Post #100: Something Special

It's my 100th postiversary!

I would like to post something special.

I would like to give everyone something to chew on.

I would like to say an unforgettable prayer, sing a beautiful song.

I would like to make you laugh, cry, ponder deeply, or otherwise be transformed.

I would like to present some earth-shattering truth in a way you've never heard it before.

I would like to offer you a piece of phenomenal advice, the kind you'll take with you forever.

But I'm not. There is but one thing I post, give, say and sing, present, offer. And here it is.

Jesus is coming back, and I can't wait.

Now that I think about it, that's pretty special after all.

Cannibal Christians: Zombies and Communion

I just finished a grad course on early church history, and I rather enjoyed it. I also took a similar course in my undergrad, but the two differed significantly. The grad course focused mostly on events and people, whereas the undergrad class was like walking through an evolution of Christian doctrine in the first few centuries A.D. One of my favorite studies has consistently been the first- and second-century church: its malleability, influence, diversity, and process intrigue me so. The separation of Christianity from Judaism and the various local persecutions are interesting as well. But one of the most memorable aspects to me about the infant church is the misconceptions others had about her, of which I will highlight three.

First, Christians were thought to be into incest and orgies. Creepy, right? That one caught me off guard a little when I first heard it. Why crazy sex parties? The idea is that when Christians gathered together, they shared in ἀγάπη (agapē), which is usually translated as "love," but may also designate what was called a "love feast." This love feast is what we might call Communion, the Lord's Supper, or the Eucharist (or thanksgiving). Originally, it was actually a feast, an entire meal, where people came and were filled, not just spiritually, but physically as well. The sharing of the Christian love was thought to be incestuous, because men were calling their wives "sisters," and other such issues arose.

Second, Christians were thought to be atheists. This misconception confused me even more than the last one. How could Christians, many of which were also Jews, be called atheistic? In Roman culture, every public, community activity was a worship to the gods, usually the Caesar. The emperor was often deified, a lot like the Pharaohs, or King Xerxes in 300. For those who refuse to attend the theatre, the coliseum, or other such public spectacles, this was a slap in the face of the emperor. And if they do not worship the gods as the other people do, then they must be believers of nothing.

Third, Christians were thought to be cannibals. Cannibalism actually makes the most sense to me. When the Christians gathered for their love feast, what did they eat? The body and blood of some man called Christ (one person called him Chrestus, which is not too far from the Greek Christos) were consumed by these people, and they even ate children—so the rumors went.

Last week I wrote on the theological connection(s) between the zombies of The Walking Dead and Christians. It was . . . not positive. We seem to be inherently destructive, selfish, and unsatisfiable. But let's consider, just for a moment, how walkers fit into the picture, the portait of ourselves, when we come to the Table of Jesus. We come, many of us, week after week to take part in this part of church. And for many of us, it's nothing particularly special; it's just a piece of the package. We slog through the doors, do what we do every week: sing the songs, pray the prayers, shake the right hands, hug the right people (if you're into that, that is). We listen to the sermon, take the bread and wine, finish our business, and get outta there. Like zombies and walkers, we simply do what we feel we have to do. We may even do it simply because we feel there is just no way not to do it.

On the other hand, however, there may be a different kind of resurrected creature in the crowds. This creature, like its fellows, is driven by hunger, it thirsts for blood. It cannot help being drawn in to that which feeds it. It seeks flesh and blood, but not that of its fellows, or even the body and blood of men. It comes to the Table and finds itself filled by the body and blood found on the table. Its hunger and thirst are so great that it cannot be repelled. It does not come out of obligation, but necessity. As it hungers for the body and thirsts for the blood, so too does it hunger and thirst for righteousness. It finds sustenance in nothing else, but it needs for nothing else. It is satisfied by what it finds at the Table, but it ever longs for more. What it finds is good, and it does not run out. It is given life by that body and blood, and the blood never runs dry, and the body is abundant.

In some way or another, we're all zombies. The question is this: What do you seek to fill you? Do you feed on obligation, or necessity? Are you still hungry and thirsty?

