The Marriage Pledge and the Libertarian Solution to the Marriage Debate

Over at First Things the Revs. Christopher Seitz and Ephraim Radner have published a document called The Marriage Pledge. The gist of it can be summed up as follows:

Therefore, in our roles as Christian ministers, we, the undersigned, commit ourselves to disengaging civil and Christian marriage in the performance of our pastoral duties. We will no longer serve as agents of the state in marriage. We will no longer sign government-provided marriage certificates. We will ask couples to seek civil marriage separately from their church-related vows and blessings. We will preside only at those weddings that seek to establish a Christian marriage in accord with the principles ­articulated and lived out from the beginning of the Church’s life.

You can read the whole thing and see a list of signers, which includes Peter Leithart, here. Tristyn Bloom reported on the pledge for the Daily Caller and you can read her piece on it here.

There’s a sense in which this move is understandable. CS Lewis after all had very similar thoughts 60 years ago in the post-war years in Britain when he proposed a similar solution in Mere Christianity:

Before leaving the question of divorce, I should like to distinguish two things which are very often confused. The Christian conception of marriage is one: the other is quite the different question-how far Christians, if they are voters or Members of Parliament, ought to try to force their views of marriage on the rest of the community by embodying them in the divorce laws. A great many people seem to think that if you are a Christian yourself you should try to make divorce difficult for every one. I do not think that. At least I know I should be very angry if the Mohammedans tried to prevent the rest of us from drinking wine. My own view is that the Churches should frankly recognize that the majority of the British people are not Christian and, therefore, cannot be expected to live Christian lives. There ought to be two distinct kinds of marriage: one governed by the State with rules enforced on all citizens, the other governed by the church with rules enforced by her on her own members. The distinction ought to be quite sharp, so that a man knows which couples are married in a Christian sense and which are not.

It’s perhaps also worth noting that both Revs Seitz and Radner are currently living in Canada, which on matters of sex ethics has been far more hostile thus far to orthodox Christians than the United States. So this move may not simply be a form of protest against the current order, but also an attempt to put a bit of distance between the church and the public square so as to protect the church from possible legal consequences for maintaining an orthodox view on sexuality and marriage.

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Mere Fidelity: Theosis and the Warning Passages (Ask Us Anything, vl. 2)

In this episode we consider the role the warning passages play in Scripture and the question of theosis.  The conversation takes a hand-brake turn at 16:30, so if you’re only interested in one of those subjects then that’s the place to go.

We mentioned this article by J. Todd Billings, so go read that.  If you’re interested in more, you can read Letham’s Union with ChristHorton on the same theme, and J. Todd Billings again.

Special thanks to MK Creative Arts for the audio editing.

If you enjoyed the show (AND ONLY IF), leave us a review at iTunes.  If you didn’t enjoy the show, let us know and we’ll work to make it better.  Or we’ll ignore you.  And if you want to subscribe by RSS, you can do that here.

Finally, as always, follow DerekAlastair, and Andrew for more tweet-sized brilliance.

 

An Accurate Parody: On Andrew Wilson and Matthew Vines

Editor’s note:  Samuel James is a writer based in Louisville, Kentucky. He earned a BA in apologetics from Boyce College. He blogs regularly at Patheos and tweets regularly at @samwisejams.

Did Andrew Wilson’s parody misrepresent Matthew Vines?

Last week Andrew Wilson posted a brilliant and (in many minds) effective satire called “The Case for Idolatry.” The piece parodied many of the arguments used by progressive evangelicals advocating for a departure from traditional Christian teaching about homosexuality. Wilson opened his piece this way:

For many years, I was taught that idolatry was sinful. As a good Christian, I fought the desire to commit idolatry, and repented when I got it wrong. But the desire to worship idols never went away.

I wanted it to, but it didn’t.

So it has been such a blessing to discover that worshipping one God, and him alone, isn’t for everyone. There are thousands of Christians out there who have found faithful, loving ways of expressing worship both to God and to idols, without compromising either their faith or their view of Scripture.

god and the gay christianWhat makes Wilson’s piece so good is that anyone who is familiar with the rhetoric from the “LGBT-affirming” wing of evangelicalism will immediately notice that the only significant alteration Wilson has made to the standard talking points is to replace the word “Gay” with “idolater.” By doing so, Wilson illustrates the untenability of the logical progressions often utilized when advocating for Christian revisionism. Many (including myself) found the piece clever and well-written.

Matthew Vines, the author of God and the Gay Christian, disagrees. In fact, he disagrees so much that he thinks Wilson is “profoundly disrespectful and degrading to LGBT people,” and that his “mockery isn’t Christ-like.”

Vines went further, saying that the piece was a “caricature” that didn’t accurately represent the arguments he has made in God and the Gay Christian.

Now, Vines is welcome to believe that Wilson is mean and hates LGBT people and wants to demean them. That seems to be an uncharitable and demonstrably false claim, but Vines is entitled to that view. What Vines isn’t welcome to, however, is the statement that Wilson’s satire misrepresents Vines’s arguments. He isn’t welcome to that opinion for one very simple reason: He’s factually wrong.

Vines complains that Wilson is not qualified to write such a piece because he hasn’t read God and the Gay Christian. That’s a dubious claim at best, but let’s roll with it. As it happens, yours truly has in fact read and owns a copy of Vines’s book. Taking a very brief foray into the depths of God and the Gay Christian reveals almost immediately that Wilson’s satire was indeed accurate.

Before I dive into the quotes, a couple comments about parody are in order. The point of parody is not to produce a point-by-point rebuttal of someone’s claims. Instead of explicitly refuting the arguments of LGBT-affirming evangelicals, Wilson’s parody intends to expose the fragile underlying logical framework of LGBT-affirming rhetoric. If an absurd claim (in this case, that open idolatry is consistent with Christian belief and practice) can be supported using the same logical progression used by LGBT-affirming evangelicals like Vines, it is fair to question whether that logical progression is valid.

