Full Contact Christianity

Zach McCartney has published “A Plea for Biblical Scholars” wherein he asks for more biblical studies scholars. We need a generation of fresh, believing scholars, he says, to step in and protect hapless seminary students who are being led astray by the materialist assumptions of their biblical studies textbooks.

Now, biblical studies scholars who actually believe the Bible are a Good Thing and there should be more of them. Thus far, Mr. McCartney and I agree. A seminary student has a right to expect that his textbooks won’t poison him; I agree there, too.

But these students he’s talking about — what are they doing in seminary? A Christian man who’s going to be led astray by basic materialism has no business in any grad school, still less in preparation for the ministry. Who are these people? Where is their discernment? Where is their courage? Who thought it was a good idea to send them to seminary? Inquiring minds want to know.

I also want to know about the institution that uses such texts as if they are reliable resources for their students. We’ve talked before about the relationship between materialistic doubt and academic respectability, but it’s worth revisiting here. Our academic institutions frequently define success and prestige in the same way as their secular counterparts. As a result, your average Christian scholar needs the approval of the academic guild far more than the approval of the Church. Whatever norms the secular academic world cooks up for itself therefore come seeping into the Church by way of our schools — and it happens a lot faster in schools devoted to “excellence!” Discerning Christians may be called to redeem such institutions, but until that effort is successful, we have no business funding them. Moreover, we ought to be policing the incentives that shape our career academics. People who are unwilling to forego the praise of the secular elite have no business in the Christian academy at any level.

As with our mentoring crisis generally, the solution here is mainly small-scale. Churches must be most interested in discipling whatever students, faculty, or administrators that are within the fold. You don’t need a fancy campus ministry with a bunch of big, well-funded events (not that there’s anything wrong with that) nearly so much as you need 30 ordinary Christian men willing to disciple one college student each.

Once upon a time certain groups of Christians decided that in order to live a holy life, they would put all worldly amusements and accoutrements behind them. Of course this included things like card games and the theater, but also included things like wearing colors. The result was a drab form of dress that, in its own way, called as much attention to itself as flashy dress.

Various wags had things to say, as they always do. One of my favorite barbs comes from Dr. Samuel Johnson: “Sir, a man who cannot get into heaven in a green coat will not sooner find his way thither in a grey one.”

Of course the observation seems both funny and a trifle obvious to us, but that’s because it’s lampooning a folk piety we do not have. The same spirit, turned around on our own shibboleths, will be just as funny, and will hurt a good deal more. So give it some thought: what are the folk pieties of our own day, and how could you harpoon them in a similar way?

Of course you’ve heard the story of the prodigal son, and the story of his older brother who was so angry when the father restored him. Less commonly known is the story of the third brother. Gather round, children, and let Uncle Tim spin you a yarn….

After the prodigal son made his scandalous request, took his inheritance, and left for a far country, the third brother went to work. Of course the whole town already knew what his brother had done; dad was rich, and you can’t move that kind of wealth around without everybody finding out about it. But the third brother wasn’t interested in spreading the tale; he was interested in what it meant. Obviously, no true son of his father could ever do such a thing, he would say to anybody that would listen. By the roadside, in the marketplace, down at the corner restaurant, he was spreading the word: his prodigal brother’s conduct just showed that he was never really a son to start with.

Some fools will listen to any salacious gossip, but of course the wiser neighbors just ignored him, because he was obviously an asshole.

What are we to do with an apostate? For 10 years, 20 years, sometimes more, the guy was one of us. Then he kinda disappeared a couple years back, and now he’s popped up again, ardently practicing black magic, of all things! Some people want to dismiss this kind of question as an extreme hypothetical case. Extreme? Yes. Hypothetical? Not so much. I’ve encountered these folks too — several years ago, I found myself working for a business whose owner was a former evangelical worship leader turned full-blown shaman (disciple of Alberto Villoldo, in fact). A Bible college buddy of mine is worshipping Thor these days. A couple other folks are trying to stay connected to Christianity while practicing witchcraft too.

