Ways of Resistance

I thought you might be interested to read about the latest shenanigans taking place among our favorite charismatic “soap opera” celebrities. Actually, all silliness aside, this is a subject that I take kind of seriously because of the spiritual abuse/manipulation that I’ve experienced at the hands of power-hungry leaders. Not to mention the sad fact that I eventually learned to give my own form of manipulative “ministry time” along the way. I’m still repenting…

So, this might be a bit depressing…and yet, as sad as I am, it motivates me to seek the ordinary/reject the theology and apostolic “covering” which produces this kind of mess and toxicity. I don’t want to see any more harm…least of all coming from those of us who profess to be followers in His name. My prayer: Lord, have mercy on us sinners.

Apostolic Bullshit

Apostolic Bullshit II

Apostolic Bullshit III

Last week I posted an introduction to a new series I plan to write about what Jesus’ church should look like in light of our present context (Post-Christendom). Today, I came across a blog post by Mr. David Fitch (an excellent blogger and missional practitioner who makes me think), which seems to parallel many of my own concerns, thoughts, and questions. I would definitely recommend, in addition to our interaction here, joining his conversation as it unfolds. The post is titled, “When They Will Not Come.”

I met Orrin during a visit to Missio Dei (a new monastic community in Minneapolis, MN) back in May. I also met the leader of Missio Dei, Mark Van Steenwyk, while there. In addition to being their “pastor,” he’s also the editor/founder of a webzine called Jesus Manifesto. Several months ago, Mark wrote about his friend Orrin in an article titled, “Buddhist Follower of Jesus?” It’s definitely a worthwhile read, asking important questions.

In the article (and in some of the comments below it—especially the ones by Rick Slone, joseph of antioch, and markvans), I suspect you’ll find some inspiring thoughts, questions, and ideas. My reflections here have to do with what Mark said. His thoughts on the subject have been sitting with me for a while now and I’m hoping this conversation will be a springboard into even better thinking. So, I’ll get right to it.

The inherent belief system (i.e., where we put our faith and confidence) within many Evangelical communities takes for granted certain modern USAmerican philosophical and economic assumptions. They are not neutral; they are the water we swim in. And they are not—without much qualification and selectivity—uniquely (or even easily) “Christian.” So, I ask:

How do we justify our accommodations (as professed followers of Jesus) to late 20th century conservative/liberal politics, modernist philosophical assumptions, and industrialized economies while, at the same time, invariably condemning the accommodations made to other faith traditions, cultures, and religions?

This bait-and-switch comes in the form of a very insidious (and culturally comfortable) lack of theological imagination. On the one hand, our notions about “non-Christians” have supposed that God could not possibly be at work in, among, or through folks who believe differently than “us.” They are unregenerated, unsaved, and unable to escape the worldly clutches of Total Depravity. Christians, on the other hand, are totally “forgiven” (an abstract legal agreement between God and those who truly believe) and unconditionally “saved” (the promise of a four-star hotel room after graduating from our bodies and the rest of this filthy world). We seem to have lost the ability to accurately and beautifully imagine the Jesus Story in ways that transcend or, better put, subvert imperial assumptions (i.e., the narratives which oppress and do harm to creation).

Under the impact of such framing stories, God’s dreams for the world get reduced to pre-packaged, unearthly, and, ultimately, inoffensive religious technologies for salvation and impersonal doctrines or ideas about Truth. The very telling (and unfortunate) result is that Christians in the West have been unsuccessful in providing an alternative to the life-sucking bad theologies and exploitive economies rampant among the “secular” as well as those who call themselves religious. This should cause us who seek to be faithful in our context more than a few seconds to pause and think.

The Jesus Story is so much more than consumerism or business-as-usual. The imago dei, resting on all of us, propels each human-alive into generative relationship with creation and Creator. It convinces us of our God-created goodness, loveable-ness, and moral lucidity even before we think about how terribly we’ve messed up the story (i.e., sinned). In Jesus’ outline, enemy-love becomes the true mark of an apprentice and hope-for-creation gives shape to our history and God’s future. So, before making uninformed or ignorant remarks about other religions or the non-faith of “unbelievers,” perhaps we should rethink our understanding of Jesus and his message. Indeed, once our understanding of The Message changes, so do our ways-of-being-in-the-world and, ultimately, everything that we have imagined. Fortunately for us, the world’s future is not defined by the grim scowls and calculated formulas of modernist “evangelistic strategies.” And, in spite of our many unholy alliances with Caesar, we—the visible church—are still an integral part of the most radical and prophetic story ever believed/lived.

Editors note: This was originally posted at Relevant Magazine (online version). I’m posting it here so that I can buy myself some blog reader time to finish a new piece that I intend to post within the next week or so. Plus, some of you might not have read this earlier one. Enjoy.

Movements have a funny way of losing authenticity and believable grammar when their language is co-opted by abstraction, like when a Christian movement professes to love God and either hates or ignores their neighbor. Wendell Berry writes, “People in movements too readily learn to deny to others the rights and privileges they demand for themselves.” As a child during the ‘80s, I watched (unaware) the multiculturalism movement gain momentum in public education. Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like without the culturally in-forming “Ad Council” broadcasts and public service announcements from my youth, reminding me and my classmates that hate language and discrimination are both wrong and morally passé. Imagine my shock when I began to hate, and further, when I began to feel hated. Didn’t I grow up in a “tolerant” society with “evolved” speech that didn’t allow for racism or ethnocentrism of any kind? Turns out movements, even really good ones, fail sometimes.

