Questioning Kris (Touch Not God's Anointed)

There seems to be an incredible amount of drama coming from certain christian circles these days. Not so long ago, a group of church-goers almost broke the internet over the 'scandal' of a woman breast-feeding in church.

Now a new catastrophe has been unleashed, with the publication of an open letter from a graduate of Bethel's School of Supernatural Ministry. This graduate has had the temerity to challenge the church over its behaviour and attitude towards LGBT christians in its midst. It would appear that some people can't deal with the outrage of the words of their idols celebrity pastors being questioned. Touch not God's anointed and all that...

I noticed that one Bethel "pastor" posted this in response (making me wonder if he actually read the original letter):

Although one of his followers described it as "bold, clever and uncompromised" I, in fact, don't believe it stands up to much scrutiny.

"I cannot believe the arrogance of 2 Lgbt women who say they are Christian, who just wrote an article against Bethel." [emphasis added]

Disregarding the accusations of arrogance... isn't implying you believe someone else isn't a "real" christian just a bit... well... arrogant?

Regardless, it seems to me that the real cause of Ben's anger is the fact that someone has dared to challenge Bethel and its leaders - thus touching the sacred cow.

"It's absolutely shameful to even challenge people who love and honor so well."  [emphasis added]

Hmmm... if they "love and honor so well" why is this woman saying she feels unloved and dishonoured? "What I see coming from Bethel in this area is not respectful or honoring."

"Who are you to question the God of the universe and His words that have been there from the ages."

Is the issue really about questioning God? Or is it questioning the "man of God" that really gets Ben riled? Because the God I know has never been afraid of being questioned.

"I had a period in my teens where I had a same sex attraction, but God delivered me from it, and I never struggled again."

Simple as that. Magic. And everyone should be like Ben, because his experience trumps their's!

"And as for bethel, my life was changed there. I had huge issues and was nothing but embraced and I know for a fact you both were too."

Again, Ben's experience trumps that of others. Furthermore, he gets to tell them what their experience actually was (that's called gas-lighting girls and boys...) Perhaps, in his haste to react, Ben missed the parts where the writer speaks positively about Bethel, acknowledging her gratitude for the good things she found there?

"Your just upset cause they wont bend and make your feelings more valuable then Gods standards."

More accusations, and more outrage that the leaders at Bethel should have to consider the feelings of others. I do wonder if he's confusing Bethel's standards, with God's...

"If you don't want to change however, and want to live by emotion, feeling and sensuality..."

As this is exactly the type of judgement the writer was lamenting in her letter "[Kris Vallotton] also said homosexuals are simply people whose character has atrophied to the point where we no longer have the moral fortitude to hold ourselves back from our lusts", I'd say Ben has learned well from his leaders.

"...I won't sit back while my friends get accused"

Maybe it's time we learned the difference between accusation and disagreement. Disagreeing with a brother, even if he's a leader at Bethel, is not a sin.

"Ps: they wrote against Bethel and were praised for standing up!" [emphasis added]

Despite his repeated accusation that the author "wrote against Bethel", it's actually not true. She was simply voicing her concerns about one aspect of Bethel's teaching. And she was praised - very appropriately IMO - for the grace she displayed even in her disagreement with the church. "Bethel is a beautiful place. Thank you for the 6 years of community and equipping. I hope Bethel is able to have a positive impact on people for years to come."

"I will keep this post up for a short time - because it's not my heart to divide, but rather to lay a firm ground for truth."

This looks to me more like a desire to enforce conformity, not present the truth. The not-so-subtle message here is: comply with the dictates of the church or you will be accused of creating division.

But as the letter pointed out, "You told us over and over, both in school and in church, that disagreement was healthy and that we didn’t have to agree to be family. Kris, you talked about God moving us away from denominationalism (where we gather out of agreement) and into apostleship (where we gather because we’re family). And I still believe that’s the direction we’re meant to take."

Now it seems to me that driving all this bluff and bluster from Mr Fitzgerald is a dangerous belief that there are some christians who are beyond being questioned or challenged. Because, irrespective of the issue being debated, this type of reaction from any church leader speaks of a culture suspiciously akin to Animal Farm. In other words, "All christians are created equal, but some are more equal than others!"

