Peace Hacks

I don’t answer the door when someone knocks; lots of sales people and others go through our neighborhood on a regular basis. I usually check the doorbell camera, verify that it’s a stranger, and wait till they go away. Yesterday, I couldn’t find my phone, so I opened the door to two young women, modestly dressed, asking if I know what happens when I die, or something like that.

I told them that I was happy to talk, but they wouldn’t get anywhere, and that I can sometimes be a bully when it comes to theology. They looked at me with a very kind, accepting, “bring it, fool” kind of look, so I grabbed my coffee and we began our tussle.

I threw a few quick philosophical jabs, but they were quickly parried, so I went in for the haymaker, asking, “How is one made right with God?” This is where evangelicals and Jehovah’s Witnesses widely differ.

Most brands of Christianity – Mormon, Catholic, etc. – can’t find agreement here.

For students of the bible, it’s complicated: we all agree that Jesus died on the cross to remove the sins of humanity on some level. But does that apply to everybody? Only the devout? Only certain sins?

My JW friends told me that one has to behave in order to make it to heaven. It doesn’t matter what you believe, or what religious mandates you adhere to. Without good behavior, you’re screwed. I don’t agree, but tried to be respectful and listen, trying to keep my bully impulses in check.

I brought up St. Paul’s view of how one gets right with God, one that’s much more universal in its scope (my paraphrase):

In the exact same way that sin came into the world through Adam, and affected all people, justification (the removal of sin) came into the world, affecting the exact same people, through Jesus Christ. ~ Romans 5:18-19

My friends were quick to point to a few other scriptures that seem to peddle a much more conditional message, but at this point I got frustrated, not because they didn’t agree with me, but because this is one of the clearest passages to address salvation, sin, etc. It should take center stage when we talk about this stuff. Instead, us bible folk gravitate towards beliefs that put us in the driver’s seat.

Paul’s passage addresses the problem of sin and compares it directly to what Jesus did on the cross. According to him, sin entered all of humanity – dead, alive, and yet to be born –  through the sin of one man. If you’re human, sin is on you, there’s nothing you can do to get rid of it. Jesus came along and somehow removed sin, that too affecting all people, regardless of religion, race, caste, moral code, personal choice, etc.

There is no religion that proposes anything close to this.

To folks who believe in God, sin, bible, etc., it’s really good news. To the Jewish people of Jesus’s day, it would be unthinkable. According to their faith, it was only through the blood sacrifice of animals that sin could be removed, and that was only available to devout Jewish people.

Paul and others compared Jesus’ very bloody death to this sacrificial system, claiming that, in his death, no more sacrifice is needed, all sins have been forgiven, washed away, like they never existed.

Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world. ~ John 1:29

For some reason, this isn’t what gets preached. Us religious folk love our conditions, rites, rules, procedures, tribal adherence. When it comes to the removal of sin, every expression of Christianity has their own brand of “if you do X, you’ll be right with God.”

Evangelicals do this too: sin isn’t removed until one believes that Jesus died on the cross to remove one’s sins. That’s why, in our discussions about faith, we gently push people to a “decision point” where they acknowledge their sin and express faith in Jesus’ remedy. Depending on the brand of evangelicalism, one might have to embrace a few other theological points, maybe even some politics, before they’ll be considered a “believer.”

From God’s perspective, all sin, regardless of what the sinner believes, has been forgiven. There are no conditions, requirements, behavioral adjustments, further sacrifices, etc. that are required.

If you’re going to go door-to-door, gettin’ weird with people you’ve never met, wouldn’t this be a much easier message to peddle? You’d still get rejected, but not nearly as much; it’s one that few are peddling, and it’s actually good news.

To my Christian friends, before you accuse me of heresy, or making salvation too easy, remember the most violent thing that Jesus said to his God-fearing detractors who were guilty of conditional salvation:

If anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to stumble, it would be better for them to have an extremely large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea. ~ Matthew 18:6

The religious leaders of Jesus’ day had made a racket out of salvation, placing all manner of barriers between God and the people who wanted to be close to him. Again, that spirit is alive and well in modern Christianity because the “free and easy” way to salvation is anathema to us. Surely there are requirements and conditions. Doesn’t God care about things like obedience, correct theology, and righteous living?

Ultimately, Jesus didn’t warn people about making salvation too easy, he warned them about making it too hard, placing conditions in front of people who would otherwise be intimately close to him.

If I suffered the way Jesus did in order to clear all obstacles between me and those I hold dear, I’d get upset too if someone went around, claiming to be my representative, rebuilding the walls that I just knocked down.

Therefore, to the door-to-door crowd, or to anyone who wants to talk about Jesus, instead of some cutesy introductory topic that’s going to sound weird anyway, say this:

Hi, my name is __________ and I have an important message for you: all of your sins have been wiped clean, removed, obliterated. There are now no barriers between you and God. Everything has been forgiven, even the stuff you haven’t perpetrated yet. You are now free to have an intimate relationship with Him, full of the hope and peace that I’ve found there. Would you like to hear more? No? Cool, I’ll get off your porch.

