Thursday, May 31, 2012

I Believe in a God of Wrath and Judgment

When you've been in ministry and theological studies long enough, you discover there are a number of common issues raised by Christians and non-Christians alike regarding Christianity, the Bible, and theology, in general. When people find out that I teach theology, one of the things that I hear often goes something like this: "You know, I don't believe in a God of wrath and judgment. I just can't bring myself to believe in a God like that." Having experienced this sort of statement numerous times, it seems clear to me that many people object strongly to a doctrine of God that involves God being angry or executing judgment on sinners.

On the one hand, I find myself very sympathetic to their objections. Many times (maybe even most of the time?), the rejection of a wrathful God arises from experiences of heavy-handed,"fire and brimstone" preaching by angry pastors and evangelists or the overzealous manipulation of children by adults who badly want to see conversions. Many times, these people have been threatened with God's wrath and hellfire due to their clothing, language, behavior, or other things. The persons hurling such threats tend to be legalistic and unloving themselves and they create a picture of God who (surprise!) looks very similar to them: hating what they hate and punishing what they want punished.

I've gone through these kinds of experiences myself. Among others I could share, I have a vivid memory of an evangelist visiting our church several years ago and describing in detail the scene of a bad accident where someone had the horrific misfortune of listening helplessly as a person was burned to death in their own truck. The preacher used this terrible story to frighten the audience into converting to Christianity, offering the prospect of an eternity of conscious torment in hell if they refused. I found this both repugnant and embarrassing to the Gospel of Christ (which is beautiful beyond compare and should not be reduced to such levels).

All that is to say, I think I get it. No one who experiences such things enough times can easily take pleasure in the notion of a wrathful God. When you've been overdosed with wrath and judgment, it makes sense that you'd seek to correct that with an overdose of mercy, love, and grace. (And, frankly, if I'm going to be accused of erring on a "side" in this discussion, whether in my writing or preaching, I'd much rather err on the side of mercy, love, and grace.)

But, even as I am sympathetic to the objections made against a wrathful and judgmental God, even as I reject evangelistic methods that use fear and manipulation to make converts, even as I try to major on the love of God in my own life and work, I still can't let go of the wrath and judgment of God. I do believe in a God of wrath and judgment. Not only is the justice of God a common theme throughout the Scriptures and the Great Tradition of Christianity, but I think it is also an essential Christian conviction in light of the ever-present reality of suffering and pain. Let me explain...

Put simply, I believe in a God of wrath and judgment because evil is real. And, I believe evil is real because I've seen it--in fact, I see it all around us every day. National governments conspire to kill off hundreds and thousands of their own people and then do so unopposed. Terrorists intentionally bomb civilian locations, taking out anyone who happens to be nearby. Children are kidnapped, raped, and murdered. Women are repeatedly terrorized in their own homes, beaten and berated into submission by men who believe their penis and fists make them Lord. GLBT adolescents are bullied until they can no longer bear the pain and take their own lives. Entire ecosystems are destroyed en masse by corporations, who are not held accountable for their actions. Soldiers go off to war with bravery and self-sacrifice only to return home with debilitating brain injuries and PTSD. Elections are bought. Land is stolen. Sex is forced. Conversion is coerced. Children are enslaved. And, the list goes on and on.

I believe evil is real and I believe God is real. I believe God is revealed to us in the person of Jesus Christ. This being the case, then God must be the kind of God who sets all things right. The God revealed by Jesus is a God who reaches out to sinners, embraces prostitutes, includes the marginalized, rebukes the religiously self-righteous, drives out the money-changers, and exorcises the demonic. This loving God loves so fiercely and with such fury that wrath is the inevitable result when harm is done to one of his beloved children. In human experience, we are used to rage being the opposite of love. We cannot imagine that judgment and love can co-exist. But, I am compelled to assert that in God's nature, wrath is not the opposite of love, but a necessary expression of it. God is wrathful because God is love.

On my most irritable days, on the days when I'm overcome by the pain and suffering all around me, I tell my husband pointedly: "Only the most sheltered and over-privileged of people have the freedom to not believe in the judgment of God." What I mean by this is that, the rest of us--the ones who have suffered and have walked through the dark valley with others who suffer--believing in a God of wrath is a vital source of hope. Maybe not everyone who has suffered or witnessed suffering feels this way. But, as for me, I find that in light of suffering, I must believe in God's judgment. I just can't let it go. With this conviction, I know that there is an end to the injustice, pain, and suffering. There will come a day, after the resurrection of the dead, when God will set everything right.

The thing to keep in mind, of course, is that God's wrath is not like human wrath. God is not capricious, petty, petulant, and self-indulgent, as we often are. When I say God burns with anger at injustice, I do not mean that he is like your rage-aholic father or harsh, domineering grandmother. And, the wrath of God is not primarily destructive (as our human experience might imagine), but actually an active, redemptive force. Like the Spirit of God hovering over the chaotic "deep" in the beginning, so also God's Spirit works powerfully to renew the face of the earth today. Righting wrongs and judging sin is part of this work, as is rescuing hateful hearts from bondage and allowing the violent to reap what they have sown ("those who live by the sword will die by the sword").

Of course, there are other reasons for accepting the idea that God is wrathful and will come in judgment. The Bible speaks of this kind of God with regularity, in both the Old and New Testaments. If you take the Bible seriously as God's revelation, then you have to reckon with these portrayals. This is particularly the case, in my opinion, when Jesus speaks of God's wrath and the reality of the final judgment. When the "fullness of God" dwelling in bodily form (Col. 1:19) speaks of God as possessing attributes of wrath and judgment, we do well to listen up. (Still, the "God said, I believe it, that settles it," approach to biblical interpretation will not work here. More nuanced thinking about God's justice and mercy is needed. The thoughts provided above are obviously just a small contribution to that larger task.)

So, I do believe in a God of wrath and judgment. I believe that God hates sin, but has a particularly strong hatred for systemic evil and wrongdoing done against the weak, innocent, and defenseless. I believe that Jesus Christ, the firstborn from the dead, will raise us all to resurrection life at the end of time and finally set everything right--finally completing his work to make "all things new" (Rev. 21:5). And, the furious love of the Triune God that compelled the Son to rescue creation from bondage to sin, evil, and death through his own body will further compel the work of final judgment--the eternal righting of wrongs--as God comes at last to dwell with his people.

There is much more that could be said, of course. But, I'll stop now. What do you think? What are your hang-ups about the judgment of God? What have I missed or failed to say? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Monday, May 21, 2012

The Significance of the Simple (2 Kings 5:1-14): Remix

I preached the following sermon yesterday, May 20, at Central Christian Church in Kettering, OH, at the invitation of a friend and colleague, who is also a member. They are a Disciples of Christ congregation and it was my first time to worship with them. Also, this was my very first time to preach in a Sunday morning worship service of any kind. I was very blessed to get to do so, even though I had a short time to prepare. What follows is a significantly re-worked version of the message I gave several weeks ago at Holy Trinity Parish in Dayton. The text and theme are the same, but I've shaved off several pages and, I think, made the main idea more pointed. Feel free to offer your comments and/or criticisms.


The Significance of the Simple: 2 Kings 5:1-14

There’s a commercial on TV right now that I’ve seen a few times for Rosetta Stone. You’ve probably heard of it. Rosetta Stone is a language instruction software that has, according to their website, helped millions of people all over the world learn another language. The Rosetta Stone commercial that’s running right now has one particular testimony that really gets to me. A twenty-something blonde man smiles at the camera and says: “I love it when I dream in French.” Now, I have nothing against Rosetta Stone. I’m sure it’s a great program. But, I highly doubt that computer software alone, used in the privacy of your home, can so immerse you in the French language that you actually dream in French. Maybe you can—I don’t know. But, the power of that selling point for Rosetta Stone is undeniable. People know if you are dreaming in French, then you think in French. To dream in French means that the language has literally transformed your mind: you now think and dream and see the world through French.

I would argue that becoming a part of the Christian faith is similar to learning a language. There are many things that have to be learned once you become a disciple of Jesus. And, it’s not enough just to learn the stories of the Bible, the words of our worship songs, or the Lord’s Prayer. Like when you’re learning French, you actually need a total transformation of the mind. When this happens, you will see the world in light of the Gospel, think according to the Gospel, and even dream in terms of the Gospel. Unfortunately, there’s no Rosetta Stone software for “putting on the mind of Christ.” This is something that takes a lifetime for a disciple to learn. But, my message this morning is meant to use the story of Naaman the Aramean to encourage us to view the world differently. By the time I’m done, I hope that we will all feel compelled to seek a transformation of our minds so that we will see everything in light of this truth: God is revealed through simple people and simple actions.

