He Loves Me Not… (Review: Love Wins)

Rob Bell’s book Love Wins has generated a great deal of controversy in many Christian circles. While I have no desire to jump on the bandwagon of reviews just because everyone else is (I think some of the people freaking out are owed part of Bell’s royalties for the hand they had in making the book as popular as it is), the book is up for discussion in a class I’m taking this summer, and since I wrote up some thoughts on it anyway, I thought I’d put it into a blog post. For your perusal are three things I appreciated about the book followed by three areas of concern; I’ll let the length of the respective sections speak for themselves.

Things to Appreciate

1. Style: Bell’s book is written in his own unique voice, breaking up sentences as if they were poetry and seeking an aesthetic in writing which fuses theological discussion with art and conversation. While I personally don’t get a lot from this style of writing, I recognize that many people find it helpful and engaging. At the very least, Bell’s approach is a good reminder that there are many artists and other creative people who can be served by this style of book, and I wish more theologians and other Christians would speak at least occasionally to these people.

2. Identifying Problems: In Love Wins Bell does a great job of identifying the struggles and questions which many people have. He doesn’t pull any punches; when he asks “have billions of people been created only to spend eternity in conscious punishment and torment, suffering infinitely for the finite sins they committed in the few years they spent on earth,” Bell is identifying the raw, gut-level questions people truly have (p. 102). His critique of an escapist view of heaven nails the flawed picture many evangelicals have inherited (pp. 21-24). One of the greatest values of the book is that Bell unflinchingly articulates the difficult issues and questions of doubt.

3. Moments of Brilliance: There are points in Love Wins where Bell says true things beautifully. His discussion of the necessity of divine judgment would be spot-on if it wasn’t for the conclusions he goes on to draw (pp. 37-8). So are his initial few points about the sacrificial system, although even here a few flaws start to creep in (pp. 123-5). When Bell’s saying true thing he’s spot on; the problem comes with everything in between.

Areas of Concern

1. Logic/Careful Thinking: For someone who loves questions so much, it was surprising to me that Bell didn’t seem to have even a basic grasp of logical fallacies related to such questions. The book is rife with false choices (Bell dismisses the view that faith alone is needed for salvation by asking “[I]s it true that the kind of person you are doesn’t ultimately matter?” p. 6), equivocations, and excluded middles. The repeated question of chapter 4, “does God get what God wants,” is wielded like an argumentative hammer without ever stopping to define terms and consider other possibilities; Bell thinks the answer is either “yes” (and thus you buy into his arguments for universal or near-universal salvation) or “no” (and thus you hold the tradition view where God is only “sort of great” (p. 98) and “impotent” (p. 101)). This sort of shoddy argumentation is troubling, since it reflects a lack of respect and regard for the many people who disagree under the guise of benign question-asking. Another example of this shaky logic are the assertions which occur at many points in Bell’s argument. For instance, he insists that “telling a story in which billions of people spend forever…trapped in a black hole of endless torment and misery with no way out isn’t a very good story” and so dismisses the idea (p. 110). However, Bell fails to argue why it’s not a good story, seeming to think simply stating that many of us don’t like it is sufficient. I could respond “Well I think it is a good story” and we’d be at an impasse; more importantly, I could argue it’s the true story and that we need to adjust our views of goodness accordingly.

2. Exegetical Problems: I know of no other way to say it; Bell’s exegesis is atrocious. He makes aion (the Greek word for eternal) a description of “a period of intense feeling,” which is nowhere in its range of meanings (NB: aion does have many meanings, not all of which are durative, but that’s another discussion). He confuses the purpose of texts, for instance making the story of the prodigal son into an analogy about the afterlife (pp. 169-70). He even commits one of my cardinal sins of exegesis by confusing a word with an idea, noting “the phrase ‘personal relationship’ appears nowhere in the bible” (p. 10). True enough, but the idea of personal relationship is contained within the language of “knowing” biblically, and “knowing God” certainly is a biblical idea. I could multiply examples here, but suffice to say I had to stop reading several times in horror at the way texts were (mis)handled.