So maybe it's time we stopped treating celebrity pastors like demigods, and realised we are all brothers and sisters here. No-one is infallible. No-one is above questioning. And no-one's word should be taken as gospel.

Dysfunction Disagreement in Christian Conversations

I had another one of those conversations recently. You know, the sort where I ask a christian friend (as gently as I know how) a question about the implications of a statement they've made. And the response leaves me feeling like I've crossed some invisible line that reads, "Heretics and other outcasts stand here." My question remains unanswered...

This type of interaction seems to happen all too frequently. I question something, or I say I see it differently, or I simply raise the possibility of an alternative viewpoint, and the wagons circle in polite silence until I find myself on the outside looking in, counting the cost of wanting authentic relationship.

It makes me think. (Sorry, I'm still unrepentant over that particular "sin".) And it seems to me that the institutional church sets us up for this dysfunction. It fails us when it silences our questions. It stunts our growth and sets us up to founder in the real world.

Too many christians have been trained in an atmosphere where the leader speaks, and the sheep bleat in unquestioning acceptance. "My pastor says x, so that's the end of the discussion." And then they tend to repeat their favourite leader's statements, expecting to meet with the same response they've seen those leaders receive in the church.

Unquestioning acceptance.

The only trouble is that outside the walls of that culture bubble live people who have either woken up and shaken off their stupor, or who never fell down the rabbit-hole in the first place.

So when it happens that christians speak their 'truth' and are met with questioning (or worse still, disagreement!) they are totally unprepared for the shock, and unequipped to deal.

I'm not talking about ad hominem attacks here. I mean genuine questions asked by people who are seeking to engage in actual dialogue in the hope that maybe both parties will learn something.

But so many of us were taught that we had 'the truth' and if we just presented it in a manner that was authoritative enough, 'the world' would "see the light". 'The church' failed us like a parent who hides their child away in a darkened room to keep them 'safe'. Such a child might look normal, but they will be incapable of healthy or mature social interaction with the wider world.

Sadly, many well-meaning christians who have been taught their church's version of "the Truth" simply regurgitate it and expect people to accept it as gospel. And when they are met with anything but absolute endorsement, they don't seem to know what to do.

Some go into attack mode, angrily fighting back against an unseen enemy. Some pull the heretic card, outraged because "the bible clearly says..." Some go off on a tangent, piling up enough red herrings to stock a fishmonger's shop. And some play the conspiracy game in which said christian assumes the position of 'persecuted christian'.

Whatever their reaction, what they all fail to do is engage in rational, reasoned, grace-filled conversation. But I guess people can't do what they've never been taught or seen modelled. And for multitudes of otherwise intelligent people, the church has not only failed to provide a safe place to practice diversity of thought, it has actively discouraged it.

When Minding Your Own Business Harms Others

izquotes.com

Another story of abuse, silencing and injustice is being uncovered across the blogosphere at the moment. 

It's a story that's been lived out, but mostly unwritten, for a number of years now. Then, a few months ago, the one who'd been silenced was given a 'voice'. 

And things started to hit the fan...

and bloggers started blogging...

and people with reputations to lose finally started to engage.

I've read a number of posts and opinions on this specific situation, and the same attitudes are being displayed this time as they were last time.

And the time before that.

And the time before that.

Good, well-intentioned, christian men and women are lamenting the fact that people are actually discussing the problem! "We don't know all the facts." "We should all just mind our own business."

A few years ago I might have said something similar. But not any more. Because I've learned that there is one very compelling reason not to stay silent.

Silence actually enables an abuser!

When we don't speak out, when we won't ask tough questions, when we decide to 'mind our own business', we effectively hand an abuser a free pass.

There is an ever-growing list of 'authority' figures in the church who bully and abuse those 'under' them. 

There are countless stories of damage inflicted by 'celebrity christians' who abuse their power and position to silence those who have neither.

Some of these situations have been on-going for years (some for decades!). And they have been covered up for just as long.

And that abuse and cover-up has been empowered by the silence of those who decided to 'mind their own business'.

The victims were left lying on the side of the road, bloodied and battered, while good men and women chose to mind their own business.

Now, finally, some of these situations are being addressed simply because enough 'nobodies' have spoken out and kept speaking out until they got a response.

It is all too apparent that sometimes the only way to 'motivate' those in power to actually investigate and address situations of abuse is to have a critical mass of people asking questions and raising the issues. 

