Drew Goodmanson, a fellow presenter at Christian Web Conference and all around smart-guy, argued today that we should reframe the discussion about online church around this question:

What are we called to be as a Biblical community? And can this be done with technology?

Drew’s reasons are compelling, of course.  He writes:

The question of whether online community is ‘real’ is one that the entire culture is going to ask. It is in the realm of sociology, philosophy, etc. I believe people do have ‘community’ online. I can meet, get-to-know and develop real relationships with people online.

On the one hand, this is exactly right.  Whether online communities are ‘real’ or not is not terribly interesting.  On the other hand, whether a Biblical community can exist online–that is, be real as a Biblical community online–is an interesting question, as our answer here will not only shape our understanding of online church, but of all churches.

Of course, the notion that we are using the terminology of ‘community’ with respect to the Church suggests that we are approaching the question from the standpoint that a Biblical community is simply one among many types of community.  But it is not–it stands alone as a unique sort of community that is founded on the Word of God.  It is, in a sense, not a community at all, at least not in any sense that I live in a neighborhood community or utilize a community recreation center.  Instead, it is the Body of Christ.

Drew is exactly right that questioning the reality of online communities is the wrong strategy.  But it is entirely appropriate to question the reality of online church, for the possibility and existence of the former does not necessarily entail the possibility and existence of the latter.  In this sense, ‘virtual church’ might still merit the adjective, until advocates of online church can demonstrate that it exists, in reality, as a church.

As more evangelicals begin to wrestle with questions of technology and how it shapes our local congregations, I suspect there will be many who sympathize with the position articulated quite ably and boldy by John LaGrou:

The virtually-connected church now has on-line access to the finest teaching and preaching imaginable, accessible at their convenience, 7 x 24 x 365. Of what value is physically proximate information (e.g., stage-centric pastor) when the average person can now access the best sermons, preaching, teaching, and cross-referenced commentary on-line?

Though John doesn’t point it out, the question does not simply cut against the virtual church, but against those churches who utilize video sermons.  Fundamentally, there is no reason why any local church should continue to listen to Pastor Bob drone on and on when they can get the video of John Piper instead.  What’s more, why simply have John Piper when you can alternate with Mark Driscoll?  The use of video among multi-site churches (and, full disclosure, I attend one, though not for this reason) destroys any in principle reason why such an ‘all star’ conglomeration of video sermons shouldn’t be employed.

It has been my hypothesis of late that the rapid development and adoption of new technologies is exposing our anemic ecclesiologies and misguided understanding of the role and nature of the proclomation of the Word.  Until evangelicals properly articulate why the Church gathers and hear’s the Word of God, and then shapes its churches accordingly, we will continue to be co-opted by technologism.

And that is probably the strongest statement I’ve ever made publicly on the matter.

At its core, John’s insistence on preaching of a certain sort denies that the Church is shaped by the Word of God, in favor of the quality with which it is explicated.  The use of video screens and the virtuality of the Church depends upon us coming to hear Pastor Bob preach the Word of God, rather than to hear God in His Word through Pastor Bob.  If the latter, then we are called to open ourselves even to the least of preachers, in order to ensure that we do not miss God’s word for us.

In this way, John’s rejection of ‘comparatively mediocre religious talk’ is instructive.  Most local churches are comparatively mediocre.  But they are not ‘talk.’  They, even the least skilled among them, are charged with proclaiming the Word of God, and in no way is that comparable with a lecture or a transmission of information.  It is on a different plane, for it is a plane where God speaks through His word.

Such speaking, of course, may sound to our ears dull and prosaic.  As Augustine points out in his Confessions, Scripture is not Scripture because of its aesthetic qualities.  While the Psalms are doubtlessly masterpieces, the bulk of Scripture is relatively prosaic compared to the masterful heights of Greek drama and poetry.   A similar principle is, I think, at work in the act of preaching.  And as JT has reminded us, a mature person is easily edified.

All of this amounts to a defense of mediocre pastors and the recognition that even in their proclamation they are not alone.  It is the duty of the congregation to seek, to listen, to ask the God who speaks to speak through His humble servant’s lips.

