Thinking-Christianly

The fifth summary statement from Christian Smith’s summary of the religious beliefs of American youth deals with eternal destiny. He concluded from his research that a predominate belief was that good people go to heaven when they die.

We like absolute, unbending standards—but only when they serve our interest. We want our processed foods to be free from foreign matter. We want our manufactured goods to function as advertised and not fail. We want any financial transaction to guarantee us that we receive every penny due to us and nothing less. We want employers, builders, electricians, retailers, regulatory agencies, and other entities to meet all the requirements we demand of them to provide the goods and services we desire and expect.

When it comes to God and religious ideals, relativity rules. We immediately invoke a double-standard. We do not want a deity who applies clear and unbending standards to us. If he loves us, we require that he tolerate whatever degree of deviation from his moral purity that we find useful. It is our good intentions, not our behavior, that counts. It’s our ability to rightly condemn the flawed behavior in others or in society that demonstrates to God we have an understanding of the difference between right and wrong. Living up to that standard is not required. All that is required is a reasonable attempt to live more righteously than those whose behavior we detest. And if we live up to our nebulous expectations most of the time, we believe God is obligated to welcome us into an eternal kingdom of peace, safety, and fulfillment.

This undefined standard of relative goodness is found nowhere in scripture. The revelation of God to man was provided in part to eliminate this kind of deadly speculation about what God may or may not require. The Ten Commandments and Christ’s Sermon on the Mount reflect an exacting standard of moral perfection that is the requirement for eternal life. James 2:10 states, “For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it.” Contrary to the modern view, the Bible insists that our very best is never good enough. Unless we can match the perfect holiness of God himself, we are unworthy to share in his presence and his kingdom.

The solution to that “impossible dilemma” is tied to the person and work of Christ, who made it possible for us to exchange our damnation for his righteousness. (See Colossians 2:13-14.)

Self-effort simply won’t cut it. The myth that we can meet God’s standards on our own ignores the evil that infects our choices, motives, attitudes and actions. It makes a mockery of the holiness of God. It transforms Jesus into a religious symbol. Worst of all, it allows us to live in the illusion that our fate is determined by our wishes and desires rather than by the words of the one who made us.

There is a tendency in the human heart to be indifferent toward God when life is reasonably pleasant and satisfying. He moves to the periphery of our thinking, replaced by immediate gratification that revolves around success, affluence, rewarding relationships, health, and feel-good moments. One of the qualities that made Job stand out from others in the introduction to the book was that he was devout in his commitment to God in the midst of his affluence and abundant living. Good times tend to estrange us from God because pleasant circumstances can insulate our hearts from the awareness that we need him and are in fact sustained by him.

This tendency is reflected in Christian Smith’s study of the religious values of American youth. He notes that one of the values is that God does not need to be particularly involved in one’s life except when God is needed to resolve a problem. This flavor of “Christianity” encases God in one of those red and glass compartments that contains a fire extinguisher. There he waits, eager to rescue us from an unwise choice or an unexpected calamity. At other times he’s disengaged and content to give us full reign to live our lives on the basis of our own wisdom, knowledge, morals, and values. He is too polite to intrude as long as we are somewhat satisfied with our circumstances. The trigger mechanism that breaks the glass is our personal discontent or pain. When it reaches a level that we are dissatisfied, we extract God from his confinement and make the appropriate request for him to fix the circumstances so that we can enjoy life again.

This approach to God attempts to transform the sovereign of the universe into a genie in a bottle. We are not his subjects; he belongs to us. We do not exist to further his agenda; he exists to fulfill ours. He is not the chief player in the story of the world; each of us are the stars of our own show, and he steps on stage at our bidding.

The fallout from this attitude (in and outside the church) is twofold. First, it reduces God to a cosmic butler. We hold the sovereign rule of our lives in our own hands, unchallenged by the declarations of scripture to the contrary. This perpetuates the illusion that we (1) see life and ourselves clearly without divine help, (2) were created to live in an independent and largely autonomous relationship with God, and (3) God is subservient to our whims, moods, and preferences.

The second consequence is anger. It’s fashionable these days, even among religious people, to harbor great anger toward God. When we smash the glass and release God to rescue us from the evils of the world, his response may not be what we desire. So we question his love, berate him for his indifference, or threaten to abandon him for other worldly ideologies because he does not serve our agenda to our satisfaction.

