Book Giveaway — Social and Political Commentary

Congratulations to Ian, the winner of last weeks ‘Biblical Studies’ book giveaway! This week, the theme of the book giveaway is social and political commentary — as per usual, the winner will be selected at random. Here are the books that are up for grabs:

Two by Noam Chomsky, What We Say Goes: Conversations on U.S. Power in a Changing World and Profit Over People: neoliberalism and the global order;
Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations by Michael Walzer;
Therapy Culture: Cultivating Vulnerability in an Unclear Age by Frank Furedi;
The Globalization of Nothing by George Ritzer.

Book Giveaway — Biblical Studies

First of all, congratulations to Josh Chin, winner of last weeks Emergent giveaway. This week, as we continue to celebrate the birth of Charles (by spreading the love), the theme of the books being given away is ‘Biblical Studies’. The books included are:

Encountering the New Testament: A Historical and Theological Survey by Walter A. Elwell and Robert W. Yarbrough;
The New Testament: An Introduction by Norman Perrin;
New Testament Exegesis: A Handbook for Students and Pastors by Gordon D. Fee;
The Cross of Christ by John R. W. Stott;
Old Testament Exegesis: A Primer for Students and Pastors by Douglas Stuart;
Genesis: An Introduction and Commentary (Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries) by Derek Kidner.

I should conclude with a reminder and a clarification. The reminder is that all of these books are used and most contain at least some markings made by prior readers. The clarification is that only those who are interested in receiving all of the books mentioned will be included in the draw (this saves me hassle and money on postage).

A Less Gracious Radicalism? A Response to Mark Van Steenwyk

Mark Van Steenwyk, one of the editors of Jesus Manifesto, recently published an article there entitled “A More Gracious Radicalism“. In it, he repeats a few common remarks about those who aspire to some sort of ‘radical’ or ‘counter-cultural’ or ‘prophetic’ expression of Christian life today — you know, that such people are more accusatory than gracious, more angry than brokenhearted, more embittered than joyful, more defined by what they are against than by what they are for, and so on. As he summarises his lament, ‘radicalism often turns people into jerks rather than lovers’ (emphasis removed). Thus, he proposes a ‘more gracious radicalism’, one that is gentler, more attractive, and more recklessly loving of all.
Now, that’s all well and good, as far as it goes. I reckon that a good many so-called Christian radicals — especially those who like the ‘radical’ label — might be jerks (even if it’s worth noting that I don’t know any who would fit this description), and I reckon that we all need to be reminded that all of this comes down to love. So, yep, hooray for peace and grace and love and all that.
However, before we all join hands and start belting out some old school rock anthems (which is a lot more fun than singing Kumbaya), we should be clear on what exactly love and grace look like in situations of exploitation and oppression (i.e. in situations like our own). Indeed, in response to Mark, I would like to stress three points.
(1) Being gracious does not mean that we should avoid an honest and direct confrontation with reality.
The fact of the matter is this: in a death-dealing culture — wherein almost every aspect of one’s life is premised upon the despoliation, deprivation and death of others — those who speak truth on behalf of the pursuit of life (and life for all) will be decidedly unpopular. Tell a parent that the McDonald’s toy they gave to their child was made be other children in brutal working conditions and what will that parent say to you? Probably something like this: ‘Hey, what are you, some kind of jerk?’ Tell a friend that the blood of children is staining their favourite sneakers or brand of clothes, and you’ll probably get the same reaction.