The Walking Resurrected: The Intersection of Zombies and Theology

I recently discovered on Netflix the show The Walking Dead. So far, only two seasons are available, and the third is ongoing. The characters find themselves in a world overrun by walkers, infected humans whose brain stems reactivate postmortem with the most basic of animal instincts. Fueled only by a desire to feed, the walkers pursue sounds, light, and any chance of meat, preferably live meat. They do not restrict themselves to eating humans, and only on one occasion has there been an incident when they partially consumed one of their own. Most of the usual means of death do not affect walkers; only by directly attacking the brain may one be completely stopped. They do not bleed out; they cannot suffer organ failure, nor do they appear to feel pain. They only feed and seek ways to fulfill this end.

As a general literalist and realist (though not without a certain flair for the absurd), I find myself questioning things in TV shows and movies, wondering how things can exist the way they do within the portrayed reality. Sometimes it’s just bad writing. I’ve also been watching the first generation of Power Rangers, and have found plenty of examples there. For instance, a young boy goes missing, and obviously Rita Repulsa is behind it. There is apparently no possibility that a human kidnapped the boy (though this may come to my mind because I do so enjoy Law and Order: SVU), or that something else may be the case. Sometimes the little things in a show or movie reveal tiny absurdities, like when Peter Parker (an incredibly talented and intelligent character) uses Bing in The Amazing Spider-Man. It is generally accepted that no self-proclaimed computer nerd would use Bing.

Within The Walking Dead, a different set of questions arises. While the science behind the scenario remains mysterious (a visit to a disease control center reveals that no one knows whether the infection is bacterial, viral, parasitic, etc.), some curiosities caught my attention. If a walker may be shot multiple times in the torso and still live, what keeps it “alive”? If they do not need to breathe (they can be hanged and still keep going), how can they continue making the grotesque, guttural sounds for which they are known? And if their organs do not matter, why then do they continue to need to feed themselves? While this is not the place for in-depth speculation on a fictional story (for there are certainly those who find it necessary to produce theories about non-existent scenarios), I cannot help but wonder anyway.

Near the end of Season 2 (no spoilers, I promise!), a character who believes in God has apparently lost all hope. Another character says, “You’re a man of God. Have some faith!” The first replies, “I can’t profess to understand God’s plan, but Christ promised the resurrection of the dead. I just thought he had something a little different in mind.” It was at this point I continued pondering what zombies, flesh-eating undead can teach us.

Earlier in the fall this year I attended a youth group weekend retreat. The theme was “How to Survive a Zombie Apocalypse,” and with it the concept that Satan, as a thief, has come only to steal, kill, and destroy. Contrasted heavily with this was the Jesus who claims to bring life, an abundant life to be lived to its fullest extent. We came up with a list of zombie characteristics, most of which I don’t remember. However, I do remember that a great number of those items listed resembled our usual portrayal of Satan.

Even if a walker’s organs don’t function the way they are intended to (or at all, for that matter), it is their most basic instinct to feed. One instinct that does not carry over, though, is self-preservation: they do not feed to survive, but are so driven by their hunger that they give no thought to their well-being. This is not to say they are selfless; indeed, they are selfish in the extreme. They do not sacrifice themselves for the sake of the herd, but each one only follows his or her own stomach. They seek only destruction. Nothing truly satisfies, as nothing ever does.

Making the comparison to a Satan figure is almost too easy. He’s a lion, seeking to devour, etc. etc. But it’s almost as easy, and infinitely more disturbing, to compare walkers to ourselves. How often do we fail to make sacrifices so that we may save ourselves? How thoroughly do we seek to feed ourselves at the expense of others? And how frequent do these realities reveal themselves, particularly in the context of what we believe to be religion?

There are times when the similarities between walkers and those who “walk by faith” are quite scary. I have witnessed time and again Christians whose greatest enemies are other Christians. It is not without reason that it is said, “The army of God is the only one who frequently kills its own.” How is injustice to be battled against when left in the hands of man, even when some of them are Christian?

Here’s the good news, perhaps even the Good News: we are not alone. We do not stand with a Mediator to the Almighty; we are not without weapons, for we are armed with prayer, compassion, and the very Spirit of God; and ultimately it is not our work we seek to perform. Left to ourselves, we are chaotic, destructive. But the resurrection of the dead is at hand, even those dead who are still moving and breathing. May the Lord return soon.

Diminishing Returns

Once more I found myself having thoughts while listening to music and doing the dishes. I'm starting to think there's a connection. If the show The Big Bang Theory is anything to go by (and it is, personally, as so many people have told me I remind them of Sheldon), then sometimes doing mundane tasks frees up the brain to work during repetitive, meaningless action. This time the song at hand was "Better Than Drugs," by Skillet. This song, despite its genre and my tradition's general aversion to rock music, has made it into my Worship playlist on iTunes. Take a few minutes and listen to it on the link above.