As we encounter the story of Naaman’s healing, the first thing I want us to observe is the way God uses simple people. At first it would seem that the most important people in the story are Naaman and Elisha. Naaman is the commander of Aram’s armies and his name means “delightful or gracious,” which shows that he was highly favored. In spite of this, he has a serious skin disorder, translated “leprosy.” This “leprosy” isn’t necessarily the same leprosy that we know of today, but apparently it was bad enough for him to travel all the way to Israel for help. Elisha is God’s prophet in Israel. Elisha is the disciple of Elijah, who took his master’s place as prophet to Israel after Elijah was taken up in a whirlwind. The book of 2 Kings is filled with the stories of Elisha’s mighty works.

Naaman and Elisha are the obvious major players in the story. But, I want to call attention to the fact that the people who are truly responsible for moving the action along, the people who are key to ensuring that God’s power is revealed in this particular moment are the three nameless servants: (1) the young girl from Israel who serves Naaman’s wife, (2) the messenger of Elisha, and (3) the servants of Naaman.

First, there is the “young girl from Israel,” who appears in verse 2. Apparently, she was taken captive when a band of Aramean raiders plundered an Israelite town on the border between the nations. And, now, she serves as the personal attendant for Naaman’s wife. It’s remarkable that this young girl, violently removed from her family and forced to serve her captor’s wife, then offers counsel that will provide healing for the man responsible for her situation. And, it is also remarkable that Naaman listens to her. The word of the “young girl from Israel” is what Naaman takes to his master, the King of Aram, and it is upon her testimony that both men plan for Naaman’s trip to Samaria, the capital of the Northern Kingdom.

So, the King of Aram sends Naaman to the King of Israel so that he may seek healing. The text says that Naaman carries with him “ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold and ten sets of clothing” (v. 5) as payment for the services of Israel’s prophet. For those of you who are interested, that is the equivalent of 755 pounds of silver and 150 pounds of gold, plus ten sets of ornate, hand-made clothing. He really wants this healing!

The King of Israel responds to Naaman’s gifts and request with great distress because he thinks that the King of Aram is looking for a pretext for war. Luckily, Elisha somehow gets word of the king’s despair and sends a message with an implicit rebuke in v. 8: “Why have you torn your clothes? Send Naaman to me. I’ll show him that there is a true prophet of God in Israel.”

This is where the second simple person in the story appears: the “messenger” of Elisha, who shows up in verse 10. Naaman approaches the home of Elisha in a way you might expect from a self-important, military leader at this time: with great pomp and circumstance. I can just imagine him assembling his “horses and chariots” (v. 9), primping and pruning, awaiting the arrival of God’s prophet who will “ooooh” and “aaaaah” dutifully over him and his entourage. But that’s not what happens. Elisha sends Naaman a “messenger,” instead, most likely a young apprentice. And, he delivers the directions for Naaman’s cure: “Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean” (v. 10).

Naaman isn’t pleased with this turn of events. He of all people should be able to get an audience with Israel’s world-renowned prophet! But, instead, he gets a little pipsqueak, messenger boy. The text tells us that Naaman “became angry and went away,” and in stark honesty he confesses: “I thought that for me he would surely come out…” Naaman admits that he thought his level of importance demanded an in-person demonstration of the prophet’s power. But, that’s not how it works this time. Elisha doesn’t even bother showing up. He just sends a simple boy to tell the army commander to go jump in a river. And, Naaman, thoroughly convinced of his own importance, turns away in “a rage.”

This is where nameless servants appear for a third time: in v. 13. In contrast to Naaman’s sputtering pride, his servants offer humble and wise counsel: “Father [which was a term of respect for a superior], if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?” The wisdom of this counsel is so convincing that Naaman responds immediately: “So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean” (v. 14). Notice that without the intervention of his servants, Naaman’s arrogance would have prevented him from receiving God’s healing.

So, what we have seen in this story is that God uses simple people to do his work: the young Israelite servant girl, the messenger of Elisha, and the servants of Naaman. Where one would expect, along with Naaman, that God’s prophet or even royalty to be the agents of change, what we have instead is the nameless servants moving the action along. It is their humble faithfulness that provides the opportunity for God’s power to be revealed.

I think a part of us knows this truth about the Gospel and the Christian life. It was a central message of Jesus, of course: “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.” “The greatest in the Kingdom of God is the servant of all.” Which of us is really going to deny this? But, even so, I don’t think many of us could say that this has really changed the way we view the world. With our mouths we say, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” but in our mind we think, “Blessed are the successful and important.” With our mouths we say, “The greatest in the Kingdom must be the servant of all,” but in our mind we think, “The greatest in the Kingdom are those that have the most, give the most, and do the most.” Our minds need a major transformation, so that we can see the people in God’s world in the same way God sees them: as persons capable of experiencing God’s Kingdom and revealing God’s ways.

The second thing I want us to observe in the story of Naaman’s healing is this: God calls us to simple actions. What Elisha’s messenger tells Naaman to do is a very simple thing. “Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored” (v. 10). But, Naaman finds this instruction insulting. He responds: “Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?” His point is clear: “Did I really come all this way to be told to take a bath in your piddly little river?”

Now, if you think about it, Naaman’s expectation of an awe-inspiring work of God isn’t entirely misplaced. We know that the God of Israel is capable of jaw-dropping miracles, right? Moses met God in a burning bush and parted the Red Sea. The children of Israel were fed manna and quail from heaven in the wilderness. The walls of Jericho fell to the ground with the shouts of Joshua’s armies. So, why can’t Elisha produce a fantastic, show-stopping miracle for Naaman, when he is so important and has come such a long way?

Here, Naaman learns what we all must learn at one time or another: The miraculous is not within our control. God does not answer to us. As we seek to serve God faithfully, we must accept the fact that most of the time, in most circumstances, God calls us to simple actions. While the fantastic stories of God’s power are what we remember most vividly from the Scriptures, most of God’s people throughout most of history have exercised their faith in the midst of the mundane acts of everyday life: cooking breakfast, cleaning house, gardening, a walk to the store. God is present and revealed in all of these ordinary moments.

If you think about it, even the rituals of the Christian community are rather ordinary and unremarkable. God has chosen simple things to reveal his grace in the New Covenant. They are basic elements used in basic ways: immersion in water and consuming bits of bread and wine. We wash with water regularly (or most of us do!). And, we eat food regularly. But, in the New Covenant, Jesus told us to take these simple things and use them in simple ways, trusting that in these moments God’s presence is with us in a unique way.

So, as we have seen in Naaman’s story, God uses simple people and God calls us to simple actions. But, this emphasis on the simple, the marginalized, the nameless, and the outsider is not limited to this one story in the Old Testament. In fact, the whole of Scripture is filled with the evidence that God is revealed through simple people and simple actions.

Of course, the central place where we see this is in the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ. This is the heart of the Christian faith and the reason why we are seeking a transformation of our minds today. When Jesus appeared on the stage of world history he proclaimed that the healing power of God’s Kingdom had now decisively broken into creation. The gospel announced that the power of God to renew the entire world was now present in Jesus by the Spirit. This liberating power was demonstrated in Jesus’ life and deeds, and explained by his words. By his death on the cross he battled the power of evil and gained the decisive victory. In his resurrection he entered as “the firstborn among many” into the resurrection life of the new creation. And, before his ascension, he commissioned his followers to continue his mission of making the Gospel known until he returned. He now reigns in power at the right hand of God over all creation and by his Spirit is making known his comprehensive rule through His people as they embody and proclaim the good news.

That’s us! We are the ones making known Christ’s rule through our bodies, our actions, and our words. We are the ones Paul spoke of in our New Testament reading for today: not many wise, not many influential, not many of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of this world to shame the wise and the weak things of this world to shame the strong. This is so that the one who boasts must boast in the Lord (1 Cor 1:26-31).

On the one hand, we can be comforted by this truth because many of us need assurance that we matter and what we do matters in the Kingdom of God. Although many people speak of life in terms of sacred things and secular things—holy things and worldly things—the Christian faith doesn’t allow for this kind of divide. The eternal wisdom of God has become incarnate in human flesh. The divine has been united with the earthly. This reality infuses all of life with the presence of God. Every good thing can now manifest God’s power. Simple people and simple things are now the places where God can be revealed and honored.

At the same time that we are comforted by this truth, we can also be confronted by it. Many of us may need rebuke for the ways that our approach to the world doesn’t match what God has said. Perhaps we despise the simple routines and humble works of daily life. Perhaps we overlook people we think are unimportant or unable to benefit us in a tangible way. We need to be reminded that because the whole world is alive with God’s presence, now everything and everyone matters. The boy who happily sacks your groceries, the woman at the dry cleaners who irons your shirts with a scowl, the teenage girl chattering on her cell phone in line behind you. These people are like Naaman’s servant girl and Elisha’s messenger boy. They are not only the recipients of God’s love but also all of them are capable of working in God’s story so that God is revealed and glorified.

