And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance. (Acts 2:4 NKJV)

God created the tongue as a powerful member of our body. James compares the tongue to the rudder of a ship and the bit that controls the horse (James 3:3-5). Great ships and their rudders are designed with great care, because these ships are useless if they cannot be controlled. A magnificent vessel cannot fulfill its purpose without a rudder capable of maneuvering it through every port, storm or shoal. Similarly, these great vessels require a captain at the helm capable of taking firm control of the rudder and directing it.

It is just like God to go for control of the rudder. He always goes to the core of every issue – whether it is the root of bitterness, the need to forgive or the call to be a rejoicing and thankful people in every situation. When He released His Church into the world, God started by firmly placing His hand on the helm controlling the rudder – the tongue. He sacrificed so that the Church could walk in freedom and now He directs it so that it fulfills its freedom destiny.

God loves to release blessing through things mankind considers insignificant. Paul describes God’s choice at overcoming the strong through using the “weak” (1 Cor 1:26-28). He confounded the wise by using the “foolish.” And using the “least” gift, He started His great Church – the gift of tongues (1 Cor 12:28). I believe God did this for several reasons. First, He wants us to know that He does not need our abilities nearly as much as our submitted availability. He can use anything available to Him and do spectacular things with it. Second, this encourages the weakest member within the Church. God honors and uses the least to do spectacular things. I would likely have chosen some other gift to release salvation to thousands – maybe healing, or the prophetic gift or the gift of evangelism. That would have been more “reasonable”. Third, if God can do that with the least gift, what can He do with all the spiritual gifts He has placed within you?

The tongue has one final and critical role – it is the mouthpiece of our heart’s expression.

For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good things, and an evil man out of the evil treasure brings forth evil things. (Matt 12:34-35 NKJV)

All that lies within our soul will find its expression through the tongue. All that we treasure will find its way out through the tongue. When God controls our heart, then the tongue releases His Word for our world. If hurts, pride or ambition have a root there, then our tongue will betray that we refused to allow God inside to deal with these issues.

Pentecost is a great day to declare afresh in the Church that God controls of the rudder. He has control of our tongue – my tongue – and it speaks as “the Spirit gives utterance.”

Author Bio:: David Peacock is one of the pastors on staff at The Lighthouse Church in Kuwait. His wife Becky and two youngest children live and minister there with him.

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We’re not exactly poor. My wife and I have both grown up having more than enough, and we live comfortably and have very little debt (soon to be none). But as we explore what the Bible has to say about finances, we feel pulled a few different directions. In Proverbs 13 we learn that a good man has an inheritance for his children’s children; that requires some capital, long term savings or investments, and quality relationships with one’s progeny. You think about the audience for that, they had more than one child typically, so you’re not talking a small amount of money. Yet Jesus commands to “give to anyone who asks” in Matthew 5. You have a weird collision in the New Testament of couples such as Aquila & Priscilla who make their living making tents, or Lydia who has more of a ‘luxury goods’ business (sounding like the woman in Proverbs 31), but then Acts mentions how “Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need.”

And how well did that work anyway? A decade or two later and Paul is taking up offerings for the church in Jerusalem, possibly due to a kind of ecclesiastic economic collapse. The blessed become the beggars? Perhaps in some perverse sense the martyrdom had an auxiliary benefit: keeping the stress on the ecclesial budget down.

Jesus had nowhere to lay his head (Matthew 8). Judas kept their money (John 12), but it never says how much, and no matter what the prosperity preachers claim, I find nothing about Jesus’ secret mansion there so I don’t think Jabez (1 Chronicles 4) helps much. Jacob’s flocks were ‘blessed’ by quasi-magical deviousness. (Genesis 30).

Jesus’ parables make things really interesting, especially for those with a capitalist or communist predisposition. He claims the kingdom of God for the poor in Luke chapter 6 and in chapter 8 feeds the crowds. At the end of chapter 9 he reiterates his lack of accommodations. His prayer in Luke 11 asks for “daily bread” but he follows it with a promise for receiving whatever you ask of God. The Pharisees are condemned for their classism and their tithe, and a heart of giving is praised even when the giver has little to give (Luke 21). Chapter 12 describes a rich fool, and Jesus recommends an almost naive approach to life’s needs; give everything away, do not save or store up on earth. He then praises shrewd investors in his parable in chapter 14, and follows that parable with another featuring a nameless rich man in hell. The rich young ruler (Luke 18) is commanded to sell all his possessions and give to the poor. A reformed tax collector gives half his possessions to the poor and reimburses those he cheated. Jesus throws the salespeople out of Jerusalem. He gives an ambivalent answer regarding taxes and ends up getting betrayed for 30 silver coins. I guess Judas was sick of stealing from an empty wallet.

