The Vanity of Vindication

We Christians have a problem: we like to be right all the time. We take pride in always having the answer and we are addicted to always proving our point. Most of all, we are set on having the last word.

Augustine prayed once, "Lord, deliver me from this lust of always vindicating myself." This is a profound and courageous request - one that I'm not at all sure I'd be willing to make just yet, ultimate truth and personal pride being still too tangled up in my insides. I still want to show people the way it is. For God's glory, of course.

I have always marveled that Jesus didn't go and pay a visit to the Pharisees after his resurrection. It seems like it would have been so satisfying to go waltzing into the Sanhedrin Monday afternoon: "Hey guys! Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily? Ha!" But Jesus didn't do that. He calmly and quietly met with his disciples, sharing a simple breakfast of bread and fish by the seashore. The post-resurrection gospel narratives have this unearthly calm about them. Our lives should read the same way.

In The Brothers Karamozov, by Fyodor Dostoevsky, there is a dialogue between Jesus and the "Grand Inquisitor," a strict dialectician who challenges Jesus regarding the way He has structured (or, more accurately, not structured,) Christianity. The Inquisitor marshals argument after argument, criticizing the indifference of the gospel and the havoc Christianity has created through the centuries.

When the Inquisitor ceased speaking he waited some time for his Prisoner to answer him. His silence weighed down upon him. He saw that the Prisoner had listened intently all the time, looking gently in his face and evidently not wishing to reply. The old man longed for him to say something, however bitter and terrible. But He suddenly approached the old man in silence and softly kissed him on his bloodless aged lips. That was all his answer. The old man shuddered. His lips moved. He went to the door, opened it, and said to Him: 'Go, and come no more... come not at all, never, never!' And he let Him out into the dark alleys of the town. The Prisoner went away.

Truth does not need to have the last word: it is the Word. We talk about truth and error being the alternatives in an argument. In one sense this is true enough; I am not advocating relativism here. I simply want to point out that capital-T Truth is above the argument altogether.

Sometimes I find myself looking forward to heaven so I can ask God who was right. "Ok, God, was it Boyd or Piper? Calvin or Servetus? Hauerwas or Rushdoony?" I think He'd smile at me with a twinkle in His eye and tell me gently that all this time I've been confusing rightness and righteousness.

Even in the intellectual sphere, what we believe has little meaning if it is divorced from what we do. Abstracting the truth from life into a neat little metaphysical matrix is about as useful as drawing an elaborate picture on the sand at low tide. It is, to use the ancient Preacher's term, vanity.

Some of us will no doubt be keenly disappointed to learn that there will be no "I-told-you-so" moments in heaven. Just love, peace, and freedom from the tiresome tyranny of constantly vindicating ourselves.

I say we start practicing.

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Joy In The Journey

Integrated Intellectualism

As thinking Christians we are interested in developing a full-orbed worldview - what Steve Brown refers to as "a stable meta-narrative." As many of us have already discovered, the integration of intellectualism into this narrative can be fiendishly tricky. That's what this post is about - the good, the bad, and the baffling.

Let's hear the bad news first. As Christians, we must concede that intellectualism in and of itself is ultimately inadequate. I am not here speaking of placing a "limit" on intellectualism, because this would constitute an externally imposed restriction, and this we cannot abide if we intend - to use Francis Schaeffer's marvelous expression - to "think with the windows open." (One might also recall Augustine's statement in this connection that as Christians we "think in believing and believe in thinking.")

What I want to suggest is that intellectualism is intrinsically inadequate - it looks through the keyhole of transcendence but does not possess the key. Like the waves on the seashore, it extends only as far as it does, and no further. It is not a question of intellectualism being truncated or stultified, it is simply a question of what is there, and what is there is inevitably inadequate. (I will leave aside the question of whether it is intellectualism itself that is inadequate, or simply our imperfect state of being. We will thus consider the idea of intellectualism as it relates to us practically.)

