimes conversionistic zeal really does come from a heart of genuine love and a desire to help, and even if you don't welcome the help, don't run off the helper. Maybe you can help them understand how they're perceived and how it's not helping them help anyone. And for those of us who believe we have "the answer," perhaps for us, we need the bigger lesson -- shut up for once, make some new friends, and let nature take it's course.
(but who's asking)
I was talking today with a co-worker, and we somehow got onto the idea of how many people walk around having all the answers. Well, it got me to thinking... which got me to journaling...
(You knew that was coming, right?)
Anyway...
Bear with me just a moment as I play both Devil's Advocate and Devil's District Attorney (or would that be Devil's Defense Attorney?).
Devil's Advocate side: You people need to realize that religion is a private matter, and you need to stay out of my private religious and moral choices. Whether or not I have faith of any kind, or sleep with nobody or anybody I choose is none of your business. Sure, you can talk a good talk about loving the "sinner" but hating the "sin," but we all know it's just rhetoric designed to help you pass laws that practically make this country more Judeo-Christian in spite of the changing religious face of the country.
Devil's District Attorney: Well, if you only understood the problem and the spiritual danger that you're in, then you'd be just as zealous as we are. It's like this, if we're right then, the whole world's racing at breakneck speed toward a destroyed bridge that's no longer there, and if we don't stop you and tell you that the bridge is out, we're just letting you race to your deaths. So, if you look at it from our perspective, it's only love that's motivating us to try to help you from a danger you don't realize you're in.
It's been said that the ability to put yourself in the shoes of an enemy is one of the first steps toward peace. (Because I just said it. So there.) And while different religious views may not constitute people as enemies, it can often play out that way in practice.
Regardless.
I once read an essay in which the writer talked about the song "Jesus is the Answer" as the perfect apologetic for its time. Then he mourned in ink that the trouble today is that contemporary Christians grew up in a world in which they were told "Jesus is the Answer" so much that they forgot how to ask questions -- or more important, to take the time to learn what the questions are.
Instead, they became a generation of religious zealots running around with "the answer" to questions no one was asking, ticking people off willy-nilly with their insistence and poor people skills.
I still believe that's true.
Hence the problems in our zeal to determine anything that might have some sort of proselytizing use as being a "tool" (i.e., music, art, plumbing, relationships) and nothing more. And the problems in our inability to interact in any real, two-way dimension with people who believe differently than we. Because if we have "the answer," what do we care about what you think?
And that's sad.
I still remember one of the conversations with a person I'm honored to call a friend. Having working in a building that equates Wicca with all sorts of things from "Satan Worship" to "witchcraft" to "nature worship" and genuine curious to know what adherents or even former adherents considered Wicca to be, I simply asked.
Not to try to argue or look for "wrong" things to give me an opening to "share my faith" or convert anybody. But simply to ask a question I knew I didn't already have the answer to.
And maybe that's the starting point for those of us in this part of the faith camp. Even if we feel we have THE ultimate answer (42, right?), we need to learn that we don't have ALL the answers. And that we can learn a lot of answers still from other people who may believe different ultimate answers than we do.
Personally, I don't talk about my faith to others in conversation unless they're comfortable with it or ask me. And I can't stand those sort of "bait and switch" tactics people are taught to "begin spiritual conversations" just for the purpose of making their pitch. To me, it's just a courtesy I'd hope people would extend to me (do unto others, and all that...).
But I've found that people are open to talking about spirituality and faith if they feel like both sides have something interesting to say are aren't just lying in wait to bombard them with "the answer" as soon as it's their "turn" to speak (which comes off more like a polite debate than a genuine conversation).
So what's the point of all this? I don't know. Not entirely. Because I know I don't have all the answers.
I guess it's simply this. Try on the other person's shoes before we throw our feelings around. Sometimes conversionistic zeal really does come from a heart of genuine love and a desire to help, and even if you don't welcome the help, don't run off the helper. Maybe you can help them understand how they're perceived and how it's not helping them help anyone. And for those of us who believe we have "the answer," perhaps for us, we need the bigger lesson -- shut up for once, make some new friends, and let nature take it's course.
Suburban Life?
The pop artist Jewel, a young woman in her middle 20s whose albums have sold millions, talked several years ago with Rolling Stone magazine about her motivations. She said, "I'm just a person who is honestly trying to live my life and asking, 'How do you be spiritual and live in the world without going to a monastery?'"
Her question rattled around in my brain, for neither can I move to a monastery. I'm stuck in the 'burbs; I don't have easy access to nature (that is, enough cash flow to afford a second house in some rural area), to quiet, to a more contemplative life. Something deep within me yearns for a more spacious spiritual consciousness, a more direct connection to the God of the galaxies. How can I draw close to my Creator in a world of endless strip malls, cookie-cutter houses, ubiquitous vans and sport-utility vehicles, and no space for solitude? A colleague calls the Chicago suburbs "the land of no horizons." Power lines, the dormers on a neighbor's Cape Cod, and mature hardwoods obstruct the full evening's redness in the west. The day's final beauty is always about an hour away. I commute to the country to see the stars.
Some days I fantasize about moving my family from our western Chicago suburb to a small town in the western United States, edged by a rambling stream and cradled in the foothills of a mountain range with a romantic name like the Spanish Peaks. There we'd live out our days in simplicity and in natural beauty and with few financial anxieties. Life would be fully aligned. Our frenetic life would slow to a manageable pace, and God would be easier to access.
