The Cross: Atonement Analysis is One Thing. What does it Mean for Me?

I had already finished this month’s blog, sent it off to the webmaster. Then the cross broke into my life. Part 2 of last month’s blog will have to wait!

Good Friday. In addition to participating in a Zoom church service I decided to reflect on the significance of the day by reading two chapters from Proclaiming the Scandal of the Cross—Chris Friesen’s and Debbie Blue’s. Amazing chapters—a conversation in a coffee shop and a sermon. As I re-read these chapters the authors, once again, impressed me with their insight and the power of their images. I wish I was as smart as them and able to communicate as well as they do. In the middle of my appreciation of their atonement theology, however, an inner voice said “Mark, read this for you. What does this mean for you?” I have thought so much about the atonement, written so much about the atonement, taught so many times about the atonement, when I encounter talk about the saving significance of the cross my default is to go to analysis. I stepped aside from my appreciative awe of their excellent work and let their words and images engage my life. I am newly impressed that even with as much time as I have spent reflecting on the cross and resurrection, I have not exhausted the meaning of the atonement—neither at the level of analysis nor at its significance for my life.

I will not attempt to condense and communicate the images themselves. I encourage you to read, or re-read, these chapters yourself. I will summarize an aspect of the content of their images and focus on how they impacted me.

One of Friesen’s images is the cross as God turning the other cheek. God does not strike back to balance the relational equation. Turning the other cheek causes the math of reciprocity and retribution to unravel, leading to a relational situation with remarkable possibilities for reconciliation and growth. A beautiful, powerful message. Rather than responding in kind to our disrespect, disloyalty, disobedience (ours today and literally at the cross) God forgives. Through God’s act we are freed from the revenge and retaliation cycle and freed to forgive as well. A great message for the men in my jail Bible study, but for me? Today? I put the book down, prayed, asked God, “What does this mean for me?” Almost immediately I thought of a few students that frustrated me this week—for not following directions or for missing class, from my perspective, unnecessarily. I certainly would not call them enemies, and I am not plotting revenge. Yet I let the frustration simmer in my being; I complained about them to a couple friends. The cross of Jesus calls me to something else. I prayed and released what I was holding against them. I invite you to do the same. Take a moment, pray, listen—who or what comes to mind? And, may this, for you and me, be more than just a Good Friday activity.

Debbie Blue’s sermon on the last part of the Gospel of Mark’s passion narrative (15:21-39) begins with powerful stories of people coming together by uniting against a common enemy. She calls it the scapegoating machine. The power of the stories is not in their grandness, not Hitler uniting Germans against the Jews, rather in their everydayness. Her point is we do this all the time. Then she turns to the cross. She observes, Jesus could have done this; he could have easily unified the crowds against the religious leaders or against the Romans. But the cross is the opposite, all the competing factions in Jerusalem unifying against Jesus.

Blue says, at this point God could have responded with the ultimate scapegoating move—displaying how bad all these people are. But, she writes:

The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ isn’t a New Great Big Way to make the machine run, the Most Powerful Fuel Ever for that old mechanism, so that now God’s people can clearly unify, the believers in Jesus against the unbelievers. It collapses the machine. . . This story is not the ultimate reinforcement of over/against, this story reveals to us the destructiveness, futility, utter deathliness of all our againstness, shows us how our deeply ingrained mechanism for creating unity leads to death, even the death of God.

But surprisingly, stunningly, beautifully, unexpectedly and amazingly, the revelation does not end with utter condemnation for the violence at the heart of the social order. . .  It’s a story about Jesus absorbing, taking in, all our againstness, accepting all the death we have to hand out, all the fears that make it so impossible for us to be truly vulnerable, all the weakness that makes us mean. He takes it all totally and thoroughly in. And comes back. Comes back unbelievably undefeated by it. Comes back, not vengeful and resentful, all hyped to form some oppositional unity, some group communion against us (or anyone), all ready to get his army up against the bad stupid scapegoating people. He comes back and he comes back again and again and always, irrepressibly for them, us, all. He comes back loving and forgiving and desiring, as always, communion with the world.

It’s a little hard to get. It may not even seem entirely appealing to us, but this story isn’t told to harden our hearts against anyone. It’s given to us to break our hearts open.  To make love and communion. To make relationship with the Other (who’s the complete other) possible. To reveal to us how we are all together now, not in opposition, not in condemnation, but in forgiveness, gathered together in the love of God (68-69).

Then as I read her next lines I thought, bounded and centered. I invite you to look for that connection too.

It doesn’t seem like this story should fuel our sense of divine righteousness against bad people, wrong ways, strange, weird others, it seems like it might break our hearts open, for relationship based not on exclusion but on the ridiculously inclusive forgiving and redeeming love of God. It shows us that we can’t relieve our separateness by making a scapegoat, we can’t create love and unity fueled by againstness. The old mechanism, the old story is not creative of communion, or if it is, that love and communion is some thin false scared union compared to the new, practically unimaginable, vitally alive, thorough and wild communion made possible by the love and grace of God (69-70). 

As you know, I think relating church to bounded sets, fuzzy sets, and centered sets is a great tool. Reading this paragraph, however, reminded me that the tool is just an aid for understanding. What makes a centered church possible is the God of the center. It is through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection that the wild, vitally alive, ridiculously inclusive communion of a centered church is possible. Beautiful thought, but then again the question: “What does this mean for you Mark?” I began to ponder, to listen. Where do I practice “againstness” rather than allow the reality of God’s work through the cross and resurrection to flow in my life? Ironically, the very first thing that came to mind was people who have attacked me because of my books on the atonement. It is not a stretch to say I have been scapegoated. Although I have not reciprocated by openly attacking as I have been attacked, I have feed the scapegoating machine with us vs. them thoughts in private and in conversation with friends (who are “on my side”). Other us vs. them dynamics easily came to mind. There is so much of it in the air in our society today.

I took a walk and pondered. What does it mean for me to let loose the resurrection reality in these us-them dynamics? What does it mean for me to practice a centered approach with these people? A key move is to distinguish agreement from communion. I feel no call from the Spirit to change my positions. Thinking of Jesus was helpful here. Jesus practiced amazingly inclusive table fellowship. He did not, however, approve of the behavior or beliefs of all those he ate with. For instance, eating with Levi, Zaacheaus, and other tax collectors was not an endorsement of their actions. What then am I called to do? Three ideas. 

First, when I feel us-them, over-and-against, type thinking in my being (or scapegoating sort of talk with others), remind myself: I do not need this for security or identity. My security and identity are found in the center—Jesus. We do not need an other, a scapegoat, to unite us. Our communion flows from God’s loving and gracious action of inclusion. We are united by the center—Jesus. 

Second, compassion. It is so easy to see a person only as their theological position or their political position. As I wrote in a blog two years ago: How might it change our days if we wrapped every thought about another person in a blanket of blessing and compassion? (See also this blog on Father Greg Boyle.) I will seek to shift my gaze.

Third, look for common ground, focus on common values and commitments.

What came to mind as you read Debbie’s words? Who came to mind? What ideas might you add to my list?

