Power of Love vs. Love of Power

“But there is only one thing that has power completely, and that is love. Because when a man loves he seeks no power, therefore he has power,” Alan Paton (Cry the Beloved Country)

During a recent weekend trip I had an intense discussion with an agnostic friend. Church and religion are to her one of the great evils of our time. Her experience has been one of manipulation, coercion, disrespect, and hypocrisy. I found it difficult to defend the church in light of her experiences. In fact, my own experiences have often echoed the things I heard her share –and I am one of the insiders. So, if my experiences have not differed too greatly from hers, what has kept me active in the church and in faith despite these “great evils”?

Love.

I’m not sure when I first started viewing religion through the lens of love vs. power, but it has been my saving grace . . . and a thorn in my flesh. I’ve seen religion practiced both ways. I’ve felt the weight of both. I am regretfully an undisciplined practitioner of both.

Power: By using the term power I do not mean capability or strength. Rather, I’m referring to the authoritative aspects of power like hegemony and sway. By exercising this kind of power, we are lured by the ascendency of position in order to influence others, particularly if that influence makes us look benevolent and bolsters our reputation. The true motivator here is self.

Love: Likewise, when using the term love, I do not mean passive warm feelings, but rather  the activity of gratuitous affection without want of compensation.

Perhaps, these lenses are a result of working as a religious storyteller for many years and encountering powerful examples of religiosity practiced during intense times. Allow me to give an example of one such intense time.

I still cannot shake the disgust and frustration I felt in the wake of the Indonesian Tsunami a few years ago. I was first struck by the magnitude of the disaster. Then, as I began stumbling across watches, boots, and baby stroller parts in the rubble, a tsunami-sized force of grief struck me for the individuals who were lost in the rolling waves. People all over the world felt this grief and gave to countless relief organizations with the hope of making a difference.

The response of American churches was immediate and generous. That was my initial thought anyway. But as I began listening to the stories of the people on the ground, my heart sank. I learned of relief organizations competing with one another by staking-out villages with airdropped packages. Along with the packages came stipulations for the village leaders to choose that particular organization as a patron and refuse help from others. Often, the villages waited months for follow-up and were sometimes abandoned for more sensational villages. In many cases, the aid was driven by the appeal to donors more so than by the actual needs of the tsunami victims.

In one situation, a NGO hired workers outside of the area to build ships for the tsunami victims so that they could begin fishing again. A noble cause indeed! However, when the fishermen received their new boats, they found them to be useless in their local waters and incompatible with their style of fishing. They pleaded to be given the resources to make their own boats but the good deed was done and the NGO and it’s donors were already celebrating back in the US of A.

Love was not the primary motivator of these actions. This was very clear. And yet, donors were applauded for their altruism and benevolence.

The good news is that I did encounter many examples of love-motivated activity while I was there and felt surprised to see how these actions brought about a profound sense of empowerment (meaning strength and capability) to those in need.

I’ve witnessed good and bad stories like these all over the world and struggle with the best way (and most ethical way) of communicating them. Many relief workers also wrestle with this tension. Social psychology refers to this dynamic as altruism (action motivated by a selfless concern for others) vs. egoism (action motivated by self-interest).  Economist Brian Duncan labels donors who give out of a sense of “making a difference” Impact Philanthropists.* He warns that “impact philanthropist may fall into a codependent relationship with recipients in which the recipients remain dependent on philanthropy.”

The power of influence is a strong motivator and has led many relief organizations to set up giving models to meet this demand. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. You probably receive catalogues in the mail that let you set up yearly giving administered to a single child, or allow you to buy a sheep for a specific family and drill a well for a remote village. If you raise extra funds for yourself, you can take a trip and see the work for yourself and call it a missions trip.

Aid organizations realize that they need these sexy projects that cater to a donor’s sense of power (AKA altruism) in order to fund the less sexy projects like overhead or maintenance, which are essential to meet the broader needs. This causes substantial ethical dilemmas for many relief organizations.