NOTE: Click here for the rest of this article by David Goetz.
I've wondered about this myself. Sometimes I feel like suburban life is so stifling, but I don't want to raise kids downtown in the city proper where the cost of living is even more expensive. Nor do I want to find the slowed-down life I'd love in east-bumble-nowhere at the risk of my kids not being able to have a good school system and opportunities I never had.
So I waffle.
Part of me longs to get back to a quiet place like I grew up. A place where you didn't have to lock the doors, or even close them except for the gnats. A place where 7-year-old kids could walk up the street to the park by themselves and you didn't have to worry about them being run over or abducted.
But the other part of me doesn't won't to leave all the stuff behind that only the city can provide -- plays, a symphony, museums, bookstores that actually have out of print books and first editions, music stores that sell more than just Top 40.
So, here am I, stuck in suburbia.
Spiritual suburbia has set in too, though, and in spite of my posts here, I do find myself longing for the Mother Teresa experience of being able to completely empty myself out into the lives of others. Either that or throw myself headlong into so-called hedonism and live out my every selfish fantasy.
But no, I have tempered the selflessness and selfishness, becoming the kind of Revelation spew mentioned in the following verse:
I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm-- neither hot nor cold-- I am about to spit you out of my mouth. (Revelation 3:15-16, NIV)
That's me. Biblical puke material.
Too wrapped up in the Joneses and my new gadgets and the ones I still want (plasma TV, anyone?) to be any kind of Mother Teresa.
And too wrapped up in being "presentable to the neighbors" to let my hedonistic side out beyond losing my temper or experiencing it vicariously through friends.
Sad, ain't it.
Spiritual Suburbia. Population Sean.
Sigh.
The pop artist Jewel, a young woman in her middle 20s whose albums have sold millions, talked several years ago with Rolling Stone magazine about her motivations. She said, "I'm just a person who is honestly trying to live my life and asking, 'How do you be spiritual and live in the world without going to a monastery?'"
Her question rattled around in my brain, for neither can I move to a monastery. I'm stuck in the 'burbs; I don't have easy access to nature (that is, enough cash flow to afford a second house in some rural area), to quiet, to a more contemplative life. Something deep within me yearns for a more spacious spiritual consciousness, a more direct connection to the God of the galaxies. How can I draw close to my Creator in a world of endless strip malls, cookie-cutter houses, ubiquitous vans and sport-utility vehicles, and no space for solitude? A colleague calls the Chicago suburbs "the land of no horizons." Power lines, the dormers on a neighbor's Cape Cod, and mature hardwoods obstruct the full evening's redness in the west. The day's final beauty is always about an hour away. I commute to the country to see the stars.
Some days I fantasize about moving my family from our western Chicago suburb to a small town in the western United States, edged by a rambling stream and cradled in the foothills of a mountain range with a romantic name like the Spanish Peaks. There we'd live out our days in simplicity and in natural beauty and with few financial anxieties. Life would be fully aligned. Our frenetic life would slow to a manageable pace, and God would be easier to access.
NOTE: Click here for the rest of this article by David Goetz.
I've wondered about this myself. Sometimes I feel like suburban life is so stifling, but I don't want to raise kids downtown in the city proper where the cost of living is even more expensive. Nor do I want to find the slowed-down life I'd love in east-bumble-nowhere at the risk of my kids not being able to have a good school system and opportunities I never had.
So I waffle.
Part of me longs to get back to a quiet place like I grew up. A place where you didn't have to lock the doors, or even close them except for the gnats. A place where 7-year-old kids could walk up the street to the park by themselves and you didn't have to worry about them being run over or abducted.
But the other part of me doesn't won't to leave all the stuff behind that only the city can provide -- plays, a symphony, museums, bookstores that actually have out of print books and first editions, music stores that sell more than just Top 40.
So, here am I, stuck in suburbia.
Spiritual suburbia has set in too, though, and in spite of my posts here, I do find myself longing for the Mother Teresa experience of being able to completely empty myself out into the lives of others. Either that or throw myself headlong into so-called hedonism and live out my every selfish fantasy.
But no, I have tempered the selflessness and selfishness, becoming the kind of Revelation spew mentioned in the following verse:
I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm-- neither hot nor cold-- I am about to spit you out of my mouth. (Revelation 3:15-16, NIV)
That's me. Biblical puke material.
Too wrapped up in the Joneses and my new gadgets and the ones I still want (plasma TV, anyone?) to be any kind of Mother Teresa.
And too wrapped up in being "presentable to the neighbors" to let my hedonistic side out beyond losing my temper or experiencing it vicariously through friends.
Sad, ain't it.
Spiritual Suburbia. Population Sean.
Sigh.
Friday, June 20, 2003
Articles I found in my inbox today I enjoyed...
Life is a series of spiritual battles, says author John Eldredge, but "too many Christians have approached their lives as though they were stepping onto the beaches of Normandy on D-Day with a lawn chair and a book to read. God did not redeem us so that we could spend our lives being punctual and well-behaved people. He called us to an abundant life that is fueled by the desires he has written on our hearts."
"The church tends to send the wrong signal about what the gospel is all about," he sighs. "It's not primarily about sin management or being able to regurgitate right doctrine. It's about a relationship with a romancing God who has done everything in his power to win our hearts and then set those hearts free to live life to the full."
