Peace Hacks

Many of my fellow Christians consider Robert E. Lee to be a devout believer, a strong leader. A good man. He spoke regularly to his troops about the mercies of God and the importance of compassion, begging them to eschew the spiritual poison of hatred. To a point, he believed everything that my camp believes about sin, salvation, morality, church gatherings, and, most importantly, the Bible.

“I prefer the Bible to any other book.There is enough in that, to satisfy the most ardent thirst for knowledge; to open the way to true wisdom; and to teach the only road to salvation and eternal happiness. It is not above human comprehension, and is sufficient to satisfy all its desires.”

His endorsement comforts us, especially in a time when Bible-believing Christianity is rapidly growing in unpopularity. We’ve managed to forgive his involvement in the Civil war, chattel slavery, and general resistance to America’s greatest abolition movement, as we have for many others who sacrificed everything for our freedom while patronizing America’s oldest sin.

But leaving aside the myriad debates on his merits as a human, it is important to note Robert Lee’s devout racism. He was a simple man, but utterly swept away by his culture’s belief that Blacks weren’t on equal footing with whites, in desperate need of the many benefits of slavery. Parroting Jefferson Davis, he wrote:

“The blacks are immeasurably better off here than in Africa, morally, socially & physically. The painful discipline they are undergoing, is necessary for their instruction as a race, & I hope will prepare & lead them to better things. How long their subjugation may be necessary is known & ordered by a wise Merciful Providence. Their emancipation will sooner result from the mild & melting influence of Christianity, than the storms &
tempests of fiery Controversy.”

According to many of his slaves, Lee was no stranger to harsh punishment. It was, to him, a necessary evil. As a Southerner, he marinated in the soul-numbing insanity of his world; whips, chains, lynchings, and the general degradation of the antebellum South. But to him, Blacks were so far afield that this was a requirement if they were to find any future prosperity.

How does a devout, upstanding, Bible-believing Christian come to the belief that such outright torture is some kind of blessing?

All of this is problematic for today’s Christian, illustrating a fundamental flaw in our ability to judge what is right and wrong. If God and the veracity of Christian faith are what we claim, shouldn’t it insulate us from this kind of evil? Sure, we’ll never be perfect, and culture has always been a powerful force, but slavery? How did so many of our spiritual forebears get swept away in such a repulsive current? And what does that say about the currents we find ourselves in today?

As America’s racial justice movement continues to plod forward, we find ourselves, once again, standing in opposition – a powerful adversary, utterly convinced of our righteous posture. After 4 years of the most Godless administration our 20-year-ago minds could ever imagine, we’ve politically segregated ourselves, now labelling this movement a tool of the enemy. A nation-damning liberal agenda.

We’re also one of the biggest cross-sections of American culture, convinced that COVID-19 lies somewhere between a hoax and nothing to worry about, or that the CDC’s infection/death rates are some kind of scam intended to overthrow a good president. To top it off, we attended a riot, storming the law and order that seemed to be much more important during the George Floyd protests of last summer.

Unfortunately, this won’t be the last you’ll hear from us.

We are astray, continuing to drive nails into the coffin of our legitimacy. But the root of our problem is not political, it’s theological, derived from our interpretation of multiple accounts in holy writ that suggest a connection between truth, God, and us. According to the New Testament, the very “Spirit of God,” or, “Holy Spirit,” rests upon anyone who is in a “right relationship” with God, occupying the deepest parts of their soul. The purpose of this union is to encourage, comfort, and guide the bearer in her understanding of what is good, right, wrong, etc.

Conservative Evangelicals aren’t the only ones who embrace this aspect of theology, commonly referred to as “pneumatology;” it is prevalent throughout millenia of Christian thought: St. Paul, Augustine, Eusebius, Martin Luther, Robert Lee, Billy Graham, MLK, Pope Francis, and Justin Bieber all share this belief.

The idea that a mere mortal can have such close connection with the head deity is unheard of in ancient religious thought. The Old Testament itself doesn’t play so loosely with its treatment of pneumatology. Though it foretells of a day when “the Spirit of God will be poured out unto all humanity,” these ancient Jewish scriptures only reserve its outpouring for the holiest people.

Many Evangelicals believe that this arrangement is free, available to anyone who wants it, but whatever payment is required in exchange is too expensive for us humans. So, God paid the bill, removing any barrier between us and Him. Whatever the Holy Spirit is, it is now available to everyone, without condition or limitation. By proxy, this annihilates the idea that one person is holier than another. All of humanity is now “worthy,” all merit systems are null and void.

But that’s a hard pill to swallow. It’s easier, and much more self-redemptive to believe that our station with God is earned. Any “right relationship” is the result of hard work, the right beliefs, moral heroics, advanced Bible knowledge, etc. It’s comforting to believe that we’re doing it better than everybody else, occupying the top of America’s spiritual food chain by little more than our own deeds, and that God has rewarded us. From here, we slip quietly into the idea that we’re better, cleaner, smarter, and, for this discussion, more politically savvy than everyone else.

