Freedom from the Pull of “Everyone is Doing It”

“But Mom, everyone is doing it.” “But Dad, everyone has one, I am the only one who doesn’t.” Take a moment and think back to times you said those lines (or similar ones: wearing that, listening to that, going there, etc.). If you are a parent, take a moment and recall times your children said those lines. It takes tremendous resolve for a parent to stand firm, especially if the statement is basically true. Let’s imagine, however, that only half of the child’s peers had one, or were doing the activity in question. What changes? It is a lot easier for the parent to turn aside the plea by simply pointing out that reality. But even more significantly, the child would feel much less pressure and might not even make the plea in the first place. This dynamic is at the heart of what social psychologist Jonathan Haidt calls the collective action problem. . It is difficult to stand alone against a collective, but we can if we join with others. For instance, recognizing the significant mental health issues exacerbated by social media, especially for girls, a parent might want to keep their child off social media. But when the child says, “But Mom, everyone else is on social media” (and they are) it is a huge challenge. Haidt says, “but what if we join together and agree to not give our children smart phones until they are in high school and no social media until they are 16? Think how the dynamic would change if half the families in a town practiced that?” I heard Haidt say that on this podcast where he was talking about his new book, The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood Is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness . There is much more on the podcast, well worth listening to, but I want to think about just this one idea of responding to the collective action problem. What might happen if we practiced it more explicitly in churches, and not just in relation to smart phones?

Christian communities already support each other in standing against the current of society through collective action, even if the label is not used. Even just the reality of gathering on a Sunday or in small groups during the week is collective action. It is not what most of society does, but being part of a collective that does it makes it feel less abnormal. Giving hard earned money to the church is another example. Knowing others do it helps normalize an action that many in society would view as foolish. We could, however, be more explicit. Imagine what might happens if we explicitly named the contrast between the way of Mammon and the way of Jesus, and collectively took on the challenge to spend less and give more for a certain period of time—with regular times of reflecting and sharing about the experience.

Perhaps, however, rather than choosing some action I might suggest, the best thing for your community to do is to reflect on where you have the hardest time resisting forces of alienation. Reflect and share where the current has caught you up and swept you along in societal practices that hurt you and others—that keep you from living as God created you to live. Then, together decide on collective actions in line with the way of Jesus. Together you can more easily resist the current.

This reminds me of a quote I have shared in the last class of my ethics course for many years. Lois Barrett writes, “The church as an alternative community can make a powerful witness when it chooses to live differently from the dominant society even at just a few key points. An important task of the church is to discern what are those key points at which to be different from the evil of the world” (Missional Church, ed. Guder, 127).

Collective action in a church, however, can easily slide into bounded group judgmentalism. In my high school years, the collective of church youth did make it easier for me to stand against the current of cheating at school, stealing at work, or abusing alcohol. That was positive. But, as I recount in the first chapter of Centered-Set Church, my bounded-church mentality fostered judgmentalism towards those who behaved differently. That was negative. Therefore, let us wrap these collective actions in God’s love. First, we begin with a concept of ethics as gift. God calls us to live in counter cultural ways out of love for us and others. We work from a place of God’s love, not to earn God’s love. Second, assured of God’s mercy, we treat others and ourselves with grace when we fall short.

Heal the Divide: Turn Away from an Honor System that Wounds

Of the many things that create division in the United States today, Chris Arnade argues that the divide between front row and back row America we should pay more attention to is. He borrows the image from the classroom. Front row students are eager to learn and make sure the teacher knows they are learning. They want to achieve and get ahead. They leave home to accumulate educational credentials. They expect to continue moving from city to city to seek financial success—a shared goal and measuring stick whether one is from the right or left. In contrast whether because it was not their thing or because of barriers thrown up by realities beyond their control, the back row students do not flourish in school. They dream of graduating from high school, getting a stable job and raising a family in the community they grew up in. Today, however, many of their hometowns have hit hard times and good jobs are disappearing. 

After getting a Ph.D. and working on Wall Street for 20 years, Arnade stepped out of front row America. He quit his job and hung out with back row people. He first focused on a neglected corner of New York City and the drug addicts who lived there, then he traveled across the U. S., visiting towns and cities in decline. Taking a seat in the back row he found people, all across the country, who felt rejected and stigmatized.

I read his book, Dignity: Seeking Respect in Back Row America while also reading David deSilva’s book on honor and shame in the New Testament world. DeSilva’s book led me to write my previous blog on the importance of honoring other Christians’ efforts to stand against the current of societal ways. Arnade’s book led me to think about the church’s call to lessen the dignity deficit of those in back row America. Rather, however, than simply writing a blog that calls us to look for ways to shower them with respect, I want to first follow Arnade and David Brooks in asking how front row people, like myself, may inadvertently contribute to the dignity deficit.

In a recent column David Brooks asked, “What if We’re the Bad Guys Here?” Brooks, a conservative and never-Trumper, states that people in his circles view Trump supporters as the problem. He does not fully reject that, but proposes that he and his peers are a greater part of the problem than they acknowledge. I recommend the full essay, but will quote just a few lines that relates to what Arnade describes in his book:

“The ideal that we’re all in this together was replaced with the reality that the educated class lives in a world up here and everybody else is forced into a world down there. Members of our class are always publicly speaking out for the marginalized, but somehow we always end up building systems that serve ourselves. The most important of those systems is the modern meritocracy. We built an entire social order that sorts and excludes people on the basis of the quality that we possess most: academic achievement.”