From "The Gospel According to John (Eldredge)"
From a religious perspective, maybe these five collections merely underscore that you cannot always judge a poetry book by its title. And it is perhaps not surprising that, even in religious dress, contemporary poetry tilts, or most often bows down, to the delights of a well-wrought image. As a genre, poetry seems better equipped to raise a question as vividly as possible than to reply with a solid and set, catachetical answer.
From "Faith in Poetry"
Life is a series of spiritual battles, says author John Eldredge, but "too many Christians have approached their lives as though they were stepping onto the beaches of Normandy on D-Day with a lawn chair and a book to read. God did not redeem us so that we could spend our lives being punctual and well-behaved people. He called us to an abundant life that is fueled by the desires he has written on our hearts."
"The church tends to send the wrong signal about what the gospel is all about," he sighs. "It's not primarily about sin management or being able to regurgitate right doctrine. It's about a relationship with a romancing God who has done everything in his power to win our hearts and then set those hearts free to live life to the full."
From "The Gospel According to John (Eldredge)"
From a religious perspective, maybe these five collections merely underscore that you cannot always judge a poetry book by its title. And it is perhaps not surprising that, even in religious dress, contemporary poetry tilts, or most often bows down, to the delights of a well-wrought image. As a genre, poetry seems better equipped to raise a question as vividly as possible than to reply with a solid and set, catachetical answer.
From "Faith in Poetry"
Wednesday, June 11, 2003
Web Evangelism Soapbox
This wonderful tidbit appeared in an email from an online outreach newsgroup I'm in:
As is most of our "Christian" anything these days, I'd add.
I have long held that we need to abolish the use of the "Christian" as an adjective and just stick with being Christians (noun) who are engaged in transforming the culture by interacting with by being salt and light, whether artists or web designers or plumbers or musicians.
Instead of creating Christian subgenres of everything that has been successful in the world.
Would this mean fewer "Christian" websites and more websites maintained by Christians who can interact with those in the world who need that salt and light? Probably so, but I admit I'm still the chiefest of sinners in this respect.
I've found that my best online outreach comes from going to where other people are rather than trying to get them to come to a site where I am. It's a lesson we can learn from what's happened to our churches lately, I'm convinced. I get much better "play" (if you will -- or interaction to use a more conversative word) by engaging non-Christians in their world -- on message boards, via Live Journal, etc. -- than I do in getting them to come to my Form & Matter site.
Regarding the F&M site, it has never been my intention to make it a lighthouse that sits on the web and says, "Come on, I'm here!" as it has been to give myself and other Christians an outlet to say, "Hey, here's a cool site where you can get more information about what we've been talking about. It might answer some of your questions."
As such, I've offered free business cards to anyone who wanted to have a supply on hand to hand out to people they actually speak with in person. It's more a partnership clearinghouse for second- and third-touch (and so on) than a first-touch website.
I don't expect to have people break down the doors to "seek" the life of faith (and by extension, visit the site), but I do think it's important to have a non-theological-sounding place that speaks the right language (ie, not church-talk) when our interaction with them reaches the level that they are asking questions.
And I think that's another important point to be made for today's seekers or pre-seekers -- you can't go further than you're asked. It's something we need to keep in mind when interacting with people. It's one thing to wax spiritually convicting or convincing (*grins*) with people who hit an evangelistic page and ask for more info, but not with people who have no interest in such waxings.
I think that when we see a website as a "first touch" place for evangelism, perhaps we are overestimating the usefulness of the web.
I agree that too many of our sites jump too high on the Gray Index, but I also think that we can't think a website is the most effective tool for that particular part of a person's journey up (or down) the Gray Index. I still contend that that's the importance of varied degrees of relationships with non-Christians.
Ironically, a few years ago I noticed that most of my circle of friends were all people from my church. So I prayed that God would lead me to a new group of friends (in addition to the others not in place of) who needed to hear about Him and perhaps hadn't yet, people who didn't typically hang out with Christians or even find them to be likeable people. But not to see them as merely some sort of "outreach project" but as real friends for whom I'd lay down my life if need be.
I'm happy to say that my current circle of friends (online and in person) includes mostly non-Christians, most of whom have never had a significant relationship with a Christian before -- fetish models, tarot card designers, rpg geeks, sci-fi convention nerds, a member of the porn industry, yoga teachers, and more agnostics and atheists than you could shake a stick at (why'd you want to shake a stick at them I'm not sure). And they feel comfortable enough around me to call me a real friend, knowing that we disagree about many of the key things in life. And they regularly listen to me rant from my soapbox of faith about the ins and out of this life of faith I've chosen.
Okay, I'm rambling now, so I'll stop.
This wonderful tidbit appeared in an email from an online outreach newsgroup I'm in:
But again, as I tell my speech students "You preach to the converted, but reason with the heathen." Nevertheless, too many of our "evangelistic" sites are mostly in the "preaching to the choir" category.
As is most of our "Christian" anything these days, I'd add.
I have long held that we need to abolish the use of the "Christian" as an adjective and just stick with being Christians (noun) who are engaged in transforming the culture by interacting with by being salt and light, whether artists or web designers or plumbers or musicians.
Instead of creating Christian subgenres of everything that has been successful in the world.
Would this mean fewer "Christian" websites and more websites maintained by Christians who can interact with those in the world who need that salt and light? Probably so, but I admit I'm still the chiefest of sinners in this respect.
