Forgiveness and Trust

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“Trust is out gift back to God, and he finds it so enchanting that Jesus died for love of it” (Brennan Manning)

I would say that forgiveness actually comes pretty easily for me. Grant it, at first I can approach it with a sense of self-righteousness. Or maybe rather than self-righteousness it is just a deep desire to what I am suppose to do. Regardless of the original motivation, I graciously forgive those who “do me wrong.” Eventually though, thanks to my over-analytical approach to life and unfortunate insecurities with looking like a fool, I have to really ask myself if I am going to forgive that person who trespassed against me. But I feel fairly confident that I am able to rather quickly move to a place of forgiveness. That doesn’t mean that I necessarily like that person. As Martin Luther King acknowledged, we don’t need to like someone who harms us. But I am able to love them. All this is fairly basic Christian teaching on the importance of loving your enemies, realizing that discipleship is in large part seeing the Christ in others.

The message of forgiveness, while in large part being about being free from the burden of resentment, is about how we respond to the past offense by the other. It is in large part about the decisive actions we take when we experience being offended. For forgiveness to stick we will often have to re-forgive as we reflect (emotionally or cognitively) on the offense. Perhaps this is what Jesus meant by the 70 times 7, not only completely, but repeatedly. However, trust is a very different story. Trust is about how we deal with the present and future relationship with that person and, in all reality, all people. Trust, like forgiveness, is a choice, but it is also something that must be earned. It must be restored. It is something that exposes places in our own lives that are broken, lonely, and distant. I can relatively easily forgive someone who hurts me at a very personal level, but I may struggle with trusting that person for a very long time and even as I do begin to trust them, it will be incremental. But more significantly, the damage of the broken trust will cause me to interact with everyone in the same way. Not only am I having to re-trust the world around me, but I have to rely on the grace of God to understand why it caused so much pain. It also forces me to remember who my real trust should be in.

When I first left the institutional church I was able to forgive the institution fairly easily after suffering its wrath. In other words, I found it fairly easy to make the cognitive decision to forgive an institution that I found to have harmed me because of elements that were largely out of the control of any individual person within it. I resented and was angry at the organization for a long time, but it wasn’t long before even that faded. But trusting it again has been much more difficult than I anticipated it would be. To make things harder, it has done little to try to earn my trust. Minister friends of mine have reluctantly admitted that the organization is broken, but that I have to love it anyway. My reluctance to trust goes deep for me. But as I have reflected on my lack of trust for the church I have discovered that the deeper issue for me is a lack of trust in the type of faith that the institutional church typically promotes. Whereas an organization is the catalyst for my resentment, it is a faith that I have had to realize is what I don’t trust. A modern telling of the story of God, sure, but faith itself has often left me feeling betrayed. The church’s role in this is that it has tried to educated in that it is my betrayal, not my faith’s that has led to this resentment of mine. But as I grow in comfort with the struggle that is true faith, I have come to see that faith, itself, has betrayed me as often as I have betrayed it. Am I arguing that God betrays me? Absolutely not. In fact, it is not a small task to ask oneself if their faith is in their faith or in God. A faith in God is on a solid foundation, but even in that there is often a theological and philosophical construct of faith that shapes what that faith in God looks like. But faith, that thing that best describes our relationship with God, has betrayed me. Faith has been shaped in me in such a way that it is a theological absolute rather than a pilgrimage. Even though I have been able to forgive the church, my trust in my faith is damaged. I stated that I don’t think God betrayed me, but I don’t think He is simply bystander in this either. God, or that which we have named God, has revealed Himself through this limited paradigm for so long that He has left us dependent on limited exposure to Him. Despite the belief that I have that the ministry of Christ was to grant us greater access to God, God has manifested Himself through modernity to such an extent that those who are seeking new truth within postmodernity often feel as though they are the collateral damage of a new worldview. God has historically revealed Himself through the philosophical and theological paradigms of the day, But for those who exist between two worldviews are left to feel like a prophet, someone with a message, but without a home. How do you trust a faith that is emerging? How do you develop a faith in God with limited faith in faith? This is the struggle of the recovering Christian.