Where do you start?

At square one (which is Creation, not the cross, but that’s another post.) It’s entirely possible that there was some crucial flaw in their grasp of Christianity to start with, so it makes sense to go back over all the basics. It’s not that strange of an idea; Hebrews speaks of people who “need someone to teach you again the first principles of the oracles of God,” who “have come to need milk and not solid food.” But we do not believe that understanding is all there is to it: following Jesus takes dedication and sacrifice. If that’s the case, then the problem may not have been with a lack of understanding at all. They may have defected because they were more attracted by something else, or because following Jesus got harder than they were willing to endure.

The point is, we often have no idea what actually went wrong, and such a person is an unreliable narrator of their own experience; everything they tell you will be riddled with blameshifting and lame rationalizations.

“But Tim,” people often ask me, “is this person going to heaven?”

Ya know, my New Birth Detect-o-Matic is on the fritz, so it’s hard to be sure. If I were just meeting the guy today, of course I’d be skeptical. But if I knew the guy back then and was firmly convinced that he was a believer back then, I don’t really see a reason to question it now. I thought he was born again back then because Scripture teaches me to think that way: people who believe in Jesus are born again. There simply is no biblical text that gives me grounds to turn around and doubt him based on his scandalous present behavior. Everywhere you might expect to see that, what you see instead (if you actually read in context) is assurance: a challenge to live up to the new birth you have, not a question about whether you really had it.

But honestly, I think that (like the problem of evil) this is not a hard question logically; it’s a hard question emotionally. We don’t want to believe that a genuine believer can really fall all the way into something as dark as straightforward demon-worship. It troubles us to think that someone found our faith so un-compelling that they left it for something else, and something so wicked. We want to believe that we would never apostatize, and seeing someone do it — someone we thought of as “just like me” — shakes our complacency. That sort of thing. So, to set all our minds at ease, here’s a list of the sins the Bible tells us that no genuine believer could ever fall into:

Yup. That’s it. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

Guard your hearts, folks. It absolutely can happen to you.

Have you seen this meme? Don’t say “I don’t like DEI,” it exhorts us. What, exactly, don’t you like? Is it diversity? Then say “I don’t like diversity.” Own it, man. Don’t hide behind an acronym.

Before I step up to the pinata, allow me a moment to point and laugh: have we all forgotten that the DEI acronym (like the ill-fated term “social justice warrior”) was invented by its proponents? You know you’re in a bad way when you start complaining that people are “hiding behind” your own term. If you wonder why it’s acquired unfortunate connotations, check the mirror. 

Ahem…as to the DEI pinata: as St. Orwell taught us, newspeak is doubleplusungood, and it’s always reasonable to hate it. As Orwell also taught us, always, always look to the definitions. In DEI discourse, the words “diversity,” “equity,” and “inclusion” are used in ways only vaguely related to the actual meanings of those words, and therein lies their motte-and-bailey utility. Suppose you oppose a hiring quota wherein you can’t accept qualified candidates from already “overrepresented” groups. “How could you be against diversity?” they say. The invocation of “diversity” in that (DEI) context is not an invitation to thoughtful discourse; it’s meant to throw you into a rhetorical hole wherein you now have to prove that you’re not “against diversity.” In other words, it is a thought-terminating cliche. Same goes for “equity” and “inclusion.” These words were always meant to be thought-terminating cliches; their proponents are just upset because people began to notice.  

Let’s break it down: 

In DEI discourse, “diversity” means people who look different in a picture but think the same, which is why, in a workplace as allegedly “diverse” as NPR, even Uri Berliner couldn’t generate any interest in viewpoint diversity – got run out of the organization for trying, in fact. That kind of “diversity”…isn’t anything of the kind. I dislike it for the same reason I dislike counterfeit money.  