The Power of Boundless Compassion

Father Gregory Boyle since 1984 has ministered in a parish in East Los Angeles that has the highest concentration of gang activity in the city. In 1988 he started Homeboy Industries which has become the largest gang intervention, rehab, and reentry program on the planet. They provide jobs, tattoo removal, mental health counseling, case management, and legal services. I recently read Boyle’s new book, Barking to the Choir: The Power of Radical Kinship, and then re-read his previous book, Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion. These books overflow with stories and insights gained from decades of, not just gang ministry, but a life intertwined with gang members. How do you imagine the first book might begin? The second? Not with autobiography, not with dramatic tales of gang violence, or sad stories of addiction and brokenness, nor exhortation about the necessity of providing jobs and counseling—all things found in the books. The first chapter in both books focuses on God. In the first paragraph of the first chapter of Barking to the Choir he writes, “It is indeed a challenge to abandon the long-held belief that God yearns to blame and punish us, ask us to measure up or express disappointment and disapproval at every turn” (13). In Tattoos, he writes, “It is precisely because we have such an overactive disapproval gland ourselves that we tend to create God in our image” (28). He proclaims the opposite and tells moving stories of homies experiencing that not only is God love, but that they are beloved by God. Why does he start this way? What can we learn from that?

Gang members’ relational lives are riddled with abandonment, alienation, and attachment issues. And for most, the God they live with is part of that negative stew of rejection and shame. Boyle’s starting his books with God displays that his experience leads him to passionately state the powerful role that God can play in recovery and transformation. Yet, it is also because he has seen the destructive power, and hindrance to healing, of a distorted concept of God. He begins with God because one’s concept of God matters. Living with a disapproving God of accusation is a core problem for homies (and not just homies), and experiencing the loving embrace of a God looking at us with eyes of compassion and delight is a powerful contribution to healing (and not just for homies). How might this reorient us? Is concept of God the first chapter, figuratively speaking,  in our programs, ministry, teaching, counseling, mentoring, parenting, etc.?

To be clear, it is not that Boyle just has an obligatory spiritual chapter and leaves God behind in the first chapter. Deep in the second book he writes, “’Working on yourself’ doesn’t move the dial on God’s love. After all, that is already fixed at its highest setting. But the work one does seeks to align our lives with God’s longing for us—that we be happy, joyful, and liberated from all that prevents us from seeing ourselves as God does” (111). Amen! I deeply affirm his passionate proclamation of God’s unconditional love. There was one line where he may have overstated it, “God is just too busy loving us to have any time left for disappointment” (Tattoos, 28). I wonder, because God loves us don’t our actions that hurt others and ourselves sadden God? Perhaps Boyle and I think of the word “disappointment” differently. Because, clearly Father Boyle recognizes that actions matter. His is not a fuzzy approach. Homeboy Industries has standards, they fire people. Boyle includes stories of loving confrontation of homies.

Yes, not fuzzy, but also so intentionally centered and not bounded. Boyle takes a centered approach not only as an alternative to bounded church, but, even more so, to the bounded character of gangs. He writes, “Gangs are bastions of conditional love—one false move, and you find yourself outside. Slights are remembered, errors in judgment held against you forever” (Tattoos, 94). Homeboy Industries seeks to offer the alternative, a community of unconditional love that avoids the boundedness of the gang and the judgementalism of society. I recommend reading the books and taking notes, as I did, on how to improve at practicing a centered approach. Here are just two items from my notes. 

Like many recovery programs, those who work at Homeboy must do drug testing. Yet, reflect on Boyle’s explanation for their strict approach: “Embarking on the ‘the good journey’ requires confronting the inevitable emotional obstacles in that path. It’s always a painful process, and we don’t want them to numb themselves by self-medication. Once they let go of the hatred for their gang rivals—every homie’s starting point—they are left to deal with their own pain” (Choir, 84).

When we step away from anxiety about the purity of the group and the imperative of drawing lines of exclusion, we can follow Father Boyle in turning from judgmentalism to compassionate accompaniment. He states, “the ultimate measure of health in any community might well reside in our ability to stand in awe at what folks have to carry rather than judgement at how they carry it” (Choir, 51).

I am getting increasingly uncomfortable with each additional paragraph I write in this blog. I have shared ideas, insights—and there are some great insights in the books—but first and foremost Boyle is a great story teller. His books, unlike my blog, are not essays. Immerse yourself in the stories, laugh with him, cry with him, learn with him. (To get a taste of the stories in the book listen to this Ted Talk.)

So, just one more insight to end with. Perhaps what most impresses me with the books is how much they affirm Bob Brenneman’s thesis in Homies and Hermanos, and James Gilligan’s thesis in Violence. At the root of addiction, violence, gang membership is shame. Boyle communicates this through stories and captures it in great lines like: “there is a palpable sense of disgrace strapped like an oxygen tank onto the back of every homie I know. . . they strut around in protective shells of posturing” (Tattoos, 52). Boyle seeks to counter “the wreck of a lifetime of internalized shame” by communicating the reality that “God finds them (us) wholly acceptable” (Tattoos, 44). “One of the signature marks of our God is the lifting of shame” (Choir, 135). Boyles calls us to follow Jesus in showering the shamed with love and dignity through radical inclusion and kinship. “Precisely to those paralyzed in this toxic shame, Jesus says, ‘I will eat with you.’ . . . He goes where love has not yet arrived. . . Eating with outcasts rendered them acceptable” (Tattoos, 70).

I end with Father Boyle’s words:

Soon we imagine, with God, this circle of compassion. Then we imagine no one standing outside of that circle, moving ourselves closer to the margins so that the margins themselves will be erased. We stand there with those whose dignity has been denied. We locate ourselves with the poor and the powerless and the voiceless. At the edges, we join the easily despised and the readily left out. We stand with the demonized so that the demonizing will stop. We situate ourselves right next to the disposable so that the day will come when we stop throwing people away. The prophet Habakkuk writes, “The vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment and it will not disappoint. . . and if it delays, wait for it” (Tattoos, 190).

Unkindly Eyes or Compassionate Eyes?

Who is someone you have thought critically of today? A person or two you have looked at with disdain or disapproval this week? I invite you, pray a blessing on those people. What happens (to you)? Years ago, I thought critically of the pastor of the church I attended. He was a good orator, but often appeared to make up the sermon as he delivered it. He led us in making plans, but not in carrying them out. I could go on, but the point is I had a list of critical thoughts about him. I brought them to church with me each week. Seeing him through the filter of that list made it hard for me to see anything else about him. I had a hyper-sensitive radar to his negative attributes. It was a critical feedback loop. My growing disdain and frustration became a barrier to experiencing positive things that he and the church had to offer and also a barrier to my involvement in the church. My friend and mentor, Doug Frank, suggested that each week at church I imagine the vulnerable hurting little boy within the pastor. (Just as Doug had previously led me to think of the little Mark Baker within me.) What happened? I still had critiques of things the pastor did or did not do, but the starting point was compassion. The filter changed. I saw him differently.

How might it change our days if we wrapped every thought about another person in a blanket of blessing and compassion? How might it change our interactions if blessing and compassion were our starting points? How might that help us live out a centered approach to church? I will say more on that in a moment, but first a few thoughts about God. How might it change our concept of God, our experience of the God we live with, if we knew, in the depth of our being, that God looks at us through eyes of blessing and compassion?