But let’s take a step back and look at the broader relationship between religiosity and power that stretches far beyond charitable giving. It seeps from pulpits and blogs and facebook status updates. Desperate appeals for influence under the guise of gospel truth simply reek of manipulation. This is the sort of thing my agnostic friend can sniff out before a Christian opens his mouth. When it comes to proselytizing, she says it starts with a look of pity followed by condescending words that reveal their moral superiority.

“If they would just say, ‘I have found the most amazing thing in Jesus. It has changed my life. I can’t help but tell you about it and would love for you to experience it too’, I could handle that. I can see that it is motivated by something real and out of a love for Jesus and for me”, she says. But this she rarely hears.

Choosing love isn’t easy.

The day following our discussion, I had one of those uncomfortable pew sessions. I jostled and shifted and sighed and finally walked out during the sermon. I was really glad my friend was not with me. She would have sniffed it out before the sermon began. Initially, I was bothered by the eisegetical engagement of the text – I get fidgety when the sermon becomes a support for personal agendas, guilt-trips, and manipulation (I’m not just talking about pulpit bullying but also minor things like seeking affirmation, reputation, or just meeting a budget goal).

When I walked out into the sunshine and took a stroll around the parking lot, I became aware again of this tension between power and love. My first response was anger followed by a desire to protect the naïve souls of the young congregants. Then I felt the pang of Christ – so many words that could have been spoken about his beauty and character where lost in the narcissism, focusing instead on the deeds of men and the awesomeness of this particular church.

In the face of “great evils” and injustices, will my response be motivated in love or power? It was a hard question to ask myself. Did I see Christ active in this church? Yes. Why is he active here despite these “evils”?

Love. Gratuitous affection without want of compensation.

I thought of the speaker again and felt that strange and heavy weight of compassion. Was I able to see beyond his words to glimpse at his heart? Was it really full of “evil” or was there something else there–perhaps insecurity or fear? What does Christ see? I spent the remainder of sermon time praying for him.

I believe that power will always be a temptress to those in authority. I believe it will always be a motivator of religiosity. And yes, I believe it can cause great social and spiritual harm. But I am coming to terms with the reality that my instinctive response toward religious power plays is often a religious power play in itself.

“But there is only one thing that has power completely, and that is love.” Alan Paton

Walking in love will require of me a more deliberate look at how I give, speak, defend, and pray.  I have a long walk ahead.

* Duncan B. 2004. A Theory of Impact Philanthropy. Journal of Public Economics 88:2159-80

TCK Takeaway: 10 Practices of Love in your Religious Activities

1. It’s about God, not about you. It’s through experiencing the great love of God and understanding the nature of Christ’s sacrifice for us that we are taught how to love.
2. Love God back. We are told that the greatest commandment is to love God with all of our heart, soul, mind and strength.
3. Love your neighbor as yourself–this includes those of lower economic or social class. Be careful of  factors related to privilege and power when developing these relationships.
4. Judge your heart. What is the true motivation behind your religious activities?
5. When giving, consider the long-range and big-picture. For instance, if an organization is drilling a well in a community that needs water, think about the less glamorous aspects of sustainability like well maintenance, irrigation, water containers, training, salary for support staff, etc. Are you willing to meet these less glitzy needs?
6. When volunteering, offer your skills but be willing to do whatever is most needed – even if it means cleaning toilets or answering phones.
7. Rather than raising money to go somewhere on a work-missions trip, consider giving money to hire locals to perform the same task.
8. When leading, turn on your manipulation radar. Are you coercing others in order to accomplish selfish goals or meet an unfulfilled need?
9. Be reverent with the Holy Scriptures. Seek deep understanding to the point of conviction paying careful attention to context and history. Be careful not to misinterpret a text to support your ideas and agenda, however good they may be.
10. Before you start a new ministry or non-profit, learn about what others are doing. It may be more efficient and powerful to work together, gleaning from their experience and failures and building on their successes. Besides, competition amongst churches and charities doesn’t really help those in need and can limit resources. Before you start something new, know your motives.