Similarly, Arnade writes, “The educational meritocracy is a well-intentioned system designed to correct massive injustices that enslaved, demeaned, constricted, and ranked people based on the color of their skin, sexuality, and gender. Yet in attempting to correct a nasty and explicit exclusion, we have replaced it with an exclusion that narrowly defines success as all about how much you learn and then earn” (234). He observes that the back row is left with little to take pride in that doesn’t need credentials—credentials they do not have (212).

I have lived the reality that Arnade describes. Some years ago on a visit to my hometown, front row Mark, with all my degrees and my professor job, walked down the block to visit my high school bus-stop friend Carlos. He fit Arnade’s back row description—still living on the same street and working at the same grocery store he had in high school. Yet, I was not sensitive to Carlos’s dignity deficit; it was not on my radar. However, in the even harsher status divisions in Honduras I did recognize people’s dignity deficit. I sought to pour honor into those with lower status. For instance, I knew that mechanics, doing manual labor and covered with grease, had low status compared to office workers. I intentionally regularly commended Edgardo, my mechanic, on his knowledge about cars that far surpassed mine. Aguinaldo was a partner in ministry and expert in regenerative agriculture methods—both in practicing them and teaching them to others. Yet, society saw him as just a peasant farmer with little formal education. Whenever he visited us or we visited him I would ask for tips on my compost pile and garden. I sought to counter shaming societal voices and called him my teacher, my agronomist. 

I did well to affirm Edgardo and Aguinaldo as I did. Let us, with intentionality, do what I did and look for ways to affirm and show respect to back row people. Yet, through the lens of Brooks’s and Arnade’s words I now see my efforts in a different light. Note what I did in each case. I sought to give them front row credentials. It was like I was giving them an honorary degree. I do not regret those actions. I urge you to look for ways to do the same. But let’s do more than that.

As Arnade spent more time with and listened to back row Americans his perspectives shifted. At first, he saw those languishing economically in dying towns as lacking in imagination and initiative. (“Why don’t they leave and go somewhere they could get a better job!?”) But with time he came to recognize that many had intentionally decided to stay. Other values, such as caring for family members or connections in the community, drove their decision to stay. Living successfully according to those particular values does not, however, provide credentials or a sense of pride in the front row meritocracy that Brooks and Arnade describe.

My giving “honorary degrees” to Edgardo and Aguinaldo was a good thing. Rather, however, than just working to give them morsels of dignity according to the norms of the front row meritocracy, let us work to dismantle the meritocracy machine that is wounding them.

I do not mean by that to trash all the components of the system. I am an educator. I am grateful for all I have learned as a student and the opportunities I have had to teach. I think we do well to enable people to have educational opportunities and gain credentials. What I feel called to dismantle is the monopoly that the meritocracy machine has on so many people’s conceptions of success and thriving. Breaking up that monopoly does not mean abandoning the all the values, but relativizing them.

My sense is that for those of us in the front row, the values of the meritocracy machine are so much the water we swim in that we often do not recognize how they shape theway we evaluate others. Therefore, it will require intentionality to affirm values not honored by the meritocracy machine. As followers of Jesus, we have an advantage. We have a ready supply of alternative values we can honor in others and they are values as likely to be found in the back row as in the front. 

How do we end the deep sense of division and the rejection and stigmatization felt by those in the back row? We can’t get credentials for them all, not even honorary degrees. We can, however, look at them through the lens of the beatitudes and the Sermon on the Mount and affirm them for ways their lives line up with the values of the Kingdom of God. We can invite them into a church community where in Jesus there is neither front row people nor back row people (Gal. 3:28).

Arnade began his journey through back row America as an atheist. After years of talking with back row people, who often took him to their churches, he shifted—not yet a believer, but pondering. He had seen the value of faith and especially of churches—often small storefront churches. He observed that churches were the only places on the streets that regularly treated back row people like humans and where they did not need credentials to be accepted. So, if an atheist author sees the church as an antidote to the shame and rejection of the meritocracy machine, how about us? Yet, a key observation: the churches he visited were generally filled with and led by back row people. A church with many front row people has the same potential, perhaps even greater potential, to heal the shaming wounds of the meritocracy machine, but also greater challenges to becoming the sort of environment Arnade describes.

Let us intentionally shift from the values of front row society as we look for things to affirm in others. And, let us bar the values of the meritocracy machine from entering our churches and instead recognize the great potential churches have to heal division through being spaces where people are honored for living out the values of Jesus rather than possessing meritocracy credentials.

Addendum: An example of a front row person changing and viewing someone through the lenses of Jesus values rather than meritocracy values.

In the midst of her career as an economics professor Mary Hirschfeld converted and became a Jesus follower. She then completed an additional Ph. D. in theology. I shared a parable from her book, Aquinas and the Market in an earlier blog. In that book she describes coming to know Hector, a prominent member of her Catholic parish. She writes, “As it turns out, he was also a gardener at the college where I worked. Until then, I had thoughtlessly paid no mind to the gardeners and janitors who worked hard to maintain a beautiful campus. I simply failed to value work that had little status in society. . . But as I came to know Hector, I came to realize that economic and social status is a very poor measure of a person's worth. Hector was a wise leader of our parish community. Surely the Christian call to deal with poverty extends to the demand that we recognize the value of what people do apart from the incomes they happen to earn by doing it. Yes, we can pay gardeners more. But a big part of what matters is the respect we accord them and the cultivation of our ability to see the wealth—which is the true sort of wealth—that the poor have to offer us” (187).