For many, to hear the words, “God sees into the innermost parts of your being” provokes fear. If the peering eyes are unkindly ones, the fear is appropriate. Roberta Bondi, in her memoir, Memories of God: Theological Reflections on a Life (great book!) describes a turning point in her relationship with God and Christianity. Through reading one of the early desert monastics she realized, “that only God can judge us because it is only God who can look with compassion on the depth and variety of our individual experience and our suffering, and know us as we really are” (78). God looks at you with eyes of compassion. Rest in that thought for a moment. Imagine Jesus looking at you—looking not just at your actions, but probing with understanding at the roots of those actions.

Having the God revealed by Jesus, the God described by Bondi, at the center is a key element in the difference between the character of a centered church and a bounded church. It is not, however, just because of how it changes an individual’s experience of God. Emphasizing relationship with the center includes the biblical imperative of seeking to live in conformity with the center, to imitate Christ. Deepening relationship with Jesus calls and enables us to view others with compassion. That too will change the character of a church.

Would you like to be part of a church community filled with people like I was with their radar set to highest sensitivity for others’ shortcomings, or with people like Doug Frank who look at others with eyes of compassion? A critical posture feeds a bounded approach. Looking critically at others enables me to feel a sense of superiority. Even if not done consciously, it is an over-and-above move. What happened when I looked at the pastor through different lenses? Thinking compassionately about his hurts and wounds was a leveling move. It was not pity; I too carry wounds. It put his actions that I was critical of in a new light and led to different thoughts about what might bring change in his life.

How about fuzzy? Note that Bondi does not say that the turning point was realizing God does not judge. Doug did not suggest I ignore the pastor’s shortcomings. Experiencing tolerance feels better than a critical unkindly eye, but tolerance is also less than blessing. A fuzzy approach could compassionately understand why a person acts as they do, but would stop there. It would be hesitant to take the next step. It would not seek to use that understanding to work with the person for change. Is that full compassion? Is that naming?

Let us look at others with eyes of compassion and prayers of blessing.

What is Your Relationship with Money?

A family friend, Rianna Isaak, told us that in her small group she likes to ask these questions: “What is your relationship with ____________?” Then: “How does your relationship with Jesus affect your relationship with ________?” Recently she has asked the questions in relation to “entertainment” and “food.” What might be a helpful way for you, your family or church group to use those questions? What might you put in the blank? Last week I found myself asking them in relation to money. 

Many of you have heard or read my journey with money. In one period of my life I desired to acquire significant wealth. Then I headed in the opposite direction and sought to live as simply as possible so I could give more and more money to help the poor around me. I expended great energy in discerning what was the appropriate spending level for a Christian. I judged those who did not live that lifestyle—most other Christians. But, I also bore the weight of trying to live up to my own standard. In contrast, today I am neither consumed by acquiring riches nor by determining and achieving the appropriate simple lifestyle. Yet, we still seek to keep the poor in mind when we make purchases. We tithe; many months we give beyond a tithe. Therefore, it is easy for me to think I am doing ok in my relationship with money—especially if I compare myself to many around me or to the Mark Baker of the past.

Perhaps, however, it has been too long since I have asked these questions: “What is your relationship with money?” “How does your relationship with Jesus affect your relationship with money?” I asked them recently in two situations—one related to family finances and the other related to spending funds of the small mission agency we are involved with. In both cases the questions penetrated and illuminated. They brought to light things that have been there, below the surface—accepted as normal, even good.

In both cases I observed a concern for the future. It was not a question about having the money needed in the moment. Rather, my concern was how giving or spending money now might lead to shortage in the future. Secondly, I observed a concern for being “good” and doing “right.” In one case it was living according to the conventional wisdom of my culture about family and finances; in the other it was acting according to conventional wisdom of mission activity in poorer regions. Neither of these had anything to do with me grasping for status through acquiring things to “keep up with the Jones’s.” Yet the toxicity of threatened shame was still present. Even if subtly and subconsciously, the question, “what will others think?” was woven into my thinking.

Rianna’s questions, especially the second, might be heard by some as oppressive and accusing (see below) but I experienced the opposite. The intentional turn toward Jesus, repentance, brought life. I was unaware of how my strivings and fears weighed me down—remember I was cruising along thinking I was fine in relation to money. Yet in both cases I felt immediate lightness when I turned to Jesus and away from calculating-fear and away from status-grabbing-shame-avoidance. The burden fell off my shoulders. I felt the “reviving of the soul” mentioned in relation to God’s law in Psalm 19. I experienced what I proclaim every year in class when I share my journey with money. Something I state, but have not often enough allowed to penetrate and illuminate my being: “Through Jesus’s life, proclamation and death on the cross, however, God provides a different way to understand reality, exposes and disarms powers like mammon, and invites us to place our trust elsewhere. Rooted in that reality we can see the lies of mammon and we are freed to live differently.”

I write to share and encourage use of the questions. I do not think my answers will be your answers. I encourage you to ask the questions and begin conversations with others. I pray the turn toward Jesus will be as liberating for you as it was for me.

“What is your relationship with money?” “How does your relationship with Jesus affect your relationship with money?”

Additional comment on a centered approach:

My initial reaction to Rianna’s questions was, “what great centered approach questions!” They do not draw a specific line separating true Christians from others, nor do they communicate that by crossing a line you have arrived. They focus on the center and imply ongoing movement toward the center. They invite conversation, rather than external imposition of “right behavior.”  I asked Rianna about her group’s discussion of entertainment. She said the first part went fine, but when she asked the Jesus question the feeling in the room changed. One person responded with a sense of resignation, sounding a bit bitter he said, “Oh I guess I should…..” Whereas I had thought, “what great centered questions,” this person heard it as a question of bounded group religiosity.

This reinforced an important point I will included in the book I am writing on bounded, fuzzy and centered. Having excellent phrasing does not guarantee those listening will hear it in a centered way. The spirit of religiosity rooted in our beings, and our default responses shaped by years of bounded-church experience can twist centered discourse in a bounded direction. Craft our words well, yes! But we must also work to foster the ability for people to hear centered words in a centered way. Therefore, we must follow Jesus and Paul in proclaiming freedom from the enslaving spirit of religiosity, expose the bounded approach, and present the centered alternative.

Let's Talk About Sin

“When is last time you used the word ‘sin’ in a conversation?” I recently began a sermon with that question. My assumption was that for many, myself included, it had been awhile. Why? In part, in a society in which tolerance is the supreme virtue, it is not appropriate to talk about sins. But why, even in some churches is the word avoided?

Perhaps it is in response to ways sin has been talked about–as if declaring war on pleasure. Or maybe because the ones using the term were self-righteous-finger-pointing-shamers. Or, perhaps because of the way the word “sin” was linked with an image of a judgmental God–“the big eye in the sky,” people left the term behind as they appropriately ran away from that concept of God.

These are understandable reasons for moving away from talking about sin. But, as I asked that Sunday morning, have we moved too far?

What led me to give a sermon exhorting the congregation to talk more about sin? 

Two books had challenged me and came to mind as I read the biblical texts I was asked to preach on.

In Sin and Grace in Christian Counseling: An Integrative Paradigm Mark McMinn describes how he did not talk about sin much, thinking of himself as a grace-oriented counselor. But he began to wonder, can we fully understand or experience grace without a robust understanding of sin?  “A true understanding of grace has also been lost, because it cannot exist without a language of sin. . . Too often we integrationists are minimizing both grace and sin because our psychological vocabulary does not allow for these notions”(19, 22).