Love takes time to listen and learn before acting. You may be surprised by what this will require of you.

TCK Takeaway: 10 Habits for Avoiding Evangelical Consumerism

After writing the post Consumerism for the masses; Mass for the consumer, I took some time to reflect on how one might engage in worship without succumbing to the lure of religious consumerism.   As we grapple with troublesome cultural trends within our churches, the temptation may be to withdraw. However, the best way to change culture, is to change our own habits. At the heart of worship is Christ. Taking time to experience him in simple ways without the hype of pop-culture drama, can do wonders for renewing the soul. Below is a list of 10 practices that I have found helpful in resisting consumerism and refocusing on Christ.  This is not an exhaustive list and so I welcome additions from readers!

1. If you find yourself in a church that uses self-service communion snack-packs, administer the elements to your friends or neighbors, reminding them that this is the blood and body of Christ broken and shed for them. Give to another rather than take for yourself.

2. Invite friends to your home for a simple meal of bread, soup, and wine. Spend time talking about Christ. Confess to one another and remind one another of Christ’s forgiveness.

3. Once a year, partake in communion by celebrating the Passover meal. Think on Christ.

4. Join the global church in the daily lectionary readings of the liturgical calendar. Listen for the bigger movements of the Spirit throughout the world.

5. Memorize some ancient prayers. Allow yourself to dive into deeper understanding with each recitation.

6. Participate in the feasts and liturgical seasons. Take part in the story of Christ’s life as it unfolds throughout the year.

7. Practice no-consumption Sundays: don’t buy or consume anything at church except for Christ.

8. Attend a mid-week Eucharist service somewhere.

9. Pray for your church leaders.

10. Don’t be a chronic church-hopper. Settle somewhere and accept your church, culture-blemishes and all, as Christ accepts her. You will never find a church that doesn’t beat to a cultural drum of one sort or another.

Art for the Consumer Masses; Mass for the Consumer

“When art is not flourishing, religion languishes . . . the two often wax and wane in tandem.” Earle Jerome Coleman.

There seems to me a mysterious metaphysical connection between aesthetics and religion, art and worship that I find myself hesitant to explore. Each subject on it’s own is daunting, yet I am intrigued by one familiar and alarming cultural point of intersection: consumerism.

This concept was sparked when I recently watched the documentary film, Art of the Steal, about the conspiracy-theory riddled billion dollar heist of the famous Barnes art collection. Barnes, a self-made millionaire began affordably acquiring thousands of Renoirs, Cezannes, Matisses and other late-19th and early-2oth-century works of art when they were still considered crude and primitive by the elite American art circles. Barnes specified in his will that he wanted his collection, now worth billions, to remain in its original location in a wealthy Philadelphia suburb, never to be sold, loaned to museums, or opened to the mass public.

Barnes believed that the setting in which art is viewed is part of the art. He put considerable thought into the aesthetic display of the collection and made art education rather than art consumption a prerequisite for his appointment-only visitors. He despised the “depressing intellectual slum” of the urban art circles and the whitewashed, sterile walls of elitist museums that encouraged artistic consumption rather than wonder. Their  version of viewing art mirrored a crowded shopping mall and pandered to the consumer. And so, he created a place set-apart from the masses; a place designed to reflect the value of the art more so than the value of the viewer. Matisse famously said that the Barnes Foundation is the “only sane place to see art”.

According to the film, after Barnes’ death, his will slowly unraveled in the hands of politicians and elites finally culminating in the impending relocation of the collection to a center city location better fit for herding the cellphone-picture-snapping masses through the priceless exhibit. The court ruled against the Foundations appointment-only policy and required the doors to be made open to the public in order for the foundation to keep their non-profit status.

“Paintings, money, tourism—that’s what people see when they see art,” laments one former Barnes Foundation student. PA Gov. Ed Rendell confirms this notion by pursuing the collection in order to boost tourism and calling the move a “no-brainer.”