John is right:  the local sermon will not go away.  But the foundations for it are crumbling, and it is encumbent upon conservatives to articulate reasons for it, lest it go the way of the marmoset.

Andrew’s post about virtuality and the possibility of online church–or is it ‘church’?–is definitely a ‘must read’ for anyone who interested in the burgeoning conversation. While I will have a more substantive response in the next few days, my initial reactions–and that is all I can claim for them–are twofold.

First, the question of online church is difficult for precisely the reasons that Andrew’s post highlights: the conceptual vocabulary of theology is being challenged by the technological developments. The contribution (I think) of Protestantism to ecclesiology at the Reformation was its distinction between the visible and invisible churches. How the Reformers worked out the relationship is, I think, instructive for this new domain. But the categories of ‘virtual’ and ‘actual’ are relatively new, which makes it difficult to map them on to the pre-existing ecclesiological terrain.

Second, I suspect Andrew and I will largely agree on everything, except this:  to what extent is the Church visible as an institution, even if its essence lies in its invisibility?  The Church has, as John Webster calls it, a ’spiritual visibility’ that demarcates it from any other type of society, and so the central question is what form–if any–this visibility should take.

More soon, but for now read and digest Andrew’s post.  And while you’re at it, sign up for the Christian Web Conference.  As someone who has been involved with it in the past, I am more excited for this year’s conference than any before.  It is the best and most diverse collection of speakers I have seen, and promises to be a fantastic time.

Also, if you want to go, I have a limited number of half-off discounts.  Email me if you’re interested.

In The New Media Frontier, I distinguished between being and doing before going on to argue that the only way to signify one’s presence online was through linking, commenting, or some other activity.  Otherwise, readers remain ‘depersonalized,’ known only by their locations and IP addresses.

John Dyer, who is a model of constructive, thoughtful, and interesting engagement with technology, developed that distinction in a recent post, which allowed me to return to the subject in light of a recent fascination:  online church.  He writes: 

In the case of my my 8 month old son, he simply doesn’t yet know how to be present. Eventually he’ll learn how and he’ll start to understand that sometimes just being in a room with someone, not saying anything can be incredibly meaningful. When someone hundreds of miles away is hurting, our movement through time and space to be present with them communicates in ways far more profound than any letter, email, tweet, or spoken word.

Where as my son simply doesn’t know how to be present, in the online world there is no way to be present. Sure, there is a little green dot next to our name in a chat room indicating we are present, but for me it doesn’t feel the same as actually being with someone.

This inability to perform something so basic to being human reshapes what we value in the online world. Instead of presence, we tend to value words in posts, links, and replies. Being present in the real world doesn’t require anything new or novel, but posting online always requires something new or interesting. While being present is a selfless act for another, posting and linking is often more about ourselves than the other.

It is no wonder, then, that those engaging in online church have chats for parishoners(?) during the worship service and the sermon.  There may be ways to reformulate this to avoid the problem, but functionally it seems like online church is constituted primarily by its speaking to each other, rather than its collective hearing of the Word of God. While its internal conversation might be shaped by Scripture, the necessity of speaking online–even during a sermon and worship–points to the hollow nature of the means of communication.   If we cannot be still with our whole being, how shall we be arrested by the Word of God to us?

As I said, there may be other ecclesiastical formulations that would allow online churches to avoid this dilemma.  But as a means of overcoming the gap between being and doing, I would suggest that chats during church are deeply problematic.

Addenda:

Yes, this suggests that I am (with John Piper) opposed to using Twitter in church.  The church is formed in its response to the hearing of the word of God, a speaking that demands nothing less than everything.

And see also this interesting and well balanced piece from Collide Magazine on the question of online church.

And see also Christian Web Conference, where I’ll be debating Andrew Jones on these issues.  I hope you can make it, as it looks like the best one ever. 