Let's Honor Each Other More

Think back to your junior high or high school days. What group were you in? What group did you want to be in? Can you recall a time when you felt not just “in” but had a strong sense of others approving of what you had done, what you were wearing, or what you said? You probably did not use the word “honor,” but that is what your peers did—they honored you. We could say that what the group affirmed is what it considered honorable. How about the opposite, can you recall a time when you did not wear the right clothes, did the wrong thing, or said the wrong thing? Can you recall a time when you, or your whole group, were excluded or looked down upon by another group? In those moments you likely felt shame. If you made a list of behaviors that a group encouraged or discouraged, that would be the group’s honor code. All societies have some expressions of an honor-shame dynamic, others are saturated with honor-shame dynamics. That was the case in the cultures we find in the Bible.

In a sense we could say, that in contrast to my high school experience of peer pressure in parts of my life, all of life in the New Testament world was lived within the dynamics of honor and shame. From birth people were shaped to be concerned about what others thought of them and to live out what others see as honorable. To compare honor-shame cultures to my high school experience is not imply they are less developed. All societies have means of influencing people to embrace and live out the values of that society. More individualistic cultures use means of influence that are different, but not more advanced or better than collectivist honor-shame cultures.

Let’s return to high school peer pressure but imagine it in a bit different way. What if rather than various groups having different values and standards, most everyone’s definition of desirable behavior and appearance was the same except for one small group that did the opposite and refused to dress like everyone else. When there are various groups, people have more space to live differently without shame. But imagine the ridicule and shame this handful of teenagers would experience if everyone else in the high school shared values and behaviors that this group did not live out. That captures the experience of Christians in the first-century Roman world. Although it was a diverse society, in broad swaths of life most people shared a common conception of what was honorable, who had high status and who did not. Like high school groups, society shamed and excluded people who did not comply. Their motivation to shame and pressure others was especially great in areas people sensed that dishonorable behavior threatened the peace and security of the town or city—like not participating in religious and cultic practices.

David deSilva, author of Honor, Patronage, Kinship, and Purity: Unlocking New Testament Culture, invites us to imagine the immense shaming pressure a group of 30 Christians would have felt as they adopted definitions of honorable behavior in tension with those held by the other 150,000 people in Ephesus. Biblical writers recognized this reality; deSilva states that New Testament authors spend significant amounts of their letters shoring up Christians suffering from shame, exclusion, and pressure from the dominant society. The apostles do not simply hand down a list of rules for living the way of Jesus. They work to develop an alternative court of reputation that affirms and honors Christians for following the way of Jesus and offsets the shame they feel in the societal court of reputation. 

Let us learn from the example of the New Testament authors. It is not enough to simply make pronouncements about the way of Jesus. Let us take more seriously the ways societal “peer pressure” pulls people away from the path of Jesus. 

First, like New Testament authors, we must recognize ways the honor code of society differs from the honor code of Jesus. Think for instance of how advertisements seek to honor some actions and shame others, and how they are in tension with Kingdom values; or, how social media peer pressure shapes behavior. Of course, like different groups in high school, different social media tribes will have different values or honor codes. Think of who is honored with high status in your societal context and what behaviors and attitudes that reinforces. Many of you live in settings where greater respect is given to those who affirm an individualistic do-your-own-thing spirituality and morality than to those who identify as Jesus followers and attend a church.

It is not enough, however, to just recognize the competing honor codes. Let us also follow the New Testament authors in actively building an alternative court of reputation. To not do so would be like a high school group that stated how their values differed from other groups but did nothing to affirm those who complied or shame those who did not. If no status is gained, if one does not feel more sense of being “in,” why embrace the values?—especially if another group would shame you for those behaviors. 

What are ways we can, in a centered way, more regularly honor and affirm people for following Jesus and going against the current? What are regular practices your Christian fellowship might adopt to counter the shaming pressures people feel to go with the current? I urge you to join me and pray for the Spirit to guide you to see opportunities this week to affirm others for their against-the current actions and attitudes.

 1 Apollos Watered Podcast, #195, David deSilva  July 25, 2023, minute 30. https://apolloswatered.org/episode/195-are-we-living-for-biblical-honor-or-worldly-success-pt-1-david-desilva/  I recommend deSilva’s book, Honor, Patronage, Kinship, and Purity, and the podcast.

The Cross Upends the Status-Grasping Ways of Society

May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world (Gal 6:14 NIV).

 Should we really boast about the cross? I grew up in a culture that looks negatively on boasting. Therefore, I have not paid much attention to Paul’s use of the word here. I didn’t think he actually went around boasting. I assumed he just uses the word here to connect and contrast with the previous two verses and the boasting of others. But then I read a dissertation on honor-shame and Galatians by pastor and New Testament scholar David Harvey.

 He points out that, like today, in Paul’s time boasting was public self-aggrandizement. But, unlike today it was socially acceptable. Boasting was to make a claim for honor. Think of it like a group of children coming to adults and proudly saying, “Look what we did!” They are seeking affirmation. Similarly, in Paul’s time boasts were submitted to the court of public opinion. If they were accepted, the boasting individual or group gained honor. In the Roman world boasting also was a tool for shaping the behavior of others. Returning to the example of children, suppose you were a child playing with a separate group but you observed the positive response the other children received. You would then know that what they did is something that would gain praise. The positive response to the boasting of one group guided others to know what was honorable behavior (Harvey, 93-97).

 So, perhaps Paul really meant what he wrote. He did boast in the cross. He did so in order to make a statement about his honor status that invited others to embrace the same definition of honor. Although best for us not to boast in the 21rst English sense of the word, let’s not just run past this word. How might we join Paul in accomplishing the same things as his 1rst century boasting did?

