Christmas, Faux Wars, and What Really Matters

"In this life of hardship and of earthly toil

There's a need for anything that frees us

So I bid you pleasure and I bid you cheer

From a heathen and a pagan

On the side of the rebel Jesus"

-- Jackson Browne, "The Rebel Jesus"

I used to be a real jerk.

Once upon a time, my opinions had a hair trigger. I'd spout them on Facebook, I'd pontificate in newspaper columns, I'd speak them loudly in restaurants; and the more people I pissed off in the process, the better.

But that was a few years ago, before fatherhood, age, and maybe a touch of disillusionment mellowed me. As I've gotten older (and, hopefully, a little wiser), I have learned to choose my battles more carefully.

Thus, you can safely assume, if I take the time to write at length about something, it's something about which I have pretty strong feelings.

Like this:

A minor controversy blew up among the locals on my Facebook news feed earlier this week. It seems that a local school is having a program just before Christmas break that ... brace yourselves ... doesn't include any Christmas music.

(In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you that my wife teaches at this school, and my daughter attends and will be part of said controversial program.)

Apparently, this school is the latest battleground in the alleged "war on Christmas." People who still live here and people who have moved away, people who have kids at the school and people who don't, were quick to weigh in on how this is just another example of society "taking Christ out of Christmas."

I don't have a particular interest in defending this particular school in this particular case; while I absolutely do support the administration and have no problem with the program, that's not really what I feel compelled to write about tonight.

I feel compelled to write about how completely silly and misguided this whole controversy is -- whenever and wherever it arises.

In Brian McLaren's book Everything Must Change, he wrote about the four main religious/political groups of Jesus' day and their attempts to co-opt Jesus and his message.

First, and best-known, were the Pharisees -- strict adherents to rules who, in fact, made the rules even more stringent, with the reasoning that Israel's lack of adherence to those rules was surely the reason they were still under Roman rule.

Then there were the Sadducees -- liberals, if you will, who felt that the key to freedom from Rome was to participate as fully as possible in Roman culture.

Third was the Zealots, who believed the only way Israel's people would ever be free was to take up swords and bring down the evil empire that oppressed them.

Finally, there were the Essenes -- but we don't hear much about them, because their strategy was to withdraw into the desert, separating themselves completely from the culture at large.

All these groups wanted Jesus' stamp of approval on their approach -- but Jesus never gave it, choosing instead to transcend them all and offer a fifth way. Not only did Jesus not endorse the way of the Pharisees, Sadducees, Zealots, or Essenes, he individually called them wrong.

I think of this every time I hear the "war on Christmas" or "take back Christmas" rhetoric, whether it's because of the absence of "Silent Night" in a school program or a store employee who wishes shoppers "happy holidays." The talk inevitably goes back to Christians' rights.

I find this highly ironic, because here's what Jesus said about our rights:

"You have heard that it was said, 'Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you."

Jesus didn't say, "Stand for what you believe;" Poison did.

Now, I can already imagine somebody loading up some scriptures to fire back at me (which really isn't necessary, because I'm not trying to shoot anyone). Maybe you're thinking of reminding me that Jesus said, "If you're ashamed of me, I'll be ashamed of you."

Except ...

I don't really think being ashamed is the question here; it's really more a matter of having respect for people of other faiths. In virtually all cases, people who are accused of "taking Christ out of Christmas" are simply trying to avoid doing or saying something that would offend a person of another faith, or no faith.

I can't find any examples in the gospels of Jesus personally interacting with people of other faiths; some lived their faith out better than others, but the people with whom Jesus crossed paths were pretty much exclusively Jews just like him. So we don't have any hard evidence here; we do, however, have examples of how Jesus' followers interacted with people of other faiths. Paul, for example, spoke to a group of philosophers at Mars Hill in Athens, and did so quite respectfully -- and that was when he was invited to share his beliefs.

Trampling on the rights of the minority to not be forced to accept your way of life doesn't make you a defender of the faith; it makes you kind of a jerk.

Or maybe you're thinking about our mandate to "love the Lord your God with all of your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength," and you're under the impression that this love for God should prompt us to defend our faith.

I'm going to extend a bit of grace here. I imagine that it's very likely that some of those who take this kind of stand do so out of spiritual immaturity or lack of understanding. All of us who are followers of Christ have most certainly said or done things we later regret. No less a spiritual giant than Peter showed a propensity for saying the worst things with the best of intentions.