So does a ‘more gracious radicalism’ require us to avoid these conversations or ignore these and a plethora of other facts? I hope not. Being gracious does not mean pussy-footing around harsh realities or trying to blunt the edges of that which is, and if espousing a ‘more gracious radicalism’ means ascribing to this sort of cheap grace, then I want nothing to do with it.
(2) Partisanship does not equal élitism.
This is an important distinction to make. While those often labeled as ‘Christian radicals’ are also often charged with practicing a ‘sneering élitism’, the fact of the matter is that Christianity requires us to practice concrete allegiances with certain people-groups — notably people who are poor and oppressed. Naturally, this particular calling tends to produce a great deal of discomfort amongst Christians who benefit from structures of oppression — notably the wealthy and the comfortable. Thus, rather than recognising this partisanship for what it is (i.e. a necessary component of membership within the body of the crucified and risen Christ) these Christians find it easier to accuse those who practice this form of partisanship of ascribing to some form of ‘élitism’. Two things must be said in response to this. First of all, to make an allegiance with a particular group is not the same thing as saying that one is superior to other groups — it is simply to say that this is where one’s identity compels one to be. Second, this accusation tends to distract us from the observation that those who make it tend to be counted amongst the actual, concrete economic and social élites of our world. That is to say, one’s focus is shifted from actual historical realities, to the supposed snobbish attitude of these so-called Christian radicals.
(3) What matters is not our feelings but concrete historical action.
Our society is one that is both terribly abusive and hyper-sensitive. Everyone wants to appear compassionate and well-intentioned, while simultaneously living self-absorbed and death-dealing lifestyles. Therefore, when addressing these matters, we must remember that our top priority is advocating on behalf of the bodies of the oppressed and not protecting the feelings of the oppressors. After all, at the end of the day, what matters is not how a person feels when confronted with the truth of her or his situation — what matters is the action she or he chooses to take in response.
So, for example, if a fellow at work is abusing his girlfriend, I will confront him on that abuse — and though I will be open to working through his own history and presenting issues with him, I will also make it clear that such abuse will not be tolerated. What I will not do is refuse to directly confront the abuse simply out of a desire not to hurt his feelings, or out of some misguided desire to be ‘more gracious’. Thus, while it may hurt this fellow’s feelings to be told that he is (currently) an abusive boyfriend, I can’t allow my concern for those feelings to stop me from speaking this truth. The same applies, mutatis mutandis, to how we address broader socio-economic and political issues today.
Indeed, we must remember that speaking these difficult truths is itself an act of grace. It is only by coming to an awareness of oneself as an oppressor that one is enabled to cease oppressive activity, and one only comes to this awareness in a painful process of confrontation with an other who speaks the truth. This, at least, has been my own experience.

