An Intermission

As you may have noticed, I haven't been blogging much lately. Besides being generally busy with work, family, and Church, there have been some other matters consuming most of my time, thought, and writing impetus.

Accordingly, I'm announcing an indefinite intermission here at Sojourner's Song. I plan to return as soon as I can, because I really feel the journey is worth sharing.

As always, thanks for reading. There's still plenty of new things to explore and talk about, and I'm certainly looking forward to picking up the discussion again. To steal a line from Steve Brown Etc. - "Like Jesus, I'm coming back!"

N. T. Wright on the Authority of Scripture

The apostolic writings, like the "word" which they now wrote down, were not simply about the coming of God's Kingdom into all the world; they were, and were designed to be, part of the means whereby that happened.¹

The New Testament understands itself as the new covenant charter, the book that forms the basis for the new telling of the story through which Christians are formed, reformed and transformed so as to be God's people for God's world. That is the challenge the early Christians bequeath to us as we reconsider what "the authority of scripture" might mean in practice today.²

What does it mean to appeal to "the authority of scripture"? This phrase is sometimes used as a way of saying, "A plague on all your scholarship; we just believe the Bible." This is simply unsustainable. Without scholars to provide Greek lexicons and translations based on them, few today could read the New Testament. Without scholarship to explain the world of the first century, few today could begin to understand it (as often becomes painfully evident when people without such explanations try to read it aloud, let alone expound it). Scholarship of some sort is always assumed; what the protest often means, unfortunately, is that the speakers prefer the scholarship implicit in their early training, which is now simply taken for granted as common knowledge, to the bother of having to wake up mentally and think fresh thoughts. Again and again, such older scholarship, and such older traditions of reading, turn out to be flawed or in need of supplementing. Today's and tomorrow's will be just the same, of course, but this does not absolve us from constantly trying to do better, from the never-ending attempt to understand scripture more fully. It is my own experience that such attempts regularly result in real advances (measured not least in terms of the deep and many-sided sense that is made of the text), and that even making the effort almost always results in fresh pastoral and homiletic insights. To affirm "the authority of scripture" is precisely not to say, "We know what scripture means and don't need to raise any more questions." It is always a way of saying that the church in each generation must make fresh and rejuvenated efforts to understand scripture more fully and live by it more thoroughly, even if that means cutting off cherished traditions.³

There is a great gulf fixed between those who want to prove the historicity of everything reported in the Bible in order to demonstrate that the Bible is "true" after all and those who, committed to living under the authority of scripture, remain open to what scripture itself actually teaches and emphasizes. Which is the bottom line: "proving the Bible to be true" (often with the effect of saying, "So we can go on thinking what we've always thought"), or taking it so seriously that we allow it to tell us things we'd never heard before and didn't particularly want to hear?⁴

(1) N. T. Wright, The Last Word, (HarperCollins, 2005), 51
(2) Ibid., 59
(3) Ibid., 90-91
(4) Ibid., 95

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Pundit Profile: Jacques Ellul

Jacques Ellul is a 20th-century French philosopher known for his nonconformist ideas and work on Christian Anarchism. I was introduced to him through Greg Boyd, and I've enjoyed having the opportunity to read some of his writings over the last several months.

Before we get started, I should make it clear that "anarchy" in this context does not denote "chaos" but rather "without rule," and yes, there is a difference. Really, it is unfortunate that the idea of freedom is so closely linked to the idea of chaos, because that reveals the pervasiveness of pagan thinking in modern society. Only Christianity successfully reconciles freedom and order, because only Christianity contains a comprehensive ethic of self-governance, spiritual empowerment, and mutual accountability. The Church exists in a perpetual state of peaceful, orderly anarchy, modeling the miracle of redemptive freedom before the world.

As a young man, Ellul was strongly influenced by Karl Marx, though he ultimately was forced to conclude that Marx's biases created fatal problems in his sociological theory. Only in turning to Christ (at age 22) did Ellul find the fullness of truth that he was seeking. Later, Ellul was to draw heavily on the ideas of Swiss Reformed theologian Karl Barth, especially in regards to his dialectic approach to truth and "revelation."

Perhaps the most important element in Ellul's work is his insistence on the dialectic and even paradoxical nature of truth. I find this stance to be scripturally consistent, intellectually compelling, and existentially honest.

