Category: Faith Challenges

Upon the recommendation of my good friend Adam, I recently read “Skeletons In God’s Closet: The Mercy of Hell, The Surprise of Judgement, The Hope of Holy War” by Joshua Ryan Butler

I must admit I was somewhat skeptical but curious, based on the title alone. (I suppose the publishers achieved their goal) Upon reading, I encountered perspectives that challenged my understandings on several fronts. Overall it was an enlightening read and is worthy of a re-read and deeper consideration. I hope to find an opportunity for conversation with others on the book.

A particular excerpt I found insightful and personally helpful, follows.

His father went out and pleaded with him. But he answered his father, “Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!” “My son,” the father said, “you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”

In this short passage, Jesus reveals two ways religion can destroy our souls. First, it can destroy the way we look at God. The religious son looks to dad as a slaveholder rather than a good father: “All these years I’ve been slaving for you . . .” He sees his dad not as a close friend, but a mean boss. Ironically, he’s been close to home geographically, but far, far away in his heart. His religious obedience has kept him distant from the overflowing graciousness of his loving father. Externally he’s been close, but inside he’s been on his own little island. His father, however, does not call him “slave,” “worker,” or “grunt,” but rather “my son.” His dad calls him not by his works, but by their relationship: “My son, you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.” The father rejects his son’s distorted perception of their relationship and calls him to intimacy. He looks upon his religious son with filial devotion and care. The second way Jesus says religion can destroy our soul is by the way we look at others. The religious son does not call the prodigal “my brother,” but rather “this son of yours.” When I would get in trouble as a kid, I remember my mom would jokingly tell my dad, “You’ll never believe what this son of yours did!” It was a way of distancing relationship. I was no longer “my boy,” but rather “your son.” Only, my mom was joking; the older brother here is clearly not. The religious son is distancing himself from his brother. He not only distances himself from his brother, he also elevates himself over his brother. He reminds dad which one’s been upholding the family name. Which one’s been taking care of the farmstead. Which one’s been contributing to the community. He lifts up his great track record (“ all these years I’ve been slaving for you”) in comparison to his brother’s illicit track record (he “squandered your property with prostitutes.”) The religious son lifts himself up . . . by pushing his brother down. And yet, the father rejects this power play. He calls the outlaw “this brother of yours.” He insists on reaffirming their family relationship. He refuses to identify the prodigal by his past behavior and instead reaffirms his present identity: “[ he] was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” Dad rejects the religious son’s rejection of his brother. The father is for both sons. But he refuses the religious son’s exalting of himself over his outlaw brother. Tragically, the older son clings to his pride, refuses this reality, and remains sulking in the backyard.

What keeps the religious son outside the party is not the father’s refusal to let him in. He is kept outside by his own refusal to repent of his sin and self-righteousness, to let go of the pride inside his heart, to loosen his kung fu grip on the idol of himself. While the father beckons him into the party, “pleads with him” to come inside, the son prefers the backyard. He is kept outside the party by his religion. He is a slave to the sin he refuses to let go of. 

A captive to his own self-righteousness. 

He is bound by his religion.

I think a lot about culture and its impact on faith and ethics. Of particular interest, are social media and media in general. It seems to me that media’s objective is to create a alternative reality that fuels our imaginations. Social media enables me to create and shape an identity that, may, or may not, have any relationship to who I really am. Media, in general, as exemplified in advertising, rarely portrays reality, but appeals to the imagination. This a powerful force that appeals to my self-deception. When is the last time you watched a commercial depicting reality? Essentially reality becomes a social construct.

My musings attracted me to Fr. Stephen Freeman’s latest post related to the idea of reality as a social construct. A pertinent excerpt follows with a link to the entire post.

The further we move away from the hard reality of the material world, the more deeply we press into delusion and fantasy. Part of the brutality of our modern age is bound up with our drive to force hard material reality to conform to our imagination. We find the undeniable humanity and personhood of a child in the womb to be an inconvenient obstacle to our lifestyle. Our fantasy and delusion turn to murder.

The goodness of God, however, abides in the very materiality of the world (and of our own selves). No matter how we might distort the thoughts of our minds, material reality remains unchanged. At most, we can only urge and coerce others to agree with false configurations of what actually is. Such efforts can only be maintained through some form of violence (and coercion) for they have no reality of their own to argue their case. Left alone, reality has an eloquence of its own. Gravity speaks with a clear voice as we fall from the heights. 

FR. Stephen Freeman

Is Everyone Transsexual?

Reading a recent post by Pete Enns, I was challenged to do some self-assessment. Self-assessment is not my preferred activity since it usually brings disappointment. However, it is probably the most useful, and hopefully productive, exercise a human being can engage in. No pain no gain! I would recommend reading the entire post but, one section in particular caught my attention and is the subject of this post.

Is it true? Vs Does it work?

This difference comes down to Modernism and Postmodernism. Modernism attempts to construct a coherent worldview through the pursuit of an absolute truth. The Church’s response was to make a fact-based case for Christianity—e.g., eight reasons why Jesus was historically real, five reasons why the resurrection is true, etc.

Postmodernism, on the other hand, is marked by relativism and individualism, which has produced a culture defined by the phrase “you do you.” The value proposition for a Postmodern person is whether or not something works. “What works for me works for me, leave me alone.” This is where searchers reside, and they are not initially looking for a 200-page book of claims or a bulletproof sermon. They would rather taste and see whether what is offered is good.

In other words, the modernist asks the question “Is it true?” whereas the postmodernist asks, “Does it work?” And if it works, then for the postmodernist, it is true–because truth is found in something that works. 

This is not to say that facts do not matter to the postmodernist. But the searcher says, “If something gives me peace, relieves my stress, gives me satisfaction, or provides a feeling of transcendence, then it works, and it surely must be true.” This is the story I’ve heard when Ivy League-educated lawyers in New York convert to Buddhism—it gives them an experience of peace. 

It is my perception that “my people” generally have a negative view of postmodernism and would mostly categorize themselves as modernist as Enns describes. That is how I tend to assess myself, but, candidly, I am probably a chameleon.

Thinking about “Is it true?” vs “Does it work?”, and assessing my value proposition, I was struck by the predominance of “does it work?” in decision making. Of course, “does it work?’ is an important consideration. The problem comes when “Does it work?” trumps “Is it true?”.

The purpose of Enns’ post Is primarily to address ministry to the postmodern culture. It occurred to me that those issues are not confined to church but are also relevant to society in general, more specifically to our tribal and individual value propositions. That lead me to some self assessment.

Betraying my postmodern, relativistic bent; for purposes of self-evaluation, I revised “Does it work?” to “Is it best?”. Truth is important but, pragmatically, my decisions are most often between what works and what is best. What I discovered is disturbing. My propensity to chose what works over what is best has deep implications and reveals the depth of my vulnerability to trajectories that are, at least, ill advised and at worst destructive.

Further consideration brought me to a conclusion that what I am doing is simply mirroring the ethos of our deeply divided and chaotic culture. No matter what ideology is held the prevailing value is ‘does it work?”. Whether it is true or best is irrelevant because if it works, it is true (best). It not necessary for it to really work, uncompromising belief that it will work is enough. I believe that ethic transcends the modernist/postmodernist dichotomy. As a result, the peril of deciding what is true(best) on its utilitarian efficacy Is more than troubling.

I suspect many of “my people” are in the boat with me. I want to think that truth is my propositional value but when subjected to serious self-assessment, “does it work?” often wins the day.

I’m still reflecting on the implications of that reality for me.