War & Peace: The Problem with Nuremburg

By on Nov 11, 2014

So we’re in the second week of our series called “War & Peace” and the question that is driving the whole series, the question that we’re all wrestling with for the next month, is this: when it comes to war and peace—to conflict and violence and hostility and justice and forgiveness—what sort of story does Christianity tell? Over and against everything the world has to say, what does the Bible have to say about war and peace?   And so last week we started that conversation with this: the very first and last thing the Bible has to say about war and peace, is peace. Period. Violence was not in the beginning and it will not be in the end. We find violence fascinating, but God doesn’t. We find peace boring and naïve, but God doesn’t. The universe has always, does always, and will always revolve around the wild and unpredictable peace of God.   That said, we live in a world that sure does seem to revolve around violence. So how do we explain that? And perhaps more importantly, what does God’s peace do when it’s confronted with a world at war? Let’s turn to Genesis 3 and we’ll read 3:22-4:16.   East of Eden Genesis 3 and 4 tell us the story of how God’s world of peace becomes a world at war. Adam and Eve have been cast out of the garden and they travel east of Eden—that’s an important phrase. In the Bible, to move east of Eden is to move away from God. Humanity has moved east of Eden, and the very first thing that happens is this.   Adam and Eve have two sons, Cain and Abel. And if Adam and Eve are the primal, archetypal husband and wife, Cain and Abel are the primal, archetypal brothers. Cain is the firstborn and he’s a farmer. Abel is the younger and he’s a shepherd. And one day they bring their offerings to God, and for some reason, God accepts Abel’s offering and reject’s Cain’s. This rejection makes Cain very angry—with God and with Abel—and what happens next will reverberate down the halls of history. Faced with conflict and needing to resolve it, needing to find a way forward, Cain sacrifices Abel. In order to secure his own future, Cain takes somebody else’s blood. Cain lures Abel out into a lonely field and murders him.   And immediately, God’s ears are filled with a terrible sound, a sound he’s never heard before. It’s the sound of Abel’s blood, crying out from the ground—and it cries out for vengeance. So God marks Cain and sends him even further east of Eden and in the stories that follow, more and more blood is shed, and more and more vengeance is called for. And we’re left wondering: how is God going to deal with the world’s cry for vengeance and justice?   Nuremburg The courthouse in Nuremburg, Germany is sight of the most famous trials of the 20th century. In the aftermath of WW2 and the fall of the Nazi regime, it was clear to the world that justice had to be served for the atrocities of the Holocaust. The blood of many Abels, millions of Jewish men, women, and children cried out for justice. Even now, so many years later, our hearts can hardly bear to hear the stories of the gas chambers and death marches and grotesque experiments.   And so faced with so much spilt blood, the Allies dealt with the cry for justice with Nuremburg, a series of trials where prominent Nazi leaders were tried and given a punishment that fit the crime—a number were sentenced to life in prison and twelve were sentenced to death by hanging.   And I don’t know about you, but few things bring me more satisfaction than seeing justice served by revenge and retribution. When I see pictures of a pile of shoes a mile high—shoes stolen from the feet of Jewish victims—and I think about all the little bitty shoes that are in that pile, there is nothing I’d like more than to tie the noose around the neck of every single person responsible. Because that’s what they deserve.   Just a few months ago, three teenagers were arrested in New Mexico for beating two homeless men to death. When asked why they did it, they answered that they were bored and one of them was angry about a break-up with his girlfriend. They beat two homeless human beings to death because they didn’t have anything better to do.   And so help me God, when I hear stories like that, everything in me calls for Nuremburg—for justice via revenge and retribution. I can think of nothing more just than spilling the blood of someone who has spilt somebody else’s blood. I like Nuremburg. I like giving people what they deserve. I like justice by means of revenge and retribution. But here’s the problem with Nuremburg.   You Are the Man! In 2 Samuel, we’re told the sickening story of David and Bathsheba. King David sees Bathsheba, the wife of another man, bathing, and lusts after her, has sex with her, gets her pregnant, and to avoid a scandal has her husband (Uriah) murdered. And David thinks he has gotten away with it.   Time passes when one day a wild, old prophet named Nathan comes knocking...

War & Peace: The Oldest Story of All?