3. Theological Issues: While he often dances around naked assertions of his views, I think it’s pretty clear that Bell comes down in worrying places. The most obvious issue is his view of second-chance salvation after judgment, which he pretty clearly articulates. It should be noted in this regard that Bell’s attempts to claim many figures from church history for this view is painful to read. The quotes he offers by Luther, Jerome, Basil and Augustine are taken from works in which these figures reject the view Bell espouses, and to quote them the way he does is the worst sort of dishonesty (pp. 106-7). In addition, there are serious questions I have about emphases Bell stresses. For instance, he seems to view heaven and hell as primarily descriptive of this life and only secondarily of the life to come. I agree that we can have a more hellish or heavenly existence in this life, but to make that the primary focus of Scripture is to distort the bible’s own focus on God ultimately executing judgment and making creation new. Lastly, it must be noted that Bell is extremely Arminian and this book requires one to hold this view. Virtually all of Bell’s arguments fall apart if this theological position isn’t presupposed, and Love Wins nowhere argues for it, presumably dismissing those of us who disagree as not worthy of consideration.

Final Thoughts

I realize this is a pretty negative take on the book, so I want to take a moment to offer a few more thoughts. Unlike many, the thing that troubles me about Love Wins is not its conclusions. Oh, I disagree with them, but they were what I expected and I’m not one to enjoy getting apoplectic at how wrong others are. What made the book so hard for me to read was its total lack of respect and honesty.

Like Bell, I value asking questions and encouraging dialog. However, I think many modern Christian authors have confused punctuation and lack of clarity with these values. Asking leading questions to force your opinion is not a mark of charity. When you say you’re genuinely interested in discussing whether my view is wrong or I worship a monster, I have every right to feel you’ve already decided not to listen. Over an over Bell represents the discussion in this way. It’s apparent that he’s read lots of hip books about second temple Judaism and eschatology; what’s less clear is that he’s read any careful defense of the traditional views he’s rejecting. There are lots of ways of answering the questions he poses; I just wish he wouldn’t pretend like his way was the only one worth carefully articulating.

To put a point on it, I have no question that God loves me. The question I had after reading Love Wins is whether Rob Bell does.

A Reason to Sing

Here is the sermon on Psalm 147 I preached at Grace Chapel on 5/29, if anyone is interested.

When Judgment Day Didn’t Come…

I’ve been as snarky as anyone these last few weeks since I heard that, according to some Christian radio guy, the rapture was supposed to happen today,  starting some hours ago in New Zealand (awfully convenient how the omnipresent Lord of the universe is bound by time zones). However, I do think it might be fitting to offer a few semi-serious comments on the whole affair, since it seems to have everyone talking and is a great excuse for people to ridicule the religion I’m a part of. Here, in no particular order, are some things worth chewing on:

1. Harold Camping was not a Christian. At least, not an orthodox one as far as I can tell from his teachings. His bizarre ideas included denying the trinity, telling people to leave the church, and saying that Jesus died twice. I realize that it’s tempting for those skeptical of religion to take any wingnut who purports to hold some creed as a prime example of it, but there are historical beliefs which characterize Christianity, and someone who denies many of them is probably not a great exemplar of the faith’s views.

2. The Bible is against such predictions. Jesus had some things to say about predicting the end of the world (Matthew 24:36). In my view, the person who predicts the end of the world is as representative of Christian end-times views as the open adulterer is of its sexual ethic. You can’t violate the bible and claim to be exegeting it at the same time, no matter what your “math” tells you. Incidentally, as a side note, it’s worth pointing out that many of Camping’s claims were based on the research of one Harold Camping. That “date” for Noah’s flood? Yeah, he came up with that one a couple decades ago. I know no serious bible scholar who would agree with it.

3. What rapture? This one might make some Christians angry, but I’m with the majority of the historical church in simply not buying that the bible says anything about the “rapture,” at least in the modern sense. It was invented by a guy named Darby in the 19th century as a way for his eschatology to get Christians out of the way so Jews could rule the earth. I obviously don’t have the space to go into this debate here, but let me just register that, Left Behind novels aside, many Christians today and all of them in the church’s first 1800 years saw the end times as meaning that Jesus comes back, raises the dead, judges the world, and makes all things new. That’s the whole story: no drivers disappearing form cars, no wacky politics in Palestine, no earthquakes or 666 tattoos. I think Revelation is mostly about Rome’s oppression and the time between Christ’s first and second comings, Matthew 24 is about the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D., and the people “taken away” in a twinkling of an eye are taken to judgment, not harps and heavenly clouds. Now, I know some believers today disagree with this, and I don’t mean to be demeaning; I’m happy to enter into a conversation about these issues and am glad we both trust Jesus, who loves us despite our theological errors. However, for those of you tempted to reject Christianity because you find rapture hysteria ludicrous, know that lots of Christians do too.