Ben Domenech’s recent New Ledger piece has set off no little conversation on one of my favorite topics:  marriage.   He writes (though the whole thing is worth a read): 

For the most narcissistic among us, the problem is even reaching a point in life where marriage and reproduction are viewed in positive terms. As Kay Hymowitz has pointed out in a recent series of articles in The Manhattan Institute’s City Journal, “in 1970, 69 percent of 25-year-old and 85 percent of 30-year-old white men were married; in 2000, only 33 percent and 58 percent were, respectively.” This demographic shift has now pushed the median age of marriage for white males to nearly 28 — if they get married at all — further delaying fatherhood and motherhood.

Hymowitz offers several complex reasons why this is the case. But I say the simplest answer is true: American men today delay the act of reproduction and union because they devalue it. Because technology and culture (today, technologyis culture) unite to encourage them to devalue it — to favor distraction over maturity, personal growth over familial growth, and self over society.

Conor Friedersdorf, in response, writes:

In my experience, most of the folks who are delaying marriage and family do want those things eventually. So why wait? Let me air some alternative explanations. Birth control is one factor. By decreasing the cost of sex, it changes social mores and lessens the benefit of marrying earlier (as does the related decline in the taboo against premarital sex). The rise of career women — now dubbed “women” — is another major factor. Given choices and opportunities beyond being a married homemaker, it is no surprise that many women rationally decide to exercise preferences unavailable to their ancestors — preferences that require intense career focus during one’s early to mid-twenties if ambitions are to be fulfilled. 

I’d also like to push back against Mr. Domenech’s culturally driven arguments, which seem to assume that delaying marriage and family imply devaluing those things. Maybe that’s happening, but I’d argue that the opposite is going on too. Young people in the middle and upper classes in America delay marriage partly out of a desire to avoid the rampant divorces that plagued their parents’ generation. The conventional wisdom that some folks “just married to young” leads to years long relationships wherein the participants are cautiously “making sure” that they are “ready to get married.” They may be right to do so!

While I find myself in general agreement with Domenech’s analysis, his response to Friedersdorf’s is accurate enough, but misses the heart of the issue.  Friedersdorf  is right in his assumption that young people delay marriage to avoid divorce, but wrong to think that this is because they value marriage–or, at least, that the word still carries with it the connotations and meaning it held for previous generations.  Their desire to ‘make sure’ and to be ‘ready to get married’ suggest, if anything, that young people think the marriage bond rests upon the shifting ground of ‘personality’ and the unsteady foundation of the law.  Such a view of marriage represents a departure from previous generations of Americans (though not, we could say, the Boomers).  

It is not, then, ‘marriage’ that young people value but some sort of lifetime arrangement that exists strictly on the basis of the willing consent of both individuals, that can be dissolved at will.  As Lawler points out in the comments  at First Things, this is a Lockean foundation to be sure, but one that has been fused with the eroticism–though I hate to call it that–of the sixties sexual revolution and the freedom that comes with birth control.  

And if you want the economic analysis for why this all matters, Spengler’s column in the Asia Times is a must read.  

There are, at least, two general ways of thinking about moral rights and goods. One way is to think of rights as protections against others who would prevent me from satisfying my desires. What is good is what satisfies the desires I happen to have. On this view, if I have a desire to eat, then, all things being equal, it’s good that I eat. The action of eating is good because it satisfies a desire. That bit about “all things being equal” isn’t insignificant. Usually, in order for all things to be equal, my action cannot harm someone else and others involved in my actions must consent to be part of the action. (Usually, the degree to which someone is involved in my actions—prominently or peripherally—is related to the kind of consent I need to secure from them—explicit or tacit.)

The second way of thinking about rights and goods starts by holding that I have a duty (based on a standard of what’s reasonable) to seek what is good and avoid what is bad. Thus, rights are simply provisions to ensure equal treatment so that everyone can seek what is good as much as possible. Notice that the second way of thinking lacks any reference to my desires. I am supposed to seek whatever is good and avoid whatever is bad regardless of whatever I might desire.

I’m not entirely sure that these two ways of thinking are mutually exclusive in all respects and implications. I suspect that they’re not. But taken as general approaches or even as accounts that sketch out general action-guiding principles, they seem to be sufficiently different to consider in opposition. In general, the former view is expressed by David Hume and, perhaps, John Rawls, among others; the latter by Socrates, Plato, and St. Thomas among others.