By on Nov 4, 2014

Here’s the first sermon in our new series, “War & Peace”   Light Versus Dark Perhaps the best new TV series to come out last year was True Detective; a brooding, dark drama starring Matthew McConnaughey and Woody Harrelson as Rust and Marty, two detectives working a particularly sinister and perplexing murder case. And in the very last scene of the very last episode, Rust and Marty gaze up at the night sky. They’ve solved the case, but they’ve seen some terrible things. They’ve had to do some terrible things. And as they stare up at the sky, at a vast sea of dark speckled by small islands of light, Rust makes a simple but profound observation: when it really comes down to it, all of life is just one story…the oldest story of all—light versus dark. Now to be sure, life can be unpredictable—constantly changing, constantly moving, never at rest. And yet it seems that every change and movement is really just a fresh reenactment of the oldest story of all—light versus dark. Or to borrow the title of Leo Tolstoy’s famous book: if there is one story that the world is always telling, it’s the story of war and peace. War and Peace Just look at the world news from any time and place (be it on an IPad, a newspaper, a smoke signal, a cuneiform tablet, or a scribbling on a caveman’s wall) and what will you find? Stories of the battle between war and peace. Turn on the local news in any town, and what will you find? Stories of the battle between war and peace. Eavesdrop on the conversations and observe the interactions of any family or workplace and what will you find? Stories of the battle between war and peace. I could go on but you get the point. From the surface down to the soul of things, and on scales big, average, and small—human life, at bottom, is one unending, ancient story of the battle between war and peace. And so for the next 4 weeks, this is the question we’re gonna be asking ourselves, the question that I’m gonna invite all of you to wrestle and live with for the next month: when it comes to war and peace—to conflict and violence and justice—what sort of story does Christianity tell? Over and against everything the world has to say, what does the Bible have to say about war and peace? Enuma Elish In 1849, a man was on an archaeological dig in Iraq when he unearthed 7 clay tablets. And scribbled across these 7 clay tablets was a most remarkable story that came to be known as the Enuma Elish. The Enuma Elish is an ancient Babylonian creation story, thousands and thousands and thousands of years old—a story about where the world came from and why things are the way they are. It’s a story similar, in some ways, to what we find in Genesis 1, and yet very different in some ways. Here’s the cliff notes version. In the beginning, there are these two primeval gods: Apsu and Tiamat. But then, there comes this second generation of gods, and they’re really noisy and boisterous and this bothers Apsu and Tiamat…so, they decide to kill them because that’s what you do when somebody bothers you. And go figure, the second generation of gods doesn’t really want to be killed, so a battle of the gods ensues and it finally results with Marduk, this powerful, young god, defeating Tiamat in battle and then ripping her dead carcass into two halves, one of which he uses to make the heavens, the other of which he uses to make the earth. The heavens and the earth, the entire cosmos, are the two halves of a murdered god’s dismembered carcass. Which leads us to the next question: so where did humans come from? Well, after Marduk murders Tiamat, rips her in half, and uses to carcass to create the cosmos, he gets in another fight with another god. And you guessed it, he kills that god too and then uses that murdered god’s blood to create human beings. Human beings are created from the blood of a murdered god. So in summary, according to one of humanity’s oldest creation stories, the universe we live in is built from the carcass of a murdered god and we owe our existence to the spilt blood of a murdered god. The universe is a battleground, the product of a primeval conflict, a primordial war. And so when humans fight and hate and take and spill each other’s blood, we’re just doing what the gods have always done and will always do. The universe revolves around war. The Myth of Chaos And while most of us have probably never read the Enuma Elish, this is actually a story we’re all quite familiar with. Think about it. All of life as a battle of good against evil. Conflict and violence as the necessary repercussions of this essential battle. All of humanity divided into allies and enemies. Peace as a naïve illusion, a temporary armistice, a brief break in the action while everybody reloads. As George Orwell is said to have said it, “People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.” You know this story. Indeed, this is the...