I can’t tell you how many people need to hear that God has forgotten their most horrible perpetrations. This would get much more traction than standing on someone’s porch with a look on your face like you want to suck the life out of them for the next 30 minutes.

Sure, there are a great many other people who have no interest in God whatsoever, and our awkward, time sucking presence on the entryway to their home isn’t going to change that, no matter the message. Might as well make this as easy as the scriptures will allow, have many, many more conversations, and stay out of trouble with Jesus.

 

Photo by Andrik Langfield on Unsplash

In College (circa late 90’s in Lubbock, Texas), I took a part-time job as a fiberglass repair person in a boat shop. That kind of work in any part of the world is miserable – a little past miserable in the West Texas heat.

My boss was a devout Christian who made frequent attempts to convert me. I did my best to listen, but a) thought he was crazy and b) wasn’t interested in sacrificing my frat-boy lifestyle to something that looked really boring. I was having a good time and didn’t want anyone to ruin it.

According to my Catholic upbringing, God loved me, but also got really mad when I broke his rules, necessitating confession, church attendance, and a few other activities aimed at the remediation of my sins. That sounded boring too, and I couldn’t reconcile the apparant love/hate thing that the Catholic God had for me, so I bailed sometime around early adolescence.

About halfway through my senior year, on a quick visit to Dallas (home), I witnessed the shooting death of my best friend (I’ve written about it a few times – don’t want to re-burden you with the details). I then spent a week or so with local law enforcement folks, then back to Lubbock with a much-changed, far less confident perspective on how the world works. It’s an understatement to say that the party had ended.

A couple of years later I entered a serious relationship with a Baptist girl whose devotion exceeded that of my boat shop boss’. While her attempts at my salvation weren’t well received, I finally gave in the day she broke off our relationship.

Emotionally, I was at the end of my rope; depressed, traumatized, ready to quit in every way a person can quit if you know what I mean. On my way home from the breakfast buffet where she dumped me, I decided to give the God thing a try. I had tried everything else up to this point and felt that there was nothing to lose. I made a deal of sorts, promising that I’d give God whatever he wanted if he would just come get me.

William Wilberforce put well into words what happened next. He used the phrase “strangely warmed” to describe his experience. In a similar encounter, the famous hymn “It is Well with My Soul” was penned by Horatio Spafford shortly after his 4 daughters were killed in a collision at sea. On his journey to retrieve his grieving wife, near the spot where his daughters died, he encountered something that left him with an unexplainable hope:

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to know
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

History is full of would-be God-snubbers who experienced something they couldn’t walk away from: C.S. Lewis, Martin Luther, Blaise Pascal, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Alice Cooper, and many others came to faith through some mixture of reason and tangible encounter.

A friend of mine experienced the same, and says it felt like he was swimming in “warm Jell-o” when it happened, though he’s quick to admit how weird that sounds.

For me, weird it was: I went from the most depressed, hopeless moment of my life to the kind of joy that makes you cry. You might be tempted to chalk this up to some kind of manic episode brought on by PTSD followed by the loss of a hot girlfriend, but I’ve never been manic, and I knew that our relationship wasn’t good. It had to end at some point.

On that morning, I encountered something that, to this very discouraging, complicated, difficult day, stands as a 20-ton stone of remembrance that will not be moved. Since then, I’ve had similar encounters; moments of desperation and hopelessness attended by a strangely human presence, like home, with people in it – a place where I am known, where I can feel my own weight, and have no problem believing that all is, or shortly will be, well.

Theology (humanity’s attempts to make sense of God) is important, but I’m not sold out to this Christian stuff because of the bible, or my theological understandings. God continues in this tangible relationship, especially when things feel impossible. Even when he seems distant and for whatever reason forces me sit in such painful moments, I have assurance that the recourse I could never deserve still belongs to me and is on the way.

This is where Jesus’ crucifixion comes in handy, inconvenient as it was for him. Because a sacrifice was made that removes every sin I could ever commit, and every barrier between he and I, I can’t feel guilty in these moments. To focus on my sin (or anyone else’s) in light of what Jesus did to get rid of it would be the definition of faithlessness.

Because the work that I could never do has been accomplished, my job in these moments is to believe that I am somehow worthy of God’s presence. I don’t have to worry about the legion of mistakes/sins/outright rebellions that I’ve perpetrated against me/God/everyone else.

Having this relationship means that I have a relationship with hope, peace, forgiveness, compassion, mercy, and all-around life that I didn’t have before. When things go grim, I am no longer forced to turn to remedies that are the opposite of hope, peace, forgiveness, compassion, mercy, life, etc. Sometimes I have to wait – to sit with whatever pain sits with its claws extended in my lap – but time after time, when I’ve chosen to wait (I don’t always), the warm Jell-O shows up with all the stuff that comes with it.

If this sounds like religious mumbo jumbo to you, it should, as should the idea of God taking on the form of a human and walking with other humans for a few decades. The existence of God alone should turn your brain’s stomach.

