Recently, I was reading some information on the American Humanist Association related to the controversy surrounding their leading poll on The Pledge of Allegiance. Somewhere in that reading, I came across the name “Bart Campolo.”
If the name sounds familiar to you, it should. His father, Tony Campolo is a prominent progressive evangelical. The last I knew, Bart had followed his dad and was preaching and practicing a left-leaning, though evangelical faith.
As parents, we need to work to ensure our children have a relationship with Jesus.
But after I Googled his name, I found he didn’t seem to be a part of any Christian ministry, despite having helped found several. He has not blogged at Sojourners in over three years. His personal website is gone. Mission Year, which he helped to start, references him as a co-founder, but he is nowhere among those listed as currently serving with the ministry.
Over the course of his ministry career, Bart gradually transitioned from Christianity to secular humanism. As the first Humanist Chaplain at USC, he is committed to developing a community that offers regular inspiration, pastoral care, supportive fellowship and service opportunities to students, faculty, staff members and local families and individuals exploring or actively pursuing secular goodness as a way of life.
Perhaps this is well known in progressive circles, but it was news to me. It was particularly disappointing to me since I’ve talked to Bart (though I doubt he remembers our short conversation), he was encouraging to me, I love the idea of Mission Year, and, like so many evangelicals, his father was an influence on my life and ministry.
My First Reaction
I have to confess, the immediate reaction I had was that this is why progressive evangelicalism and particularly mainline Protestantism (Campolo straddled both) can be dead ends, often failing to keep the next generation. And, there is some statistical support for that reaction (at least for mainliners).
According to the Faith and Families project published last year, only a minority of the children of mainliners are mainliners, whereas a strong majority of evangelical parents end up with evangelical children.
And, let’s be honest, I could list a hundred others, though perhaps few as prominent as Schaeffer and Campolo. And, we don't really have statistics for progressive evangelicals, partly because there are not that many, so we don't know for sure if they will track like mainliners.
So, I don’t think my first reaction was a fair reaction, and I shared it because I imagine that many readers might have a similar reaction, based on, “That would not happen to me because I’m not like them…”
So while I don’t want to let mainline Protestantism off the statistical hook (you can’t—it’s just math), I don't know Bart and I’ve not seen his comments on his journey, therefore I should not make definitive conclusions about his journey. Nor should you.
In other words, he’s gone public with his new views.
As such, I think it might be good for us to consider a bit about what that means—not for him, but for us (and for me).
Let’s Pause a Moment
So, once we get past the recriminations (see above) it's best to pause and consider some implications. As such, let me suggest five things to consider as we think about Bart Campolo’s de-conversion.
First, and perhaps this is personal, I need to think about my own family.
Do my children have a faith of their own? In this extremely informative and compelling talk Bart gave to earlier this year to the SSA Annual Conference, he is quite clear that he embraced a Christian community, but not the Christian faith.
As parents, we need to work to ensure our children have a relationship with Jesus, not just a desire to be part of a loving community doing good. In other words, we need to ask, are we discipling or merely socializing our children in church?
Will the children of your faith tradition flourish in the faith you pass on to them?
Second, it is appropriate to ask if the faith tradition we create produces children who regularly reject that faith.
I’d ask that of fundamentalists, mainline Protestants, progressive evangelicalism, and, yes, conservative evangelicalism.
But, most importantly, I’d ask that of your (and my) tradition—are we producing disciples in the next generation?
Will the children of your faith tradition flourish in the faith you pass on to them?
Third, remember that love draws in people.
Ironically and importantly, Bart stresses that what led him to identify as a Christian was the love he saw between the members of the youth group he attended. He noticed individuals from all the different high school cliques came together at this church.
Indeed.
This should be characteristic of every Christian ministry and church. Loving people is often the first step in seeing them understand and accept the gospel. It can’t end there, but even Bart acknowledged that it started there.
In other words, Bart is right—community matters—and he is also right that it is not enough.
Fourth, after you have watched Bart’s presentation, pray for him.
Based on his words in this presentation, I don’t think he would mind. Though he has obviously moved on, he was very gracious toward evangelicals in his presentation—in an environment where it would be easy to do otherwise.
I'm thankful for that graciousness and I prayed for him after I watched the video. I hope you will as well.
Fifth and finally, I want to pray for Tony Campolo and to take a moment to be thankful for him.
When your children leave the faith, it’s hard to not take it personally, but Tony has always been a gracious man, committed to his faith and ideals. (I’ve never met Peggy, his wife, but was deeply influenced by Tony early in my ministry.) If there was ever a person who lived what he believed it was Tony Campolo.
Over 20 years ago, I spent a week with him in Philadelphia learning how to do ministry in the inner city. He was gracious and clearly loved people. He prayed with me and encouraged me to love Jesus deeply and care for people faithfully. From what I can tell, we’ve moved apart theologically in some ways, but I will always be grateful for his impact on my life.
And, the fact that his son left the faith does not necessarily relate to Tony and Peggy's faith, any more than so many other children's departure was because of their parents.
Where from Here?
I imagine that Bart Campolo’s name will make his deconversion significant to many.
My hope is that evangelicals (like me) won’t ignore it (hence, this blog), but will take wise steps so as, to the degree we can, we can strengthen the faith in our own children.
I'm not the national figure that Tony Campolo is, but my children are in the spotlight because I am in, to some degree, a spotlight. And, if you are a pastor, so are your children. Actually, if you are a Christian, yours are too in many ways.
Answer the hard questions from your kids, disciple your family, and humbly realize that, ultimately, your children can and will make their own decisions about faith one day.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
A Sobering Mercy
The second time I surrendered to Christ, I was on a dirt road with no memory of how I had arrived there.
Lyle Dorsett/ September 18, 2014
One of the advantages of growing older is the perspective it provides. From a vantage point of more than seven decades, I increasingly marvel at the sovereignty and love of God. Only the passage of time enabled me to see that my salvation has been God-initiated.
Two events separated by more than two decades bring into focus an unbroken chain of God’s grace. At the time, they seemed to be singular and unrelated situations coming from a God with whom I had no relationship.