And all it takes for the evil of spiritual abuse to thrive in our churches is for good men and women to mind their own business!

The Paradox of Freedom - Part 2

I shared in my last post about the revolutionary discovery I made after my husband left me - that I actually had the freedom to choose whether or not to forgive him! And that it was only when I found out I was free to choose, that I was truly able to forgive. This is what I call the paradox of freedom.

Now it's been many years since that momentous realisation. Since then I've seen a precious friendship turn into marriage, been blessed with two more amazing sons, suffered spiritual abuse, lost my 'religion', and embarked on a faith journey with a freshly-revealed God.

I trusted the church system and the people in it, and that trust had proved worthless. I was betrayed and rejected by the very things I'd staked my life on. (More fool me!)

And the interesting thing is, it was this second experience of betrayal and loss that led me to an even greater understanding of the paradox of freedom.

The path out of spiritual abuse has led me through what I can only describe as the deconstruction of my faith. I questioned the incontrovertible 'truths' I'd been fed all my life and re-examined my beliefs.

But it seemed that the more freedom I felt to doubt and question, the more I believed.

I've slain sacred cows and dissected their remains. I've embraced doubt and uncertainty. I've rejected man-made traditions, and wrestled and argued with the God of eternity.

(Inevitably, this has led to further accusations of being a false prophet, as well as being denounced as a heretic.)

Yet it has been in embracing the liberty to question, and the freedom to doubt, that I have discovered an amazing truth.

When you let God out of the (religious) box, he's more than you've ever imagined. More wonderful. More loving. More wise. More compassionate. More... "I am"!

And as I've chosen freedom to step out of the box myself - and been totally honest with God (including voicing my anger, my questions, and my difficulties) I've found my faith has deepened, my trust grown and my walk with him has developed a reality I've never known before.

I find myself in a place where I have fewer answers, but greater confidence. More questions, but way less fear. My faith is no longer cut-and-dried, but it is of infinitely more worth in the cut-and-thrust world I inhabit.

In losing my 'religion', I found freedom in God!

The Show Must Go On!

In his blog post Christianity, Mission, and Steamroller Blues, David Hayward (aka the Naked Pastor) suggests:

Steamroller blues

"If you want to have a church or organization that has a vision and a mission at its forefront, then you have to put the personal development and relationships of the individual members second. 

In other words, you can either have a task group or a community."

It has been my experience that every institutional church has a mission at its forefront - namely to 'do church'. I've never yet come across a church which puts relationships ahead of this ongoing mission.

In fact, quite the opposite.

Time after time, I've seen people sacrificed - or steamrolled - by those who see themselves as being custodians of 'the vision'.

People who were being 'difficult'. People who were asking questions. People who were hurting and in need of care. People who were just getting in the way of the smooth operation of the institution.

But it got me thinking. There was that one time when something different happened...

We'd had a regular service planned. Worship songs chosen. Sermon written. Everything set in place.

And then we got the news.

The couple, whose pregnancy we'd been so joyfully celebrating, had lost their baby. This wasn't the first time. (And although we didn't know it at the time, it wouldn't be the last.)

But we knew we couldn't just carry on as if nothing had happened.

So we cancelled all those important plans we'd made. We put them aside because we knew that when one member of our family mourned, we needed to mourn with them.

And so we met together for our Sunday service. And we grieved, and we hurt, and we wept. And we made place for God even though we couldn't understand him. And we made a space for all to speak, to share, to question. We acted like a real community.

Like family...

Tragically, that was a once-off event. An isolated experience. Months later, when we were being torn apart in the name of man's ambition, it was business as usual. Move along. Nothing to see here. Just ignore the broken hearts, the bloody corpses.

The show must go on!

Contestability

Over the past couple of years I’ve read a lot of stories. Stories about 'the church', about abuse and pain and loss and grief, about leaving or being driven out, about healing, about rebuilding hope, about learning to trust again. And in every story I’ve read there comes a point in the narrative where the storyteller started to ask questions. For some it came early, for others late. But whenever it came, the questioning seemed to come for all.

And the time when the questions start marks a new phase in the journey. A new chapter in the story. Because when we start to ask questions we begin to engage differently with the reality we've known and accepted up to that point. Our perceptions change and the view becomes strangely unfamiliar. We start to grow. We begin to change.