As I watched the film, I was sickened by those on both-sides of the debate. Power, money, and acclaim had muddled the intellectual will and testament of Dr. Barnes. The languid pang of disgust that I felt was a familiar one. For me, this film was not just about art but also about worship – for what we have done to art, we have also done to worship.

Where worship was once designed to reflect the value and nature of God, we have made it into a talent-show. The center of focus is no longer the alter, which trained our attention on the glory of Christ’s great sacrifice but rather our attention is pulled to the American-idol stage blazing in the glory of LED wash lights. We have traded the complex design of the cathedral, cruciform in shape and axised toward the coming of Christ, for a white-washed, shopping complex layout better suited for the masses than for mass. Worshippers partake of individual sized communion snack-packs rather than stand in line to sip from the common cup of Christ’s blood.

We have made the evangelical church a seeker-friendly place of enjoyment striped of the mystery of Christ. While Christ made his message accessible to all, he held the deeper things at arm’s length, speaking in parables and shrouding his meaning in a cloud of ancient symbolism that pointed to profound spiritual concepts. Again and again he called out, “He who has ears, let him hear.”   But we like spectators, gather in contentment to watch the show and hear a motivating message stitched together from quoted Christian-bookstore best-seller finds.

In the art-world, there is an age-old debate: for whom is art created? Art for art’s sake or art for the spectator?

In some ways, I don’t feel pulled to either extreme in this debate, but I do cringe when art clearly become a shrink-wrapped commodity; when the gift shop becomes more popular than the art displays.

R. Cronk, a prominent muralist and art essayist warned that “while consumerism offers the tangible goal of owning a product, it lacks the fulfillment of other cultural mythologies . . . it exists as an incomplete and inadequately engineered system of values substituted for a waning cultural heritage.”¹ He argues that consumerism not only appeals to the drive-thru fix of ego-gratification but ultimately damages our language, art, and cultural traditions, weakening their ability to inspire metaphysical truth.

I resonate with Cronk’s sentiments and believe they also apply to consumerism within the American evangelical church. So often the Sunday service affords a quick-fix of ego-gratifying worship experiences peppered in pop-culture Christian slang. This raises some difficult questions like, how pervasively has consumerism seeped into the fabric of our gatherings? Are we losing the language that delves deeply into spiritual mysteries? Have we abandoned the traditions and sacraments that have historically bound the global church together through the elements of Christ and his teachings? Why have we traded stained-glass windows and icons of faith for exposed warehouse ceilings and massive LCD screens? Do we prefer sipping the welcome table coffee than savoring the wine of Christ’s blood? Have we favored a hallow rhetoric of absolute truths over the difficult pursuit of metaphysical and epistemological understanding?

I was struck by this comment following a NY Times article entitled Museum going as compulsive consumerism?: “The majority of the public only goes to museums because they think that somehow they are ‘supposed’ to, and beyond that, it affords some status to say that one has been to the Louvre, or wherever. Most museum goers do not engage with the art objects or pictures because they simply don’t know anything about them, and don’t make an effort to prepare to have a meaningful experience by informing themselves. The roots of this, in US culture especially, come from the notion that arts are merely a pleasure, a distraction, and not a necessity or something worthy of intensive study.”

As I read the comment, my mind replaced the words “museum” with “church”  and “art” with “worship” and came to the same conclusion.  Earle Jerome Coleman keenly referred to the mysterious connection between art and religion with this statement: the two often wax and wane in tandem.” I would add that when consumerism is flourishing, both art and worship languish.

My First Hooker

A few years ago, I traveled on assignment to Mali, West Africa. At the end of one particular day as I tried to account for my expenses, I scratched my head wondering how to write prostitute into my budget. Carina, a Dutch mission worker we had come to see, took us to a brothel she visits weekly to counsel the prostitutes. She and the brothel owner have become odd friends.  Even though he makes a lucrative profit as a pimp, he likes it when Carina visits and he encourages her to help the girls find a way out of the business.