Secondly, let’s get the elephant out of the room: Yes, homosexuality and idolatry are different things that require particular responses. To understand Wilson’s piece we have to grasp what parody is: A genre that illustrates rather than explicates. Wilson is not saying that idolatry and homosexuality are basically interchangeable and whatever can be said of the one can be said of the other (at least, I don’t read him as saying that). The point of using “idolatry” in this case is that it is a practice that both Wilson and Vines would agree is sinful for essentially the same reasons (testimony of Scripture). If we agree with Wilson about the sinfulness of idolatry, and we find that applying the language of God and the Gay Christian to idolatry creates an argument very similar to what we have heard from Vines, we should pause and ask if Vines is using a valid theological approach.

Without further ado, let’s compare passages from Wilson’s piece to those from Vines’s book, and see if the two sound alike:

#1. Wilson writes:

But from childhood until today, my heart has been drawn to idolatry. In fact, if I’m honest, one of the defining features of my identity has been my desire to put something else – popularity, money, influence, sex, success – in place of God.

That’s just who I am.

The integration of idolatry into a person’s fundamental, unchangeable identity is obviously parodical to us because we identify the act of idolatry as necessarily sinful. Idolatry, we would say, is surely something we are drawn to in our sinful state, but nowhere does Scripture endorse our idolatrous feelings based on their integration into our identities.

This parody works because it is exactly the approach to sexuality that Vines exhibits in God and the Gay Christian. On page 5, Vines begins his personal narrative with two things: The realization that he is gay, and the effort he makes afterwards to convert his parents to his theology. At no point in God and the Gay Christian does Vines record a sort of questioning of his own feelings. He knows he is gay and has known for a long time. It’s who he is. On page 8, Vines says:

My parents nurtured a faith in Jesus in me and my sister, give us a moral and spiritual anchor as we grew up. Just as importantly, Mom and Dad lived out their faith in loving and authentic ways, daily confirming for us the value of placing Christ at the center of our lives. So even though I was now facing up to the fact of my sexual orientation, my faith in God was not in jeopardy. (emphasis added)

Vines refers to his “faith” in God and the “fact” of his sexual orientation. His feelings and desires are absolute and settled, and not once does he record any challenge to them. It’s part of his identity, and that is an unquestionable tenet of his theology.

VERDICT: Parody is fair.

#2. Wilson writes:

So it has been such a blessing to discover that worshipping one God, and him alone, isn’t for everyone. There are thousands of Christians out there who have found faithful, loving ways of expressing worship both to God and to idols, without compromising either their faith or their view of Scripture. In recent years, I have finally summoned the courage to admit that I am one of them. Let me give you a few reasons why I believe that idolatry and Christianity are compatible.

Wilson parodies the arguments of affirming evangelicals by using the same kind of ethical pragmatism to talk about idolatry. Idolatry may sound like it is sinful, Wilson says, but actually there are many Christians who have discovered the love and joy of an idolatrous life. Wilson here intends to parody the approach used by many pro-homosexuality Christians: We should never condemn sexual behavior that is mutual, loving, and committed, no matter how much church teaching or Scripture might suggest otherwise.

Is this similar to what Vines does in God and the Gay Christian? Yes it is. For example:

But as I became more aware of same-sex relationships, I couldn’t understand why they were supposed to be sinful, or why the Bible apparently condemned them. With most sins, it wasn’t hard to pinpoint the damage they cause. Adultery violates a commitment to your spouse. Lust objectifies others. Gossip degrades people. But committed same-sex relationships didn’t fit this pattern. Not only were they not harmful to anyone, they were characterized by positive motives and traits instead, like faithfulness, commitment, mutual love, and self-sacrifice. (pg. 12)

Later on, Vines rips several biblical narratives out of their contexts in order to argue for an outcome-based metric of theology. His argument reaches a crescendo on pages 15 and 16: “Today, we are still responsible for testing our beliefs in light of their outcomes—a duty in line with Jesus’s teaching about trees and fruit.”

This is a particularly devastating parody by Wilson. It exposes the pandora’s box created by Vines’s theology of outcome. Because no earthly evidence of harm can be seen from either idolatry or homosexuality, the church should strongly reconsider its teachings on both. If people can bear the “good fruit” of faithfulness, love, mutuality and friendship while they are worshiping idols, then surely Jesus would have us encourage this good fruit, wouldn’t he?

VERDICT: Parody is fair.

#3. Wilson writes:

Firstly, the vast majority of references to idols and idolatry in the Bible come in the Old Testament – the same Old Testament that tells us we can’t eat shellfish or gather sticks on Saturdays. When advocates of monolatry eat bacon sandwiches and drive cars at the weekend, they indicate that we should move beyond Old Testament commandments in the new covenant, and rightly so.

To its credit, God and the Gay Christian isn’t this abrupt in dismissing the witness of the Old Testament. However, Wilson’s parody here is fair. On page 11, Vines writes:

Even become coming to terms with my sexual orientation, I had been studying the Bible’s references to same-sex behavior and discussing the issue with Christian friends. Some of what I learned seemed to undermine the traditional interpretation of those passages. For instance, Leviticus prohibits male same-sex relations, but it uses similar language to prohibit the eating of shellfish. And while Paul did describe same-sex relations as “unnatural,” he also wrote that for men to wear their hair long was contrary to “nature.” Yet Christians no longer regard eating shellfish or men having long hair as sinful. A more comprehensive exploration of Scripture was in order.