These different approaches to what’s good and right affect our everyday judgments about what’s morally permissible and impermissible. Consider, for example, Abercrombie and Fitch, which is in the news again for allegedly telling an employee with a prosthetic arm that she cannot work on the sales floor because she does not fit the Abercrombie “look policy.” What should we say about Abercrombie’s behavior?

(more…)

It is an odd fact about American culture and the gay marriage debate that while conservatives are winning (at least for the moment) the public opinion battle, they are losing the intellectual war.  While I have hope that this will be reversed, Jonathan Chait’s article offers a devestatingly accurate characterization of many conservative politicians’ arguments against gay marriage.  But no wonder.  Arguing against gay marriage is not simply difficult:  it requires challenging the legal and political assumptions of both the left and the right.*

As an aside, consider one such argument against gay marriage, which states that state sanctioned gay marriage would impinge upon religious freedom.  In her essay, “Soft Despotism and Same Sex Marriage” (available here), Seana Sugrue argues persuasively that same sex marriage would weaken religion by pitting the state against religion religion, but fails to demonstrate how such a development would undermine religious authority.  She may be right that “the moral authority of religious institutions is undermined in the eyes of the public” as a result of state recognized gay marriage, but the evangelical response to this can only be a shrug.  The religious authority is not, nor ever has been, derived from the political and if it is seen as such in public, so much the worse for that public. 

This is not to say that the conservative position is wrong.  Indeed, the most persuasive defenders of traditional marriage–and here I must include Sugrue, whose article is otherwise compelling–all defend a conservative metaphysic which acknowledges the pre-political nature of heterosexual marriage as being tied (biologically-the metaphysic follows the physics) to the procreation and nurture of children.  Contemporary attempts to recreate this relationship all exist on another plane–they are either technological or legal attempts to replicate what exists fundamentally and originally in heterosexual relationships.  

This metaphysic, I would suggest, cuts against both the liberal and conservative politics and jurisprudence, which rest upon notions of individual rights that are granted and maintained by the state.*  Most public arguments for traditional marriage rest upon–tradition, that is, the political tradition.  Even the label for the position betrays the argument, for the traditions that keep the body politic together are not a firm enough foundation.  On this score, then, conservatives are attempting to conserve the wrong thing. 

It is no wonder, then, that most younger evangelicals are gravitating toward the notion that the state should get withdraw from sanctioning any sort of unions, civil or otherwise.  It is an attractive argument that purports to solve what seems to be an intractable social dilemma. 

Yet it too is problematic.  John Schwenkler, of course said it better, but it needs repeating.  For one, the evangelical insistence on the utter separation of spheres unfortunately collapses–as our friends at Article Six blog have repeatedly shown–into the privatization not simply of our views of marriage, but of our religious beliefs completely.  Francis Schaeffer’s rejection of such a division inevitably leads to his politics (let the evangelical understand).

This presupposes that the Church is the sort of thing that exists above and beyond the body politic, rather than within.  I would submit, however, that 1 Peter, Romans 13, and Jesus’ teaching about paying taxes to Ceasar, and 1 Timothy 2:1-4 all entail that Christians are citizens of another world living in this world. 

Not only that, but if anything it is marriage that ties us to this world and its institutions-as Paul, I would submit, argues in 1 Corinthians 7.  Its status as a pre-political reality does not deny its presence in the political order.  Rather, it simply raises the question of its proper position.  Heterosexual marriage is pre-political precisely because it forms the logical foundation to the political arena.  It is the family, not the individual, who the state governs (one thinks, of course, of the Catholic doctrine of subsidiarity).  As Schwenkler puts it,

We’re political animals, and like it or not this means that the laws and common understandings of the polities we inhabit have deeply pervasive effects on the ways we live our lives. And so when marriage becomes, as it would if its status were relegated to the fast-shrinking sphere of the “religious”, not an aspiration for all humankind but instead simply a special kind of inner state, a move in a private language game that only a god can divine, marriage then becomes nothing at all; it has not just been redefined, but defined away, made trivial in its faux-”sacredness” because of course we know that trivial is exactly what the supposedly sacred is.