Before we close, I think there is a way to vividly illustrate the kind of mental transformation that is required of us. Think with me for a few moments about the way we as American Christians tell our story. The events of September 11, 2001 changed the world, as we know it. We hear this all the time, don’t we? I don’t think there’s a person today, who wouldn’t agree with this in some way. The events of 9/11 are so powerful for our imaginations that many people now mark time as pre- and post-9/11. I don’t necessarily have a beef with this practice. Certainly, the world did change, especially for the U.S. But, as one Christian thinker has pointed out, what Christians—all Christians around the world—proclaim is that the world really changed in 33 AD—following the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. If we are going to mark time as Christians and frame our lives with an event, surely it must be THIS event—-Jesus of Nazareth, the Word made flesh. Surely it is the incarnation of Christ, and not 9/11 or the Kennedy assassination or World War II or any other event in history that should be THE DEFINING STORY for our Christian minds. Just as most Americans today look back to 9/11 and say, “That’s why I see the world differently,” Christians should be looking back to 33 AD, saying: “No, THAT'S why I see the world differently.”

What does this have to do with the healing of Naaman the Aramean? If what we saw in 2 Kings is true and God is revealed through simple people and simple actions, especially in the person of Jesus Christ, then we need a radical change of mind—a transformation of our imagination—in light of this truth. Because, in the end, there really are no simple things. If God has been joined to the world in Christ and through him the Kingdom of God has come near, then what we call simple people and simple actions are really the tools of God’s work. The question is whether we have the eyes to see and ears to hear what is happening all around us. If the incarnation of Christ is the center point of our lives and the lens through which we view the world, then it will change our minds and alter our imaginations. To do this, we need to shed our prejudices and embrace the world as God says it is. Let us be a people defined by the story of God becoming human. Because, it is this story that elevates simple people like us—like Naaman’s servant and Elisha’s messenger—to participate in the Kingdom of God.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Dexter, Theologically Considered: Part 2

It has been quite a while since I began this series of posts on the Showtime TV series, Dexter. I'm deeply sorry for my long hiatus! But, my semester of teaching, writing, and other responsibilities just got away from me. So, better late than never, I suppose. If you haven't read Part 1 yet, please do so before reading Part 2, below. 

For those who remain unfamiliar with the Dexter series, let's be reminded of the basic plot before I begin unpacking two more theological observations from the series. Here is what I said about the show in my first post on the subject: Dexter Morgan is the product of a terrible childhood experience that has left him sociopathic. He doesn't feel love, fear, joy, or any of the other things that normal human beings feel. Also, he has a compulsion to kill. His foster father, Harry, discovers his son's disposition early on and rather than abandon him, Harry teaches Dexter how to live with his compulsions and ensure his survival. Part of what he teaches Dexter is a "code," with two of the most important elements in the code being "Never get caught," and "Only kill those who deserve it" (i.e., those who have killed the innocent and will do so again). As a cop, Harry is able to teach Dexter all the tricks of the trade to fulfill both of these commands. Dexter grows up to be a blood spatter analyst in the Miami Metro Homicide Department, along with his adopted sister, Deb. The show revolves around Dexter's life as a brother, a boyfriend, a killer, and more. And, I would argue, the ultimate telos of the show is the journey of Dexter as he becomes fully human.

As I said in Part 1, I observe four things that speak theological truth in the Dexter series. I've already dealt with the human desire for and pursuit of, justice, as well as the inherent value of human life. Now, it is our task to think about the way Dexter illustrates the cyclical nature of violence and what it means to be a human being.

First, I think that Dexter is speaking truth regarding the cyclical nature of human violence. This may seem to be a self-evident and banal observation. It's a show about a serial killer, after all. Of course the cyclical nature of violence is revealed in a serial killer show! But, hear me out... Although the various forms of media entertainment in our American context are filled with violence--including film, TV, video games, music, and more--very often (though not always) the narrative underlying these media portrayals of human violence is that violence solves problems. That is to say, as long as violence is wielded by "the good guys," that violence is not only useful for doing good but also redemptive for those involved. The violent deaths of "bad guys" are often portrayed in slow motion as acts of righteous cleansing and the hero's willingness to "shoot em up" willy nilly to catch said "bad guys" is rarely questioned. The lethal use of force is almost always justified in the name of [fill in the blank with the newest righteous cause of the day].

The problem with this narrative, of course, is that it is a complete falsehood. Violence is not redemptive. Violence does not solve problems. Violence always begets more violence. Always. The Gospel testifies to this truth, which is itself evidenced in human history. A brief historical survey is all that is needed to see that violence is like a debilitating cancer that infects humankind, voraciously feeding on hearts, minds, and souls until entire peoples and nations are destroyed. The 20th Century alone serves as a tragic testimony to the downward spiral created by violent action, even when done in the name of justice. We see the cyclical nature of violence in the Old Testament, as well, whether in the narratives of Joseph, David, Solomon, or the various kings throughout the divided kingdom. The pattern always goes something like this: someone is killed or harmed, the person's kin responds with vengeance (usually disproportionately), the other person's kind retaliates too, and then others get drawn in, they suffer harm, and then the cycle repeats itself. Jesus Christ affirmed the ultimate dead end that is violence when he instructed Peter the hothead to sheath his sword, for "all who draw the sword will die by the sword" (Matt 26:52).

One of the most articulate and moving defenders of nonviolence was Martin Luther King, Jr, who famously denounced the use of violence for the cause of justice in this way: "The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. ... Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that" (Where Do We Go From Here?, 1967).

(So, maybe this is the problem with Dexter. Maybe our attraction to Dexter is the fact that we want to believe that violence can be virtuous. After all, Dexter is virtuous in his own way, right? He has a code of conduct passed down from his father that doesn't allow for killing out of passion or killing the innocent. He doesn't harm children or pose a threat to innocent families. He's a monster we can trust. He's a monster, but maybe he's "God's monster." I think we want to meld violence and virtue. We want to affirm that Dexter is in some way right for doing the dirty work of earthly justice when the ideal of justice can't or doesn't work out in the legal system. And, we want to think that his code makes his work virtuous in some way, protecting us from the necessary "descending spiral" that arises from this way of life. But, the truth is, he isn't virtuous and violence isn't redemptive.)

In my estimation, while the viewer of Dexter is invited to relish somewhat his use of lethal force in the cause of justice, it seems clear that the writers remain unwilling to romanticize or lessen the consequences of this way of life. Indeed, throughout the seasons, Dexter comes to suffer (often very deeply) as a result of his murderous existence. He reaps the cyclical spiral of pain, death, and destruction that comes to him and those around him as a result of his lifestyle. Certainly, the viewers are rooting for Dexter most of the time. But, when he experiences the consequences of his behavior, the viewer is also left to realize that there really is no other way to deal honestly with what happens when you live as he lives. "All who draw the sword will die by the sword." (I wish I could say more about this, but I fear that if I go into too many details I will "spoil" the show for those who haven't seen it or are watching it now.)

This is one of the major reasons that, as Christian, I am compelled to assert that Dexter cannot be a New Covenant hero. His brand of justice is entirely Old Covenant, in my estimation. (In Part 1, I compared Dexter to Ehud or Samson from the book of Judges.) He is a "lone ranger" vigilante, exercising justice by his own standards. Granted, they are good standards to have: kill only those who have killed the innocent and will do so again. If you're going to be a serial killer, this kind of boundary is helpful! But, even this standard remains outside the bounds of the New Covenant community, which was figuratively formed from the side of the (nonviolent) Messiah, who died on a Roman cross to stop the cycle of human sin, violence, and death with his own body. Dexter's life works against the grain of the Gospel. As a result, his brand of justice--while appealing for it's accuracy and expediency--cannot ultimately satisfy or work within the bounds of the Christian tradition. At the end of the day, Dexter is killing in order to satisfy the desires of his "dark passenger." While he uses his father's "code" that helps direct his killing in more just directions, he cannot bring true justice--let alone peace--in this way.

This makes me wonder if one of the other appeals of Dexter to Christian viewers (including myself) is the appeal of resurrection--the righting of wrongs--without crucifixion. Justice without sacrifice. In a sense, Dexter delivers us from evil without asking us to turn the other cheek. Ultimately, for Christians, he's working against the grain of the new creation in Christ. He's an Old Covenant hero and not a New Covenant one.