Of Stars and Starvation

By on Oct 9, 2014

Here’s a sermon from a couple of weeks ago, addressing the why of Christian worship.     Of Stars and Starvation Why do we bother with astronomy when people are starving in the world?   Guy lies in bed unable to sleep. He is thirty years old with a Ph.D. in planetary science. He’s done post-graduate work at MIT and Harvard. He’s taught at MIT and Harvard. He’s a rising star in the world of astronomy. Every day he sees things that few other eyes will ever see: comets hurling through solar systems, supernova explosions, black holes.   He loves it, all of it, and yet there he lies, unable able to sleep, thinking about leaving his career as an astronomer because he can’t answer this question: why am I doing astronomy when people are starving in the world? Isn’t looking at stars a massive waste of time when matters of life and death press in on us from all sides at all times? Who’s got time for comets, supernovas, and black holes when empty stomachs, broken hearts, and ruined souls surround us?   It’s a disturbing question because the word astronomy could be replaced by any number of things. Why do we bother with music when people are starving in the world? Why do we bother with sports when people are starving in the world? Why do we bother with laughter and parties and vacations when people are starving in the world? Why do we bother?   Genesis 1  Take a second to read Genesis 1…slowly.   Genesis 1 has been the site for lots of bloodshed over the years. Are we supposed to take it literally? Are we supposed to take it figuratively? Are we supposed to take it somewhere in between literally and figuratively? How long are the days? How old is the earth? And most importantly, where the heck are the dinosaurs?   And while I don’t mean to belittle such questions because some of them are important, most of them are simply exercises in missing the point because Genesis 1 is less about science and more about a song. Indeed it’s quite remarkable that across the theological spectrum—liberal, moderate, conservative—most biblical scholars agree that Genesis 1 has more in common with a song we might sing in worship than a paragraph we might find a scientific textbook.   Listen to it—it has a very clear cadence and rhythm.   Then God said, let there be light…and there was…and God saw that it was good.   Then God said, let there be a sky…and there was…and God saw that it was good.   Then God said, let there be oceans and lands and trees…and there was…and God saw that it was good.   Then God said, let there be sun and moon and stars…and there was…and God saw that it was good.   Unless you’re tone-deaf, you hear it—the rhythm and groove of “Then God said, and there was, and it was good. And then God said, and there was, and it was good.” Genesis 1 tells us the truth about creation (no doubt about it), and it tells it through song. And it’s no coincidence that the story of creation is told in a song.   Music, Food, Sex I’ll go out on a limb and guess that every person who reads this likes music, because everybody likes music. Across time and culture and gender and race, everybody likes music. It’s not a matter of taste, it’s not up for debate—if you don’t like music, there’s something wrong with you. You need Jesus. It is not ok to not like music. We all know this. But why do we like music so much?   In 2001, a pair of neuroscientists from the University of Montreal tackled this question and this is what they found. When we do certain things, our brains reward us with a rush of something called dopamine—a neurotransmitter that, basically, makes us feel good. For example, when we eat food, our brain rewards us with a dopamine rush—that’s why we like eating so much. Or when we have sex, our brain rewards us with a dopamine rush—that’s why we like sex so much. But why do our brains do this?   The evolutionary theory is that our brain rewards behaviors that contribute to the survival of the species—things like food and sex. So when we do something that helps homo sapiens thrive, our brain goes, “Good job! Here’s some dopamine. Keep doing that.” And that’s a sound theory, but here’s where things get interesting.   Echoes of the Song  The study found that listening to music also causes the brain to reward us with a rush of dopamine. We listen to music, and for some reason our brain rewards us—it says, “Good job, Austin. Here’s some dopamine. Keep listening.”   And this has puzzled the scientific community because, well, music doesn’t contribute to the survival of the species. We don’t need music. It doesn’t sustain us physically. It doesn’t aid in procreation (although sometimes it helps). Why would our brain want us listening to music?   This may puzzle the scientist, but not the person who has read Genesis 1 where the story of creation is told in a song because creation itself is best understood as a song—something unnecessary, gratuitous, over the top, extravagant. As Job 38:4,7 says it, “Where...

