Author: Luke

The plot of the film version of Where the Wild Things Are is as simple as it is brilliant.  Feeling neglected and ignored by his older sister and mother, Max lashes out and, when his mom yells at him for his tantrum, he runs away in fear of his mom and his own anger, hiding in a thicket down the street.  He then finds an imaginary sail boat on the bank of a stream running through the thicket.  He boards the boat and sets sail, following the stream out to sea and eventually running aground on the land of the wild things.

No wonder the book was able to garner such a loyal following among adults and children alike.  What child hasn’t lashed out in anger, finding an uncontrollable “wild” side of themselves?  Who doesn’t remember those strong, confusing feelings of anger and the fear of feeling so out of control?  And, these days, what person hasn’t found themselves struggling with the modern tendency to repress those emotions?  Surely much of the book’s popularity owes to this tendency to dull the extremes of our emotional experiences through willful ignorance or self-medication.

Christians especially seem to find themselves prey to such repression, fearing that expressing negative emotions somehow betrays a lack of faith or goes against the biblical admonition to be joyful in all circumstances, as if we can trick God with a fake smile.  We forget that hope and despair are both ultimately longings for a new creation, longings for peace, justice, and the presence of God in a God-forsaken world.  The opposite of hope is not despair.  The opposite of hope is the unthinking acceptance of the status quo.  In a world full of sin and suffering, surrounded by resigned realists and head-in-the-sand hedonists, for the Christian to long for a better world, to be angry at injustice, to grieve over his or another’s loss, to cry out from the depths of abandonment and despair can be acts of profound faith in the God who promises to make all things new.

But we tend to skip over such emotions just as we skip over the Psalms that express such emotions (Ps 88 is especially challenging in this regard).  We are frightened at times by what we may find if we were to open our hearts and allow the Spirit to plumb its depths.  Too often this pseudo-piety betrays our own desire to hold on to the perceived possibilities of this world and to maintain some semblance of still having control.  But God Himself calls us to struggle and to long for the impossibile possibilities of His promises.  He calls us to hold Him accountable, like Abraham, Moses, and the psalmists, expressing even our anger, as numerous psalms show, when things don’t seem to go right while still trusting Him in faith.  He calls us to stop numbing the pain and ignoring the suffering of ourselves and others, and to experience the depths of our own suffering and, in so doing, open ourselves to the new life available to us through His grace.  A grace that listens to the cries of pain and longing, that meets us where we are in our anger, frustration, and despair, because through His Son, God has already experienced the full extent of our suffering and then some.

At the end of the movie Max misses his family and returns home.  He finds his mother joyful over his return, giving him a hug and a hot bowl of soup.  We can expect as much from our heavenly Mother.

Speak the Gospel, Use Deeds When Necessary

This article presents a somewhat different viewpoint than what New Wine presented at the conference.  I agree with some of what he’s trying to get at, but have a little trouble with some of his conclusions.  Thoughts?

And it does include both St. Francis and evangelism, so it’s officially a series on the New Wine blog.

Legend has it that the young St. Francis of Assisi had a deep seated fear and disgust of lepers and avoided them at all cost. Then, one night, Jesus appeared to Francis in a dream, instructing him to give the kiss of fellowship to the first leper he saw. Francis woke up sweating bullets, and as soon as he stepped out the door, he sees, of course, the most rancid looking leper in town limping down the street. After a moment’s hesitation, Francis walks right up to the leper and obediently kisses him, at which point the leper shows Himself to have been Jesus all along.

Now leprosy may not quite be the socially divisive scourge it was then, but since moving to Portland, I’ve noticed an ironically similar tendency in myself and others. It seems that the wider church (or at least traditionalist and seeker-sensitive churches) have become lepers of sorts for more “missional” or “emergent” churches. And bashing the church has become a method of evangelism. In fact, I’ve seen several churches that seem to include an antipathy towards the wider church as part of their very identity as a church community, if I can be forgiven the obvious hypocrisy in such an observation. Rarely a church service goes by for these churches that they do not pat themselves on the back for not being apart of the Religious Right.