Now, I should add the caveat that there is a legitimate debate to be had in Christian circles about the legitimacy of Christian participation in violence when it is used by the State--the entity that the New Testament tells us has been given "the sword," in order to be an agent of wrath, "to bring punishment on the wrongdoer" (Rom 13:4). There are two dominant traditions within the Christian faith regarding State sponsored violence: the Just War tradition and the pacifist or nonviolent tradition. Both have deep and robust intellectual roots and have been represented by fine scholars and theologians throughout the centuries of church history. But, the Just War and nonviolent traditions come to drastically different conclusions about Christian participation in violence, particularly violence wielded by the State (always in the name of justice, of course).

These disparate approaches to Christians and warfare are interesting and important topics of discussion, but I do not think they are relevant in the discussion of Dexter's use of violence. In particular, Dexter is not a show about war, but a show about murder. There is a major difference. Furthermore, Dexter most certainly does not fulfill the requirements of what constitutes a Just War. He is an individual, acting alone, for his own purposes, even if the ones receiving his form of justice "deserve" what they get. (This could be a whole post in and of itself, but time constraints prevent me from pursuing this matter further. For the interested, the writings of Thomas Aquinas have been key in the Christian tradition for thinking about Just War. If you don't wish to wade into the Summa Theologiae [though you should if you have the time!], you can peruse this Wikipedia article, which sums things up in a satisfactory manner.)

The second thing I wanted to say about Dexter in this post zeroes in on what I think the show is ultimately all about: what it means to be human. I think it no exaggeration to say that Dexter's journey through the past seven seasons has been one of a monster becoming a man. While he began the series as an unfeeling, calculating, cold, and empty killer, he has ended season seven as someone who feels things--most importantly, love. He remains a killer, of course. Dexter cannot shake his "dark passenger," driving him to seek out candidates to execute on his table. But, he loves, he gives to others, he sacrifices, and through his relationships with others--especially his girlfriend, Rita, her children, and his sister, Deb--he comes alive as a human being.

I think this narrative progression says something important and true. Humans are created beings, just like ants, antelope, and alligators. What makes human beings special? Christians would likely start with the Imago Dei and the mandates of God to humankind to rule over the earth. These things are important, but they definitely aren't in Dexter. What is in Dexter, however, is the fact that humans are self-reflective and capable of loving, sacrificial relationships. (I know some primates are thought to have similar traits, but I'm not ready or knowledgeable enough to get into that discussion here.) As the show follows the life of Dexter, transitioning from an emotionless sociopath to a loving, feeling human being, the writers are impressing up the viewers that these things are at the core of what it means to be human.

Moreover, I see in Dexter a vivid admission that to be a human being is to be an organic web of community with other human beings. There is no such thing as a human being alone because it is in community that we discover who we are and what we are to do. Thus, to be human is love others and to deal with the consequences of that love. And, given that this is true, and all of us are in some sense connected, then everyone with whom we are connected bears the consequences of our actions. All of these things are visible in Dexter's journey from monster to man. He yearns to be alone in order to hide who he is and avoid the discomfort of others knowing him in any way. Yet, he needs others in order to learn from them how to live and act in the human world. In his daily interaction with others, he begins to feel, to care, and to love. And, as he continues to carry out his deadly work, those around him suffer--directly and indirectly--the consequences of his deeds. To sum it up, I see in Dexter the twin assertions that (1) to be a human being is to be in relationship with others, and (2) to be a human being means that we're all in this together.

Of course, the other aspect to human existence from the Christian point of view is that to be human is to be in some sense broken--damaged by the effects of sin. This was not God's intention, of course, but the biblical narrative testifies from early on (Gen 3) that things are no longer the way they are supposed to be. Humankind requires redemption because we have asserted our autonomy from God and we suffer exponentially because of this relational breach. In this way, we can also see in Dexter a graphic depiction of what the Reformed tradition calls the unregenerate human being, living apart from God. Dexter is an exaggerated version of each of us: born in blood, broken to the core, struggling with a "dark passenger," often blinded by selfishness and desires beyond our control, causing others to suffer because of our sins, and desperately in need of redemption.

In conclusion, I confess that I have more to say about the interplay between Dexter and theology, but it is time to bring this post to a close for today. Maybe, as time permits, I'll provide more reflections this summer. In the mean time, I hope my readers have enjoyed my short series on the subject. I'd love to read and interact with your thoughts.

Last but not least, I need to acknowledge my indebtedness to my husband, Ron McGowin, and my friend and colleague, Herbie Miller, for a number of fruitful conversations that led to this series of posts. I'm grateful to both of them for their critical insight and can't wait to experience Dexter, Season 8 together.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Dexter, Theologically Considered: Part 1

I'm not a violent person. And, I don't like violent movies, video games, or television shows. And, I shield my children from even comedic portrayals of violence, as you would find in cartoons. But, I have become addicted to the Showtime television show, Dexter. My husband and I have devoured the series and we are now waiting for Season 7 to begin.

I've been critically considering both my attraction to the show and fascination with it as a piece of pop culture. The following blog post contains my thoughts about Dexter from a Christian theological perspective. Unfortunately, those who do not watch the show may not fully understand what I'm talking about. Please note that I'm not recruiting or trying to convince my readers to watch the show. I'll leave that to your discernment.

I should probably start by saying a general word about sex, violence, and language in TV and movies--all of which are present in Dexter in abundance. When people find out that I watch Dexter, I find I almost always get the same reaction: "Should a Christian really be watching a violent show like that?" I appreciate the sentiment behind this question. Disciples of Jesus are called to be discerning about their actions in the world, not to mention the things on which their mind dwells. Those who would "stumble" as a result of watching a TV show with sex, violence, and bad language should not do so. And, those who are struggling with a violent nature, addiction to pornography, or other such ailments of character and behavior probably do well to avoid shows like Dexter.

But, ultimately, I take issue with the question itself. The question isn't, should Christians watch violent shows? This question puts all portrayals of violence in the same category and doesn't get to the heart of the issue. In my mind, the real question is this: To what end (telos) do the scenes of violence move? What is the ultimate message (or messages) being conveyed in this show/movie? Does the violence in question contribute to that message in a substantive and important way? Or, is the violence intended simply to titillate and entertain?

For example, there is a difference between the violence in the masterful WWII film Saving Private Ryan and the violence in the comic book-based film 300. In the first, the violence was to tell a compelling story about the realities of war and the sacrifices made by the soldiers of WWII. In the second, the violence was not nearly as noble; indeed, I'd argue that 300 glorified bloodshed, even holding it up as beautiful (the slow motion shots of spurting blood and decapitated bodies especially comes to mind), in a film that seemed to be about little more than macho-man masculinity. (Forgive me if my readers are 300 fans. I am not. You are welcome to disagree with my characterization of the film.) My point is this: the reasons for the violence, the intent of the director orchestrating the scenes of violence, the overall story being told in the film--these are the things that matter the most.

Any good art, whether painting, dance, film, or whatever, will have to deal with violence, sex, and crude language because these things are a part of life. If they're going to speak truth about human life--which is what good art does--then these things will sometimes be included. The question is, what does the artist do with such things? Is the artist seeking to titillate and inspire fleshly desire with portrayals of violence and sex? If so, such things should be rejected. Is the artist seeking to say something redemptive and true with the depictions of violence and sex? Then, there's room to affirm its presence in the artwork. Then, there is a telos to which the violence moves and in which the violence is explained and justified. In the case of Dexter, as I will argue below, the end to which the sex, violence, and language are working is saying something that is true and good about the world.

And, by the way, I should point out that the Old Testament is like this. Have you read Genesis through 2 Chronicles lately? There is much in the stories of the OT that is violent and sexually explicit. (God forbid anyone ever make a movie about the book of Judges!) But, the story of the OT moves the reader toward an end that is beautifully redemptive. The violence and sex are there because these things are real. These things really did happen and do really happen today. No one is saying that we shouldn't read the Bible, right? Of course, that's not to say we should read Judges 19 to our children. Discernment is still required. But, the mere presence of violence and sex must not disqualify a piece of literature, film, or other art as unsuitable for appreciation by Christians. What matters is why the violence and sex is there. I could say a lot more about this, but I won't. In the end, I'm saying that I think Christians need a more sophisticated framework by which to make judgments about the movies and TV shows we see.

Now that we've gotten that issue out of the way, let's talk about Dexter...

The basic storyline of Dexter is as follows: Dexter Morgan is the product of a terrible childhood experience that has left him sociopathic. He doesn't feel love, fear, joy, or any of the other things that normal human beings feel. Also, he has a compulsion to kill. His foster father, Harry, discovers his son's disposition early on and rather than abandon him, Harry teaches Dexter how to live with his compulsions and ensure his survival. Part of what he teaches Dexter is a "code," with two of the most important elements in the code being "Never get caught," and "Only kill those who deserve it" (i.e., those who have killed the innocent and will do so again). As a cop, Harry is able to teach Dexter all the tricks of the trade to fulfill both of these commands. Dexter grows up to be a blood spatter analyst in the Miami Metro Homicide Department, along with his adopted sister, Deb. The show revolves around Dexter's life as a brother, a boyfriend, a killer, and more. And, I would argue, the ultimate telos of the show is the journey of Dexter as he becomes fully human.