Vines continues this strategy later on. On page 83, he argues that since Christians don’t practice levirate marriage or see sexual intercourse during menstruation as sinful, it is unlikely that the sexual laws of the Old Testament should be seen as qualitatively more serious than the ceremonial laws. “All this is to say that not all Old Testament sexual norms carry over to Christians,” he concludes on page 84. Vines argument is again essentially pragmatic: Since Christians don’t practice laws B and C, the odds that law A is binding are pretty low.

VERDICT: Parody is fair.

#4 Wilson writes:

With all of these preliminary ideas in place, we can finally turn to Paul, who has sadly been used as a judgmental battering ram by monolaters for centuries. When we do, what immediately strikes us is that in the ultimate “clobber passage”, namely Romans 1, the problem isn’t really idol-worship at all! The problem, as Paul puts it, is not that people worship idols, but that they “exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images” (1:23). Paul isn’t talking about people who are idolatrous by nature. He is talking about people who were naturally worshippers of Israel’s God, and exchanged it for the worship of idols. What else could the word “exchange” here possibly mean?

Not only that, but none of his references apply to idolatry as we know it today: putting something above God in our affections. Paul, as a Hellenistic Roman citizen, simply would not have had a category for that kind of thing. In his world, idolatry meant physically bowing down to tribal or household deities – statues and images made of bronze or wood or stone – and as such, the worship of power or money or sex or popularity had nothing to do with his prohibitions…

In other words, when Paul talks about idolatry, he is not talking about the worship of idols as we know it today. As a Christ-follower, he would be just as horrified as Jesus if he saw the way his words have been twisted to exclude modern idolaters like me, and like many friends of mine. For centuries, the church has silenced the voice of idolaters (just like it has silenced the voice of slaves, and women), and it is about time we recognised that neither Jesus, nor Paul, had any problem with idolatry.

I have saved this passage for last because those who have read Vines’s book will recognize it most clearly here. Wilson’s parody employs a simple argument: The idolatry prohibited by the Bible is of such a particular kind that that the authors of the Bible merely intended to address a species of it that was common in biblical culture. Therefore, not only is the Bible indefinite about idolatrous actions, it cannot possibly be talking about what we are talking about when we mention idolatry today.

I am truly clueless how Vines can claim with a straight face that Wilson’s parody misrepresents God and the Gay Christian. Not only is this exactly the argument that Vines makes, it is the central assertion on which his thesis hangs. It’s so central that Vines asserts it in multiple locations, such as:

Page 43: “The understanding that homosexuality is a fixed sexual orientation is a recent development. Prior the twentieth century, Christians didn’t write about same-sex orientation, so we don’ thave longstanding church tradition to guide us in this matter.”

Page 103: “Gay people cannot chose to follow opposite-sex attractions, because they have no opposite-sex attractions to follow…So, some might ask, does that mean Paul was wrong and the Bible is in error? No. We have to remember: what Paul was describing is fundamentally different from what we are discussing.”

Page 114: “For Paul, same-sex desire did not characterize a small minority of people who were subject to special classification—and condemnation—on that basis. Rather, it represented an innate potential for excess within all of fallen humanity. When that potential was acted upon, it became “unnatural” in the sense that it subverted conventional, patriachial gender norms.”

Page 130: “The bottom line is this: The Bible doesn’t directly address the issue of same-sex orientation—or the expression of that orientation. While its six references to same-sex behavior are negative, the concept of same-sex behavior in the Bible is sexual excess, not sexual orientation.”

What makes Wilson’s parody effective is that it exposes the hermeneutical sleight-of-hand that Vines executes in order to make his point. How would Vines respond to Wilson’s parody? Given the fact that Vines has established in his discussion of homosexuality that the authors of Scripture wrote misleadingly about topics beyond their intellectual caliber, how could Vines object to an argument for idolatry based on the cultural distance between the idols of the biblical culture, and the ones of 21st century Western culture? On Vines’s own standards, he must prove—without using Scripture, since the authors were pre-modern—that idolatry is sinful even if it looks nothing like what the Bible prohibits.

VERDICT: Parody is fair.

As I mentioned at the outset, Wilson’s parody is not a comprehensive rebuttal to Vines or any other author’s arguments in favor of homosexuality. Rather, it simply uses the same arguments to create a reduction ad absurdum, in which something that is obviously wrong actually fits the theological framework created by Vines’s arguments. When falsity can be supported so well by a hermeneutical approach, the merits of that approach should be called into question.

Vines is welcome to his personal opinion on Wilson or others who disagree with him. He is not, however, entitled to falsely accuse anyone of misrepresenting him.

Mere Fidelity: The Bible and Dr. Peter Enns

The backstory:  Andrew Wilson reviewed Dr. Peter Enns’s new book.  Dr. Peter Enns responded to said review.  We talked about it (above), and we scheduled it in a hurry so we didn’t get Dr. Enns on.  Our bad.  We’d love to have him join us.  Really.  Then Andrew responded to Dr. Enns.

Confused yet?  Listen in.  It will help everything.

Special thanks to MK Creative Arts for the audio editing.

If you enjoyed the show (AND ONLY IF), leave us a review at iTunes.  If you didn’t enjoy the show, let us know and we’ll work to make it better.  Or we’ll ignore you.  And if you want to subscribe by RSS, you can do that here.

Finally, as always, follow DerekAlastair, and Andrew for more tweet-sized brilliance.

The Media, Evangelicals, and Me: On Being a Pessimist in a Progressive Age

The conservative evangelical world has confronted stories over the past two weeks of defectors and would-be defectors to the traditional view of marriage. Hillsong, the mega-mega church from Australia who are re-colonizing the West with their church plants, found themselves under the spotlight precisely by trying to avoid it. Conservatives denounced them, led by one-time Mere-O writer Andrew Walker, and they promptly came out and said that Saint Paul was right, guys, and everything is A-OK. Then Jonathan Merritt wrote a story on David Gushee’s change of heart that was sent around with trumpets and fanfare.