Seriously though; there is a strong, recurring theme in Jesus’ life and the lives of the New Testament church that emphasizes essentially:

a) Give, abundantly, cheerfully, constantly.
b) Live very simply. (Homeless, nomadic, or communal seem to be the trends).
c) Trust God for your needs.

How does that jive with the Hebrew scriptures regarding financial wisdom, inevitably the stuff being quoted in sermons surrounding tithes, investment, budgeting and wealth creation? How does that work with Christians who were businesspeople? (a role that unlike governmental positions, temple prostitution or soldiery, was permitted) How do I figure that out when, on the one hand, I know that Jesus didn’t die for my 401(k), but I still have one?

Author Bio:: Jordan Peacock lives and works in Minnesota with his beautiful wife and daughter. When not playing with technology or music, he’s writing comic books and wrapping up a university education.

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My biggest question is, why aren’t we seeing the progress on earth? Why haven’t the cosmic changes that Jesus’ coming brought turned into real changes on earth? I know that the Kingdom of God is a long work in progress, but why can’t I see any big concrete changes towards the Kingdom of God? I know there have been many many many little things that Christians and churches have done over the past 2000 years to make earth a little more heavenly, but it doesn’t seem like there has actually been a mass movement forward, even if it is just a little bit more forward. Instead it seems like we are in much the same place, if not in a worse, more sinful, and evil condition. Now I definitely can’t grasp the whole scope of history around the world in the past 2000 years, but it doesn’t seem like the world is moving towards peace as we are building up larger militaries, amassing nuclear weapons, and fighting over ever more dwindling resources. It doesn’t seem like we are moving towards the end of poverty as the gap between the rich and poor is growing ever larger still, and the Christians around the world have the resources to end extreme poverty on their own, yet aren’t doing it. It doesn’t seem like we are moving towards authentic loving communities as our lives become more and more individualistic and media-based. Is it getting better and I’m just not seeing it?

My longing for the Kingdom of God led to deep frustrations when I couldn’t see it coming. I wanted tangible examples of the redemption of God here on earth. Small examples wouldn’t do; I wanted to see progress towards the glorious return of Jesus, when there would be a new heaven and new earth, and all of creation would be redeemed. I believed that if the Church just got it’s act together, and we all agreed that we needed to end injustice, love our neighbor, and overthrow the Empire, we could do it. I believed that the Church could usher in the Kingdom of God through strong effort and unity.

I realize now that I started believing in the “myth of progress.”

N.T. Wright, in his book Surprised by Hope, explains the myth of progress:

“[The myth of progress is] the idea that the human project, and indeed the cosmic project, could and would continue to grow and develop, producing unlimited human improvement and marching toward a utopia…. This utopia dream is in fact a parody of the Christian vision. The kingdom of God and the kingdoms of the world come together to produce a vision of history moving forward towards its goal, a goal that will emerge from within rather than being a new gift from elsewhere. Humans can be made perfect and are indeed evolving inexorably toward that point.”

We believe this myth when we believe that the next political leader will finally solve some the world’s problems once and for all. We believe this myth when we believe medical advances will eventually rid the world of disease. We believe this myth when we believe economic growth will eventually end world poverty. We believe this myth when we believe the Church can build the Kingdom of God

When we stop believing in this myth we see that it is no longer our responsibility to build the Kingdom of God, but that doesn’t mean that we should try to slide through this life as painlessly as possible, waiting to go to heaven or until Jesus’ return. Please don’t get me wrong, we have a very real work to do here on earth, building for the Kingdom of God. We are not going to build the kingdom on our own; it will come from God as a new creation, as an act of redemption, not as the final conclusion to the progress we are making here on earth. Yet every work of grace, every work of love, justice, and compassion, is building for the kingdom, and will be part of the kingdom when it comes in full. In 1 Cor. 15, Paul speaks about the resurrection of the dead and the coming new creation, and he ends the chapter in verse 58 by saying, “Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.” We may not be able to build the Kingdom of God on our own, nor will we slowly progress towards it, but let us be assured that our work here on earth is not in vain, that we really can build for the kingdom, with the assurance that in the end God will redeem all of creation.

I encourage you to read N.T. Wright’s Surprised by Hope to explore more of this idea.