In my own story, the questions came slowly at first. Like tentative steps into an unknown river which might carry me away to who knew where. But as I wrestled with them, became more confident in my uncertainty, I found myself being swept into a maelstrom of fear and rejection.

Don't question us. Don't rock the boat. Sit down. Shut up. SUBMIT!

But ironically, it was those very questions which then became a life-line as I painfully dragged myself out of the raging waters which threatened to drown me.

I have travelled a long way since then and one of the things that has kept me going is the freedom to examine and challenge the things I thought I once knew. Things I'd been taught by 'the church', things I'd been told were unquestionable, things I'd never before thought to doubt. Incontrovertible truths.

But that's the upside to betrayal!

When you've learned the hard way that some of those foundational things you've believed to be true have suddenly proved to be false, you start to wonder what other things might be too.

You'd believed. You'd trusted the whole weight of your soul to those foundations. And you'd found them to be rotten right through.

And you'd started to question. And you were silenced. By friends. By family. By 'the church'.

And then, in a miracle of desperation, you learned that God was not afraid of your questions.

And you realised that a religion that was so fragile that it crumbled under the weight of a single question was not one you had time for.

And you grieved that you'd bought into an institution so afraid of being examined it was willing to engage in human sacrifice.

And you walked away heartbroken.

And you knew that you'd learned something important. A life-long lesson. That the things worth believing, things solid enough to trust in, are always contestable.

"Don't Talk About It"

By Kristen at Wordgazer's Words

- a member of the Spiritual Abuse Survivor Blogs Network

I was in college, living in an ex-fraternity house made over into a Christian boarding house for members of Maranatha Campus Ministries. It was 1983 or 84.

The leaders of Maranatha, Bob Weiner and Joe Smith, had come up with another new revelation that they said was from God. They took their text from John 15:8:

"By this is My Father glorified, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be My disciples."

Bob Weiner and Joe Smith said that by "bearing fruit," Jesus meant "making converts." This meant, they said, that the more converts to Christ you made, the more you had "proved to be His disciple." Therefore, those of us who had never made a convert were not really disciples of Christ. Oh, we were saved all right, and we would go to heaven when we died, but were were all a sort of lesser follower of Jesus. Not bearing fruit. Not proving ourselves. Not quite measuring up.

I and some of my friends were very upset when we heard this new teaching. We were accustomed to taking every word uttered by Bob or Joe as the very truth of God. They had taught us "total commitment" to Jesus, to our leaders, and to our brothers and sisters in the church. To follow Jesus as He wanted, we must follow Him with our whole hearts, not being "lukewarm" like so many who claimed to be Christians were.

I had embraced total commitment and believed I was following with my whole heart. But suddenly now, even that wasn't quite good enough.

I began to search the Scriptures. Could the passage really mean what they said it did? On the other hand, should I be questioning my leaders? Feeling a little guilty, but also remembering that they had also taught us to read the Bible for ourselves, I looked at every passage where "fruit" was mentioned in the New Testament. It didn't seem to bear out what they were saying. Somewhat relieved (maybe I was a real disciple after all!), I determined to wait for Joe Smith's upcoming visit to our fellowship. Surely if I put my questions before him, he would see where I was coming from and maybe even get back together with Bob Weiner to discuss it again.

A few weeks later, Joe Smith arrived. We had spent the time before his arrival scrubbing the ex-frat house from top to bottom, preparing and handing out flyers for the meetings, and praying, praying, praying for lots of new people to come, be converted, and become members of Maranatha. Since I was also carrying a full course load of college credits and trying to keep up with my regular household chores, I hadn't had much time to think about what I would say to Joe Smith after the meeting.

I don't remember what he preached about. But afterwards, when other church members were clustering around the great man praising him for the sermon and receiving his blessings, I approached him, shaking inside, and asked if we could speak in private for a moment. With a kind, fatherly look, he agreed and we stepped apart a little from the meeting room, out into the foyer.

Nervously I asked him about the new revelation, about what "bearing fruit" meant. I told him that when I had looked it up in the New Testament, in all other passages where "fruit" was mentioned in terms of "bearing" it, it seemed to be talking character traits-- about the fruits of the Holy Spirit from Galatians 5:22-23, like love, joy, peace, patience, etc. I told him that in every other passage where "fruit" was mentioned in terms of converts to Christ, it was spoken of in terms of "gathering," not "bearing." I also asked if he thought "proving" to be a disciple really meant "proving to Jesus' satisfaction that you were a disciple" and not "proving to the world to be Jesus' disciple."