I've found that my best online outreach comes from going to where other people are rather than trying to get them to come to a site where I am. It's a lesson we can learn from what's happened to our churches lately, I'm convinced. I get much better "play" (if you will -- or interaction to use a more conversative word) by engaging non-Christians in their world -- on message boards, via Live Journal, etc. -- than I do in getting them to come to my Form & Matter site.
Regarding the F&M site, it has never been my intention to make it a lighthouse that sits on the web and says, "Come on, I'm here!" as it has been to give myself and other Christians an outlet to say, "Hey, here's a cool site where you can get more information about what we've been talking about. It might answer some of your questions."
As such, I've offered free business cards to anyone who wanted to have a supply on hand to hand out to people they actually speak with in person. It's more a partnership clearinghouse for second- and third-touch (and so on) than a first-touch website.
I don't expect to have people break down the doors to "seek" the life of faith (and by extension, visit the site), but I do think it's important to have a non-theological-sounding place that speaks the right language (ie, not church-talk) when our interaction with them reaches the level that they are asking questions.
And I think that's another important point to be made for today's seekers or pre-seekers -- you can't go further than you're asked. It's something we need to keep in mind when interacting with people. It's one thing to wax spiritually convicting or convincing (*grins*) with people who hit an evangelistic page and ask for more info, but not with people who have no interest in such waxings.
I think that when we see a website as a "first touch" place for evangelism, perhaps we are overestimating the usefulness of the web.
I agree that too many of our sites jump too high on the Gray Index, but I also think that we can't think a website is the most effective tool for that particular part of a person's journey up (or down) the Gray Index. I still contend that that's the importance of varied degrees of relationships with non-Christians.
Ironically, a few years ago I noticed that most of my circle of friends were all people from my church. So I prayed that God would lead me to a new group of friends (in addition to the others not in place of) who needed to hear about Him and perhaps hadn't yet, people who didn't typically hang out with Christians or even find them to be likeable people. But not to see them as merely some sort of "outreach project" but as real friends for whom I'd lay down my life if need be.
I'm happy to say that my current circle of friends (online and in person) includes mostly non-Christians, most of whom have never had a significant relationship with a Christian before -- fetish models, tarot card designers, rpg geeks, sci-fi convention nerds, a member of the porn industry, yoga teachers, and more agnostics and atheists than you could shake a stick at (why'd you want to shake a stick at them I'm not sure). And they feel comfortable enough around me to call me a real friend, knowing that we disagree about many of the key things in life. And they regularly listen to me rant from my soapbox of faith about the ins and out of this life of faith I've chosen.
Okay, I'm rambling now, so I'll stop.
Tom Petty’s Theological Extravaganza
So I was listening to Tom Petty yesterday, and it got me thinking about church.
Yeah, I know church isn’t usually the first thing that comes to mind when I listen to Tom Petty (actually it’s usually that image from the “Don’t Come Around Here No More video in which Alice has been turned into a cake and is being eaten by the partygoers at the Mad Hatter’s un-birthday gala), but somehow the song “Listen to Her Heart” really struck me yesterday as a perfect picture of how the story is presented in the Bible.
No, really. I mean it.
It was the chorus in particular:
She's gonna listen to her heart
It's gonna tell her what to do
She might need a lot of lovin'
But she don't need you
Even with all the rules and regulations and religiosity we Christians have built up around and through and within the common canon of writing typically referred to as the Holy Bible, those writings taken in total are simply one of the coolest love stories ever told. Ultimately it boils down to this simple plot.
A lonely creator decides to create himself a bride. That bride falls head over heels in love with him for a while, but eventually gets the urge to try other men.
But each time, after sharing the beds of others, she comes back home, and he takes her in again and lavishes his love on her. Because he knows something she doesn’t – he knows how the story ends, with her at his side, finally realizing she is his and he is hers (fated, one might say).
Still, she can’t resist the urge to stray each time some hunk of a boy-toy turns her head, and sure enough, she often ends up back in bed with another man, and eventually gets herself so deeply that she is taken as a whore and is sold into slavery.
So this lonely creator who wants nothing more than for her to love him back the way he loves her decides that the only way to prove it is to show her, and he offers not his money to buy her out of slavery, but his life, because he knows her price is far above any sum of cash. Only his love for her is too much to let him remain dead, and he comes back to let her know that never again will she have to be a slave. They can be together forever, and for a time she returns home.
Only, although her head is still easily turned, he told the truth – no matter what she does or who she sleeps with, she is safe from the slavers because her slave contract has been paid and destroyed forever and for good.
But here’s the kicker, even though it breaks his heart to know the she still wants to “see other people” from time to time, he knows that ultimately they’ll be together, just the two of them. Because he can see the future. (Some might even say he planned it in advance.) and he loves her enough to wait and let his heart get trampled on in the process.
So he waits -- and smiles inwardly despite his outward tears.
Now, with that story in mind, here are the rest of the lyrics (with hopes that I don’t get sued by Tom Petty for reprinting them here):
"Listen to Her Heart"
By Tom Petty
Copyright © 1977 Skyhill Pub. Co., Inc.
All rights reserved.