 To put the word “boast” in its first century context, however, immediately brings up the incongruity of linking it with a cross. In the Roman world if one had any association with a crucified one the common action would be to hide or deny the connection, not boast about it. Many today, understandably, emphasize the physical torment of crucifixion, but in the first century it was the shame of crucifixion that was most feared. The fact that crosses, including Jesus’, were placed near very public roads underscores the shaming intent. It was a public spectacle designed to degrade.

 Why then does Paul make this oxymoronic statement about boasting in the cross? If we think of the cross just in terms of forgiveness of sins and individual salvation, it might be hard to explain. But in Galatians the cross is that and more; it is also the means “of a value-neutralizing social revolution” (Harvey, 227) (1:4; 2;16; 3:13; 3:27-28). At the cross Jesus did the exact opposite of what Paul has accused the agitators of doing in the previous two verses (6:12-13). Rather than grasping for honor for himself, he repeatedly risked his reputation in order to express loving acceptance to the shamed and excluded—to the point of death on a shameful cross. His death exposed the honor systems of the day as distorted from the ways of God. The cross and resurrection not only exposed these systems but turned them on their head and provided freedom from them (Gal 1:4; Col 2:15). Through the resurrection God validated the way of Jesus as the truly honorable way. With this broader meaning of the cross in mind we can understand “the phrase ‘boast in the cross’ as an attempt to define Christ’s shameful crucifixion as a paradigm for honourable behaviour for the Galatian Christians” (Harvey, 181). Within the new honor system formed by the cross of Christ, Paul’s statement is not paradoxical. Shame is relative to a group’s definition of honor. The paradox is not within Paul’s boasting in the cross, it is that the bounded other missionaries he critiques in the previous verses are still seeking status in categories of differentiation dissolved by Christ’s death.

 When we allow “boasting” to have the sense of staking an honor claim and including an element of instruction about what is honorable, we can see that in the few words of this verse Paul is communicating key elements of this letter to the Galatians. Through Christ he, and the Galatians too, can be free from the bounded-group-status-grasping way of the world and embrace a radically different concept of honor. And it truly is radical. Paul is boasting, staking his identity, in the cross, something that undermines status differences. I invite you to pause for a moment and reflect on what that implies about a centered approach. It points to it not just being a retooling of bounded or fuzzy, it is a radically different third way. There is still honor, still a group sense of identity, of belonging, but it is of a totally different character—the bounded group’s honor system turned upside down.

 It is upside down because at its foundation a centered group is about God acting, not human actions. It is not about Paul, his ethnic group, his religious tradition. It is about God’s gracious action and trusting in that saving action (2:16) enough to live according to this way instead of the world’s status systems.

 The cross of Jesus opens up a radically different alternative to these status games. We do not have to put others down or live up to twisted standards of success and status in order to have a sense of value and identity. Through the cross, Jesus exposed and tore down one system and replaced it with another. Let us live according to the honorable ways defined by the cross.

 • What are different ways status is measured, gained, and lost in the society you live in today? What are the implications for you of taking seriously Paul’s proclamation that these distinctions have been dissolved by the cross? (both in the sense of release from shame for not measuring up, and in the sense of turning away from judging others according to these standards).

 • What does Jesus’ honor code look like today? What types of behaviors/attitudes are worthy of “boasting” about within the upside-down honor code?

 The above is an adaptation of portions from pages 233-37, 244-45, Mark D. Baker, Freedom from Religiosity and Judgmentalism: Studies in Paul’s Letter to the Galatians, Kindred Productions, 2023.

 David S. Harvey, “Face in Galatians: ‘Boasting in the Cross’ as Reconfigured Honour in Paul’s Letter,” Ph. D. Thesis, University of Manchester, 2016.

Restoring Personhood – In the Early Church and Today

Gaius, mentioned in Paul’s letter to the Romans (16:23), was head of a household—meaning he likely had a large house that included his family and other workers and slaves. Andy Crouch observes that Gaius would have been a client to patrons above him as well as a patron to others with less status and power. Then Crouch makes this statement: "There is one other significant thing about Gaius that we need to grasp . . . He was a person" (15). Well, isn't that obvious? Do we need someone as brilliant as Andy Crouch to tell us that? What makes the statement significant is what Crouch explains next. In the Roman world at that time personhood was a legal category—someone with standing before the law. “Many people in Gaius’s world were, in fact not persons in this sense. Slaves, above all, though they were undeniably human, were treated under the law not as person but as property” (15). That helps us understand why Crouch told us he was a person, but why is Crouch writing about Gaius in a book on technology? (The Life We’re Looking For: Reclaiming Relationship in a Technological World.)

 Just as in Gaius’s day world forces hindered many humans from living as persons, Crouch argues that today technology and Mammon hinder humans from living as persons. Our machines and devices make us machine-like.

 Erastus, the next one mentioned in Romans, was a city official and also a person. The man mentioned before Gaius, Tertius, and the one after Erastus, Quartus, were not persons in Roman society. As Crouch observes, we know Tertius was a nobody partly because of his job—to take down dictation from important people like Gaius and Erastus. He may have been a slave, but even if a hired hand, he was still not considered a person. His name, "third," also points to his lack of status. Sons of slaves did not matter much, so they were often named by the month they were born or their birth order. Even non-slave families sometimes did this—only the first-born son really mattered. Out on the street, Gaius and Erastus are men of rank—persons, and Tertius and Quartus (Fourth) are nobodies—non-persons. But when they all gathered together as Jesus followers, the categories and stratification were left at the door. Slaves and free, scribes and city officials, men and women, all ate together at the same table. They all became persons.

