Two Stuck Out

Five minutes before a youth workshop on reading the Bible began, I was asked to lead it, at least until the actual leader came along. He did so about 10 minutes into the discussion, but that was more than enough time for me to be encouraged by what I heard from my fellow Bible readers. I started out by getting everyone in the group to say their name and to tell us something they know about the Bible. All Most of the answers were good, but two stuck out, mainly because of my own thought process over the past few months. One person simply said that the Bible is about God - a more profound answer than perhaps he realised. Another said that what they know about the Bible is that it tells us God loves us - a more profound answer than perhaps any of us realise.

It's about God, and it tells us God loves us. If those are the only two things you keep in mind as you read the Bible, then you're not far from being exactly where you need to be.

Next

First it was Missio Dei, next it was Reckless Grace, and after that came Honest Questions. Whatever about you readers, I've enjoyed these series', if only because writing them helps me get to grips with the books they're based on. Next up I'm considering either a mini-series on Richard Hay's views regarding pacifism (quite controversial in some circles) or one on Dallas Willard's idea of "Christian pluralism" (also controversial). Expect one of those to appear once I return from my two days of waiting around in cold water and occasionally lying on a surf board in the vain hope of getting to stand on it just one time surfing.

Doctrine Fiends

“Sure, there are some Catholics who are Christians, but…”

I’ve said something like this before, and I’ve heard a few others under the Evangelical umbrella make similar concessions. The point of such an observation is to avoid painting every individual Catholic with the same brush. It is to reluctantly acknowledge the sure reality that they’re not all spellbound by Rome. The law of averages demands that at least a few of them are genuine believers, and so yes, there are some Catholics who are really Evangelicals Christians. There, isn’t that very inclusive and gracious?

No, not particularly.

The problem I now have with this pseudo-graciousness is not necessarily that it is a false observation. I’m not suggesting that we amend it and say that most (or all) Roman Catholics are Christians. In reality, we simply don’t know the proportion of professing Catholics who have a genuine trust in Jesus and who thus “walk in the Spirit”. But is it not also true that we don’t know the proportion of Evangelicals whose faith is genuine? Why is it that only some Catholics are Christians, with the implication being that most if not all Evangelicals are Christians?

My point is that if we can say that there are some Catholics who are Christians, can we not equally say that there are some Evangelicals who are Christians? Or perhaps better still, shouldn’t we simply leave the judging to the One who will judge justly? If we don’t, then where will the madness end? Calvinists will admit that some Armenians are Christians, hyper-Calvinists will concede that some Calvinists are Christians, and so on until eventually we’ll have a denomination of Christianity that claims there are actually no Christians at all; the subset of genuine Christians amongst the professing ones will be the nullset, if you’re into that kind of thing.

When Jesus tells the story about separating the sheep from the goats (Matt. 25), the basis of the separation is not whether one is Evangelical or not. The goats are not all the non-Evangelicals of this world, and the sheep are not all the Evangelicals plus a couple of the Catholics that made the cut. The difference maker -- and this is a hard pill for us doctrine fiends to swallow -- is not our denomination, but our treatment of fellow human beings. The ones accepted by God will show themselves to be those who feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and visit the sick. On this basis, might we say that there aren’t many people across all religions and denominations who are as right with God as they’d like to think they are? In light of this, shouldn’t we remove the plank from our own eye before pointing out the speck in our neighbours’?

Set Apart for the Sake of Others

“…you will be for me…a holy nation.”

These are the words of Israel’s god Yahweh, spoken to the Israelites after he brought them out of slavery in Egypt. In another place the LORD calls his chosen people to “Be holy as I am holy”. Clearly “holiness” was high on God’s list of priorities for his newly redeemed people, but why?

To be holy means to be set apart. Out of all the nations on the earth, God chose Israel to be his own special, distinctive people. They were to stand out from those around them, not only because of the unique god they worshiped but also because of their moral character (though the two can hardly be separated - we become what we worship, it has been said).