Book Giveaway — Emergent

As a part of celebrating the birth of my son Charles, I will be doing a series of weekly themed book giveaways. If you want to receive the books mentioned just leave a comment to let me know, and the winner will be randomly selected. Each week’s winner will be announced the following week when I post the next set of books to be given away. Also note that all of these books come from my own collection and may contain some (usually minimal) markings in the margins and the body of the text.
That said, the theme of this week’s giveaway is the Emergent church and the books are:

Brian McLaren’s ‘New Kind of Christian’ Trilogy (A New Kind of Christian; The Story We Find Ourselves In; & The Last Word and the Word After That);
Jesus Wants to Save Christians: A Manifesto for the Church in Exile by Rob Bell & Dan Golden;
The Moral Quest: Foundations of Christian Ethics by Stan Grenz.

January Books

Well, not surprisingly given everything that has gone on this last month, there was very little time for cover-to-cover book reading. Regardless, here are the books I did finish.
1. The Last Word and the Word After That: A Tale of Faith, Doubt, and a New Kind of Christian by Brian D. McLaren.
Many thanks to Mike Morrell from The Ooze for this review copy!
This book, the third in McLaren’s ‘New Kind of Christian’ trilogy, is focused upon the question of hell and, more significantly, what beliefs about hell imply about the character of the God who is said to create and maintain such a place. This is not to say that other topics aren’t addressed here and there throughout the book — matters related to struggles for justice and the mission and identity of the Church being two significant subplots — but the relation of hell to the character of God is the driving theme of the book. Stated in an overly simplistic manner this book poses the question: “Can one believe in some sort of eternal or postmortem ‘hell’ in light of the affirmation of God as good, powerful, and loving?” The answer is that if it is, perhaps, too much of a stretch to say that one absolutely cannot believe in such a thing as this sort of ‘hell’, at the very least one should not affirm such a place. Thus, while many explore the topic of hell within the theological category of eschatology (understood as the ‘last things’ or the ‘last word’) the word that McLaren asserts must come after all that is ‘grace’.
Now, this is all well and good, as far as I’m concerned. I have personally rejected what has sometimes come to be called the ‘traditional’ view on hell, even more than the characters in this book. Of course, to refer to only one view on hell as the ‘traditional’ view, is something on an ideologically-weighted misnomer as the Christian tradition, from its inception, has always contained multiple and divergent views on hell… but I digress.
I enjoyed this book because, to a greater degree than the previous books in the trilogy, McLaren’s engagement with the relevant biblical texts was quite substantial and well-rooted in serious scholarship. In a way McLaren is simply popularizing what has been argued in more detail elsewhere (which is something that needs to be done). Also, on another positive note, I felt that McLaren was finally starting to hit his stride as a fiction writer within this book. The flow of the story seemed more natural, the characters more genuine, and so on.
So, once again, I would recommend this book to those who were raised within Conservative or Evangelical Christian circles and who have been asking questions about their faith.
2. Alexander Herzen and the Rise of Russian Socialism by Martin Malia.
This book is a detailed biography of Alexander Herzen, the 19th-century Russian émigré and populist (although he could also be described as a socialist or an anarchist). The biographer, Martin Malia, is especially concerned to understand Herzen in relation to his times, and so the book contains many fascinating and detailed studies of Herzen’s relation to the works, acts, and thoughts of people like Schiller, Schelling, Saint-Simon, Hegel, Sand, and Bakunin.
Malia’s thesis regarding the rise of Russian Socialism is that the socialist revolutionary, in Russia, was rooted not in the proletariat but in the gentry. Therefore, contrary to an element of Marxist theory, Malia argues that it is a certain segment of the aristocracy who rebelled against the autocratic power of the Tsars, precisely because the Tsars were so autocratic that these members of the gentry were made to feel alienated from the Court. Thus, according to Malia (who agrees with Lenin on this point), the socialist dream is born amongst members from the possessing class, but who do not feel that are of this class (this also fits with Weber’s thesis that the revolution arises when the culture-makers move into solidarity with the proletariat).
Herzen, then, becomes Malia’s illustration of this point — a member of the gentry, who always felt alienated from his own class (particularly because he was an illegitmate son of is father), who was exiled by Nicholas, and who ended up being one of the key voices from Russia regarding Socialism.
Now I personally found this all very fascinating, particularly as I am continually asking myself: ‘What is required to produce social change today?’ Equally fascinating, although not explicitly explored by Malia, are the ways in which Herzen’s location amongst the gentry functions as an obstacle to his embrace of Socialism. Thus, while Herzen does arrive at an affirmation of an anarchic form of Russian populism, this is largely the result of his consistent application of beliefs related to personal dignity and individual freedom (indeed, it should be noted that this sort of anarcho-syndicalism — and not something like a liberal democracy — is the proper conclusion to those post-Enlightenment trajectories).
Therefore, in Herzen, Malia provides us with an illustration of both the ways in which people with wealth and property can contribute to the revolution, and ways in which that wealth and property becomes and obstacle to meaningful contributions.
3. & 4. Rabbit is Rich and Rabbit at Rest by John Updike.
These, the last two books in Updike’s Rabbit Series, continue to follow Harry ‘Rabbit’ Angstrom through his life at ten year intervals. In Rabbit is Rich, we encounter Harry in his late forties, running a car dealership, playing golf and having drinks at the Clubhouse, and dealing with a son who got his partner pregnant. Then, in Rabbit at Rest, we encounter Harry in his late fifties, semi-retired in Florida half the year, dealing with his first heart attack and trying to help his son with an addiction problem.
As I’ve stated before, I found this series to be rather terrifying in its portrayal of both suburban America and of people, and life, in general. It makes me wonder, ‘Good God, is that all there is? Is that what we really are?”