 Crouch leads us to see this in the letter itself. He imagines Paul stopping dictation of his greetings and saying, “’Tertius, you should greet them.’ . . Suddenly the scribe is not just writing; he is speaking—and he has a name. . . Paul sees Tertius. He is Paul's brother, not just a hired hand" (115-16). Borrowing from Madeline L'Engle, we would say, Paul named him. “[T]he circle of brothers and sisters [expands] to include those who do the anonymous work, those who normally take orders, those who arrive without being greeted and depart without being noticed. Those who were named something like ‘number three’. . . But as they arrive and join the feast, every one of them is welcomed in the Lord. . . Because every one of them is a person” (116, 120).

The need for humans to be treated as persons, not things, is just as great or even greater today. There are still categories of people who, in the eyes of some, are less-than-human. Others perform machine-like labor and are often treated like machines. Yet now, even the personhood of those with status, today’s Gaius and Erastus, is lessened by technology and Mammon.

 Let us, the body of Christ, as individuals and communities, be instruments of naming—of restoring personhood to those who have lost or are losing it. Here are some ideas on how to do that.

          Table Fellowship – As in Gaius's time, inviting someone to share a meal communicates acceptance, restores dignity, and fosters human connection.

         Technology Fasts – In an earlier book, The Tech-Wise Family: Everyday Steps for Putting Technology in Its Proper Place, Andy Crouch shares some of his family’s practices, including fasting from their devices, one hour a day, one day a week, one week a year. Share the ideas, read the book with others—practice it together.

        Alternative Activities  – Don’t just take breaks from technology, but with intentionality do things that foster personhood—with friends, family, church community.

          Be Present  – Another area that calls for intentionality. In an age of absence be present to others.

          Give Dignity – Look for ways to increase the dignity of those with a dignity deficit.

         Evangelism – How might technology and Mammon's attack on personhood reframe how you think about and practice inviting others into a relationship with Jesus?

For Further reading –  In addition to the two books by Andy Crouch mentioned above, I recommend the following historical fiction books:

A Week in the Life of Rome  by James L. Papandrea

Lost Letters of Pergamum by Bruce Longenecker

 These narratives will help you feel and understand in greater depth the personhood-denying practices of Roman society and the radicalness of Christians' response.

Liberated from Bounded-Church Shame by the Cross

“Is there a way I can sing these lines?” It’s a question I often ask myself when singing songs that refer to the cross. So much of the language and imagery flows from the penal substitutionary theory of atonement and the idea that Jesus’s death appeased God, that God had to punish Jesus to be able to forgive humans. Notice that I looked for a way I could sing. I did not just ask, "can I?" Having written two books that critique penal substitution theory of atonement, you might expect there are lots of lines I don't sing. But generally, I can fill the words with other meanings. I too affirm that Jesus died in our place, died for our sins. I can even interpret a phrase like, "he paid for our sins" in a way that allows me to sing it. Although there are some lines I don't sing, I asked the question Sunday with an expectation that I could sing them—and I did. As the song continued, however, I began to have second thoughts. READ MORE

The songwriter’s words of release through his sin being nailed to the cross had a sense of finality. It made it hard not to picture a western-courtroom God releasing a condemned sinner because the fine has been paid. By now I had moved past the original question and was asking myself other questions. "So, Mark, how about shame? Could you sing a line with that sense of finality, about shame?" I immediately thought of Luke 15. The father in the parable bore the prodigal son's shame in his place. Jesus removed shame from the despised and excluded through eating with them. Then he stood in solidarity with them through telling three parables—and, eventually, through dying on the cross. Yes, I said to myself, “We can think of Jesus taking on our shame with the same sense of completeness.” Then my next question, “Have you experienced this freedom from shame in its fullness, Mark?”

I immediately thought of the shame of being on the wrong side of a bounded group's line. On one hand, my answer was, "Yes, definitely." I have numerous times experienced release from a burden of shame through prayer and remembering Jesus and the cross. Yet, the internal question asker said, "But, the lines drawn by bounded churches still stir up anxiety and shame in your being. You do not have to live with that. You do not have to let them affect you." At that moment, I pictured Jesus bearing all of the shame I have experienced for feeling looked down upon by people on other sides of lines they had drawn—all the shame I have experienced, am experiencing, will experience. I heard the Gospel proclamation: “Mark, you are free; you have the possibility of living in freedom from the shaming effect of those lines.” To borrow imagery of our current reality, I did not feel that I had just taken a pill that would relieve the symptoms of a particular moment of shame, but a vaccine—the possibility of immunity.

Honestly, I feel a bit hesitant to write the above lines, perhaps even a bit of shame. A not-so-kind internal voice says, "You co-authored books on the atonement, co-authored a book on honor-shame, and wrote a book on bounded, fuzzy, and centered churches, and you still had not fully realized this? Had not fully experienced it?” Probably more accurate to say I had, but I needed a reminder. Regardless, let us accentuate the wonderful reality that God’s work through Jesus’ death and resurrection is of such depth and breadth that we can expect to continue to experience its liberating and healing significance in new and profound ways. May those of you who need it experience another layer of freedom from the debilitating shame of bounded group religiosity through Jesus and the cross, as I did this past Sunday.

Kicked Out of the Band: Good News or Bad?

Imagine you were in a rock band struggling to break through. The group finally signs a contract, but then you get kicked out of the band just days before the first recording session. Ouch! How would you feel at that moment? Now ask, how would it feel decades later if the band had then fallen apart and not made it? But how about if the band had become incredibly popular after you got kicked out? How would that feel? Let’s look at two people who had the latter experience.

