A few weeks ago, I wrote a somewhat emotionally reactive post about (hyper-) Calvinism and the seeming militant commitment to it by its adherents.  I didn’t mention it then, but the words were in response to a book I had just read, Young, Restless, Reformed: A Journalist’s Journey with the New Calvinists.  Though I finished the book with a bit more insight regarding this resurgent movement, I am continually dismayed by the certainty and hubris displayed in this particular way of viewing both God and Scripture.  (Not to mention my displeasure upon learning that the “journalist” was actually a committed Calvinist!)

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.

What are you doing for Lent? I thought about asking, “What are you giving up for Lent?” but really I think Lent is so much more than “giving up chocolate” or the like.  I know we are not all from church backgrounds that observe Lent.  For those unfamiliar with Lent, here’s how I explained it to some online friends earlier today.  Technically it is a season of the church calendar leading up to Easter which is supposed to be about fasting, prayer, and penitence in preparation for the joy of Easter. In my church we sing no alleluias during Lent. It’s a more solemn time of year at church but I love the ancient traditions. Can you tell I used to want to be a minister? Anyway, for me it is a spiritual exercise — a time to focus on higher things and fasting or giving up something is a way to focus on higher things and/or a way to do away with major distractions. But it is also a sort of experiment in living differently by sacrificing certain things and embracing new things.

I have only been observing Lent for a few years now. I think I started some 5 or 6 years ago, but I’m not sure. I’m pretty sure I started even before I attended an Anglican church while living in England.  I became interested in it while reading the book Girl Meets God (recommended by our own Judith).  The girl of the book gave up reading for Lent (I’ve still never tried that one).  I was so inspired that I in turn decided to try a Lenten fast.  I think my first attempt was giving up TV.  That one was hard because my husband did not give it up with me and I didn’t want to leave the room every time he turned it on, so I ended up just leaving it off if he weren’t home and not asking for certain shows if he were home and watching.  I have also done things like give up sugar and chocolate.  For the past few years I have given up non-essential shopping every Lent.  That means I can still shop for groceries (that’s obviously essential since I have a family to feed as well as myself) and if one of my kids suddenly desperately needs something like new socks, I can get that, but otherwise no shopping.   So no browsing Amazon for books, no waltzing downtown to my favorite little boutique, no traipsing through the mall peering at clothes at The Loft or smelly stuff at Bath and Body Works.

So that’s about the giving stuff up, but as I said, I think Lent should be more than that.  It’s also about adding in more time given to spiritual disciplines, more time to think of others, more time with family.  This year I plan to try something new — something described by the priest this morning at the Ash Wednesday service I attended. He talked about how a good Lenten practice would be to look in the mirror every morning and think about the things you like about the person looking back at you, and also how to make the person in the mirror better.  He said it more eloquently, but I like the idea.  I plan to try that — a little lesson in being merciful to myself.  I have also ordered some Anglican rosary beads so when those get here I’m going to start praying the rosary — an Anglican/Episcopal version I found online.

For those who do observe, what will your Lenten practice be this year?

I am not a Calvinist.  I don’t like systematic theology.  I don’t enjoy endless debate about the character and sovereign nature of God.  These things are neither fruitful nor soul-nourishing to me.  However, I also don’t like being insulted as “theologically light” simply for not agreeing with a particular interpretation of Scripture.  As if had I only studied more diligently and prayed more fervently, then I would understand.  Or, perhaps, it is not God’s will for me. (Yes, that is sarcasm.)

If I have something to say, if I really do want to put myself out there—teaching, speaking, writing, etc. then I need to be prepared for the kind of conversations (and accusations) that will surely await me.  I am not argumentative by nature, and I have many friends I care deeply about who place themselves squarely in the Reformed theology camp.  They idolize (er, admire) men who make me want to spit, curse and throw things.  Truthfully, I care mostly about this issue because it means so much to them.

But I can not reconcile their beliefs (i.e., their interpretation of Scripture) with my own interpretation, observation, tradition, and experience.  I simply can’t.  And maybe that’s just where I should respectfully leave it.

I’d love to hear some feedback on this one.

Patience with God: Faith for People Who Don’t Like Religion (or Atheism) by Frank Schaeffer

I ordered this book from amazon today.  I am eager to receive it.  I joined a book club.  I thought it would take me beyond my typical reading, which has proven true.  I have already read our February book, so I am ready to read some of my own choosing.

Here I come religion and biographies–True Compass by Ted Kennedy is waiting to be finished as well.

“They were under the heel of the French. You know, Napoleon III, or whatever. And they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, we will serve you if you’ll get us free from the French. True story. And so, the devil said, okay it’s a deal.”  Pat Robertson

Must we imply that if there is hardship, poverty, war, illness–God must not be there.  Are all the wealthy, successful people finding favor with God?   Do earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes, and flooding mean Satan is attacking?

Superstition rules and Science is out.  It must be the Devil.

My doubt through the Christmas season was strong.  I felt so much doubt, I meet with my Sunday School Teacher to talk about it over coffee.  He was not surprised, I had alluded to some of my questioning in class.  The odd thing about me is that I LOVE church and have no interest in leaving.  It is pretty amazing since I doubt so much of the time.  In my December struggle, I was given this perspective which gave me comfort.

Faith always includes uncertainty or else it is not faith. Unbelief itself is a long-standing perspective. See the works of Robert N. Bellah and Martin Marty. Marty, a historian, has written about unbelief as a tradition within American thought. Unbelief is a kind of faith, odd at it may seem.