“Equity” in DEI terms means poo-pooing equal opportunity in favor of trying to guarantee a favored outcome. In practice, that means you’re going to indulge in a series of transparent manipulations in order to advantage some and handicap others in pursuit of some idealized vision which is, ex hypothesi, The Way The World Should Be (cf. complaints about Asian “overrepresentation” at certain colleges). In other words, you’re committing to a visibly unjust process today in hopes of achieving a just result in a distant future. “Let us do evil that good may come” has always been morally bankrupt; suggesting that these folks, of all people, possess special insight into The Way The World Should Be…jeepers, it would be laugh-til-you-pee funny except that people actually mean it.  

“Inclusion” in DEI terms plays on your good desire to make someone feel welcome, but that’s not what “inclusion” means in this context. “Inclusion” gets used as a cover for rushing people into situations for which they’re not prepared, in order to make everybody else feel righteous about themselves. For example, “inclusion” in education has frequently meant mainstreaming students with special needs (lest they be stigmatized), with the result that they don’t get the specialized support that they need, the classroom environment is constantly disrupted, and teachers aren’t able to do their actual job for either group of students. (Then the school district blames declining test stores on the teachers, and funds more DEI initiatives in hopes of improving things. Lather, rinse, repeat.) 

The DEI discourse versions of diversity, equity, and inclusion set forth a regime that every good, discerning human ought to hate. As Reagan once said of communism, the only places such a regime could work are heaven, where they don’t need it, and hell, where they already have it. 

Be kind. Tell the truth, even when it’s hard. Don’t be a douche to your neighbors. Love the actual humans that are within your reach. And because you love what is good, true, and beautiful, hate fake virtue dressed up in swanky-sounding abstract nouns. 

A friend recently raised the question of how to cultivate reverence for God. In a culture of therapeutic moralistic deism and “Jesus-is-my-boyfriend” music, how do we keep ourselves from treating God casually, even flippantly? This was my answer.

I remind myself who I’m dealing with: the God who made the world and everything in it (and then de-created and re-created it all in the Deluge), crushed the Egyptians’ gods and slaughtered their firstborn, came on Horeb in earthquake, fire, and storm, invaded Philistia alone by allowing the capture of the Ark so as not to reward Israel’s faithlessness, and emerged with offerings, triumphant. The God who fulfilled His promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who opened the secrets of the kings’ dreams to Joseph and Daniel, who used Balaam (1400 years before the event) and Daniel (550 years before the event) to send the Magi to fund His Son’s life-saving flight to Egypt. The God who has never failed to notice a sparrow falling from a bough, who numbers the very hairs on my head, who knows my every sin, failing, weakness, and character flaw, and has aggressively forgotten them all.

I’ve spent time with some dangerous men over the years — good men, but dangerous. (I’ve spent time with dangerous men who were not good, too, but I’m talking about the god ones right now.) Sensible people do not treat such men carelessly: you think before you speak, attend to small courtesies, go somewhat out of your way to avoid giving offense unnecessarily. And if you’ve given offense, you face it decisively and take the consequences as they come.

I remind myself to treat God at least as reverently as that. He is *for* me and He loves me, but He is not to be trifled with. Wise men remember that.

For many years in my ministry, we’ve talked about taking a “craft beer” approach to ministry. A mass-produced beer like Miller Lite is designed so that pretty much anybody can drink it. There’s nothing that would bother anybody, but at the cost of being pretty tasteless: inoffensive, but insipid. Nothing memorable, nothing interesting. A craft beer like Russian River’s Pliny the Elder, on the other hand…it’s a very strong set of flavors. Set free from the burden of trying not to offend anyone, the makers of Pliny the Elder are free to execute a positive vision, to make a product that is unapologetically something in particular instead of generically inoffensive. Lots of people don’t like it, but the ones that do, like it a lot more than Miller. A liquor store near me used to limit Pliny purchases to one bottle per customer, and they’d still sell out in a day.

God has not called you to be inoffensive.

Everything you do isn’t going to be for everybody. To some we are the aroma of life, and to others the aroma of death. But what God has called you to be — be that, as hard as you can. Don’t make yourself tasteless

Go forth and be a strong flavor. If God calls you to serve a particular demographic, do what you need to do — and then be a strong flavor! Don’t make yourself tasteless.