One of the main reasons for the criticism is the seeker-sensitive or attractional model so popular in the wider church, a model that has a tendency to increase one church’s numbers at the expense of other churches in the area and at the expense of the church’s wider mission. But by distancing ourselves from the wider church, we’re not only guilty of the same crime, we’re taking it to a whole new level! We’re now throwing the whole church, rather than just a few local churches, under the bus for the sake of our evangelistic efforts (and sometimes… just maybe… for the sake of our pride). Instead of hiring a U2 knock-off as a worship band or building a multi-million dollar church building, we attract people by telling them, “We’re just like you: we don’t like those guys (conservatives, complementarians, republicans, dispensationalists, etc.) either.”

Rather than admitting that we in the church are all a messy mix of broken people still in need of God’s grace, we like to distance ourselves from those who are different, even within the church and even though we hardly have things together either. But whether we’re focused on distancing ourselves from homosexuals or homophobes, the effect is ultimately the same: a distorted gospel and a hindered witness. We could all be reminded that the church’s unity will itself show the world that Jesus was sent by God (John 17:23). All this isn’t to say that there isn’t a place for criticism (Jesus’ criticism was mainly directed to the religious conservatives of His day), but to question how we go about it (first of all, we’re not Jesus and we’re not perfect either) and to question where we find our identity (in the church or a theology/ideology).

And so, I must ask myself and these well meaning churches: would you kiss Joel Osteen? Pat Robertson? Glenn Beck? What about good ole W.? And before any fundies get too excited, would you kiss Obama? Greg Boyd? How about Rob Bell right in the middle of one of his… patented… pauses… for… effect?

Obviously this is a bit of a caricature, but theology does effect how we view the process of evangelism, and in turn how we evangelize.  How might different aspects of the evangelical church’s theology negatively effect how we witness?  How might we improve our sharing of our faith in word and deed?

During a debate between Alister McGrath and Richard Dawkins, Dawkins questioned the logic behind thanking God for one answered prayer in the midst of so many that are left unanswered.  The eye of faith, he rightly contended, seems to focus on the one child miraculously saved from a disaster but ignore the thousands of others who were not so fortunate, to focus on the one answered prayer in the sea of fervent, faithful, yet unanswered prayers.

In today’s world, it indeed takes the eye of faith to see God’s faithfulness to prayer.  For example, disasters, both natural and human-made, do not seem to relent despite the countless prayers of the faithful.  So much suffering seems to stagger on unabated.  Though I believe God does act on prayers, He does not seem to do so often.  Why not?

I believe this problem is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer had in mind when, in his Letters and Papers from Prison, he wrote that “God would have us know that we must live as men who manage our lives without him.”  Humanity has turned its back on God, and God has granted humanity’s wish by allowing us to live without Him.  God allows Himself, in a certain sense, to be “pushed out of the world.”  To see the suffering in the world is then to see our need of God.  On the other hand, then, to see the one child saved is to see God’s intention for the thousands of others.  That answer will not silence many critics, and will not, in itself, offer much comfort to those in pain.

The Christian response does not end there, however.  As God is pushed out of the world, so God becomes one with us through Jesus Christ.  God is present to us in suffering and weakness because we have rejected His power and strength.  He experiences the struggle of a creation without a Creator, even experiencing the height of our abandonment in His death. As Bonhoeffer continues, “Man’s religiosity makes him look in his distress to the power of God in the world: God is the deus ex machina.  The Bible directs man to God’s powerlessness and suffering; only the suffering God can help.”

And so, I would add, only the suffering church can help.  Not all of our prayers will be answered, at least not in the ways and with the timing we wish them to be answered.  Not everyone will respond to God’s love.  Not everyone will find their pain eased.  In this sense, we must continue to struggle as those who have pushed God out of the world and so live without Him.  But we can now pray with the knowledge that God is present in our pain and with the hope that God is even now setting things right.  That knowledge should drive us to be present with people in their suffering, to love, serve, and pray for them as Christ loved, served, and prayed for us, no matter the consequences.  Our prayers, then, may not be effective in any immediately perceivable sense, but the ultimate point of prayer is not to be effective.  The point is to be faithfully dependent on the One who will be effective in setting things right.