But many -- I'll go ahead and say most -- should know better. I'll say something stronger than that: For most, I believe that being right is the motive.

If you believe that love for God prompts you to launch a counterattack against the "war on Christmas," there's a good chance you are lying to yourself to validate your inner Pharisee.

I promise you that Jesus doesn't mind people saying "happy holidays." Really, he doesn't; he appreciates the spirit of peace and goodwill behind it (you might remember that peace and goodwill were kind of important at his birth, what with the angels singing about them and all).

If you want to be upset about something this Advent, don't be mad that someone is using different words than you in their greetings. Don't be mad that a school program isn't "Christmasy" enough, or that some city decided not to have a live nativity.

Be mad that Americans are expected to spend more than $600 billion on Christmas this year (more than the entire GDP of the nation of Sweden), and this after ponying up $7.4 billion for Halloween -- while more than half the world lives on less than $2 a day.

Be mad that there are 30 million slaves in the world today, and that 3 million children are sold into slavery every year -- many of them to be used for sexual purposes.

Be mad that homelessness increased in 20 states last year.

Be mad that the United States military budget is bigger than the next eight countries combined.

Be mad about things that really matter.

And don't just be mad; do something about it. Advocate for change -- with your time, with your checkbook, with your choices.

A friend of mine told me recently that someone had wished her, "Merry Christmas -- and merry everything else too!"

Let's try something like that, and see if we can't dial this war rhetoric back a few notches. I'm thinking we'll end up being something a lot closer to the salt and light Jesus instructed us to be. After all, it's his birthday; shouldn't he get what he wants?

Far be it from me to defend the Osteens, but...

"In conflict and dissent, we divide

But you defend and keep your bride

In purity and peace

So there will always be

A place at your table for me"

-- Derek Webb, A Place at Your Table

Let me say up front that I am not a fan of Joel Osteen. If you know me at all, you probably know that that's kind of an understatement.

If you've follow the Christian blogosphere over the past month or so, you've probably seen coverage of comments Joel's wife and co-pastor, Victoria, recently made from the stage of their Houston megachurch, Lakewood Church. She said, in part:

"When we obey God, we're not doing it for God...we're doing it for ourself (sic). Because God takes pleasure when we're happy. Do good 'cause God wants you to be happy. When you come to church, when you worship Him, you're not doing it for God, really. You're doing it for yourself because that's what makes God happy."

The response from Christians came quickly and loudly, and much of it involved the use of the word "heretic." You might have seen a video clip that featured Victoria's proclamation followed by a snippet from the pilot episode of "The Cosby Show" in which Cliff says, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard in my life!"

A small minority of voices have rallied to Osteen's defense -- including blogger and college chaplain Morgan Guyton, who took issue with the wording but upheld at least part of the sentiment he believes she intended to convey. Recording artist Derek Webb also defended Osteen via Twitter, or at least pushed back against the vicious response from the Christian community:

"the way christians publicly mock their own when they disagree (see @VictoriaOsteen ), it’s no wonder it’s a club hardly anyone wants to join"

Then, a day later:

"troubling when folks vehemently defend their right, responsibility even, to shame & judge others. it’s like we don’t realize we’re all sick."

Webb's comments were also posted to Facebook, where they were met with more vitriol, as several pointed out that a number of Webb's early songs were openly critical of the church over doctrinal and other issues and asserted that Christians have a responsibility to respond to false teaching.

I've been chewing on this for a while, and finally feel like I have my thoughts organized enough to weigh in.

First, I agree with Guyton that Osteen's sentiment has some validity, while she probably should've put a little more thought into how she articulated it. To think of "worship" (by which I mean, for these purposes, a physical act of expression as you might find in a church like the Osteens' -- lifting one's hands, singing out loud, dancing/jumping, and so forth) as something that makes God happy for any other reason kind of reduces God to a baby who responds to a game of Peek-a-Boo with giggles. God does not need our attention or our validation; God is all-powerful and infinite. What God appreciates, it would seem, is the expression of one's joy -- just like any parent smiles at the sight of their child laughing at something or dancing. I don't see how this is dangerous theology. Perhaps the way Victoria worded it was shallow, but I'm certainly not going to throw the "h" word at her for that.

More than that, though, I share Webb's concerns about our propensity for rushing to judgment of whatever doesn't fit within our idea of "truth." We hear poll after poll showing that people are leaving churches in droves. There are lots of factors that contribute to this, but the ugliness Christians exhibit toward one another is certainly one -- and not a minor one.