NFL Scandals and Hero-Worship

By on Sep 22, 2014

I love sports-always have and always will. But here are a few, brief thoughts regarding the recent NFL ethical “scandals”. ——————————- Over the past month, the NFL has faced a number of scandals involving abuse. And as I’ve listened to the endless volley of opinion responding to these scandals, there is an unspoken assumption I find puzzling; namely, that the NFL has to punish athletes severely because they set an example for the rest of society.   And so without commenting on what did or didn’t happen in the cases involving Ray Rice and Adrian Peterson and what their punishment should or shouldn’t be, I’d just like to point out the absurdity of the notion that the NFL should be setting an ethical example for the rest of society. Really? The NFL (or NBA, MLB, etc, etc, etc) is where we look to learn what it means to live the good life? NFL players have some added responsibility to serve as role models?   Why? Because they’re public figures? Because kids look up to them?   I’ve come to the conclusion that we would be far better off if we quit insisting that athletes be great role models (and then whining and complaining when they’re not) and start teaching our children and ourselves that athletes aren’t role models by virtue of being athletes. In a sense, the moral failings of athletes are not near as big a problem as our comically misplaced adoration of them (or any “famous” figure for that matter). But it seems we’d rather just keep insisting that they get their act together so we can continue unabated with our “hero-worship” instead of calling our hero-worship into question.   On a related note, one can’t help but notice the NFL seems to embrace this notion that its athletes must be good role models because it reinforces its narrative of self-importance, it’s propaganda—“Our players have to be good role models because everyone looks to them for guidance and moral vision.”   I’m not disagreeing that this is the case. I just think it’s pathetic that it is the case…especially for Christians, because we know...

Dirt, Ladders, Feet

By on Jul 24, 2014

This is a keynote address I gave at the National Association of Baptist Enrollment Professionals Conference at the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor this past week. Hope it’s helpful! Intro So you’re here at this conference for a number of reasons: to learn from others, to grow as a team, to network, to develop, because your boss said so. All good reasons to be here. And yet as our theme suggests, the reason for being here behind all those other reasons for being here is that you hope to be, in some sense, refreshed. It’s been a long year for you. Some of you have done lots of traveling—lots of living out of a suitcase, lots of nights alone in a hotel, lots of time spent in front of a booth talking to sometimes pleasant but often clueless and obnoxious high-schoolers. Some of you have done lots of campus tours. Some of you have made lots of phone calls. And some of you have done lots of planning to make sure all the traveling and campus touring and phone calling are being done in the right way, by the right people, at the right time, to ensure you get the right students in the right amount at your university come late August. Like I said, it’s been a long year, and next year, you do it all over again. And so you’re here to be refreshed because all of this is draining. Or to put it bluntly, you’re here because your job sucks. Now don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean that your job is bad or un-enjoyable or something like that. I mean that your job, like all jobs, has a sneaky way of reaching down into your soul and taking things from you—important things like energy, joy, passion. Why do our jobs take these things from us, and how do we get them back?   Ecclesiastes 1:2-11 The book of Ecclesiastes starts off with a rather depressing poem:   “Meaningless! Meaningless!” says the Teacher.“ Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.” What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun? Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever.  The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises. The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course. All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, there they return again. All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.  Is there anything of which one can say, “Look! This is something new”? It was here already, long ago; it was here before our time. No one remembers the former generations, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them.     Hebel As I said, this is depressing stuff. The writer looks at all the work that humans do—all the jobs and tasks and roles—and he says “Hebel, Hebel, completely hebel. Everything is hebel.” This Hebrew word hebel means something like meaningless, pointless, absurd. Humans busy themselves with all of this work, it consumes our lives, and yet in the end we’re nothing more than ants, moving dirt around in circles, building up little mounds that won’t last long and might as well not exist. Round and round and round we go and yet none of it matters. And you know this voice: the voice that says hebel, the voice that says “meaningless, pointless, absurd,” the voice that says your work doesn’t matter. It’s usually a whisper more than a shout—mocking your efforts, ridiculing your importance, accusing you of wasting your time. It wounds you, but not in obvious, auspicious ways. It’s more like…death by paper cuts.   Zombies I mean, we’ve all seen people who died in their jobs while they’re still living. They’re there, but they’re not really there. Something is gone, that light behind their eyes has gone out. They’re zombies, performing tasks but dead on the inside, living for a paycheck, hanging on for the next vacation so they can come back to life for a few days. And here’s the thing: nobody wants to be that person. I’ll go out on a limb and guess that none of you took your job so you could slowly die on the inside. That wasn’t one of the benefits in your package. But make no mistake—better people than you have died in their jobs, and if you don’t do something about it, that voice that says hebel, meaningless, pointless will get the best of you too, and it’ll be death by paper cuts. Because a human being can endure many difficult things in his or her work (crushing failures, nagging co-workers, ridiculous hours)—we can endure all this with a remarkable buoyancy and joy. But meaninglessness is the one burden we cannot bear for long and live to tell the tale. You need to do work that means something.   Todd I have a friend named Todd who works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. He runs a rehabilitation home for addicts, and seven days...