This upside-down thinking only impoverishes us. It inverts the natural relationship we were designed to have with the God who exists, and abandons us to an island of our own making where we pretend to be our own mini-divinity. We will not taste reality until we reverse the roles and live in submission to our creator and redeemer.

The primary goals that we choose have an enormous impact on the way we approach daily living. The third observation Christian Smith and his team made about the religious beliefs of American young adults focused on the key purpose of life. He summarized the driving objective as the goal “to be happy and to feel good about oneself.”

This conclusion demonstrates the degree to which the culture, not the Bible, has framed the way many look for meaning in their lives. Happiness itself is a vague objective. Happiness can derive from altruistic and kind hearts. A grandmother can be happy to help her granddaughter bake cookies or learn the capitals of the states. A parent can find happiness in helping their neighbor finish a concrete patio. But happiness is not necessarily linked to that which is moral or good. Some are happy when those they dislike suffer and feel great pain. Some are happy to see rich people become poor and successful people fail. Others are happy when they achieve their own goals, regardless of the cost or morality involved. A drug dealer can be happy that his lawyer found a loophole that allows him to return to his network and dispense drugs to the neighborhood.

The pursuit of happiness is not only vague, it’s also fleeting. Feelings of happiness evaporate like water on an asphalt parking lot under the heat of a summer sun. Such feelings have to be constantly renewed and replaced. This pursuit can take on a breathless dimension as nothing seems to fill the inner void for very long. Like an addictive drug, it demands an increasing amount of input to achieve the same high. The success, praise, achievements, and pleasures of yesterday are often not enough for tomorrow. The milestones that brought happiness yield to boredom, and more is needed.

Scripture warns about the pursuit of happiness as an end in itself. 1 Timothy 5:6 states, “But the widow who lives for pleasure is dead even while she lives.”

The other value listed in the survey was the goal of feeling good about myself. Robert Schuler called self-esteem the new reformation. Though theologically incorrect, this assertion has come to describe the mood of many in our culture. It’s no longer about what God thinks as he looks at my life, my attitudes, my habits, and my words. It’s how I feel about myself that really counts. God’s role as judge and arbiter has been usurped by the self. I’m accountable to me. God is in the shadows.

If my standards are low enough and my denial of reality is strong enough, I can justify almost any behavior and be very well pleased with the way I live my life. This approach frees me from measuring my life against the model and the words of Christ, or the teachings of God in the New Testament. This is tempting thinking for all of us who seek to be Christ-followers. It offers the illusion of success and growth without the hard work. It does not require mortification (self-death) to the things in my life that are evil or distortions of the truth. It rescues me from grief over my own sin and frustration at bad habits that dishonor God. It saves me from the anguish Paul felt when he cried out, “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?” (See Romans 7:24.)

Though these two pursuits fit well with the modern mindset, they nullify the formation of spiritual life in the soul because they disconnect the meaning of life from the holiness and perfection of God who speaks through the brokenness and calls us to himself.

The second premise of moralistic therapeutic deism is that God wants us to be good, nice and fair to each other. While these behavioral goals seem admirable, they are misleading. The concept of “nice” often conveys the notion of being inoffensive. It lacks the positive moral zeal and passion that characterized Moses, Daniel, Jeremiah, Jesus, and Paul.

The Bible does not call us to be “nice” in that sense. It summons us to a moral righteousness that is marked by excellence and radical determination to honor God with all that we do. The command to love God with our heart, soul, mind and strength surpasses the concept of nice as commonly used today. It’s not nice to confront evil, to advocate moral standards that call into question the prevailing sentiment of the moment, or to insist that God’s revelation in scripture is built on better manuscript, archaeological, and historical evidence than the Book of Mormon.

The concept of “nice” removes the strong moral backbone from biblical Christianity, leaving behind a jellyfish type of goodness that cannot speak against the decay that creeps into an individual life or a culture. It abandons the loftier goals of pursuing holiness, aspiring toward moral excellence, and crucifying the self in order to no longer to be a slave to sin. (See Romans 6:6.) We can be “nice” relative to the values of the moment. But these are shaped by our culture rather than God. They do not promote the kind of pursuit of purity that reflects the heart and character of God.