For many years, I believed my initial encounter with God came a few months after my 15th birthday. My parents and I were living in Birmingham, having recently moved there from Kansas City, Missouri. Despite having been baptized and confirmed in a Lutheran church, I never understood why it was important to have a relationship with Jesus. My parents must have had similar thoughts, since we attended church sporadically.
Our family’s relationship with the Lord changed greatly one hot Alabama night. Walking home from a summer job, I took a shortcut through the campus of Howard College (now Samford University) and came upon a sight totally foreign to me. A large tent adorned the football field. Inside, a dynamic preacher paced across an elevated platform.
Later I learned that I had come upon a Baptist revival meeting. The magnetic preacher, Eddie Martin, spoke on the Prodigal Son, applying the parable to the congregation gathered. He declared there were some prodigals inside the tent and that they needed to “come home.”
I was not a particularly errant lad, but I knew I was one of those prodigals. I was not inside the tent, however, and when the invitation came, I was not sure I would be welcome. You see, in the 1950s my family and I were outsiders—Yankees. I feared going forward. But before the preacher closed the meeting, he said there were more prodigals there. And if God gave him one more night to live, he would be back with an invitation to “come home to the Lord.”
The next evening he returned, and so did I. Despite my outsider status, I boldly entered the tent. Ushers seated me near the front. I have no memory of the sermon. I sat waiting for the invitation.
The call came and the evangelist led me through a sinner’s prayer. I confessed my need for forgiveness. While being led in prayer, I strongly felt the presence of Jesus Christ. I sensed his love and forgiveness as well as his call to preach the gospel.
My parents were supportive of my experience at the revival. Within a few weeks, we were baptized and became members of Ruhama Baptist Church. We seldom missed a service, and my parents’ faith grew enormously there.
Never before had I experienced such peace and joy. I even met two young men from Howard who took me along when they preached in small mining towns. The students involved me in their ministry at every level, including preaching.
Veering
Eighteen months later, everything changed. My father’s work took us back to Kansas City. I never felt comfortable in the church we joined, and I drifted. Although never deliberately turning from God, when I became a college student I sought intellectual respectability and embraced the prevalent materialist worldview. The call to preach sometimes haunted me, but I pursued graduate studies in history and embarked upon an academic career. Soon it became my identity.
Five years after my first academic appointment, Mary and I married. She believed attending church would be good for us. Because her background was Catholic and mine Baptist, we decided that the Lutheran Church might be a good compromise. In Boulder, Colorado, we found a church home where Mary encountered grace, surrendered her life to Christ, and began praying for me.
During the first six years of our marriage, I taught full-time and pursued research. Promotions came quickly, as did publications and grants. But despite the blessings of a lovely wife, two children, and professional success, no rest came to my soul. To fill the void I began to drink heavily. Although most people didn’t know it, I became an alcoholic. I never missed classes and seldom drank during the week, but I often binged on weekends.
Despite the blessings of a lovely wife, two children, and professional success, no rest came to my soul. I began to drink heavily.
Mary continued to pray. And one of my favorite students spent money he couldn’t afford to buy me a copy of G. K. Chesterton’s Orthodoxy, then challenged to me read
C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity. Simultaneously, my car radio malfunctioned and stuck on a gospel station. I kept the radio on because I needed noise. Gradually the programs began to warm my soul.
Still doubting, I received a year’s leave to write a book. When I finished it early, I rewarded myself with a binge. One evening when Mary implored me not to drink around the children, I stomped out, found a bar, and drank until closing time. I left armed with a six-pack, drove up a winding mountain road, stopped at an overlook, and blacked out. The next morning I found myself on a dirt road next to the old Pioneer Cemetery in Boulder with no memory of the drive down.
Despite the hangover, I realized I had experienced a miracle. In utter desperation I cried out, “Lord, if you are there, please help me.” That same Presence I had met years earlier in Birmingham blessed me again. I knew he was in the car and that he loved me despite my wretchedness. This liberating encounter with Jesus Christ eventually brought healing.
When I sobered up and proclaimed my new birth to our Lutheran pastor, he said, “I think you have finally realized what you were given in your infant baptism and confirmation.” I did not believe him at the time, but sometimes I have flashbacks to the church of my childhood. I can see the choir processioning in; a mural shows Jesus ascending to heaven; I hear the pastor’s call to worship: “The Lord is in his holy temple. Let all the earth be silent before him.” The boy who had been marked with the covenant stayed there long enough to sense that our God is awesome.
Way Out in Front of Me
I moved many times, made countless mistakes, and experienced two encounters with the Lord who never gave up on me. He gradually brought healing and restored the years the locusts had eaten. He opened doors for me to witness in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and preach in rescue missions, jails, and convalescent centers. He then called me to full-time ministry, ordination in the Anglican Church, and eventually to the Billy Graham Chair of Evangelism at Beeson Divinity School, Samford University, where I had first heard his call to preach.
Over the years God has proved to be a gentle Comforter—like when Mary underwent massive surgery for cancer, and when our 10-year-old daughter died unexpectedly. Occasionally his Spirit illumines Scripture in an amazingly clear way. There are moments during devotions when he brings to mind a person—and the person needed my call and the assurance that it was the Lord’s initiative. Sometimes Mary and I are nudged to give money to a person, and we both “hear” the same amount. The Lord also manifests his Father’s heart by sternly rebuking me for a willful act of disobedience or prideful disregard for his holiness.
Certainly the most humbling and reassuring lesson coming from a three-quarter-century backward glance is his persistence in drawing me to himself. Now I know that God was always way out in front of me, initiating life-giving knowledge of himself. And it was he who pursued me and sustained the relationship when I strayed in ignorant sheeplike fashion, doubted his existence, and then like the Prodigal Son deliberately moved to the far country.
And it is all grace—unearned, undeserved, unrepayable grace.
Lyle Dorsett is Billy Graham Professor of Evangelism at Beeson Divinity School and serves as pastor of Christ the King Anglican Church in Birmingham.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
We Need More Than Liturgy
Liturgical worship is the rage among many evangelicals. 'Not so fast,' says a liturgical Christian.
Kirsten Guidero/ August 21, 2014
The service was undeniably beautiful. Dedicated pastors and volunteers had planned it for weeks. There were banners, incense, and altar decorations. The sanctuary was packed: more than 1,000 folks overflowed the seats, latecomers standing along the sides and back. The congregation participated with gusto. But after receiving Communion, they marched out of the sanctuary. By the closing hymn, only a few folks dotted the pews that just five minutes before had been filled to bursting.