Christians have disagreed for years about dozens of issues -- women in ministry, church music, appropriate attire, and adult vs. child baptism, just to name a few that quickly come to mind -- and have mostly managed to do so with civility and grace.

I once heard Shane Hipps, former teaching pastor at Mars Hill Bible Church, share a brief history of the Mennonite church (Shane pastored a Mennonite congregation in Arizona before going to Mars Hill). He noted that one of the trademark characteristics of Mennonite theology was humility. I couldn't find the exact quote, but essentially he said that a Mennonite might tell you something he strongly believes with every fiber of his being, and then say, "But I might be wrong."

That's not a sign of weak faith. That's not watering anything down. It's simply realizing that:

1. You're not God;
2. The Bible is anything but crystal clear about most things; and
3. You just might actually be wrong.

You know who else might be wrong?

Me.

In his seminal book "Blue Like Jazz," Donald Miller wrote:

"At the end of the day, when I am lying in bed and I know the chances of any of our theology being exactly right are a million to one, I need to know that God has things figured out, that if my math is wrong we are still going to be okay. And wonder is that feeling we get when we let go of our silly answers, our mapped out rules that we want God to follow. I don't think there is any better worship than wonder."

An Open Invitation

My name is Robert Neville. I am a survivor living in New York City.

I am broadcasting on all AM frequencies. I will be at the South

Street Seaport every day at mid-day, when the sun is highest in

the sky. If you are out there ... if anyone is out there ... I can provide

food, I can provide shelter, I can provide security. If there's anybody

out there ... anybody ... please. Your are not alone.

--Robert Neville (Will Smith), "I Am Legend"

 

 

I was spinnin' 'round a dead dial

Just another lost number in a file

Dancin' down a dark hole

Just searchin' for a world with some soul

This is radio nowhere, is there anybody alive out there?

--Bruce Springsteen, "Radio Nowhere"

 

 

On Easter Sunday, I wrote a piece that was, in part, about my current church "free agency." My family and I have not regularly attended a church since last summer, for a variety of reasons. If I had to boil them down to one basic reason, though, it's simply that I don't feel like I belong.

 

As I have made peace with that realization, I've also become firmly convinced of something else:

 

I can't be the only one.

 

There have to be others right here in good ol' Harlan County, Kentucky, who crave community and some element of spirituality in their lives, but who don't find what they're looking for at area churches. Maybe they consider themselves Christians, and maybe they don't; I don't care. I only know that there are others. There simply must be.

 

To those people, I say: I hope you're reading this. I hope you're finding your pulse picking up a bit; maybe you're realizing for the first time that you're not alone.

 

Maybe your political views are similar to mine, and maybe they're not. Maybe you have similar tastes in music and movies, and maybe you don't. Maybe you're gay, and maybe you're straight. Maybe you enjoy a drink every now and then, and maybe you're a teetotaler.

 

Either way -- I would love for us to hang out.

 

Starting this Sunday evening at 6:00, my family will be opening our home for people to come and hang out. We'll maybe have a snack. We'll talk. We'll have a little (laid-back) Bible study -- the good kind, where questions and doubts are allowed and we can talk (and even disagree) with humility and civility. We might play a board game. It'll be great.

 

We'd love for you to join us.

Easter Autumn

I typically post an Easter-themed blog. Most years, I find myself with some thoughts that are just bursting to come out -- something beautiful and hopeful, something about how love wins, something that evokes joy.

I don't have that this morning.

I have to admit that, this year, I feel quite disconnected from Easter. I didn't wake up overflowing with joy today at the realization that Christ has risen from the dead. I'm frustrated with this feeling, or lack thereof -- but here we are.

I think there are a couple of reasons for this. One is that we find ourselves church-homeless this year (more on that in the second part of this post). Deciding where to attend on this holiest of holy days has been a regular topic of discussion in our home over the last few days, and something about that admittedly takes some wind out of my sails.

The second reason is a bit harder to explain. I recently finished a book by Brian McLaren called "Naked Spirituality." In the book, McLaren proposes that the spiritual life is best understood as a succession of seasons -- a "spring" of rebirth and new life, followed by a "summer" of strengthening and growth, then an "autumn" of waning and questioning, and a "winter" of quiet reflection -- which then gives way to another spring, and so on.