How I Understand the Bible

(1) Rooted, as I am, within the Christian tradition, I believe that it is best to understand the Bible as a partial but privileged witness to the history of God’s life-giving engagement with creation in general, and humanity in particular.
(1.1) I use the the term partial here because the Bible is not an exhaustive account of all the ways in which God’s life-giving engagement occurs. Indeed, the Bible itself frequently suggests that there are many other unknown ways in which God is engaging the world. For example, in the Old Testament, we meet mysterious characters like Melchizedek, or we hear of God’s plans and involvement with nations and peoples outside of Israel. Thus, the Bible only accounts for one particular trajectory within God’s life-giving interactions with us.
(1.2) However, within the Christian tradition, this is a privileged trajectory — hence my use of that term here. For Christians, the history of God’s life-giving engagement with creation culminates in the person and work of Jesus of Nazareth. Thus, the Bible is a Christocentric text, bearing witness to God in Jesus Christ. This is not to say that every single text within the Bible must be taken as referring to Jesus; rather, it is to assert that the general trajectory of the Bible, prior to Jesus’ coming, points forward to him, and that the general trajectory of the Bible, after Jesus’ coming, refers back to him.
(1.3) Thus, as a partial and privileged witness the Bible is understood as a text that reveals something beyond itself — God’s life-giving engagement with creation in general, and humanity in particular. Therefore, Christians treat the Bible as a sacred text, not because the text itself is sacred (or infallible, for that matter), but because the text points beyond itself to the revelation of the God of Life. As Karl Barth has said, the Bible is not the Word of God, but a witness to the Word of God — Jesus Christ.
(1.4) I should also explicate what I mean by speaking of the history of God’s life-giving engagement with the world. Essentially, I am asserting that God understood as the God of Life, is the central thread running through the entire biblical narrative and all its disparate parts. Thus, God is first presented as the Creator of all other forms of life — plants, animals, and humans who are formed from the dust of the earth — the Sustainer of all life — causing the sun to rise and the rain to fall — and the Renewer of life — ultimately even restoring life to the dead in the new creation of all things. All of these things are things that God does in relation to creation in general, and humanity in particular. Thus, the Bible is neither an anthropocentric text, nor is it a text that treats humans the same as all other creatures. Rather, while not denying all of the ways in which God engages the cosmos, it focuses upon God’s interaction with us because this is what we need to know in order to live within creation. Or, as C. S. Lewis might say, this is ‘our story’, but that we have this story does not mean that there are several other stories being told alongside of it.
(2) However, lest we become confused and reduce this notion to some sort of ‘cosmology of life’, spanning from creation to new creation, I must emphasise that, within biblical history, God’s life-giving engagement with us is primarily revealed in acts of liberation, healing, reconciliation, and peace.
(2.1) Therefore, it is essential for us to realise that there is a fundamental conflict occurring within biblical history. The God of Life is constantly waging war on Death, and all the ways Death finds expression within creation and within our common life together. Of course, by speaking of this fundamental conflict, I am not seeking to restore some sort of dualism, as though Life and Death, good and evil, or light and darkness, are locked into some sort of eternal struggle. Rather, Death has entered into creation as an alien intrusion and will one day be done away with. The God of Life is Sovereign and has conquered Death on the cross of Jesus, and will one day completely abolish Death and its reign.
(2.2) However, until the day of Death’s total abolition, Death still operates within history through the forces of sin (which is that which brings death into the world; i.e. sin is anything that is death-dealing): notably, bondage, sickness, division, and violence. Consequently, God is understood as the great Liberator — bringing about such events as the Exodus of the Hebrew slaves from Egypt — as the great Healer — offering sight to the blind, wholeness to the broken, and new life to the dead — and as the Reconciler and Peacemaker — restoring humanity to relationship with God, restoring the socially marginalised into the community of abundant life, and bringing together various nationalities, ethnicities, genders, and members of diverse social locations into the form of fellowship that Robert Jewett has described as ‘agapaic-communalism’.
(3) Therefore, given what I have said thus far, we may also understand the Bible as a text possessing coherence, contradictions, and cultural conditioning.
(3.1) We can speak of coherence within the Bible, because the broad theme of God’s life-giving engagement, which is focused upon Jesus of Nazareth, and regularly revealed in acts of liberation, healing, reconciliation, and peacemaking, in conflict with Death and its lackeys, can be traced throughout the various biblical texts.
(3.2) However, we can also speak of contradictions and cultural conditioning within the Bible because this history of God’s life-giving engagement with us, is a history recorded by particular authors (and editors), from particular places, at particular moments. These authors are not infallible voices, but they do their best to understand what God is doing, and what this means for them, even as they impart certain other culturally conditioned paradigms onto God and their experiences of God. Thus, we should not be afraid to acknowledge that certain voices within the Bible stand in tension, and sometimes in total opposition, to certain other voices (say, for example, the tension between what Walter Brueggemann has referred to as the ‘justice tradition’, and the ‘holiness tradition’ in the Old Testament; or, to provide a further example, the contradiction between the imperial Davidic theology found within some Psalms and Proverbs, and the anti-imperial prophetic theology, found within the Prophets and the Gospels). Further, we should also have no issue with other contradictions and scribal errors within the Bible (say, for example, the different accounts of who killed Goliath, found in 1 Sam 17.50 & 2 Sam 21.19). All of these things are to be expected when humans, with all their limitations, try to bear witness to God — and none of these things take away from the fundamental coherence of the Bible, which we have mentioned above.
(4) Therefore, the task of the contemporary reader of the Bible is to learn how to negotiate this coherence, contradiction, and cultural conditioning in order to witness to, and participate within, God’s life-giving engagement with creation in general and humanity in particular.