This all sounds a bit…exclusive, right? It sounds like Israel was called to be a nation permanently riding around on a gigantic high horse, scoffing at others who aren’t as “holy” as they are. This seems like holiness for the sake of self-righteousness, or perhaps holiness for the sake of exclusivity and nationalist pride.

David Peterson, in his book Engaging With God, paints an altogether different picture of Israel’s vocation to be holy. He says of the Israelites (quoting W.J. Dumbrell along the way) that,

They were chosen to demonstrate what it meant to live under the direct rule of God, which is actually ‘the biblical aim for the whole world’.

Go back to Israel’s roots, and this reality becomes apparent. YHWH promised that through Abraham’s descendants, all the nations of the world would be blessed. Israel was to be a “light to the nations”, a manifestation of the kingdom of God here on earth. Yes, they were to be set apart from others, but they were to be set apart for the sake of others. It was distinction with a view to inclusion. Transformative holiness, you might call it.

Fast forward a couple of millennia, and we find a Jew, Peter, writing to Jews and Gentiles in Eastern Europe and calling them “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation”. The church -- consisting of men and women from every tribe, tongue and nation -- is Yahweh’s “called out ones”; she is simultaneously the recipient of the blessing promised to Abraham and the means of passing on that blessing to those in need of it. Like Israel, she is called to be holy, just as the god she worships is holy. But once again, this is not to be an exclusive holiness. The church is called to be set apart from others for the sake of others; a manifestation of the kingdom of God, drawing in those who remain outside of the Messiah Jesus, who did for the world what Israel could not do.

If whatever we call holiness is not something which engages with the needs of those around us, if our holiness doesn’t get our hands dirty (as it certainly did Jesus), then we have missed it. The history of Israel is a history of “missing it”. What will be the history of the church of this generation?

Christian Theology

What then might a specifically Christian theology be? More, I take it, than simply an account of what Christians have believed in the past, or believe in the present, though those tasks will always be part of the whole. That whole includes a necessarily normative element. It will attempt not just to describe but to commend a way of looking at, speaking about, and engaging with the god in whom Christians believe, and with the world that this god has ceated. It will carry the implication that this is not only what is believed but what ought to be believed. To the relativist's response, that this will seem very arrogant, Christian theology will reply that it can do no other. If it is not a claim about the whole of reality, seen and unseen, it is nothing. It is not a set of private aesthetic judgments upon reality, with a 'take-it-or-leave-it' clause attached. Even the relativist, after all, believes that relativism is universally true, and sometimes seeks to propogate that belief with missionary zeal. Christian theology only does what all other worldviews and their ancillary belief-systems do: it claims to be talking about reality as a whole.

- N.T. Wright

Love That Lasts

If I...have not love, I am nothing.

- Paul

I’ve been stealing other people’s thoughts can calling them my own thinking. The resurrection was not only the raising of Jesus’ body from death to life. For example, the raising of a cat from death to eternal life would not be the equivalent. The resurrection was a vindication of Jesus, and more to my point, a vindication of his kind of love.

One of the clear messages we get from the cross and resurrection is that love triumphs. The love that costs is the love that lasts; the love that leads to death is the love that leads to life.

Perhaps we spend too much time trying to find a way to "love" that keeps our hearts intact and our lives in order, when all the while it is the love which causes us to lose ourselves that helps us experience life to the full, and brings the kingdom of God to earth.

The resurrection of Jesus enfleshes those oft-quoted words of the apostle Paul:

Love never ends.

The death of Jesus forms the shape of that never-ending love; it is eternally cruciform.

Come Out

Yes, I’m gay.

Not my confession, but that of Cork hurler Donal Óg Cusack. He officially came out of the proverbial closet in yesterday’s Mail on Sunday. They sold the story as “an All-Ireland hero becomes the first Irish sportsman to come out”.