Author Bio:: Maria currently lives in Chicago with her husband and works with teenagers. She always has more questions than answers, but is hoping to find a few more answers next year when she goes to seminary. In the mean time you can find more of her questions at www.mariadrews.wordpress.com.

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I have a friend who considers himself a “Buddhist follower of Jesus.” Orrin is a monk of sorts…shaved head and all…but of a progressive sort.

I firmly believe that he loves Jesus (the person…not just the idea) more than the average Christian. I suspect that many Christians don’t so much love Jesus as they love what he can do for them.

At one time in my life I would have said that being a Christian is all about two things: 1) Having a conversion experience and 2) believing the right things. This sort of basic understanding of Christian can easily foster a loveless relationship with Jesus Christ. And, strangely enough, can allow you to be considered a “believer of Jesus” without it being assumed that you should also be a “follower of Jesus.” In some circles, it is considered bad-theology to assume that a Christian necessarily MUST be a follower of Jesus. That, after all, is legalism. Nevermind that Jesus’ consistent message was something like “Hey, the Kingdom’s here…so follow me.”

Given my previous understanding of Christianity, my friend Orrin would be “out.” But, interestingly enough, you can be a greedy televangelist, a warmonger president, an apathetic church-goer, or a legalistic non-smoking or-drinking or-movie-watching or-dancing zealot and still be assumed, from an evangelical perspective, to be “in.”

But is being “in Christ” really about a conversion experience and right doctrine?

On the flip side, is it sufficient to say that if you appreciate Jesus and follow his example that you are “in?”

In a recent article, Brian McLaren is quoted as saying: “There are increasing numbers of Muslim followers of Jesus and Hindu followers of Jesus, and they do not want to be identified with the Christian religion…” I like how this insight recognizes that one can follow Jesus authentically without buying into a pre-packaged belief system. It is safe to assume that when the disciples were traveling with Jesus that they were, technically speaking, heretics. I doubt that they understood Jesus’ divinity, affirmed the Trinity, or recognized the universality of the Church.

Why is it that we never start where Jesus did? Instead of inviting people to become followers with us in the way of Jesus, why do we make “discipleship” about doctrinal adherence? And why do we assume that we should always push for a conversion?

What I don’t like about Brian’s quote is that it could easily encourage people to disregard Christianity or validate Hinduism or Islam (or Buddhism). But these systems aren’t the same. And I don’t even believe their cores are the same (except with, perhaps, Buddhism and Hinduism). It is also a bit fishy when folks think they can remain fundamentally within their existing paradigm and then incorporate Jesus into that paradigm. We all know that adding Jesus into our lives as-is often means that Jesus becomes the posterboy for our pre-existing values, virtues, and convictions. One doesn’t need to embrace everything about Christianity to be a follower of Jesus. But at the same time, one cannot remain as they are and be a follower of Jesus.

So, where is the balance? How do we resist the sort of thinking that equates Christianity with a conversion experience and right doctrine while, at the same time, resist the sort of thinking that equates following Jesus with adopting an ethical system (usually focusing on those ethics that we already like about Jesus)?

For that matter, what should it look like to “make disciples” in a way that affirms both the doxis and the praxis of Jesus?

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For some period in my life I have been wondering about where I fall in this thing called “The History of the Church.” Am I a heretic? I’ve been called that. Am I progressive? Conservative? Feminist? Liberal? Anabaptist? Open-Theist? I have been called all of these and called myself all of these at various stages along the way.

Most of these classifications have served to include or exclude me from some group of people that were either preferred or not–depending on the context. These words typically refer to specific views I articulate from time to time. Sadly, I am not often known for what I do.

When I wrestle with the feeling of being a theological bastard–wondering what congregation would ever openly accept me into their community–I am struck by how askew our perspective has become. most church folks I am around want to talk about church backgrounds: “What denomination did you grow up in?” seems to be the question that reigns supreme.

Whatever happened to “you will know a tree by its fruit”?

I think it is important to articulate what I believe about Jesus, the incarnation, God, Trinity, baptism, communion, the body of Christ, Justice/justification/righteousness, and the kingdom of God. I think this is important because in talking it out, I iron out the ethics that I hope to hold as a measure of the fruit of my life. I hope to read the scriptures, the culture, my experience, and the voices of my community with the intent of letting them shape me into a follower of Jesus. In reading all these things, I try to hold Jesus and his message about the kingdom of God at the center.