I was mildly critical of both Andrew and Jonathan’s pieces for related but slightly different reasons. I’d like to say one or two more things about my reasons here, not to reopen old wounds but because I think there’s something to learn. And by that I mean I have something to learn, because the Good Lord knows I’m implicated in what I’m about to say.

I was once asked by a reporter whether I thought the “young evangelicals” were going to give up the bigotry of their parents. After I finished laughing, I promptly rejected the question and provide a different one of my own. The poor reporter (probably) wasn’t malicious, but she didn’t have many theological categories either. We talked for an hour…and exactly three of my sentences appeared in print.

I tell that story only to highlight one fact about the press, which by now is well known: many of its members simply don’t “get religion.” Just two days ago, a major news organization published a story that would be laughable, except it isn’t: it’s sad, and media theological ignorance does genuine harm to the cause of Christ.

I say this because I can see at least some decent reasons why a minister of the Gospel might opt to filibuster when the local newspaper reporter asks for his views on sex. The newspaper is not the political authority that Paul preaches to, no matter how much we like to speak of “popular opinion” in juridical terms. The pastor would not be pronouncing the Gospel in unmediated fashion to the world: he’s speaking to a reporter who may or may not faithfully present his views. And neither is the newspaper column the pulpit, which is where the central political and theological (verbal) announcement of the church occurs. He cannot prevent the reporter from listening to his sermons, nor should he try. But he is under no obligation to invite their attention, nor should he feel any compulsion to answer their questions. The Church should proceed on these issues in its own way and time, and that way and time is not that of the press.

Hillsong, of course, brought the media down upon their head and then tried to squirm through their uncomfortable questions, which strikes me as an obvious case of wanting to have their cake and eat it too. But it is the conservative response that interests me most, and the quickness by which people like Walker concluded that Hillsong was simply preparing to change their position. Alan Jacobs, in a more measured fashion, also pointed out that these “journeys” institutions are on only lead to one spot. The point is well made, and I sympathize with it. After all, it has history and statistics on its side—look at those United Methodists and Episcopalians, after all!—and who wants to argue with those?

Except Christians, anyway. Christians want to argue with history and statistics and all the other tools that give off the impression the “journey” inevitably leads away from orthodoxy. I understand (and share!) the skepticism about Hillsong and the concern they will become unorthodox to maintain their buildings and their crowds. But such a skepticism cannot be the first or final word, nor should it pervade our response to their wanderings. Any counsel or response we offer must be saturated in hope, which means we cannot consign people to a path before they have walked it. No institution is on a journey toward a more conservative outlook—yet. They might be, though, if at the moment of hesitation conservatives would walk along side them. Hillsong or any other organization may have a grand reversal, just as there may yet be a glorious revival.

For the one who is not against us is for us.” That word from the Gospel is not the only word our Savior gives to help us understand how we might relate to those outside the faith, but it is a word which deserves its place. Our Lord goes on to say that anyone who gives us a cup of water because we belong to Christ “will by no means lose his reward.” But the question for conservatives runs the opposite direction: If Hillsong or anyone else who gets weak-kneed on marriage “belongs to Christ,” will we offer them a cup of water or shake the dust from our feet? If they never belonged to Christ, then there is no reason to respond at all: they are who we thought they were, we might say, and go on our way.

Pulling the denunciation trigger quickly is an obvious path toward ensuring the clarifying press release is written, which is the only evidence many conservatives need to show the denunciatory strategy “works.” But the effort will ultimately come to nothing as long as it reinforces the rotten idea that the only movement possible is away from orthodoxy, not toward it. Denunciations and warnings have their place, just as the Bible’s warning passages have a serious place in the life of the church. But those do not come with the overtones of an inevitable apostasy, the way the conservative response to Hillsong did.

Walker’s post was aptly titled a “Church in Exile,” a mentality that unnecessarily hastens the exit of those on the fringes precisely because being a beleaguered minority becomes a necessary part of its self-consciousness. (The language of “faithful minority”, which Russell Moore has deployed at points, has the same kind of effect.) A church in exile will have more of an interest in “shoring up the faithful” than winning converts, precisely because it views its relationship to the surrounding world in necessarily oppositional terms. Yet it paradoxically seems to be proceeding by drawing the lines so narrowly around the “faithful” such that no church or institution who hesitates can have a place. The unintended casualties in such an environment are those who have hesitations and doubts about the traditional view: the stakes on this issue are unquestionably high, but if conservatives decide to greet every organization that seems to waffle with the swift word of warning I suspect they may find themselves much lonelier much faster than they need be.

“Breaking: Leading Evangelical Ethicist Wakes Up Thinking That the Gospel and Gay Marriage are Not Compatible, Just Like Yesterday.”

Besides being much too long, that’s not the kind of headline we’re going to see from the press anytime soon, at least not unaccompanied by a story filled with derision. And that is understandable: It is only news when someone of influences changes their mind. The news exists to tell us things we don’t know, not things we already do.

But therein lies a deep problem for how Christians should think of the media’s involvement in the debates within the church. For Augustine, curiosity is a vice which is marked in part by the aspiration for novelty: it seeks to comprehend that which was previously unknown. Our modern news obsession and the chatter (like this!) which accompanies it are structured by what the ancients considered an intellectual disease. The widespread interest in the “young evangelicals” (or now, “millennial Christians”)—of which I have been one of the main partakers of—is itself simply a part of the pervasively progressive assumptions which underly our media pursuits. There is no story if the young evangelicals are just like the old ones. The media culture depends upon the world being different than it is now, and so they endlessly look for such changes and so help bring them into being.