(4.1) This, then, leads me to reject some other contemporary ways of reading the Bible. Most notably, I am led to reject the more standard Conservative reading of Scripture which tends to favour a supposedly ‘plain reading’ of Scripture, and which tends to assert that we must accept everything said by the Bible — or by a certain voice within the Bible (usually Paul) — to be universally true and binding.
(4.1.1) Thus, to pick a fairly straight-forward example, on the one hand, we can see how Paul’s emphasis upon the ways in which Christ and the Spirit abolish various hierarchies within the community of faith (cf., for example, Gal 3.26-29), coheres well with the broader trajectory of Scripture; but, on the other hand, we can also see how Paul writes as a culturally-conditioned person, when he asserts that ‘nature teaches us’ that it is shameful for men to have long hair, and for women to have short hair (cf. 1 Cor 11.14-16).
(4.1.2) However, this rapidly becomes more complicated and we can begin to postulate that other assertions have more to do with the cultural conditioning of the biblical authors than they have to do with the revelation of the God of Life. Take, for example, New Testament references to hell and the punishment of those who fall outside of the community of faith. It is clear that some New Testament authors believed in the future torment and damnation of their enemies and oppressors (this is likely true of the author of John’s Apocalypse), but one wonders how much this belief accords with the revelatory history of God’s life-giving, liberating, healing, reconciling, and peacemaking character and actions. It is quite possible that the affirmation of hell is simply an element of the cultural conditioning of some biblical authors whose understanding of God is still constrained by then contemporary notions of power, sovereignty, and judgment and who then read those notions into their experiences of God in history (this is what Elizabeth Schüssler Fiorenza is talking about when she criticises the so-called ‘kyriarchical’ approach taken by Paul in some epistles).
(4.2) Of course, we are negotiating a rather slippery slope, and the immediate objection to what I am saying here is that I, an equally culturally conditioned person, am setting myself up as an authority over the Bible (instead of affirming the Bible as an authority over me) and allowing my own subjective preferences to determine which parts of the Bible cohere with the big picture of God’s life-giving engagement with us, and which parts are simply reflections of the various authors cultural conditioning. However, this is not the case, and I also reject other, more liberal and postmodern readings of the Bible that treat it in this way. At the very least, my approach need not be any more subjective and arbitrary than any other approach to the Bible. After all, we must recall that all approaches are subjective and arbitrary, at least to the degree that we all subjectively choose which approach we are going to take to the Bible, and to the degree that every approach affirms some things the Bible says as universally binding (say that worship of the God of the Bible is related to living fully human lives) and denies other things this significance (say certain Old Testament food laws, or what Paul says about hair). Again, I am doing no different than every other exegete who recognises some injunctions within the Bible as authoritative, and some injunctions within the Bible as no longer authoritative. Furthermore, my approach does require the reader to recognise the authority of the biblical witness to God’s life-giving engagement with us, with all the subplots and implications that come alongside of this leitmotif.
(4.3) One of these implications is that readers of the Bible must not be content to simply hear about, or observe, what the God of Life has done within history. Rather, we must also go on to participate within God’s ongoing life-giving engagement with creation and with us. To properly read the Bible is to learn to embody and proclaim the witness of the Bible in both word and deed. To read this witness is to be transformed into martyrs fully engaged in life-giving acts of liberation, healing, reconciliation, and peacemaking, in opposition to the power of Death, which finds expression in contemporary structures of sin, bondage, sickness, division and violence. Submitting to this implication is a hard thing to do, as it requires nothing less than everything from us, so it comes as no surprise to me that others might be tempted to flee into more Conservative readings of the Bible (which present the reader with a list of requirements, but requirements that are decidedly more manageable than this call to martyrdom) or into more Liberal and postmodern readings of the Bible (which present the reader with a lot more freedom to pick and choose which demands are made authoritative).
(5) Thus, we can conclude that reading the Bible is a difficult task that precludes any simple or straight-forward way of achieving understanding — so beware of any hermeneutical model that offers you these things! Reading the Bible is something we can only do with a good deal of trepidation, and a good deal of assistance from the community of faith, the world at large, and the Paraclete.

Charles (my son!)

Last night my wife gave birth to our first child. Turns out that he is a boy. Charles. He is healthy and well, and weighed in at seven pounds, two ounces. Mom is also healthy, after labouring for 18hrs. We did a home water birth with the assistance of a few midwives, a friend, and my mother.
I have never felt anything like the way I feel now. I have never felt happier. I have never felt more at peace. I have never felt more in love. It’s indescribable.

Review and Discussion of 'The God I Don't Understand': Part 1, Introduction

Discussed in this series: Christopher J. H Wright, The God I Don’t Understand: Reflections on Tough Questions of Faith (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008).

Introduction

Christopher Wright’s latest book, The God I Don’t Understand, is an exploration of some of the ‘tough questions’ that confront those who confess the Christian faith and affirm the Bible, along with the God portrayed therein. Four focal points are chosen: questions related to evil and suffering, questions related to the divinely sanctioned slaughter of the Canaanites, questions related to the cross of Jesus, and questions related to the ‘end of the world’.

Within this post I will first review Wright’s introductory remarks. I will then post some of my own thoughts regarding what Wright has written. Finally, I will post some thoughts from my brother Judah, whom I have invited to participate in this dicussion, and he will respond to both Wright and myself. This will be the pattern employed for the entire series, except at the end, when I will also respond to the whole of Judah’s remarks, and then allow him to respond one more time and conclude the series (NB: Judah will only be responding to a reading of my summary and comments, and not to a reading of primary text).