According to Ellul biblical revelation provides the prototypical dialectic, for dialectic "is specifically a biblical concept," in contrast to philosophical thinking which tends to resolve and eliminate contradictions.¹

We have to recognize that everything in revelation is formulated in antithetical fashion... It unites two contrary truths that are truth only as they come together.²

There is no logic in the biblical revelation. There is no "either-or," only "both-and." We find this on every level.³

Dialectical tensions characterize the Christian life: "We are invited to take part in a dialectic, to be in the world but not of it."... By living out this boundary line existence, which is admittedly agonistic, the Christian reintroduces true dialectical tensions and creative, revolutionary possibilities within the historical process.⁴

Ellul is interested in the pursuit and preservation of biblical Christianity over and against Christendom, arguing that the Christian faith is essentially revolutionary and subversive. Ellul was advancing the idea of church as organism instead of organization long before it was the catchphrase it is today.

Though Ellul is a very original thinker, he is by no means isolated from the rest of the intellectual world, sharing common ground with a number of other great minds, such as Søren Kierkegaard, Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Vernard Eller, Dorothy Day, and Henry David Thoreau. Neither was his work limited solely to academia: he was active in the French resistance during World War II on behalf of the Jews, and also worked extensively to assist the delinquent youth of his home town of Bordeaux.

Ellul's work is essential for anyone who is tired of the tit-for-tat culture wars and interested in a thoughtful exploration of what it means to seek the Kingdom of God. Take a look: you might be surprised by what you find.

The Christian is constantly obliged to reiterate the claims of God, to reestablish this God-willed order, in presence of an order that constantly tends toward disorder. In consequence of the claims which God is always making on the world the Christian finds himself, by that very fact, involved in a state of permanent revolution.⁵

(1) Jacques Ellul, The Presence of the Kingdom, (Helmers & Howard, 1989), xxxiv
(2) Jacques Ellul, The Subversion of Christianity, (Eerdmans, 1986), 43
(3) Ibid., 44
(4) Jacques Ellul, The Presence of the Kingdom, xxxvi-xxxvii
(5) Ibid., 36-37

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The Battle and The Baggage

When you read the book of Acts, it's easy to get the impression that Christianity is all about aggressive evangelism and itinerant ministry, and this is true, in part. However, we need to recognize that the book of Acts describes the exploits of the most active 1% of Christians in the Early Church. The great majority of believers were simple, workaday people, quietly minding their own business, living as salt and light amongst their families, neighbors, and communities.

A lot of people (including, incidentally, Paul himself,) are fond of comparing Christianity to warfare, but what conscientious military commander would send his entire army into the heat of the battle with no reserves, no medical support, no communication relays, and no management infrastructure? Obviously, such a policy would be tactical suicide. We need a sounder strategy.

Many of you know I volunteer for Search & Rescue work with the local Sheriff's Office. My position is affectionately referred to as "Ground-pounder" - I'm a foot-searcher, and it's my job to get out there and do the looking. However, on a given search, the number of people who are actually out looking is usually smaller than the number of people who are working behind the scenes just to keep the operation running. There's radios to run, maps to print, meals to coordinate, and volunteers to transport, not to mention prioritizing the search and strategizing about the most effective allocation of resources. It's a lot of work.

It is plain that we need courageous soldiers on the frontlines, but it ought to be equally plain that there is much more to Christianity than merely the frontlines. The body has many members, and all members do not share the same function. What about the saints who stay behind and labor quietly in prayer or study to protect the faith from being ambushed in an ideological coup? What about the thousands of workaday believers who are living simply and consistently giving to and supporting the "real work" of God? Being an overseas missionary is wonderful, but the Christian who answers that call is in no sense more spiritual than the Christian who stays at home and faithfully goes about the specific work God has set before them.

In 1 Samuel 30, we have the story of David's men undergoing a mission to recover their kidnapped wives and children from the Amalekites. After hearing an affirmative from the Lord in regards to whether they should follow the raiders, they set out in hot pursuit. When they reach the brook Besor, 200 of David's 600 men are simply too exhausted to continue, so they stay behind. The other 400 continue on and successfully recover their wives and families - a bit frightened, perhaps, but alive and well.

When they return to the Besor, the 400 men who had gone with David argued that the men who had stayed behind should merely have their wives and children returned to them and have no share in the other loot. David disagreed.