A WORD FROM YOU

This is a short one. I would love to hear from you this time. What books are you reading? What music are you listening to? What movies would you recommend? What about a cigar or beer that I might not have tried? These are obviously a few of the things I am in to, but if you share any of these interests, let me know. I just finished What Would Jesus Deconstruct by Caputo and The Fidelity of Betrayal by Rollins. I highly recommend both of these books. Both rely heavily on deconstructive philosophy. In The Fidelity of Betrayal, Rollins addresses the need to turn away from our religion in order to embrace a true faith. In What Would Jesus Deconstruct, Caputo addresses what elements in the church needs to go through radical hermeneutics to better understand the religion without religion message of Christ. As for music, I have been on a real Simon and Garfunkel kick lately, but as for new music I am really into the The Postmarks and The Strokes. Let me know what you are reading and listening to. As for movies, I haven’t seen much lately so any suggestions would be great. Additionally, if there are any topics related to my journey that you would like me to expand on, let me know that as well. Anyway, I look forward to hearing from you and have a great Thanksgiving!

THE "CALLING"

I guess I am in a bit of a writing frenzy lately, but I think that is largely due to what I want to write about today. When I was in 9t grade I “accepted a calling into full time ministry” at church camp. I put that in quotes because I am not exactly sure what that means, but I will get to that in a minute. I have shared this story previously so I won’t go into any real detail about it, but I will say that the calling I received shaped many of my decisions for years. For that reason, I feel comfortable agreeing that there was a degree of revelation associated with that calling simply in that it was a radical change in worldview and personal understanding. Whether or not I was growing spiritually during this time is debatable, but I took my first youth ministry position while in college. I was sure of my calling during this time in my life. Not only was I working in the church, but I was involved in college ministry and was starting to visit seminaries. After graduating college I took a full time youth ministry position. I was speaking with a guy that was a sponsor for me in that church a couple of days ago and as I discussed that time in my life I had an inner conviction that has lingered deep inside me for years- I just wasn’t a very good youth minister. Imagine a shy introvert that doubted the existence of God and questioned authority being a youth minister. I still had a deep sense of calling though. After leaving that church to work on my Masters in Educational Psychology I was still involved in ministry in a number of ways. When I graduated from there I began working in a church full time again as a college minister in a large church. The church was just not a good fit and I simply didn’t agree with the institutional priorities. It was during this time that I began to go through my postmodern shift. The church, or at least I as experienced up to that point, was just not going to work for me any longer. So what did I do with that calling? Interestingly, I questioned the whole idea of a calling.

I think that there is a good basis to question the idea of a calling into ministry. It seems as though much of what contemporary Christianity has come to believe about what a calling is comes from teachings from such great theologians as Charles Spurgeon. Spurgeon taught quite a bit on calling. In a sermon he made in 1856, Spurgeon said, “Notwithstanding our firm belief that you are in the main well instructed in the doctrines of the everlasting gospel, we are continually reminded in our conversation with young converts, how absolutely necessary it is to repeat our former lessons, and repeatedly assert and prove over and over again those doctrines which lie at the basis of our holy religion. Our friends, therefore, who have many years ago been taught the great doctrine of effectual calling, will believe that whilst I preach very simply this morning, the sermon is intended for those who are young in the fear of the Lord, that they may better understand this great starting point of God in the heart, the effectual calling of men by the Holy Spirit.” From there Spurgeon then identifies eight aspects of a true calling:

1. Effectual calling is a very gracious truth.
2. It was a personal call.
3. It is a hastening call.
4. It is a humbling call.
5. It is an affectionate call.
6. It was an abiding call.
7. It was a necessary call.
8. This call was an effectual one, for we see the fruits it brought forth.

Based on teachings like these, evangelical Christianity has developed a definition of calling that is as restrictive and absolute as most other parts of modern Christianity. One blog I ran across used the name of Spurgeon to identify the following characteristics of a calling into youth ministry. The blog is actually pretty good advice, from a modern perspective at least, and attempts to interject theology into a blog for youth ministers. However, this was the bloggers advice:

• If a person is called, they must be able to clearly and effectively present the gospel.
• If a person is called they should understand the purpose of preaching is spiritual.
• If a person is called they will see people come to Christ as a result of their ministry.
• If a person is called they should have a desire and even a passion to see people come to Jesus.
• Is the person able to understand Scripture
• Can this person help others understand scripture
• Can this person help others apply scripture in their life
• Humor and storytelling doesn’t necessarily make someone a good teacher
• Can this person keep the attention of the audience

The problem is that despite the overwhelming support that scripture identifies many instances of people being called, these are typically a calling into a new identity. The bible never seems to suggest that after one comes into a relationship with God that there are subsequent levels of calling. And even though a dedication through career choice or significant levels of service is admirable, scripture calls on us to use our gifts and talents as a state of the identity that we find in our new relationship with Christ, an identity that is always shifting, developing, and relevant to context. The problem with the evangelical idea of calling beyond the lack of scriptural validity is twofold: (1) it gives a false since of authority in one’s own influence that has not necessarily been earned and (2) it causes an inner distress by the one called to make sure that live out their calling as to not disrupt to plans of God.