Too often, these things have been left up to only a few people in the church–most of them white men, with the exception of Augustine who was African (thus the title of the post’s lack of reference to mothers). This is another reason I think theology is important. It is important for us in our rising global context to continue to articulate our faith in shifting situations and with the inclusion of a diversity of voices (on this point I am keenly aware of my status as a white man in usamerica).

So, I hang on to the importance of theology.

At the same time, I am sick of doctrines determining communities of faith. What will it take for us to congregate based on geography instead of on socio-cultural, economic, ethnic, and doctrinal sub-groups? Maybe, once we have sucked the earth dry of oil and our cars are rusting in our driveways and we have to walk everywhere, we will be forced into rethinking our understanding of who our sisters and brothers are in “local” communities.

What if our faith was “articulated” in our actions, our artistic expressions; the fruit of the Spirit playing out in our relationships, economics, ecological impact, and our politics?

What if I don’t label people I don’t agree with theologically, and instead try to come alongside them to work with them in embodying the kingdom of God? What if they don’t believe in the kingdom of God that I articulate? Can I still love them and encourage the areas I see them participating (even unknowingly) in the kingdom life?

As I write this post I think about my own father and mother. These two folks have a very different picture of a lot of the doctrines that I hold as central to the Christian faith. We disagree, yet I see them loving people, living sacrificially, serving with humility, and finding their own ways of articulating their faith. While I don’t always like their articulation, I love the Jesus that shows through their lives.

What if our faith is less our words and more our actions? After all, I don’t think Jesus ever mentioned “wrong” doctrines as keeping anyone out of the life of God’s Kingdom (for that matter, right doctrines don’t seem to get anyone in–though they may help a little along the way).

A couple of days ago I was at an “emergent-ish” conference. I was disappointed when applause followed a clarification about the school I attend. A speaker made note that my school was certainly not affiliated with a more conservative evangelical church of the same name. I appreciated the clarification, as there is always a lot of confusion concerning this topic. But I was appalled that there was a sort of pride in the audience’s response to this declaration. Where was the humility and kindness that we had been articulating throughout the conference?

As we stumble toward different articulations and embodiments of God’s kingdom, I hope that we can maintain integrity between our words and actions. Without this integrity we are simply putting a different face on the same old song and dance that we say we are sick of. What will it mean for us to hold the same openness and humility toward those in the communities we have emerged from as we hold for those who sound a little more like the communities we want to become? Can we have the humility to see everyone, no matter the theological articulation, as siblings?

Aren’t we all, more or less, just messed up daughters and sons of the same God? When Jesus talks about the kingdom as here among us, I don’t think he means among the ones who “get it right theologically.” I think he means, it’s here for, in, around, and through us all. None of us is completely “in” the kingdom. We all need grace to come alive to the rebirth and redemption that God is working on behalf of the entire world. If this sounds a little too “universalist” for some, please don’t judge me by my articulation…

Peace.

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Tony Jones
Frank Schaeffer
C. Wess Daniels
And as of now, 28 readers (and counting) of Jesus Manifesto?

Somewhere along the line, they’ve slurped long and hard from the Obama Kool-Aid.

This post is not suggesting that to vote for Obama is to be a blind follower of the Jonestown pedigree. Everyone has their reasons (some better than others) and I believe none of the above mentioned people are mindless zombies when it comes to politics or voting. But boiling just below the surface is the cult like worship that has manifested in Obama’s run. When he galloped into the Twin Cities a few months back, there were reports of woman fainting and grown men crying, as if The Beatles were the opening act. The Church of Obama was in session.

It would be much easier for me to dismiss voting for Obama if that’s all there was to it- ridiculous rock star homage and a pretty face (of which there is some). But it is much harder to look at the core of why Barack Obama has gained such a voice in what is the largest popularity contest in America only held every four years. His buzzwords of “hope,” “change,” and “unity” appeal to all of us. He appears to be the prime candidate to move the United States forward, with neighbors hand in hand, into a tumultuous season of worldwide violence, corporate greed, and expanded poverty. His platform reaches across simple party lines and brings a holistic Christian voice for those progressive members of the Church that for years have wanted to see politics be about more than just abortion and sexuality. So why shouldn’t we all drink from the same grape flavored trough?

Because I’m fearful it could turn out to be poisoned with Valium, chloral hydrate, and cyanide.

This has less to do with Mr. Obama’s stances on any political issue of our day, and more with the historical precedent Christianity has set for itself. When I see Christianity (fundamentalist, progressive, liberal, or any other type) get behind a movement or person, I can usually rest assured that we are at least two years late and five feet short. Rather than express Christian revelation in a way that is specific and adequate to the social realities in which we live, as Jacques Ellul writes, the Church too often “looks for ways to adapt Christianity to the dominant intellectual and sociological trend.” As a result, we guarantee ourselves a “small place in the new social order.”