The Fickle Security of Eternal Security

By on Jun 23, 2014

Once Saved, Always? / Function, Not Validity Once saved, always saved—so the adage goes. Depending on your theological persuasion, there are other ways to say it: eternal security, perseverance of the saints, or more straight to the point—you can’t lose your salvation. It’s an interesting doctrine because it has wiggled its way into the theological bedrock of many theological systems, some of which differ fundamentally on other matters.   But rather than examining its validity as a biblical doctrine (for a good case against see Scot McKnight’s short book, A Long Faithfulness…for a good case for see chapter 6 in Daniel Montgomery and Timothy Paul Jones’ PROOF), I’d like to examine its function because I’m not convinced the doctrine of eternal security provides as much security as some think. So as to function, what kind of security does the doctrine of eternal security really provide?   A Hypothetical “Backslider” Let’s say you have a friend who becomes a Christian // asks Jesus into her heart and starts following him // gets baptized…the whole nine yards. She is faithful with it for a while, going to church, participating in local and foreign missions trips, saying her prayers, reading her Bible, sharing her faith, being transformed by grace. But then a couple of years later, she drops the whole thing. She renounces her faith, burns her Bible, tries to un-share her faith with everyone she previously shared it with. And what’s more, she never returns to it—in fact, she just goes further and further off the deep end. Dream up the craziest scenario you can: she becomes a senator and tries to pass legislature that legalizes the imprisonment of Christians, she assassinates the Pope. You get the point.   So what happened to her? If you do not believe in the doctrine of eternal security (that is, you believe you can lose your salvation), then you probably think she “fell from grace”, lost her salvation (Hebrews 6:1-8). If you do believe in the doctrine of eternal security, what do you think happened to her? The basic answer is that she was never really saved. If you ascribe to eternal security (whether you’re a Calvinist or free-will theist or whatever) you assume that her faith and conversion could not have been genuine, because if so it would have persevered (a bit circular, but it sounds a bit like 1 Jn. 2:18-19 so we’ll let it slide). As my friends and good Calvinists Daniel Montgomery and Timothy Paul Jones say it, “Where there is no perseverance in faithfulness, there was no faith in the first place.”[1]   But notice where this leaves us: both those who ascribe to eternal security and those who don’t agree that there is no assurance without perseverance. In the case of our hypothetical “backslider” above, they disagree regarding whether or not she actually “lost” her salvation but they agree that her lack of faithful perseverance puts her outside the realm of security. This agreement on “no assurance without perseverance” is rooted in the Bible. Simply put, when addressing people who have turned away from the faith, the biblical writers never invoke the idea of eternal security to comfort them. They call on “backsliders” to repent (Hebrews 2:1-4, 3:7-4:13, 5:11-6:12, 10:19-39, 12:1-29). They don’t tell them, “Well once saved, always saved…so if you were really saved you’ll repent and if not, you won’t.”   Conclusion All of this leaves me feeling as though eternal security tends to give you comfort when you don’t need it (that is, when you’re persevering in your faith) and no comfort when you do (that is, when you’ve rejected your faith and probably don’t even want the comfort it supposedly offers). In a sense, eternal security only gives comfort to those who are already secure in their faith and are following Jesus (although even those of us secure in our faith can certainly use some comfort now and again). Perhaps it gives some comfort to those on the fringes of faith, but it is fickle comfort because what happens if you fall off the fringes? Your comfort is gone (or so would say the writers of Scripture), regardless your belief in eternal security.   To be clear, none of this has anything to do with the validity of the doctrine, nor is it meant to patronize the importance of it. It’s just an observation that, to me at least, eternal security isn’t quite the security blanket many think it is. If you are, like Luther was, a tortured conscience filled with angst in regards to whether or not you’ve done enough to please God, the remedy is the stunningly gracious and faithful God revealed in Jesus Christ (justification by grace through faith is a beautiful and central piece of this bigger picture) and not so much eternal security, even if you think eternal security necessarily follows from it. Perhaps that’s a bit of an overstatement, but not much.   These are merely some observations and not settled certitudes, so what do you think? Am I underplaying its function? [1] PROOF,...