But rather than disrupt the evangelical, modern, and institutional use of the word calling I would rather address how I have come to re-value to term. There are significant differences in how I see what it means to be called now as to when I was a young youth minister and it may even be difficult to see how it differs, but it is radically different. The theological difference is that I believe that Christ brought a new ministry, one with greater access to God and one that was more transformative than the Old Covenant. Under the Old Covenant the modern concept of calling would have actually worked out fairly well. But with the new ministry of Christ, one in which Christ is perfected in his ministry; the idea of calling is more connected to our new identity than our predetermined role. Practically, my calling is about my new identity lived out. Within this context, I am free to explore many career, service, and relational opportunities without the fear of disrupting the universe. It becomes my calling, however, to evaluate how my strengths and gifts are best serving the kingdom and that I carry a responsibility to act with integrity. I may choose a path of professional service or I may not. What is important is that I am partnering with God (and struggling with Him) in understanding How who I am is best for others. Additionally, I accept the gift of God to allow myself to feel the most alive my earthly situation allows. One’s strengths, talents, situation, and passions may best be lived out in professional ministry, but with that comes no privileged authority. That must be earned wherever one ends up.

Leaving the ministry is hard for me because I felt that I was betraying my calling. When I saw that I was happier and more productive out of the church then I doubted my calling. Now I see that my calling never had anything to do a response to an altar call when I was 15, but how I respond to God daily. I miss ministry for a lot of reasons and I pray that God allows that prayer to be fulfilled, but until that day I am no less called because I must daily wrestle with God and this world to understand who I am and what I contribute.

MY ROAD TO DAMACUS

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“For this reason it is problematic to think that people who have undergone a conversion have experienced God, while people who have not undergone this rebirth experience an absence of God. Rather, it is only the one who has undergone conversion who experiences the absence of God (the experience of God as a counter experience).” (Peter Rollins, The Fidelity of Betrayal)

Let’s take a couple of minutes to look at Paul’s conversion experience. It is described in Acts 9, but I am just going to pull out a few of the details.

•Paul was on his way to Damascus for the purpose of imprisoning followers of Jesus.
•A blinding light causes Paul to fall to the ground in fear.
•Terrified, he hears a voice from heaven wondering why Paul is persecuting Jesus.
•Paul is instructed to go to Damascus and wait for further instruction.
•Now blind, Paul has to ask the men traveling with him to take him to the city because the men didn’t experience the same revelation.
•In obvious distress and either fasting for more revelation, unable to eat out of guilt, or won’t eat because he was too overwhelmed, Paul spent three days without eating unsure what was going to happen to him.
•Then Paul is given a vision to wait for a follower of the Way who would come and restore his sight.
•He is greeted as brother by Ananias and after having his sight restored, scales fall from his eyes; he is baptized with the Holy Spirit, and receives food to restore his strength.
•From there he becomes a devout follower, missionary, and theologian. Largely due to his Greek education, he becomes a missionary to the Gentiles. Despite his incredible affect on all who heard him, he is hated by non-Christian Jews, feared by Christian Jews, and chased by the establishment. He will eventually be accepted by followers, but for a time he must follow Christ largely outside the circle of the earliest Christian communities.

From what I can tell, Paul’s conversion experience stunk. Before hitting the road to Damascus, he had a clear purpose and commitment to God as he understood Him. He was successful and powerful: a growing leader in the Jewish and Roman society. Then God strikes him down in terror. God then leaves him blind and dependent on the charity of those he has felt charged to seek out and bring to justice. After having his sight restored, Paul is then left to largely fend for himself until he is able to convince others that he is legitimate. There is no doubt that there are equally numerous stories of conversion experiences that are uplifting, but let’s focus on Paul. There is nothing in the conversion story of Christianity’s second greatest hero to make us think that coming to no Christ has anything to do with feeling close to God. From the time that Paul first experiences revelation on the road to Damascus to the time he is greeted as brother by Ananias he is completely blind. He came to know God by becoming aware of the absence of God.

