Eternal Perspectives

Jollyblogger has written an informative and typically reasonable post about Halloween and the Christian response to it. What follows is a comment I started to post there but thought it not considerate: better that I should defile my own blog instead of his. Here’s what I was thinking:

You know, there’s a difference between being fools for Christ and just being stupid. There are people in the United States, in your town (likely), and in your church (perhaps) that live in poverty, can’t make ends meet, can’t afford medications for things like - this is a fact - chemotherapy, and we sit around a whine and debate the pros and cons of Halloween, wondering if we should take our $50,000 SUV to run our sugar-crazed kids around the upscale neighborhoods or put on our $150 running shoes and get a little aerobic exercise instead.

“To use the old sermon illustration, most Christians don’t give a shit that other believers are living in deplorable conditions - and the proof that most don’t care is that they’re more upset that I said “shit” on a Christian blog than they are that people live like that.

“We - and I include myself - need either to stop playing around and calling ourselves Christians or to get serious about living in a way that people will recognize that we’re Christians - without bumper sticks, asinine fish emblems, expensive crosses on gold chains, tee shirts, or anything else to let the world know that we’re God’s chosen people. I suspect many nonbelievers are happy to have us display such visible identifiers: it’s like belling the cat. The fact that we have to have such trinkets is evidence of our decadence and our failure to embody Christ.

“For Christ’s sake, a lot of us need to get back in the closet and not come out until we’re ready to live a life that glorifies our Savior. And maybe Halloween will take care of itself.”

As though it were a new thing, there has been a lot of blogtalk and books written recently about why men don’t seem to like church very much. Perhaps some of the best insights I’ve encountered came from a 1991 book entitled Uneasy Manhood, written by Robert Hicks, who at the time was Professor of Pastoral Theology at the Seminary of the East.

Hicks’ book covers a lot of different aspects of a man’s life and offers some insights as to why men aren’t very comfortable in some of our roles. Here’s a few of the chapters:

Uneasy Boyhood
Uneasy Paycheck
Uneasy Solitude
Uneasy Fathering
Uneasy Spirituality

It’s a very good read - I’d tell you to buy it, but you can’t find it: Hicks used the word “phallic” in the same sentence with “Jesus” and thus was literarily castrated - but I’ll glean some of his words from his chapter “Uneasy Sundays”:

First, most men compare themselves to the image of the minister. The media’s portrayal of the minister is one of the most often perpetuated exercises in systematic brainwashing. The clergyman is usually a priest or a priest type dressed in distinct garb, and of course, the producers choose an innocuous-looking, effeminate man for the part . . . To the average viewer, the minister lives in anonymity, on the fringe of life; he shows up only for cameo appearances at weddings, funerals, and presidential invocations.

“But the real problem lies in the fact that this life-on-the-fringe phantom (minister) becomes the model of both spirituality and masculinity for wives and women in general. The pastor is the perfect man, the spiritual man personified, the man a wife wishes her husband were like.

“This is a terrifying aspect about the ministry - knowing that women in the congregations are constantly comparing men like me to their husbands! . . . The man in the pulpit becomes a subtle enemy to most men. There is nothing appealing about his life to other men.”

Dr. Donald Joy speaks of ‘the deformed male as the norm in our society,’ which has taken two forms. One is the macho man who deals with his deformity by compensating for his insecurity through ‘acting’ manly rather than being manly. The other is the feminized deformed male who has given up on being a man and runs away from his manhood; he feels more comfortable on the feminine side of life . . .

“The minister holds a pivotal position in our culture to model both realistic manhood and more realistic spirituality. For this to happen, however, a change of thinking on both sides of the pulpit or altar must occur. The average man asks, ‘What do I have in common with this man, and why should I listen to him?’ The new males, the postwar babies who have been educated, if not brainwashed, into thinking that integrity is related more to vulnerability than to performability, ask, ‘Are you for real? Do you struggle where I struggle? Are you going to shoot straight with me about your inner life?’ . . .