David Brooks, a New York Times columnist does not identify as a Christian, but he appears to be exploring the way of Jesus--often quoting Christian writers. Yet, I did not expect him to talk about sin in his book, The Road to Character. But there it is, on page 54. Like McMinn, Brooks advocates for pulling sin language out of the dustbin and using it. “Sin is a necessary piece of our mental furniture because it reminds us that life is a moral affair. . . No matter how hard we strive to replace sin with nonmoral words, like ‘mistake’ or ‘error’ or ‘weakness,’ the most essential parts of life are matters of individual responsibility and moral choice: whether to be brave or cowardly, honest or deceitful, compassionate or callous, faithful or disloyal. . . To banish words like [‘sin,’] ‘virtue,’ ‘character’ . . . and ‘vice’ . . . means we think and talk about these choices less clearly, and thus become increasingly blind to the moral stakes of everyday life” (54).

Later in the book, he reflects on David Chappell’s analysis of the civil rights movement in A Stone of Hope. One stream of the movement had an optimistic view of human nature and believed that through education and appeal to reason people would gradually see that racism is wrong. The other stream, led by Martin Luther King Jr., emerged from the biblical prophetic tradition. King declared, “Instead of assured progress in wisdom and decency, man faces the ever present possibility of swift relapse not merely to animalism, but into such calculated cruelty as no other animal can practice” (146). King's more serious consideration of the human propensity toward sin led him, and those with him, to be more realistic about others, more humble about themselves, more aggressive, and better able to deal with pain, suffering and setbacks.

These authors had me thinking that although bounded group religiosity often talks about sin in harmful ways, the fuzzy group’s alternative of banning the term also is problematic. A centered approach requires talk of sin. For reasons that McMinn and Brooks point to, and because a centered approach requires a sense of turning from something–turning from sin toward the center. Perhaps we can use a different word than “sin,” but we clearly need the concept.

So, propelled by these authors, I decided to preach on sin.

(If I was giving a three-hour class, rather than preaching a sermon or writing a blog, I would take the time to not just talk about “sins,” but also about what leads us to sin. Viewing the root problem as something in our DNA, passed on, according to Augustine, in male semen contributes to the toxic ways of talking about sin listed above–and more. Much better to go with the pre-Augustinian view of understanding the root problem as alienation, broken relationship with God and others. But rather than giving a “lecture” on that I will simply do what I did that Sunday, suggest you read John E. Toews's book, The Story of Original Sin or send me an e-mail and I will send you my lecture notes on these two contrasting views of sin.)

Knowing I would be encouraging listeners to think and talk more about sins I sought to practice what I was going to preach. I did not do very well. I would prayerful reflect over my days: how had I sinned? Not much came to mind. In part I think it is because “the list” view of sins is so deeply embedded in my being. In my youth I would occasionally slip up and then confess my infraction, but in general I steered clear of the sins on the list in my mind—things like lying, cheating, stealing, swearing, drinking, etc.

At a theoretical level I agreed with McMinn and Brooks, and I was working on a sermon advocating the same thing, but personal application was not going well.

Midway through sermon prep a shift happened when I began crafting my comments on the gospel text for the day—Mark 1:1-8. The word “sins” is in the text. John the Baptist proclaimed “a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” The more significant word, the one that stood out to me, was “repentance.” That day, riding my bike home from the seminary, instead of asking “how have I sinned today?” I found myself asking repentance questions: "What are ways I am heading in the wrong direction? Ways I got off track today?"

I asked those questions and as I passed by the county fairgrounds what came to mind was: interruption. I had interrupted others a couple times in the seminary faculty meeting. Interrupting someone was not on my sin list. It would never have come up as an answer to the question: “how have I sinned today?” And, on the other hand it was not a new revelation. I have been working on interrupting less. But in this space of repentance and prayerful openness something new happened. A question came to mind, perhaps by God’s Spirit: “What are you communicating when you interrupt?” I responded, “I communicate that what I have to say is more important than what the other person is saying.” I had an immediate and powerful response. “I do not want to be that kind of person. I repent. I want to change.” What a different experience simply by changing words from "sin" to "repent."

I invite you to let John the Baptist call you to repent just as he called people like us to repent in first century Palestine. But John offers us something more than just some alternative vocabulary for asking the sin question. He prepares the way for someone greater; he points us to Jesus Christ. Someone who also will invite people to repent and offer forgiveness for sins. In fact just a few verses later Jesus proclaims “repent and believe the good news” (v. 15).

What happens when we think about “sins” and “repentance” through the lens of this one John points us to?  Jesus is God incarnate and in Jesus we see the character of the God of nurturing love. Think back to reasons I listed that some of us have moved away from using sin language—scolding, shaming, punitive, lists. Is that Jesus?  

It makes a difference who is talking about sins and repentance: a nurturing caring God, or the big-eye-in- the-sky-God? A nurturing God, like a loving mother or father, still disciplines, still calls for repentance, but it feels significantly different than a shaming, scolding call to turn from sin.

Jesus calls for repentance, challenges us to turn from sin, but it is a call for repentance draped in love.

Let us not simply do what David Brooks does and call for a return to using the language of sin, rather let us use the language of repentance and sin more often, but always bind it to Jesus, wrap it in the nurturing love of God. My experience also points to the importance of working to re-frame the word “sin,” and to use other words to talk about sin.

I was just talking about these contrasting experiences with a student–the sin list vs. a loving God calling me to repent. I realized the first leads me to treat sin like laws and view God like judge or police officer. In my daily life I seek to not break the law. As long as I obey the list of laws the police, the district attorney, and the judge leave me alone. Although in some sense the criminal justice system contributes to my well-being by encouraging me to obey the law, I do not view them as helping me to thrive. I do not expect the police to stop by and give me counsel on how to improve my relationship with my wife or co-workers. I have a very different view of my parents, mentors, pastor, or therapist. Who do you imagine calling you to repent, God as police officer with a list of laws, or God like a mentor, pastor, or therapist? With the sin list mentality the objective is to get God, the police officer, to leave me alone. In contrast, I invite the loving God into my life with hopeful expectation that the call to repent will contribute to a more abundant life.

I will end as I ended the sermon, by suggesting a daily practice you might take up.

Four steps:

1. Focus your mind on an image of God’s nurturing love: perhaps Jesus’ loving gaze, God giving you a maternal hug, a caring shepherd; use an image that works for you.

2. Then, in the security of that love, ask God: what are you calling me to repent from today? Reflect, listen, think back over your day.

3. Confess, repent—make a commitment to change direction.

4. Rest in God’s loving forgiveness.

An important note: Some of you need no exhortation to think daily about your sins and shortcomings. You may need an exhortation to do it less. If that is your situation then the first step is of utmost importance and value.

What might happen if we take up this practice? What might God be lovingly calling you to repent from? What are ways God might be calling you to turn around, change direction?

God loves you, and because God loves you, God calls you to repent, calls you to leave behind attitudes, practices, habits, thoughts, and turn to new ways that will be better for you, for others, for creation.