In the past six seasons of Dexter, I observe four things that speak theological truth: (1) the human desire for and pursuit of, justice in a broken world, (2) the inherent value of human life, (3) the cyclical way violence always begets violence, and (4) what it means to be a human being. I will consider the first two of these in this post and the next two in a second post to follow later this week.

First, I observe that Dexter is expressive of and cathartic for, the human desire for justice. We live in a world marred by human sin and systemic evil. This means that the guilty don't always receive their just punishment and the innocent often reap the horrible consequences of others. Because he is an insider to the justice system, Dexter knows all the ways that the system doesn't work. And, as an insider, he has access to information that others don't. This enables him to verify the guilt of those who end up on his "table" for execution. The realism of this plot detail is debatable, of course. Can one man ever really know for certain that every one of his victims are guilty? No, of course not. Even in the show, there have been a few times when he's made a mistake--with serious consequences. But, the power of this detail is not debatable. Human beings want justice. We want the guilty to get what they deserve and the innocent to be spared. Dexter is a fair and meticulous executioner, ensuring that those he takes out are always those who have killed the innocent and will kill again unless they are stopped. Also, Dexter's brand of justice is simple, swift, and direct. A colleague of mine pointed out that, in may ways, Dexter's justice is the opposite of the U.S. judicial system, which is slow, clogged, and often biased. Thus, the show reflects our frustrations with justice and gives us a hero who does justice for us in his own monstrous way.

In the matter of justice, I think that someone in the Christian tradition can see in Dexter an Old Testament style hero. The judgment Dexter dispenses is gritty and bloody, always light mixed with darkness, like in the OT narratives. His motives are never entirely pure--he kills, after all, because he is compelled by his "dark passenger" to do so. (More about the "dark passenger" later...) Very often, Dexter reminds me of the book of Judges. All of the righting of wrongs in the book of Judges take place with shady motives and in shady circumstances. Dexter is a dispenser of justice like Ehud, Samson, or even David. Ehud assassinates a king through treachery. Samson is a licentious, womanizing, rage-aholic, that God uses to judge the oppressive Philistines. And, David is a warrior, a man said to have killed "thousands," and yet also "a man after God's own heart." And, I would argue that all of these stories are true to the complicated nature of real life, despite their barbarism to 21st Century readers. Earthly justice is never pure and clean. Earthly justice is always light mixed with darkness. Always. The Dexter series testifies to this truth.

The second thing theological truth to be found in the Dexter series is the value of human life. This is counter-intuitive, I know. How can a show about the work of a serial killer promote the value human life? I would like to argue that despite the tension and maybe even paradox inherent in this statement, that Dexter is a profoundly pro-life show. First, as I have already noted, Dexter is a respecter of life. He only kills the guilty--those who have themselves taken innocent life. And, he doesn't kill flippantly. The code of Harry, his foster father, is ingrained into his system so much so that he must know that a person is guilty before he kills him. (We will discuss the question of whether a Christian can affirm the kind of justice he dispenses later. Can a Christian affirm the eye-for-an-eye justice that Dexter holds to? We'll see...) In his own strange, monstrous way, Dexter is a defender of life, especially the lives of the innocent.

Moreover, the series has had a number of story lines that bring the question of life to the surface. I won't go into detail about all of these here. I don't want to ruin the show for anyone who hasn't seen it yet! But, I will say that I think the most vividly pro-life story line thus far was the surprise pregnancy of Dexter's girlfriend and subsequent birth of his child. Indeed, the show in which Rita, Dexter's girlfriend, announces to him her decision to carry the baby to term (with or without his approval and involvement) is a powerful testimony to the value of human life. She confronts Dexter's ambivalence about having a child with this statement: "I've made many mistakes in my life. Becoming a mother was never one of them." In context, I think this statement was a powerful affirmation of the value of children and the experience of motherhood, even in less than perfect circumstances.

In Part 2 of "Dexter, Theologically Considered," I'll discuss the two other theological truths that Dexter offers: the cyclical way violence always begets violence and what it means to be a human being. And then, I'll conclude with some thoughts on the Christian's posture to Dexter's brand of justice. Stay tuned...

Thursday, March 29, 2012

The Significance of the Simple: A Sermon on 2 Kings 5:1-14

The following sermon was given at Holy Trinity Parish in Dayton, OH for their Lenten Prayer Service on March 29, 2012. I was blessed to get to share from God's word with this local body of Christ, which also has a good friend and colleague of mine as a member. The text of 2 Kings 5:1-14, which contains the story of the healing of Naaman the Aramean, was read in the service leading up to the homily. So, if you are unfamiliar with the passage, I recommend you read it here before reading the sermon.

The Significance of the Simple
2 Kings 5:1-14

Introduction
A story is told of a German pastor in the sixteenth century who served as rector to a small congregation near his home in Upper Saxony. Some time after his ministry began there, a number of his parishioners came to him because they were troubled by his sermons. They said, “Pastor, why is it that week after week, you only preach the Gospel to us? It has been many weeks and every week you preach the same thing. Why do you continue to preach the Gospel to us every week? Isn’t it time for something else?” The pastor smiled and responded, “I preach the Gospel week after week because week after week you forget it. Every week I preach the Gospel and every week you live as those who don’t believe the Gospel. So, I will preach the Gospel week after week until you believe it.”

Now, I don’t think that I would advocate that your pastor preach the same homily week after week. I’m not entirely sure how effective that approach would be. But, that isn’t my point with this story. As I was preparing this message, I worried a bit about its sufficiency. Is it really “good enough”? Shouldn’t I be saying something more? I’m a doctoral student in theology, after all. Shouldn’t I being saying something more profound? But, as I reflected on this dilemma, I thought of the German pastor’s response to his parishioners. There are some messages that need to be said again and again. There are some elements of the Gospel of Christ that we need to hear over and over because they are things that we easily and quickly forget. And, I think this is one of those messages that we must believe. So, what I offer for us to meditate on tonight is this: God is manifested through simple people and simple actions.

Movement 1: God uses simple people.
As I explain my thesis and try to apply it to us tonight, I’m going to follow rather closely the story of Naaman’s healing, which we’ve had read to us already. The first thing I want to observe in the narrative is this: God uses simple people.

It is true that from a worldly point of view, the most important people in this story are Naaman, the commander of the armies of Aram, and Elisha, the world famous prophet of Yahweh. Naaman’s name, which means “delightful or gracious,” indicates that he was favored: a handsome army commander, powerful and authoritative, beloved by his people. All the more tragic, therefore, when the reader finds out that he has a serious skin disorder, translated “leprosy” in most Bibles. Now, the word translated “leprosy” in the Hebrew is a catch-all term for a lot of various skin diseases, so we can’t really know with any certainty what kind of skin disorder Naaman had. But, apparently it was troubling enough for him to travel to Israel to seek divine intervention to have it remedied.

The second really important person in the narrative is Elisha, God’s prophet. Elisha is the disciple of Elijah, who took his master’s place as prophet to Israel after Elijah was taken up in a whirlwind by the famous chariot of fire. The book of 2 Kings is filled with great stories of the mighty works of Elisha.

As I said, Naaman and Elisha are the obvious major players in the story, but the people who are truly responsible for moving the action along, the people who are key to ensuring that God’s power is manifested in this particular moment are the nameless servants: the young girl from Israel who serves Naaman’s wife, the messenger of Elisha, and the servants of Naaman.

First, there is the “young girl from Israel,” who appears in verse 2. Apparently, she was taken captive when a band of Aramean raiders plundered an Israelite town on the border between the nations. And, now, she serves as the personal attendant for Naaman’s wife. I don’t think I have to point this out, but I will anyway: How remarkable is it that this young girl, violently removed from her family and place of origin and forced to serve her captor’s wife, then offers counsel that will provide healing for the man ultimately responsible for her situation? This is really a remarkable act of charity. And, it is also remarkable that Naaman listens to her. The word of the “young girl from Israel” is what Naaman takes to his master, the King of Aram, and it is upon her testimony that both powerful men plan for Naaman’s trip to Samaria, the capital of the Northern Kingdom.
So, the King of Aram sends Naaman to the King of Israel so that he may seek healing. The text says that Naaman carries with him “ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold and ten sets of clothing” (v. 5) as a gift for the King of Israel—as payment for the services of Israel’s prophet. For those of you who are interested, that is the equivalent of 755 pounds of silver and 150 pounds of gold, plus ten sets of ornate, hand-made clothing. He really wants this healing!