This clears the way for a legion of unholy ideas (what the Bible also calls “spirits”) to enter our heads. Emboldened by our belief about God, Spirit, and truth, and greased by our many iterations of segregation, the errant Christian mind goes unchallenged. Ideas that don’t find their origin within our camp clearly didn’t originate with God, and must be fake. Now, anyone who doesn’t think like we do has become the enemy, and the only people who’ll listen to us are us.

This has gotten so bad that our politics and activism scare people, who in turn scare us. We’re convinced, more than we’ve ever been, that the non-Christian world poses some kind of threat. As such, any politician who’ll speak our language, oppose abortion, and utter the sacred words, “ALL LIVES MATTER!” while fondling our most coveted religious symbol will garner immediate trust.

And so we remain, even after the Capitol riot, a fundamental cog in Donald Trump’s support base. I’m as baffled by this as everyone else. Again, if we’re as right about the Holy Spirit as we think we are, shouldn’t we be insulated from such miscalculation?

Robert E. Lee’s Bible says no. Scripture warns us about the leaven of stupidity and our general potential for error much more frequently than it addresses pneumatology. But a misplaced faith in our ability to discern truth is powerfully seductive; a fundamental part of our culture, our identity. It sets us apart from non-Christians and makes our world seem safer, more controllable.

We won’t be letting go of it anytime soon.

Robert Lee’s picnic on the Devil’s lawn should warn us, in tandem with Evangelicalism’s decline into rabid unpopularity and myriad other examples of faith in error throughout history – that we are just as capable of batting for the wrong team as anyone else.

Maybe more so, because in one, single regard, our error is different than everyone else’s. It is sanctioned by God.

Elaine and I don’t have any plans to integrate our kids back to in-person learning anytime soon. As the CDC continues to post some pretty alarming COVID stats, we’ve decided to stay locked down for the rest of the school year, barring any surprises. But, among others, I mourn for my kids. They miss their friends, their teachers, and the general feng shui of school that’s become such a part of their lives.

As an at-home parent of school-aged children, I miss my time off.

On the upside, the kids are killing it. Every morning, they rush downstairs to eat breakfast, talk my pre-caffeinated soul half to death, then back upstairs to jump on their computers and begin the day.

After all is quiet, I grab a cup of coffee and sit down to write. Around 9:00, Hannah runs downstairs to grab a snack, tell me something awesome about school, then run back upstairs to sit for another hour or so. About 5 minutes later, Amara does the same. It’s adorable.

At the end of the day, I get an earful about the things they’ve learned, funny stuff their classmates said, etc. Their level of excitement is nothing short of baffling. While I’m proud of them, none of this would be happening without their teachers who’ve tirelessly faced the headaches of online learning every day since this mess started. Now, they’re dealing with online and in-person learning – an entirely new level of hardship. I couldn’t do it. I don’t many who could. These folks aren’t just showing up, they’re bringing a level of energy and optimism that I struggle to find on my best days, even during cocktail hour.

Without their energy and commitment, things would be much more difficult.

No doubt that the kids benefit the most from this, but I’m writing to tell you how this has been hitting me. Pandemic lockdown is one of the most depressing eras I’ve ever experienced – I can’t think of a more downer period in my brief history here. If I had to home-school the kids, or worse, fight with them throughout the day about sitting behind a computer for hours, I’m not sure how long I’d last.

I don’t know what drives these people beyond a sincere desire to teach and to impact the lives of our kids. Even when things were “normal” it seemed like a long row to hoe, especially considering the average teacher’s salary.

Either way, if you’re one of these badass warriors, even one who’s not teaching my kids, I want to thank you. There are a few groups of people who are keeping our world stitched together right now and the teaching community is one of them. You are making a huge difference in all of our lives.

I’m sorry that our kids aren’t dressed a bit better for class – we operate under a don’t-show-up-naked sort of principle right now. And I apologize for all the times you’ve seen me in my bathrobe. I’m struggling to find much meaning in daytime clothes at the moment.

But rest assured that we are beyond OK. You’ve done so much to make this past year tolerable for us parents, and I have hope that, when this is all over, we’ll be fine. I hope the same for you, but I do worry that this past year – and the months to come – will have an impact on your desire to teach. As a Christian, I see you as a gift from God, cheezy as that sounds, and I pray that you’ll get through this.

Thank you so much for everything you do.

 

 

Photo by Thomas Park at Unsplash

I recently started reading (again) Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth. It’s been awhile since the last time I read it, and a friend asked my opinion, so I thought I’d pay it another visit.

It’s a good book; well written, full of stories about ancient Judaism that I had never heard. And man was it popular when it came out. We love a good book that challenges the roots and origins of Christianity, especially if there’s some kind of conspiracy involved.