“To do what needs to be done to reach and win men for the church, the leaders must figure out whether they want the appearance of perfection or honesty in their ministers.”

Another reason Sundays are uneasy for men is that they don’t understand the game. Men appreciate having clear leadership and knowing the rules of the game being played. In their absence, every man must figure out what in the world the pastor is trying to do and what the church is all about. A minister needs at least three years of study to figure it out, and then he spends the rest of his life trying to implement it. The man off the street doesn’t have a clue, especially if he is a convert late in life. One man told me when he first started attending the church, he though the Epistles were the apostles wives! . . .

“In preparation for one of the Lausanne conferences on evangelism, Dallas businessman Ford Madison was asked to speak on the role of the layman in world evangelization. He surveyed various men who were actively involved in their churches to get a feel for what they thought their pastors really expected of them. He asked, ‘What do you think your pastor expects of you as a layman?’ Ford said he was surprised by the results. The number one expectation was for men to give money. The number two perceived expectation was to attend and support all the church programs. The third, in Ford’s words, was, ‘Don’t rock the boat.’ . . .

“Men perceive the church a certain way and then act in accordance with their perceptions. If the perceptions are off, their actions will be, too . . . Once men see what the church is all about and have a personal share in its ministry, they feel at home there . . .

Until men look upon ministry as more than attending a meeting or making decisions, we will continue to lose the best men. In a little book he wrote in 1947, Elton Trueblood asked, ‘Why is it that the church is not getting the best men?’ His question intrigued me, and his answer continues to haunt me. He replied, ‘Because they are the best men . . . the best men are not interested in trivial things’ . . .

“Christianity is no trivial pursuit. As C.S. Lewis concluded, if it is true we should not sleep at night. But the way Christianity is presented and lived out in the church, it is often reduced to the most insignificant trivia. It’s no wonder men want no part in it . . . If we do not call men to true Christianity and challenge them to invest their lives personally, not institutionally, I fear we will continue to lose the best men . . .

“I have seen too many good men leave the church or church leadership because they were tired of playing the games and they saw a lot of what the church was doing as a waste of time. We must recapture the church for men, defeminize it, and make our appeals to men where it will cost them something more than their money or their time. Christ wants their lives.”

How do we reclaim men for the kingdom of God and get them into the doors of the church? I wish I knew a surefire answer. But two images come to my mind . . . one is the image [of] the sterile, cold, formal, flowery image of church with over half its audience women. The other image is the most recent Flyers hockey game I experienced, and I do mean experienced! I looked at the audience, by far more men than women. What were they wearing? Anything! Some were dressed for the stock exchange; others for the Philly meat market. How did they behave? Were they passive, quiet, unemotional, refined gentlemen? Hardly. They were involved, vocal, upset, yelling, celebrating.

“I thought to myself, ‘Here is a man’s world, a place where he can let it all out, be himself, wear anything he desires, and they still let him in. And he actually pays to come!’ But what about the church? No, there a man can’t be himself: he has to watch what he says, act appropriately, and wear a neatly pressed and coordinated suit and tie. Then it hit me: We’re all dressed the way our mommies always wanted us to dress. We’re all nice, clean little boys, sitting quietly so we won’t get into trouble with our mothers!

“Am I suggesting we turn the church into a hockey game? Of course not . . . But I do know that men will come to something and pay for it when we identify with it. It’s obvious we don’t feel that way about church . . .”

To be continued . . .

Death has a way of stripping aside all the superfluities of life - the diversions, as Pascal might say - and leaving only the essence. So has the death and burial of my mother affected me, at least for now.

I had gotten a taste of this austerity not long ago, stunned by the thousands upon thousands of lives that had been snuffed out by a tsunami, earthquake, flood, or hurricane. Seeing a corpse floating face down in what used to be someone’s front yard, or watching a child swept out to sea by the receding waters of a devastating wave, or listening to a broken man tell of not being able to hold on to his wife and to watch her swirl away to her death. Unnatural disasters.