You think you're gonna take her away
With your money and your cocaine
Keep thinkin' that her mind is gonna change
But I know everything is okay
She's gonna listen to her heart
It's gonna tell her what to do
She might need a lot of lovin'
But she don't need you
You want me to think that I'm being used
You want her to think it's over
Can't you see it don't matter what you do
Buddy you don't even know her
She's gonna listen to her heart
It's gonna tell her what to do
She might need a lot of lovin'
But she don't need you
And you just can't creep up behind her
And you can't understand that she's my girl
She's my girl
She's gonna listen to her heart
It's gonna tell her what to do
She might need a lot of lovin'
But she don't need you
Petty has perfectly summed up my thoughts on the church at this point as the “bride of Christ.” She’s just a lover who can’t settle down… yet. But she’s like the proverbial diamond in the rough,” just waiting (without knowing it, often) to be polished to the jewel that she is inside.
Or to quote Petty:
You want me to think that I'm being used
You want her to think it's over
Can't you see it don't matter what you do
Buddy you don't even know her
So I was listening to Tom Petty yesterday, and it got me thinking about church.
Yeah, I know church isn’t usually the first thing that comes to mind when I listen to Tom Petty (actually it’s usually that image from the “Don’t Come Around Here No More video in which Alice has been turned into a cake and is being eaten by the partygoers at the Mad Hatter’s un-birthday gala), but somehow the song “Listen to Her Heart” really struck me yesterday as a perfect picture of how the story is presented in the Bible.
No, really. I mean it.
It was the chorus in particular:
She's gonna listen to her heart
It's gonna tell her what to do
She might need a lot of lovin'
But she don't need you
Even with all the rules and regulations and religiosity we Christians have built up around and through and within the common canon of writing typically referred to as the Holy Bible, those writings taken in total are simply one of the coolest love stories ever told. Ultimately it boils down to this simple plot.
(Disclaimer: This story could just as easily be told from the perspective of a female creator who created a groom, but I’m too lazy to type it twice. I wasn’t trying to maintain any stereotypes of the “woman ultimately as whore” that, believe it or not, some people actually try to use the Bible to support. But not me. Phew.)
A lonely creator decides to create himself a bride. That bride falls head over heels in love with him for a while, but eventually gets the urge to try other men.
But each time, after sharing the beds of others, she comes back home, and he takes her in again and lavishes his love on her. Because he knows something she doesn’t – he knows how the story ends, with her at his side, finally realizing she is his and he is hers (fated, one might say).
Still, she can’t resist the urge to stray each time some hunk of a boy-toy turns her head, and sure enough, she often ends up back in bed with another man, and eventually gets herself so deeply that she is taken as a whore and is sold into slavery.
So this lonely creator who wants nothing more than for her to love him back the way he loves her decides that the only way to prove it is to show her, and he offers not his money to buy her out of slavery, but his life, because he knows her price is far above any sum of cash. Only his love for her is too much to let him remain dead, and he comes back to let her know that never again will she have to be a slave. They can be together forever, and for a time she returns home.
Only, although her head is still easily turned, he told the truth – no matter what she does or who she sleeps with, she is safe from the slavers because her slave contract has been paid and destroyed forever and for good.
But here’s the kicker, even though it breaks his heart to know the she still wants to “see other people” from time to time, he knows that ultimately they’ll be together, just the two of them. Because he can see the future. (Some might even say he planned it in advance.) and he loves her enough to wait and let his heart get trampled on in the process.
So he waits -- and smiles inwardly despite his outward tears.
Now, with that story in mind, here are the rest of the lyrics (with hopes that I don’t get sued by Tom Petty for reprinting them here):
"Listen to Her Heart"
By Tom Petty
Copyright © 1977 Skyhill Pub. Co., Inc.
All rights reserved.
You think you're gonna take her away
With your money and your cocaine
Keep thinkin' that her mind is gonna change
But I know everything is okay
She's gonna listen to her heart
It's gonna tell her what to do
She might need a lot of lovin'
But she don't need you
You want me to think that I'm being used
You want her to think it's over
Can't you see it don't matter what you do
Buddy you don't even know her
She's gonna listen to her heart
It's gonna tell her what to do
She might need a lot of lovin'
But she don't need you
And you just can't creep up behind her
And you can't understand that she's my girl
She's my girl
She's gonna listen to her heart
It's gonna tell her what to do
She might need a lot of lovin'
But she don't need you
Petty has perfectly summed up my thoughts on the church at this point as the “bride of Christ.” She’s just a lover who can’t settle down… yet. But she’s like the proverbial diamond in the rough,” just waiting (without knowing it, often) to be polished to the jewel that she is inside.
Or to quote Petty:
You want me to think that I'm being used
You want her to think it's over
Can't you see it don't matter what you do
Buddy you don't even know her
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
Buffy and Christ?
Buffy: Theologian of the Year
http://thedoormagazine.com/archives/buffy.html
BUFFY THE CHRIST FIGURE [Parts 1 and 2]
http://www.mtcnet.net/~bierly/buffy.htm#ESSAY - BUFFY THE CHRIST
THE MYTHOLOGY AND MAGIC OF BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER
A Look at the Layers of Meaning and Symbolism in the 100th episode of Buffy
http://www.ivyweb.net/btvs/fictionary/essays/010804A_DED.htm
I found these very interesting, especially in light of the panning Buffy often receives from Fundamentalists (of which I'm a member) and other Christian groups. I particularly love the idea of Buffy as a modern mythology in the wake of current postmodern hopelessness.