In that sense, stories about Gushee and Hillsong don’t have the kind of neutrality that newspaper people claim for them. It’s important to understand my point, as I’m not suggesting anything about the intentions of their writers. No journalist worth their salt deliberately sets an agenda that way. But the ‘newsworthiness’ of such accounts depends upon and deepens our fixation with whether evangelicals will stay orthodox on the question of marriage, and as such it has a formative effect as much as it responds to a “market demand.” If the underlying presuppositions of our media diet changed, Gushee’s shift would evoke more of a shrug: it’s not a story if Gushee had gone from being a just warrior to a pacifist, for instance, or vice versa (I don’t actually know his position on the question). We care not just about Gushee changing his mind, but changing his mind in this way because of the pervasive unsettledness on the question of marriage. But the media makes us care, too, in their selection and foregrounding of the accounts that they present.

It’s by no means clear to me that this media fixation is healthy for the life of the church, or for our roles within it. It is clear to me that evangelicals have a nasty case of it; our lack of interest in denominational and other institutional structures gives media stories an undue influence. In a weird way, conservative evangelicals fighting proxy-battles for orthodoxy through the media must undermine their own congregationalist ecclesiology, as bloggers claim for themselves the responsibility of shepherds for abstracted flocks which will never meet together, and challenge the authoritative guidance of local church pastors (like Hillsong’s) who have been entrusted by God for the care of their people. And they undermine their own conservative temperament, prescribing for every religious institution a path that pays no heed to how the particularities of time and space might determine the right course. Paradoxically, it’s just in those particular institutions where the long, plodding work of persuasion and discernment on these issues needs to happen. That Hillsong felt compelled to publicly respond with their clarification is, on this score, as troubling as their original statement itself.

Perhaps most troublingly, letting the news cycle determine our debates encourages a widespread hastiness to ‘set the narrative’ and, crassly, capture those retweets. Conservative evangelicals like me who have long mocked being ‘relevant’ are often the first people with a word about the controversy of the day. James 1:19 can mean many things, but at a minimum it seems to mean that we should be slow to speak (there’s your fancy exegesis for those who are scoring at home). The news cycle waits for no one, though, and so we hastily draw our conclusions before all the facts are even in.

I suspect that this media fixation and our curiosity for the ‘new’ breeds a kind of sympathy with progressive intuitions. The media’s interest in ‘novelty’ invariably brings more extreme forms of life into the foreground. The growing interest in polyamory at places like The Atlantic seems to be part of this trajectory: talking about gay unions is so 2000s, after all. The main counterexamples to my thesis, though, are those conservatives who themselves changed their minds, like Rosaria Butterfield. Her astonishing rise is a bit like an oasis in the desert: evangelicals rushed to her story out of a kind of desperation to counter a narrative that seems so pervasive around them. Matthew Schmitz’s account has a similar feeling. But such stories are indications of how deeply saturated by novelty our minds have become. The good news is good precisely because as news it is as old as the universe itself. At the end of the day, orthodoxy is going to be (as C.S. Lewis called it) the “same old thing.”

In a world where progressive impulses dominate, pessimism has an invaluable social role. The optimistic attitude toward ‘change’ is built into the progressive temperament, which loads the dice in its favor and then claims that the game is not rigged at all. (Roger Scruton’s book defending this thesis is the best on the subject.) The effect of this is that people who raise cautions or worries get cast as ‘curmudgeons’ or ‘cranky,’ which is the easiest and fastest way for progressives to delegitimize their critics. Casting those who disagree as “old” is not a mark of respect, even though it should be. It is instead a capitulation to the very culture of youth which flows from the same diseased fixation on the ‘new.’

I have myself been so characterized recently, and I understand well the dynamics that produce the charge. The easiest suggestion is that I am, in fact, becoming a curmudgeon and a crank in my middle age. And that may be right. Those I have disagreed with would probably be happy to so write me off: it is easy to ignore cranks, even when they provide reasons for their objections (which, whatever else my many failures might be, I have always sought to do).

But even if it is true, I am glad to be old ‘before my time’, for I do not view age as the enemy but as the friend of wisdom. I am increasingly pessimistic about the world, which means the triumphalism and rallying charges of ‘courage’ that my conservative friends have sounded ring hollow to me, and it means that my progressive friends who are joyfully ushering in the next phase of history are no more attractive. (You may feel free to characterize me as full of hubris at this point; I won’t deny it, and almost certainly confess it.) I am pessimistic about the quality of my own efforts this past decade to affect any meaningful change, and I am similarly pessimistic of most everyone else’s. I am pessimistic about the evangelical culture’s hurried, frenetic, passion-driven life, and pessimistic that we will discover the deep wellsprings of quiet, unmoving confidence for when we need it most. I am a pessimist in a world where pessimism is one of the only available sins.

But I have hope, and while my pessimism takes hold my hope grows stronger yet. I once heard Oliver O’Donovan suggest that at the start of the 20th century no one could have predicted that one of the great works of the Spirit would involve a faithful, hitherto unknown Anglican nurse introducing hospice care into the world. And likewise few of us may have eyes to see the great work of God that lies ahead of us. The great crisis of marriage which is now in its final stages (it’s final stages, mind you, not its first) may precipitate the renewal of the church. The explosion of singleness may move evangelicals to recover the witness of celibacy (as, indeed, I’m told ERLC emphasized in their conference this week). The escape from our bodiliness that our culture is awash in may awaken the deepest commitments to the flesh of our Savior in us. The exhaustion from our media-info-tainment diets may deepen our longing for the permanent things and the quiet stillness of prayer. In all this, and in so many more ways which are not now known to us, the Lord may come and renew our world. And the great number of evangelicals who are currently waffling and hesitating on the matter of marriage may awaken once again too, and find themselves on the side of the right. I have no confidence that this will happen: I am increasingly pessimistic about our efforts to bring it about. But I have a growing hope that this or much more may yet come to be.