There is little objectivity here as well. How many of the Ten Commandments can one ignore and still qualify as “nice”? Or to what degree do we have to practice honesty and still be regarded as good? If we lie only 8% of the time, is our behavior superior enough to most to qualify as good or nice? If we satisfy the expectations of most of the people around us, have we done all we need to do?

Another flaw of this attitude is that is assumes we can attain this level of moral behavior on our own. It’s within our grasp. With some significant effort we can meet this relative standard and acquire good standing before God and men. The historic calamity that the Bible calls a “Fall” is but a stumble. The infection of sin is not the deadly spiritual HIV that the Bible declares it to be. It’s more like a common cold that we succumb to from time to time, but generally live free from whenever we try to do good and be fair toward others. Jesus demand that our righteousness exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees no longer applies. (See Matthew 5:20.) With a little effort we can please God on our own. We may need some occasional help from time to time, but in general we have the task well in hand. And if our struggle is too painful, we can always redefine goodness to match what feels to be a more realistic approach in the moment.

This approach, though it sounds pleasant, ignores the devastating reality of sin and the frightening call to holiness that are part of the revelation of God in scripture. In doing so, it whitewashes the leprosy that will kill us and obscures the holiness of God.

When Christian Smith and his team did a study of the religious beliefs of American youth, he concluded that their faith is best described as “Moralistic Therapeutic Deism.” I’d like to interact with his observations in this blog and a few to follow.

He summarized this belief in 5 statements:

1. “A god exists who created and ordered the world and watches over human life on earth.”
2. “God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and by most world religions.”
3. “The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.”
4. “God does not need to be particularly involved in one’s life except when God is needed to resolve a problem.”
5. “Good people go to heaven when they die.”

The first statement reflects the deism of much of Christianity. It’s the belief that we are the movers and shakers of our own time, and that God is passive, shadowy, and confined to the footnotes of daily life. Christians today may not officially agree with the humanism that puts man at the center of life, but we often put God at the periphery nonetheless. The God who “watches over” life on earth is a spectator. He is no longer the central figure. His hands are not on the steering wheel of human events. We are in the driver’s seat, and we determine where to steer the vehicle.

Is it any wonder that today’s church is so prone to anxiety? As we look at complex economic, military, political, and ecological systems that dwarf any of us, it’s easy to feel powerless to effect any meaningful change. If we can organize to leverage these institutions, maybe there is hope. But unless we have the right amount of clout, we cannot do much. So we worry. Or we give power into the hands of leaders who promise to act on our behalf. Our optimism fluctuates with the political and economic trends, and we become a reflection of the culture’s mood.

The deistic flavor to our Christian faith parallels the perspective of the Jews in the time of the Judges. They cried to God for intervention when life’s circumstances became intolerable. But when God sent relief, they assumed that they could again rely on themselves to keep the positive momentum moving forward and build from there.

This God-of-the-last-resort mentality is difficult to abandon, because we treasure our independence and our place in center stage. It gives us the illusion of living our lives as followers, but in reality we take the lead and invite God to shadow our decisions and choices as Tonto followed the Lone Ranger. Our challenge is to worship a bigger God, not one who is dwarfed by the systems, philosophies, and pursuits of modern humanity.

One of the most frequent claims leveled against those who believe in absolutes is the charge of hypocrisy.

Technically, hypocrisy relates to a charade. It’s the pretense of possessing a kind of character or meeting a moral standard when you do not. Paul chides self-righteous Judaism in Romans 2. He states, “You who brag about the law, do you dishonor God by breaking the law? As it is written: ‘God’s name is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you.’”

In this sense, hypocrisy is less a claim about truth than it is about me. It’s the assertion that I behave a certain way—when in reality I do not. It’s one thing to say, “Stealing is morally wrong.” It’s another to say, “I never steal.” Defying a standard I hold to weakens my position because it gives anyone I meet the right to question the level of my conviction about the standard I put forth. If it is a principle I’m willing to forsake easily, is it not just words?

Sometimes the charge of hypocrisy is broadened to encompass any behavior that is inconsistent with a given standard—no matter how irregular or how it is viewed by the so-called Christian. That argument carries less weight because it implies that unless the adherents of a moral position can live out that position with absolute perfection, it has no weight. But part of the Christian gospel is that perfection is unattainable by fallen human beings. Psalm 14:3 states, “All have turned aside, they have together become corrupt; there is no one who does good, not even one.” Paul looked at his own inability to obey God perfectly and called himself a “wretched man.” (See Romans 7:24.) John states, “If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves.” (See 1 John 1:8.)