As this song is playing, I begin to think on what I know about drug use. The first (and only) thing that comes up is the Law of Diminishing Returns (hence LDR; click through for Wikipedia article). This concept essentially states that the addition of an element to a system will produce an effect, but the more it is used, the greater the quantities of that element must be present to produce the same effect. However, there is eventually a point when the effect becomes negative, that is, it takes away from the desired result instead of helping. This term came up the other night on Grey's Anatomy when a patient with severe blood loss had been given copious amounts of blood for the surgery, but it was doing less and less good as the surgeons labored onward.

Concerning addictions, LDR is the reason why a person requires more and more of the substance in order to receive the high he or she got the first time the substance was absorbed. This is true of the commonly known drugs like marijuana and meth, as well as of alcohol.[1] The same holds for porn, and this one hits home with me, as I have the experience to substantiate the claim.[2] This is why the types of substance can change over time, moving toward more intense drugs, harder liquors, and more hardcore porn. It's because the same stuff isn't doing what it used to.

Given the reference to the Song of Songs in the chorus of "Better Than Drugs" ("your love is like wine"), among other hints in their music, I am inclined to interpret Skillet's work as being Christian. Therefore, I hear the person to whom the song is being sung as God. But the idea that God is better than drugs got me thinking. I couldn't help but wonder whether there is an addictive aspect to religion, or whether LDR applies to religious experience. LDR appears to be true most everywhere else, so why not here?

My religious experience has constantly reinforced the idea that only God will ever be enough for me. I have heard things like, "There's a God-shaped hole in your heart, and only he can fill it." And it appears there are roughly three outcomes of believing this and seeking God: (1) one does not find God,  and so moves onto another substance; (2) one finds God and becomes satisfied with a fixed amount, and is not changed by it; (3) one finds God, LDR kicks in, and one is never satisfied with the current state of things, and continues to seek more, go deeper, take in greater quantities of the God substance. I'm sure there are more possibilities than this, but it's a start.

The first outcome is common enough, where God is never found and so the seeker chooses to look for something else. The second is greatest among religious folk who have become satisfied and, therefore, stagnant. This outcome might be more dangerous than the first. The third, however, is the most intriguing to me. There are those who continually seek God and are never satisfied with "knowing God well enough." These are the people who deal with God relationally, that treat their relationship with God like they would a new lover. When I was getting to know the girl I eventually married, I couldn't get to know her well enough! There wasn't a point when I would think, "Well, I've spent enough time with her this week. That gives me a couple days off!"

This is where a possible branch-off occurs, with several possibilities presented. What would LDR dictate? That even if I remain unsatisfied with pursuing my wife or God and take things higher and higher, eventually the element in question will produce negative returns. At what point does a relationship with a person or God result in negative returns? Can we know God too much? My instinct says no.

There is an inherent problem with applying LDR to a relationship with God. LDR assumes that the substance or element being used or interacted with to produce a result is the only element that changes. The example in the Wikipedia article, for those who haven't read it, was that of workers in a factory. You can add more workers so that more work gets done, but eventually, there will be too many of them, which will ultimately reduce productivity. This does not account for changes in the factory. More machines can be built; greater space can allow those workers to move about; more work may become available. This problem, therefore, is assuming that everything around the additional element remains static.

When other pieces of the system do remain static, the additional component will eventually damage the system. If I attempt to consume God without any change to myself aside from some kind of high, then I will be damaged eventually. If I pursue my wife now without any kind of self-sacrifice, without any personal change for the benefit of the system, the system will crumble. This is the beauty of relationships: they can change.

For those who seek God and find themselves wanting more, that's okay, because God wants more, too. God is not static in his pursuit of his beloved ones, and we shouldn't be static either.

________________

[1] The thing about alcohol is that it can be consumed without pursuit of a high. There are those who regularly drink yet are not addicted, because they are not attempting to reach a certain feeling through the drink. There are people who legitimately simply enjoy a cold one at dinner.

[2] It is, I can concede, theoretically possible that one can view porn passively or without seeking a particular sensation, but I know of no such situations where that is the case. If you come across research where this is true, leave me a link in the comments. I'm always eager to learn more about this topic.