A final, brief, and personal word: the above reflects my own failures and sins as much or more as it does any of my disagreements. If you wish to find places or ways that I have myself been complicit in the very mentality which I examine here, you will not have to look very far or very long ago (some may say yesterday, even!). My path through this world has been uneven: it has been marked by petty vices and failures, which I have no need to confess here. They are known well enough to myself, to God, and to those who have suffered them. But the one grace I have long thought God has given me was the willingness and strength to plumb those petty sins near to the bottom, to discover within them a path toward becoming more securely wise rather than a path toward my destruction. I have always found it easier to write from my failures, and to urge others away from them with as much grace as I can have.

The simplest explanation for the above is that I simply have a critical spirit with a heart that revels in controversies. That conclusion is not far from the truth, though not nearly so close as people might think. I have always felt free to say what I think, and received my most formative education in an environment where blunt disagreement was a sign of respect. I have never felt the impulse to join the team-mentality that pervades the conservative evangelical world (and which I have oft criticized before), and have been happy to dissent when I have thought dissenting needed to be done. I have always been more inclined to criticize when the format is limited: I save my substantive, positive proposals for the places where I can work them out in full. None of this fits very well in an environment where ‘nice’ is the currency of the day and fawning praise must precede and accompany every disagreement.

But still, you will find places that I count as failures. This post itself might be read as one, in its own way. The paradox which I face, and which I cannot escape, is that in bearing the message I engage in the same vices. The messenger is, in this case, highly unsuited for the task he discerns necessary. Such are, perhaps, the deepest and most profound sources for my pessimism. I am what’s wrong with the world, and I always have been. But so also my hope: the glory and the grace that are not of my own provide assurance and hope that despite all my worst efforts to the contrary, all things will one day be well.

 

Mere Fidelity: On Multiple Denominations (Ask Us Anything, vl. 1)

In this installment of Mere Fidelity, we take up the first of the questions which were put to us by you, our listeners:  what do we make of multiple denominations?

We didn’t get very far down the list of questions, so we decided that we needed to devote additional shows to them.  Turns out we either talk too much or your questions were too hard to sort out in five minute answers.  I’m going with the latter, myself, but listen and judge for yourself.

Special thanks to MK Creative Arts for the audio editing.

If you enjoyed the show (AND ONLY IF), leave us a review at iTunes.  If you didn’t enjoy the show, let us know and we’ll work to make it better.  Or we’ll ignore you.  And if you want to subscribe by RSS, you can do that here.

Finally, as always, follow DerekAlastair, and Andrew for more tweet-sized brilliance.

 

The American Conservative’s Case Against the Suburbs

The American Conservative has opened up a new front in the decades-old War on Suburbia. This attack, purportedly, comes from the Right.

Reagan and Kirk (photo courtesy Annette Kirk, Russell Kirk Center)

Suburban Critics?

In the past month, the magazine has launched two broadsides on this topic. Rod Dreher composed an ode to Philip Bess’ “New Urbanism of the Soul” and Charles Marohn published “The Conservative Case Against the Suburbs.” After reading both articles, I found my conservative soul unstirred. Ultimately, it is unclear if either Bess or Marohn are espousing “conservative” principlesat least how that term is usually defined in the American political discoursefor they oppose suburbs on hierarchical and elitist grounds. Theirs is not an American conservative case against the suburbs. If anything, it may be something of a European conservative case against the suburbs. But, ultimately even if some of their these arguments would have resonated with Prince Metternich, their purchase in the American political debate is lacking.

 

Thomistic New Urbanism

The way Dreher frames Philip Bess’s work begins to highlight this disconnect. Bess is introduced as a Catholic professor of architecture at Notre Dame from where he has focused his urban design efforts on the After Burnham project, which “imagines what Chicago—given its current architectural, social, and environmental order—might look like 100 years hence if the next century is informed by classical humanist urbanism and Catholic social teaching.” Such a grandiose project of central planning sounds exactly like the kind of thing the Habsburgian bureaucracy would undertake.

Dreher also explains that Bess is both a convert to Roman Catholicism and a convert to New Urbanism and that the two conversions are not merely coincidental. Continue reading

A Tale of Two Deaths

The stories of two impending deaths has recently come before our society’s attention, and justly so. Brittany Maynard, a 29-year-old who recently transplanted herself from San Francisco to Oregon, explained why she is planning to commit physician’s-assisted suicide.  Her account was elegantly and movingly countered by that of Kara Tippetts, who has documented her own ongoing struggle with cancer in a forthcoming book.From the publisher

It is nearly impossible to speak well of such matters: there are few aspects of our lives that are as intimate or personal as the manner of our death. Whatever theological claim we might make about it, even if none at all, many of us are gripped by an inescapable instinct that death poses a challenge to us, that it raises a question about the meaning of our lives to which we must provide an answer. We cringe, rightly, at the banality of a ‘funeral selfie’; but we lack a category altogether, thank God, for a ‘dying selfie.’ Television stations still shield us from showing videos where people die, and rightly so. There is perhaps no greater proof of our fundamental and universal commitment to the sacredness of human life than that we endeavor, whenever possible, to protect ourselves from voyeuristic viewings of the moment of its passing. We may wish them to be known, but only by those who already know us well. To have it otherwise is a kind of profanation of the mystery of human life and mortality.

So there is a serious danger about reflecting on the manner of these two coming deaths: to write about them risks trespassing upon the holy and terrible moments that they will respectively face. What is more, my own death is not imminent, at least that I know: while I have reflected more on it as a possibility than most people my age I know, I have been assured (and readily believe it) that there are few matters where the gap between theory and the encounter is wider.