When Paul was witnessing before King Agrippa (Acts 25), he was abruptly and dramatically interrupted by Festus, who was shouting incredulously: "Your great learning is driving you out of your mind!" As we know, Paul was perfectly sane. However, if we are paying attention, this little incident seems to imply that there is an observed phenomenon of learning and intellectualism driving people insane. As G. K. Chesterton writes in Orthodoxy:

Let us begin, then, with the mad-house; from this evil and fantastic inn let us set forth on our intellectual journey. Now, if we are to glance at the philosophy of sanity, the first thing to do in the matter is to blot out one big and common mistake. There is a notion adrift everywhere that imagination, especially mystical imagination, is dangerous to man's mental balance. Poets are commonly spoken of as psychologically unreliable; and generally there is a vague association between wreathing laurels in your hair and sticking straws in it. Facts and history utterly contradict this view. Most of the very great poets have been not only sane, but extremely business-like; and if Shakespeare ever really held horses, it was because he was much the safest man to hold them. Imagination does not breed insanity. Exactly what does breed insanity is reason. Poets do not go mad; but chess-players do. Mathematicians go mad, and cashiers; but creative artists very seldom. I am not, as will be seen, in any sense attacking logic: I only say that this danger does lie in logic, not in imagination. (1)

Chesterton is writing about imagination here, but his point is applicable to our discussion. It is the chess-players - not the poets - who go mad. We will see why in a moment.

What has plagued intellectualism through the centuries is a colossal confusion between means and ends. Listen closely: this is the meat of the matter. Rational thought, our God-given faculty for apprehending and interacting with our Father's world, has been itself perversely transformed into a deity. This is the point of departure in the process of debasement described in Romans 1 - an intellectualism that knowingly abrogates God. The end of this road, of course, is nihilism, which is man giving up on making something out of nothing.

For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth. For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools... they exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator... they did not see fit to acknowledge God. (2)

Now for the good news. The above passage, while condemning the deification of the intellect, makes it abundantly clear that God has made Christianity both intellectually and existentially honest. Christianity does not stifle the intellectual life: it emancipates it. "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." The Church, when it is active and thriving, has always encouraged thinking. The trouble enters only when intellectualism is embraced as a philosophy rather than a tool.

But wait a minute. Jesus said very plainly that unless we become like little children, acknowledging and loving our Father in innocent simplicity, we will not enter the kingdom of heaven. What, then, is the value in intellectualism? Multitudinous, as we will see.

We must thoroughly debunk and repudiate the notion that intellectualism and child-likeness are somehow mutually exclusive. Jesus was calling us to innocence, not to ignorance. Paul himself writes in 1 Corinthians: "Brethren, be not children in understanding: howbeit in malice be ye children, but in understanding be men." (1 Cor. 14:20) The soft heart of a child and the hard head of a man: that is the characteristic of the Christian.

Someone has said that simplicity on this side of complexity isn’t worth dink, but that simplicity on the other side of complexity is incredibly valuable. Our intellectual journey as Christians is not about making things complicated - it's about rescuing things from complexity and making them simple again. It is the process of becoming like a child, and it is hard work. In the words of Oswald Chambers, "We have to be intelligently more than intelligent, intellectually more than intellectual, that is, we have to use all our wits in order not to worship our wits but be humble enough to worship God."(3)

Profound things come in simple packages. As G. K. Chesterton says, "No wise man will wish to bring more long words into the world."(4) We do not learn big words so we can string them together like floats in a parade to impress our peers. We learn the big words so we can understand the little words. The journey to a real understanding of words like truth, hope, story, peace, pain, love, and giving often leads through the jungle of metaphysics, sanctification, epistemology, post-modernity, and anthropomorphism. Our constant objective ought to be to say less and understand more - wise as serpents, innocent as doves.

If we can reach
Beyond the wisdom of this age, into the foolishness of God
That foolishness will save those who believe
And though their foolish hearts may break, they will find peace
And I'll meet you in that place where mercy leads

-Rich Mullins, Brother's Keeper, "Let Mercy Lead"

(1) G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy
(2) Selections from Romans 1, ESV
(3) Oswald Chambers, Disciples Indeed (The Complete Works of Oswald Chambers (Grand Rapids: Discovery House, 2000), 409
(4) G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man, (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1993), 13

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The Children Of Húrin

To say The Children Of Húrin is a first-rate work of literature would of course be merely stating the obvious. After all, it's Tolkien. 'Nuff said.

Still, while most dedicated Tolkien fans will no doubt deeply appreciate this work, it seems to me that The Children Of Húrin has had a rather cool reception with the general public. That is not altogether surprising, considering the story's content and structure. The world is harsh. The characters are complicated. Evil is everywhere. It is not a happy ending.