The tendency to do this in understandable. It is the failures of the Church that has so often pushed well-meaning Christians to adopt new strategies for social change just as much as a bright new star appearing on the scene. But timing is everything and Ellul saw this in the “newly discovered” relationship between Marxist thought and Christianity. Christianity failed to answer the big questions and problems of the day, while Marxism offered a palatable answer that seemed Biblical enough. The two became one. The process of the inevitable co-opting in Ellul’s day looks eerily similar to our own situation:

(1) Injustice

The unjust society actually resulted after 20 centuries of Christianity.

· Communism loudly trumpets equality across classes

(2) Poverty

Rather than helping, the Church became just another “power” and sanctified the poor.

· Communism (in theory) always sides with the poor

(3) Authenticity

The Church had a serious disconnect between theory and practice. Hypocrites owned the hour.

· Communism consistently puts theory into practice; they practice what they preach

(4) Material Reality

Christianity offered a disembodied, private spirituality.

· Communism rubs our nose in this betrayal. It reminds us of the decisive importance of concrete, human life before death, and of the body and daily activity.

(5) Communal Aggressiveness

Christians sit besides each other on Sunday and yet ignore each other ’s lives.

· Communism promises to birth a communal spirit of militancy, sacrifice, and commitment.

This should in no way be read as an endorsement of Communist thought. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of an endorsement of any political/social “ism.” But it’s not hard to see how drinking the Obama “hope and change” kool-aid could lead to the same place Ellul’s communist brothers and sisters found themselves in. Ellul describes the process this way:

Recognizing this challenge moves us to take the next step: to take Christianity seriously again, to desire at last to be authentically Christian. Thus we were, to a great extent, encouraged to come to ourselves… But we move beyond the stage of listening to a challenge to noting an agreement, and from this observation we move on to seeing conformity at the level of action. Christians find they are no longer called just to become more Christ-like, but they believe that in order to become better Christians, they must cooperate with the Communists. (pp. 9-10, Jesus and Marx)

And as we again carve out our niche in the political realm, except this time while “caring about more than just abortion,” we will do whatever we have to do to stay there. And instead of once again taking Christianity seriously, we’ll turn to the latest message of “social justice” and “political reconciliation” being peddled by the loudest voice and ask them to do our share of the work. The flavor may have changed, but I’m afraid it’s still laced.

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It happened on the Underground, or “the Tube” as it is descriptively known (it’s in a tunnel…get it?). Stretching some 250 odd miles, nearly 3 million riders take advantage of this massive public transit system. This past week was my second go around at maneuvering my way around the multihued diagram. Five years ago, half of my time in London was spent frustrated between the Picadilly and Central lines, and no where near the hotel I was purportedly headed towards. Where were all those skills that the seven years in Boy Scouts supposedly instilled in me? Apparently knowing how to use a compass hardly comes in handy when trains travel in circles and are identified by colors, not directions.

My recent escapade to England was much more a triumph in the area of transportation as I got into a rhythm of buying the all-day ticket, sliding through the not-so-iron gates, and picking the right platform to stand on. Resting in my new found know-how, I found time to open my eyes to the passengers around me, rather than burying my gaze at the Underground mini-map found in every car in fear I would miss my stop. What I saw was a somewhat opaque but beautiful icon of what the Church can become…what the Church should be. Grabbing hold of the metal bars that line the outskirts of the shuttle was a Sikh man dressed with his traditional dashtar. Sitting across from him was a middle aged woman reading the latest headlines in Russian. There were single moms and common laborers riding side by side with more outwardly visible “power players” of the same local economy. The C.E.O shared space with the janitor.

And there was no escaping it. Unlike what happens when communities become absolutely dependent on individually owned and operated modes of transportation (referred to by some as “automobile dependency“), there was no option of lessening my proximity to other passengers. The Church of the Underground would constantly subvert any notion of a gated community and keep open the avenues that allow for unstructured social encounters with “the Other.” In the London Underground, there existed a phenomenon that is rarely duplicated in the numerous cathedrals throughout the United Kingdom–a space to come face-to-face with the neighbor. And in doing so, the alterity of the Sikh and of the C.E.O. called into question my very being; the encounter with the Other challenged my own identity in God’s kingdom and made demands on me that I cannot recall from any three point sermon or well-meaning Bible study. The Tube transformed into a sanctuary.