4. God is a serious subject. As much as end-times-predicting billboards invite mockery, they have serious consequences. There are simple people whose lives and faiths have been destroyed today because a wicked man with a radio program told them lies. This saddens and angers me, and I’m on firm biblical ground saying God feels the same way. Unless he repents, Harold Camping will have the grief of thousands on his head on judgment day, whenever it is, and that’s not a position I envy. At the same time, I say this because I am deeply persuaded of the truth of Christianity. I know it can be tempting to avoid thinking about the claims of Christ because evil men misrepresent Him. However, faith is no laughing matter. Let’s agree that the May 21 rapture was ridiculous, but please don’t use that as an excuse to demonize and dismiss the God in whom very sane and careful people (whom I hope I am one of) believe. Rather, if you’re willing, I’d love to have a conversation about my resurrected Lord Jesus Christ, who will one day return and make all things new.

An Update on Rebekah

Elizabeth and I have been deeply thankful for those who have read my blog or used Facebook to keep up on Rebekah. I realize my blogging and updates have been sporadic, so I wanted to let everyone know how Rebekah is doing. I intend to start using the blog to discuss other things I’ve been thinking about, particularly as summer gives me some relief from a hectic life. However, I first wanted to let you all know how my family is doing.

Rebekah is home now, for which Elizabeth and I are deeply thankful. She was marked with the covenant sign of baptism the Sunday before last and we are loving the duties of caring for her, even the middle-of-the-night awakenings and early mornings. There are so many little things I am cherishing about being able to have her home; last Sunday I sang hymns in church with tears in my eyes because I could hold her in my arms as I sang.

Rebekah does continue to have ongoing medical needs. She has issues with her esophagus and being able to swallow. We are praying they might resolve with growth, but if not she will have to undergo surgery sometime this summer to correct it. For now she is getting most of her food through her g-tube. However, she continues to grow, and is now over 11 lbs. There are also questions about whether she will experience long-term developmental issues or disabilities from some of her medical issues associated with prematurity, but this isn’t something we’ll know for some time and we are submitting to whatever the Lord will bring in this area.

We are so grateful for all of your prayers and encouraging words. Being in the hospital for almost five months has made me deeply aware of just how little I can take for granted. The fact that I get to see my daughter smile at me, the fact that she is growing and generally healthy, are great blessings on which I can never again presume. Elizabeth and I hope you will rejoice with us and continue to keep Rebekah in your prayers.

“How precious is your steadfast love, O God! The children of mankind take refuge in the shadow of your wings.”  -Psalm 36:7 (ESV)

Parsing Calvinism: Give me a T

While I realize my writing here has tended toward a more existential bent of late, I’ve decided to dive back into discussing some doctrinal issues here as well. A good friend of mine has recently decided to work through the five points of Calvinism on his blog and give some reflections on how he understands them. While I have neither the time nor ability to mimic the insightfully literate approach he’s taking here, I figured I’d throw in my two cents.

I often run into shocked expressions and the occasional brandishing of a holy symbol to ward off the demons when people find out that I would describe myself theologically as a Calvinist (or at least Calvin-ish). This is often the result of either misunderstanding or a past encounter with a Krazy Kalvinist ™. I’m hoping to work through the first issue a bit. As to the second, well, the sad truth is I’d be a rich man if I really owned the intellectual property to Christian nutjobs. I pray I’m not one of them, despite the voices in my head and occasional psychotic episode. I should also state up front that while I do willingly wear labels like Reformed, Calvinistic and Presbyterian, they’re not the banners I want to die under. I love Jesus and the gospel. I think the above labels summarize true assessments of some things His Word teaches us. I do my best not to confuse the two categories. I’d appreciate it if you returned the favor.

One of the strange accidents of history is that we’ve been left with an acrostic by which Calvinism is typically explained. This is unfortunate not just because the letters spell TULIP (which makes me feel like a pansy – although that’s actually a type of violet), but also because acrostics tend to have an inverse pithiness-to-clarity ratio. Still, that history is the one I find myself in, so I’m going to try working out the way I understand each of the five points, both in their original intention and their modern application. I don’t have time or space to give an in-depth biblical defense of the five points at the moment, although I’m not unwilling to. I simply think the way a lot of people I know understand them is a bit skewed, and would like to offer my corrective thoughts. As always, if you don’t think I’m a very good theologian, its because I’m not one. I’m a guy with a blog and 2/3 of a seminary degree. I’m not putting on a pointy white hat and speaking infallible truth from on high; I’m just offering my thoughts.

But without further ado: on to the first point.