The King of Israel responds to his guest’s gifts and request with almost comical melodrama. Apparently, he doesn’t understand that what Naaman really seeks is the prophet of God—not him!—for healing. The King tears his clothes, in great distress, and wails that the Aramean king is setting him up for failure. He thinks that the King of Aram is looking for a pretext for war. Here, I think we find an implicit contrast between the simple faith of the young Israelite servant girl and the sensational faithlessness of the King of Israel. The one who has the least reason to trust in God and his prophet is the one who does so, while the one who has the most reason to trust in God and God’s prophet does not. Luckily, Elisha somehow gets word of the king’s despair and sends a message that has an implicit rebuke in v. 8: “Why have you torn your clothes? [You faithless, melodramatic king!] Send Naaman to me. I’ll show him that there is a true prophet of God in Israel.”

This is where the second simple person in the story appears: the “messenger” of Elisha, who shows up in verse 10. Naaman approaches the home of Elisha in a way you might expect from a self-important, military leader in this period: with great pomp, circumstance, and fanfare. He comes “with his horses and chariots” (v. 9) to the entrance of Elisha’s house, certainly expecting Elisha to come out and “Oooh and ahhhh” over Naaman and his entourage. No doubt, an encounter between this celebrated military leader and the illustrious prophet of God would have been an ideal “photo opp” for The Northern Kingdom Times. But, instead, we are told that Elisha sends Naaman a “messenger.” Naaman was sent to Elisha through the urging of a simple servant girl and now Elisha sends the Naaman the cure he needs through a simple messenger, most likely a young apprentice or disciple. The messenger boy delivers the directions for Naaman’s cure: “Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean” (v. 10).

Naaman, as it turns out, isn’t pleased with this turn of events. He just had an audience with the King of Israel. He should now get an audience with the world-renowned prophet of Israel! But, instead, he gets a little pipsqueak, messenger boy with a very simple admonition: wash seven times in the Jordan River. The text tells us that Naaman “became angry and went away,” and in stark honesty he confesses: “I thought that for me he would surely come out…” Here, Naaman admits that he was looking for some attention. Surely, his level of importance demanded an in-person demonstration of the prophet’s power: “I thought that for me he would surely come out…” But, that’s not how it works this time. Elisha doesn’t even bother showing up for this healing. He just sends a simple messenger to tell the commander of Aram’s armies to go jump in the Jordan. And, in response, we are told that Naaman, seized by the conviction of his own importance, turns away in “a rage.”

This is where nameless servants appear for a third time: in v. 13. In response and in contrast to Naaman’s sputtering, self-important indignation, his servants offer humble and wise counsel: “Father [a term of respect for a superior], if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?” The wisdom of this counsel is so convincing to Naaman that he responds immediately. The very next verse, we see, “So he went down and immersed himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; his flesh was restored like the flesh of a young boy, and he was clean” (v. 14). One would hope that Naaman rewarded his servants for their boldness in confronting him. Because without the intervention of his servants, Naaman’s pride and arrogance would have prevented him from receiving God’s healing.

So, what we have seen in this story is that God uses simple people to do his work: the young Israelite servant girl, the messenger of Elisha, the servants of Naaman. Where one would expect, along with Naaman, that God’s prophet or even royalty—like the King of Israel—to be the agents of change, what we have instead is the nameless servants moving the action along. It is their humble faithfulness that provides the opportunity for God’s power to be manifested.

I think we know this truth about the Gospel and the Christian life on a cognitive level. It was a central message of Jesus, of course: The first shall be last and the last shall be first. The greatest in the Kingdom of God is the servant of all. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. In an age of reality TV stars, twittering politicians, and 24-hour cable news—all of which are working together constantly to tell us who and what is really important—you have the biblical testimony that it is the plain, the humble, and the poor in spirit who manifest God’s presence and work in the world. The truth is, I don’t think anyone here would deny this truth. Still, even with our cognitive recognition, I’m not sure it has made its way down into our guts. I don’t think we always live this truth, as we should. With our mouths we say, “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” but with our hearts I think we say, “blessed are the successful and important.” With our mouths we say, “The greatest in the Kingdom must be the servant of all,” but in our hearts we say, “The greatest in the Kingdom are those that have the most, give the most, and do the most.”

My mom was 27 years old when she had me. She was a single mother and working in Washington, DC, trying to begin a career in construction science. At the time, she had a demanding job at NASA with long hours and an erratic schedule. She got time off for maternity leave, but when I was only six weeks old, she had to return to work. Understandably, she was distraught about having to leave me at such a young age and even more distraught about finding someone she could trust to care for me. All of her family lived in upstate New York, so there was no one to fall back on. Mom placed an ad in the newspaper—there was no Craig’s List or Internet postings back then!—and Ilia was one of the people who answered. Ilia was a young Colombian woman who didn’t speak a word of English when they met. My mom had interviewed a number of people, but she says that when she met Ilia and watched her cradle me carefully in her arms, she just knew that Ilia would love me like I was her own child. So, despite the fact that they couldn’t share a word of verbal communication between them, Ilia became my caregiver.

For my mom, Ilia was truly a Godsend—an angel sent to provide comfort, peace, and safety in a time of great stress and difficulty. In our culture, you couldn’t find a more marginalized person: a young, Spanish-speaking woman, with no advanced education; and, as my mom was surprised to find out later, she was also an illegal immigrant. After about ten months working together, my mom got a frantic late night phone call from Ilia. Her husband, who worked as a janitor in a building downtown, had accidently set off a fire alarm one night. When the police came, they quickly discovered his illegal status. Within a week, Ilia and her husband were gone. We aren’t exactly sure what happened but it is more than likely that they were deported back to Colombia. Twenty-eight years later, my mom still wonders about what happened to Ilia and still wishes their relationship had continued. Ilia was a someone whose faithful love and care for me proved infinitely valuable to my mom’s life and my own. And, truth be told, Ilia has forever changed the way my mom and I perceive people who live and work on the margins of American society.

Movement 2: God call us to simple actions.
The second thing I want us to observe in the story of Naaman’s healing is this: God calls us to simple actions.

Now, in this story, Naaman’s trip to Israel from Aram isn’t exactly a simple thing. He apparently had a caravan of people accompanying him, with servants, horses, and chariots. They would’ve also had tents and various elements to make travelling in such conditions comfortable for the commander of Aram’s armies. And, of course, there’s all the food and animals they would have taken along. So, the actual process of travelling to Israel for healing would have been a complicated endeavor and taken some time to accomplish.

But, what Elisha’s messenger tells Naaman to do—that is truly a simple thing. “Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean” (v. 10). All he has to do is go down into the river and wash his body seven times. The number seven is used throughout Scripture as a symbol for perfection; so, washing seven times is symbolic here of total healing.

But, this instruction doesn’t impress Naaman. In fact, he is insulted by Elisha’s direction. Naaman protests in response: “Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them, and be clean?” I think his point is clear: “Did I really come all this way just to be told by a messenger boy to take a bath in your piddly little Jordan River?” Naaman is taken aback by the simple instructions of the messenger and we are told that, “he turned and went away in a rage.”

Naaman’s expectation of a miraculous, awe-inspiring work of God is clear from his words: “I thought that for me he would… stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, and would wave his hand over the spot and cure the leprosy!” As I said already, he is admitting that he was looking for a really good show. What he describes sounds like what one might see in a televised charismatic healing ministry. Naaman wanted Elisha to utter some magic words, “Abracadabra alakazam,” and instantly zap the leprosy away.

Now, if you think about it, this isn’t entirely a misplaced expectation. We know that God is capable of such jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring miracles. Moses met God in a burning bush and parted the Red Sea. The children of Israel were fed manna and quail from heaven in the wilderness. The walls of Jericho fell to the ground with the shouts of Joshua’s marching armies. And, Elisha’s former master, Elijah, was taken up bodily into heaven in whirlwind. So, why can’t Elisha produce a fantastic, show-stopping miracle for Naaman, when he is so important and has come such a long way?

As is always the case when inquiring about the mind of God, the best and fullest answer truly is: We don’t know. We don’t know why God does “signs and wonders” in some cases but not in others. We don’t know why some people are privy to these fantastic works of God while others go their entire lives with very little departure from the mundane routine of life. How many of us would admit to feeling like Naaman at one time or another? How many of us have wondered why God doesn’t just show up in power and make his presence known in a clear and unmistakable way? Here’s where we really instruction: the miraculous is not within our control. God is not on our payroll and does not answer to us. As we seek to serve God faithfully, we must accept the fact that most of the time, in most circumstances, God calls us to simple actions.