Still, the way they have spoken of what is before them invites such reflection: they have, for better or worse, made available to us the stories they are telling themselves in order to prepare for that final day. Those stories are different, and those differences matter: but there is a kind of boldness beneath each that I wonder whether I would have.  To invite a kind of publicity into one’s own death requires a unique kind of confidence: I would be tempted to falsify my own existence under such scrutiny. That is a temptation for all of us even now, no doubt, but beneath the shadow of death such temptations take on a new force.

But their stories contain two separate worlds. Continue reading

Mere Fidelity: The ‘Ask Us Anything’ Edition

We’ve had a great time recording Mere Fidelity, and we’ve been overwhelmed by the kindness of your response and support for it.

Mere FidelityNow we want to hear from you.  We don’t have a show for you this week, so instead we thought we’d solicit questions from you all that we can take up in our next edition.  We’ve wanted to do this for a while, but the timing hasn’t quite been right.  Now it is.

So, ask us anything.  And then vote below in the comments on which questions you like best.  We’ll discuss as manyh of the most popular questions as we can in the time allotted, and all the rest will be thrown into the abyss.  Or we’ll take them up in a future episode. The world is mysterious that way.

Fire away, then.  And if you’re on Twitter and want to pass the word around, feel free to use the #merefi hashtag.  Questions asked there will be unofficially considered, but if you want official recognition you need to come to these here comments and do your thing.

This whole voting thing will go on until next Monday at midnight. Thanks again for your kindness and support.  We’re very, very grateful.

 

The Progressive Evangelical Package

Derek Rishmawy is the Director of College and Young Adult ministries at Trinity United Presbyterian Church in Orange County, CA, where he wrangles college kids for the gospel. He’s been graciously adopted by the Triune God. That God has also seen fit to bless him with lovely wife named McKenna. He got his B.A. in Philosophy at UCI and his M.A. in Theological Studies (Biblical Studies) at APU. His passions are theology, the church, some philosophy, cultural criticism, and theology. He has been published at the Gospel Coalition and Out of Ur blog. He writes regularly at his Reformedish blog, and is a staff writer at Christ and Pop Culture. You can also follow him on Twitter.

It’s no secret that Reformed Christians have built their own wing of the internet where they spend their time chatting among themselves. They police certain key boundaries and dissent from some of these can (rightly or wrongly) bring about serious criticism. While there is more diversity among the Reformed than critics usually want to recognize, there can also be a heavy pressure to conform to the ‘standard’. Given the more consciously confessional (and I do use the term somewhat broadly) ethos among the Reformed, it’s rather unsurprising that this should be the case.

The progressive Evangelicals now have their own wing, though, ostensibly with an emphasis on diversity and a marked aversion to foreclosing conversations or policing boundaries. The idea that there is a strict standard, a party line you have to toe in order to be a part of the club, is supposed to be foreign to the Progressive internet’s ethos. That’s for the heresy-hunting, conservative builders of Evangelical empire, after all, rather than the “radically inclusive” prophets of a more Christ-like faith. Unlike their conservative counterparts, Progressives follow a Jesus who came to tear down the walls that divide, not put new doctrinal ones back up.

Those are the stereotypes, at least. But it’s increasingly difficult to maintain this picture if we take a look at the actual situation on the ground.

There may not be a Progressive Gospel(s) Federation with explicit standards we can look to, but there are certain tenets that are increasingly defining what I’ve dubbed the “Progressive Evangelical Package.” The theological scene is beginning to mirror the political two-party system such that if you hold one or two of these positions, or want to have a voice in the Progressive conversation, it’s likely there is heavy pressure on you to begin affirming all or most of them.

These tenets do not mark out a monolith. There are undoubtedly figures who don’t fit the description, just like there are figures who spend lots of time in the Reformed world who don’t fit the characterization above, either. I maintain that they signal a trend, though.

Nor are these tenets necessarily inherently ‘progressive.’ Though one or two of them might be, many non-progressives hold some of them within a more classically Evangelical framework as well. Still, when they come in the broader bundle they take on a different flavor.

I offer, then, seven basic, hot-button theological markers, in no particular order.

Pacifism – Pacifism/non-violence is growing as the default stance of many progressive Christians. Historically, pacifism has not always been linked with progressivism, but there’s a definite presumption against the just-war tradition in progressive circles. This is less likely, though, among those who have a more radical, liberationist streak in them.

Egalitarianism – For most progressive Christians, a complementarian view of marriage or ministry at its best is just patriarchy-lite and contrary to the gospel of equality in Christ. Again, there are exegetical egalitarians who are generally theological conservative, but it’s very rare to find a non-egalitarian progressive, unless they’re Catholic.

Arminian/Open Theism/Revised Theisms – Well, I mean, Calvinists are the worst. But really, Reformed or more classic-style doctrines of providence and sovereignty are very much theologia non grata in progressive wings. They are at odds with the kenotic, self-emptying, freedom-gifting God most progressives know. If you cop to any form of it at all, there has to be a huge amount of bending over backwards to downplay, sideline, or distinguish yourself from those Calvinists. In fact, much theological reflection in the camp works by way of contradiction.

Anti-Inerrancy- The rejection of inerrancy is as much a boundary issue for many progressives as the affirmation is for many conservatives. On their view, we don’t need an inerrant Bible. In fact, for many it’s an idolatrous position that gives us a flat text, open to the many anti-science, anti-gay, anti-intellectual approaches to Christian faith we’re struggling against that have killed the faith of a new generation.

Interpretive Pluralism – Connected to the defeat of inerrancy is a heavy emphasis on interpretive pluralism when it comes to the text of Scripture. I’m not sure which is greeted with more sneers: the doctrine of inerrancy, or the doctrine of the clarity of Scripture (which is usually quite poorly defined.)