But if there is a God who is responsible for the creation of the cosmos, there will by definition be things that won’t make sense to us – his ken would be much bigger than ours There would be at least a few things that would assault our cognitive hubris.

Personally, I don’t need to see or understand how all the pieces fit. Like a 3 year old confronted with nuclear physics, I don’t have the ability to make sense of the cosmos. If I try to force the pieces together, I either have to deny science, or reject the idea that God intervenes miraculously in this world. I choose instead to accept the mountain of tension that follows from allowing both to occupy my ontology.

On having a relationship with Jesus, my personal experience is proof enough that this is real. It’s been real over the past 30 years; I believe that the next 30 will be the same.

Without this – pardon the drama – I wouldn’t be married. I definitely wouldn’t have 3 kids. I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t be here. I struggle just as much as anyone else with unbelief, but these personal, tangible, intimate, hopeful moments keep piling up, making it more and more difficult to reject the idea that Jesus is real, that he is God, and that he wants to be as close to me as I’ll allow.

Not sure where to begin on this one.

During and following the Trump administration, I’ve penned many scathing critiques of what I’ve called “hate speech.” On several occasions, Trump took the podium and attempted to convince his followers that, basically, anyone who doesn’t support him is a threat to this country. I’ll offer as example/proof some words from his January 6th magnum opus:

“Our country has had enough. We will not take it anymore…”

“We’re gathered together in the heart of our nation’s capital for one very, very basic and simple reason: To save our democracy”

“…our country will be destroyed and we’re not going to stand for that.”

“…you’ll never take back our country with weakness. You have to show strength and you have to be strong.”

“Our country has been under siege for a long time.”

“They want to indoctrinate your children. It’s all part of the comprehensive assault on our democracy.”

“They’re ruthless and it’s time that somebody did something about it.”

“…if you don’t fight like hell, you’re not going to have a country anymore.”

Technically, none of that is hate speech; it’s not aimed at a particular race, religion, gender expression, etc. But the content is there. If you simply change the target, nobody would argue that these words qualify as completely inappropriate. At the least, we can call it “political hate speech,” and because of the way it’s still being deployed by the Trump machine, nobody should be wondering why our nation is more divided than it’s been in our lifetime.

If you’re the leader of a country who’s first name is “United,” political hate speech should be avoided at all costs.

I shouldn’t have to say that.

Sadly, a few days ago, Joe Biden followed suit, warning America of the MAGA crowd, accusing them of many things unbecoming a patriot. Before I unpack why I think his speech is completely inappropriate, I’ll say that I’m not a fan of the MAGA mob either. They’re angry and segregated, struggling to understand the difference between what America needs most and what will continue to tear us apart.

Sure, beyond sheer volume, there are some differences between Biden’s speech and Trump’s; Biden attempted to level his critique at the specifically “extreme MAGA” people, who allegedly make up a small percentage of republican America. But then he went on to say that republican America is dominated by MAGA thinking. Which one is it?

Regardless, the reader is left thinking that the MAGA crowd is huge, and dangerous.

I know some of these people. A relatively small percentage of them have completely lost their minds, maybe characterizing them as dangerous is spot on. But most of them are good people trying to make sense of a world that has gotten extremely complicated. Sure, I rip on them constantly about how they’ve segregated themselves, and I’ve challenged them many times on the various ways that political segregation saps the life out of political objectivity. Few have listened, but I’m not ready to call them the biggest threat to our democracy.

The biggest threat to democracy is division, and bullshit speeches like Biden’s September 1st address are driving it like nothing else. We shouldn’t put up with this, although I’m not sure what action to take.

If you’re a conservative Trump supporter, before you say “Amen!” you’re compelled to consider the similarly divisive speeches uttered from the MAGA king, and why you’ve been silent about it. If Biden has sinned here, so has Trump, only much more frequently.

Since Trump was elected, I promised to be as critical of liberals as I am of conservatives. I’ll admit that I’m much more likely to rip on the people who don’t think like I do, and I struggle with objectivity like everyone else does, but political segregation and political hate speech are the sins that I’m most concerned with.

We can critique each other. We can even accuse and blame if we have some data to back our position. But once we move from specific actions into characterizing a large group of people as evil, we’ve crossed a line that no politican should cross.

Joe Biden crossed a line.

Let us be reminded, especially us Christian folk, that political division doesn’t work. Any leader, influencer, media outlet, or mega-mouthpiece that peddles it should know better, and immediately repent. Sadly, Biden’s speech is further evidence that we’re simply going to travel further down this road.

To my conservative brothers and sisters, I love y’all. I appreciate our years-long friendship and all the ways that being Christian in both liberal and conservative churches has helped me to find the life I’m looking for. I can’t say that I’m not frustrated with your Trump support, but I don’t consider you to be some scourge on our country.

To the president of the UNITED States, get your shit together, bro.

 

Photo by Brandon Mowinkel on Unsplash