Two Months In

It’s been two months now, living at the hospital. My daughter has spent the first two months of her life in intensive care, surrounding by the beep of heart monitors and the clinical decor of a sterile room. In between the bustle of nurses and pediatricians, I’ve been struck by how much I never realized about living life this way, despite the friends we’ve had confront similar situations.

I never realized how tired I would get, how watching someone you love struggle to grow could chafe at you like a bad pair of shoes, leaving you raw and blistered without your even noticing. I never realized the anger and frustration I would feel, the way even a good report could make you want to yell because it wasn’t the report you wanted – the news that she was coming home.  I never realized how wrong the world could feel, when the question “how are you?” could never honestly be answered with “fine,” when a successful day is one you survive with your faith and hope intact.

I never realized any of this, and yet there’s something familiar about it all. It’s common in these situations for people to say “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” This is in some sense true, of course, and is meant as a gesture of compassion. Yet the fact is that, for all these last few months have felt like repeated kicks in the teeth, they’ve only served as an acute reminder of the dull ache I’ve always had in my jaw. The weariness and frustration and wrongness have all become painfully acute these last two months, but they’ve always been there.

Tragedy isn’t a break from the usual business of life. We’re always up to our necks in a broken world; it’s just that sometimes the brokenness sloshes over our heads, rushing into our noses and making us choke. For fear of confronting the frailty of our peace we distract ourselves with the glitz and hustle of this fractured world. But the waters of life are not to be ignored, and the waves that smack us in the face are reminders of our fallen estate.

The reality of this world as Scripture presents it to us is not a pretty picture. The bible consistently forces us to remove the blinkers and open our eyes. It shows us a world where tyrants triumph, innocents die, good men do terrible things and bad men often escape justice. Creation might be good, men might bear God’s image, but this goodness and this likeness are fractured into pieces by the fall, and we often get cut on the sharp edges.

This picture has little appeal to a people in love with Kincaid paintings and stylized movies, where everything is pastoral beauty and everyone is airbrushed. Yet it is precisely this picture which we need to see. In the gospel, God goes to war with this broken world, not to destroy it but to put it back together again, even though that’s the last thing it desires. It is the great strategy of the prince of this world to keep us from joining this fight, not by defeating us, but by making us fall in love too much with the way things are and keeping us from dreaming of how they will be. The Christian response should start not with a happy lie, but with a broken heart.

I’ll be damned if I ever accept life at the hospital as the way things ought to be. As much as some would like to talk about a “new normal,” as if a few adjustments in perspective could make everything better, I’ll never believe it. Children should not be struggling to breath. They should not have wires tangled around their little bodies. Nothing is okay about it; nothing is quite right here. Yet this isn’t an expression of despair. Instead, it’s to hope for healing, for redemption.

Redemption is what the Bible holds out to us in the midst of a world ravaged by the effects of sin. Redemption from our guilt, from our bondage, from our sin-sick hearts and broken bodies. We aren’t called to be Buddhists; we aren’t meant to deny the dissatisfaction in our souls. This world is a hospital, a place for the sick and dying. Nothing is quite right here. It is only when we realize this truth that we can begin to grasp the hope of a better world, a world of life and health and peace. It is only when we realize we are deeply wounded that we can endure the cure.

Sermon: When God Speaks and the World Falls Apart

Since I know we’ve got some new readers here, a word of explanation. When I preach different places (in this case, the last sermon of my seminary homiletics class career) I’ll typically post them here. I wrote this one over the last few weeks and delivered it today.

Hope is a Hard Thing

Having Rebekah has been perhaps the most emotional, and emotionally confusing, experience of my still-short life. On the one hand, there is a great joy and wonder. A new life has come into this world, a new life that is in some sense mine. I look at my tiny premature daughter and there are feelings which I can’t quite put words to, mythical feelings of fatherhood, of protectiveness and delight. Yet at the same time, there are other feelings – grief, and an overwhelming fear – at her helpless state. I suppose every life is fragile, but its not philophizing about life in general that concerns me. It is my daughter’s life, so uncertain because of her early exit from her mother, that brings home to me in a way I’ve never experienced before the uncertainty of tomorrow.

It snowed yesterday, and I found myself dreaming about a year from now when I might take my little girl, all bundled up, to relish the fat flakes which drifted from the sky. Yet as I dreamed, I felt something in me recoil. It was like the guards on the bulwarks I’ve erected around my heart were calling out, warning me that I was on uncertain ground, that the enemy might strike at any moment and snatch her away. They called for me to retreat back to the safety of their walls of cynicism and fatalism. I could barely dare to hope, because at any moment I knew my hope could be taken from me.