Some left to cram in work, but many in this particular group were on their way to that night’s parties. In another five hours, many would be passed out on the couches of friends or strangers, a few would be rushed by ambulance for alcohol poisoning treatment, and, most horrific, some would be sexually assaulting their peers or suffering such violence. It was the weekend, and the community in question was a Christian university. The school was by no means a place where only lip service was paid to Christian ideals: students eagerly participated in voluntary ministry, including planning that night’s service. So why were their late-night identities so disconnected from their church identities?
A growing number of evangelicals view failures of faithfulness as lapses in liturgical formation—or claim that participation in liturgical worship is key to transforming our character.
A growing number of evangelicals view failures of faithfulness as lapses in liturgical formation—or claim that participating in liturgical worship is key to transforming our character. Beginning with Robert Webber’s now-classic Ancient-Future series and continuing with such gems as Mark Galli’s Beyond Smells and Bells, the movement has produced much good work inspiring evangelicals to incorporate liturgical elements into their services. Calvin College professor James K. A. Smith’s multi-volume Cultural Liturgies project is fast becoming the most influential development of this stance. Given the depth and impact of his arguments, I focus here on Smith’s defense of liturgical evangelicalism.
As Smith notes in his first book, “our Christian colleges and universities generate an army of alumni who look pretty much like all the rest of their suburban neighbors, except that our graduates drive their SUVs, inhabit their executive homes, and pursue the frenetic life of the middle class and the corporate ladder ‘from a Christian perspective’” (Desiring the Kingdom). This kind of formation bleeds into our churches as well. What evangelicalism has long taken for granted—that good teaching and Scripture reading are sufficient for creating disciples—is negated by the vast numbers of evangelicals who can say all the right things while practicing all the wrong behaviors.
Smith argues instead that humans are social animals whose loves (not so much our ideas) shape our outlooks, capacities, decisions, and identities (Desiring). In his May 2013 interview with CT, “You Can’t Think Your Way to God,” he noted that people are “defined by what they worship rather than primarily by what they think, know, or believe.” In Smith’s view, no neutral practices exist. Over time, even “thin” behaviors hook up to our desires and become “thick,” shaping us in long-lasting ways (Desiring). We are drawn at each moment by various liturgies: shopping malls and sports spectacles, nationalism and stock markets, or the Christian community (Imagining the Kingdom). Smith suggests that without participation in a rich liturgy, Christian education only stuffs minds full of unapplied doctrinal points. The result? Our desires untouched, he argues in both books, we remain vulnerable to being co-opted by the liturgies of the world.
I applaud a great deal here, so much so that I consider myself a dedicated member of this broader endeavor. Yet three assumptions made by champions of the evangelical liturgy cause have left me with major concerns—especially as I reflect on the students in my former community. Their formation clearly failed despite the liturgical ethos of their institution. What lessons can evangelicals learn from struggles that persist despite liturgical involvement?
Too Much Ado about the Body
Many proponents of liturgical evangelicalism wax poetic about the benefits accruing from embodied forms of worship. Emphasis on the body, they contend, redirects evangelicalism’s reliance on learning and memorizing doctrine. Smith exemplifies this tendency when he interprets identity formation as the body’s purview over the mind.
If one’s mind is not involved—as far as possible—in one’s liturgical participation, liturgy becomes only an empty shell, similar to the Christian propositions devoid of application that Smith so decries.
In Desiring he tells the story of a woman with amnesia who had to be reintroduced to her interviewer each time he entered the room. Her memory of him faded as soon as he exited their shared space. However, if he shook her hand with a pin in his fingers, the next time he was reintroduced to her, she would refuse to shake his hand.
Smith concludes that the body triumphs over cognitive processes, embodiment taking priority over the mind. But I find this reasoning flawed for two reasons: first, the woman’s behavior occurs as a result of brain damage, a process we may not wish to make a norm. Second, and more important, her behavior does not demonstrate the failure of the mind so much as what happens when parts of the brain and body do not interact well. The woman’s ability to connect her memory to her sensory input remained, while her ability to connect memory to her visual input was hampered. So, what this experience reveals is the enduring interrelation of our bodies, brains, and identities.
Further, malformation can happen even when the body is liturgically engaged. In liturgy, one’s body is certainly involved and bodily habits are formed, but the goal should be transformation of the whole self. This will be true for children and folks with cognitive disabilities as well (contra Smith, in Desiring). In fact, if one’s mind is not involved—as far as possible—in one’s liturgical participation, liturgy becomes only an empty shell, similar to the Christian propositions devoid of application that Smith so decries. The only difference is that rote "liturgizing" entails disconnected bodily gestures, while rote memorization fosters disconnected thoughts. Either way, the person remains fragmented. Highlighting the importance of the body against cognitive processes does not heal the rift between mind and body; it merely shifts the emphasis of an already unbalanced anthropology. We need a fuller account of mind-body integration to form the whole person, not a continued zero-sum game pitting mind against body.
For example, consider the students at the service I describe. They understood worship was not just any other practice, because they made time for it. They knew they were encountering the divine because they reverently involved their bodies. But beyond this participation, their behavior did not change. Their desires were not automatically transformed by their bodily liturgical participation; they just lived two different lives.
Liturgy’s involvement of the body is a boon, then, but both its potential and its drawbacks need to be discussed more carefully. So while one cannot think one’s way to God, one certainly can't "liturgize" one’s way to heaven’s doors, either (as Martin Luther amply demonstrated 500 years ago)!
The Problem with Emotions
Related to this lopsided anthropology, champions of liturgical evangelicalism often praise liturgical promotion of the forgotten emotions that produce authentic Christian behavior. When Smith references Bill Cavanaugh’s "provincial farm boy" whose formation by secular emotional appeals wrongly convinces him to go off to war, he makes this assumption explicit. Smith claims that in order to persuade the farm boy “to die as a martyr for the Christian faith . . . [t]he answer is the same” as the process involved in getting him to die for his state (Imagining). In fact, Smith declares that Christian education must be entirely redirected in order to better foster such liturgical emphasis of the emotions (Desiring). According to him, this trajectory produces "sentimental" awareness of one’s location within God’s story of the world, which is a more desirable outcome than mere professional training (Imagining). Smith asserts that by following these recommendations, Christian education can promote humility versus pride in one’s abilities. But in my view, this is wishful thinking.