So you may have heard (well, I know Anne and Judith have heard) that I recently had a baby.  Actually he’s almost 3 months old now, so not so very recently.  Anyway, now it’s time to decide if we want to have him christened at our Episcopal church.  My husband and I are now Episcopalian, but he was raised Baptist and I was raised a weird combo of Assembly of God, Church of Christ, Baptist, etc.  So this christening/infant baptism thing is not really part of our own heritage.  In our previous churches babies are usually “dedicated” which is basically a commitment by the parents to raise their children in the faith, but there’s no baptism by water involved.  Then when a child is older he’s encouraged to “accept Jesus” and follow it up with baptism by immersion. (Click here to read a previous discussion about baby dedications.)

I’m ready enough to have the new baby baptized — and would like to have the other two thrown in for a 3-for-1 deal. I checked with our priest and he’s cool with that.  However, my husband has never warmed to the idea of infant baptism.  I haven’t pressed him much yet about this baby (planning to broach the subject next weekend when he’ll have the free time to discuss thoroughly) but I know how he felt with the last baby. To me it’s equivalent to a baby dedication (don’t tell my church — it’s probably not a good Episcopalian thing to say) and confirmation is sort of equivalent to the older child getting saved and baptized in a Baptist church.  The first (baby dedication/christening) is about the family committing to raising the child in their tradition; the second (confirmation/older baptism) is about the child embracing that tradition of their own will (though we could get into whether many children are actually doing it of their own will or just responding to parental/peer pressure).

My point? I’m not sure — just sharing a minor struggle of someone who has left one tradition for another. It’s not even like I converted from a whole other religion, but it can still be tough to decide how much to embrace the new tradition. My husband holds back a bit and is not as crazy about the new church, and I feel I can’t jump in and do something significant like this with our children without him agreeing to it as well.

Does anyone have a well-thought-out opinion about these things? Did you have your babies dedicated or christened? Is it really any big deal? Is it really a matter of salvation either way? If you’re pro-christening, how do I convince my still-somewhat Baptist husband that we should do this?

Growing up, the notion of a child like faith was often praised.  I thought it was odd and irresponsible, even as a child.  Those who know me would say that is so me.  I have often thought and over thought much of life.  I didn’t doubt faith as a child, yet I thought it was something to be studied and not taken lightly.

Oh today I long for the faith of my childhood.   I wanted answers, yet I didn’t feel the answers would lead to disbelief.  I felt it would lead to understanding.  In my studying and struggle of adulthood, I have found more questions.  Lately those questions have been clouded with the darkness of unbelief. I WANT to believe.  I want the mysterious peace at passes all understanding.  The loss of faith saddens me.

A while back I asked my husband if he thought the American way of family life–a single nuclear family living in a private home–is the best model available.  He was either being wise or rude; I can’t remember that he engaged the debate.  The question lingered and resurfaced while reading an excellent book, Honeymoon in Tehran by Azadeh Moaveni.  The book itself is a wonderful, surreal portrait of life in modern Iran, but it was the author’s final personal remarks that hinted at this dilemma.  Born and raised in America to Iranian emigrants, she became a journalist covering the Middle East.  She married and lived in Iran but ultimately left with her family when circumstances became untenable.  Here are her concerns about raising her son in Western culture:

There were days when I was grateful for everything that London and life in the West offered—stability, a fast and uncensored Internet, and the luxury of worrying about toxicity in Hourmazd’s toiletries rather than in the propaganda murals on the street.  On other days…I felt unbearably lonely….In Tehran, the constant presence of relatives had meant that I had the pleasure of company, intellectual stimulation, and reassurance that was more steady than any parenting book, as well as time to shower, and even occasional moments of idleness.  I was poised and rested, and I actually found both working and mothering fun.  In London, I became the sort of woman, the sort of mother, who suddenly needed many extraneous and costly things—yoga classes, child-care gadgets, an agency-certified nanny, a housekeeper, bottled baby food—just to get through the week without becoming an exhausted wreck.

 And on a trip back to Iran:

We stayed with Arash’s parents, who were elated to welcome the grandson they had seen everyday for nearly a year and then not at all.  Hourmazd delighted in the company, finding incentive to turn his babble into near words, and was entertained enough to abandon his attention-thirsty naughtiness.  Watching my transformed little son play, I wondered whether this is how it was supposed to be—big families living together, generations under one roof, a whole community of well-intentioned relatives helping raise one another’s children.  I believe that children show you what they need in order to be happy, and if Hourmazd’s behavior was any measure this is what he needed: cousins, aunties, honorary aunties, and grandparents to be in his life every day, not just twice a year for a week.  Maybe I needed it, too.

 There are many accounts of unhappy living arrangements in Iran in this book.  This is mostly a singular, emotional-born reflection, but an important one nonetheless.  I am curious to know what others think on this topic, or if you have given it any thought at all.  I’m sure myriad things play into our personal views: cultural norms, relationships with family, our own personalities and desires, the number and temperament of our children….on and on.  I don’t expect this to be a conundrum with a solution, but I benefit greatly from the insight and discussion of others.  Comments are welcome from singles, childless, and men as well.

What do you think?

I am thankful to live in a country where I can speak out.  I can agree and disagree.  I do all of these things without worry for my family’s wellbeing or my job security.  I know I don’t appreciate these freedoms enough.  I have been fortunate to be born into a great life.  I am humbled.