For those who do not know Judah, I have invited him to respond for several reasons. First of all, he is a thoughtful and compassionate fellow with experience in both the academy (he received a Master’s degree in Restorative Justice under the supervision of Howard Zehr and is teaching part-time at a University in Ontario) and in social services, where, amongst other things, he has spent some years working in support circles for perpetrators and survivors of sexual violence both within his local community and within Canadian prisons. Secondly, I have invited Judah to participate in this dialogue because, although he has previously identified as a Christian, he no longer professes the Christian faith. Therefore, I think that Judah brings a doubly valuable perspective to the questions before us. On the one hand, he brings an ‘outsider’ perspective to the discussion – one that is essential for a genuinely honest confrontation with the questions under discussion. After all, despite our best efforts to remain objective, Christians are all too easily influenced by the to vindicate their faith (and their God!) and it often takes an outsider perspective to demonstrate how superficial or self-serving even our best efforts can be. On the other hand, he also brings the perspective of a former ‘insider’, and is, therefore, able to easily follow the discussion without confusion related to the terms employed, the events described, the overview of the Christian faith, and so on. Thirdly, I have invited Judah to this dialogue because I am tired of listening about confrontations between so-called ‘militant atheists’ and so-called ‘Christian apologists’ (don’t be fooled – this is just an ideological term for militant theists!) that are, for the most part, lacking in acts of genuineness openness to the other (each party comes with foregone conclusions), charity (each party is bent on destroying the other), and affection (each party views the other as an opponent). Consequently, I hope that the dialogue between Judah and I will demonstrate that openness, charity, and affection do not not have to be absent in frank discussions related to core questions and fundamental disagreements.

Okay, then, on to the book.

Summary: Preface & Introduction

What becomes immediately apparent when one enters into Wright’s book is the tone which he employs to address the matters at hand. While many other Christians have approached the ‘tough questions of faith’ with self-serving pat answers or some sort of bravado that refuses to either genuinely listen to contradictory voices or plumb the depths of the problem, Wright enters into the discussion with the intention of being both honest and humble, confessing that some, or all, of these questions might not actually have any clear-cut answers available to us here and now. This, then, explains the title of Wright’s book, which differs from a good many apologetic efforts in speaking of a God the author does not undestand… instead of speaking of a God that the author has got all figured out! Of course, Wright explores these themes as a confessing Christian, and as a person who claims to both know and trust the Christian God, but he recognises that ‘knowing and trusting does not necessarily add up to understanding’ (13).

Significantly, Wright highlights the observation that his lack of understanding takes various forms. Thus, there are things that he does not understand about God that leave him angry and grieved (like the reality of evil), things that he does not understand about God that leave him morally disturbed (like the story of the conquest of Canaan), things he does not understand about God that leave him puzzled (like stories related to the so-called ‘end of the world’) and things that he does not understand about God that cause him to be filled with gratitude and hope (like the cross).

While highlighting that this absence of understanding is one that is reflected back at the contemporary Christian – both in the bible and in a good many hymns – Wright ultimately takes Psalm 73 as his guide for how he approaches these issues. Wright notes that Psalm 73 ‘begins by affirming the essential faith of Israel’ and only after doing this goes on to express profound anguish over the apparent moral and spiritual inversion that the author (like us) can see all around him’ (22). However, even in this outcry, the psalmist does two things. First of all, he is cautious to not carelessly broadcast his concerns, lest he unsettle the faith of others (Wright refers to this as the establishment of a ‘proper pastoral limit to the voicing of protest, and he seeks not to transgress this limit). Secondly, the psalmist engages in his protest within the context of worship which, without changing the harsh realities of the present, does infuse worshippers with ‘a transforming expectation from the future that is both sobering and comforting’ (23). Thus, within this context, the psalmist moves from faith, through protest, to a renewed faith. Wright, then, tries to take the reader down a similar road. He writes:

In seeking to be honest and realistic, I do not want to upset further the faith of those already disturbed. Rather, I want us to face up to the limitations of our understanding and to acknowledge the pain and grief this can often cause. But at the same time, I want us to be able to say, with this psalmist (73:28), “But that’s all right. God is ultimately in charge and I can trust him to put things right. Meanwhile I will stay near to God, make him my refuge, and go on telling of his deeds” (23).

Thus, Wright notes how his faith, his location, and his pastoral concerns impact and limit what he does and does not say about the matters under discussion. However, his view of these limits is one that appears to be positive—they are portrayed as both necessary and appropriate.