First things first. Not to stereotype homosexuals or anything (i.e. that’s exactly what I’m about to do), but there’s a gay hurler? Given the nature of soccer these days, it wouldn’t surprise me if a large number of its players were playing for the wrong team so to speak, but hurling? It’s so raw, so passionate, so physical, so intense, so up-close-and-personal. What possible appeal could it have to a man who likes other men? Oh, right. My bad.

A gay hurler. Honestly, I never thought I’d see the day. The very words stuck together almost represent a contradiction. I just couldn’t see those two cultures ever overlapping. I’m almost certain that not a few within the hurling community have had to be told what “gay” actually means in light of Cusack’s revelation. ("He's wha?") The idea of someone -- anyone -- being that way is completely foreign to a large number of those who’ve grown up loving this most Irish of sports. I wouldn’t be surprised if some die-hard hurling fanatic reading the Mail on Sunday thought that Donal Og was simply saying, Yes, I’m happy. Ah, isn't that nice.

The story itself -- which is made up of extracts from Cusack’s forthcoming autobiography -- is a little bit depressing. The general impression I was left with after reading was that for Donal Óg, being gay consisted mainly of waking up with fellas in bed. He tells the story of skipping away from “the lads” (his Cork colleagues) in Ho Chi Minh in order to find a group of lads with slightly different items on the agenda. “Next morning, I woke up with a fella”, he says. “Hungover. Demented. Lost.” His words, not mine.

Perhaps it’s due to fear of being found out to be a gay hurler, but for Cusack the whole thing smacks of being a vice, or a problem; maybe even an addiction. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that a man who goes training on Christmas Day would also sneak out on his team-mates, get plastered and have sex with a complete stranger? What’s going on here? On the one hand, he is so disciplined, so controlled. On the other, a bit of a mess. Or perhaps only a bit of a human (let the reader decide).

The repercussions for this quite shocking and unprecedented revelation are hard to predict. The bond between hurling and Catholicism runs deep, therefore something like this will hardly be accepted as progressive by many of those for whom hurling alone is a way of life. One imagines that there will be confusion, awkwardness, and even anger inside the minds of some of those involved in the game. Donal Óg was never the most beloved hurler in the country prior to Sunday; I have the feeling that that isn’t about to change anytime soon.

Of course for others, the Cork hurler will be held up as a symbol representing the modern Irish nation. His name will become known to people who have perhaps never seen or heard of him before. He will be used as evidence in long-standing arguments, regarded as a courageous hero who broke down barriers not only in the culture of hurling, but in the culture of Ireland as a whole. If our hurlers can be gay, who can’t? To some, this is a question filled with wonderful possibilities. To others, it is a question asked in fear.

Crossing a line is always seen either as progress or rebellion; something to be embraced or something to be frowned upon. With Charismata supposing itself to be a Christian blog, where does it lie on the matter?

Well as for me, I frown upon Donal Óg Cusack. Not because he's gay, but because of those short bloody puck-outs.

Honest Questions - #10

Before I put my copy of Inspiration and Incarnation to one side, I wanted to give this series a little personal touch. So far I’ve attempted to present Enns’s material in as impartial a light as possible, not trying to sway the reader one way or the other. Besides, Enns’s provocative proposals speak for themselves really, so they don’t need me and my couple of cents getting in the way. But get in the way I shall.

I’m sure it’s obvious already, but I found Inspiration extremely helpful. And not helpful in the sense of strengthening my own assumptions about the Bible, but helpful because it tore down some of those assumptions and built up some sturdier ones. My conviction that the Bible is God’s word has not deteriorated; quite the opposite in fact. But what I mean when I give Scripture this most esteemed title has surely changed, and changed in a positive, healthy way - in a way that “fits” with how Scripture itself behaves.

