I speak the truth in Christ—I am not lying, my conscience confirms it in the Holy Spirit— I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, those of my own race, the people of Israel.
~ Paul, Ro 9.1-4a
I have given a lot of thought to this passage in Ro 9.  What it says to me, is that Paul was willing to do anything — anything — if he thought that the result of his actions would be life and salvation for the people whom he loved.  Specifically, he appears to be willing to engage in the sort of activities that would get him removed from God’s covenant people, the sort of activities that would cause him to be damned, if he thought that the actions performed would make a difference for his beloved.
Of course, Paul does not write these words as some sort of academic or theorist.  He writes as a person of action, longing not for the best appropriate theological expression, but for the next level of action — the type of activity that might create an apocalyptic rupture, that might create space for an Event.  Thus, he does end up gambling (and finally losing) everything, in his efforts to spread the Spirit of life and the good news of the crucified one who overcame Death.
Now, when I compare this sort of way of thinking and living to what I have encountered amongst those who claim to know Paul intimately — those involved in biblical and theological studies — the contrast is pretty striking.  What we find in this company is endless criticisms — this course of action is not sufficiently trinitarian, that way of thinking is not christocentric, this way of living neglects the fundamentally pneumatological and eschatological nature of New Testament ethics, and so on and so forth, ad nauseam.  Of course, what we don’t (generally) find in this company is anything close to the risk-taking and sacrificial activity that Paul himself practiced.
Similarly, when you compare Paul’s approach with the way that many (so-called ‘radical’) Christians approach matters related to social justice, the contrast is stark.  With Paul we find a person who was genuinely and wholly committed to those whom he loved — so much so, that he bore on his body the brand-marks of Jesus (i.e. the disciplinary scars inflicted upon those who dared to resist the Powers).  With Paul we find a person willing to wager it all — even his own salvation — if he thought it would make a difference.  So, how does this compare to most contemporary Christian social justice circles?  In those circles, we hear a lot of talk about justice, we watch some captivating documentaries, we dress up in costumes and engage in a little street theatre or political drama… and then we go home to our places of comfort and privilege and exclusion and feel good about ourselves.  It’s all a bit of a rush, but nothing was really at risk, and nothing was really required of me.  And this is what we say we do out of our ‘deep love for poor people’ (or something like that).  What a sham.
As for me, I’m at a place where I’m willing to act in any way possible.  Willing to act against my own faith even, if I thought that it would genuinely make a difference in the lives of those who have been abandoned.

They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, “Do you see anything?”
He looked up and said, “I see people; they look like trees walking around.”
Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly.
~Mark 8.22-25

Charlie, my boy, when you were born I felt like the blind man in this story.  I felt like I had been walking around in darkness for so long that when I finally (and miraculously) began to see again, I didn’t know what I was looking at.  I didn’t know what I was feeling.  It took some time for me to realize: oh, this is what it is like when sunlight bursts into the darkest places of my being; this is what it is like when love banishes old wounds that had clung to me like parasites; this is water on parched soil; this is stars falling like fire from heaven.
And so, Charlie my boy, I will try, to the best of my abilities, to ever only give you good gifts — for you are a miracle and a gift from God.  Never believe those who will tell you that you were born a sinner; when you were born you were beautiful, and breathtaking, and pure… and good gifts are all that you deserve to receive.
I love you, I love you, I love you.

What would change if more Christians lived as though God did not exist?
Or…
What would change if more Christians lived as though God did exist?

As far as I can tell, it has now become something of a truism to connect rampant individualism with the economic structures of global capitalism.  Individualism, to borrow the words of Fredric Jameson, is a part of ‘the cultural logic of late capitalism’, and one sees this idea expressed in the writings of everybody from Catholic theologians, to Communist economists, to Post-Marxist cultural theorists.
In fact, while initially an exciting thought (‘ah yes, capitalism has fractured us from our communities, leading us to live as isolated monads, so a renewed investment in the Church/the vanguard of the revolution/the multitude/the neighbourhood/our tribe/whatever will produce change!’), I have recently been thinking that it is a somewhat deceptive line of criticism.
The truth is that capitalism would be completely unsustainable if it genuinely did produce a sweeping form of individualism across all layers of society.  Instead, the inculcation of the type of individualism we see expressed today is a part of the old ‘divide and conquer’ technique employed by those who benefit the most from the world of global capitalism.  Individualism becomes an in-habited ideology that ensures that the many remain fragmented from one another, and therefore also remain impotent, poor, or just trapped in the cogs of the machine.
Meanwhile, those who are at the top of the chain live anything but lives structured as individuals.  This is easily illustrated in the common expression, “It’s all about who you know.”  Knowing the right people, joining the right clubs, living in the right (gated) communities, gets you into the right schools, which gets you into the right jobs and the right marriages, and so on.  So, while the many in the middle or on the bottom of society are encouraged to live as radical and free individuals, those at the top are maintaining and consolidating networks of power and control.  Individualism for the hoi polloi, community for the wealthy and powerful!  (So, community ends up becoming the private property of the rich.)
To me, then, this suggests the priority of class-based analysis over criticisms that rely upon subsidiary notions like individualism.  Why is it, I wonder, that people talk far less in class-based language these days?  Is it, perhaps, because some many of our critics are themselves members of the upper classes?