Sentimental liturgical practice does not guarantee virtue formation—and may in fact lead to pride in participating in a supposedly superior form of worship.
Over the past century, evangelical formation has indeed overly stressed factual knowledge. And it is certainly true that valuing one’s emotions integrates one’s identity. Still, the antidote to emotion-driven secular liturgies is not just emotion-driven Christian liturgy. The "provincial farm boy" has been persuaded by liturgies that conceal the truth. To change his course of action, he needs more than just emotional persuasion in a different direction—or he will become a pendulum continually pulled first one way, then another. Returning again to my opening story, my students’ emotions were engaged as long as they were present at church. But as soon as they walked out the back door, their emotions went very different directions.
For them and for the farm boy to abhor sin and embrace the good, for all of us to redirect our emotions for the long haul, facts need to be gathered and reflection undertaken—identifying underlying desires and motives, understanding what courses of action entail for those affected by our decisions, considering what certain habits create in the self. Only by accessing and accepting truth can we question and resist erroneous liturgies and channel desire aright. Smith might argue that such reflection will be prompted by participation in liturgy, but in my experience this is not automatic. Sentimental liturgical practice does not guarantee virtue formation—and may in fact lead to pride in participating in a supposedly superior form of worship. In short, liturgical tapping into emotion provides a necessary piece of the formation puzzle, but we need Christians who are both emotionally healthy and capable of careful reasoning. Neither aspect should be divorced from liturgical contexts or educational endeavors.
Who Decides?
Finally, liturgy is not a pre-packaged entity. It is crafted, revised, and regulated by sinners. Diverse worshiping groups using the same or similar liturgical forms can foster very different experiences and habits. Liturgical Christianity, then, requires us to examine the nature of authority. Are some liturgies better than others, and who decides? Who recognizes which liturgies, and how and why? Who is chosen to preside and how? How are congregants treated by leaders; is the liturgy truly their work? Who gets to write and/or revise liturgies? Who calls these folks to account? Moreover, how should we handle conflicts over liturgical forms and practices?
I’ll give another example. This time I’ll pick on my own communion, the Anglican Church in North America (ACNA). Its bishops recently approved a new liturgy highlighting an older rite that calls congregants to recognize any unfinished business and to ask and grant forgiveness of one another before Communion. I find this a wonderful retrieval, as it beautifully captures the stress Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians gives to waiting for and discerning each other as the Body of Christ. But does this not require ACNA’s leaders to make peace with the Episcopal Church it departed from, often in very unhappy circumstances? If not, why not? How can the confession rite form the denomination from here on out, especially if its applicability is already considered conditional? Are these good and just forms, and will decision-makers hold themselves accountable to the people?
Liturgy is crafted, revised, and regulated by sinners. Diverse worshipping groups using the same or very similar liturgical forms can foster very different experiences and habits.
Rightly Directed Desire
In order that we may more fully honor and walk with God, identity formation requires discussions that tease out the differences and interplay between emotions, thoughts, minds, bodies, and brains. In my view, what forms Christian identity is not espousing a priority of the body and emotions over the mind and thoughts, but the turning over of the whole self into God’s loving hands. How do we describe and promote this process?
One way to move forward would be to develop more fully Smith’s ideas on the significance of desire. I suggest that Christian formation remains elusive unless the mind-body is not only connected but also animated by desire—which of course ebbs and flows and can be directed, encouraged, or squelched by certain environments and practices. In Smith’s fictional example, a man named Alex can in his “regular and repeated immersion in the practices of Christian worship” absorb the temperament of God so that he is able to forgive his wayward son (Imagining). But this is not quite true. It is not the liturgy, Alex’s bodily behavior, or the emotion Alex feels while at worship that develops him into a forgiving person. It is rather Alex’s reception of God’s presence that allows him to receive the gift of God’s character reorienting his perspective.
Smith would argue that participation in liturgy encourages such reception, but in my experience, liturgical Christians don’t seem more likely to forgive than non-liturgical Christians. In fact, I know many Christians opposed to liturgical worship whose openness to God in their Scripture reading and congregational service has formed their desires in incredibly virtuous ways. God’s indwelling is a gift capable of being nurtured by our choices but not something automatically produced by various methods of worship.
Focusing on desire underlines our need for God to refine what drives us, including our liturgical behavior. As we allow God to expose, test, and refine our desires, we will be pushed to change how we participate in, direct and preside over, or revise and steward liturgical forms: connecting together the mind, emotions, and body and enlivening the feedback loop between liturgy and ethics. We might also discover how to live in greater union with other Christians, based on principles other than whether or not they worship liturgically. Without a commitment to these processes, the movement to promote liturgy within evangelicalism runs the risk of becoming a fad failing to produce lasting impact.
Kirsten Laurel Guidero is a Ph.D. candidate in systematic theology at Marquette University and an aspirant to ordained ministry in the Anglican Communion.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Religious Freedom vs. LGBT Rights? It's More Complicated
The legal context for what's happening at Gordon College, and how Christians can respond despite intense cultural backlash.
John D. Inazu/ July 16, 2014
A private Christian school holds what it considers a biblical view of marriage. It welcomes all students, but insists that they adhere to certain beliefs and abstain from conduct that violates those beliefs. Few doubt the sincerity of those beliefs. The school's leaders are seen as strange and offensive to the world, but then again, they know that they will find themselves as aliens and strangers in the world.
This description fits a number of Christian schools confronted today with rapidly changing sexual norms. But the description also would have fit Bob Jones University, a school that barred interracial dating until 2000. And in 1983, that ban cost Bob Jones its tax exemption, in a decision upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court. Even for a relatively small school of a few thousand students, that meant losing millions of dollars. And the government's removal of tax-exempt status had a purpose: one Supreme Court justice described it as "elementary economics: when something becomes more expensive, less of it will be purchased."