The Bible insists that all people, including those who are spokesmen for biblical truth, fall short of the moral standards God has put into place. Our inability to perfectly conform to divine standards does not destroy those standards. It underscores our morally imperfect nature.

There is certainly a difference between those who espouse a standard for moral virtue and blatantly ignore that standard for themselves and those who hold to a standard and fail to perfectly meet it. If someone makes excuses and justifies himself when his behavior comes into question, any critic is justified in condemning his behavior as hypocritical. But if someone acknowledges that he is guilty of violating an ethic he aspires to, that his failure is real—then his inconsistency is not hypocritical.

Because we tend to behave as though we were more moral than we truly are, we frequently deny, dismiss, or excuse charges of ethical failure. Our pride leads us to put on the mask that gives rise to the charge of hypocrisy. Humility and honesty can be painful, but they are better responses than our natural inclinations to avoid admitting our sin.

The veracity of the Bible and its claims does not ultimately rest on the behavior of any person except for Jesus. Our pretense can destroy our credibility as spokesman for the truth. It may call into question the message we bear. But the revelation of God is predicated on his character and consistency rather than ours.

Those who market goods and services to us measure loyalty by the products we identify with. We may prefer Coke to Pepsi, Ford to Chevy, Nike to Adidas, or Estee Lauder to Maybelline. In the end, loyalty is measured by the power of choice. The goal is to persuade us to identify with a particular product and become loyal to that brand name. The product that matches our preferences and fits our taste is the winner.

This mentality is part of the thinking of people in the church today. Though denominational loyalty is eroding, the focus of evangelical Christianity still reflects a kind of brand loyalty. We call people to buy into Jesus. We challenge them to prefer Christ over other alternatives. He offers a better product. He can bring you peace, direction, meaning, and happiness. We tend to celebrate his superiority on the basis of the good things that come your way when you choose Jesus.

This approach to the Christian faith is alien to the New Testament. It suggests that Jesus is a means to a greater end. The New Testament that Jesus is an end in himself. The focus of Paul’s preaching is not the goodies that come our way when we prefer Christ over other gods. Instead, the New Testament reminds us that Jesus is the king of kings and the Lord of lords. He is our creator and our redeemer. He is worthy of all praise and devotion. We are to subject ourselves to him because of who he is. The benefits of that submission are real, but secondary.

The language of the New Testament is antithetical to our marketing approach to the gospel. In Acts 6:7, for example, Luke recounts how many in the priestly class became followers of Christ after his resurrection. He does not use the language of choosing, but something more substantial. Luke writes, “and a large number of priests became obedient to the faith.” The word for “obedient” conveys the ideas of “obey, follow, be subject to” according to the BDAG lexicon. The language is not that of preference, but of submission. It’s not about what I like; it’s about the submission of my will.

In the end, preferences are not strong enough to bind a life to Jesus in a way that is transformational. They may measure our mood, our attitude, or our inclinations. But they don’t have the power to bring us to the dangerous places we must travel as subjects of Christ. They cannot sustain us in the wastelands of the soul that come from living as an alien in a strange world. They morph under pressure and leave behind the illusion of Christian faith, but not the reality.

Our presentation of the gospel tends to produce superficial fruit whenever we package it in this way. If we desire to build a church that is supremely loyal to Christ, we must challenge the marketing paradigms that tend to dominate the evangelical gospel.

It’s difficult to speak out in a culture that is antagonistic to your message. Most of us don’t like to place ourselves in situations where others are irritated by our words, where backlash results, where honest dialogue gives way to irrational actions and feelings of animosity and alienation.

Faced with the real probability of sparking this kind of reaction, we tend to hold our tongues and not speak about controversial things. In some cases this caution is wise. We all know people who embrace certain values with bold and unrelenting arrogance. They won’t entertain the idea that another approach may be equal or superior to their own. Instead of bringing facts or evidence to the table, they simply talk louder and longer when challenged. They may threaten, berate, or intimidate. But they will not respond thoughtfully when their beliefs are challenged.