I feel that I am on my own road to Damascus. I started out this Christianity thing with such clear direction, then I go through this period that has left me blinded. Everything I know has changed and it should be so exciting and wonderful, but it’s terrifying. And like with Paul, my sight is being restored gradually as the scales begin to fall off. But again like Paul, I feel somewhat on the outside of Christianity. Despite being a faithful follower, my ideas, doubts, and approach to faith is questionable to others. Recently I was trying, although I think unsuccessfully, how I view what has been going on with me spiritually to a friend who, while embracing a much more raw version, holds a pretty conservative view of Christianity, scripture, and the church. I simultaneously was able to agree with most everything he said while completely disagreeing with him. But despite my feelings of isolation from God in understanding and defining where I am I also feel that I see him clearer than I ever have. I am left asking the same question that Paul asked when he was first blinded, “Who are you, Lord?”

FREE STYLE

Typically I spend a few days processing what I am going to write about, but after the past few days that I have had I thought that it might just write and see what happens. If I am going to live this authentic thing out then here it i.

I think that the hardest part about the journey that I am on theologically and philosophically is that the certainty is gone. Within my modern, evangelical paradigm there was no doubt, with every frustration there was an open window, God had a plan for me that was sure to ease any existential dilemmas, if there was anything that didn’t quite make sense it was because I just couldn’t see God’s plan, and there was a calling for my life that help build up treasures in heaven. But here I am at 36 having walked away from my “calling”, with debt that I am afraid will follow me for the rest of my life, in a job that is completely unrewarding, not sure what I am doing as a parent half the time (on a good day), and not completely sure what will happen to me after I die. I am forced to look at what my life is today and quit saying that this is all part of a bigger plan. I simply can no longer find comfort in that form of meta-narrative that is rooted in manipulation and exploitation. It is a narrative that is intended to control and subdue the masses. It is elitist and derogatory, As I drove home from the gym tonight reflecting on my current frustrations I realized that I have spent the last few years of my life waiting for thing to fall into place based on this meta-narrative. This is not to say that God is uninvolved and distant, but that life is largely made up of what we do with it.

So then what becomes the purpose of life, struggle, and faith in a world of uncertainties? Truth is only absolute when it is grounded in constants. But there are no constants in a world of uncertainties. Does this mean that humanism and hedonism are the rational approaches to life? No because even that philosophical paradigm requires a constant. Faith requires of us something that acknowledges conviction and hope- or in other words, what we know and what we don’t know. So then what is the purpose of life? Bring glory to that thing that we can’t define. Pursue a calling you can’t understand. Life is about a life of faith that doesn’t make sense.

So as I contemplate my missed calling, my financial distress, my ignorance with parenting and marriage, and my existential angst I have to wonder if I am still waiting for things to click into place or do I accept that I can’t expect life to work out in any certain way or have any predetermined meaning?

EMERGING PARENTING

“When the boy was born, like all Spartans, he was inspected.” (Dilios, 300)

Last night I watched a show I had recorded from the History Channel called The Last Stand of the 300: The Legendary Battle at Thermoplyae. It was the documentary version of the famous Battle at Thermoplyae where King Leonidas led his Spartan army of 300 alongside the Greek forces against King Xerxes of Persia. One of the elements of the documentary was to describe the childhood of Spartan males. At birth, Spartans were inspected to check for defects. Children who didn’t pass were left to die. At age seven the boys would leave for military school where they would be trained in warfare and survival. Many boys died during these years at the hands of their peers. When they turned 19 they were enlisted in the military where their parents would celebrate their military exploits and would wish for the highest honor of a son dying in battle. Children were born and breed for battle. Spartan society valued the masses, but not human life. However, it hasn’t been until the last few centuries and really decades that human life was valued the way it is today. Perhaps even over valued when one considers the reluctance to allow the terminally ill to die. However, the utter disregard for human life by the Spartans was a little extreme. As a parent, there is no such thing as a noble death of one of my sons. Each society and time in history has viewed parenting and the role of parents differently. However, despite the cultural philosophies affecting parents, what is born into our nature is to want what is best for our children.