The comparison between Bob Jones in 1983 and Christian schools today will strike some as unwarranted. Indeed, there are historical reasons to reject it. The discriminatory practices in Bob Jones were linked to the slavery of African Americans and the Jim Crow South. The 1983 Court decision came within a generation of Brown v. Board of Education, and its legal principles extended to private secondary schools (including "segregationist academies") that resisted racial integration.
There are also significant theological differences between Bob Jones's race-based arguments and arguments that underlie today's sexual conduct restrictions. Those differences are rooted in contested questions about identity, as well as longstanding Christian boundaries for sexual behavior. Gay and lesbian Christians committed to celibacy show that sexual identity and sexual conduct are not always one in the same. But these points are increasingly obscured outside of the church. We see this in the castigation of any opposition to same-sex liberties as bigoted. That kind of language has moved rapidly into mainstream culture. And it is difficult to envision how it would be undone or dialed back.
How should Christians respond to these circumstances? First, we must understand the history from which they emerge. Second, we must understand the legal, social, and political dimensions of the current landscape. Third, and finally, we must recognize that arguments that seem intuitive from within Christian communities will increasingly not make sense to the growing numbers of Americans who are outside the Christian tradition.
How We Got Here
Many of the questions today simply were not in play that long ago. For one, governmental regulations have a far wider reach than they did even 100 years ago. We work, play, worship, and live in spaces regulated by government. Just look around the next time you step foot in your local church. Some of the building was probably subsidized through state and federal tax exemptions. Any recent construction likely encountered local zoning ordinances. The certificate of occupancy, fire code compliance, and any food service permits all reflect government regulation. Today, the government, its money, and its laws are everywhere.
We can pin many of these changes on the New Deal, but just as influential were the civil rights era and the battle to end segregation. Civil rights laws extended to what had previously been seen as private spaces and transactions. The laws focused on commercially operated public accommodations, such as transportation, lodging, and restaurants. But they also extended to private schools, neighborhoods, and swimming pools. The reach of these laws was unprecedented—and rightly so. The pervasive impediments to equal citizenship for African Americans have not been seen in any other recent episode in U.S. history. Our country has harmed many people (including my grandparents, who were stripped of their possessions and imprisoned for four years during World War II solely because they were Japanese Americans). But the systemic and structural injustices perpetrated against African Americans—and the extraordinary remedies those injustices warranted—remain in a class of their own.
In less than three decades, the Supreme Court has moved from upholding the criminalizing of gay conduct to affirming gay marriage. The tone of the debates has also shifted.
The legal context surrounding LGBTQ rights has also changed swiftly. In less than three decades, the Supreme Court has moved from upholding the criminalizing of gay conduct to affirming gay marriage. The tone of the debates has also shifted. In 1996, an overwhelming majority of Congress passed the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), which was signed into law by President Clinton. Last year, a majority of the Supreme Court concluded that the Act reflected "a bare congressional desire to harm" and that its supporters were motivated by prejudice and spite. These developments are unfolding at breakneck speeds, and will likely affect the laws governing private spaces and transactions.
We also have seen shifts in the law pertaining to the free exercise of religion. The modern religious liberty story begins in 1990, in a case involving Native Americans who lost their jobs for using peyote (a hallucinogenic) for religious reasons. The law prohibiting peyote was generally applicable, meaning it applied to everyone and did not single out religious believers. You couldn't use peyote for either social or religious purposes. The Court decided that the First Amendment provided no special protection against such laws.
That reasoning has broad implications, because many if not most laws are generally applicable. For example, under current law, a religious believer will almost certainly lose a free exercise challenge to an antidiscrimination law that covers sexual orientation.
The public was outraged over the Court's decision in the peyote case. Congress responded with the Religious Freedom Restoration Act (RFRA). The legislation had strong support from across the political spectrum. It passed the Senate in 1993 by a vote of 97-3. Five years later, Congress tried to pass another version, but it died in committee.
The primary reason that the revised legislation failed is that between 1993 and 1998, people began to worry that strong protections for religious liberty could harm gays and lesbians. The bipartisan coalition that had supported the RFRA legislation fractured. Instead of reaffirming comprehensive protections for religious liberty, Congress enacted a more obscure law, largely confined to zoning and prisons.
This isn't the whole story. Two years ago, the Supreme Court recognized important protections for "churches" and "ministers" (though the definitions of both remain unspecified). In addition, part of the original RFRA remains intact—that's how Hobby Lobby recently prevailed in challenging contraception coverage under the Affordable Care Act. But as I noted for CT, Hobby Lobby's narrow legal victory hinged on a statute, not a constitutional principle. In the weeks after Hobby Lobby, we have already seen calls to repeal RFRA and to remove religious exemptions from proposed antidiscrimination legislation at the federal level. And while many states have constitutional and statutory protections for religious liberty, efforts to strengthen those protections at the state level have encountered growing political resistance.
What Lies Ahead
What does the current legal and cultural landscape suggest? Here are three predictions.
Prediction #1: Only religious groups (by no means all of them) will impose restrictions based on sexual conduct. That is in stark contrast to the many groups that make gender-based distinctions: fraternities and sororities, women's colleges, single-sex private high schools, sports teams, fitness clubs, and strip clubs, to name a few. It is perhaps unsurprising in light of these observations that views on gender and sexual conduct have flip-flopped. Thirty years ago, many people were concerned about gender equality, but few had LGBTQ equality on their radar. Today, if you ask your average 20-year-old whether it is worse for a fraternity to exclude women or for a Christian group to ask gay and lesbian members to refrain from sexual conduct, the responses would be overwhelmingly in one direction. That trend will likely continue.
If you ask your average 20-year-old whether it is worse for a fraternity to exclude women or for a Christian group to ask gay and lesbian members to refrain from sexual conduct, the response would be overwhelmingly in one direction.
Prediction #2: Only religious groups will accept a distinction between "sexual conduct" and "sexual orientation," and those groups will almost certainly lose the legal effort to maintain that distinction. Most Christian membership limitations today are based on conduct rather than orientation: they allow a gay or lesbian person to join a group, but prohibit that person from engaging in conduct that falls outside the church's teachings on sexuality. These policies—like the one at Gordon College currently under fire—are not limited to gays or lesbians; all unmarried men and women are to refrain from sexual conduct. The distinction between status and conduct from which they derive is rooted in Christian tradition, and it is not limited to sexuality: one can be a sinner and abstain from a particular sin.