Dan’s Response

There isn’t too much that I want to say in response at this point. I have already highlighted Wright’s humble tone and I am glad to see a Christian writer who is trying to encounter reality-as-it-is without immediately fleeing into comforting or self-serving obfuscations.

That said, there are two issues I would like to raise. First, it is worth asking ourselves how Wright’s particular context and commitments – writing as he does as a Christian rooted within the community of faith, and operating with the a priori assumption that God is in control and will make everything right in the end – do or do not facilitate his encounter with reality-as-it-is. That is to say, while I do not want to take away from the importance the Christian community plays in the formation of a Christian’s identity and paradigms, I would also want to stress the importance of being rooted in other places, especially when it comes to the questions under discussion in this book. So, while Wright wishes to explore these questions within a community of god-worshipping people, I would suggest that there is great value to be found in exploring these questions within a community of (apparently) godforsaken people. Thus, for example, in exploring the crucifixion of Jesus, let us not only do so in the company of those who meditate upon the crucifix, let us also ensure that we do so in the company of those who are crucified today. Of course, one does not always need to choose between these various communities; rather, one should strive to be rooted in both places simultaneously. For, as much as being within a faith community can sharpen our vision, solely privileging our rootedness within that community can also warp our vision (if, for example, we lose track of the fact that our particular faith community is also a community of, say, conservative middle-class white folk – for every community is a combination of religious, economic, political, ethnic, and other factors that need to be explicated and often challenged).

To return, then, to Wright’s particular context, commitments, and a priori assumptions, my concern becomes that Wright is limiting himself to a group that is, oddly enough, both too narrow and too vague. On the one hand, by writing as a Christian, with Christians, to Christians, the perspective on the topics under discussion risks becoming too narrow because it neglects the riches that are to be found when we begin to ask these questions in other places, and in solidarity with people with other commitments – say with Native Americans who survived the traumas of Christian residential schools, or say with the philosophy of a Sartre, the stories of a Camus, and so on. We must ask ourselves: when we a priori accept that God is in control, and that everything will work out in the end, how much are we capable of genuinely plumbing the depths of these questions? If we are responding to evil and suffering by saying, as Wright does, ‘But that’s all right…’ how much are we genuinely opening ourselves to the stark reality of these things? So, to be clear, my concern at this point is not that Wright is discussing these things from a Christian perspective – after all, I too am writing from a Christian perspective; rather, my concern is that Wright is too narrowly limited to only a Christian perspective.

On the other hand, the approach taken by Wright is also too vague in that it fails to account for the ways in which our Christianity, and our responses to the questions at hand, are conditioned by the economic, ethnic, and socio-political factors mentioned above. Of course, having read some of Wright’s other works (notably, in this regard, Old Testament Ethics for the People of God), I know that he is aware of these factors and has engaged them in a way that I admire… it’s just that I would like to have seen these things dealt with more directly here as well.

The second issue I would like to raise is Wright’s pastoral concern not to deeply unsettle the faith of others or ‘upset further the faith of those already disturbed’. Now, I’m no pastor, but on this point I find that I completely disagree with Wright. It seems to me that one of the grievous problems with Christianity in our context is precisely how settled and undisturbed it is both by the God of the bible and by the world around us. Consequently, I think that faith – if it is to be genuine, take root, and lead to action that anticipates God’s reconciling new creation of all things – needs to be unsettled, disturbed, and thrown into crisis. Thus, unlike Wright, I do not think we should place any limits upon our protests and our outcry. Indeed, unless we have been confronted with such a cry, I do not know how we can determine if our faith is real. After all, the unfiltered, unconstrained cry of another shatters all the is illusory about my faith, and reveals whether or not my faith has any reason to remain. So, for example, I may think that an appropriate conclusion regarding evil and suffering is ‘That’s all right, because God is in control…’ until I try to say this as a way of comforting a homeless girl who was recently gang-raped and she responds to these words with an unfiltered cry. Then I quickly realise that this is actually a horrible thing to say both because there is nothing ‘all right’ about gang-rape and because asserting that God is in control is a way of telling the survivor that God permitted her to be raped. Consequently, returning to Wright, I cannot help but wonder if his pastoral sensitivity simply ends up maintaining the sort of faith that is illusory and damaging to those who have been thrown into the depths of the cry. (Of course, to be fair to Wright, we have not yet explored what he has to say about evil and suffering, and the great sensitivity he demonstrates in that exploration, but it is worth highlighting this quotation because it reveals where Wright wishes to lead the reader, and the assumption out of which he is writing.)