After a nice long chat about how much he loves George W Bush (“if i see him with this eye, then i can die in peace!”), the pimp rounded up a few girls and demanded they sit for an interview with us. For security reasons, he asked us not to film their faces, but gave us full access to their stories through audio. The stories were all the same… lured to Bamako via deception, swindled out of thousands of dollars, health problems, loosing face with family back home, unable to speak the language, and finally a turn to prostitution in a state of absolute hopelessness and abandonment. I’m not sure if our friendly pimp was motivated by a sense of guilt because of his dirty business or pride, viewing himself as a protector of his girls, keeping them off the dangerous streets of Bamako.  Either way, we were grateful that he and Carina could find a way to work together to help these women regroup and try to get their lives back together.

Today, Carina and a team of Malians provide an alternative for the ladies trapped in the red light district. The Rahab Centre offers job training and a small loan to help street women start businesses and find things to sell other than their own bodies. Many ladies attend weekly bible studies and prayer gatherings longing to grow in their faith and cast aside the shame that so often binds them to the darkness.

This video tells the story of one of the prostitutes we met while visiting the Bamako brothel.

 

Behind the Bamboo Curtain

Behind the bamboo curtain, I stood on the edge of a mountain. I didn’t know the language or the culture, but I knew that I wanted to be there. From Kunming, we journeyed eight hours into the mountains to the town of Yuanyang. From here, it is another ten-hour hike to the Vietnamese border, or a few days by truck. The land of the Hani tribes, for more than 1000 years they have been farming these rice terraces high above the clouds. Majestically descending down the violet hillside, the rice patties shimmered like dragon scales in the sunlight.

It was the spring of 2002 and I was then living in Seoul, South Korea. Invited to join this expedition by members of the Onnuri Church English Fellowship – a conglomeration of mix-n-match nationalities living in Seoul – I was excited to see the interior of China. Although I had spent my childhood in Japan, we were never able to get beyond the bamboo curtain that fell just beyond Hong Kong. China was the land of Hudson Taylor, the hero of missionary kid bedtime stories. In my childhood mind, it was also the land of persecution for Christians and imprisonment for missionaries. My parents were the sort of missionaries who smuggled Bibles into Russia in their children’s luggage and took family vacations to the West Bank in order to see Biblical landmarks. Despite the dangers, I longed to slip behind the bamboo curtain.

Our team was commissioned to assess the needs of a small Hani community about 45 minutes drive from Yuanyang. As a minority group, they had difficulty gaining the proper resources from the government to fix their water supply problem. We were also interested in the scholarship needs among the children. While China’s socialized education system provides education to all, many poor villagers were unable to produce the money required for supplies and textbooks. In each passing village, the school children swarmed our team with cries of  “Hello, nice to meet you!” and invitations to sing endless renditions of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” on the school’s karaoke machine.

On our third day in China, after crowding into an overnight sleeper bus and hitching a ride in the back of a banana truck, we hired a van and driver to take us to the Hani village. The primitive village was situated on a terraced ridge among rice patties scaling along the contour of the mountain. The houses were simple mud shacks rambling along the hillside with dark interiors and earthen floors. As we tumbled out of a van onto the dirt road, a crowd quickly formed around us.

While the men and our only translator gathered in a little hut to speak with the village elder, I longed for a way to connect with the wide-eyed women and children who were brimming with curiosity. Many of them had never gazed upon a white person. We stood on the edge of the snaking road gazing down at the descending terraces glowing in the afternoon sun and I asked what word they used for beautiful. “Piào liàng” someone timidly replied (although most of these women also knew very little Mandarin). I pointed at the Eden surrounding us and said “liàng”. They giggled. So I pointed at the children and said, “liàng”. The mothers howled in glee as they smeared the dirt from around the smiles of their children’s grimy faces. I went on pointing at the wiry mountain flowers, the hunched old women, their pompom headdresses and fantastically embroidered tribal clothes saying “liàng, liàng, liàng!”