Joe Smith let me babble on for a few minutes. The look of kind, fatherly attention never left his face. Then, in just a few words, he let me know that I was wrong. "I discern that you are not letting Jesus' words into your heart," he said. "You are notresponding to His words-- you are only reacting. You need to stop, listen to the truth of what we're teaching, and let it go deep inside you. Do you understand?"

Speechlessly I nodded. Joe Smith was telling me that not only was I wrong about what I thought the Bible said, but that I needed to stop fighting the truth that I was not a full, true disciple of Jesus. I needed to let this truth sink deep inside me. I felt myself letting it do so. And as I did, I began to weep uncontrollably.

Joe Smith smiled. "That's it. Let the Spirit of God touch you."

How could I tell him that I was weeping not because I felt the Spirit of God touching me, not because the truth was sinking in and changing me, but because I now believed I was a second-class follower of Jesus, a person Christ was not really satisfied with? That all my efforts to follow Him with my whole heart were in vain unless I could make a convert? That since I could never seem to speak the right words to make someone else want to follow Jesus, I probably never would be a real disciple?

My tears were tears of despair.

I couldn't tell him. Blindly I turned and stumbled up the two flights of stairs to my own room in the Maranatha house. I sank down onto the floor, and cried and cried.

After about 20 minutes of hard crying, I felt a stirring in my heart. Then four short words out of nowhere flooded into my mind, along with a deep warmth that filled my heart to the brim. "Daughter. He is wrong."

A wordless conviction filled me with assurance that I knew was not from myself. Jesus did absolutely consider me His disciple. He was fully satisfied with me. Joe Smith and Bob Weiner could be wrong. They were wrong.

My tears vanished, and joy welled up inside me as I wiped my face and blew my nose. I got up from the floor and went downstairs to help serve food. As I ran down the steps, the deep assurance filled me again. Joe Smith was wrong, and God had spoken to me. I was Christ's disciple no matter what any human being said. Even if they called themselves prophets.

But I told no one.

Not even my friends, who I knew were also upset by the new teaching. Not my pastor, or pastor's wife. Certainly not Joe Smith! A leader was never to be spoken against, in public or in private. To speak out would be to rebel against his God-given authority and to shame myself by showing a rebellious heart.

So I held my joy inside me, drinking of the certainty that my leaders could be wrong, in the privacy of my own heart. I never felt the same way about them again. I continued to read the Bible for myself, and if something they said didn't make sense to me, I no longer felt obligated to believe it.

I guess for me, it was the beginning of the end of Maranatha Campus Ministries. Years later, the group would dissolve under protests from some of the pastors of individual churches that the upper leadership was too authoritarian. But my own freedom began that night, and as I rested in the vine (as the actual context of Jesus' words about "bearing fruit" in John 15:8 said to do), I did indeed bear fruit. Fruit of strength in my own heart instead of dependence on others. Fruit of confidence in my relationship with Christ. Fruit of compassion for others who were being made miserable by destructive teachings.

And fruit of understanding-- first-hand understanding-- of what "spiritual abuse" meant.

Joe Smith was right and I was wrong, because Joe Smith was big and I was small. Because Joe Smith was a leader and I was an underling. Because Joe Smith was an authority, and I was a nobody.

No words against Joe Smith were ever to be spoken. If I spoke them, it was I-- not Joe-- who was in the wrong. Joe Smith could never be in the wrong, because he was in authority.

Spiritual abuse.

This last week, a prominent Christian leader was forced to resign amid allegations that he was having a sexual relationship with a 17-year-old girl, a prior victim of sexual abuse, who had come to him for pastoral care. Some blog sites devoted to exposing and helping victims of spiritual abuse have posted stories about it. And some of the comments on these sites have taken a page right out of Maranatha Campus Ministries' old book.

How dare you post something like this about a man of God? Who do you think you are?