I can remember attending a church picnic around the spring of 1987. Collections of families and organized groups commonly gathered at Caldwell Park in Redding, Calf., to spend the afternoon. Around tables and barbeques, mostly grilling hotdogs and spooning potato salad, people seemed to experience life in its fullest.

I spent most of my childhood among white children, their parents and their families. Nevertheless, ingrained in me was this unspoken assumption that ethnic minorities never ventured out of their houses or into our parks (terrible, I know!). This day in the park was different for two reasons. First, I noticed a large Hispanic family eating together and enjoying each other’s company at a table nearby ours. Second, the boys I normally hung out with at these events had invited along a kid I had never met, a gregarious dark-skinned boy.

It’s no wonder, as I walked among the picnics with my buddies, that I was intimidated by this new acquaintance from an unknown background. I’m sure some of my family’s distrustful stories about Mexicans, shaped around Texas border controversies, helped to unwittingly form my own thoughts about Hispanics and dark-skinned individuals in general. The truth is, my conservative neighborhood and family had economic as well as political motivations to scare me away from minorities. I heard stories that left me feeling vulnerable and insecure as a kid.

When my friends paid more attention to this new guy than me, I became jealous and full of insecurity. Perhaps I thought to myself, “This is just what I expected!”

The large Hispanic family, speaking a chorus of syllables and notes I didn’t understand, mingled with each other as they stood holding food. Their children chased each other through the maze of adult appendages, laughing and tagging the shoulder or waist in front of them. Perhaps they were unaware of us, much like we were unaware of them. That quickly changed. As soon as the thought came to me, I made use of the opportunity to be “funny.” I pointed to the Hispanic table and said to our new dark-skinned acquaintance, “Hey, why don’t you go hang out with your family!” This nameless and placeless boy, along with my friends, looked at me with disgust.

I responded tentatively by blaming his ambiguous racial makeup, “What are you anyway?” Maybe I knew when I said it that he had every right to fire back what he wanted to say and eventually did say. Maybe it had already sunk in, the guilt and failure that revealed a festering wound (hidden no more). Coldly and more justified than I, he spoke from his injury, “What are you? Retarded!?!”

I wouldn’t have thought of myself as rude or, especially not, as racist. Most white Americans growing up during these last 40 years have been exposed to such a huge quantity of civil rights language and metaphors I am sure we know it like the back of our hand. Still, I sometimes wonder if it means anything to us besides our abstract value for “diversity.”

What was left for me to say? There could be no excuse for what I did. We were left frozen by the knowledge that Racism had reached into our boyhood and pulled out hateful ugliness. I wish I could say that I learned from this experience, that I never repeated those words (or similar ones) again. I wish I could say the wound I inflicted on myself and those around me (particularly the boy) has healed without any scarring. I’m afraid the void I cast that day on the Hispanic family at the park and this new acquaintance of mine has come back to haunt me time and time again. The only way I see this dreadful abstraction finally taking shape, becoming fully human, is by re-membering our stories and the healing language of actual lives in place.

A movement, much like mystery, can too easily become reductionistic, routine and average (especially the larger it gets). The best movements I have been a part of have been ones that challenge me to rethink everything, even the thoughts I have about their particular causes. Though I’m not convinced multiculturalism as a movement goes far enough in the way of meaning what they say, I am grateful for being invited into a conversation that (when their language is authentic) means responsibility and justice for the weak. The world, I think, is ready for this kind of thing. We are looking for some new possibilities, a re-imagined conversation about race and fear. Whatever it is that emerges, perhaps it’s time to declare myself an “unofficial” member.

For a post-charismatic critique of prophetic ministry (and as a follow up to my last post), read Those Prophetic Words (by Cynthia once again) and A Prophetic Word for 2008 (by Kingdom Grace, which Cynthia wrote about and linked to in her post). I’m hoping we can talk openly about our doubts, visions, prophecies, set-backs, and perhaps even new thinking. Maybe one of these days I’ll write some of my own thoughts about how I see the prophecies I’ve been given and how the “prophetic” might interact within/through emerging missional communities.

One quick observation, though, about the prophetic. For those of us who know something about postmodern counseling theories (or for those of us who may have considered the question I am asking below), isn’t Narrative Therapy in general and Reflecting Teams in particular another version of what we Charismatic Christians might call “prophecy”? It’s always struck me that my Marriage and Family Therapy (MFT) colleagues, who would not identify as Christian, have often “ministered prophetically” (apparently without asking for the Holy Spirit or calling it “prophetic ministry”) by effectively using the postmodern theories linked to above. The reverse has also been true: prophetic people seem to be helping individuals/communities to re-story their lives, resisting “oppressive” narratives in light of the “the Lord’s word for them.”

Those are the similarities, I’m sure someone could find more differences. Yet, I’m tempted to ask: Why is it that my non-religious MFT colleagues seem to be just as inspired as myself (or some “prophetic minister”) when we’ve always been taught that they do not have the Spirit? It’s not as if these therapeutic “prophetic words” were moments of exception either. People all over the states have learned to successfully use the narrative approaches. What’s the difference between what “we do” versus what “they do”–practically speaking? Could it be that Narrative Therapy and Reflecting Teams have pioneered information for us that we didn’t yet have about how to integrate our new understandings in post-charismatic ministry? I would love to hear your thoughts.