I am pleased to report I had no instances of wanting to throw the book against the wall this week while reading Brian McLaren’s latest offering, A New Kind of Christianity. (Although I was challenged to repent of my us vs. them mentality and characterization of Calvinists—touché!)  Instead, I was inspired and reignited by McLaren’s discussion of ten questions he identifies as those perplexing many Christians today.  He asserts that the conversation we have about these issues can (and will) reshape the future of our faith and our ability to function within it with integrity.  I wholeheartedly agree.  I’m sure there will be plenty of book reviews to devour if you need to know all the details of the book before (or without) reading it.  I’ll spare you the outline, and hit a few personal highlights.

Two overarching premises that begin the book were extremely helpful to me:  1) a concise and accessible overview of Greek philosophy and a description of how its belief system has come to dominate our understanding of God and the Christian story, and 2) a plea for the image of “community library” to replace “constitution” as the dominant metaphor for our approach to reading scripture.  (I especially appreciate the articulation of this “constitutional reading” approach which I have never had adequate vocabulary for expressing.)  With these tools as a presupposition, I saw the other questions from new angles and with fresh perspective.  McLaren selectively intersperses Biblical passages and exegesis throughout, and his comments have the weight of sound study and a gentle pastoral voice.  I was particularly moved by his very simple but profound description of the purpose of the church (p. 164): “…to form Christlike people, people of Christlike love. It exists to save them from the great danger of wasting their lives, becoming something less than and other than they were intended to be, gaining the world but losing their souls.”  (In a nod to McLaren’s quest for common ground, I was struck at how similar this vision is to a call often issued from esteemed Calvinist pastor John Piper.)

I found great sensitivity and wisdom in McLaren’s exegesis of the story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch as a starting point for our discussions about sexuality and the sexual “other,” rather than the decontextualized verses often thrown around on this topic under a constitutional reading.  His astute insight regarding “my Father’s house” in John is also worth pondering.

There is much to like here.  More importantly, there is much to contemplate…and to act upon.  McLaren has no shortage of critics, his words continue to stir up.  I count myself among those already convinced of his vision, and I hope the reading of this book will result in more “converts” to the quest.

As for me, I could quote ad nauseum from the book—and have elsewhere (you’re welcome, Facebook friends!), but I will appropriate here just one extended passage that I found personally remarkable, from the chapter on questioning our interpretations:

What will help you to give your otherwise theoretical faith legs?  Would reading the book of Job as if it were an allegory allow the Sermon on the Mount to change your buying habits?  If so, by all means, read it as an allegory.  Does the thought of Jonah residing in the belly of a large fish inspire you to share your resources with people deprived of access to food and medical attention?  Does inerrancy of the Bible assist you in being good to homeless people?  Does it prompt you to offer free tutoring to underprivileged children?  If so, move deeper in your commitment to the doctrine of inerrancy.  Read as you need to read to be invigorated and encouraged to do what you need to do.  Then believe as if your life depends on it.  Get worked up.  Quickly.  Move your interpretations in the direction of more righteous practice, and don’t look back.  Read as you need to read to be invigorated and encouraged to do justly.  Do what you need to do.  Love your neighbor.  Think what it takes.  This is the text.  Let it mean love.  The rest is commentary.(The Sacredness of Questioning Everything, p. 169-70.)

Now, go read it.

 The second woman I encountered through the pages of her book was Ayaan Hirsi Ali.  Born in Somalia, Hirsi Ali experienced the horrors of revolution and war as a young girl.  She was the daughter of a prominent revolutionary leader and only saw him for brief periods during her childhood.  Her family’s and country’s instability resulted in moves to Saudi Arabia, Ethiopia, and Kenya, a variety of financial and educational barriers, and a strict Muslim culture always in the foreground.  When Ayaan Hirsi Ali was forced into an arranged marriage with an unknown distant cousin, she fled to and received asylum in The Netherlands.  Her book, Infidel, chronicles her story in an intimate way and recounts her budding enthusiasm for learning and Western life.  Hirsi Ali studied and graduated from University in The Netherlands, became a parliamentarian, and devotes her life to protecting and freeing women who are physically and mentally imprisoned in unloving Islamic families.  There are many challenging issues in Hirsi Ali’s story.  One, in particular, for me is her staunch belief that individual rights trump cultural ones.  Because of this driving ideology, she has found a home in more conservative political circles after becoming frustrated with the “multicultural” mindset of the liberal party.  She argues vigorously against special accommodations for conservative Muslim groups and strongly believes Muslims in the West should assimilate into Western culture.  I give her view credence because of her experiences, and they have forced me to reconsider my views on such things as the proposed burqa banning in France.