And then there are the genocides, unchecked diseases, famines, and a plethora of others atrocities we inflict upon one another. On our return home from Indiana, where my mother lived and died, we stopped by the memorial for the victims of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building bombing in Oklahoma City. The chairs represent the victims, one empty chair for each person slaughtered by a fellow American. There is also a small space for the children who, in the midst of playing in the building’s daycare, were suddenly vaporized. I didn’t think about the number of people who died there. I thought about the individuals who died, each one a horrific tragedy for countless other victims who live with the memories.

For me, there was a peculiar sense of satisfaction or justice: we had just left Terre Haute, Indiana, where my mother was buried; it was also in Terre Haute that Timothy McVeigh, found guilty of the killing of 168 innocent people on April 19, 1995, died in the electric chair. I found myself glad to have grown up in Terre Haute.

My somber mood was undoubtedly deepened by having just 48 hours earlier having stood next to the coffin that waited to lower my mother’s physical remains into the ground. It was ironic: such a sturdy, formidable coffin for such a frail, gentle woman.

The brief graveside services are so pretty and clean. A canopy shelters the immediate family from the weather, flowers surround the site, and the coffin is perched on a platform that hides the gaping hole beneath it. Even the excavated dirt is covered with a verdant tarp as if to convey a message of life. But I had been to the site two days before and had seen the stark reality. This is what awaited my mother; this was the reality of the situation. We can dress it up all we want, but in the end it is a hole in the ground to be filled with our spiritless form. It is not glamorous or pretty. It is the unnatural consequence and outcome of dying.

Times such as these sink deeply into my being - or, more accurately - I feel myself sinking deeply into such times. There is a part of me that feels exquisitely alive when I am in the presence of death, as though all the ridiculous distractions and amusements have been exposed as the frauds that they are and leaving me face-to-face with the consequence of my Adamic nature. The activities and pursuits of my life are suddenly put into a perspective that I quickly lose sight of: in the presence of death, I remember what is important about life. I looked around at the people at the cemetery on the day of my mother’s burial: my wife, daughters, sisters, cousins, niece, in-laws, friends. They matter; little else really does.

I have been a St. Louis Cardinal fan for more than 40 years; more, I detest Houston. Not the Astros, but the city: they are the dumbest and poorest baseball fans I have ever had the displeasure of encountering. They have no respect for the game, no sense of history, no sense - period. But when the Cardinals lost the pennant to them Monday evening, meaning the Ashtrays would be going to Chicago for the World Series, I really didn’t care. It simply isn’t important; more, it’s never been important and it never will be important. It is just an illusion to convince us that our meaningless lives - for so we behave, even if we profess otherwise - are somehow enriched because a bunch of millionaires playing a child’s game have accomplished something.

Death makes things like that clear. It also makes clear how much of blogging is little more than navel-gazing and wool-gathering. So much blathering about politics and sports and divisive doctrines and Christian celebrities and why-my-favorite-theologian/icon-is-better-than-yours.

For now, at least, I’m going back to what I do best: helping people and writing about the interface between the mind, brain, and spirituality. I’ve had my little affair with philosophy and, frankly, don’t find it to offer much in the way of comfort or practical aid. I’m sure it’s fun to think great thoughts, but I can’t afford to do that any more. More power to those who have the time: I’ve learned a lot from the likes of Moreland, Groothuis, Geisler, Craig, and others. But it doesn’t really help me help others much.

This may mean I blog less, too, at least for awhile. My heart is still hurting a bit and I don’t have the energy to talk about many things. Death still has me thinking seriously about life.

My mother died at 5 pm today, Oct 12th. I’ll be back sometime.

Thanks.