And if there’s anything that needs to be challenged these days…

Author Reza Aslan argues that the Gospel accounts in your favorite Bible translations can’t possibly be relied upon for an accurate account of first-century Christianity, especially the life and times of Jesus. His fundamental point, from which everything spins, is that the books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were written much later than the accounts they detail, so late that they couldn’t possibly have been written by anyone who walked with Jesus.

From there he concludes that these stories were invented by a Christian community that must’ve lived sometime in the 2nd century. But that’s OK, we don’t need the Bible to figure out what Jesus is like. We know, from the Jewish historian Josephus and one other archeological piece of evidence, that Jesus was real, and that He was crucifed for leading some form of insurrection against Rome. And we know a ton about first century Jewish culture. Armed with this, we don’t need the Bible, the story of Jesus tells itself.

The book’s fundamental weakness is that it is yet another modern reconstruction of Jesus that relies solely on a late dating of the Gospels. Having gotten these out of the way, Jesus can be whoever we want Him to be.

It’s irksome when scholars and authors only give us one side of the story, throwing in a fair bit of emotion to make their point. It’s one thing to attempt to tell the truth, it’s another thing entirely to package it.

In the author’s defense, there are plenty of erudite, well-heeled, PhD-level New Testament scholars who would date the book of John, for example, at or around 130 C.E. And because it’s en vogue to tell a “late date” story with regards to the Bible, or anything else that might cast a shade of doubt, you won’t have any problems researching this perspective.

But rest assured that there are plenty of other erudite, well-heeled, PhD New Testament scholars that give the Gospel accounts a much earlier date, so early in fact that it’s possible they were written by people who could’ve been alive in 30 C.E. But you have to dig a bit to find their stuff – resources that support the veracity of scripture, again, aren’t popular in our culture, nor is anything that lands in favor of Bible-believing Christianity.

One of the arguments for an early date revolves around something that happened in 70 C.E., a catastrophic event that would’ve reverberated through the hearts and minds of God’s people for hundreds of years to come.

At the time, Rome had riot fatigue, baffled by the zealous devotion of Israel’s religious folk and their willingness to die for God and country. Following the Jerusalem riots of 66, the Romans had their fill, destroyed Jerusalem, and, worst of all, razed the temple to the ground. This is problematic for a first-century Jewish mind because the temple was believed to be the very house of God. It didn’t merely serve as some kind of representation of God’s dwelling place, it was is, in very literal terms, His home.

How could God allow this? Is He not real? Does He care anymore? You can imagine the effect. Everything revolved around the temple and what it represented. Its destruction was the worst thing an ancient Jewish person could fathom.

How is it that this doesn’t make it into any part of the New Testament? Jesus warned his followers about the coming destruction, but nobody mentions it, including Luke in his account of the early Christian church. If the New Testament was penned post-70 C.E., by Jewish authors, this event would have to be mentioned somewhere. It doesn’t even make it into John’s book of “revelation.”

In addition, if the book of John was written sometime around 130 C.E., why is the oldest fragment of that book dated at or around the same time? It’s doubtful that this small fragment is part of THE original copy of John’s book, but rather a copy of a copy of a copy, and should by definition be much older if the author penned it in the middle parts of the second century.

See how I did that? I didn’t mention that there are multiple discussions about this fragment (P52), that the only thing scholars agree on is that it was written between the mid-second and third centuries C.E. I also used words like “much more,” and “doubtful” to leverage your emotions in concert with whatever trust I have with you. Folk who write this way, myself included, aren’t interested in you going off to further study the issue.

Aslan’s book is full of this.

As I said earlier, there’s more to the argument, plenty on both sides to think about. But the idea that the dating of the Gospel accounts has been laid to rest is false, as is the claim, in my opinion, that they can’t be relied upon for historical fact.

What irks me further is that the author of Zealot, having convinced us that the Gospels are completely unreliable, refers to them in multiple places throughout his book to make historical points about the life and times of Jesus, while simultaneously reminding his readers that these stories are mere fabrications. Which one is it?

Plenty has been written in the same vein, but this one’s at the top of my list of annoying Jesus reads. Take away the idea that the Gospels were written late, and Aslan’s portrait of Jesus falls apart, especially given the fact that he goes back into the accounts and cherry picks the stories that he likes the most.

To the dating of the Gospels, if this is an interesting topic for you, look into it. You might’ve heard plenty from the multitude of “late date” scholars, but until we can articulate the other side of any argument, we haven’t understood the issue, or had any meaningful dialogue with the truth.

To that, some resources. Always happy to debate in the comments below if you’d like to take the discussion further.

Reinventing Jesus by Dan Wallace

Who Change the Bible and Why? by Yours Truly

The Historical Reliability of the Gospels by Craig Blomberg

When Was Acts Written? by Darrel Bock

 

Photo Credit: Juli Kosolapova at Unsplash.com