 In 1983 a heavy-metal band, about to start recording their first album, gave guitarist Dave Mustaine a bus ticket home and told him he was no longer in the band. He sat on the bus stunned and perplexed. What had he done wrong? Soon, however, he became consumed with the idea of starting a new band and achieving success and stardom that would leave his old band envious and filled with regret for dumping him. His revenge-fueled anger drove a work ethic that did lead to success. Many consider him one of the best and most influential heavy-metal musicians. The band he formed, Megadeth, sold more than 25 million albums. It appears his plan worked. One significant problem. The band he got kicked out of was Metallica. It has sold more than 180 million albums. Mustaine has admitted he still considers himself a failure—the guy who got kicked out of Metallica and has not matched their success.

 In 1962 a four-person band in Liverpool, England was causing a stir. After two years of effort, John, Paul, George, and Pete had a contract. Just before starting to record, the others kicked Pete Best out of the band and invited Ringo Star to be their drummer. The Beatles quickly shot to global stardom; Pete Best failed in other musical projects, became depressed, and attempted suicide. Things did improve for Best; he got a civil service job, married, had children, and remained active in music. He never, however, had the sort of success that Mustaine did. Yet, his reflections on the past and what he missed because of his dismissal from the Beatles are much different than Mustaine’s. In 1994 Best said he is happier than he would have been if he had stayed with the Beatles. He stated that what he gained through his marriage, family, and a simple life are of much more value than all the attention, adulation, wealth (and all that came with it) that he would have had as a Beatle.

 The surprise twists in both stories call for reflection. Society considers Mustaine a great success. Surprise. He does not. Society considers Best unfortunate, surprise. He does not.

 Mustaine’s revenge-driven striving to prove himself better than others and thus adopting an extremely high standard of success seeped into all he did. It was toxic. His experience calls out a warning to us: are we seeking status and security through besting others? Do unrealistically high standards crush us?

 Best's experience, however, calls us to an even deeper reflection—not just about whether the standards are too high, but what values inform the standards? The default assumption for many in society is that Ringo was the fortunate one who got the lucky break. Pete Best thinks he was. In conversations in my jail Bible study, I regularly make the observation that it is not just many men in jail who have embraced a set of values and measures of status that hurt themselves and others. I say, "in office buildings just a couple of blocks from the jail many people have embraced a set of values and grasp for status in a way that hurts themselves and others." Society punishes one way of status seeking and affirms another,  but neither is the way of Jesus.

 What are ways that societal values and societal definitions of success may be infiltrating your being? Your faith-communities character? Are you grasping for status or goals that, in the end, will hurt you and others? Out of love God challenges us to repent and turn to the way of Jesus.

 What reorientation do these stories call you to?

(Thanks to Wade French for sharing the Pete Best story with me and point me to the book he read the two stories in, Mark Manson, The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F___, pages 76-81.)

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).

Inequality, Shame, and Violence

On Friday afternoon I led a Bible study with a circle of men in the Fresno County Jail. It included entering the biblical story ourselves and experiencing Jesus countering voices of shame we hear. I passionately invited them to imagine Jesus’ loving gaze when they hear shaming voices. One way or another, I address shame about once a month in the jail Bible study. Why so often?

Inequality feeds violence. James Gilligan, a psychiatrist who served as director of mental health for the Massachusetts prison system, explains that dividing people into categories of superior and inferior feeds violence. He states that as societal inequality increases so does violence. In a previous blog and in a section of this website, I have summarized research that shows that many problems, not just violence, increase with inequality—and everyone is affected, not just the poor. Why? Why does greater inequality feed these problems? Gilligan’s writing on violence powerfully displays the answer. At the root of violence, he found shame; and increased inequality is a catalyst for shame. My friend, and sociologist, Bob Brenneman found the same thing in his research on why people join gangs in Central America. There are a number of contributing factors, but the one that stood out was shame. Therefore, as we work for shalom, two key things to pursue are lessening inequality and healing shame.

The men in the Bible study come from a high security pod. Most are gang members. Violence is a part of their past, if not their present. What would Gilligan’s and Brenneman’s books tell me? If I dig beneath the tattoos and the criminal records what will I find? Shame. Therefore, I frequently proclaim liberation from shame through Jesus. That Friday, after doing the shame-healing exercise we had a time of prayer. I invited them to speak the names of people they love who have needs that the inmates themselves cannot address or solve. By naming them we would be asking God to bless them and do what we are unable to do.

We spoke names, one at time. The names kept coming, often tumbling one over the other—rarely a gap of more than a few seconds. I felt loving concern echo off the cement block walls. After five minutes I spoke a brief closing prayer—not because of awkward silence, but because our time was up. We shook hands, embraced. They thanked me for coming. Robert said, “thank you I needed this today. I look forward to Friday’s. This is reorienting.”

After the correctional officer took the men back to their pod he came to unlock the closet where I turn in my report on how many attended. He asked me, “How were they?” From time to time a C.O. asks me a “how did it go?” question that feels supportive, interested. This felt different. I replied, “Fine, it was a good study. They engaged well. They treat me well. Thanked me for coming.” All he said in reply was, “they are the worst of the worst.” I assume he was making a general comment about them coming from one of two high-security pods in the building. I guess on paper, if you look at the number of past infractions, and assume that tells you who they are—then yes, “worst of the worst.” But the words shocked me. I did an internal double-take. “What did he just say?” Is he talking about the same men who just lovingly prayed for others? Who thanked me for coming? Yes, they acknowledge they have done bad things in the past, but they long for a chance to live differently and not be defined by their past. As I rode home on my bike I pondered those words, “worst of the worst.” How does that categorization seep out through the words, the looks, the actions of that C. O. and shower the men with shame? What does it do to the men to wear that label? If Gilligan is correct, that correctional officer and the shaming system he is a part of will increase, not decrease the level of violence in society. I do Bible studies to counter shaming voices frequently . . . perhaps not frequently enough.