From Sabotage to Collaboration: A Factory’s Dramatic Shift from a Bounded to Centered Approach

Guest Blog by Nathan Hunt

Back in the ‘70s, one of Frito Lay’s production plants received a rash of angry letters from customers with same bizarre complaint: their potato chips had obscene messages written on them. As leadership in the company assessed the situation at the plant, it quickly became obvious that this was just one more symptom of a very unhealthy workplace. “The climate at that plant was toxic. Supervisors there were using the traditional ‘progressive-discipline’ system for all violations, serious or trivial. They eagerly wrote up troublemakers in an attempt to run off malcontents. Every employee who received any disciplinary contact was considered a ‘troublemaker;’ his performance was attentively watched with the goal of finding sufficient evidence of misbehavior to whisk him through the discipline system and out the door” (Grote, 1). Plant managers had fired 58 of their 210 employees in the past eight months, convinced that harshly punishing any minor break from “the rules” was the best way to improve their employees’ quality of work. Not surprisingly, it had done exactly the opposite. All this led to pent up frustrations, staggeringly low morale and the desire to somehow “get back” at their managers for being such jerks. In that spirit, one unnamed employee decided to take matters into his or her own hands and started writing the obscene messages on potato chips.

How do you fix issues as systemic as these? They could not just throw out or ignore all policies and rules. The company still needed to function efficiently and productively to stay in business. Dismissing these necessities would bankrupt the company and undermine any ability to accomplish their mission. Nonetheless, Frito Lay’s dysfunctional system for dealing with their employee’s mistakes and deviances was clearly at the heart of the problem.

They made a radical decision. Supervisors would treat employees like human beings worthy of respect. Frito Lay stated, “We created a system that focused on insisting that people take personal responsibility for their choices of behavior and conduct--a system that reflected our belief that every one of our employees, even our ‘troublemakers,’ was a mature, responsible, and trustworthy adult who would respond that way if we treated him that way” (2). Management learned to stop penalizing employees after every little infraction. Instead, they worked to cast a compelling cultural vision of what a true Frito Lay employee is like: honest, hardworking, supportive, etc. Deciding to work for Frito Lay was also a personal decision to value and embody those characteristics

A manager would remind the employee that they had decided for their self to live out Frito Lay’s values—it was something they personally desired to be. Together, the manager and employee would explore what barriers were keeping the employee from living up to their values, look for creative solutions and place the responsibility for those actions on the shoulders of the employee. If he or she continued to fall short of the company’s values, the employee would be given a paid day off. The day off was an opportunity to reflect on what the person wanted for their self and who they wanted to be. They could either return and live out the vision of the company or resign with the manager’s blessing. The decision was in their hands, and at all stages the goal was to cultivate everyone into the best possible person—not weed out the “troublemakers.”

After two years of using this approach, terminations at the plant dropped from 58 in an eight-month period to 2. Camaraderie returned among employees and with their supervisors. Production increased. “The plant was transformed” (24).

Christians and churches all over the world are attempting to transition away from the legalistic patterns that historically marked our approach to “sin.” Our religiosity and boundary making has embittered many of our own and alienated many more watching from the outside. Far too many proverbial “curse-word-covered potato chips” have been shipped out into the world by well-meaning congregations.

In reaction to our judgmental past, the temptation is to toss all the rules and standards out the window. It feels much more loving to listen to the sirens of American culture and remake ourselves into a fully open and unilaterally tolerant club, accepting everyone exactly as they are. However, a moment of reflection reveals that this approach also falls short. Just like Frito Lay, the Church has a mission. Theirs was making potato chips efficiently and profitably. Doing so required a particular caliber of employee, doing their very best to live out the company’s culture of excellence. The Church also has a mission. We have been called to be a worshiping and serving community, glorifying God and building for his Kingdom of shalom. Doing so requires people striving to model their life after Jesus.

A centered set approach to discipleship is not an “anything goes” paradigm, blithely disposing of the high ethical standards Jesus established through his teaching, ministry and self-sacrificing death. Rather, it asks us to dispose of the arbitrary rules that create unhelpful boundaries for determining righteousness, acknowledging that these do more to undermine than facilitate the Church’s collective quest for holiness. It asks us to shift from enforcing standards through the threat of punishment, to calling Christ-followers to take responsibility for their behavior accompanied by others offering loving support.

In place of rules and boundaries, we are called to gaze at the impossibly lofty vision of Christ on the cross and continually challenge one another to press toward him. We are called to treat people like adults who do not need carefully delineated rules and punishments to keep them in line. We are called to respect the dignity of each person. Doing so means allowing some to choose the journey and others to reject it, always ready to welcome them back with grace and point them toward Jesus.

What are ways the case study informs your thinking about and practice of a centered approach?

Honduras, Galatians, 25 years

The Saturday afternoon sun beat down on the tin roof. I was teaching in a small church in a poor Tegucigalpa neighborhood. We were about halfway through the workshop on how to study the Bible when a woman raised her and asked, ‘My friend told me that since I cut my hair I am no longer saved. Is she right?’

Those are the first lines in my book, Religious No More: Building Communities of Grace and Freedom. That woman’s question 25 years ago led me to suggest to the group that we gather the following Saturday to begin a study of Galatians. While preparing for that study I read an essay on Galatians by Richard Hays that sparked questions, gave me new insights, and left me excited by the possible uses and implications of his interpretation of Galatians. I was nowhere near ready to write the book. I was not even clear enough on these new ideas to try to teach them that next Saturday. But it was the beginning, the birth of what would grow into the book. (To see what ideas in Hays’s essay shook me up and excited me you can read this reflection on the experience and/or listen to this podcast.)

Several months after studying Galatians with that church I had the opportunity to study Galatians with Richard Hays at Duke University. The following summer I again led a study of Galatians in the same church; now using the ideas and approach I had learned from Richard Hays. A few weeks ago I was in that same Tegucigalpa neighborhood, once again teaching in that church. We revisited Galatians during a Saturday afternoon workshop. I taught them something I had not yet encountered when I studied Galatians with them in the 1990’s--Paul Hiebert’s concept of bounded, fuzzy, and centered churches.

Just as I shared new ideas with them, I wanted to hear from them. I wondered what they had observed and learned as they have sought to live out what we discovered together in Galatians years ago. Many from that original group have moved away, but a number remain. Sunday evening Mario and Alba invited those from the church who had participated in the initial Galatians studies to gather in their home for a time of sharing. A few of them had been in the workshop described in first sentences of the book, all of them had participated in the second time we went through Galatians as well as in a year-long Sunday School class on basic theology I taught after we moved back to Honduras in 1996.

Now, June 2017, and then, 25 years ago after the first Galatians study--five people are in both pictures

On Saturday I taught, on Sunday I listened. They shared a number of beautiful stories and great insights. In this short blog I will focus on just one person’s comments. Evelyn Cantor, a teenager when we did the second Galatians study and the theology Sunday school classes,  responded to my open-ended question by reflecting on children’s ministry.

In teaching children, people generally focus on themes, not on Jesus; they talk more of God than of Jesus. In our society and in our churches when people do talk about Jesus the focus is on his birth and death, not his life. I try to focus on Jesus as a role model for us and revelation of God. I ask who Jesus is and let that shape the way children think about who God is. People talk a lot about sin, but it is in the sense of standards and rules, and it is cloaked with a sense of accusation and threat. It is important to talk about sin because sin does bring harmful consequences in our lives. I seek to help children and youth reflect on sin, but without fear. Sin is real, but we can use other language. For instance, I ask, “Are you oriented toward Jesus or oriented toward destruction?”