Some caricature followers of Christ after this pattern. Unfortunately, it does describe some. Those who believe in the things of Scripture sometimes argue that their belief is built on their faith apart from evidence. Such people may become belligerent and antagonistic in a way that is the opposite of Jesus’ approach to people.

More often, I suspect, it is the Christian who retreats into silence. In John 12, for example, the Bible states that many of the Jewish leaders believed in Jesus’ claim that he was the messiah. Verses 42-43 state that many remained silent “for fear they would be put out of the synagogue.” This was a legitimate fear because the threat was well known. (See John 9:22.) Exclusion from the synagogue was a “nuclear option” of the Pharisees in the first century. It alienated the individual from one of the most significant religious and social institutions of the day. Banishment from the synagogue impacted families, financial status, and connection with Jewish society. It was similar to the practice of shunning in some Amish communities. In short, it was a powerful tool to silence opposition and dissent.

The Bible gives the reason for the effectiveness of this tactic in silencing the believers. Verse 43 states, “for they loved the praise from men more than the praise from God.”

The encouragement that comes from others is obvious because it is vocal and visible. It’s an instant reinforcement that calls us to conform to the social norms of the moment and receive an appropriate reward. The praise of God seems more ethereal. It is a whisper that others do not hear. It is an affirmation that is quiet and internal, not outward and publically celebrated.

The praise of men is an easy thing to desire. It is an instant reward for behavior that conforms to the cultural norms of the moment. When the name of Jesus becomes the J-word, it is awkward at best to express spiritual convictions. Some of the early disciples were willing to forego the affirmation of those around them. They were willing to incur the wrath, slander, and mockery of others. They understood that the unseen God was watching their lives and expecting them to act for his pleasure. It’s a perspective we need to cultivate if the truth of God is not to be muzzled in our day.

Sometimes critics try to depict the Jesus of the gospels as a well-intentioned man who spoke highly of forgiveness and kindness, but who was in the end only a man of high ideals. He was martyred by a corrupt religious system. He joins other reformers who crusaded for justice and paid the ultimate price for their noble effort.

The gospel accounts, however, quote Jesus making claims that are far different than this image. In John chapter 8, for example, Jesus makes a series of radical claims that no sane mortal would make.

For example, in John 8:12 Jesus states “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” Christians are so accustomed to religious metaphors that they sometimes overlook the extravagance of this claim. Jesus is not stating that he is building on the moral and ethical teachings of the past, summarizing them for his contemporary audience. He is not claiming to be a superior teacher among other gifted teachers. He is making an exclusive claim that he in himself is the light that the world needs. And he claims to be able to transfer this life-giving light to those who follow him.

Later in chapter 8 Jesus states, “You are from below; I am from above. You are of this world, I am not of this world.” In an age where there was no dialogue about extra-terrestrial beings, we understand that Jesus claim was about coming from heaven–the Jewish reality occupied by God and holy beings. He spoke of his going to be with the Father, but insisted that he came from the Father and was an ambassador from heaven.

In verse 46 Jesus claimed moral perfection, asking, “Can any of you prove me guilty of sin?” We learn that they attempted to do that very thing at his trial, accusing him of blasphemy. But the claim of moral perfection is absurd and arrogant if it comes from the lips of anyone who lives in this broken moral world of ours. One who claims to never err in this life is either incredibly self-deluded or divine. Most of us would not embrace the latter conclusion unless we had compelling evidence to support it.

In John 8:51 Christ states, “If anyone keeps my world, he will never see death.” We learn in the context of the gospels and the teaching of the apostles that the death Jesus has in mind is what the Bible speaks of as the “second death.” (See Revelation 20:11.) It is being judged by God as morally unfit for life and banished from his presence forever. It is the rightful consequence of falling short of divine perfection and living in a state of eternal alienation after physical death. Jesus claims that following his teaching would deliver us from that fate. When you isolate that claim from the religious fog that often envelopes familiar statements in the gospels, it appears as a bold and uncompromising assertion. It must either be rejected as folly or accepted as part of Jesus supernatural origin.

Christ does not give us the luxury of toning down his assertions. They make the wild claims of some of our political figures seem tame in comparison. He deliberately pushes us into the polarity of accepting all of who he is as the God-sent deliverer to our fallen race, or rejecting all of who he is as a phony. He did not intend for us to find some kind of illogical middle ground in understanding assertions such as these. The Pharisees understood the gravity of his assertions. We are called to do the same.