Reading the Creation Narratives after the Exodus

Every once in a while, I have an epiphany. Well, maybe not an epiphany, but an occasional moment of clarity. Like our meme friend, Sudden Clarity Clarence.

Aaaanyway, as I stood in the kitchen doing dishes while my wife was out at a football game with her mom, two things come to mind. First, my wife and I don't exactly fall in line with traditional gender roles, as is evidenced by the previous sentence. Second, and more importantly, I have a realization about a possibility concerning the purpose of the Genesis creation narratives. If this is unoriginal, I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest; it's nigh impossible to have an original idea about the Bible.

But before my epiphany I feel the need to lay out a few of my assumptions. First of all, I'm not a Young Earth Creationist. Christians have been wrong about science before (flat vs. round earth; geocentric vs. heliocentric solar system; etc.), and we have moved on from past mistakes. We haven't quite got around this one yet, but odds are it's only a matter of time. Second, I read Gen 1-2 with the lens of comparison to other ancient near-eastern creation myths and try to understand it in terms of Israel's understanding of itself. In the context of being monotheistic and coming out of a centuries-long enslavement in Egypt, it sort of makes sense that the author(s) of Genesis would produce a story similar to those around them, but with the twist that their God is the one true God (Deut 6.4, for starters). Third, the literary artistry of the creation narratives is beautiful, especially with the parallelism between the first and second halves of the six days in ch. 1. (1-light::4-sources of light; 2-water and air are separated::5-creatures who inhabit water and air are created; 3-land is formed:: 6-land-dwelling creatures are made.) Fourth, we're not the first people in history to wonder whether Gen 1-2 are historical and conclude that they're not. Consider Philo of Alexandria and Origen. Finally, I believe that the Bible is written with purpose, not to teach us history (in the strict sense of "this is what happened"), but to teach us about God. The basic question to ask when reading a biblical text is, "What does this say about God?" And I think this is a pretty good way to read Gen 1-2, since they're in the Bible (FYI). These are where I'm currently at with Gen 1-2. Now you know.

When I do the dishes, I like to rock out. I'm okay with silence, but silence makes a drudgerous (made-up word of the day) task drudgerouser. I find dishes more tolerable if I got my jams goin'. As the music is going, a certain song comes along: "More" by Matthew West. (If you've never heard it, go here.) Sung from God's point of view, West claims God loves people and the person to whom he sings more than anything else he created. It's a magnificent thought, and one I like to be reminded of. As this song is playing, a thought comes to mind.

What if the creation narratives have included in them the purpose of exalting man above the rest of the created order? In these stories, God does not pursue a relationship with birds, trees, the ocean, or light. He pursues mankind. Fortunately, this idea does not change whether a reader holds the traditional view that Moses wrote the Pentateuch or the Documentary Hypothesis. The fact remains that the materials were written and/or gathered after the events they record, and not during them. This being said, let's read Gen 1-2 in light of Israel's captivity in Egypt. (For the sake of convenience, I'll just say "Moses" instead of "the author/editors".) It has been said that the 10 Plagues on Egypt were God's judgment upon the various gods of that people. Blotting out the sun's light is a judgment on Ra, and so on. After several centuries of slavery, the Israelites would likely have been accustomed to hearing worship of the sun, the Nile, and any of the deities listed in that fun song from The Prince of Egypt. The point is, they're used to ordinary things being revered. In addition to the strict monotheism of Israelite theology, the exaltation of man in the creation narratives further reinforces that the image of God is not found in the stars or among insects, but in man. If the image of God is found in Adam and Eve, why would anyone worship a river or a cat?

What if the exaltation of man in the creation narratives also serves the purpose of exalting God? God is already awesome by the end of 1.1, having made the heavens and the earth. But how much more awesome is he to the person who hears this message: "God made everything, and that was pretty good. But it wasn't until he made you that he said, 'Well, that's hard to top! I'd better stop there!' And he called it a day." (Pun totally intended.) Man was the greatest of God's made things. Not the sun, for it can be darkened; not the river, for it can be transformed; not the sky, for it can bring destruction upon all you hold dear. But man, made in God's image, worships only that which is above him, and nothing else, for all else is beneath him. "I love you more," says he, "so why chase after what is inferior? Seek first me, and you shall be blessed. Seek first me, and you will have sought what is highest. Seek first me, and you shall have fulfilled your purpose as my image."