It was something my sister said on the phone, a phrase that stuck with me more than anything else that was said during our brief conversation Sunday night. She had called while my wife and I were returning from a wedding in Paris, Texas, and I did not hear my phone for whatever reason. When I got home I saw the new-message notification and called to pick it up.

My sister had called to update me on our mother. At 86 years of age, our mother has been languishing in a nursing home for more than two years now. She often confuses my two sisters for one another, has difficulty carrying on conversations, and - whenever I make the 2,000-mile roundtrip to see her - believes me to be her brother, who died almost 30 years ago. After I’ve been in her room for no more than five minutes, she is ready for me to leave. She forgets who I am and why I’m even there. I don’t go very often anymore: it seems to upset her more than comfort her.

After listening to the voice mail, I went to the swing on our back porch, mostly hidden by the darkness that had begun to shroud the neighborhood. I sat and dialed my sister’s cell phone.

She was returning to Indianapolis, roughly 75 miles from where we grew up and the site of the nursing home where my mother was unknowingly waiting to die. Norma had talked to nurses and a doctor on the phone earlier and they thought it might be wise to come back Sunday evening rather than wait until Monday. As her car, driven by her husband, raced along I-70 towards the east, she told me the little she knew. She was going back to sign a complete DNR, one that would free the nursing home from having to transport my mother to a hospital to prolong the inevitable.

And then she used the phrase that struck and stuck: “Her nail beds are blue.”

There are several things that can cause a person’s nail beds to turn blue, but for my mother it meant one thing: she was not receiving sufficient oxygen in her circulatory system. She kept pulling the tubes out that would artificially supply her with sterile air. My other sister, who lives near the nursing home, told them to leave the tubes out. It was making my mother uncomfortable; comfort was the only thing she had left, her mind and dignity having fled long ago.

That same, other sister - Diana - called again this morning. The doctors had determined that our mother had suffered another stroke. How many was that, I wondered, ten? twenty? No less than ten, not counting all the TIAs. My sister also said that the doctors had determined that our mother’s kidneys were shutting down. The indefiniteness of the past several years suddenly became more precise. Days. Two weeks at the most. The final death watch had begun. Every time the phone rings . . .

Diana, who has been a believer longer than I, said that she felt as though our mother’s soul had left her and that it was just her body hanging on. Substance dualism and biblical anthropology seemed asinine at that moment. I knew what she meant. And I agreed.

She mumbled some other words, tried to be comforting even as she needed to be comforted, and we hung up. Our father had died just over nine years ago and by the end of this month only the three of us will remain. The chief and principal witness to our lives is about to leave us. Even though her mind and personality has been gone for years, the physical remembrance of what once was remained in a nursing home in Indianapolis. There is something to be said for that.

I’m hardly in a mood to discuss theology or Christian ethics at the moment, but one thing has been whispering to me throughout the last twenty-four hours: euthanasia. Death with dignity. All the metaphors and euphemisms we employ. Up until four years ago, I was opposed to euthanasia; ironically, my mother was not: what she feared more than anything else in her life was losing her mind.

My mother never got past eighth-grade, having had to quit school to work during the black-and-white years of the Depression. But she was remarkably quick and bright, the obvious source of whatever intelligence my two sisters and I had been endowed with at birth. Her fears of losing her mind stemmed from a sister she had had. Mary was mentally disturbed, although we never knew how or why. The family was too poor for treatment or diagnosis, and so she had remained the “odd” sister in the family. There is one picture of her - pictures of Mary are rare - in which she is looking into the camera. The vacant look of insanity haunts the print. My mother grew up watching Mary and fearing that one day she, too, would lose her wits and dignity. She was horrified by the prospect of being laughed at or whispered about. Her mind, ravaged by stroke after stroke, lost its mooring two or three years ago. My mother became Mary. At first, she knew it was happening and tried to hide it. Then there was no hiding it.