The third woman I have thought much about this summer is me.  What kind of a woman am I?  These stories call me to stand in solidarity with women worldwide.  I may never be in a position to lose my freedom or suffer at the hands of despotic governments, but as a woman, it is important for me to hold these stories of my sisters close to my heart and respond.  I’m not sure what that looks like from my quiet coffee house and uncensored internet, but I hope this is a start.  I want to start by sharing these stories…and then, perhaps, some more.

I have a lot in common with Campbell.  I grew up in small towns and in my early years attended a church of Christ.  Also, like in my family, it was her stepfather that brought the family into the church of Christ, though he seemed less committed to it than my own stepfather.  My stepdad was a school principal but he was also a church of Christ preacher–sometimes just a spare lay preacher and sometimes the only preacher, depending on the need, so he was very involved.  My mom married my stepfather when I was just 2 so I was brought into his church very young.  I was also baptized by full immersion in the church of Christ.

Throughout the early part of the book, her experiences resonated with me, reminding me of my own history.  I remember realizing I didn’t rank as high as boys not just at church but at school.  I remember declaring I wished I was a boy.  I tried to be a tomboy, though it actually didn’t come naturally.  I joined the boys at recess when they played football and my big brothers taught met to wrestle and play basketball.  I was not the athlete Campbell apparently was, but I did give it a try.  I remember being offended that if we played football in P.E. the teacher insisted it was just tag football if girls were involved (often just me) but the boys could play tackle football if I sat out.  So the boys (though good friends of mine) really preferred if I didn’t play so they could tackle.

Like Campbell I also noticed that I didn’t rank as high as the boys spiritually.  Even though (again, like her) I could beat any boy at a Bible Bowl competition and memorize scriptures like nobody’s business, my brothers were the ones asked to pray before dinner, while the girls were just expected to help make and clean up after dinner.  Men always did the speaking and the preaching at church, though at home I liked to line up my stuffed animals in rows and preach to them.

Unlike Campbell, though, my mom was not willing to stay in the church of Christ, particularly because of the fact that instrumental music was not allowed in services and my stepdad disapproved of her even playing hymns on the piano at home (though she did manage to have her own piano, at least).  To this day it surprises me that she ever attempted to join his church when she so loved to play the piano and the organ (and she can play beautifully by ear).  By the time I was around 12, we started attending other churches, thugh we remained on the fundamentalist end of the spectrum.  My mother was raised Assembly of God so I spent some time in AG churches, later we joined a church called a Christian church (actually came out of the same roots as the church of Christ but a bit more open-minded–at least allowed instruments) and finally we became Baptist (she’s still Baptist).

Still, whether church of Christ or Baptist or Assembly of God, like Campbell, I immersed myself fully in church–teaching Vacation Bible School, knocking on doors (though like her also rather reluctantly), etc.  I had a few more opportunities once we moved on to other churches.  In the christian church I was a key leader in my youth group and sang and spoke in front of the church.  In the Baptist church I sang and spoke in front of many churches on revival teams with the Baptist Student Union or during “summer missions”.  Still, we learned that there was a limit–we couldn’t be ministers–we could only “testify” at the pulpit and not “preach”.  (This is not true of every Baptist church–there are female Baptist ministers, but it’s not nationally embraced by the Southern Baptist Convention — see our previous post about Jimmy Carter.)

During college my friends and I began to question our second class citizenship within the church, just as we questioned many other things our fundamentalist friends took on simple faith.  However, unlike Campbell we remained within the church, at least a church, if not the one we grew up attending.  I have found a good home within the Episcopal church, as I’ve said before.