But many people reject the distinction between status and conduct. And in a 2010 decision, Christian Legal Society v. Martinez, the Supreme Court also rejected it, viewing distinctions based on homosexual conduct as equivalent to discrimination against gays and lesbians. I have argued in a recent book (Liberty's Refuge: The Forgotten Freedom of Assembly) that the Court's reasoning is troubling in the context of a private group's membership requirements. But it is the current state of the law.
Prediction #3: Fewer and fewer people will value religious freedom. Although some Christians will respond to looming challenges with appeals to religious liberty, their appeals will likely face indifference or even hostility from those who don't value it. The growing indifference is perhaps unsurprising because many past challenges to religious liberty are no longer active threats. We don't enforce blasphemy laws. We don't force people to make compelled statements of belief. We don't impose taxes to finance training ministers. These changes mean that in practice, many Americans no longer depend upon the free exercise right for their religious liberty. They are free to practice their religion without government constraints.
Additionally, a growing number of atheists and "nonreligious" Americans have little use for free exercise protections. Even though most Americans will continue to value religious liberty in a general sense, fewer will recognize the immediate and practical need for it to be protected by law.
This final prediction is deeply unsettling, because strong protections for religious liberty are core to our country's law and history. But those protections have been vulnerable since the Court's decision in the peyote case. And they will remain vulnerable unless the Court revisits its free exercise doctrine.
After Religious Exceptionalism
If I am correct about these three predictions, then arguments rooted in religious exceptionalism will see diminishing returns. There is, however, a different argument that appeals to a different set of values. It's the argument of pluralism: the idea that, in a society that lacks a shared vision of a deeply held common good, we can and must live with deep difference among groups and their beliefs, values, and identities. The pluralist argument is not clothed in the language of religious liberty, but it extends to religious groups and institutions. And Christians who take it seriously can model it not only for their own interests but also on behalf of their friends and neighbors.
Pluralism rests on three interrelated aspirations: tolerance, humility, and patience. Tolerance means a willingness to accept genuine difference, including profound moral disagreement. In the pluralist context, tolerance does not embrace difference as good or right; its more limited aspiration is permitting differences to coexist.
The second aspiration, humility, recognizes that our own beliefs and intuitions rest upon tradition-bound values that can't be fully proven or justified by external forms of rationality. Notions of "equality" and "morality" emerge from within particular traditions whose basic premises are not endorsed by all. Humility holds open that there is right and wrong and good and evil, and that in the fullness of time the true meaning of equality and morality will emerge. But humility also opens the door to hearing others' beliefs about right and wrong, good and evil. Instead of making claims about what we can know or prove, we might point out that faith commitments underlie all beliefs (religious or otherwise) and stand ready to give the reason for the hope that we have (1 Pet. 3:15).
The third aspiration, patience, recognizes that contested moral questions are best resolved through persuasion rather than coercion, and that persuasion takes time. Most of us—whatever our beliefs—think we are right in a profound way. Most of us structure our lives around our deepest moral commitments. And we instinctively want our normative views to prevail on the rest of society. But patience reminds us that the best means to a better end is through persuasion and dialogue, not coercion and bullying.
In this age, the argument of pluralism is far likelier to resonate in the public square than arguments for religious exceptionalism.
Pluralism does not entail relativism. Living well in a pluralist world does not mean a never-ending openness to any possible claim. Every one of us holds deeply entrenched beliefs that others find unpersuasive, inconsistent, or downright loopy. More pointed, every one of us holds beliefs that others find morally reprehensible. Pluralism does not impose the fiction of assuming that all ideas are equally valid or morally benign. It does mean respecting people, aiming for fair discussion, and allowing for the right to differ about serious matters.
Pluralism and Witness
The argument for pluralism and the aspirations of tolerance, humility, and patience are fully consistent with a faithful Christian witness. And in this age, they are also far likelier to resonate than arguments for religious exceptionalism. The claim of religious exceptionalism is that only believers should benefit from special protections, and often at the cost of those who don't share their faith commitments. The claim of pluralism is that all members of society should benefit from its protections.
Christians have a long way to go in affirming the value of pluralism for all members of society. We might begin by recognizing its role for our gay and lesbian neighbors. When Uganda enacts a law that punishes homosexuality with death, U.S. Christians can speak out against such a law. Domestically, we need to think carefully about the kinds of legislation being pushed at the state level. Some proposed laws are undoubtedly important to protect religious institutions' right to live in accordance with their own beliefs and traditions; others are deeply problematic. Christians in states without any antidiscrimination protections for gays and lesbians might consider supporting those laws containing exemptions for religious groups, rather than simply advocating for religious freedom on its own.
Unkind words have emerged from almost every corner of the public discourse. Christians should not be bullied or silenced by careless language. But neither should they engage in it. Advocacy for Christian witness must itself demonstrate Christian witness. In this way, our present circumstances provide new opportunities to embody tolerance, humility, and patience. And, of course, we have at our disposal not only these aspirations but also the virtues that shape our lives: faith, hope, and love.
John Inazu is associate professor of law at Washington University School of Law, an expert on the First Amendment freedoms of speech, assembly, and religion, and the author of Liberty's Refuge: The Forgotten Freedom of Assembly (Yale University Press, 2012). He recently wrote for CT about Hobby Lobby.
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Why 'God and the Gay Christian' Is Wrong About the Bible and Same-Sex Relationships
Matthew Vines rehashes older gay-friendly arguments for a modern audience. But those arguments still don’t square with Scripture.
Christopher Yuan/ June 9, 2014
In March 2012, Matthew Vines posted a video on YouTube suggesting that "being gay is not a sin," and that the Bible "does not condemn, loving, committed same-sex relationships." He spoke eloquently from the heart with poise, conviction and vulnerability. The video quickly went viral.
Vines is a bright young man raised in a Christian home. At age 19, he left Harvard University after his third semester so that he could come out to his family and friends in Wichita. He knew that his father would not agree with the way he reconciled his sexuality with Scripture. So Vines sought to arm himself with biblical scholarship on the affirmation of same-sex relationships and strove to convince his family and church that they were wrong—that homosexuality is not a sin.