This girl consented, didn't she? And anyway, no sin is worse than any other sin in God's eyes. We need to show mercy to this pastor. After all, "love covers a multitude of sins." [The fact that Jesus placed greater emphasis upon offending "one of these little ones" than on any other sin, is not taken into account. Matt. 18:6]

This pastor is a godly man! Don't contribute to the rumors! We shouldn't be judging him, we should be praying for him and his family! [No mention is made of possibly praying for the 17-year-old girl and her family.]

You don't know what you're talking about. God will be angry with you for bearing false witness.

This is an internal matter for the church involved. Stay out of it. You are casting stones at a man of God. You should just be quiet.

Counselors for adult children of alcoholics will say that one of the features of a dysfunctional, codependent family is the "don't talk about it" message.

Be quiet. This is family business and no one else's. How dare you talk like that about your father?

Keep the secret. Sweep it under the carpet. No one must see. No one must know.

But it isn't only families that can be dysfunctional. Churches can be, too. And when they are, they will tell their members this same thing. The result is what's called "enabling:"

An enabler is a person who by their actions make it easier for an addict to continue their self-destructive behaviour.

It is possible to become addicted to authority. A person who is so addicted will uphold his or her authority at all costs, even at the expense of those whom their position of authority was created to serve. And the person who is addicted will encourage his or her followers in enabling behaviors, to make it easier to hold onto his or her authority. When religion, God or the Bible are used to encourage enabling, in ways that bring shame, harm or misery to the enablers, this is spiritual abuse.

I agree that this pastor needs help-- but not at the expense of his victim. And "don't talk about it" will help neither of them. It will only perpetuate the girl's shame and misery, and enable the pastor to continue in his abusive, dysfunctional behaviors. In Ephesians 5:1-13 Paul talks about relating to other professing Christians who commit heinous sins. He says in verse 11-13:

"And do not participate in the unfruitful deeds of darkness, but instead even expose them. For it is disgraceful even to speak of the things which are done by them in secret. But all things become visible when they are exposed by the light, for everything that is visible is light."

Paul is not saying, "The person who did the deed is a Christian, and therefore we need to keep this quiet." He is not saying, "The deed is disgraceful, therefore youwill be disgraced if you speak of it." He is saying, "The disgraceful deed must be exposed in all its disgrace, precisely because it is so disgraceful even to speak about!"

Yes, it is disgraceful to speak of a pastor entering a sexual relationship with a vulnerable member of his flock whom he was supposed to be helping. But it is not disgraceful to the person speaking. It is disgraceful to the person doing the deed spoken of. However it also brings the deed out into the light, which is the only place where healing can happen.

I'm not saying it's ok to have a free-for-all of name-calling and abusive words about this pastor. Two wrongs don't make a right. But in the light is where the enabling stops. In the light is where the perpetrator must face himself and his deeds. In the light is where the victim can see that the shame is not hers to bear.

So to those who are saying, "Don't talk about it," I say this.

Do talk about it. Stop sweeping it under the carpet. The stories must be told. Stop shaming those who tell them. The person who is in the wrong is not above the rest of us. He needs the light just as much as anyone.

"For the fruit of the light consists in all goodness and righteousness and truth." Eph. 5:9.

Creeds and Redes

By Samantha Field at Defeating the Dragons

- a member of the Spiritual Abuse Survivor Blogs Network.

Interestingly, several people have asked me in the past couple of weeks whether or not I still agree with the Nicene Creed. If you’re not familiar with the history of the Nicene Creed, here’s a crash course:

In 325 AD, one of the major discussions at the Council of Nicea (council = gathering of all significant bishops) was whether or not Jesus was actually a human or if he only seemed to be human (an idea known as docetism, and a logical result ofChristian gnosticism). The Nicene Creed, which is similar in substance to the Apostle’s Creed and seems to be the final articulation of the creed found in I Corinthians 15:1-11, goes a bit like this:

We believe in one God, the Almighty, Maker of all things visible and invisible
And in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God the only begotten of the Father; that is, of the essence of the Father, Light of Light, very God of very God– begotten, not made, being of one substance of the Father
By whom all things were made
Who for us, and for our salvation, came down as incarnate and was made human
He suffered, and the third day he rose again, ascended into heaven
From thence shall he come to judge the quick and the dead
And in the Holy Ghost.