“You shall not do so, my brothers, with what the Lord has given us. He has preserved us and given into our hand the band that came against us. Who would listen to you in this matter? For as his share is who goes down into the battle, so shall his share be who stays by the baggage. They shall share alike.”¹

I believe that we as a Church would do well to emulate this spirit of generosity and brotherhood. Some are called to fight on the frontlines, others to wait by the baggage. We're all brothers and sisters, and we must get over our carnal tendency to be constantly trying to outdo one another spiritually. (Mark 9:33-35, 2 Cor. 10:12)

Thomas Merton was a Trappist Monk who lived at the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky in the mid-1900's. He was deeply concerned about social justice and the effective diffusion of the Faith, but he also understood that this was not the whole story - that there is a very real place within the Church for behind-the-scenes service and active solitude.

Solitude has its own special work: a deepening of awareness that the world needs. A struggle against alienation. True solitude is deeply aware of the world's needs. It does not hold the world at arm's length.²

Let every man abide in the same calling wherein he was called (1 Cor. 7:20), and let us learn to recognize, respect, and enjoy the vastness and variety of the body. Onward Christian soldiers, and a resounding "Thank You" to the cooks, nurses, munitions suppliers, strategists, and loyal hardworking citizens that no one ever sees. None of this would be possible without you.

(1) 1 Samuel 30:23-24, ESV
(2) Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, (Doubleday, 1989), 19

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I Don't Want To Fight

But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another. -Galatians 5:15

Atoms collide and turn into thought / and Ideas explode and turn into hate / but love survives... (Brother Henry, Love Survives, "Love Survives")

A scenario that has been repeated many times during my life took place once again this morning at the young men's group that I attend weekly. I was in a conference room, surrounded by a half dozen bright, articulate, conservative Christian brothers, attempting to explain my rather controversial belief that Christians are not the guardians of social morality and Christianity is not about getting involved with or controlling politics.

The views I hold on this subject haven't changed substantially over the years, but the way I hold them has changed drastically. I enjoy thinking and talking about these things, but I have no desire to "prove my position," or denounce anyone for believing something different. I don't need to win the argument. That's no longer what it's about for me.

I don't mean this smugly, as if I could care less what anyone else thought. (I don't want to have the mentality that says: "You don't have to agree with me - you're free to be wrong.") I'm sure I still don't care about what others think as much as I should, but I think I'm learning to care more deeply than I have in the past. Instead of arguing with intellectual competitors about this or that issue, I'd rather be swapping stories with comrades about our experiences on the journey of faith. If you think this makes me a mushy postmodern jellyfish, I'm sorry. It's just that being a self-righteous maverick doesn't get you very far. In fact, it takes you backwards.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 8 that "knowledge" puffs up, while love builds up. We should ask ourselves whether our relationships are more like houses or hot air balloons. What materials and methods are we using - the strong timbers of love or the flimsy canvas of our own cleverness?

I can hear some murmurs starting, so let me pause and make one thing as clear as possible: walking in love does not mean that I don't take the truth seriously - it only means that I don't take my opinion of the truth so seriously. As Paul writes again,"If anyone imagines that he knows something, he does not yet know as he ought to know." (1 Cor. 8:2)

Francis Schaeffer was not one to shy away from serious, full-tilt intellectual discussion. He believed in thinking and he believed in truth. With that in mind, here's what he had to say about the way we hold and communicate our opinions:

Every time I see something right in another man, it tends to minimize me, and it makes it easier for me to have a proper creature-creature relationship. But each time I see something wrong in others, it is dangerous, for it can exalt self, and when this happens, my open fellowship with God falls to the ground. So when I am right, I can be wrong. In the midst of being right, if self is exalted, my fellowship with God can be destroyed. It is not wrong to be right, but it is wrong to have a wrong attitude in being right, and to forget that my relationship with my fellowmen must always be personal. If I really love a man as I love myself, I will long to see him be what he could be on the basis of Christ's work, for that is what I want or what I should want for myself on the basis of Christ's work. And if it is otherwise, not only is my communication with the man broken, but my communication with God as well. For this is sin, breaking the second commandment to love my neighbor as myself.¹

It is my prayer that the Lord would enable us to become a body at peace with itself, not needing to disparage other parts because of our own insecurities. There should be no exclusivity between communication and compromise, as long as we're willing to sacrifice our lust for vindication on the altar of love. Then, and only then, perhaps we can have some real relationship-based constructive dialogue, and that excites me a whole lot more than merely being right.

I don't want to be right anymore
I don't want to be good
I don't want to change your mind
To feel it like I do

-Derek Webb, The Ringing Bell, "I Don't Want To Fight"

(1) Francis Schaeffer, True Spirituality, (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House, 1971), 153

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