I had worked out my doctrine and ethic about euthanasia before I was emotionally affected or invested in the matter. We were encouraged to develop such “position papers” or “personal doctrinal statements.” Even before seminary I had been taught that this was when and how we should develop our theology: emotions can cloud our vision and introduce an element of subjectivity into a practice better undertaken during times of clear thinking and objective distance.

For the past few years, however, I have begun to reflect on that admonition. And the question that keeps coming to mind is, “Why the hell would I not want to be emotionally invested in formulating my beliefs?”

Maybe it’s because we try to be passionless, stoic, unloving, subhuman thinking machines that the world finds us so distasteful. We think about people and suffering as though they were just theological or philosophical puzzles to be resolved, not seeming to have any genuine compassion for the intense suffering or dignity of the person. We act as though our theology is some kind of game that we can play and, when our theology seems heartless and cruel, we resort to, “But God can be glorified through this!” or “He might heal your mother, after all.”

To which I want to say: “Grow up. Get in the real world, eh?” For every so-called miraculous healing that takes place there are thousands upon thousands of not-so-miraculous outcomes: the person dies. A mother, father, sister, brother, son, daughter, friend, or complete stranger. People die. The statistics are impressive.

Take those stupid truisms to the pediatric cancer ward at your nearby hospital and peddle it there. See how it plays. I hope someone knocks the stupid smile off your face if you’re foolish enough to do it. To think that some stupid or lame statement - “All things are possible with God!” - ripped out of context somehow relieves us of a moral decision is what too often makes Christianity so unnecessarily repugnant. Not just to non-Christians, but to Christians, too.

Life is painful. It is suffering. It ends in death. That is reality. To argue that we should keep people suffering without a realistic hope of recovery is hateful and cruel. Sometimes death is the kindest thing that can happen to a person. It will be for my mother.

I am as guilty of this as anyone; my tongue is no less sharp than another’s and, if I think it might be dull, I quickly find a way to sharpen it. I write this to myself; perhaps to you, as well. But hopefully not.

My poetry is lame but all the same, with apologies to Thomas Hardy (The Man He Killed), I offer:

The Souls We Kill

Had he and I but met, I say,
In some old church or pew,
We should have sat us down to pray
As Christian brothers do!

But with our anonymity,
Remote in cyberspace,
I railed at him as he at me,
And put him in his place.

I attacked because –
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That’s clear enough; although

He thought he’d surf, perhaps,
Off-hand like — just as I –
He had some time — a cherished lapse –
No other reason why.

How dangerous our words can be!
You wound a soul in pride,
Failing at that time to see,
T’was him for whom Christ died.”

Bowden at Counseling Notes has an interesting post asking whether or not Christians have what it takes to stay married. Identifying some of the faulty reasoning that too often leads to an unbiblical divorce, he observes:

Generally, the thought process goes something like this: A) God wants me to stay married. B) If I am obedient and stay married, I will be miserable for the rest of my life. C) If I’m disobedient and divorce, God will forgive me and I can be happy for the rest of my life.

Any counselor or pastor who has done much marital counseling has run into this rationalization for sin. Some time ago I encountered it in a pastor who decided he wasn’t happy and was going to divorce. He did not quote Heinrich Heine, but his attitude was no less callused:

“God will forgive me. It’s his job.”

A passage popped into my head when I heard the flimsy rationale and I told the man,

“Yes, I suppose He will, but there are still consequences. It’s like what Jesus said about those who do their praying, fasting, and tithing in such a way as to be noticed and praised by others. He repeatedly said,

Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full.” - Mt 6.2, 5, 16 (NASB)

“You might very well divorce, be forgiven, remarry, and be happy. But I hope it is unbelievably happy because it’s all the reward you’ll ever get. Forget about eternal rewards: you’ll have your reward in full, in this lifetime. But there won’t be anything in the next.”