Judah’s Response

Hey Everyone – I’ve finally made it onto Dan’s blog, as a writer. Look out! Here’s my chance! Dan, along with my other 2 brothers, is one of my favourite people. We did just recently have an alcohol-fueled argument that degenerated into name-calling (on my part), but we love each other all the more for it (right, Dan?). He’s younger than me yet in so many ways he is much older and wiser, having taken on a lot of shit at a young age and continuing to do so throughout his adult life.

I did stop reading his blog for a while though. For a time, it started to feel like the same old fundamentalist bullshit, but instead of asking Jesus into my heart I had to ask the poor into my home. Both things I’m not really prepared to do. Especially the Jesus one. Anyhow, I’ve started to read it again in the past few months and think that Dan is starting to adopt a bit of a softer, more patient tone with people….according to me anyways.

As to Wright’s writing, I haven’t read it but I have a few thoughts based on Dan’s summary and response.

(1) I agree with Dan as to the ‘that’s all right I can trust God’ comment made by Wright. No, in my opinion suffering and evil is not all right and I wouldn’t be willing to attach that kind of a statement to it.

(2) Secondly, I personally am not willing to trust or wait for a god to work things out. If there is a god – he, she, it (I’m very tired of most xian others referring to god as a man) – seems to be totally absent and uninterested in human suffering or doing anything about it. Human beings have the ability and potential to wreak a lot of havoc, but even more so, the capacity to take care of each other. So, rather than wait for ‘god’ I’d like to see humans – xians, jews, muslims, hindus, buddhists, satanists, secularists, atheists, agnostics, freethinkers, etc, etc – band together more and do something about suffering and evil. I’m not willing to resign myself like Wright appears to suggest.

(3) I also agree with Dan (this ain’t turning into too much of a debate) that his comment about being pastoral (when it comes to the ‘tough’ questions) is not healthy for Christians. Further, I would say it is condescending – as if he, or others like him, are the strong in the faith and they are the only ones who are allowed to truly wrestle with the most difficult questions. What’s he scared of?

(4) I like his emphasis on not understanding…very refreshing!

(5) This is fun – thanks for the invite Dan.

3 Doubts: A Meme

There have been a lot of memes thrown out there, but I thought I’d try something a little different. In this meme, I invite any and everybody to share three doubts that they have, but try to hide or suppress. So, even though this meme requires a little vulnerability, do feel free to add your own doubts to the comments section, or to your own blog. Here are my three:
(1) Sometimes I doubt it all. Sometimes I doubt what I have taken to be my prior and current encounters with God and wonder if they were something altogether different (manipulated experiences, emotional breakdowns, whatever). Sometimes I wonder if I’m entirely wrong about this loving God person, because things are so horribly fucked and have been so horribly fucked for a long time.
(2) Sometimes I doubt the idea that any of us can ever be truly healed from our deepest wounds… at least here and now. Sometimes I think that all we can do is learn to repress them, ignore them, and lie to ourselves about them… because even when I’ve thought my oldest and deepest wounds had covered over, I discover that they still split open at unexpected moments. I’ve also witnessed this same thing in a lot of other people.
(3) Sometimes I doubt my ability to honestly encounter myself, let alone the world around me. This, then ties into the last two doubts mentioned: (1) I might be wrong about it all, because I might be lying to myself about it all; (2) and I might be wrong about my wounds healing over, because I lie to myself about myself. That is to say, sometimes I wonder if I have become so adept at deceiving others about myself, that I’ve lost track of the spots where I was being deceptive and the spots where I was being honest. So, once you becomes encapsulated within an illusory projection of yourself, how do you get out? Can you? Sometimes I doubt it.

The Fundamental Crisis of Being

For some time, I’ve been thinking about writing a post arguing that the fundamental crisis of being, in our culture at this moment of history, is that of meaning. Specifically, how we are no longer certain, and no longer know how to be certain, that anything, or any of us, have any fundamental meaning, significance, or value.
Tonight I sat down to write this post and let my mind dive into this crisis, seeking to face it personally (as it has been a crisis that has been weighing on me more and more over the last six months), while also trying to root it in it’s particular socio-historical context, and so on. However, as I was writing, it struck me more and more powerfully as to how this crisis of meaning is related to one’s rootedness within the milieu of the bourgeois, the wealthy, the comfortable, and the privileged. That is to say, for the vast majority of people in history, and even in the world today, the fundamental crisis of being isn’t meaning — it’s survival. The crisis of being, for most members of humanity, is that one is unlikely to continue to be for much longer. The crisis is not having any food to eat, not having clean water to drink, not having an immune system that functions properly, and so on and so forth.
Consequently, I became so ashamed of myself and my crisis of meaning, that I couldn’t bring myself to finish my original post. Instead, I wrote this.