The main body of the story centers around Húrin's son Túrin and his struggle against darkness and doom. (The same story is sketched in brief in Chapter 21 of The Silmarillion.) As a result of Húrin's defiance of Morgoth in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, he and his kin are placed under a curse by Morgoth. The inexorable working of doom is present at every turn, and though Túrin proves himself a formidable warrior and claims many valiant victories, the curse ultimately claims his life.

The Children Of Húrin is a sober commentary on the tragedy of life, while simultaneously avoiding the whirlpool of fatalism. The basis of things is tragic, warped, irrational, but there is still goodness, and light, and hope; and, like gold or jewels, when these things are scarce they are all the more precious. Evil may triumph for a day, and weeping may endure for a night. But the very nature of the case demands that evil must ultimately be destroyed. "Blind you are, Morgoth Bauglir, and blind you shall ever be, seeing only the dark." (See my previous post on evil: A House Divided.)

In reading this book I was again struck by the directness and precision of Tolkien's prose. He makes the narrative come alive with broad strokes and sparse descriptions, deepening the epic atmosphere of the story. Take this fine passage as an example - bold adjectives, vivid verbs, no chaff:

Now they waited until the starlit night was late, and they passed over in the white mists before the dawn. And even as the sun rose red beyond the Blue mountains, and a strong morning-wind blew and scattered the mists, the guards went up onto the west shore, and left the Girdle of Melian. (201-202)

The illustrations by Alan Lee deepen the mystical and brooding aura of the story profoundly. His quasi-impressionistic style draws you physically into the scene and provides the perfect counterpart to Tolkien's storytelling.

This was a significant book for me, as I see in myself many of the same flaws of Túrin Turambar - chronic impatience, strong self-will, cold insensitivity, and an invincible pride. I do not know what lessons of truth and wisdom this book may hold for you, but I am convinced you will not come away empty handed.

"This is a sure way to death," said Dorlas.
"It is the only way, to death or to life," said Turambar, "and delay will not make it seem more hopeful. Therefore follow me!" (234)

Image courtesy of time-blog.com

The Great Disconnect

The sins of some men are conspicuous, going before them to judgment, but the sins of others appear later. So also good works are conspicuous, and even those that are not cannot remain hidden. (1 Tim. 5:24)

And I heard a voice from heaven saying, "Write this: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on." "Blessed indeed," says the Spirit, "that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them!" (Rev. 14:13)

It is no secret that we live in a culture that thrives on instant gratification. What is less obvious is how this mentality affects us intellectually and spiritually. We demand a direct relationship between means and ends, and have difficulty thinking beyond the banal confines of stimulus-response. Consequently we do not make sacrifices, because we do not see that sacrifices are sacred investments. All we see is that we pay something out and don't get anything back.

Laying up treasure in heaven is not a nice idea: it is an imperative. In this way we keep our heart aligned with God's and build spiritual capital for Him to spend as He chooses. (It is important to understand that we are not "accumulating credit" with God. This idea is inevitably disappointing and thoroughly absurd.) The call of God is always to give, give, give, scatter, scatter, scatter.

In spiritual matters there is often a significant chronological disconnect. Pharisees insist on having their reward immediately, the disciple must get hold of a higher reality. "See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains." Spirituality is organic, unhurried, unpredictable. It goes directly against our love of expediency and common sense. We may be called to sow, to water, or to reap, but not to effect the growth. That is God's work, and sometimes He is maddeningly unperturbed about it.

So we've sown, and now we're waiting for the fruit. It might be tolerable if everyone had to wait the same amount of time, but that is not the case. As Os Guinness writes,

It is not so hard to wait when we have to, when everyone else is waiting too. But can we trust God and wait when everyone else is moving on, going somewhere, doing something?*

God's spiritual economy operates according to spiritual laws, and all of our calculating cleverness will never conquer its mysteries. The first shall be last, the last first. The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. God's order may appear to us by turns murderous or merciful - either way it is mad.

This is the meaning of the parable of the laborers in the vineyard. (Matthew 20:1-16) Jesus means to demolish our expectations of justice, and we find this intolerable. The last thing we want is a God who is arbitrary!

These last have wrought but one hour, and thou hast made them equal unto us, which have borne the burden and heat of the day.

This is excruciating, indescribable! We feel cheated and scandalized. But the lesson must be learned and taken to heart if we are to go on with God.