There is much I could say about Evelyn’s comments, and perhaps that is the first observation—the contrast between her brevity and my longer statements. In just a minute or two she made a number of excellent critiques and profound theological statements. In contrast, even now it is hard for me to resist expounding on each line. The depth of her theological thinking impresses me, and her ability to state things with clarity in such concise ways. I will resist adding theological commentary; I invite you to read her lines again—slowly. Allow the Spirit to guide you in reflection on them.

I will, however, reflect a bit on teaching—and I am using that term in the broadest sense. I never taught Evelyn in a formal setting with assignments and grades. No, it was Sunday school classes, workshops, sermons, and conversations. Many of you who read this are teachers in this broader sense.

Her words encouraged me greatly. Teaching can make a difference; it can be a multiplying activity. I do not mean to claim credit for all she said and is doing. But my teaching contributed. Teachers, be encouraged!

Some of her lines clearly echoed things I had taught her church community—as I just said, that is encouraging, fulfilling. But what excited me more was that she said things that I had not said. Sure, they are related to ideas we had studied together, but the phrasing and application are hers—I will borrow from her! The line that particularly stands out to me is: “Are you oriented toward Jesus or oriented toward destruction?” It is exciting, as a teacher, to see how something you taught “stuck,” even more exciting when God’s weaves together something you taught, with the person’s experience, other teaching, her own insights and comes up with something new—teacher becomes learner.

How is this group doing as they seek to live out what we learned from Paul’s letter many years ago? Perhaps the best answer is not a comment made by someone who has been there for 25 years, but a comment by a newcomer. Maria, after having experienced bounded group religiosity in other churches, recently came to this church. On Saturday, during a small group discussion, Maria said, “Now I have been changing, not because of rules and threats, but because I am loved.”

May we, like Evelyn, think carefully about ways our talk about God and life can be even more Jesus-centered; and through that may others, like Maria, become more oriented toward Jesus and less oriented toward destruction—because of love, not fear.

Postmodern Christians, We Have a Problem (Or Two)

Guest blog by Dallas Nord, Fresno Pacific Biblical Seminary student, farmer and writer.

Here’s the situation: We are millennials. We grew up, came of age, and entered (or are entering) adulthood all within a postmodern society. That’s important—and perhaps problematic—if you’re a Christian. If you’re a millennial Christian like me, then you probably don’t really love the ways that Christians and the church have behaved, how they’ve read Scripture, or how they’ve engaged society and politics in recent years (or in recent centuries!). Why not? Well, it has something to do with the transition from modernism (key words: reason, proof, objectivity, universal truth, etc.) to postmodernism (key words: culture, context, subjectivity, diversity, relative truth, etc.) that has been happening over the last few decades in our part of the world. Young folk like us who are accustomed to this postmodern landscape are far more comfortable with uncertainty, ambiguity, and diversity than our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were. While these older generations (who grew up, came of age, and entered adulthood within modernism) have trouble accepting ideas, lifestyles, and beliefs that seem to contradict their own, our generation is actually pretty good at being generous and accepting of those who differ from us. We recognize value and validity in each person’s experience and the beliefs that emerge from those experiences. We think it is a bad idea to hate people just because they’re different, and we think it’s a really good, Christlike idea to love everyone no matter how different from us they may be. Props to the millennials for figuring that one out! (Ok, so we’re not the first ones to figure out the whole “love everyone” thing, but we certainly say it louder than generations past.)

However, we may have a problem. Actually we might have two problems. Well ok, we have lots of problems, but I’ll only address two of them here. First, those modernist, older folks that call themselves Christians but don’t seem to be following the same Jesus as us—we don’t like to allow them the title of “real Christians.” That title we reserve for people like us who truly care about social ills in the world, who value ethics over doctrine or tradition, and who know how to be nice to people who are different from us. Aside from the fact that this causes us to be mean to “the mean Christians,” this posture assumes that we can judge who belongs to God’s people and who doesn’t. Karl Barth—the most important theologian of the twentieth century[1]—argued that there have been multiple bases by which some Christians have tried to discern who the “true Christians” among them were. Some tried basing it on sacraments like baptism—if you’re baptized, you’re “in.” Others tried basing it on holiness or morality—if you don’t screw up, you’re “in.” Both of these were misled, Barth says. While we cannot know with certainty who is like chaff and who is like wheat in God’s eyes, we can know with certainty that Christ’s redemptive act is as much for them as it is for us. Barth writes,

But when we believe in Jesus Christ, presupposing that we are in the community which is before us and that we live with it, we are required to accept as a working hypothesis that other members as well as ourselves can be holy and not unholy; not on the basis of their own thought and will and action, but in spite of the doubtful nature of all human thought and will and action, as those who are separated by the Lord of the community and therefore genuinely, as real Christians.[2]

So even though those old, stiff-necked modernists in our church are old, stiff-necked, and modernists, we do not get to exclude them from the body of Christ. This should be easy for us—we are all about inclusion, not exclusion—but it is terribly difficult to uphold that virtue when it comes to our own people.

Speaking of inclusivity, that leads us to our second problem. It seems that in our effort to be loving and to embrace everyone no matter what, we have sacrificed our ability to truly speak into each other’s lives. When we take postmodernism’s tolerance virtue to its extreme, we become unable to call our friends (and ourselves) away from certain ideas or behaviors (in church we call this “repentance”) and toward better ways of life (maybe we can call this “salvation”) because to do so would seem intolerant or unloving. We are a generation that is really good at affirming others; we know how to say “Yes.” We have trouble, though, ever saying “No.” In reaction to modernism’s failure to embrace others in love, we have chosen to err on the side of silent acceptance. Again, I’m pretty sure that this is better than outright hatred and rejection, but if we truly want to love our friends and neighbors, won’t we want what’s best for them? Sometimes while saying Yes to them, that Yes will need to include a No. At least, that’s what Karl Barth said.

I think Barth is right. Just take a look at Jesus. I’m sure most of us millennial Christians would affirm that Jesus is a Yes kind of guy. He didn’t reject anyone, even if they were unclean, poor, foreigners, liars, traitors, racists. He’s the very person that inspires our loving embrace of all people! And rightfully so. Notice, though, that he also wasn’t afraid of confrontation. In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus explicitly says that his kingdom is for the poor and the vulnerable and the outcast. That’s a pretty big YES! But he doesn’t leave it at that. He still has words of admonition: don’t be angry at each other (Mt. 5:22a), don’t insult each other (Mt. 5:22b), don’t give into lust (Mt. 5:27-30), don’t act violently (Mt. 5:35-42), love even your enemies (Mt. 5:43-48), etc. These are the Noes. But recognize that these are not bad ideas. These are all good ideas for better living. Jesus only gave a No within a larger Yes. Now think about the disciples—especially Peter. Jesus gave each of them a big Yes when he called them to be his followers and friends. All along the way, though, he was calling them out wherever they were failing or missing the point. Despite those moments of rebuke, however, they never felt rejected by Jesus. They kept on following him (except for Judas I suppose) and continued his mission once he was gone.

This should be a model for us as we dialogue with our neighbors and friends. We should lovingly embrace each one of them—certainly!—but let’s not be afraid to encourage real transformation in their lives when needed. A “Yes” without a “No” is just a “So What.” A loving Yes will want the best for the other and will include a No to the things that are not life-giving for that person. Sometimes we will need to say to our friends, “I’ve experienced this new way of life in Jesus and have given up [insert old way of life here]. I think you would find it refreshing and life-giving as well.” Were there things that you felt called away from once you started following Jesus? Name those things and explain how life was better as you left those things behind. When I began to encounter Jesus in a meaningful way, I felt compelled to give up my aspirations of wealth and “success” as popularly defined. I totally rerouted my college and career direction in search of a more service-oriented lifestyle. And that has made life so much fuller for me. Based on that experience, I can suggest a similar repentance and transformation in other’s lives.