My Personal Savior?

Last night I had the privilege to attend an event called Fields of Faith with the youth group I help on Wednesday nights. The music was great, beautiful thoughts were shared, and God was certainly present. But a few things popped up that made me tilt my head and raise my eyebrow. The one that sticks out most in my mind was the frequent repetition of the phrase "your personal savior." Invite Jesus into your life, and he will become "your personal savior." At a surface level, and to the ears of the dominantly teenage crowd, it sounds pretty good. There is a sense that in such a phrase Jesus is interested in me. This is a powerful thought, considering how many teenagers have no one who is interested in them. With the rise of social abandonment, the rushing from one activity to another, and the general busyness that clouds their lives, it's great to hear about a personal savior.

At the same time, however, this language has embedded in it certain cultural values that are counter-intuitive to the reign of God (βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ). When a stateside teen hears of Jesus as propelling the same values as her nation, is she really hearing Jesus? The individualistic habits of the States are obvious enough (as I have pointed out here and here) to those who recognize them for what they are. But a further danger of individualistic Christianity is that it robs the message of Christ of one of its most important elements: community.

When one's relationship with God is treated the same way as a doctor-patient relationship, problems crop up. If my walk with God is private, then I needn't share it with anyone else. If my secrets are his secrets, I have no need of you. But this isn't how God's reign works. It is not built upon individuals, though they are important, but upon communities. God did not call Abraham to be alone, but he called him to create a family, a people, a nation, a community. The synagogue is not a place to come and pray by yourself; it is specifically for the act of gathering together (which is what "synagogue" means in the first place)! The same is true of the church. Its power is not expressed at its greatest in persons, but in people.

If Jesus can be understood to have worked alone somehow, there would be no problem. But he didn't. He chose people to come after him, worked with them for two years (give or take), built them into a community, and left with them a Helper who would further form that community into the image of Christ so that it could better become his bride.

Is Jesus a personal savior? Absolutely. But we ought not forget that he is also a communal savior. Without the community, we are lone pieces of driftwood riding the sea of religion and attempted righteousness. Within the community, those pieces come together to make a raft with plenty of room, that place of safety that is still quite dangerous, but invites tired swimmers in and offers them rest from the waters they attempt to surmount on their own.

The Church as Proof

In church for the fall we're studying the Gospel of John. One week I was even asked to teach, which I thoroughly enjoyed. This past Sunday, the normal teacher was there, and we were tasked with going through John 3 and 4. How we were supposed to go through such dense material in 45 minutes (or so) is beyond me, but we made a valiant attempt.

At one point, following discussion of the Samaritan woman and Nicodemus, the following question was asked: "How do you know Jesus was the Messiah?" Now, we're a rather small group. Our class is called the "Young Professionals" group, which basically means post-college and childless people. About half the class comprises nurses, and another third is teachers, so we're not terribly diverse. Nonetheless, we bring a certain range of experience to the table. So, the question being asked, several answers came up (none of which I can remember right now).

But I was stumped for a moment. It's the kind of thing that an academic training in biblical studies does not prepare you for. My mind thinks in terms of why people then believed Jesus was the Messiah, how they interpreted the Hebrew Scriptures (probably from the Septuagint, mind you), why the resurrection was evidence for them, etc. I generally don't think about why Jesus is still believed to be the Messiah. Ergo, I didn't have an immediate answer.

But my answer was right under my nose. I answered, "The church. The church is why I believe Jesus was and is the Messiah." It seems a strange thing at first, even to me. Well, especially to me. I was for a long time rather anti-church. I had a very low view of the church, especially as an institution. It was a long process for me to appreciate the church as something worth being a part of, as valuable to Christianity.

I believe the existence of the church shows Jesus' messiahship. Historically, without the church, there is no evidence. It is within the church that the writings of what became the New Testament came into being. It is within the church that Jesus is confessed as the crucified, resurrected Lord. It is within the church that the story of Jesus is passed on. And it is within the church that Christianity must exist. It has been said that there is no salvation outside the church (Henri de Lubac, I think), and I think there is something to that statement. Likewise, without the church, there is no Messiah to believe in. Without the church, no one knows who he is. Without the church, there exists no community to make the claim that Jesus was Messiah, to confess his name, to live his life, to be baptized into his death and resurrection.

I believe Jesus is the Messiah because of the church. Why do you?