Under the philosophical paradigms of western society during the last 100 years, this was no less true. What parents want for their kids is the best they can offer. If we took a detailed exploration of parenting over the past 100 years, however, it is sure to reveal greater degrees of paternal involvement, greater degrees of parent nurturing (even to a fault), less cohesion as a family unit, geographical and cultural differences in parenting styles, etc. But regardless of these specific changes over time in how parents parented, the goal has been the same as it has been forever. However, modernity did have a unique affect on parenting that is inconsistent with emerging postmodern paradigm. Modernity, in general, strived for absolutes and identity stability. In a postmodern world, absolutes and stable identities are just not going to fit. There are two things that I hope to have stated so far: (1) despite the radical differences in parenting and family structures over the course of human history, parents have generally wanted what is best for their child and (2) modernity had an impact on parenting that may be difficult to maintain in a world that doesn’t value absolutes and stable identities. Because of these two points I would avoid making any critical points about parenting in the 21st century. I would like to demonstrate that maintaining a modern view of parenting may cause unique frustrations and won’t necessarily make the child better off. Specifically, parenting from an institutional church paradigm is not worse parenting, but can cause frustrations for parents that are not necessarily beneficial.

Now that I hope that I have adequately contextualized that- the institutional church has not only found an effective marketing technique in promoting church as a family experience, but in the process it has radically betrayed the message of Christ which calls us to leave our family in order to follow Him. There is little argument that scripture also calls us to train our children in righteousness and that one of the founding values of Christ was community, but it goes completely against the gospel to equate Christian living with family values. The theology of the teachings of Jesus aside, when we hold to the idea that we will find some form of spiritual contentment in ensuring that the family unit remains stable then we negate the opportunity for Christ to work the way that He works best- in discomfort. Additionally, when we attempt to define the family by the values it holds and then places that value above that which it stands for, then Christ becomes a variable of the family unit rather than transformative catalyst in peoples’ lives.

Recently my wife and I have had to deal with a situation with my oldest son that has really tested us. Bryce is a special needs kid and trying to figure out the best strategy to help him succeed in school is an ongoing battle. Recently we have had to go through a new round of developing new strategies. Our actions in this process have not been dictated so much by my emerging theological beliefs, but by the same things that shape all parents decision: what is best for our child. However, my emerging theological beliefs have had an impact on what I think is best for Bryce. I continually pray for Bryce to experience life the way that I planned for him before he was born with a good job and family. And I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t care how smart, athletic, or popular he was. But when I reflect on who Bryce is, as well as who his brother Brennan is, I no longer primarily wish for a life free of struggle. I will always struggle along with them and hope for victory for them, but ultimately I pray that Christ is revealed in and through them in the midst of struggles. I pray that in each struggle that they encounter it brings them closer to understanding the grace of God. I pray that they are able to emerge from each battle with greater integrity and character. I pray that they are able to overcome sin, but more so that sin doesn’t overcome them. I pray not that I raise them to love me, but to love God. I pray not for them to be victorious and successful, but humble and compassionate. I pray not for stability, but for instability. And I pray not for me to teach them morality alone, but that I teach them to seek God and truth.

Contemporary Christian parenting is often marked by defining struggles, identifying sins, benchmarking behavior, valuing performance, and pursuing success. Even though as parents we obviously all want these things for our children, we also know that there are things that are more valuable. Modernity, specifically within Christianity, attempts to force us out of the greater work of development. Not only does modern parenting attempt us to negate that which we know is best, but creates a tension inside of us. Postmodernity allows us to reconsider that which is best and embrace values that we ultimately cherish more than success. Grant it, there are new challenges that must emerge in postmodern parenting such as appreciating the concrete cognitive abilities of our children and the need this creates for boundaries. But the institutional concept of what marks a healthy family are often inconsistent and cause frustrations for families who simply don’t have the energy to present their family as without blemishes or scars. I long for an image of family that may value many of the same things that the institutional church markets as family, but with greater honesty and transparency.

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I have to admit that when I started this blog I had originally wanted to see if I could pull these thoughts into a single, cohesive book format and see if I could get it published. I realize that the quality is not up to even my standards, but I would have been crazy to think that they would be up to a stranger’s standards, but I would say that being a writer is Dream Job #1. But as I explored the options I had uneasiness about it. Then when I realized that I would probably have to self-publish I knew that it wouldn’t work out. Not only did I not want to spend the money on publishing it with the knowledge that I would probably not make any money in the process, but the idea of having to market my own work went against the very things that caused me to want to write it in the first place. I thought that a blog would be great. I write what I want to write and not worry about how people responded to it. What developed was a journal that helped me work through some thoughts about my own faith. Knowing that it would be online helped keep me accountable to really think through it, but knowing that it was likely that no one would read it kept it personal. Because my goal was to write with the highest degree of integrity possible, I never installed a stats component. I would go back to it occasionally to see if anyone posted a comment, but I was unsure if anyone else was reading it. This gave me a lot of peace about it. Through this blog I have worked through my problems with the institutional church to deconstruction and a new word I just learned, polydoxy.