The conservative case against gay marriage is possible, but only if it challenges the governing orthodoxy of contemporary (political) liberalism, which encompasses both the left and the right.   On this issue, a conservatism that simply conserves is not enough:  it must look forward and reshape the political conversation around a metaphysic that is grounded in a reality deeper than the individual will, and then offer viable public policy solutions that are both rooted in this reality and offer justice to all.

There are few decisions or events in our media saturated era that happen without the requisite context to pass a reasonable judgment.  And judgement–in a non-pejorative sense–is precisely what political punditry offers the political process.  The ability to assess information, to compare competing theories, and to offer a plausible explanation in a persuasive way is an important part of the political order.  

Sarah Palin’s resignation was interesting precisely because it was so unexpected and because the details and motivations were allegedly hazy–’allegedly’ because those who take her explanation at her news conference at face value (as I do) could argue that her explanations were quite clear.  Her time in the spotlight had begun to be a drag on her ability to govern Alaska well, and she thought her state would be best served if she stepped aside (an account that has been verified by at least one member of her state).*

Armed with conjecture and speculation, most political pundits ventured into this void and did what they do–passed judgement on her reasons, on their merits, and above all, on her political future.  On both the Left and the Right, it was widely acknowledged that this would harm her chances (if she had any) for a Presidential run in 2012, and rightly so.  Yet a number of conservative commenters went even further and suggested that her political prospects had been irrevocably destroyed, that she would never win the White House.

All this, of course, is certainly possible.  Yet what strikes me is how premature such judgements are.  Consider:  what if it turns out that (as the Anchoress mused) her marriage is on the rocks?  Is it such a terrible decision then?  Conservatives, after all, are about family first–or at least so we claim.** 

And what if it turns out that the Alaskan government, no longer hampered by the enormous distraction of having Sarah Palin–who because of her time as a Vice Presidential candidate has been rendered incapable of being simply the governer of her state–is able to complete her agenda (led as it will be by the quite capable hands of her Liutenant Governor)?  Democratic legislators almost have the obligation not to work with Sarah Palin because she is Sarah Palin, and a successful end of her term would strengthen her prospects on the national scene.   What if Sarah Palin takes the Hillary Clinton route?  Should Republicans win the nomination in 2012 or 2016, wouldn’t Palin make sense as the Secretary of Energy?  And wouldn’t such experience give her the bona fides to mount an at least respectable, if not successful presidential campaign?

All this, of course, is to repeat the argument that Shane Vanderhart has so capably made.  

But the Republican insistence to claim her career is finished is grounded in a deeper problem, the self-deception that we would place experience above personality, qualifications above charisma.  Palin’s treatment by the press and her (admittedly) unfortunate interview with Katie Couric have turned her into a polarizing figure, but she has more natural charm than any other Republican leader.  Republican voters, I would submit, are just as mesmerized by trumped up political personas as our Democratic brethren, which bodes very well for Palin’s political future (if, of course, she wants it).  If we seriously think Mitt Romney will defeat Barack Obama in 2012 on the basis of Obama’s disastrous handling of the US economy, I suspect we will be disappointed again.

Of course, Palin’s critics may well be right.  Her reasons for her decision may never satisfy her critics, but they may never understand the difficulties that she, her family, and her state have faced.  In the face of such overwhelming ignorance, patience seems the most fitting course for punditry, but that doesn’t make for very good political theater.

*As someone who has recently left a profession because mounting distractions did not allow me to pour my whole heart into it, I have some empathy for Governer Palin.  The scale and nature of the challenges are so different as to make any comparison laughable, but the reader should know that I take her announcement at her word.  Sometimes, everyone is best served if you just move along and not wait to finish out your ‘term.’ 

**The Anchoress’s revised judgement on this matter is a must read.  

It’s been a long time since I have posted consistently here at Mere-O, or anywhere else for that matter.  The new position at Evangelical Outpost and my day job have conspired to sap nearly all my intellectual energy. I simply did not have the time, or, more importantly, the motivation to contribute positively to any sort of conversation.