Thankfully, however, not everyone in the system thinks and acts as that officer does. Earlier this year I was walking with a different correctional officer to same closet. I said, “How have you been? I have not seen you for a while.” He replied, “I was on yard duty.” I asked, “Is that good or is it better to be on one of the floors?” He said, “You could say it was punishment.” I did not press for more information, but he went on. “I refused to do something I was told to do, because it was not right. These men are people too.” He named the number of a legal code, and said, “I refuse to go against that code.” I then asked him if he had heard of Bryan Stevenson and told him about the line from his book Just Mercy, “Each of us is more than the worst thing we've ever done.”  He said, “yes, I have done bad things. These men have done bad things too, and yes, the quote is right.” Then he said, “I call them men, I do not call them inmates.”

He has worked in the jail and before that prisons, for years. This week I heard him say to another. C.O. that he had not had a break all day. I asked him why. He said, “A couple of the other guys working are new. I can’t leave them alone. The men would eat them alive.” (I assume he meant take advantage of them.) He is not naïve, but unlike the other C. O. he works with intentionality to lessen shame. He refuses to divide them into an inferior category.

Which of these two men represents more accurately the system as a whole, society as a whole?  Sarah Koenig, of the Serial podcast, has spent months interacting with people in Cleveland’s criminal justice system. How would she answer the question? I listened to the first episode of season three while working in our garden. Her words near the end of the episode led me to put down my spade and, through the lens Gilligan’s work, sadly ponder the implications of what she said.

A felony judge I was talking to for a different story in this series told me he was thinking of giving a defendant serious time. “What's serious time?” I asked. He explained, well, to someone with common sense, even one day in jail is devastating, life changing. To someone who's got no common sense, maybe they do three years, five years. Means nothing. They go right back out and commit more crimes.

I knew what he meant. Punishment is relative. What it takes to teach you a lesson depends on what you're used to. But there was a more disturbing implication as well. One that prowls this courthouse and throughout our criminal justice system. That we are not like them. The ones we arrest and punish, the ones with the stink, they're slightly different species, with senses dulled and toughened. They don't feel pain or sorrow or joy or freedom or the loss of freedom the same way you or I would.

“We are not like them.” What a potent shaming mechanism prowling through our justice system and society.

To be an agent of peace is not just to defuse and de-escalate a situation of active violence. It is also to work at the root causes of violence. James Gilligan would tell us that includes lessening the inequality gap, alleviating shame and building dignity. Clearly Jesus knew this before Gilligan. Whereas the first Correctional Officer’s words sound like things we hear from the Pharisees, Jesus’ words and actions match and go beyond those of the second officer.

What are ways we as individuals contribute to making distinctions between superior and inferior? What are ways our church communities do that? How do we participate in and go along with ways society builds the inequality gap?

What actions can we take toward dismantling or transforming systems that contribute to the inequality gap? How can we follow Jesus in alleviating shame and restoring dignity? What are ways we can lead the shamed to experience Jesus’s loving embrace?

Needed in the Court of Reputation—Alternative Voices

What compels us to do the right thing? In the more individualistic West, the answer would be: one’s conscience. In most of the rest of the world, it is the collective, the group. The evaluative gaze of others compels right behavior. In the first I do the right thing to avoid internal feelings of guilt; in the latter I do the right thing to gain honor and to avoid the shaming of my group, my family, and myself. In our recent book, Ministering in Honor-Shame Cultures, Jayson Georges and I provide insights and tools for evangelism and discipleship in contexts that have a collectivist orientation. We give numerous examples of mistakes, including our own, that flow from a focus on the individual conscience in an honor-shame context. Yet, even in the West, to only focus on the individual conscience is problematic; it is an error to ignore the honor-shame dynamic even in individualistic contexts. Here too, communities and peer groups become courts of reputation. Although forming an individual to think correctly about Christian ethics is of fundamental importance in the individualistic West, that alone will not lead people to do the right thing.

I recently heard a person talk of turning his conscience off so it would not bark at him saying, “You’re doing a bad and evil thing.” Why was the ethical direction from his conscience not enough? What pushed him to turn it off? What implications does this have for the church? As you read this story of a Vietnam war draftee, note the presence of both the individual conscience and the honor-shame dynamic. 

Tim O’Brien, is one of the people interviewed in Ken Burns’s and Lynn Novick’s documentary series, The Vietnam War (episode 7). O’Brien grew up in Worthington, Minnesota, a farming community of about 8,000. He described it as a town where people knew each other, knew what was going on in others’ lives, who was doing well, and whose kids had taken a wrong turn. He was drafted in June 1968. His parents had both been in the Navy in WWII. He explains, “They had believed in service to one’s country, and all those values. On one hand I did think the war was less than righteous. On the other hand, I love my country. And I valued my life in a small town and my friends and family.  And so the summer of ’68 I wrestled with what to do. That was for me, at least, more tortuous, devastating and emotionally painful than anything that happened in Vietnam. . . Do you go off and kill people if you are not pretty sure it is right? And if your nation isn’t pretty sure it is right? If there is not consensus? Do you do that?”

“I was at Fort Lewis Washington, and Canada was what, a 90-minute bus ride away. I wrote my Mom and Dad and asked for some money and my passport. They sent them to me—with no questions. ‘What do you want this for?’ I kept this stuff, along with some civilian clothes, stashed in my footlocker thinking, ‘maybe I will do it.’ It was this ‘maybe’ thing going on all throughout training. As Vietnam got closer and closer and closer. . . In the end I just capitulated. . . It wasn’t a decision. It was forfeiture of a decision. Letting my body go. Turning a switch in my conscience, just turning it off so it wouldn’t be barking at me: ‘You’re doing a bad and evil and stupid and unpatriotic thing.’”