Buffy: Theologian of the Year
http://thedoormagazine.com/archives/buffy.html
BUFFY THE CHRIST FIGURE [Parts 1 and 2]
http://www.mtcnet.net/~bierly/buffy.htm#ESSAY - BUFFY THE CHRIST
THE MYTHOLOGY AND MAGIC OF BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER
A Look at the Layers of Meaning and Symbolism in the 100th episode of Buffy
http://www.ivyweb.net/btvs/fictionary/essays/010804A_DED.htm
I found these very interesting, especially in light of the panning Buffy often receives from Fundamentalists (of which I'm a member) and other Christian groups. I particularly love the idea of Buffy as a modern mythology in the wake of current postmodern hopelessness.
Inspiration from the Bulletin Board
I keep a quote I clipped from a magazine (along with its illustration of a man holding a guitar and staring at the earth from a point far removed from it) pinned to the bulletin board above my desk. I've had it there for years, and even when I do a periodic cleaning of the clutter, this clipping stays put.
It simply reads:
"Is there anyone out there fool enough to think they can still change the world with their guitar? I don't think anything's going to happen until there is."
That quote almost haunts me as I go through life. Can my pen or my word processor or my guitar or my bass or my looping program change the world?
I hope so.
That's the goal anyway.
If I fail, so what? I tried. And if nothing else happens, the effort at least changes me for the better.
Right?
I keep a quote I clipped from a magazine (along with its illustration of a man holding a guitar and staring at the earth from a point far removed from it) pinned to the bulletin board above my desk. I've had it there for years, and even when I do a periodic cleaning of the clutter, this clipping stays put.
It simply reads:
"Is there anyone out there fool enough to think they can still change the world with their guitar? I don't think anything's going to happen until there is."
That quote almost haunts me as I go through life. Can my pen or my word processor or my guitar or my bass or my looping program change the world?
I hope so.
That's the goal anyway.
If I fail, so what? I tried. And if nothing else happens, the effort at least changes me for the better.
Right?
From a new book I'm reading...
"The language of the arts, it can be argued, is a language born of faith. In other words, all art forms attempt to translate what is unseen into what is seen. Painter Joel Sheesley states, 'I... suggest that the definition of content in art is very much like that New Testament definition of faith that calls faith the substance of things hoped for.' Art... becomes an activity of faith, translating the 'substance of things hoped for' with words, paint and other materials into the content and form of art."
-- Makoto Fukimura, from the foreword to Scribbling in the Sand by Michael Card
What a beautiful definition, I think, and one that, for me, integrates art into the very fabric of a worldview, not just a mere addition to life, but an integral part of it.
"The language of the arts, it can be argued, is a language born of faith. In other words, all art forms attempt to translate what is unseen into what is seen. Painter Joel Sheesley states, 'I... suggest that the definition of content in art is very much like that New Testament definition of faith that calls faith the substance of things hoped for.' Art... becomes an activity of faith, translating the 'substance of things hoped for' with words, paint and other materials into the content and form of art."
-- Makoto Fukimura, from the foreword to Scribbling in the Sand by Michael Card
What a beautiful definition, I think, and one that, for me, integrates art into the very fabric of a worldview, not just a mere addition to life, but an integral part of it.
Wednesday, May 14, 2003
Two spectrums of writers
(My latest soapbox)
I was thinking this morning about the different types of writers and how they tend to fall into one camp or the other (though on varying locations on the spectrum, of course). One of the things that got me thinking about it was simply remembering some of the conversations about writing I’ve had with my friend Frank.
As I see it, there are primarily two perspectives on writing – the practical perspective and the spiritual perspective. Sure, as I mentioned above, most of us fall somewhere on the number line between them, but we tend to favor one over the other.
The practical perspective tends to see writing as an exercise of the mind, learning rules and standards and discovering the mechanics or grammar, plotting, dialogue, form, etc, and they often edit themselves to death (as the saying goes) in order to improve their words. These poor writers are the ones who scour over their manuscripts, changing weak verbs to strong, red-inking superfluous adverbs and adjectives, and constantly “killing their darlings.” (If you get the reference, you’re likely this type.) If anything, they can miss the proverbial forest for its trees when it comes to communicating in a written form.
Writers in this camp are the ones who more often buy, read, and recommend books on writing to help others. They also tend to believe that anyone can learn to write just as anyone can learn to put together a barn if taught the basics of how to do it.
To them writing isn’t so much an art form as it is a skill that can be learned.
On the other hand, the spiritual perspective tends to see writing as an exercise of the soul, with a selected group of masters born with a predisposition to see the world through a “writer’s eye” able to pour forth the mutterings of their souls into word processors and onto paper or into song.
Writers in this camp don’t usually buy books on the mechanics of writing, and they also tend to not go through as many edits other than perhaps a few spell checks, as their words have come from their inner self and to “study” them in a thorough edit would be to taint them. Their copy can often be found disobeying the “rules” -- preferring instead to create their own rules and listen to the voice inside that exists outside of any imposed restrictions. Writing is writing, they reason, not learning about writing, and learning about writing only gets in the way of the actual writing itself.
To them writing isn’t a skill to be learned, but an art form that comes naturally to those who get it. They tend also to believe that, sure, anyone can learn the basics of putting sentences or words together, but not anyone could actually be a writer. A mere writer, they reason, is a far different noun than a real writer.
I’ve known writers from both camps, and I’ve enjoyed their works equally. I have friends from both camps, and I love to get them together to argue with each other about writing. (It’s a great way to learn how to snort coffee, I can tell you that much.)