However, this past month sometime, Blogspot added a stats tab that gave me the opportunity to see how many times my blog was viewed and which country it was viewed from. After my last entry I was curious and went to see how many times my blog was viewed. I was not surprised that it didn’t break the stats counter, but I was disappointed. Quickly I realized that all of the sudden I was hoping that my blog was a success. I had never felt that before. This happens to coincide with my 40th titled entry. I have many more entries than that, but many are broken into parts. I have been doing this for over a year and have worked through many of my initial issues. Now I am to a place where I find myself writing for the blog. This doesn’t necessarily contradict with its intentions, but doesn’t necessarily jive with them either. So here I am, asking myself why I should continue to keep the blog. Who am I doing it for? What do I hope to gain from it? How do I avoid criticizing religious environments that I may soon find myself in? And even though I consider myself still in “recovery,” what is going to be the point of the blog now that I am no longer critical of the church, but critical of Christianity with renewed devotion to Christ?

DEATH SCARES ME TO DEATH

“According to most studies, people’s number one fear is of public speaking. Number two is death. Death is number two. Does that sound right? This means to the average person, if you go to a funeral, you’re better off in the casket than doing the eulogy.” (Jerry Seinfeld)

There are a lot of issues that I could work through when it comes to my fear of death that might ease my anxiety about. I could approach the issue from a very personal perspective and see how my own fears of worthlessness are manifested through my fear of death. (This one is probably true.) I could look at the issue from a generational perspective and reflect on how a fear of death was passed down to me through generations of fear of death. (I am not sure about this one.) Or I could look at it from a cultural perspective and reflect on how there is a general fear of death in the 21st century because families are less intergenerational and that people are typically not as familiar with death. (I believe this one is true.) But understanding why I am afraid of death no longer has much value to me. What I do know is that I am scared to death of death.

As a recovering Christian I have two possible positions from which to consider death: evangelical and postmodern. My evangelical upbringing put heaven at the core of my spiritual identity. Heaven was not only the reason to become a Christian, but is used to motivate all Christian behavior: from avoiding bad behavior to avoid hell or my rewards for good behavior which were stored in heaven. The hell talk eased off eventually, but heaven remained goal. Fear of death was seen as unreasonable since what is ahead of us after this life is bliss. You are reunited with your loves (assuming they were Christians too.) You live in a beautiful mansion (assuming you saved up your treasures.) You praised God all day (this is good assuming you like to sing praise music so you better learn to like it- or at least I was told.) Despite the fact that there is no real description of heaven in the bible, only metaphors, the evangelical church has created an elaborate reason why no one should fear death. The problem is that heaven as described by the evangelical church has largely been developed over the centuries by people wrestling with the same issues. In the Old Testament there is hardly any mention of the afterlife and no description of heaven. Evangelicals’ ideas about hell are made up of a few vague references to scripture, Dante’s Inferno, and Hollywood. In fact, at the time of Jesus, Judaism had four sects with only one believing in an afterlife. The rest believed that, like in the Old Testament, the Kingdom of God was only on earth and the only legacy we had after our death was in the children we left behind. And when Jesus does make the few references he makes toward heaven it is always done in private as if a mystery not yet to be understood. And the references that Paul made to heaven were more motivated by Greek philosophy and his attempt to align the two than by some divine understanding of the afterlife.

This brings me to the postmodern response. This is a response that I have found some value in, but for the most part appears to deal with questions about the afterlife by avoiding it. In order to align its own theological and philosophical ideas with the issues of death, most Christian-based postmodernism challenges us to suspend our fears of death in order to focus on the transformative power of Christ in this life. I whole-heartedly agree with this approach to a fear of death, but it is also a deliberate skirting of the issue. The reason why it is so hard to align postmodernism with the afterlife is because of the existential qualities of the philosophy. Because scripture is largely narrative, because each journey is unique, and because Christ’s ministry was largely social, a unified theology about heaven is unproductive and only hinders the Kingdom of God being revealed in this world the way Christ intends it to be and inhibits the individual from experiencing the mystery of God. Again, I agree completely. However, even though I agree with how the topic of the afterlife and Kingdom of God should be handled, the philosophical paradigm falls short when the topic of death emerges. In other words, even though I agree with the postmodern paradigm that heaven and the Kingdom of God are best experienced in the transformative experience of Christ and heaven is a mystery best experienced when it is time to experience it, death is awkwardly avoided.