This is an important message in the season of Lent—especially the last few days of Lent! Many of us have taken on the burden of a fast, an exercise in self-denial that is intended to draw our hearts to repentance and expectation for Easter. Going without something—usually choice foods or drinks—is intended to remind us of and cultivate within us our hunger and thirst for the body of Christ, the bread of heaven. And, most of the time, it is simple actions like these that God calls us to. The truth is, while the fantastic stories of God’s power are what we remember most vividly from the Scriptures, most of God’s people throughout most of history have exercised their faith in the midst of the normal and mundane actions of everyday life: a morning jog, cooking breakfast, cleaning house, diaper changes, grocery shopping, bedtime stories, conversation over coffee, a walk to the store. God is present in all of these mundane moments.

And, if you really think about it, even the sacraments of the Christian community, the chosen vehicles of God’s grace to his people in the New Covenant, are rather ordinary and unremarkable. They constitute simple actions, too: the pouring of water, consuming bits of bread and wine, touching the forehead with oil. These are all simple elements: the work of God and human hands. And, these are all simple actions: we wash with water regularly (or most of us do!), we eat regularly, and we “anoint” our bodies with various things: make-up, perfume, or cologne. But, we are told to take some simple elements and use them in simple actions, believing and trusting that it is in those moments that God’s grace is available to us in a unique way.

So, in this Lenten season, I think we all can find ourselves in Naaman’s place. We are all in need of healing in various ways. Or, perhaps we know others in need of healing. In these times, God usually calls us to simple actions to facilitate that healing. Fasting. Service. Meditation. Scripture reading. Solitude and silence. Prayer. Giving. Unlike Naaman, we have the power of the Holy Spirit, the sacraments of the New Covenant, and the promise of Christ to be with us. We live out our faith imbued with even greater power from God. The question is, will we, like Naaman, balk at the simplicity of God’s instructions? Or, will we humble ourselves and accept the simple task or tasks that stand before us? Day in and day out, week in and week out, will we perform the simple actions of faithfulness that open us up to the healing power of God?

Movement 3: God is manifested through the simple.
By now, I think the final point I would like to make from this story is self-evident. It has been stated in various ways already. God uses simple people. God calls us to simple actions. And, therefore, God is manifested through the simple. In the story of Naaman the Aramean, we find ourselves both comforted and confronted by the fact that simple people and things are how God has chosen to be made manifest.

On the one hand, we can be comforted by this truth because many of us need assurance that we matter and what we do matters in the Kingdom of God. Although many people are prone to speak of life in terms of sacred things and secular things—holy things and worldly things—the Christian faith does not allow for this kind of dichotomy. The eternal Word, or wisdom of God, has become incarnate in human flesh. God has become a man. The divine has been united with the earthly. This infuses all of creation and all of life with the presence of God. Everything good thing is now capable of manifesting God and God’s power. The simple things that we do are places where God can be truly revealed and honored. Making spaghetti and meatballs for your family and sharing it in love. Laying bricks for a garden wall and tending to the tomatoes and lettuces that grow there. Reading a favorite novel to a hospitalized friend. All of these things are simple actions, most often performed by simple people. But, we can find comfort in the fact that it is through these things that God appears to us and is revealed to others.

If we can find comfort in this truth, at the same time we can also be confronted by it. Many of us may also need gentle rebuke for the various ways that our thoughts and approach to the world around us do not match what God has said about this world. Perhaps we easily tire of, and wrongly despise the simple routines and humble actions of daily life. Perhaps we overlook and push aside the people we encounter who apparently cannot contribute anything to our lives or give us any quantifiable benefit. We need to be reminded that the whole world is alive with the presence of God and that everything and everyone matters. The boy who happily sacks your groceries, the woman at the dry cleaners who irons your shirts with a scowl, the teenage girl talking incessantly on her cell phone in line behind you—these people should make us think of the Israelite servant girl, Elisha’s messenger, and Naaman’s servants. All of them are the intended recipients of God’s love and all of them are capable of working in God’s story in such a way that God is manifested and glorified. We do violence to God’s world when we do not recognize that they too have a part to play in God’s story.

In this way, another look at Naaman might be helpful. Even though he is a man of great means and importance in the region of Aram, the truth is that in relation to Israel, the chosen people of God, Naaman is really an outsider. For many early readers of this story in the Hebrew Scripture, Naaman (even more than the servants) represents “the other”—a Gentile worshipper of false gods who should not be benefiting from God’s mercy. And, yet, he does. Naaman is included. As Jesus says in Luke’s Gospel: “And there were many in Israel with leprosy in the time of Elisha the prophet, yet not one of them was cleansed—only Naaman the Syrian” (Luke 4:27). Naaman has a part to play in God’s story, despite the prejudices and biases of God’s people that might say otherwise. I wonder then, who are our Naamans? Who are our servant girls and messenger boys? Who are the people that we are intentionally or unintentionally leaving out of God’s story and Christ’s embrace? I want us to take hold of the truth that God is manifested through simple people and simple actions and allow this truth to get down into our guts, becoming something that moves us, guides us, and changes how we see and act in the world.

Conclusion
In the end, then, as we conclude our consideration of this text, we discover something of a twist in the whole story: There really are no simple things. There really are no simple people or simple actions. Not really. God has been joined to the world in Christ and the Kingdom of God has come near to us. What we call simple people and simple actions are really the most common tools of God’s work. In our world today, simple people and simple actions are the primary way that God is made manifest.

It has been mentioned that I have two toddlers. They are a beautiful gift of God and I love them. But, I don’t have to tell you that toddlers can also very trying. I am in the doctoral program at UD and my husband, Ronnie, is a youth minister. Between our two vocations and our two kids, we have very full and busy lives. One night a few months ago was particularly difficult. I had had a long day at school, teaching undergrads and studying, while Ronnie had had a long day at home taking care of Will and Emme. As we gathered around the table for dinner, Emme was wailing to take her shoes off and Will was whining for his favorite truck book and Ronnie and I were bickering about something meaningless.

We sat down and began to eat, but Will interrupted with a simple question, “Pray?” My eyes met Ronnie’s eyes across the table and we both smiled. Ronnie said to Will, “Yes, brother, let’s pray.” We bowed our heads to pray, but rather than listen quietly to Ronnie praying, as it had routinely gone for our mealtime prayers, Will piped up with his own spontaneous prayer. I can’t tell you what exactly he said. We couldn’t understand much more than “Father” at the beginning and “Amen” at the end, but it was a beautiful, soul-nourishing moment—the first time he had ever prayed out loud by himself. By the time he was done, Ronnie and I had misty eyes and we had forgotten our stress and our bickering. What had been a loud and tense evening—what I would imagine to be the exact opposite of God’s presence—turned into a holy moment. The simple, spontaneous prayer of a two and half year old child stopped us in our tracks and turned our attention to our heavenly Father who cares for us.

And, so it goes. Every day, God is being revealed through the mundane, ordinary, worldly aspect of our lives. God is at work in our midst, bringing healing, restoration, and peace to those who search for it. The question is whether we have the eyes to see and ears to hear what is happening all around us. And, whether we will shed our misunderstandings and prejudices in order to embrace the world as God says it is and live as though what God says is true. Because it is true.

Prayer
Almighty and eternal God, so draw our hearts to you, so guide our minds, so fill our imaginations, so control our wills, that we may be wholly yours, utterly dedicated unto you; and then use us, we pray, as you will, and always to your glory and the welfare of your people; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. (BCP, 1979.)

Friday, February 10, 2012

Christians for Biblical Equality, Houston Chapter Conference: April 27-28

If Ronnie and I were still living in Fairfield, Texas (the small town where we spent the first five years of our marriage and ministered throughout my time in seminary), I would definitely be making the trip down to Houston to attend the Houston chapter conference of Christians for Biblical Equality, to be held April 27-28, at Heights Church of Christ, 1548 Heights Blvd, Houston, Texas. I really like their conference theme this year: "A New Creation, A New Tradition: Reclaiming the Biblical Tradition of Man and Woman, One in Christ." And, I love that Dr. Todd Still, one of my favorite professors from Truett Seminary, will be one of their guest speakers. They're even going to include personal stories of women's and men's journey to biblical equality, which you can submit online here. How cool is that?

If you are in Texas or the surrounding area, consider attending this conference to fellowship with other men and women who are taking a stand for male and female complementarity and equality in Texas. Check out the schedule for the conference here and you can register online here. Or, if you can't attend this year, maybe consider making a financial contribution to CBE.