Like many people, I’ve often thought of the Bible as a collection of “timeless truths” dropped down from heaven which are to be understood (and agreed with) upon careful interpretation and spiritual guidance. As for the stories in Genesis, I’ve read them as if they were originally written for the modern reader, all the while making the outlandish (though unsaid) assumption that someone like Abraham thought like a 21st century man.

Enns’s book has opened my eyes to just how, well, silly that kind assumption is. Why should I expect God to talk to Abraham not as a Babylonian steeped in the culture of his day, but as a modern scientist? It’s absurd, and yet debates about creation rage on, predicated on this feeble assumption made by both sides, liberal and conservative alike.

Also, in thinking about the creation accounts from a purely “modern” perspective, I’ve actually missed the force of what was going on back when Genesis 1 and 2 were articulated - YHWH was implicitly claiming that these other rival creation stories did not tell the real story -- the true metanarrative for the world, if you like -- and more importantly, the gods contained within were not worthy to be worshipped. The god of Abraham was basically saying “I am the creator, and it was simply my good desire that brought about all that you see. This is the starting point.” He drove His point home by taking the stories Abraham grew up with and transforming them into reasons why YHWH alone should be loved and worshipped. This is the power of story, as potent today as it was back then.

None of this proves that Scripture is God’s word of course, but it does show us that God’s word to us comes in ways that we can understand. He condescends to our forms of communication, and speaks words that mean something here and now to particular people. His adoption of our limitations is not beneath Him, but rather an example of His great love for us.

Undergirding all of what Enns writes is the Incarnational Model. As Jesus is both divine and human, so is the Bible. Strangely enough, the church in general has had little problem articulating the deity of Jesus; it’s his humanity that gives us the most headaches. Jesus was hungry? Jesus was thirsty? Jesus didn’t know the answer to certain questions? Jesus was a carpenter? Jesus died? We don’t quite now if/how we should embrace these things, because they appear to us so un-Godlike.

The human marks of the Bible can be similarly problematic. Would God really speak through a category of literature we know as “myth”? Would He really adopt the cultural limitations of the day? The answer affirmed by the Incarnation is “Yes and amen”. The human way of life is not beneath the creator, for it is He who created it and said that it was “very good”. Not only should this transform our understanding of Scripture, it should also deeply humble us and stir up thankfulness in our hearts.

Inspiration and Incarnation is a challenging read, both for those with a high view of Scripture and for those with a low view. It doesn’t try and find a place for us to rest somewhere in the middle, but instead tries to find fresh ways of thinking about what it means for the Bible to be God’s word. When it comes to Scripture, we can’t affirm anything much greater than that it is the word of God, therefore all of this is extremely relevant to the average person who engages in Bible reading. The way we read this most popular of books is partly based on our understanding of the term “word of God”. Enns paints a picture of this term that is linked with the eternal Word, Jesus, which is helpful in answering our honest questions, and which ultimately leads to a clearer portrait of the God of the word; the God who descends.

The Journey

I went hiking last weekend. I woke up to a phone call at 8am, regretted my decision to go hiking for ten or fifteen minutes, packed up some fruit and chocolate, and was on the road by 8.30. Gear wise, I wasn’t quite in hiking mode. I had my ridiculously expensive hiking shoes strapped to my feet, but that was about it. The rest of the ensemble was made up of items such as a soccer jersey, cords, and a laptop bag. I felt like the prissy city girl in a romantic comedy who’s forced to go on a hike as part of her work (or something), and who gets laughed at by a ruggedly handsome local for wearing high heels and bringing her fancy laptop up the mountain. Needless to say, Matthew McConaughey plays the ruggedly handsome local, and after an hour and a half of silly banter mixed with one deep late night chat by the campfire (most likely to do with past lovers), he wins the heart of prissy city girl. The end. Vomit.