The two scriptures I quoted at the top of this post point to the same truth: it may not all add up now, but it will someday. Every drop of spiritual perspiration is collected by God - nothing is wasted. Things matter, they just might not matter on our timetable, as we expect them to. That is the meaning of faith: loving Jesus enough to accept the Great Disconnect. It will make for some great jokes in heaven.

Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain. (1 Cor. 15:58)

*Os Guinness, God In The Dark, (Crossway, 1996), 201-202
Image courtesy of crinellegroup.com

Jacques Ellul on The Church

No doubt some will say that God is not a God of disorder, incoherence, or arbitrariness, but a God of order. Of course he is. Unfortunately the whole of the Old Testament shows us that God's order is not organization and institution (cf. the difference between judges and kings). It is not the same in every time and place. It is not a matter of repetition and habit. On the contrary, it resides in the fact that it constantly posits something new, a new beginning.

Our God is a God of beginnings. There is in him no redundancy or circularity. Thus, if his church wants to be faithful to his revelation, it will be completely mobile, fluid, renascent, bubbling, creative, inventive, adventurous, and imaginative. It will never be perennial, and can never be organized or institutionalized. If the gates of death are not going to prevail against it, this is not because it is a good, solid, well-organized fortress, but because it is alive; it is Life - that is, as mobile, changing, and surprising as life. If it becomes a powerful fortified organization, it is because death has prevailed.

Thus even on the humble level of the church, revelation cannot be organized or experienced socially. How much less so when Christians suddenly find themselves in charge of "society"!

-Jacques Ellul, The Subversion of Christianity, (Eerdmans, 1984), 157

Image "Changing Paradigms of Church" courtesy of mosaicnw.com

Thinking About Fatherhood

Well, it's Father's Day, and it just so happens that I'm blogging about fatherhood! I see no way to account for this coincidence except to suggest that I just have an intuitive knack for timing - what can I say.

For you trivia buffs, 2008 marks the 100th anniversary of the modern Father's Day tradition, which traces its roots back to a service in a West-Virginian Methodist church in (do the math) 1908. So as traditions go, this one is relatively young, but still, that's a lot of Sarsaparilla and screwdrivers.

As an experiment, I fed the word "Father" into one of the online Bible search engines, and promptly received an error message: "Your search found over 1000 verses. Please try adding more words or letters." No, that's alright. I didn't find what I was looking for, but I've learned something else. (As Jack Sparrow would say, "That's interesting!") Biblically speaking, fatherhood is not a specialty subject - it is an abiding theme.

The Bible is chock full of unapologetic celebrations of history and relationship, commonly called genealogies. There's a big one in Numbers, and another big one in 1 Chronicles. You know how it goes: you're reading along through the Bible, minding your own business, and then you glance ahead a couple chapters and go "Uh-oh."

Our trouble with genealogies is that we read them as lists of names instead of lists of people. Think about it. Your name merely identifies who you are. It is not YOU. All those lists of "names" are chains of people who actually lived - people who built houses, fell in love, made mistakes, ate corn-on-the-cob, laughed and cried. They were fathers, sons, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, mothers, and daughters. They were rich, poor, smart, stupid, hilarious, melancholy, practical. They were real.

God has made history linear, and He chose to do it with fathers. To put it in the popular modern form of self-evident redundancy, "If it wasn't for your father, you wouldn't be here." It's a special kind of relationship, and really, it makes perfect sense: deriving your existence from someone ought to create a special kind of relationship.

Rather significantly, the Father-Son relationship is the only relationship explicitly contained in the Godhead. This observation tells us several things, namely:

1. Fatherhood is a direct expression of the divine nature. (Matthew 5:48, 18:10)
2. Fatherhood is intended to be intimate. (Philippians 2:22, John 8:28-29, 10:30)
3. God is the perfect Father. (Luke 11:11-13, Hebrews 12:9-10)

Selah, and feel free to add your own observations to the list.

The ultimate Father's Day gift is found in Proverbs 15:20: "A wise son/daughter makes a glad father." The beloved disciple further affirms this in 3 John 4: "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth." On this centennial Father's Day, let's give our fathers the gift of a righteous legacy. We are writing history right now; every moment we are faced with the choice between faithfulness and frivolity. History is much larger than any of us, and it is our responsibility to do our part, even when we don't understand it. This question should ring in our hearts every day: "When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?"

Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.

(Matthew 6:9-10)

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