After exiting the car, a conversation broke out among my traveling partners. There was an extravagantly dressed young woman seated across from us in the last leg of our journey. Decked out in brown Gucci boots, tinted Versace sunglasses (it must get really dark in the Underground), and a Louis Vuitton purse, the woman was wearing more than my wife and I make in a month. When this subject was brought to the center of our conversation, one comment rose above the rest: “Yeah, but it’s not like she can have that much money. She’s riding the subway.” An American myth was being challenged by the day’s journey. This speaker was simply commenting out of her deeply held presuppositions, opinions that have been significantly shaped by the hyper-consumerist narrative we all swim in every day. Her sentiment is summed up by another post I ran across commenting on a proposal for a new public transit system in the Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina area:

And yet it is a multi-billion dollar plan with big tax increases. All to use an existing line and provide more buses. This will do nothing to ease any congestion. It is simply a taxpayer subsidized way for poor people without a car to get to work.

In other words, only poor people need public transit. Only the down-and-out among us who can’t afford a Toyota Camry (new or used) really use the subway system. The rest of us have “moved on” and used our money for a private mode of transportation. But the myth is shattered in London, where the high-class investment banker can be seen riding next to the hotel housekeeper. That designer-wearing woman probably was rich. But she was in the same car as the rest of us, utilizing the same means to get to her destination as the Sikh immigrant. Not even her Versace sunglasses could shadow her gaze enough to distance herself completely from her own experience of the Other. Church was in session, and she was getting blessed…even if she didn’t know it.

As the prerecorded woman with the thick British accent reminded us at every stop along the way, we were to “mind the gap.” Once reckoned for what it was, the gap between myself and my neighbor was somehow less intrusive last week on the London Underground than it will be in church this Sunday.

*Author’s note: Much of the philosophical underpinnings of this post can be found in the writings of French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas*

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I should pause here and mention that I have a completely unscientific theory about dreams.

I think dreams are utterly convincing when you’re experiencing them, and there’s a transitional moment when you’re waking up in which you are completely bought-in to the narrative of your dream state. It’s that groggy twilight when your eyes and brains are adjusting and there’s a tiny little part of you that is still in Hawaii (or Las Vegas, I guess, if you live in Hawaii) and riding through clear blue skies on the back of a dolphin and you’re so completely in the moment that it takes your drab bedroom or the snoring of a bedmate to tell you, hey, welcome back. We have to kind of fact-check our dreams, you know, figure out where the story line breaks away from real life.

In my case, it wasn’t so much the concept that I would leave the water running all day long. I think my initial response to that upon waking was intense shame and embarrassment, like walking out of the house having forgotten to put on pants. I wouldn’t put it past me. It wasn’t until I realized that you don’t get split-screen effects in your waking hours, the kind that show you going through routine daily tasks on one side of the screen, and the constantly running shower on the other. Grocery shopping on the right, shower on the left. Driving to work on the right, shower on the left.

Obviously we don’t get that benefit, otherwise we wouldn’t ever lose our car keys or sleep with our secretaries or yell at our kids because we got hurt by somebody else instead of for a good reason, like to get out of the way of a moving car. We don’t get the postmodern equivalent of a cartoon cricket reminding us of the unintended consequences of our action or inaction.

I think that sometimes we want the split screen feature in our minds, so pastors like me put in a lot of effort to create guilt-filled narratives for people to live in, crafting sermons and contributing to rumor mills that reinforce ever-lengthening lists of do’s and don’ts with THINGS THAT GOD DOESN’T LIKE ABOUT YOU scrawled in big bold letters on the canvas of our fertile minds. In this way, folks can anticipate wrongdoing far enough in advance for us to commoditize forgiveness. We go through our days imagining the searing laser vision of God cutting through the ceiling, watching us to make sure we’re not thinking about viewing pornography, or reading a comic book instead of data entry, or voting for a democrat in the ballot box. With this intense kind of guilt-based scrutiny, no wonder western evangelical Christianity has created a cottage industry of squeaky-clean retail subcultural kitsch. We fill our lives exclusively with “christian” books, “christian” music, “christian” tv, and limit our social interactions to church-related activities because we feel like it’s the green zone of God’s wrath - the only place we can escape the knowing gaze of our Lord and Savior and his clipboard of righteousness. We know that, as long as we’re doing what we’re told, we can turn off the split screen and give our conscience a much-needed rest.