Review: A Farewell to Mars

By on Jun 12, 2014

A Farewell to Mars (by Brian Zahnd) is a difficult book to read.   The writing is crisp, the arguments sound, the imagery vivid, but it is nevertheless a difficult read because it forces us to confront some of our ugliest demons—violence as a means to justice, our (supposed) inalienable right to self-preservation, scapegoating, and most of all, our systematic attempt to make the Bible say things about violence that it simply doesn’t say.   Brian’s argument stands (or at least seems to me) on three legs. 1.) The clear teachings of Jesus against violence and retaliation (Matthew 5). 2.) The crucifixion of Jesus as paradigmatic for Christian interaction with “enemies” and the deepest peek into the heart of God. 3.) The belief that Jesus is right now ruling and judging the world (the kingdom of God is in our midst).   It’s pretty hard to argue against the first leg, so the typical course of action is to try and think of exceptions—Hitler, some hostage situation, etc. Those who are looking for reasons to justify violence then attempt to use the exceptions to undercut the rule of nonviolence and enemy love. Virtually everything becomes an exception (funny how that happens) and Jesus’ teaching and crucifixion are relegated to the “spiritual” realm so the big boys and girls can go on doing what needs to be done to run the world. Brian is delightfully ruthless in exposing this line of thinking.   But not everyone who wrestles with Jesus’ teachings about nonviolence and his crucifixion are looking for excuses to justify violence. There are noble reasons for wrestling with it as well. C.S. Lewis comes to mind. In his essay, “Why I Am Not a Pacifist”, he goes the utilitarian/greater good route and argues that while war is a great evil, it is sometimes a lesser evil than not going to war. He feels that outright pacifism (which I should go ahead and point out, Brian does not come right out and argue for) cannot be sustained because “then you have handed over the state which does tolerate Pacifists to its totalitarian neighbor who does not.”[1]   I think most thoughtful Christians go this route: violence is wrong and deeply incongruous with Christian faith, but in a broken world, ruled by the powers and principalities of darkness, it is sometimes the best we can do. In other words, we should take nonviolence and enemy love seriously up until the point they really threaten our well-being or the well-being of others. This line of thinking makes good sense to me. I am comfortable with it. It is realistic. C.S. Lewis endorsed it! But is it biblical?   Here’s where the second leg comes in and Brian brings us again and again to the crucifixion where we are forced to feel the irony of the “violence is sometimes a greater good” argument as we stare up at the crucified Messiah. Can we look up at Jesus crucified and tell ourselves that nonviolence and enemy love are only meant to be taken seriously up until the point they threaten our well-being or the well-being of others? That’s a tough sell. It takes a sustained effort to avoid choking on the irony. As Brian says it, “Jesus was willing to die for that which he was unwilling to kill for. Jesus won his kingdom by dying, not killing.” (185)   Ok, so Jesus didn’t take it seriously up until a point, but the crucifixion is an exception—the most unique event in the history of the world. We have to be more discerning and sober-minded because we’re not Jesus dying for the sins of the world. It’s a clever move—I tend to make it. But the problem with it is the Bible’s relentless affirmation that the crucifixion is the event that should most mark the lives of Jesus’ followers. It is unique and unrepeatable, but it is also paradigmatic. So while it’s exceptional, it’s not an exception—it’s the rule. We can kick leg two around, but it’s pretty sturdy.   The third leg is, I think, the most provocative and complex assertion in the book; namely, that Jesus is, right now, ruling and judging the world. In chapter 7, Brian implies it was the epiphany at the heart of his journey: “Perceiving the kingdom of God as an actual political reality is a game changer…The problem with the chaplaincy view of Christianity is the assumption that the kingdom (government) of God has yet to come.” (155-156)   Read the book for the details (and there’s lots of good biblical rationale to substantiate the claim), but the basic line of thought is that the Bible clearly claims that Jesus, in some very real sense, is right now at the right hand of God, ruling and judging the world. The kingdom of God, in a very real sense, has come. It is, right now, in our midst (Luke 17:20-21). And here’s where the rubber meets the road.   If the kingdom of God is really a viable reality in our midst and Jesus is really ruling and judging the world right now, then we can’t tell ourselves the world needs us to fight against the powers and principalities of darkness with violence in the interim between now and the second-coming to keep the world from spiraling out of control. Such logic betrays the belief that Jesus...