Myself, I tend to fall just to the side of writing as a skill. I believe that most anyone can learn to write -- and write well -- but that there are a select few with a born “gift” for telling stories or communicating in a written form. For every Ed McBain, there are plenty of John Grishams, just as entertaining and well-crafted in their chosen field, but not as artistic.
But for me, that doesn’t have to detract from the ability of the Grishams. It only means that while some buildings are tall, others can be taller, and still others even taller. But that doesn’t make the tall building merely tall (or even small, since smaller can also be tall at the same time).
But me, I’m not going to be satisfied with being good. I want my writing to come from both my spirit and my intellect, my soul and my mind, my natural knack and my learned skill. I’ll do whatever it takes to hit great, starting with natural talent (or self-delusion anyway) and adding skill upon skill to that, never satisfied that I’ve hit “tallest” yet.
The measurement? If my fiction is studied in classes 100 years from now by people who have no idea what I was like, except what they can interpret -- for good or ill -- through the words I have left behind.
(My latest soapbox)
I was thinking this morning about the different types of writers and how they tend to fall into one camp or the other (though on varying locations on the spectrum, of course). One of the things that got me thinking about it was simply remembering some of the conversations about writing I’ve had with my friend Frank.
As I see it, there are primarily two perspectives on writing – the practical perspective and the spiritual perspective. Sure, as I mentioned above, most of us fall somewhere on the number line between them, but we tend to favor one over the other.
The practical perspective tends to see writing as an exercise of the mind, learning rules and standards and discovering the mechanics or grammar, plotting, dialogue, form, etc, and they often edit themselves to death (as the saying goes) in order to improve their words. These poor writers are the ones who scour over their manuscripts, changing weak verbs to strong, red-inking superfluous adverbs and adjectives, and constantly “killing their darlings.” (If you get the reference, you’re likely this type.) If anything, they can miss the proverbial forest for its trees when it comes to communicating in a written form.
Writers in this camp are the ones who more often buy, read, and recommend books on writing to help others. They also tend to believe that anyone can learn to write just as anyone can learn to put together a barn if taught the basics of how to do it.
To them writing isn’t so much an art form as it is a skill that can be learned.
On the other hand, the spiritual perspective tends to see writing as an exercise of the soul, with a selected group of masters born with a predisposition to see the world through a “writer’s eye” able to pour forth the mutterings of their souls into word processors and onto paper or into song.
Writers in this camp don’t usually buy books on the mechanics of writing, and they also tend to not go through as many edits other than perhaps a few spell checks, as their words have come from their inner self and to “study” them in a thorough edit would be to taint them. Their copy can often be found disobeying the “rules” -- preferring instead to create their own rules and listen to the voice inside that exists outside of any imposed restrictions. Writing is writing, they reason, not learning about writing, and learning about writing only gets in the way of the actual writing itself.
To them writing isn’t a skill to be learned, but an art form that comes naturally to those who get it. They tend also to believe that, sure, anyone can learn the basics of putting sentences or words together, but not anyone could actually be a writer. A mere writer, they reason, is a far different noun than a real writer.
I’ve known writers from both camps, and I’ve enjoyed their works equally. I have friends from both camps, and I love to get them together to argue with each other about writing. (It’s a great way to learn how to snort coffee, I can tell you that much.)
Myself, I tend to fall just to the side of writing as a skill. I believe that most anyone can learn to write -- and write well -- but that there are a select few with a born “gift” for telling stories or communicating in a written form. For every Ed McBain, there are plenty of John Grishams, just as entertaining and well-crafted in their chosen field, but not as artistic.
But for me, that doesn’t have to detract from the ability of the Grishams. It only means that while some buildings are tall, others can be taller, and still others even taller. But that doesn’t make the tall building merely tall (or even small, since smaller can also be tall at the same time).
But me, I’m not going to be satisfied with being good. I want my writing to come from both my spirit and my intellect, my soul and my mind, my natural knack and my learned skill. I’ll do whatever it takes to hit great, starting with natural talent (or self-delusion anyway) and adding skill upon skill to that, never satisfied that I’ve hit “tallest” yet.
The measurement? If my fiction is studied in classes 100 years from now by people who have no idea what I was like, except what they can interpret -- for good or ill -- through the words I have left behind.
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
"Get it?" Or not?
CT senior writer Wendy Murray Zoba and Salon.com journalist Dave Cullen were both covering the Columbine story when they went head to head over Cassie Bernall. Cullen broke the story that introduced doubt about whether Cassie's killer asked her if she believed in God ("Behind the Littleton Investigation," Salon.com, Sept 23, 1999). Zoba challenged Cullen's reporting, citing multiple witnesses who heard the exchange and stood behind their account ("Cassie Said Yes, They Say No," CT, Dec. 6, 1999). In the story's aftermath, they began a dialogue that has resulted in camaraderie united by the intensity and complexity of covering Columbine.
Where Zoba and Cullen intersected over Cassie Bernall, Cullen and pastor Bill Oudemolen of Foothills Bible Church outside Littleton intersected over the role of the Devil. In another Salon.com article, "I Smell the Presence of Satan" (May 15, 1999), Cullen expressed his surprise at the emphasis evangelicals placed on the role of Satan in the Columbine shootings (the article's title came from one of Oudemolen's sermons).
Cullen, who is gay and a former Catholic, segued into the world of evangelicals with reticence. He was prepared to despise them. He was surprised: he liked them, and they liked him.