Don’t get me wrong - I own and love a lot of literature that can be described as “christian.” There are even a couple of Christian bands that are pretty good. My problem isn’t with the industry itself, but the frame of thinking that fuels it and makes it a practical necessity for so many people. We need Christian subculture like an addict needs a fix. I think this is because we’ve tried to replace the hard work of consciousness and balancing liberty with responsibility with a system of sanctions and penalties.

To go back to my weird dream, we’re so afraid of leaving the water running that we never leave the bathroom - we just keep ordering pizza and Chinese food delivery.

Author Bio:: John O’Hara is trying to follow Jesus. He posts Oakland-flavored reflections frequently at his blog, and is initiating a conversation between the emergent and pentecostal movements at Emerging Pentecostal.

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But where do we even start? Passionate Christians who are eager to combine their religious principles with their social values eventually find their way over to groups like Jim Wallis’ Sojourners. With their emphasis on global action and social justice, it can be hard to find a blemish. Combine this faith-based outlook with their massive network, growing book deals, and burgeoning grassroots culture, and you potentially have a colossal mountain bulldozer on your hands. This demolishing usually takes place through the avenues of political lobbying and the promotion of awareness on a mass scale. With enough signatures, change can happen…hope can arrive on the scene…and those at the bottom of the mountain can be brought to the top.

The efforts of activist groups like Sojourners is to be much-admired, but the typical avenues employed may need to be reconsidered by disciples of a guy who never turned to the machine of the Empire to initiate change. Many fall into Wallis’ camp simply by being disgusted at the Religious Right and turned off by the Liberal Left. With nowhere else to turn, they become a Sojourner (that is my personal story). But where are all the other models of social empowering that Christians can latch onto that do not revolve around politicking and legislation? How about back in the medieval period? (And if you are picturing a quirky dinner scene where you eat roasted chicken with your hands and watch actors joust it out in front of you…it’s ok…me too…but I call dibs on the blue knight).

The Middle Ages saw sweeping reform in the Church, and for good reason. Both the monastic life and the papacy, once the ideals of Christian livelihood, had become corrupt with greed, simony, and cheap grace. Monks like Bernard of Clairvaux renewed their orders with a return to the rigorous vows of obedience, poverty, and celibacy while popes like Leo IX did the same in their high office. Simony (the act of buying and selling of ecclesiastical posts) was one of the worst enemies to the Church, but not just for the obvious reasons of greed and power hording. As it stood, kings and influential nobles could directly appoint bishops and abbots to their positions. Those people could in turn birth a son and have him appointed much in the same way. Therefore, the program of reformation had to include both outlawing simony and promoting clerical celibacy if it was to protect the social mobility capable within the Church. As Christian historian Justo Gonzalez writes:

“There was a connection between these two [celibacy and simony], for in the feudal society, the church was one of the few institutions in which there still existed a measure of social mobility…but this social mobility was threatened by the practice of simony, which would guarantee that only the rich would occupy high offices…If to this was added clerical marriage, those who held high office would seek to pass it on to their children, and thus the church would come to reflect exclusively the interests of the rich and the powerful.” (The Story of Christianity, 283)

In the feudal network, you were born into what you would always be. If your father was a serf, you were born into working that same plot of land and protecting that same noble. Serfs bound not only themselves but all of their future heirs, assuring their family’s place in the lowest class of society for generations to come. But it was in the Church where this makeshift caste-system didn’t always play out. There was an elasticity of the power grid of the Church that didn’t exist anywhere else in medieval culture. Simple peasants could become monks. Stay at it long enough, and you’d become an abbot. If your reputation for holiness grew, you could find yourself climbing the ranks towards the Papacy. Many Popes started as simple monks (and in fact, had to be dragged into ecclesiastical office kicking and screaming).

But even more astounding, there was a downward mobility offered in the Christian life as seen in the biographies of men like Francis of Assisi and Antony of the Desert. When these men encountered the Gospel, radical devotion pressed them to give up all they had, join in solidarity with the poor, and live a life of absolute obedience to God. Neither of these great saints started that way. Francis was born into the merchant class. Anthony had enough of an inheritance to permit a comfortable life. Both were compelled to climb down the “mountain.” The Empire offered a system that condemned you to your culturally authorized spot, be it one of enormous privilege or never-ending serfdom. It was the Church that had a fluid structure that allowed for upward and downward social mobility.