A woman emerged from a hut with a bundle of dark blue cloth and began wrapping a very ornate turban with yarn pompoms around my head. It didn’t take long for the women to grab my hands and drag me into one of the low-ceiling huts. Before I knew it, they had laid out traditional Hani tribal clothes and were undressing me. The children screeched in delight, clapping their hands while a small crowd of tiny Hani women tried to stuff me into their clothes.

Smacking my white legs in fits of laughter, I watched as they made large gestures, which seemed to hysterically relate how fat I must have seemed to these Lilliputian mountain women. Prompting me to exhale deeply, they buttoned the black top closed, and began manually stuffing my legs into the zipperless bottoms. I couldn’t help but giggle along with the women as they tried to cram my hiney into their best Hani clothing. There I was in a remote corner of China, leaning against the sturdy backs of tribal women huddled around my waist, dressing me up as though I were a giant, ghastly Barbie-doll. Predictably, I failed to fit into their pants and opted to hold up a pair of their slacks over my own as we posed for a picture.

As a Third Culture Kid, I like to believe the language barrier is made of bamboo. Though strong and durable, bamboo is also flexible and yielding. A Japanese proverb says, “the bamboo that bends is stronger than the oak that resists”. Across Asia, bamboo is the symbol of flexibility and harmony. When visiting new places, I often prefer relating with strangers within limited linguistic confines; for then I must yield to the intimacy of physical exchange, sweeping gestures, the fluency of expression, and the bend of laughter. Like bamboo in the wind, I am forced to adapt to my surroundings and find other paths of communication.

In retrospect, I wonder if the delightful thigh-smacking encounter with the Hani women would have occurred had I known how to speak Mandarin? As we are supple, the language barrier, the bamboo curtain, reminds us to flex our inhibitions and discover alternative ways of communicating ­– ways that may form bonds and memories to last a lifetime.

I was told that pictures of our dress-up party were given to the Hani women the following year when a new team returned to their village. I am delighted to know that somewhere in remote China, behind the bamboo curtain, I am remembered with howls of laughter.
 

Evangelicalism, Power, and unTrue Truths

Recently, I read Crazy for God by Frank Schaeffer. It was a trippy book for me to read. Although I have heard about L’Abri most of my life, I did not anticipate how much Frank Schaeffer’s childhood resembled my own. We both were raised as MKs (Missionary Kids) immersed in the fabric of fundamentalism and later a brand of evangelicalism. Both of our parents opened our homes to countless pilgrims on spiritual journeys. We both pursued careers in the arts and in film. We both have deep concerns regarding the state of American Evangelicalism. In many ways, I feel a certain kinship with the author. I hope to say more about this book in a future post, but today my focus will be on the philosophies of Frank’s father Francis Schaeffer.

Upon reflection, I find it surprising that many of my core beliefs stem from the work of Francis Schaeffer. Only after reading Crazy for God did I learn that my parents modeled their ministry after L’Abri and hosted a training conference with Francis Schaeffer a few years before I was born. My father was very fond of his ideas and they became a subtle part of my religious upbringing.

Challenged to rethink some of my own “fundamentals”, I revisited Francis Schaeffer’s view of truth in post-enlightenment. In the Great Evangelical Disaster he says, “Christianity is no longer providing the consensus for our society . . . the consensus upon which our law is based.” ¹ Rather, society relies on post-modern relativism and humanistic thought to determine morality. As we walk away from absolute truth, we head into chaos void of moral code and steeped in fascism.

Schaeffer, an astute critic of art history and continental philosophy, devoted much of his writing to the concept of absolute truth. He became a rock star within evangelical circles and helped lay the foundations for the powerful rise of the Christian Right. The fight to restore morality through embracing the truths of Scripture on big issues like abortion, euthanasia, and evolution fueled the growing Culture Wars in America.