Today, my wife and I like to borrow a line from Wes Anderson’s film, Moonrise Kingdom. In the film, Suzy tells Sam that she wishes she were an orphan. Sam, an orphan, responds, “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Suzy pauses briefly, then replies, “I love you too.” Sam’s response to Suzy’s insensitive remark is a No within a Yes. It is a loving rebuke. And it is effective. Suzy gets it. She hears and feels the No, but it is the Yes that she feels most deeply and responds to. So while we probably shouldn't use Sam’s words exactly, we should carry the spirit of them when we need to communicate a No to our friends. Let the Yes be so true and so meaningful that the No is understood as an act of honest love.

In sum, if we want to be embracing of all people, then that will include embracing our modernist brothers and sisters in the church. Even when we speak a No to their actions, attitudes, or theology, let’s be sure we situate it within the Yes of affirmation to their membership in the body of Christ. And if we want to be good neighbors to our fellow postmodernists, then we cannot be afraid to include a No with our Yes as we engage them in relationship. To give only a No to the church and only a Yes to our friends is to fail to love on both fronts. Let us be people of love on every front.

[1] If you don’t know who Karl Barth is, Google him after reading this. For now just know that he was a brilliant preacher and theologian who didn’t really love the whole modernism thing either.

[2] Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics IV.1: The Doctrine of Reconciliation, 699.

Same-Sex Relationships -- A Centered Alternative?

The question of same-sex relationships is surrounded by tension. I have often felt that the only way to not come across as judgmental, or to not be judged by others as being on the wrong side of a line (by one side or the other), is to remain silent. Examples of bounded group approaches to the issue of same-sex relationships abound. Passions and convictions are so strong on both the “traditional” and the “affirming” sides I have had trouble imagining a third way-- a centered approach.

“Passions and convictions are so strong on both the “traditional” and the “affirming” sides I have had trouble imagining a third way— a centered approach.”

In recent months hearing Bruxy Cavey and Kurt Willems describe their churches’ approach helped me start to imagine the possibilities of centered approaches, third ways, to approach this contentious issue. (Although I think many from both sides would critique aspects of Cavey’s and Willems’s presentations, it is noteworthy that both churches have people who hold the traditional view, and have people involved in same-sex relations that feel welcome.)

A book by Tim Otto has contributed in significant ways to the possibilities I started imagining when listening to Bruxy and Kurt. Otto writes Oriented to Faith: Transforming the Conflict over Gay Relationships as a celibate gay man. Although his story and experiences are a powerful and important part of the book, he does not use them to advocate celibacy as the “right” position. (His story is more complex than the phrase “celibate gay man” might imply.) In fact he states in the introduction that the book will not present a position on the morality question. He writes that he is not “secretly trying to smuggle” in a “God condemns” or “God affirms” message (xviii). That is hard to pull off, but I think he did it and it is part of why I think the book has such potential in helping to find a third way.

A central argument of the book is that “figuring out the right thing is not as easy as either right or left admit” (47). Otto has worked hard to honor and affirm both sides and also critique and challenge both sides in an even-handed way. I will focus this review on chapters 11-14 where he does that most directly.

He observes that many on the progressive side are overly influenced by societal ideals of freedom, individualism, rights and equality (FIRE). To accept the logic of FIRE inevitably will lead to affirmation of same-sex relationships. After reflecting on the tension between the Bible and the contemporary understandings of those FIRE values, Otto writes: “Realizing that the presuppositions of FIRE don’t necessarily trump other arguments ought to make liberal Christians more humble about speaking the truth for God” (74).

“The traditional position could have a strong witness against consumer culture and how it has infiltrated thinking about marriage—gay and straight. But in general, traditional churches have failed to do so. They also have done poorly at loving gay people.”

But the very next lines in book are: “Conservatives also need to adopt a humble stance in approaching truth, for they often get so caught up in the particulars of Scripture that they miss the overall story: Jesus and his kingdom” (75). After critiquing a biblicism that views the Bible as a bundle of factoids, he works through the seven explicit references to same-sex acts. He graciously writes that given the way the verses are commonly translated “it is understandable that conservative Christians would take these verses as clear cut prohibitions of homosexuality” (83). He demonstrates, however, that their meaning is not as clear as many assume. He challenges common interpretations, not in order to say, “therefore you are wrong,” but to call for humility and to exhort the traditional camp to stop accusing those on the other side of not taking the Bible seriously.

In the next two chapters he writes with a mix of graciousness and loving confrontation. First, to the traditional side he acknowledges that good arguments can be made that “God’s vision of human flourishing excludes same-sex relations” (86). He points out that on the basis of these arguments the traditional position could have a strong witness against consumer culture and how it has infiltrated thinking about marriage—gay and straight. But in general, traditional churches have failed to do so. They also have done poorly at loving gay people. Otto gives examples of how they could improve in this area, including: affirm LGBT people as body members; distinguish between orientation and behavior; and even if taking a stance that homosexual behavior is a sin, acknowledge “it is not in a special category of ‘badness’ all its own” (89). He ends the chapter suggesting that a good way to start is by saying, “I’m sorry Christians judge you” and “I’m sorry for the way churches have treated you” (96).

In a similar way he begins the next chapter with a section titled “How the Affirming Church is Reading Scripture with Integrity” and stating that “affirming churches might be right in blessing same-sex relationships” (99-100). Then he pivots, as he did with the traditional church in the previous chapter.

“Yet, the affirming church also tends to not confront consumer capitalism and often it does not challenge a permissive sexual ethic that accompanies the affirming position in society (103). He exhorts the affirming church to “recover and celebrate a love ethic that emphasizes faithfulness and commitment in the context of a robust church community” (106).”

Yet…. Yet, the affirming church also tends to not confront consumer capitalism and often it does not challenge a permissive sexual ethic that accompanies the affirming position in society (103). He exhorts the affirming church to “recover and celebrate a love ethic that emphasizes faithfulness and commitment in the context of a robust church community” (106). He challenges the affirming church to do much better at mentoring and supporting same-sex couples. “Many heterosexual relationships are floundering, yet gay relationships have even less social support” (107).

Otto does not just present a fuzzy approach as an alternative to a bounded one. His approach impresses me as truly centered not just because he works so hard to avoid line-drawing judgmentalism, but because he also raises challenges for each side that flow from his focus on Jesus.

What excites and disturbs you as you read about Otto’s ideas? What do you find helpful? How could you imagine Otto’s perspectives helping you to love LGBTQ people in your life? If you are LGBTQ, how does his “third way” approach affect you? What are things you have done to seek a centered approach, a third way in this contentious issue? Please share them with us.

***NOTE*** This post was written prior to the terrible shooting at a gay bar in Orlando. Particularly in light of that tragedy, we find the need for a Christ-shaped posture toward the LGBTQ community crucial. Please join us in prayer for physical and emotional healing, in prayers for an end to this traumatic cycle of violence, and in the prayerful pursuit of compassionate relationships with those who need the love of Jesus as God might enable it to be expressed through us.   Grace and peace, Nathan Hunt (web manager)

Talking About Peace Peacefully

The session had not gone well. It was part of the Canadian Mennonite Brethren Conference’s new pastors orientation that I helped lead about ten years ago. I had done the section on Anabaptist ethics. The segment on our peace position had turned into an argument. Although many in the room agreed with me, others attacked me. Perhaps because they felt attacked?