He didn’t much care for my answer and said he didn’t believe it. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I believed it either at the time, but as I thought about it I became more convinced. In situations where there is an unbiblical divorce, the guilty party - not the innocent one - can expect to be forgiven but cannot legitimately expect for there to be eternal rewards for being a good husband or wife in the next marriage.

The decision to end a marriage for less than Scriptural reasons has consequences. The loss of future rewards - which is no small matter - is one of them. A person can choose divorce but they cannot choose the consequences of divorce, whether in this lifetime or the next.

A-

Hardly anything gets by you… You have a great memory and eagle eyes

(HT: Marla Swoffer)

[The following was originally posted at Theologica and is reproduced here for those who are too tired to click to that site.]

In an earlier post I likened some theological arguments to “gorillas thumping their chests, peacocks strutting, and bodybuilders striking a pose to look better than others.” My point was that such interactions too often turn out to be more for show and to puff ourselves up than to promote love or further the purposes of the Kingdom of God. The earlier comparisons hold but, upon reflection, I realized that the jawing of two male hippos might be more appropriate. At left is a candid photo of me looking for a fight (did you know I can open my mouth an amazing 150 degrees, i.e., enough to put my foot in it?) that illustrates my point.

Some may think it strange that on a blog devoted to theology - hence, the name Theologica - space and energy would be devoted to the manner in which we engage in in-house theological discussion. Ultimately, however, the study of theology is wasted if it does not result in changed behavior toward God, people, or both. This discussion, therefore, gets to the purpose and practice of doctrinal pursuits.

There are numerous statements that seem designed to excuse unloving or reckless words in such exchanges. Perhaps you have encountered - or used - some of them yourself. Admittedly I have far too often said such things in the past to justify my calloused comments. They appear to be reasonable and wise comments meant to take the sting out of what has been or is about to be said. The following are representative.

Don’t take it personally.”

“I’ve got to speak and defend the truth.”

“Iron shaprens iron, you know.”

Starting with the last statement, let’s explore these claims a bit.

It is true that “iron sharpens iron”: Pr 27.17 states, “Iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another” (NASB). The question is whether this is true in every exchange between people or only in certain ones. It is not difficult to think of interactions in the Old Testament wherein the result was not necessarily beneficial to both. David’s confrontation with Goliath seems to have been a sharpening experience for the former but not so much the latter (1 Sam 17). The meeting of Samuel and Agag (1 Sam 15.32-33) also comes to mind. In the New Testament, Peter’s rebuke of Ananias and Sapphira seemed to be somewhat “dulling” for the deceitful couple.

Advice and commands to the contrary are also found in Scripture. Though there are many verses from the same book, i.e., Proverbs, that could be adduced, the following will suffice to dispel the universal application of 27.17:

A fool does not delight in understanding, But only in revealing his own mind.” - Pr 18.2

“When a wise man has a controversy with a foolish man, The foolish man either rages or laughs, and there is no rest.” - Pr 29.9

Please understand that I am not accusing anyone of being a fool (i.e., one who behaves as if there were no God; see picture of me at right) but am only seeking to demonstrate that there are some interactions that do not result in a mutual benefit. Iron can sharpen iron but, as anyone who has ever sharpened a knife knows, if it is not done properly iron can actually dull iron. So slapping Pr 27.17 on an argument does not prove that all such discussions are profitable.

Second, it is also true that Christians need to speak and defend the truth. The admonitions are hard to miss, especially in the New Testament. It is no less clear, however, that Christians are called to take the high road and to do the right thing in the right way. Perhaps the most obvious and sufficient statements come from Paul:

As a result, we are no longer to be children, tossed here and there by waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, by craftiness in deceitful scheming;
“but speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects into Him who is the head, even Christ,
“from whom the whole body, being fitted and held together by what every joint supplies, according to the proper working of each individual part, causes the growth of the body for the building up of itself in love.” - Eph 4.14-16

“Let your speech always be with grace, as though seasoned with salt, so that you will know how you should respond to each person.” - Col 4.16

“We urge you, brethren, admonish the unruly, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with everyone.” - 1 Th 5.14

Even with the “unruly” we are commanded to be “patient.” So our discussions and disagreements are limited by behavior that is loving, gracious, and patient.