P.S. They're also doing a Prayer Walk for Women on March 28 that you can join, whether by hooking up with other CBE members in Houston, walking with friends in your own neighborhood, or simply praying on your own. Check out the details for that event here.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Our Journey to the "Canterbury Trail"

This past Sunday (February 5) was Ronnie's first Sunday as the new youth pastor for St. George's Episcopal Church in Dayton, OH. This new position is important for us because it does two things: (1) it allows Ronnie to continue utilizing his gifts in ministry, while getting paid for it (win-win), and (2) it allows Ronnie to begin working full-time on pursuing ordination in the Anglican Church. Yes, you read that second point correctly:
Ronnie and I are becoming Anglicans.

This may come as a shock for some. Honestly, it's still something of a shock to us. (For others, this will confirm that feeling they had all along that there was something not quite right about me!) We were both baptized in Baptist churches, we have four degrees between us from Baptist institutions, and we have been working within the Baptist tradition (specifically, Southern Baptist) for a combined total of 32 years. So, what's with the transition? Well, it's kind of a long story. In the following post, I'll do my best to sum it up for my readers.

First, Ronnie and I have fallen in love with the liturgy of the Anglican tradition. We became convinced of our need for a "thick" liturgy during our time of spiritual turmoil after our painful departure from a church in Cincinnati. In this period, our prayers failed us and our spirits could not "rise to the occasion" in the concert-style contemporary worship services held at many churches in our area. Instead, we needed something deeper, older, and more enduring--something that could "carry" us in times of doubt and distress. Once we began work at Aley Church in Dayton (a United Methodist congregation), we discovered their "traditional service," with its hymns, choruses, written prayers, creeds, responsive readings, multiple Scripture readings, and a high view of both the proclaimed Word and the Lord’s Table. These elements filled the deep need we had to connect with our more ancient faith and quickly became cherished parts of our worship of God. Now that we've found the beauty of a thick liturgy, organized around Word (Scripture) and Table (Eucharist), we want to be a part of a communion that sees them this way, too.

Second, our theology of the sacraments has changed in a significant way over the past few years. After much study we have determined that baptism and communion are more than memorials or simple signs, but are actually effective in some manner by God’s grace. That is to say, the sacraments effect grace, through God's power, in the life of the open-hearted recipient. We think this is in keeping with the pattern of God from the very beginning of creation: to use material, earthly things to do his work. This sacramental theology is most fully expressed, of course, in the Incarnation of the Son of God in Christ. Just as God became flesh in Christ to reveal himself and bestow his grace, so also God uses earthly things like water, bread, and wine to bestow grace today. Thus, the created order is not opposed to God, but actually being redeemed by God and used to reveal his presence.

Our developing sacramental worldview and specific conclusions about the sacraments of baptism and communion led us to baptize our children this past summer. William and Emmelia were baptized by our pastor, Matt Scholl, at Aley Church on June 12, 2011. At the time, we knew this was a major step, one that would separate us from our Baptist brothers and sisters. But, we felt convinced it was the next step for our family.

This is not a post about infant baptism versus believer's baptism, but because this move is such a departure from our upbringing, let me take a few paragraphs and explain our reasoning. In sum, our change of mind about baptism was based upon our reading of Scripture and our understanding of the practice of Christians throughout church history. A quick survey will show that the practice of infant baptism is undeniable from at least the third century onward. The Christian faith was passed directly from the Apostle John to Polycarp then to Irenaeus, then to Hippolytus, who was baptizing infants in AD 215. If Hippolytus’ baptism of infants was something new and aberrant, there would be some evidence of this in the historical record, but there is not.

From what we can tell from the Scriptures and other historical evidence, baptism in the early church was an outward sign of inclusion in the Christian community, bestowing the mark of Christianity and grace of God upon the recipient. Baptism publicly demonstrated membership, signifying among Christians what circumcision did among Jews: inclusion among God’s people. In the Old Testament, circumcision was for infants and children as well as adults, which marked them as members of God’s covenant. When Christians began practicing baptism as their symbol of inclusion, it is reasonable to assume that they followed the Hebrew tradition and baptized the infants and children of believing Christian parents. And, the NT never teaches otherwise. Of the ten baptisms mentioned in the NT, five include families or “households.” We are never told the ages of those in the household, but it is very unlikely that these ancient families left their children out of the sign of the new covenant.

As we all know, sometimes people within the Christian community, those who possess the sign of the Christian faith (baptism), still go on to reject the faith, whether in word or by deed. This was true also of Jews in the OT, who the Prophets were constantly telling to “circumcise your hearts” so that their inward spiritual life became consistent with the outward sign. So also today there are those in the church who have the sign of baptism but lack an inward reality of Christian faith--both adults and children. But, as we see it, delaying baptism until adolescence or adulthood tends to cause more problems than it solves. Adults and teenagers still abandon the faith after their baptism. Meanwhile, we think the people of God have largely misunderstood the meaning of baptism as a corporate sign in the NT. We think this leads to increasing individualism ("all I need is Jesus") and undermines Christian community.

Now that our children have been baptized, we are seeking to raise them in such a way that they never know a day apart from Christ. So, we teach them to pray, worship, study, sacrifice, serve, and witness as Christians from the very beginning. We intend to treat our children as real Christians and expect them to live that way. William and Emmelia were baptized upon our profession of faith, with the promise that they will be raised in the fear and knowledge of the Lord. Also, they will be admitted to the Lord’s Table. William already receives communion with us now.

Getting back to why we're becoming Anglican... The third reason for this shift is that through interaction with Christians from a variety of traditions we have become increasingly frustrated by the theological narrowness of the Christians and churches within the Southern Baptist Convention. Certainly, there are exceptions to this, but our experience is that this tends to be the norm. So we have been looking for a tradition that allows us to maintain our evangelical convictions (high view of Scripture, centrality and supremacy of Christ, emphasis on personal faith and formation, commitment to evangelism, etc.) while providing freedom for differences of opinion on secondary and tertiary issues. Along with this, it has become important to us to be a part of a tradition with a truly global scope. The center of Christianity is no longer the West, but has shifted to the South and to the East. We want to be a part of a tradition that embraces this reality.

The final aspect of our journey won't surprise most of my readers. The truth is, Ronnie and I have been disillusioned with the Southern Baptist Convention for a long time and for a variety of reasons. I won't go into too much detail here because I don't want to be misunderstood as casting aspersion on our SBC brothers and sisters (many of whom are still good friends!). But, for a long time, we've felt that the SBC, in general, is an environment that is no longer suitable for us. For me, in particular, I have long recognized that the SBC and many SBC-aligned institutions are not only unsupportive of my vocation as a theologian, but sometimes even openly antagonistic towards it. This is no place in which to chart a future in ministry! Moreover, and perhaps most importantly, the ways in which Ronnie and I have changed and nuanced number of our theological positions (some described above) prevent us from honestly characterizing ourselves any longer as "Baptist," let alone "Southern Baptist"--at least not in good faith. So, we've concluded that it is time to move on.

Now all of the above points don't necessarily lead to the Anglican Church on their own. But, we have spent time investigating the various traditions, praying together and with friends, and seeking counsel from wise advisors. In light of our sacramental theology and decidedly Protestant outlook, the options for us are relatively limited. And, since we were introduced to the Book of Common Prayer through our immersion in the liturgical traditions we felt led to seriously consider the Anglican tradition. This past summer, we spent two weeks with a good friend who is an Anglican pastor in Virginia. (Interestingly, he is also a former Southern Baptist pastor.) This time of sharing, prayer, and discernment resulted in us being affirmed in our inclination toward the "Canterbury Trail." This is the path we've been on ever since. When we found a suitable Episcopal church in our area looking for a youth pastor, it seemed that God had opened the right door at the right time.

So, where does this leave us? For now, Ronnie is working for St. George's Episcopal Church. He has found a kindred spirit in the rector there, who is a classical Protestant and has an evangelical spirit. Under his tutelage, Ronnie hopes to be ready for the examination process for ordination within a year and a half. The tricky point for us is what organization he wants to be ordained through. At the present time, we think the Episcopal Church in the United States is too liberal for us. (Or, perhaps, we are too conservative for them!) There are a number of options outside of the American Episcopal Church, but I won't go into the details about those here. Suffice it to say, we are seeking wisdom and discernment regarding what organization we are to join.

Furthermore, our current plan is that following my completion of the Ph.D. program at the University of Dayton (hopefully within the next two years!), Ronnie will lead a church plant in an urban location that is yet to be determined. In preparation for this, we have started a non-profit organization, McGowin Ministries (snazzy name, huh?), to which friends and family may donate to our future church plant. We pray and trust that over the next two years, God will make clear the city we will relocate to following my graduation.

So, that's the story, my friends. This is the path we find ourselves on today. Please be in prayer for us as we pursue the best route for our family over the next few years. I'm happy to field questions about this transition from my readers. I can't promise I have full answers, but I will do my best!