A little while ago, one of my brother’s wrote a post that mentioned how the founder and former CEO of Blackwater (now Xe) had contributed significant sums of money to a number of Conservative Christian groups like ‘Focus on the Family’.  In response, I asked if ‘Focus on the Family’ should be considered a Christian organization.
On the one hand, I was having a bit of a laugh, as ‘Focus on the Family’ is probably one of the most influential and widely known ‘Christian’ groups in North America.  On the other hand, I was being completely serious, and this had gotten me to thinking about the following questions:
What determines whether or not a person or group is ‘Christian’?  Is it the affirmation of certain propositions (as many today tend to think)?  The embodiment of certain practices (as Jesus appeared to argue)?  Both?  Neither?
More generally, what role do boundaries between ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ play in the formation of group identities?  Who determines those boundaries and patrols them?  What positive function do these boundaries serve?
Finally, if a person self-identifies as belonging to a certain group, is it appropriate to contest that?
I would be curious to hear how others might respond to these questions.

Some recent conversations and readings have caused me to revisit my thinking on portrayals of divine violence within the biblical texts.  Specifically, I have been asking myself: what exactly am I to make of the fact that the bible often portrays God as violent or as commanding or approving of massive acts of death-dealing destruction?
Now the reason why these texts strike me as troubling isn’t necessarily because they portray God as violent, unattractive, and evil but because this portrayal of God seems inconsistent with the God portrayed throughout most of the biblical narrative.  If this portrayal of a violent God was consistent with the rest of the bible, then it would be easy to simply close the book, and move on to better things.  However, as far as I can tell, the bible primarily presents God as the God of life, of creation, of healing, of forgiveness, of the oppressed, and so on.  Therefore, those who are drawn to this (dominant) portrayal of God are left to struggle with the texts of terror.
When approaching these texts, it is important to remember that the authors are shaped by the contexts and ideologies that they inhabit as they write.  Indeed, what I think we see reflected in these texts is the extra-biblical ideology of conquest as it is proclaimed by the triumphant or by the oppressed who unconsciously adopt the ideology of the oppressors.
Thus, for example, in the Old Testament narratives related to the conquest of Canaan, we encounter history as it is written by the triumphant.  Not surprisingly, as with most stories of conquest, we read of how the victors experienced divine assistance and, even at their most vicious (say when they were slaughtering women, children, and animals) they are portrayed as simply ‘following [God’s] orders’.  Of course, such narratives are strikingly similar to the stories told by other Powers, from contemporary American narratives about the wars in Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan, to most of the parties involved in the two world wars, to empires as diverse as the Babylonians, the Ottomans, the British, and so on.  Therefore, during the moments of history when the ancient Hebrews (briefly) enjoyed some relative military success, it is not surprising to see them relating history through lenses tinted by triumph.
Stated bluntly, this is what war criminals tell themselves (and end up believing) in order to sleep with clean consciences — which also means that the overcoding involved in these stories tends to be bullshit… regardless of whether or not they come to us from Obama or the Deuteronomist.  So, truth be told, I just don’t buy it.  I don’t buy it that God has called America to be the policeman of the world, and I don’t buy it that God called Israel (past or present!) to slaughter the people who live in the land they wish to inhabit.  The day God starts telling you to slaughter innocents, is the day that you should start looking for a new God… because the odds are the voice you are hearing isn’t God at all.
This way of thinking covers a good deal of the violence described in the Old Testament, but it still does not explain references to divine violence in the New Testament (notably references to the damnation and torment of those who are perceived of as enemies of God and God’s people), which was written, not by the triumphant, but by members of an oppressed and subversive minority.  In these instances, I think it is best that we understand references to divine violence to be an expression of one of the ways in which oppressed people end up internalizing the ideologies of their own oppressors.  This is, after all, a common thing to see — rather than finding a third way of being and acting, oppressed people often fall victim to the propaganda and the spectacle imposed by the oppressors, but simply wish that the tables were turned.  Of course, much of what attracts me about the biblical narrative is the struggle to discover, express, and act out a third way (the Way of Jesus Christ) but it is not surprising to discover that those who follow this way do so imperfectly and — despite their best efforts — still end up enmeshed in some of the violence of their times.  The same is true of any of us.
In sum, I believe that there are various and competing traditions and voices found within the biblical narrative.  Some of these traditions are more prominent and carry greater weight than others.  It is my opinion that the traditions that speak of God as the God of life, creation, healing, liberation, forgiveness and of the oppressed, outweigh the traditions that speak of God as the God of death, conquest, destruction, and of the triumphant.  Therefore, I reject such portrayals of God.  These texts of terror just might be Christianity’s ‘Satanic verses’.

A little over a month ago, the kind folks over at Bridging the Gap invited me to participate in a ‘synchroblog’, wherein various contributors would reflect in one way or another on matters related to Christianity and homosexuality.
At that time, I decided to abstain because, to be honest, I’ve got a bit of shortfuse with (mostly Conservative and Evangelical) Christians when it comes to these things.
However, I find myself compelled to engage these Christians on this topic and here is the reason why I do so:
In my ten years of working with street-involved and homeless youth, I have gotten to know a good many youth who were physically and sexually abused and then abandoned (or driven to run away) solely because of their sexual orientation.  Further, I know that this experience is not unique to homeless and street-involved youth — I have many friends in the LGBT community who have had similar experiences, but who had other supports in their lives, and so were able to avoid the street.  The catch is that most of those engaging in the abuse of non-heterosexual youth appear to be Conservative or Evangelical Christians.  Almost every kid I have known who has come to the street due to abuse related to his or her sexuality has told me that s/he comes from a Christian family.
This is what compels me to dialogue with Evangelicals and Conservative Christians about sexuality.  Just as we will always need John Schools (to teach men about the realities of sex work), we will always need those willing to tell Evangelicals and other Conservative Christians that it is not okay to beat, rape and abandon your children — no matter what their sexual orientation.