Dominionism became viral. Lazy Sunday afternoons were replaced with hyped rallies and picket signs. Youth (like me) were bussed to DC to march on the Mall and reclaim Washington for Jesus. Radios across America (including ours) were tuned in to Coral Ridge Ministries daily show Truths that Transform. Coral Ridge president, Rev. D. James Kennedy, expressed dominionism this way: “As the vice-regents of God, we are to bring His truth and His will to bear on every sphere of our world and our society. We are to exercise godly dominion and influence over our neighborhoods, our schools, our government … our entertainment media, our news media, our scientific endeavors — in short, over every aspect and institution of human society.”²

Truth lies at the heart of evangelicalism. It’s also one of the ideologies that makes me most uncomfortable with evangelicalism. Lest I be labeled a post-modernist, let me clarify upfront that I do not question the viability of absolute truth. I assume it is essential for order and reason. However, what fascinates me by the evangelical rhetoric of “absolute truth” is not morality, but power. What person or culture or theological interpretation do we trust to ascertain whether or not a specific truth is absolute? Who gets to be judge? Who is the decider? Who gets that seat of power?

I once heard an evangelical pastor say that he is not afraid to speak Truth from the pulpit. In fact, when he speaks truth about things like homosexuality and women in the church and the world takes offense, it confirms to him that what he is saying is True. This pastors metric for truth is determined by the degree of offense the world takes upon hearing his message. This metric also gauges the worldliness of a listener based on their level of offense.

Over the years, I’ve heard similar statements by other pastors and lay people alike and wondered what lies at the root of these statements. Is this really about truth? Is it really about morality? Or could it be that manipulation (in the name of truth) is employed to reduce complex principles into simple beliefs in order to harness power? Certainly, this is nothing new. Wasn’t truth the weapon of the Church used to silence Galileo’s heretical (but true) observation that the earth rotates around the sun?

Montaigne, another figure of the Enlightenment, challenged the notion of culturally determined absolute truth by observing morality at work in non-European/non-Christian societies. He warned that we cannot call cultural habit absolute truth. He claimed that there is an appropriate degree of moral relativism that is naturally reflected in cultural values. For Montaigne, the point was not to reject truth, but to challenge traditional opinions and assumptions in order to get a little closer to the truth.

In my own experience, those who are most fearful hold tightest to dogma. Montaigne puts it another way: “Nothing is so firmly believed as that which least is known.”

If Schaeffer had claimed that the rejection of truth’s existence may lead to loose morality and possible fascism, I may not argue. In fact, I agree with Schaeffer (and many others, including Nietzsche) who warn that the denial of knowledge culminates in nihilism. Has nihilism seeped into the ideology of the evangelical church? Perhaps it is more pervasive than we are aware and certainly worth the discourse. But what about the flip-side?

What happens if the “true” claims of the Church are found to be false (think back to Galileo)?  Does this carelessness provoke skepticism in knowledge itself? Does it reduce the other truths of the Church to mere ideology? Nietzsche proclaimed that the unraveling of truth in such a way would lead to the Church’s own destruction and finally to a “despair of meaningless”.

And what about the implications in terms of power? Is it possible that the religious arbitration of Absolute Truth may lead to horrific acts of immorality and abuse of power in the name of God? I think history has already cast a verdict.

As the evangelical church continues to grapple with big issues like abortion, evolution, and homosexuality, these are important questions to ask.  Does our construct of truth stem from a truly Biblical theology?  Will dominionism render Nietzsche prophetic by paving the way to the dissolutionment of evangelicalism?

While the Church has a lot to say about truth and morality, it must take great care to distinguish truth from cultural habit and resist the temptation to use fear, manipulation, and power as weapons to control congregants and society.

¹ Chapter 2 from The Great Evangelical Disaster (Crossway Books, 1984)

² Christian Science Monitor, March 16, 2005

Book Report: Radical by David Platt

“We are molding Jesus into our image . . . And the danger now is that when we gather in our church buildings to sing and lift up our hands in worship, we may not actually be worshiping the Jesus of the bible. instead, we may be worshiping ourselves”.

Knowing my struggle with pop-culture Christianity, a mentor suggested I read this book. There is much to appreciate about Dr. Platt and his ideas. He is obviously very bright and yet he comes across gently. I would not disagree with many of his ideas, but found the book to be superficial and steeped in modernist thought with a tinge of American exceptionalism behind an age-old missions rhetoric.