The last 18 months I have worked as a financial planner for a nationally known firm.  It has been an enormously difficult and stressful position for my wife and I that has provided innumerable rewards.  There is no time in the last 20 years that I would have rather been in that position:  working in the industry during the economic crisis gave me experience and knowledge that it would have taken years to gain otherwise.  

However, the last few weeks I have begun to discern that the cloud had started to move, and that it was my time to follow it.  Sermons, comments from friends, an opportunity to publish an additional essay, a timely job offer–each contributed to a growing sense that my heart was no longer in financial planning, but was turning toward cultivating what intellectual gifts I have for service in the Kingdom.  Financial planning, at least for young advisers, is not a job–it is a lifestyle, and it became abundantly clear that I could not serve two masters.  My clients (and their money) deserved someone who would be focused on them with their whole hearts and minds.

For that reason, I resigned from my position with the intent of improving my applications to go to graduate school.  It was an enormously difficult decision, and one that with particularly bad timing.  The dissatisfaction with financial professionals has made this the single best opportunity for financial advisers to grow their business that we have seen in decades.  Leaving the industry right now–especially for the uncertainty of academics and the impoverishment of graduate school–seems like terrible timing.

But the obstacles seem minor compared to the excitement and enthusiasm my wife and I have for our future. And not only that, but we have an enormous amount of confidence in the Lord’s concern and provision for us.  We are, as best we can, taking this step in joyful faith.  As the cloud moves, so we follow.

All of this means that I hope to have more to say about “mere orthodoxy” in the next few months.  My hope is (once again) to make this a place of intelligent, reasoned discourse on all things pertaining to faith and culture.  

To that end, it is with an enormous amount of joy that I introduce to our small community here a new writer, Gary Hartenburg.  Gary is a long-time reader of Mere-O and a Ph.D. candidate in ancient philosophy at UC Irvine.  I will let him introduce himself more fully, but there are few people for whom I have more respect. His incisive critique of my article on evangelicalism is a model for what we hope to do here at Mere-O–engage ideas in an honest, candid, and gracious way.   I am confident Gary will provide the sort of reflective, challenging insight that we strive for here.

In summary, as they say,  ”If it’s half as good as the half we’ve known, here’s Hail! to the rest of the road.”

There’s little left to say about Public Enemies that Brett McCracken (who is working on a book on hipster Christianity that is sure to be a must-read) hasn’t already said.  

More than anything, Public Enemies revels in and inflates Dillinger’s mythic status.  Depp’s portrayal is sympathetic to the last.  Dillinger refuses to kill the innocent bystanders or take their money.  He is in it for the money and for the noteriety, not for the slaughter.

As Brett points out, Depp’s Dillinger is always in control of his own self-image.  Even his flirtation with unsteadiness of mind, an unsettling performance of ‘Git Along Little Dogie’ after escaping, is carefully crafted by Dillinger to make everyone else in the car think that he wasn’t quite right in the head.  No jail can hold him, no bank can keep him out, and no girl can stand him up.  He, if anyone, is Nietsche’s ubermensch, controlling the world and its understanding of him by the exertion of his will.  

It is for this reason that we remain emotionally detached from Dillinger.  Despite the movie’s attempts to draw us into his world through his friendships and romance, by the end we are ambivalent toward him.  Such is the inevitable result of a mediated world, a world saturated with images and celebrities.  We watch Dillinger watch Clark Gable on the big screen (a blatant parallel, down even to the mustache).  Dillinger, the star of his own movie, is just as reserved from us as Gable.

Dillinger’s romance with Billie Frechette comes close to remedying this detachment, but fails.  We know as much about her as we do about Dillinger.  She too cares nothing for tomorrow, as evidenced by her monumental failure of discernment. 

Public Enemies is a well crafted film, to be sure.  It’s plodding, brooding narrative and stunning cinematography are enjoyable in their own right.  But it is most interesting for what it lacks–a strong sense of connection between the audience and characters.