So, I’m rambling a bit, but basically I could relate to Campbell’s early life experiences.  It actually started to drag for me after she got out of her childhood. I never quite understood when exactly she stopped attending church. Apparently she went as far as to go to seminary before dropping out, but I don’t remember anything more specific.  Then she not only left the church of Christ but left church altogether.  Still, she talks about being “haunted by Jesus”.  She can’t quite get Christ out of her system in spite of rejecting that so long rejected her based on her gender.  She still feels she is a Christian, though she knows people from her childhood church wouldn’t recognize her as such.  I felt a little sad for her, actually.  I can’t imagine being without a church entirely, even though I’ve drifted so far from those I grew up in.  I still have that community and that identity and I don’t know if I could ever give it up, even if my doubts one day overwhelmed my faith.

Overall, this memoir touched me as the story of a kindred spirit — a woman who really wanted to embrace the faith her parents gave her, but ultimately couldn’t reconcile it with her own sense of what is right and just and true; a woman who loves and devotes herself to Jesus, only to discover later she’s embraced the wrong Jesus; a woman who discovers that the real Jesus is so much more than the one she’d first been taught to follow.

Going to Heaven: The Life and Election of Bishop Gene Robinson
Elizabeth Adams
Soft Skull Press, 2006

On November 2, 2003, Gene Robinson garnered national media attention as he became the first openly gay bishop ordained in the Episcopal Church.  Elizabeth Adams offers readers a look inside the man who—though far from ordinary—would be an unlikely candidate for celebrity were it not for the matter of his sexuality and the heated debate currently raging in Christian churches worldwide.   As the subtitle suggests, this is not merely a hagiography of a holy man revered by the author, herself a devoted Episcopalian, but a careful reporting of the history and events leading up to this momentous occasion in the Episcopal Church USA. 

Readers unfamiliar with the rich traditions of the Episcopal Church in America will find themselves either enlightened or weighed down with the detailed descriptions of canon law, procedural minutiae, and numerous clergy and parishioners.  Adams writes from an insider’s perspective, apprising us of everything from Gene’s personal feelings to the security and media arrangements on the day of the consecration.  At times tedious with this detail, it nevertheless gives bountiful insight into how this mainline denomination dealt with and continues to address homosexuality in the church.  The author also provides interesting historical background of the progress of women’s ordination within the denomination.

This book is obviously sympathetic to the position of the full inclusion of gays in all areas of church life and ministry and may offend those of a rigid conservative position (especially Southern Baptists, who are periodically singled at as examples throughout the text).  However, those willing to engage the debate will find a measured representation of the conservative reaction within the Episcopal church at personal, diocesan, national and international levels.  Evangelical readers may be surprised, in fact, to read of the agonizing concern and painstaking efforts made in this process to preserve both orthodoxy and unity within the Church.  The Episcopal Church may have a reputation as “liberal,” but as Adams demonstrates here, the denomination is filled with a diverse array of beliefs and believers.  Bishop Robinson’s consecration was not the result of a secret homosexual agenda steamrolling through the church, but a complex series of slow and painful changes seen simultaneously as victories and defeats depending upon one’s perspective.  The degree to which each decision was regarded prayerfully as well as the reported “Spirit-filled” moments by those interviewed is evocative of Evangelical language.  For those dealing with this issue and others within their own denominations, the words of Bishop Paul Moore may provide them with a new way of thinking about the way forward: “…this is the way progress comes, not smoothly through the system, but by disruption, reflection, and compromise.  History moves in jerks, like an old steam engine pulling out of a station.  Occasionally, I thought to myself, people fall down” (p. 43). 

This is, of course, primarily a biography.  The life of Gene Robinson is related through friendly interviews, insightful anecdotes, and personal observations.  Bishop Robinson shines through as one admired, loved and respected by those who know him.  Those who read this book will be drawn in by his warmth and wisdom, whether or not they agree with his theology and lifestyle.  Bishop Robinson cites John Fortunato’s Embracing the Exile: Healing Journeys for Gay Christians, as the book that changed his life.  Perhaps Going to Heaven will have a similar impact on some of its readers as well.