Cullen, Oudemolen, and Zoba have all been challenged by what they discovered about each other and their differing worlds. The three met in Littleton in April and talked about how evangelicals and gays perceive one another--and how they can move toward greater understanding.
Click here for the rest of the article I'm referencing.
Can two people disagree strongly about the rightness or wrongness of anything -- even homosexuality -- and still respect each other as human beings, without one side resorting to hate rhetoric (at worst) or confusing rhetoric that often sounds like it (at best) or the other side resorting to convenient labels to dismiss their "opponents"?
Or let me put it this way: Is it possible to disagree over an idea or concept without that disagreement becoming a wedge between the people who hold dissenting views, even if the idea is one that strikes at the very heart of either or both sides, even to determine the nature and direction of their lives?
I think so. I hope so. Because it's in the dialogue that relationships happen. Because if I can't disagree strongly with my friends and continue to nurture relationships with people who disagree with me, I've lost any use I might have had for existing in a world as rich and diverse as the one I'm in. And so have those who can't say the same from the opposite side of where I'm standing (so to speak.)
I'm just thrilled to see a few more people from both sides of this crucial topic understanding that point.
Cullen: A lot of me wishes we had more open discussion about theological issues in this culture. But the public isn't doing that because it's afraid of the theological community.
I'm not sure I buy this comment, though. I don't think it's fear of the theological community. I think it's more lack or interest or the fact that the theological community isn't even on most people's "radar screen" -- because we in that community have removed theological ponderings to the world of academia instead of keeping it out where most people are, wondering about things like purpose in life, what can I believe in, who can I trust, is there life after death, how do I be a good parent, or why does my life seem pointless...
On the one hand, we've softened the concept to something "safer" and less academic called "spirituality," but ironically, that word tends to put off the Christian community because it opens theology up to any worldview to ponder -- as though we somehow had the exclusive right to ponder anyway, go fig -- in the same way the word "theology" puts off non-academics.
On the other hand, if there is "fear" of the theological community, I don't think it's as much fear as it is disgust or disrespect because theological folks (particularly of my brand of theology) have more recently been known more by what they stand against rather than stand for.
CT senior writer Wendy Murray Zoba and Salon.com journalist Dave Cullen were both covering the Columbine story when they went head to head over Cassie Bernall. Cullen broke the story that introduced doubt about whether Cassie's killer asked her if she believed in God ("Behind the Littleton Investigation," Salon.com, Sept 23, 1999). Zoba challenged Cullen's reporting, citing multiple witnesses who heard the exchange and stood behind their account ("Cassie Said Yes, They Say No," CT, Dec. 6, 1999). In the story's aftermath, they began a dialogue that has resulted in camaraderie united by the intensity and complexity of covering Columbine.
Where Zoba and Cullen intersected over Cassie Bernall, Cullen and pastor Bill Oudemolen of Foothills Bible Church outside Littleton intersected over the role of the Devil. In another Salon.com article, "I Smell the Presence of Satan" (May 15, 1999), Cullen expressed his surprise at the emphasis evangelicals placed on the role of Satan in the Columbine shootings (the article's title came from one of Oudemolen's sermons).
Cullen, who is gay and a former Catholic, segued into the world of evangelicals with reticence. He was prepared to despise them. He was surprised: he liked them, and they liked him.
Cullen, Oudemolen, and Zoba have all been challenged by what they discovered about each other and their differing worlds. The three met in Littleton in April and talked about how evangelicals and gays perceive one another--and how they can move toward greater understanding.
Click here for the rest of the article I'm referencing.
Can two people disagree strongly about the rightness or wrongness of anything -- even homosexuality -- and still respect each other as human beings, without one side resorting to hate rhetoric (at worst) or confusing rhetoric that often sounds like it (at best) or the other side resorting to convenient labels to dismiss their "opponents"?
Or let me put it this way: Is it possible to disagree over an idea or concept without that disagreement becoming a wedge between the people who hold dissenting views, even if the idea is one that strikes at the very heart of either or both sides, even to determine the nature and direction of their lives?
I think so. I hope so. Because it's in the dialogue that relationships happen. Because if I can't disagree strongly with my friends and continue to nurture relationships with people who disagree with me, I've lost any use I might have had for existing in a world as rich and diverse as the one I'm in. And so have those who can't say the same from the opposite side of where I'm standing (so to speak.)
I'm just thrilled to see a few more people from both sides of this crucial topic understanding that point.
Cullen: A lot of me wishes we had more open discussion about theological issues in this culture. But the public isn't doing that because it's afraid of the theological community.
I'm not sure I buy this comment, though. I don't think it's fear of the theological community. I think it's more lack or interest or the fact that the theological community isn't even on most people's "radar screen" -- because we in that community have removed theological ponderings to the world of academia instead of keeping it out where most people are, wondering about things like purpose in life, what can I believe in, who can I trust, is there life after death, how do I be a good parent, or why does my life seem pointless...
On the one hand, we've softened the concept to something "safer" and less academic called "spirituality," but ironically, that word tends to put off the Christian community because it opens theology up to any worldview to ponder -- as though we somehow had the exclusive right to ponder anyway, go fig -- in the same way the word "theology" puts off non-academics.
On the other hand, if there is "fear" of the theological community, I don't think it's as much fear as it is disgust or disrespect because theological folks (particularly of my brand of theology) have more recently been known more by what they stand against rather than stand for.
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