My Review of Kevin’s Review

By on May 16, 2014

Here’s my review of what I thought, generally speaking, was a fair review of my book by Kevin DeYoung. I’ll focus in on a few key critiques and offer some responses.   #1…Really Reformed?   It’s worth noting the chronology in Fischer’s journey. He became a Calvinist in high school (p.8) and started rethinking his Calvinism already as a freshman in college (p.19), which is not a lot of time to explore the depths of the Reformed tradition. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t sincerely Reformed and couldn’t understand the basic contours of election and reprobation, but it does put his “deconversion” story in context…What it does mean is that this is not the journey of a lifelong Calvinist or a deeply entrenched Reformed thinker who threw in the towel, as much as it is the story of ana earnest young Christian who didn’t grow up Reformed, was never trained to be Reformed, but who embraced Reformed soteriology for a short time as a teenager before he found a better alternative in the Arminianism of his esteemed professors. –DeYoung   #1…Response   I’ve discovered a 6th point of Calvinism!…the perseverance of the Calvinism of someone who is truly a Calvinist :). I jest, but the basic point that there is a “point of no return” (by which I mean a point where you are so steeped in a worldview that de-conversion is basically impossible), and that I wasn’t there yet is fair enough, though a red herring of sorts that isn’t really helpful.   In particular, I think it subtly implies that my de-conversion was rooted in a misunderstanding of Calvinism and if I had only stuck with it longer and understood it better, things might have been different. I call this a red herring because no one has been able to point out what I didn’t understand about Calvinism. Would I have been less likely to de-convert had I been a Calvinist for 20 years instead of 5? Of course, but that’s not really saying much.   #2…Is Reformed Theology Represented Accurately?   I believe Fischer has tried hard to be fair with Calvinism. He does not make ad hominem arguments. He does not take cheap shots. But despite these good intentions, Fischer’s arguments suffer from a lack of familiarity with important distinctions frequently cited in the Reformed tradition. For example, Fischer suggests that Calvinists believe that when people are raped, maimed, murdered, and tortured that God ultimately did those things to them (p.21). What’s missing here is an awareness of the distinction between remote and primary causes. No Calvinist I know would say God rapes people. God is never the “doer” of evil. Arminians may not find the distinction compelling, but Reformed theologians have always made clear there is a difference between God ordaining what comes to pass and the role of human agency in actually and voluntarily performing the ordained action. –DeYoung   #2…Response   Now we’re getting somewhere! The issues involved here are certainly tricky and here was the tightrope I tried to walk while writing.   I am well aware of the various nuances in the Calvinist doctrines of primary and second causes. I leaned on them during my time as a Calvinist. God doesn’t actively cause sin and evil; rather, God withholds the grace that humans need to do good and once he does that, they sin “freely” (that is, in a compatibilistic sense). Augustine, Calvin, Edwards, Piper and Helm all make different accents, but this is the basic line of thought: although God “ordains” sin and evil, God is never the actual doer of sin and evil. God ordains it but humans still freely do it and are responsible for it (=compatibilism).   So I wanted to do justice to all of that while at the same time not getting so bogged down in the red tape and causal euphemisms that I failed to communicate what I found to be the inevitable conclusion of consistent Calvinism; namely, evil and sin and hell exist, ultimately, because God wanted (in a STRONG sense of the term) them to. To borrow the example DeYoung cites, I completely agree with him: no Calvinist believes God rapes people (of course!!!!). However much worse than that, I don’t see how a Calvinist cannot conclude that the overwhelming majority of humans who have ever existed will be damned, ultimately, because God wanted them to and to that end, set in motion events that would guarantee their damnation.   So should I have gone into more detail regarding all the nuances of causation in Calvinism? I think it’s a fair request for Kevin to make and if I had it to do over I would. However, I do think that the New Calvinism has been very coy with the way it has cloaked the doctrines of determinism, compatiblism, and double predestination in euphemisms, neutering them of their intelligibility and substance. Since writing, I’ve received lots of emails from people who thought they were Calvinists and had no idea double predestination was a part of the package. That’s some pretty important fine print to be unaware of.   And as noted in an earlier post (and in Kevin’s as well), I think Calvin would be with me here, because he himself admitted that the doctrine of double predestination was “terrible.” So while it’s fair for Kevin to push me a bit here, I...