The next day flying out of Winnipeg I sat on the plane reflecting sadly on the session. I had used the same material that I had used in my Discipleship and Ethics class for a number of years. We looked at some biblical texts and I told my story of converting to Christian pacifism through experiencing the reality of war in El Salvador and reading Jacques Ellul. Often this class session at the seminary had an element of tension and argument because many in the room did not agree with my position, but the tension in Winnipeg had been much worse. Why?

In a moment of clarity and humility I recognized that I had done the very thing I teach against. I had operated from a bounded group mentality. I headed into the new pastors orientation with a bit of crusading zeal to move Mennonite Brethren towards being more Anabaptist. I hoped that I could use the fact that the peace position is in our confession of faith as leverage to get the new pastors to change their stance—if they were not already pacifists. Of course I sought to be persuasive, and give good arguments, but fundamentally my attitude was: this is not an option for a Mennonite pastor (or shouldn’t be). I saw those who argued against me as being on the wrong side of a clear line.

“I had practiced line-drawing judgmentalism as a way of staying on the right side of a line myself—of being included in the group of true Anabaptists.”

Then, reflecting deeper, I recognized that not just was I communicating a strong sense of “ought” in a litmus test way, I also personally felt a strong sense of ought. I was trying to pass a litmus test myself and stay on the right side of a line. I imagined the true Anabaptists among the MB’s (and other Mennonites) cheering me on for addressing this issue directly in this setting. I could also, however, imagine their cheers would turn to jeers if I did not press the issue. So with that group looking over my shoulder I felt pressure to not just talk about peace, but specifically about Christian pacifism in relation to the military. I had practiced line-drawing judgmentalism as a way of staying on the right side of a line myself—of being included in the group of true Anabaptists. Although not as intense, the same dynamic had influenced my teaching on peace in Discipleship and Ethics. In a course rooted in a centered approach I had continued to approach one topic in a bounded group way.

There is enough bounded group paradigm still in my being that thoughts like “what will they think of me?” continue to pull at me. Yet sitting on that plane I knew I did not want to repeat the bounded teaching I had just done. I wanted out. I brought all this to Jesus. I rested my insecurities about being on the wrong side of line in his loving embrace. I felt liberated—and not just emotionally. It liberated me to ask: what is Jesus calling me to do in the class session on peacemaking?

As I stepped away from my litmus test of true Anabaptism and centered on Jesus I felt energy for that class session I had not experienced before.

“How can you become a more active agent of peace—no matter where you are on the just war-Christian pacifism spectrum? Think of ways that people in your communities, church, family, city, and nation trust force/power as the best means of dealing with various situations. Think critically about the myth of redemptive violence.”

Rather than seeking to get students to line up in agreement with my position, knowing that many would reject or resist, I felt a calling to seek to move everyone in the class to become more active agents of peace—no matter where they are on the just war-Christian pacifism spectrum. I decided to address underlying issues relating to the gospel and the violence-condoning world we live in. I now ask students to think of ways that people in their communities, church, families, city, and nation trust force/power as the best means of dealing with various situations. I seek to lead them to think critically about the myth of redemptive violence. Mostly what I do now in that class is tell stories of Christians (individuals and communities) that imaginatively use other means besides force and coercion to address problems (diverse situations from breaking up fights, defusing riots, VORP, stopping thieves, church conflicts, to cooperative business models). I invite students to imagine how they might do the same.

I think the material I used to share in class is valuable, and I still include it, but now as part of the pre-class reading. Students read a biblical argument for Christian pacifism by Tim Geddert  and my story of converting to that position. They also read a document by the Christian Reformed Church that argues for a just-war position. I make some brief comments on the question of the appropriateness of Christian use of lethal force at the beginning of class. I underline that there is a whole continuum of positions on that question, and encourage them to think deeply and clarify where they are at on the continuum. Then I exhort the Christian pacifists to be active pacifists, and exhort the just-war people to really practice that position, take it seriously, and not just follow wherever the governments leads in any military action. Then I say: “The previous question about whether it is appropriate for Christians to use violence to defend justice is an important one. It does, not, however capture all that is entailed by a gospel of peace. Nor do I think it is even the most important thing for us to reflect on in this class session. Therefore, for the rest of the class I want to press broader and deeper. What does it mean to be agents of peace and reconciliation in our setting today? How can we live out this calling? I believe that God calls all Christians to engage these questions--regardless of how you answered the question in the previous section.”

What has happened as I have shifted from a bounded approach to a centered approach in this class session? The tension level has decreased dramatically. I have had students tell me, “I was braced for this class session. I almost skipped it. But to my surprise, I did not feel attacked and the class was very helpful.” Of course one way to lower tension is to lower demands, to take a fuzzy approach. I have not done that. I have changed the challenge, but the challenge is there. My experience with this class session reinforces my conviction that a centered approach facilitates greater change and transformation than a bounded approach. Previously the class contributed to change in a small slice of the students in the class—those who were unsure of their position and were open to explore. For those who already were pacifists they were unchallenged—the “choir” cheering me on. And those in opposition tended to dig in their heels, or just tune out for this class session—letting the Mennonite do his Mennonite thing. Now, however, most all of the students lean in, engage the material and display an openness to apply it in some way.

“I have changed the challenge, but the challenge is there. My experience reinforces my conviction that a centered approach facilitates greater change and transformation than a bounded approach.”

Writing this blog has also led me to reflect how a different setting calls for different application of the centered approach.

At the seminary, on the issue of Christian use of lethal force, students have different centers. That, I think, leaves me two appropriate options. I could have a class in which we acknowledge that and in a respectful, non-bounded, way dialogue about our differences. Or, the option I took, leave that question and move to the level of a common center and engage the topic of peacemaking from that shared center. The gathering of Mennonite Brethren pastors is different, or should have been. There should have been a shared center of the confession of faith’s stance. It still bothers me that people were becoming licensed to minister in Mennonite Brethren churches and openly disagreed with the confession of faith’s articulation of our peace position. Even so, my bounded-group approach to that reality was not appropriate or helpful. A centered approach to the problem of having pastors who did not embrace the church’s peace position requires much more than a one-hour session at orientation. It would require conversation much earlier in the process. If the potential pastoral candidate did not affirm the denomination’s position it would be important to discern if there is openness to journey toward that position--to begin dialogue about it. If the person states firmly that he or she will not change, then I think an appropriate centered response would be to suggest the person seek a different denomination that has a center more closely aligned with the potential pastor. A session like the one I gave could be a valuable part of a process like that, but not in the way I gave it.

I advocate for taking a centered approach in all areas. It is, however, especially imperative in this area. We must talk peacefully about peace. As former student and current TA David Ewert observed after editing this blog: “The medium must fit the message. A bounded approach to peacemaking is ineffective because it is self-contradictory. Peacemaking seeks to connect rather than separate people. Therefore humility is vital to the process of dialogue.”

How might you enlarge the number of people you talk with about peacemaking and enlarge the call to peacemaking through taking a more centered approach?