This struggle to hope has characterized my days since Rebekah’s birth. There are beautiful moments. The first time I touched her hair, stroking it,  I wept in gratitude over her isolette. Yet those moments are hard to keep; they are quickly overwhelmed by the terror that we might receive a midnight call from the neonatal intensive care unit and I might be plunged again beneath the torrent of grief.

A Prayer for Rebekah

(For those of you who don’t know, yesterday my wife and I gave birth to our first child. She is premature by three months. While she is alive and stable, there is a long road ahead of us. This is what I’m praying tonight. You don’t have to pray it; many of you might not even agree with it. But there are few things I’ve meant more.)

Almighty God,

A pious saint might stand over the trembling, fragile form of his too-small daughter and sagely nod, noting that your ways are beyond searching out. But I do not believe you are a God for pious saints, but for broken human beings desperate for mending in every way. I do not know your plans, I do not know the future, but I do know who You are.

You are the great Triune God, Father, Son and Spirit. Father, I beseech you to have mercy on your tiny child. Jesus, I beg you to consider the youngest of your sisters. Spirit, I groan with desires I cannot twist through my lips, and I pray that you might intercede with me for my little girl.

You are Yahweh, Covenant Lord. You have given your promises to me and to my children. You have knit my daughter together in her mother’s womb, known her hidden form, counted her among your people. You are the God who says the kingdom belongs to little children, and I can think of few smaller than my own.

You are Yeshua, God with us. You came not in heavenly majesty but with labor pains and afterbirth. You sympathize with us in our weakness, and her hand is the size of my fingernail. You show mercy to the least of these, and she struggles to move her mouth. To work salvation you took on frail flesh and bone, and I can see her lungs laboring beneath stretched skin.

God, I know you are a king, but you are no petty tyrant who breaks men’s backs with an iron rod. You are the Servant King, the Lamb who wins the victory at the price of His own life. In this knowledge, I do not hide behind platitudes, but ask plainly. Grant my daughter protection, peace, and many years. Let me hear her speak, let me watch her grow up in faith, or at least let me hold her in my arms.

They say men pray to lift their sagging hearts, but I have no interest in self-delusion. I bow my head and lift my hands in supplication because I know You are the most real thing in this universe. Your palm holds the ocean, your voice sets the cosmos spinning, and your will includes every day of my daughter’s lift. I bend my knee because I know it is your right to take her away if that is your desire; she already belongs to you. Yet this power cuts both ways, and I ask that you would watch over my Rebekah tonight with your sovereign mercy and uphold her with your omnipotent grace.

I do not presume to approach you as one worthy of your ear. I have no more to offer you than does my premature baby. I approach instead in the name of Jesus, to whom both I and this covenant child belong. In your mercy shown us on behalf of Christ, watch over her. She is my child; she is Yours as well.

Amen.

Which Happy?

Marc Chagall, "Abraham Slaying Isaac"

Recently, Elizabeth and I had our first childbirthing class. It was interesting; given my personality, I loved the details about biology and grimaced my way through the doula’s rants about hospitals and glowing endorsements of homeopathy. (Side note: I have no problem believing in demons, resurrection, or a dude walking on water. But homeopathy? I often wish its proponents would drink one part arsenic diluted in one million parts water – only a threat if homeopathy works.) That aside, one thing that stuck out to me in the class was a discussion of the pain that accompanies childbirth. Within the curriculum, what was stressed was that this pain wasn’t like the normal pain our culture teaches us to avoid. Rather, the pain of childbirth was good pain, a pain that was worth it.

There is a true happiness that can only be birthed through hardship – through pain. For whatever reason, this thought keeps forcing its way to the front of my mind. There seems to be two camps in the discussion of Christianity and happiness. One says that God wants you to be happy; while meaning well, these folks often end up promising you sports cars or saying you should probably abandon your less-than-perfect marriage. Hey, God might say that’s wrong, but he couldn’t mean you shouldn’t do what will make you happy. In response, other Christians insist that no, God doesn’t want you to be happy at all. They instead recommend a regimen of discipline and guilt-driven obedience suggests everything short of buying a whip and becoming a flagellant.

I’ve never been able to join either camp. The happy-Jesus crowd have no place for crosses or a faith that gets you fed to lions; the dutiful martyrs miss the earthy joys and heavenly raptures with which the heart of Scripture pulses. The real problem, I think, should be highlighted by the question “which happy?”