The book has yielded some important insights, the most notable of which is that we aren't made to "feel" the same way all the time. People who try to do this typically end up spending much of their time in performance mode, not to mention beating themselves up for not really feeling like they're "supposed to."

Maybe that's why I feel like acknowledging that, today, I find myself in something more akin to autumn than spring. This is disappointing, especially on the day when we celebrate the new life that springs out of death. Today, of all days, should be a "spring" day; today, of all days, should be a day when we are bursting with joy and hope.

But the season we're in, is the season we're in. All the effort in the world to change our season is futile. My first order of business this morning has been to simply accept my autumn.

Luke 24 tells the story of Jesus, shortly after his resurrection, meeting a couple of followers on the road to Emmaus. They didn't recognize him as he asked why they were so down in the dumps. They explained what had happened, and how their expectations were shattered. He spoke to them for a while, explaining why things had to happen the way they did. Eventually, they stopped for dinner, and as he blessed the food, they suddenly recognized him.

I think it's pretty clear that those followers found themselves in autumn as that day began. But by the time they laid down to sleep that night, it's safe to say they were feeling a whole lot of spring bursting forth in their overflowing hearts.

Maybe that'll happen for me today. Maybe my autumn will turn to spring. Maybe I'll find joy erupting, seemingly out of nowhere, through no effort of my own.

And maybe not. Maybe I'll feel the same way tonight and tomorrow and the next day as I felt when I woke up this morning.

Either way ...

Jesus is alive. Jesus is just as alive and present in my autumn as he is in my spring and summer and winter.

And for that, I am happy and filled with gratitude.

* * *

"Religious refugee."

I read this phrase a few weeks ago in a post by Rachel Held Evans, relating her reaction to the news that World Vision -- faced with the threat of dropped child sponsorships by the evangelical community after news broke that the organization would change its policies to allow for the hiring of Christians in same-sex marriages -- was reversing course. The phrase has stuck with me ever since, and certainly seems an apt description of me.

I started attending church when I was 2 years old. Over the past 32 years, I've been part of a small Baptist church, a Holiness church, a Pentecostal/charismatic church, a seeker-friendly non-denominational church, a progressive hippie church, and a formal Presbyterian church.

Now, at 34 years old, I have come to the conclusion that I don't belong at any of the churches in Harlan County.

Before going on, let me clear up a few misconceptions. First, please don't read the above statement and think that I'm trying to sound superior. This is not Sheldon Cooper looking down on those whose understanding isn't as advanced as his. And, for what it's worth, I'm sure there are a few (probably mainline Protestant) churches whose theology is reasonably in line with mine -- the response I received to sermons I shared at the Presbyterian church sort of confirms that. I'm not too good or too wise for the churches around here; I'm only saying I don't fit in.

I'm also not writing this so that you'll contact me and say things like, "Oh, no, you'd be more than welcome at our church -- we welcome all kinds of people, just as they are. Come and give us a try!" I'm sure I would be welcome at many churches in the area, and I appreciate the hospitality. But the fact remains: to "fit in," I would very likely have to swallow my opinions about a number of issues. My Obama bumper sticker would be reason enough for shunning at a good many churches; and, once you pile on my support of gay rights and my appreciation for a good beer -- well, let's just say I'm not getting many invitations to stand behind a pulpit.

It's OK. I've made my peace with it. It hasn't led to a faith crisis; in fact, I feel that my faith is stronger than ever.

It's also made me more aware of another reality:

I am not the only one. I am not the only religious refugee in Harlan County.

I am convinced that there are plenty of others who are in this same boat. Plenty of others who are following the way of Jesus, or who are at least drawn to the idea of Jesus, but who simply cannot feel at home in any of the churches here. Plenty of others who crave spiritual community, but who need it to be authentic community -- the kind that allows for diversity of opinions, that encourages wrestling with difficult questions about God and the Bible, that is even OK with leaving those questions unresolved.

If that is you ... I would love to hang out with you. Starting June 1, we're going to open our home on Sunday evenings for anyone who might want to spend some time having a snack and discussing the Bible. It will be fairly laid-back, it will be open to all -- conservative and liberal, black and white, "broken" and "together." The only prerequisite is a willingness to be respectful of other people's opinions and to agree to disagree.

There might be 20 of us. There might be 10. There might be 5. There might only be 2. It's OK -- we'll be here regardless.

You are welcome to join us.