Finally, there is my personal favorite: “Don’t take it personally.” If I understand this correctly, it means that I should not have an emotional reaction to an attack on my belief system but should instead process it cognitively and dispassionately, perhaps even stoically. The problem is that this is not possible: all thought has an affective component to it. The question is whether or not we are aware of the emotional valence or not.

LeDoux and Goleman argue that it is basically impossible to have conscious thought without there being an emotional component attached to it, but that the opposite is not true. All thoughts have emotions connected to them to some degree. Emotions are basic to the brain and are either consciously or unconsciously operative in any thoughts - and therefore conversations - we might have.

Fear, in fact, might be the most basic dimension of our mind - perhaps this is why Jesus so frequently told His disciples to “Fear not”? When something is said or communicated to us, it is impossible not to respond emotionally at some level. We are far better off being aware of what that emotional reaction is than to convince ourselves that we are not emotionally involved or moved by something that is said. Emotions will push us from behind if we are not aware of how they are influencing our thoughts and subsequent behaviors.

We need to keep this in mind, therefore, when we speak or write to others. How we say things is no less important than what we say. As the body of Christ, we have a wealth of knowledge and resources that any one of us - or even any single church or denomination - lacks individually. If we are to benefit from those resources, however, we must be diligent to obey 1 Cor 16.14: “Let all that you do be done in love.”

All of us are prone to be suspicious of those who are “not like us” theologically; when such messages are couched in angry, disrespectful, or condescending tones it is especially difficult not to shoot the messenger and ignore the message.

Many of our transdenominational theological debates, I am convinced, have less to do with defending our faith and far more to do with gorillas thumping their chests, peacocks strutting, and bodybuilders striking a pose to look better than others.

Here is a typical scenario in which I find myself with some regularity: a person writes something which I consider to be unloving, graceless, unedifying, or some other offense that I - being the final judge and arbiter of all such things - deem worthy of a reply. I respond by addressing the spirit, not the letter, of the post or comment, and am then charged with ducking an argument or being afraid to engage in “honest and loving disagreement.” Here’s why I don’t take the bait and why I think we would all be better off to resist that temptation, too.

First, I just don’t have the time, and I don’t think I’m unique in this regard. I certainly enjoy theology - but not for the purpose of debating others of different convictions. I enjoy theology because it enables me to know God better: it gives me a glimpse not just into His attributes, but His character, His being. When I study theology, even as when I read and meditate upon Scripture, I feel closer to Him, as though I am seeing His heart a bit more clearly. For me, that is the highest good of theology.

Second, I avoid theological debates because I rarely know whether or not my opponent or adversary has done her homework. It is likely true that I’ve read more Reformed authors than dispensational ones, especially when it comes to commentaries. I have used more than a few of Calvin’s commentaries, as well as those by Moo, Cranfield, Fee, Bruce, Morris, Lane, and others. I’ve studied Chafer’s systematic theology, it’s true, as well as Ryrie’s extended treatise on doctine, but I’ve also read Calvin’s Institutes and systematic theologies by Lewis and Demarest (former profs), Carl Henry, Erickson, Warfield, Hodge, Murray, and others both in and out of the Reformed camp. I went to two seminaries that were more Reformed than dispensational: one, in fact, was quite antagonistic toward the latter.

I understand fairly well why Reformed people believe what they do, how they understand the Scriptures, and the hermeneutic they have employed to come to their conclusions. I deeply respect them and their tradition. If they want to learn, I would be happy to explain what I believe; I have learned much from Reformed writers and teachers who took the time to answer my questions. In return, I’m not going to waste their time by trying to change their minds about their carefully studied opinons. Personally, I am thankful for the many contributions from non-dispensationalists and respect the scholarship of the true Reformed theologians and exegetes.