In Radical, Dr. Platt identifies the American Dream as a value system “dominated be self-advancement, self-esteem, & self-sufficiency, by individualism, materialism, and universalism”. He goes on to say that “we have a dangerous tendency to misunderstand, minimize, and even manipulate the gospel in order to accommodate our assumptions and our desires… how much of our understanding of the gospel is American and how much is Biblical?”

These thoughts resonate deeply. In recent years, I have been struck by the weak Biblical hermeneutics delivered from many pulpits. Sermons quickly become the platforms for setting agendas – agendas for evangelism, for building plans, for budgets, for making a name for ourselves (in Jesus’ name).

Of course, this is nothing new. Religious leaders have notoriously used power for self-gain throughout history. However, i wonder at the cultural undercurrent of American individualism and how it manifests itself in the American church. What unique eisegetical pitfalls does the independent evangelical church face? Why is individualism so great a danger to the church?

Dr. Platt suggests that individualism is dangerous because it leads to complacency and a lack of zeal to go to all the world and preach the gospel. While I cannot argue with this point, I am more interested in delving deeper into where this individualism came from, how it has polluted the framework of American church, and what an appropriate response should be.

Perhaps we can trace this individualistic trend back to the Great Reformation of the 16th century. Or perhaps it was confounded by (or was it precipitated) by the cultural shift toward humanism that took grip of the newly independent protestant denominations. Within a few centuries, the church continued to divide, splintering into faction after faction. I am afraid to know just how many denominations exists today in North America. I am more afraid to know how many independent churches exist with no authorities or theological guardians keeping an ear to the pulpit. Each church upholds a unique and “true” interpretation of God’s word and is burdened with the great task of making disciples. I can’t help but ask, disciples of whom?

When Christ said to Peter, “upon this rock, I will build my church”, did he really have the assorted independent denominations of the 21st century in mind? Do these schisms reflect the way of Christ as he led in humility and submission? I cannot recall the last sermon I’ve heard about Biblical submission that wasn’t geared toward women only. Rather, our pastors uphold rhetoric of independence – after all, we have been set free in Christ. Lone ranger pastors. Rebellion and self-determination outweigh respect for elders, compliance to authority, and seeking out Godly council. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Martin Luther stuck it out and reformed within. Is it possible that in an act of righteous protest the path toward individualism and rebellion was forged? Is it possible that this path has led to this evangelicalism “dominated be self-advancement, self-esteem, & self-sufficiency, by individualism, materialism, and universalism”?

This poses some significant challenges for a struggling evangelical who longs to be set free of the American church. In a future post, I hope to explore some of the perplexities this presents in terms of the authenticity of Protestantism in general. But for today, I must consider that the way of the consumer is not the way of Christ. Perhaps this cagey creature should stick it out and learn a lesson or two from Christ about submission and healthy spiritual reform before jumping ship in search of the perfect church that meets all felt individual needs.

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American Manger Scenes

For several years now I’ve wrestled with my inner “evangelical”. I like the music, the coffee, the manger scenes. There’s something so American about church. It’s a great show, often quirky, but to me, always a little foreign as I watch the others swaddle up the fake baby Jesus and grab another cup of coffee. Although I have struggled against it for so long, I find my inner evangelical is now on the outside looking in at the American evangelical church. A drive-thru nativity spectator. Some say I’m recovering. I prefer cagey. . . wary, skeptical, trapped. Perhaps it’s the Third Culture kid inside that’s having a hard time recognizing this American god. Perhaps it’s the media critic in me that just can’t stop analyzing script in terms of culture, power, and hegemony. Or perhaps God is doing something very fascinating and utterly confusing. These next few posts will explore some of the questions a cagey, recovering evangelical ponders, a few book reviews, and some interesting thoughts I hope to borrow from respected friends. Come on ring those bells and everybody stay tuned.