Our party of four arrived at the 12 pins in Connemara at around 10:15, and immediately we set out on the trail. Roughly 20 minutes into the hike, we turned around and skipped back to the car in order to head home, stopping only at a local pub for a full Irish breakfast. At least that’s what happened in my head. The reality was something entirely different, involving me, sheep poo, exhaustion, and my will to live abandoning me in my time of need. How much more of this could I take, given that I was almost a broken man -- both emotionally and physically -- before we even got going properly? The answer would surprise me.


Once we hit our first peak things started to improve, mainly because we took an extended break and I got to stuff my face with Lidl’s finest chocolate. Germans - have they ever let us down? Also, the next stage of the hike was all downhill, which gave my withering calf muscles somewhat of a respite. But just as they were reaching full recovery, the journey up began once more. This terrain was harsh, relentless, unforgiving, sheer…something or other.

Three-quarters of the way up Ben Baun we decided to do what every hardened group of men does on a grueling hike like this: we took lots of silly photos. I think at this point I was into my second wind. It didn’t last long mind you, and a third never materialised, but for this 10 minute photo shoot I was able to jump into the air on numerous occasions and muster up some semblance of a smile on my face, giving the outward illusion of good times while inwardly I was wasting away, soon to become just a shell of a man.



We reached the summit of Ben Baun in good time, so all that remained was the journey back to the car. I thought this would be the most pleasant part of the hike, with the four of us prancing along while surveying the conquered terrain with great pride. It turns out the journey back was actually worse than anything that preceded it (including the sight of two of my fellow hikers embrace for an eerily romantic photo*). Getting down to level ground was easy, but unfortunately there were a few mountains separating us and petrol-fuelled freedom. Instead of cutting through the mountains we decided it best to simply walk around them through the bog land. No problem, I thought.

I thought wrong.

Perhaps it was the uneven surface of the bog meaning every step was a potential ankle-breaker, perhaps it was the fact that my legs had stopped working; I don’t know. But for the next hour and a half I was utterly miserable. From the look on my face you’d swear I was watching an Irish soccer game…an away Irish soccer game. I think what had happened was all the adrenaline had left my body what with me thinking the trail was complete, and so mentally and physically I was as unprepared for this as I was for a Financial Maths exam.

In an unexpected twist, we ended up spotting a stag as we negotiated ourselves around the final mountain. The other three were quite wary of its presence and were thus keen to avoid it, even if it meant extending the hike. Me? I had fantasies of climbing atop the stag, shouting “Giddy up!”, and guiding it victoriously through the bog to the Kylemore Abbey carpark, or perhaps right into the city centre. In other words, extending the trail was not a good option at this point. Not for me. It was either potentially cross paths with the stag and risk death, or hike some more and face certain death. It was always going to be the former.

Thankfully we never saw the stag again, although I had a creepy feeling that he was watching us in secret. Perhaps I’ve just seen The Edge one too many times.

It was just after 5pm when we reached that most hallowed tarmac of Kylemore Abbey carpark, a little under 7 hours since we first left its beautifully unsloped surface. I fell into the car almost without saying a word and drifted off to slumberland - a place where hiking is outlawed and pizza is supplied at your beck and call, along with a complimentary massage.

“Never again”, I thought, as I wondered how I’d cope without my legs for a couple of weeks. But hindsight is 20:20, and though there was much pain throughout the day, there was also much gain. The good ol’ fashioned male bonding, the wonderful scenery, the feeling of having endured, the sense of being in a world far bigger than yourself leading to a renewed appreciation for the age-old question, What is man that you are mindful of him? - all of these things were worth it in the end.


“What makes a man a man?”, I asked as we began the hike, in an attempt to focus my attention on anything but the burning sensation throughout my body. “The journey”, replied one of my fellow hikers, who had obviously feasted on a John Eldredge book or two in the past. “The journey?” I thought, in a dismissive manner, not quite knowing what exactly that meant. Roughly seven hours later, however, I think I began to understand what he was getting at.

Maybe John Eldredge isn’t full of s**t after all.

*