Vines's new book, God and the Gay Christian: The Biblical Case in Support of Same-Sex Relationships, expounds further on the arguments made in his video. His aim is not to present new information, but to synthesize gay-affirming arguments and make them accessible for a broader and younger audience. Vines does a good job fulfilling this goal. Unfortunately, his book consists of some logical and exegetical fallacies, and it does not address the shortcomings of the authors to whom it is most indebted. And although Vines professes a "high view" of the Bible, he ultimately fails to apply uncomfortable biblical truths in a way that embraces a costly discipleship.
Good and Bad Fruit
God and the Gay Christian begins with an emotional appeal from Matthew 7:18, "A good tree cannot bear bad fruit." Vines states that universal condemnation of same-sex relationships has been damaging and destructive for those who identify as gay Christians, producing bad fruit (depression and suicide, for instance). In contrast, Vines asserts that loving, same-sex relationships produce good fruit. Additionally, he claims that the biblical authors did not understand sexual orientation as a fixed and exclusive characteristic. Recognizing that celibacy is a gift, Vines contends that this gift should only be accepted voluntarily. Citing 1 Timothy 4:3, Vines even argues that those who forbid gay marriage are false teachers who promote hostility toward God's creation.
Six biblical passages directly address homosexuality, and Vines insists that none address same-sex orientation as we know it today. Thus, in Genesis 19, the sin of Sodom is not related to loving, consensual same-sex relationships, but to the threat of gang rape. Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13 are not about committed same-sex relationships, but about the improper ordering of gender roles in a patriarchal society (men taking the receptive, sexual role; women taking the penetrative, sexual role). Paul in Romans 1:26-27 is not referring to monogamous, gay relationships, but instead to lustful excess and the breaking of customary gender roles. In 1 Corinthians 6:9 and 1 Timothy 1:10, Paul does not condemn same-sex relationships as an expression of one's fixed and exclusive sexual orientation, but instead condemns the economic exploitation of others.
After discussing these six passages, Vines passionately argues that God blesses the marriages of same-sex couples. Marriage as a one-flesh union is a reflection of Christ's love for the church. This relationship between Christ and the church is not a sexual union based upon gender complementarity. Therefore, Vines asserts that "one flesh" refers to a binding covenant of deep relational connection that is not dependent upon gender differences. For Vines, "sexuality is a core part of who we are" and same-sex orientation is "a created characteristic, not a distortion caused by the fall."
In Vines's 2012 video, he presents himself with a gentle and winsome demeanor. The tone of God and the Gay Christian is quite different. Unlike others who advocate respectful dialogue on this divisive issue, Vines charges that those who do not affirm same-sex relationships are sinning by distorting the image of God and are essentially responsible for the suicides of many gay Christians. This does not help to foster respectful dialogue on an already divisive issue.
Emphasis on Experience
Throughout the book, Vines declares that he holds a "high view" of the Bible. From this perspective, he says, one can still affirm gay relationships. One of the main weaknesses of God and the Gay Christian is that Vines's methodology of biblical interpretation clashes with the high view of the Bible he claims to hold. A high view of Scripture is more than just talking about Scripture. It is learning from Scripture. Vines certainly talks about Scripture, but he tends to emphasize his experience and tangential background information, downplaying Scripture and its relevant literary and historical context.
Experiences do inform our interpretation of Scripture. As a racial minority, biblical texts on sojourners and aliens mean more to me than to someone who is not a racial minority. However, experiences can also hinder the interpretation of Scripture. Although it is impossible to completely distance the interpretive process from one's experiences, it is important to recognize our biases and do our best to minimize them. A high view of Scripture involves measuring our experience against the Bible, not the other way around.
It appears to me that Vines starts with the conclusion that God blesses same-sex relationships and then moves backwards to find evidence. This is not exegesis, but a classic example of eisegesis (reading our own biases into a text). Like Vines, I also came out as a gay man while I was a student. I was a graduate student pursuing a doctorate in dentistry. Unlike Vines, I was not raised in a Christian home. Interestingly, a chaplain gave me a book from a gay-affirming author, John Boswell, claiming that homosexuality is not a sin. Like Vines, I was looking for biblical justification and wanted to prove that the Bible blesses gay relationships. As I read Boswell's book, the Bible was open next to it, and his assertions did not line up with Scripture. Eventually, I realized that I was wrong—that same-sex romantic relationships are a sin. My years of biblical language study in Bible college and seminary, and doctoral research in sexuality, only strengthened this conclusion. No matter how hard I tried to find biblical justification and no matter whether my same-sex temptations went away or not, God's word did not change. Years later I found out that the gay-affirming chaplain also recognized his error.
In God and the Gay Christian, Vines relies heavily upon other authors, many of whom also began with a strong gay-affirming bias. John Boswell was an openly gay historian. James Brownson, a more recent scholar, reversed his stance on the morality of same-sex relationships after his son came out. Michael Carden, a fringe gay Catholic who dabbles in astrology, has written on the "homo-erotics of atonement" and contributed to the Queer Bible Commentary, which draws upon "feminist, queer, deconstructionist, utopian theories, the social sciences and historical-critical discourses." Dale Martin, an openly gay man, believes neither that Jesus' resurrection is a historical fact, nor that the historical Jesus believed he was divine. These views do not represent a "high view" of the Bible.
Leaning upon experience rather than biblical context leads Vines to some inaccurate interpretations. For Vines, "bad fruit" in Matthew 7:17 refers to the experience of emotional or physical harm. But this does not line up with the storyline of the Bible. Under Vines's definition, crucifixion, martyrdom and self-denial would all be considered "bad fruit." Matthew 7:14 reads, "For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few." Following Jesus is not easy and can result in very difficult trials. Vines also neglects to note that two different Greek words are translated into one word, "bad." "Bad tree" literally means a rotten or diseased tree, while "bad fruit" is literally wicked or evil fruit. From the context of Matthew 7, "bad fruit" does not mean emotional or physical harm but refers to sin.
For Vines, "sexuality is a core part of who we are." This perspective makes his experiences (feelings, attractions, desires, orientation) essential to his identity. Our society may place a great emphasis upon a sexual identity, but Scripture does not. As a matter of fact, our identity should not be placed in anything (such as our sexuality, gender, or race) other than Jesus Christ.