Anti-Penal Substitutionary Atonement (PSA) – A non-violent, or peace-loving God would not ‘murder his Son’ or buy into the ‘myth of redemptive violence’ or engage in ‘divine child abuse.’ God is like Jesus (in the Sermon on the Mount, on a certain interpretation), so he doesn’t kill. Usually PSA is pitted against a Christus Victor model, though some sort of modified Girardianism seems to be the atonement theology du jour.

Marriage Revisionism – Finally, while most may not yet have accepted the revisionist take on same-sex relationships, struggling with the issue or defaulting to silence is the norm. The Progressive Gospel is radically inclusive, and generally so hyper-egalitarian to the point that an appeal to sexual difference as revealed in creation and clarified in Scripture is increasingly difficult and almost incoherent to make.

Of course there are undoubtedly more, but these are the ones that have stuck out to me.

The Package Under the Package
It’s important to note that many people hold these positions all separately for different reasons. What’s more, I’m not looking to settle whether or not any of these positions are true or false. I haven’t offered anything close to an argument on any of these points. The interesting question to ask is why these positions seem to be on the rise? And what seems to be uniting them all into this party-line? Besides the biblical arguments many put forward, or the political dynamics at work in the clumping that pop up on the Right as well, what’s the root package under the package? What makes these positions more attractive now than they were before?

Beneath the marks themselves lie three separate themes which hold them together and form a distinctly ‘progressive’ ethos.

The first is generally what Alastair Roberts has dubbed an ethic of empathy: At the heart of this ethic is a concern for the feelings and sensitivities of persons and an acute attention to the internal character of people’s experience. The currency for this ethic is the personal narrative and the sharing of feelings. Truth emerges from the empathetic encounter, as people ‘bravely’ and ‘authentically’ articulate their stories, in a manner ‘true to themselves’. These stories and the feelings that they express should be honoured as sacred and we should be careful not to invalidate or judge either.

Please note that pointing this out isn’t to demean or deny the value of empathy in moral reasoning. I certainly think it has a place. Still, our elevation of it into its own, comprehensive ethic has shaped our current willingness to revise our positions on a number of issues including sexuality, authority, or Scripture.

People’s negative experiences with abuses of Scripture or traditional moral positions weighs heavily in our moral reflection on an issue. If a position has ever been even associated with the emotional or physical harm of an individual, or a group, it is immediately suspect. As one friend put it “my judgment about what is compassionate towards others is sacrosanct.” It’s easy to see where this goes on the sexuality question. Yet from another angle, such an atmosphere inherently privilege pacifistic theologies. When the harm principle is absolutized, force for the sake of justice borders on the oxymoronic. Divine justice that is not only restoration, but includes retribution falls under this as well. Justice that isn’t immediately identifiable as therapeutic or ‘compassionate’ is seen as the result of an unbending, arbitrary abstraction.

Connected to the triumph of empathy is a deep skepticism about authority structures and the idea of power in general. Suspicion can manifest itself in a hostility toward church authorities, or as an intellectual skepticism about the theological tradition that we inherit. Often skepticism is reinforced by the empathetic focus on the primacy of personal narratives: for many, it’s difficult to accept the Scriptures or the tradition as something that could come alongside and correct and reinterpret our narratives for us.

Beyond that, we can see it play itself out at the theological level in the issues of egalitarianism and divine sovereignty. Even the mildest form of complementarianism becomes unthinkable because any and all relationships that could possibly imply hierarchy, or sexually-ordered division of labor are inherently oppressive. Strong doctrines of providence, especially when held or propounded in the sort of unsophisticated, either-God-has-control-or-I-do fashion it often-times is, is simply tyranny by another name. As Fred Sanders put it, this type of God doesn’t seem to make people ‘FLIRSH‘ per the requirements of modern theology, so it must go.

Finally, the progressive ethos privileges the autonomous self. There is a greater focus on the experience, feelings, thoughts, and judgments of the individual. Of course, this will mean difficulty with constraints from tradition, traditional sexual morality which goes beyond (and includes) consent, or any kind of theological position that emphasizes the gap between Creator and creature in terms of our moral understanding or grasp of providence. It’s increasingly improbable that God would say, do, command, or be in a way that isn’t immediately recognizable from within the parameters of our own privileged experience.

What’s the Point?
I could simply reverse-engineer this analysis and write a dopple-ganger account for the conservative package. So what does the above prove? Well, in one sense, nothing much. Certainly nothing in terms of the correctness of the various positions or trends involved. Addressing the deficiencies or merits of its various components needs to be undertaken elsewhere according to Scripture, reason, and in ways that acknowledge progressives own arguments.

It is, instead, an exercise in clarification rather than one of refutation.

Many of us labor under the illusion that the progressive package, the party line, doesn’t exist. Some of those within the camp take its putative diversity and ideological inclusiveness as a point of pride. I suppose for them my aim is to pop their balloon. For others floating within progressivism’s orbit but not yet diving in head-first, I’m hoping to provide some smelling salts. Those looking in with interest would do well to consider the real intellectual and communal pressure there is to conform to the package and examine whether they find the underlying premises convincing and consistent with the gospel.

And that’s the point we must all consider. Theological development—like all intellectual development—happens within communities, traditions, and cultures whose shifting plausibility structures are often invisible to us as we participate in them. I’ve noticed how the reigning plausibility structures or the ethos of groups I’ve associated myself has affected my own theological trajectory. Often it is only in the criticisms and analysis of those outside my own camp that I begin to recognize them for what they with enough clarity to question them and test them against God’s revelation. I must say I’m not always comfortable with the results.

Whatever “camp”, or tradition we happen to be drawn towards, we need to become self-conscious about our ethical and ideological instincts, trace them back to their sources, and learn to keep them open to critique. Only in this way will we be assuming a posture suited for pilgrims who travel on the way—in via as the old theologians used to say—knowing that our humble theologies must always be fall short of the glory of God in all of his majesty.