I am jealous of those who don’t fear dying. I tend to believe that many of those people will fear it much more if it suddenly became a reality, but I do know that many people have a healthy perspective on the issue. I am also jealous of those who have comfort in a view of heaven that is story book in nature. Heck, they may be right. And I am jealous of those who can simply not think about death because they are too focused on this life. They are probably the best off. But there are those like me that struggle with a reasonable fear of death and have found little peace in theology or philosophy. Faith then becomes the topic. Not how should I view death or how can I describe the afterlife, but will I grow in faith despite not always knowing exactly why I should.

ON THE OTHER HAND

“On the other hand” (Tevye)

The musical Fiddler on the Roof takes place in the Russian village of Anatavke in 1905. The main character’s name is Tevye. He is a poor milkman with five daughters. The primary plot revolves around the engagement and marriages of his daughters. Tevye is proud of the traditions that shape his life and belief system, but he is also aware how much these traditions are rooted in not much more than tradition. His devotion to his traditions is challenges as each one of his eldest daughters becomes engaged. The tradition of the time was for a matchmaker to find a bride for a husband. However, the oldest daughter is in love with a childhood friend. When she finds that she has been promised to the town butcher, an older widower, she is mortified. Her young love goes to Tevye and asks for permission to act as his own matchmaker and asks for permission to marry his daughter. Tevye struggles because he knows he would be breaking the tradition but sees how much his daughter loves the young man and allows it. Later on, his next daughter and her love approach Tevye and announce their engagement to him. The young man is Jewish, but is not from the village and is a Marxist revolutionary. Tevye again struggles with allowing the engagement but allows it because he sees how much his daughter loves him. With this breaking of the traditions it went even further than the first time. This time the two didn’t ask for permission for marriage, only a blessing. Additionally, the young man was not as devout and not from the community. The third daughter then approaches her father about becoming engaged to her love. This time Tevye would even hear it. This young man isn’t even Jewish. They decide to get married anyway and Tevye disowns her for it. In one of the last scenes, after being forced out of their village and risking never seeing this daughter again, reluctantly shows that his love for his daughter was even greater than the breaking of his fundamental beliefs.

Tevye is faced with betraying the traditions he finds so much of his identity in and his beliefs that give him such comfort for the sake of honoring the love he has for his daughters. He strives for integrity in that he doesn’t want to simply betray his beliefs, but considers them to see if they are truth or nothing more than the way things are. At first it was easy. The matchmaker tradition was obviously not biblical, but did meet a cultural need. With the second challenge he was able to see that marrying outside of the community and to someone of radical ideas challenged his ideas about what community meant, but that it too was not unbiblical. With the third challenge, his daughter’s engagement to a Christian, it rocked his beliefs to the core. He couldn’t ever justify this. He only knew, eventually, that it was the right thing to do.

I feel that I have faced a similar challenge over the past few years. The evangelical paradigm I grew up with obviously caused me a lot of distress, but it was what I knew and loved. When I first began this journey that I am currently on toward a new paradigm, it involved issues that were relatively uncomplicated (while still volatile to many) such as my problems with tithing and use of church resources. Later it became more difficult to reconcile with my views on such things as homosexuality and what is truly meant by Christian perfection. Now I feel like Tevye being told that his daughter is marrying a Christian. I am reluctantly and cautiously embracing an image of God that is radically different than anything I have ever considered to be in the sphere of Christianity. However, if I am ever to ever embrace a narrative of God that I now understand to be much more real I have to let go of some of those beliefs. It isn’t that I am adopting new beliefs, but that beliefs are having to come second to relationship. Even though some of my beliefs about what is and is not true are changing (similar to Tevye and his dealing with the news of his first two daughters), my spiritual journey is facing its greatest challenge in the giving up of seeing my beliefs as what defines me as a Christian. Like Tevye, if I intend to experience the event the way I desire to experience it I will have to betray what I believe in order to discover what I know.