Some Fundamentals: Uncertainty

            It’s about eighty-five degrees outside, ninety-five percent humidity.  The kids are happy to be inside.  We’re in New Orleans on a week long work and educational trip.  Right now an old man is telling us his version of a story we’ll hear again and again throughout the week.  He describes his experience of Katrina.  He talks about leaving, hearing about the catastrophe from afar, returning to death and devastation.  His details are different, but the story is a sliver of that great tale of anguish and appreciation.

            He’s talked for almost an hour now.  The youth minister leading the trip raises her hand and asks about his faith.  How did it help him during the flood and after, when neighbors died and the city lay in ruins?

            “Sometime you’ll get to the point where all you have is your faith.  That’s all you have to lean on,” he says.  The kids nod appreciatively.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

            This week, five months later, I listen to a debate between an atheist and a Christian.  They are remarkably polite to one another and that’s more interesting to me than their tepid arguments for and against the existence of God.  It’s their stories and their generosity to one another that catches my attention. 

Then the moderator describes the atheist’s position as not like Christopher Hitchens for whom religion was a virus.  This debater speaks of religion as a placebo for the soul¯.  I think in some way that’s how our guide to Katrina was describing faith.  It can actually help.  It can push back the darkness.  It can make sense in a chaotic world.

            Placebos are amazing in that they do not depend on an outside influence to heal.  They tap into the body’s innate strength.  Placebos depend solely on my ability to believe and my body somehow responding to that belief in order to produce whatever it needs to survive.  But their worth is limited.

            Placebos don’t work against bullets, for example.  The catastrophe of the Ghost Dance demonstrates that¢.  Belief will carry a person a long way, as will determination, drive, will, and fear.  But after that, when I come to the end of myself, I need something more than me.

            I’m somewhat resistant to the notion of faith placebos because I’m all too aware of my own limitations.  If supernatural things depend on my ability to believe, I’m dead in the water.

I think where I sometimes frustrate people is in my unwillingness to say that what I believe about God is synonymous with God.  Caution in speaking for God is a growing area for me.  It seems like the best we can do is to say what seems to be the case, what seems consistent with God’s character, what people in the past have observed about God.

            I’m not even comfortable saying that what the Bible says about God is how God is.  It’s observational, certainly, it is even revelatory, but it isn’t God.  When I say God I mean someone who cannot be understood by the finitude of the human mind.  Any description of God, like my favorite, “God is love”, is limited by our ability to comprehend.  Language can’t contain God any better than temples can.

            That is not to say that there is nothing true.  Some people have determined “absolute truth” to be absolutely important.  I do not think it is, but I am not opposed to the idea that there is such a thing as absolute truth.  In fact, I think that the people who insist on it are really insisting that God is, and that God does not change like we do.  I’m perfectly happy with that idea, even though it seems rather small and less useful than a lot of other ways of speaking of God.  What I am at pains to point out and model is that human beings do not have access on an intellectual level to absolute truth.  At the risk of sounding like Donald Rumsfield: we know only what we know.

            A non-theological example of this is the idea of the atom.  Around the middle of the fifth century BC, Democritus summarized concepts that had been floating around the Greek world and the Indian subcontinent.  He said that all matter was made up of very small parts, atomos, which were irreducible.  Today we are told by scientists that atoms are actually made up of even smaller bits.  And we believe it.  Atoms are no longer imagined to be tiny balls of solid matter, but as whirling energy.  Were Democritus and the early Indians wrong?  Not exactly.

We know only what we know.

The postmodern word is uncertainty.  The religious word is humility.  Both are useful for approaching God.  Both are valuable in reading the scriptures.  Both are indispensable for human interaction. 

Neither is easy.

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¯ Well, actually, I made the for the soul part.  He just says placebo affect.  I like my turn of phrase better, though

¢ Look it up.  It’s a fascinating tale.

Am I A Christian?

Several weeks ago I was talking with a woman about the paint job on the outside of her house.  I pointed out that there was only one coat on it and that several windows had not been caulked.  I thought it really should be done again.  She agreed and then proceeded to tell me all the things the general contractor had messed up.  The list wasn’t extensive, but I could agree that a plumbing leak and a bad paint job are pretty annoying.

            Then she said, “You’re a Christian, right?”

            For not the first time in my life I wished I could pause the conversation, open this woman’s head, pull out the file of the conversation, and see what she meant.  She said “You’re a Christian, right?” but behind that simple question was a myriad of assumptions.  I actually hesitated and reviewed what I had observed about her: Obama posters in the house, Jesus fish on the fridge.  Maybe a “Christian like me”?  I cautiously stuttered, “Yes?”  Like that, with the rising end like it was a question.  “Yes?”

            “Well,” she began.  Then something engaged in me and I knew what she was going to say.  She was feeling slightly guilty for complaining and bad-mouthing this contractor.  She was going to say, I know I should forgive him.  It’s silly of me to still be upset, but I am.  And I was going to say, Hey, it’s tough sometimes.

            Instead she said, “The worst thing was that he didn’t tell us he was a Mormon.”

            I said, “Well, he’s a jack-Mormon.”  A jack-Mormon, this contractor’s wife had once told me, was a non-practicing Mormon.  Not an apostate, per se, but not really in line with the whole thing.  She told me that when she and her husband were an active part of the little church I was planting.  That was, coincidentally, when he was building the house.

            “No,” the home owner insisted, “he and his wife told us they were born-again Christians.  That would have been a deal breaker for us, if we’d known.”

            “Really?” I laughed.  “Not getting the painter to do two coats would have been a deal breaker for me.”  We chuckled politely at one another as I made my way out the driveway.

            But I felt like that was the deal breaker for me.  That was the day I decided I didn’t want to be a part of this whole thing, if that’s what this whole thing is about.  And it seems like that’s what we’re talking about.  It looks to me like the entire Christian enterprise is less about loving God, loving your neighbor, and loving your enemies, and more about setting up false walls of us and them, of in and out, and double standards for “believers” and “non-believers”.

            I am at a loss when Christian friends and acquaintances send me the emails about the way Barak Obama is an enemy of religion and the next week send one protesting the building of a mosque in New York City.  Mosques are religious buildings.  I don’t know why some people don’t like Tim Tebow, but I wonder if it really has anything to do with God.  Our culture mocks all sincerity, and making a big deal about anything usually seems pretty funny.  If a football player thanked his mother every time he turned around I’ll bet it wouldn’t be long before he started catching a little shit from the fans.

            The view of God Jesus seemed to be at pains to reflect, present, incarnate, and demonstrate seems to me nearly the polar opposite of the view given by my Christian friends.  His view of God was an expansive view, a turn from petty tribalism to a global embrace.  If Christianity is simply a return to the balkanization of the human race, or an imperialistic push to bring everything under its own influence, then maybe I don’t want to be a part of it.  Maybe I can’t.

            It would be easier to ask if I can still be an evangelical, or if I am a fundamentalist, than to ask of I am truly a Christian.  But history is littered with Crusades, church/state alliances, power-over evangelism, and rejected rejects.  It isn’t evangelicalism or narrow-mindedness or fundamentalism or anything like that.  The ideology that sprang up in response to the Jesus movement is not one of inclusion and embrace; it is not one of log-in-my-own-eye humility.  It is about rules of engagement that demand rejection of the other.

         So this whole thing leaves me wondering if the term Christian even applies to me any more.  I know plenty of other people have rejected the label plenty of other times, but now I am a cliche wrapped in a stereotype.  Sorry.