Vines asserts that the biblical authors did not understand sexual orientation as we do today, as a fixed and exclusive characteristic. It is one thing to say that the biblical writers were ignorant. But it is a whole different matter to claim to hold to a "high view" of Scripture and imply that the author of the Bible, God himself, does not understand sexual orientation.
Vines is wrong to claim that orientation is fixed and exclusive. Although male sexuality may be more fixed, the latest research in lesbian and feminist studies shows that female sexuality is quite fluid and not as fixed and exclusive as Vines claims. The view of same-sex orientation expressed in God and the Gay Christian mirrors Vines's own gay-male experiences. But according to the latest research, it does not represent the broader gay and lesbian community.
Ignoring Context
God and the Gay Christian includes a good amount of historical background information. For a non-academic book, it is impressive to see all the references to primary sources, such as Plato, Aristotle, Philo, Josephus, Jerome and Augustine. It is disappointing, then, to see insufficient interaction with the actual biblical texts. Investigating historical context is very important, but this must go hand in hand with the investigation of a passage's own literary context. It is easy to deconstruct one or two seemingly inconvenient words in light of tangential background information, but only if one disregards the immediate historical and literary context in which these words appear.
Vines discusses why Christians do not obey all the laws in the Old Testament. However, he does not discuss why Christians do obey some laws in the Old Testament. There is much discussion about the relevance of Old Testament law. But where the New Testament reaffirms it, Christians remain obligated to obey it. Paul reaffirms Leviticus 20:13 in 1 Corinthians 6:9 and 1 Timothy 1:10, using a compound Greek word (arsenokoitai) taken from two words found in the Leviticus passage of the Septuagint ,the Greek translation of the Old Testament.
Vines dismisses this important allusion. He contends that the parts of a compound word do not necessarily help uncover the meaning. As an example, he states that "understand" has nothing to do with "standing" or "under." Yet etymologists (those who study of the origins of words and the historical development of their meanings) can trace the origin and meaning of "understand" to Old English.
Vines notes the use of arsenokoitai in the vice lists of three second-century texts. Even though he admits the vice lists are of limited help, he tries to link arsenokoitai to economic exploitation through word association. Vines might have a case if every vice in each list is related to economic exploitation. But these lists contain a variety of vices, related and unrelated. For instance, 1 Corinthians 6:9-10 mentions idolaters, adulterers, drunkards, and slanderers.
Vines also asserts that arsenokoitai is only minimally associated with sexual sin because it is not always mentioned alongside other sexual sins—and when it is, it is separated by three words. This is insignificant, and ignores other, more relevant historical information. The Greek Old Testament was probably the most widely read piece of literature among first-century Jews and Christians. The two words, arsen (male) and koite (bed), occur together six times in its pages. On four occasions, the reference is to women lying with men, and on the other two (Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13) the reference is to men lying with men. Vines and others who rely upon second-century texts to explain arsenokoitai, dismissing the Greek Old Testament, are inconsistent in applying background information. Again, their biases prevail in their attempt to interpret Scripture.
For Vines, Leviticus 20:13 is not a universal condemnation against same-sex intercourse. Rather, it is "centered around the proper ordering of gender roles in a patriarchal society." Men were not to act like women by taking the receptive role. Ironically, Vines dismisses Philo (a first century Jewish philosopher) for explicitly linking Sodom's sins to same-sex behavior, but then affirms Philo for linking the sin of Leviticus 20:13 to "being treated like women." This is another example of bias and an inconsistent use of background information. If the sin of Leviticus 20:13 is merely a matter of men adopting the woman's sexual role, then only the man in the receptive role should be condemned. However the verse states that "both of them have committed an abomination." Both men are condemned.
Gospel-Centered Reformation
Vines exhorts gay-affirming Christians to help usher in a modern reformation by "speaking the truth," which for him starts with personal life stories. Indeed, we must share our personal experiences, but experience should not replace truth. I completely agree with Vines that many gays, lesbians, and other same-sex attracted people have struggled to reconcile their faith and sexuality without much help from the church. Some churches are unwilling to talk about homosexuality, afraid that it will open up a can of worms. Other churches only talk about the immorality of it, while neglecting to discuss how the transformative message of the gospel is also for gays and lesbians. We must do a better job of walking with those who are working through issues of sexuality, regardless of whether they are acting upon their temptations or not.
We have failed to provide gospel-centered support for same-sex attracted Christians. As a 43-year-old single man who did not choose singleness, I know firsthand the challenges of obedience. But there are also blessings, just as marriage involves challenges and blessings. The church must have a robust, practical theology of singleness which involves more than just abstinence programs and the Christian singles ghetto (also known as the "college and career" group). We are not ready to address the issue of homosexuality (or even sexuality in general) if we have not first redeemed biblical singleness.
We have failed to walk alongside same-sex attracted Christians to whom God has provided a spouse—of the opposite sex. Vines limits the power of God by actually believing that there is no possibility for gays and lesbians to marry someone of the opposite sex. He even believes that encouraging such marriages "is not Christian faithfulness," because they would most likely end in divorce. In this, he offhandedly dismisses many marriages that have not failed. Certainly, there are challenges with these relationships, and getting married should never be the main focus. But fear of failure should not trump gospel-centered living. This is true Christian faithfulness.
We have failed to offer Christ to the gay and lesbian community. We have also failed by giving the impression that orientation change and reparative therapy is the solution. Sanctification is not getting rid of our temptations, but pursuing holiness in the midst of them. If our goal is making people straight, then we are practicing a false gospel.
Jesus did not come to call the righteous, but was accused of being a friend of sinners. Too often, we are more like the older, self-righteous brother of the prodigal son, and our hearts are hardened toward the lost. This is truth at the expense of grace. But the approach that Vines suggests—grace at the expense of truth—also misses the mark. It overlooks the theology of suffering and gives us Christ without the Cross. Jesus, who personifies love, came full of grace and full of truth (John 1:14). Might this be how we live as well.
Christopher Yuan (www.christopheryuan.com) is co-author, with his mother, of Out of a Far Country: A Gay Son's Journey to God, A Broken Mother's Search for Hope (WaterBrook Press). He teaches the Bible at Moody Bible Institute and has an international speaking ministry.