I also am reluctant to argue my theology when I have reason to believe that my “opponent” doesn’t have the basic tools to do theology. I realize that this sounds quite elitist and arrogant, but I don’t mean for it to be. When a computer programmer wants to tell me why my theology is incorrect, however, I find myself wondering about his qualifications. I also wonder how he might respond if I began to tell him why his code was all wrong even though I know comparatively little about programming. It is wonderful for all Christians to read and study theology, but for those who do it parttime and/or lack exegetical skills it is somewhat presumptuous to assail biblical scholars with statements dismissing decades of study. Not that I’m a biblical scholar, but I’m not the one specifically being attacked. I’m just one of their groupies, I guess.

Again, if this were an individual who simply sought to understand the dispensational position more accurately or in more depth - even if they weren’t interested in changing their position - that would be a different matter. I’d be happy to point that individual in the direction of numerous books that can explain it far better than I might. But to engage someone whose mind is made up and seeks only to derisively rail against me - well, see my first point: I don’t have the time or energy.

Further, I avoid such debates because the internet is not the local church. If this individual were in the church of which I am a member and were saying such things in such a manner, that would be another matter. But this is the internet and that individual is someone else’s sheep - or shepherd, as the case might be. It’s not my place to try to proselytize or condemn them, even as it is not their place to do the same with me.

Finally, I stay away from these fights because they are distractions and nuisances. These are not the battles we should be fighting: other believers who adhere to different nonessential doctrines are not the enemy. The time we spend fighting one another would be more wisely spent battling against truly dangerous doctrines and beliefs that are infiltrating our local churches. Or we could focus our energies on confronting our culture and endeavoring to demonstrate the viability - and necessity - of our common faith. Or even - perish the thought! - evangelize people instead of arguing with the redeemed.

(As an excursus, I have had a personal realization: it was long my impression that, of all the denominations and traditions in Christendom, the Reformed position was the one characterized by the best scholarship among the average believer. I no longer believe that, due in no small part to the poor or absent scholarship of many Reformed believers who ignorantly attack and misrepresent other positions. This is leads me to believe that what has appeared to be depth of learning is but heavy indoctrination in a particular belief system. Not surprisingly, those Reformed believers who are diligent about their studies are rarely the ones doing the attacking or misrepresenting. In-depth study of theology produces humility and a stunning awareness of how little one truly knows.)

As I was thinking about all of this, I came across a book review by Roy Zuck in Bibliotheca Sacra of The World Is Not My Home: The Origins and Development of Dispensationalism by Michael Williams. I found the review to address some of the same concerns I have had. Zuck wrote,

“As is well known, covenant theologians and dispensational theologians differ in their views on eschatology and related matters. Scholarly discussions of those differences can be beneficial in helping each side understand the other. But it is unfortunate if propenents of one view misrepresent the opposing view. Regrettably Williams, a covenant theologian, in analyzing the dispensationalism of C.I. Scofield and Lewis Sperry Chafer, repeatedly distorts their teachings. Williams’ scathing attacks against classic dispensationalism do not advance the cause of scholarly research…

“How can scholarly discussion be advanced when Williams twice calls dispensationalism ‘naive’ (pp. 178, 211) and says that the soteriology of Scofield and Chafer is ‘the product of fuzzy-headedness’ (p. 210)? It is unfortunate that so many unwarranted conclusions about dispensational theology have been drawn, and it is disturbing that misrepresentations abound in this book. Readers are encouraged to read Scofield’s and Chafer’s works and evaluate for themselves whether their views are faithful to God’s word.”

There is a final - and most important - point I will make on this matter, but it will be reserved for a later post since this one has already gone on much longer than I intended. For now, suffice it to say that some respect, humility, and love would be a welcome addition to such exchanges in the future. We need to build one another up, not tear down.