The Nicene Creed is historically important because it establishes that one of the fundamental tenets of Christianity is the Incarnation. You might have heard me rave about the Incarnation before– to me, it is probably one of the most beautiful and significant doctrines of my religion. Immanuel, “God with Us,” means that God became flesh and dwelt among us, and I think that’s extraordinary. It tells me that my humanity, my physicality, my existence, my life– it matters. Considering I grew up in a world where everything about my flesh is wholly corrupt and evil and must be literally beaten into submission, the idea that God became flesh never fails to comfort me.

So, short answer: yes. I agree with the Nicene Creed. It’s considered one of the most essential definitions of Christianity, and I like that it is incredibly unifying. Catholics, Orthodox, Protestant– we all can come to the Nicene Creed and sayhere– here is where we are the same.

But . . . something sort of fell out of my mouth this morning while my partner and I were driving to church. Ever have those moments, where something you say seems like it’s been something germinating for a long time and all of sudden pops out as this fully-formed thought and it surprises you?

I was talking about how there are times when I desperately want to distance myself from the word Christian. I can’t get away, intellectually and emotionally, from my belief in a deity, and for a bunch of reasons I think that deity looks like Jesus. I want to follow Jesus– I believe that what he taught was beautiful and is worth trying to live out.

Sometimes, though, I look at religions like Buddhism and Wicca, and I think wow, there are some incredible ideas in these religions. For example, one of the most absolutely fundamental ideas of Wiccan practice is the Rede: An it harm none do what ye will, frequently shortened to “do no harm.” That’s the north star of Wicca, its central teaching: do no harm.

However, it seems to me that if you ask a Christian “what does it mean to be a Christian?” the answer you’re going to get is a list of varying beliefs, usually organized around something like the Nicene Creed.

Wouldn’t it be a spectacular if, instead, the answer to that question was they shall know you by how you love one another? Because, after all, what Jesus taught waslove. Love each other. Love your enemy. Love your neighbor. Love the least of these.

What if the most absolute essential statement anyone could make about Christianity was that we love people? That how we loved was the only thing we really cared about or ever evaluated, and we stopped asking about how “theologically sound” someone is, or how “biblically based”? What if love were our North Star, instead of do you affirm the deity of Christ and his virgin birth?

Lover or Prostitute?: The Question that Changed My Life

By David Ryser. Re-posted from his blog Catch the Wind

A number of years ago, I had the privilege of teaching at a school of ministry. My students were hungry for God, and I was constantly searching for ways to challenge them to fall more in love with Jesus and to become voices for revival in the Church. I came across a quote attributed most often to Rev. Sam Pascoe. It is a short version of the history of Christianity, and it goes like this: Christianity started in Palestine as a fellowship; it moved to Greece and became a philosophy; it moved to Italy and became an institution; it moved to Europe and became a culture; it came to America and became an enterprise.

Some of the students were only 18 or 19 years old--barely out of diapers--and I wanted them to understand and appreciate the import of the last line, so I clarified it by adding, “An enterprise. That’s a business.” After a few moments Martha, the youngest student in the class, raised her hand. I could not imagine what her question might be. I thought the little vignette was self-explanatory, and that I had performed it brilliantly. Nevertheless, I acknowledged Martha’s raised hand, “Yes, Martha.” She asked such a simple question, “A business? But isn’t it supposed to be a body?” I could not envision where this line of questioning was going, and the only response I could think of was, “Yes.” She continued, “But when a body becomes a business, isn’t that a prostitute?”

The room went dead silent.

For several seconds no one moved or spoke. We were stunned, afraid to make a sound because the presence of God had flooded into the room, and we knew we were on holy ground. All I could think in those sacred moments was, “Wow, I wish I’d thought of that.” I didn’t dare express that thought aloud. God had taken over the class.

Martha’s question changed my life. For six months, I thought about her question at least once every day. “When a body becomes a business, isn’t that a prostitute?” There is only one answer to her question. The answer is “Yes.” The American Church, tragically, is heavily populated by people who do not love God. How can we love Him? We don’t even know Him; and I mean really know Him.