The Hard Questions:

1. Is social mobility even a worthy goal of Christian reform in the first place?

2. Should working for mobility extend outside the confines of the Church into the public sphere?

3. Does the Church make room in its own structure for mobility? Is there a subtle feudalism in our own garden?

4. Are there certain “zoning laws” on the mountain that prevent upward and downward social mobility even within the Church?

5. Should these laws be taken off the books? Could we remove them even if we wanted to?

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Holy Week is an odd time of year. My family didn’t celebrate Holy Week. To me, it was simply a day of pastel marshmallow bunnies and birds (I think Peeps taste nasty) , colored hard-boiled eggs, and jelly beans. Nothing more. Pretty lame as far as holidays go. The only one in my family who really liked Easter was my sister Chantel, but only because she loved coloring the eggs so much.

As I got older, I began to notice peculiar things about the season leading up to Easter. I noticed that on some Wednesday about a month before Easter, people got smudges of ash placed upon their foreheads. Vaguely, I knew that the ash thing had something to do with Easter. And I think I knew that Easter had to do with the day that Jesus went up into heaven or something.

I embraced Christianity in my teens. I had the weepy camp experience and got really involved in church. My faith meant a lot to me. And I really really loved Jesus. My family wasn’t really into Jesus and church at the time, so I felt like it was MY thing. That made it all the more special to me. Around that time I realized that the smudgy ash day was Ash Wednesday. Our church didn’t celebrate that stuff because we believed it was dead religion. But I secretly thought it was kinda cool. I also learned that Holy Week was kind of a big deal. Especially Good Friday, which was about how Jesus died. Lutherans and Catholics had other special days during the week, but we charismatics and Pentecostals and low church evangelicals really only focused on two days: Good Friday and Easter. Cross and Resurrection. They were all that mattered.

It was on the Cross, you see, that Jesus took all of our sins upon himself and then died. He took our just punishment. And on Easter Jesus rose from the dead–a sign that his sacrifice was accepted by God. And it showed that Jesus is more powerful than sin and death. If we believe that he died on the Cross for our own sins, we too can be resurrected some day.

The nice thing about all of this is that God takes me just as I am, right? Once I trust in his sacrifice on my behalf, I can trust that, some day, I will join him in Heaven. Right? That is what Easter is all about. It is about me being accepted as I am. What I do with the rest of my life matters…but not as much as the joyful recognition that my afterlife is secured.

Easter is that day when you appear
Sweet Jesus
To whisper sweet nothings into my ear
Sweet Jesus
And to forgive my sins, my dear
Sweet Jesus
Like drinking too much beer
Being insincere
And forgetting you all year
Sweet Jesus

Show me the path
Sweet Jesus
Away from God’s wrath
Sweet Jesus
Give my soul a bath
Sweet Jesus
So that I can laugh
For all the junk I hath
From plying $atan’s math
Sweet Jesus

You make me white as snow
Sweet Jesus
So merrily I go
Sweet Jesus
To maintain the status quo
Sweet Jesus
Like keeping down the low
Having too much dough
Or killing all my foes
Sweet Jesus

The scandal of Easter is that it has been used to reinforce the status quo. Instead of seeing the Cross and Resurrection as a death to the old way and the opening of a new way, it is tempting to see them mechanistically. If we believe, our slate is cleaned. And we can continue on as though nothing has ever happened.

And so, because of Jesus’ death, I don’t have to change my life. I’m not responsible for changing the corrupt systems that I’ve inherited. I don’t have to worry about the poor. I don’t need to DO anything. Jesus took care of all that on the Cross. And when he rose from the dead, he made it possible for me to go to the Kingdom of God when I die.

This way of seeing Easter permeates the Western understanding of Christianity. But is this how Jesus understood his death? As he gathered disciples and set his face towards Jerusalem, he called his followers to take their cross and follow him. In his final week, he cleanses the Temple, speaks against the teachers of the Law, and predicts the destruction of the Temple.

His death was an act of judgment against a corrupt system. And in his resurrection, ascension, and pouring out of the Spirit, a new way is opened up for us to speak prophetically to the domination system (the global web of institutions and governments in the hands of the few that oppress the many), resist the powers, and live in the Kingdom. Here. Now.

I don’t mean to diminish the reconciling work of Jesus on the Cross. By no means. Nor am I advocating that God will only forgive you if you do stuff for him. I am merely suggesting that we need to drop our transactional understanding of the Gospel. To follow Jesus is to walk in his way. His death and resurrection opens up for us a new way. We, filled by the Spirit, are called to live and move in the way of Jesus. Let us remember Jesus’ death and resurrection by taking up our cross and experiencing a new way of life.

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