“What prevented me doing it [fleeing to Canada]? I think it was pretty simple and stupid. It was a fear of embarrassment, of ridicule and humiliation. What my girlfriend would have thought of me, and the people in the Gobbler Café in downtown Worthington. The Kiwanis boys and the country club boys in that small town I grew up in, the things they would say about me, ‘what a coward,’ and ‘what a sissy for going to Canada.’  I would imagine my Mom and Dad overhearing something like that. I could not summon the courage to say ‘no’ to those nameless, faceless people who, in essence, this was the United States of America. I couldn’t say ‘no’ to them. I have had to live with it now for 40 years. That is a long time to live with a failure of conscience and a failure of nerve. The nightmare of Vietnam for me is not the bombs and the bullets.” He pauses and with a quivering voice says, “It is that failure of nerve I so regret.”

O’Brien thought then, and thinks now, that the better option, the “right” thing to do was go to Canada rather stay in the army and go to Vietnam. Regardless of whether you agree or disagree with what he considered right, let’s reflect on the dynamics of the decision itself. The honor-shame dynamic of a small tight knit town overpowered his individual thinking on the matter. He opted to do what the town would consider the honorable thing to do in order to avoid the shame of people talking about him in a disparaging way.

What did he need? What might have led to a different outcome? He needed a counter community with a different honor code. He needed voices that would honor his decision to desert and neutralize the shaming voices of others in the court of reputation.

Let’s think of this in an analogous way. Imagine in a ministry setting you work hard to shape someone’s beliefs about a particular ethical stance that differs from mainstream society. They are convinced. Then, however, like O’Brien they are alone with only their individual conviction, they are surrounded by people and media pressing them to do the opposite. Individual conviction may be enough, but it very well may not be.

As we call people to radically re-orient their lives to the way of Jesus, we must work with intentionality at honoring them when they take steps that will bring scorn from the mainstream. This can be dramatic, as in this incident, reported by Bob Brenneman, that Jayson and I included in our book. Brenneman tells of a Central American gang member, Roberto, who converted and left the gang. For Roberto the church community became an important “alternate court of reputation,” as he sought to follow the way of Jesus rather than the way of the gang, and the broader society. There were many challenges, perhaps the most difficult was when his younger brother was murdered. Brenneman states,

Such events place a recovering gang member in a difficult position. According to the moral logic of the street, a “good brother” defends the honor of his fallen kin by avenging his death with “payback.” And indeed the offers for assistance in “making things right” came swiftly from Roberto’s former associates. But just as quickly came the support and reminders of his new “brothers in Christ.” “Violence only begets more violence,” his pastor told him. “That’s no way to respond.” Roberto decided not to seek out vengeance and to relinquish his “right” to kill his brother’s killers (Ministering in Honor-Shame Cultures, 225).

Although not as dramatic, my friend with a position in a large big-city law-firm probably felt as much pressure to do the obvious thing and continue putting in the hours so he could become a partner and earn an immense amount of money. Yet, with encouraging voices from fellow Christians he did what his peers and others in society considered ludicrous. He quit his position and went to work for a small firm in a small city in order to have more time for his family, for ministry, and for other activities.

The value and importance of a church community honoring an individual’s Jesus-like actions is not just in relation to big and dramatic decisions, but in daily actions and decisions. I think of my friend Mario in Honduras. I once asked him how it was that he lived in ways so differently than other men and resisted the dynamics of machoness.

He first affirmed how strong the honor code of machismo is. For instance, one aspect of machismo is drinking. A commonly heard saying is “One who does not drink is not a complete man.” In his teen years his friends started pressuring him to “be a man” and drink. He already felt shame for being poor, so to avoid more shame he began to drink. Some years later [after another night of drunken brawling]. . . he started attending church and five meetings later accepted Jesus as his Savior. . . As Mario reflected on how he was able to step away from the ways of machismo. He mentioned three things. A man from the church, Hector, spent a lot of time with him offering support and affirmation. Secondly, the Christian men at work and the people at the church provided a counter chorus. Just as friends had shamed him into drinking, old friends around him began ridiculing him and shaming him for becoming a Christian; they pressured him to continue in his macho ways. Christians countered these shaming comments of Mario’s friends by praising him for his efforts to stop drinking. Lastly, as his new identity as a loved child of God grew he felt increasing security to step away from other aspects of the machismo honor code and walk in the ways of the honor code of the New Testament. His church continued to affirm and honor him as he took these steps. The shaming comments of other men did not stop, but they do not have the power over him that they used to (Ministering in Honor-Shame Cultures, 223-24).

Although those of us in individualistic settings have tended to focus on the Bible providing ethical instruction, if one puts on honor-shame glasses, the dynamic described in these examples comes to light. For instance, looking at I Peter through these lenses we see that the Christians Peter wrote to were being shamed and scorned by their neighbors—pressured to abandon the way of Jesus and return to the mainstream. Repeatedly in the letter Peter affirms the alternative honor code of Jesus, and affirms them for following it. And he seeks to undercut the shaming voices of their neighbors. (See chapter 11 of our book to see the list of ways Jayson and I see Peter doing this.)

How might your community more actively support and honor those who seek to go against the current and live according to the ways of the Kingdom of God? I encourage you to pray and ask God’s Spirit to give you a heightened awareness for opportunities to honor others, an imagination for how to, and the initiative to do so. Let us become active members of an alternative court of reputation.