What do I mean when I say “really know Him?” Our understanding of knowing and knowledge stems from our western culture (which is based in ancient Greek philosophical thought). We believe we have knowledge (and, by extension, wisdom) when we have collected information. A collection of information is not the same thing as knowledge, especially in the culture of the Bible (which is an eastern, non-Greek, culture). In the eastern culture, all knowledge is experiential. In western/Greek culture, we argue from premise to conclusion without regard for experience--or so we think. An example might be helpful here. Let us suppose a question based upon the following two premises: First, that wheat does not grow in a cold climate and second, that England has a cold climate. The question: Does wheat grow in England? The vast majority of people from the western/Greek culture would answer, “No. If wheat does not grow in a cold climate and if England has a cold climate, then it follows that wheat does not grow in England.” In the eastern culture, the answer to the same question, based on the same premises, most likely would be, “I don’t know. I’ve never been to England.” We laugh at this thinking, but when I posed the same question to my friends from England, their answer was, “Yes, of course wheat grows in England. We’re from there, and we know wheat grows there.” They overcame their cultural way of thinking because of their life experience.

Experience trumps information when it comes to knowledge.

A similar problem exists with our concept of belief. We say we believe something (or someone) apart from personal experience. This definition of belief is not extended to our stockbroker, however. Again, allow me to explain. Suppose my stockbroker phones me and says, “I have a hot tip on a stock that is going to triple in price within the next week. I want your permission to transfer $10,000 from your cash account and buy this stock.” That’s a lot of money for me, so I ask, “Do you really believe this stock will triple in price, and so quickly?” He/she answers, “I sure do.” I say, “That sounds great! How exciting! So how much of your own money have you invested in this stock?” He/she answers, “None.” Does my stockbroker believe? Truly believe? I don’t think so, and suddenly I don’t believe, either. How can we be so discerning in the things of this world, especially when they involve money, and so indiscriminate when it comes to spiritual things? The fact is, we do not know or believe apart from experience. The Bible was written to people who would not understand the concepts of knowledge, belief, and faith apart from experience.

I suspect God thinks this way also.

So I stand by my statement that most American Christians do not know God--much less love Him. The root of this condition originates in how we came to God. Most of us came to Him because of what we were told He would do for us. We were promised that He would bless us in life and take us to heaven after death. We married Him for His money, and we don’t care if He lives or dies as long as we can get His stuff. We have made the Kingdom of God into a business, merchandising His anointing. This should not be. We are commanded to love God, and are called to be the Bride of Christ--that’s pretty intimate stuff. We are supposed to be His lovers. How can we love someone we don’t even know? And even if we do know someone, is that a guarantee that we truly love them?

Are we lovers or prostitutes?

I was pondering Martha’s question again one day, and considered the question, “What’s the difference between a lover and a prostitute?” I realized that both do many of the same things, but a lover does what she does because she loves. A prostitute pretends to love, but only as long as you pay. Then I asked the question, “What would happen if God stopped paying me?”

For the next several months, I allowed God to search me to uncover my motives for loving and serving Him. Was I really a true lover of God? What would happen if He stopped blessing me? What if He never did another thing for me? Would I still love Him? Please understand, I believe in the promises and blessings of God. The issue here is not whether God blesses His children; the issue is the condition of my heart. Why do I serve Him? Are His blessings in my life the gifts of a loving Father, or are they a wage that I have earned or a bribe/payment to love Him? Do I love God without any conditions? It took several months to work through these questions. Even now I wonder if my desire to love God is always matched by my attitude and behavior. I still catch myself being disappointed with God and angry that He has not met some perceived need in my life. I suspect this is something which is never fully resolved, but I want more than anything else to be a true lover of God.

So what is it going to be? Which are we, lover or prostitute? There are no prostitutes in heaven, or in the Kingdom of God for that matter, but there are plenty of former prostitutes in both places. Take it from a recovering prostitute when I say there is no substitute for unconditional, intimate relationship with God. And I mean there is no palatable substitute available to us (take another look at Matthew 7:21-23 sometime). We must choose.

Spiritual Abuse Survivor Blogs Network

I have just discovered this network aimed at supporting and promoting the blogs of individual spiritual abuse survivors. I love that they "are working together toward a shared goal of increasing awareness of this issue of spiritual abuse – the control, the confusion, the devastation, our struggles, our triumphs, our survival and recovery." This stuff really needs to be out there!

You can find out more about Spiritual Abuse Survivor Blogs Network here.

This link will take you to the current list of blogs on the Network.

Where Does Your Faith Lie?

Sometimes the seemingly simplest of questions can change your world!

I recommend this post from Rethinking Faith and Church: Where Does Your Faith Lie?