Review of Velvet Elvis (Part Two) - Problems

As it often goes, the strengths of a book turn out to be the flipside of its weakness. Specifically, I would like to note three problems of Bell's book Velvet Elvis that correlate directly to the prospects discussed last week.

Problems

(1) Theology

Bell rightly calls for theology to go beyond tradition without leaving it behind. He beautifully describes doctrines as springs that give us energy to jump. Unfortunately, when it comes to actually doing theology, he only pays lip service to the tradition. For instance, in ch. 1 he puts himself in the line of Luther by the simplistic parallel that Luther changed things and now he is changing things. Doctrinal development is more complicated than that. One needs to really immerse him- or herself in the doctrinal tradition. Bell may have done this in some respects, but it certainly doesn't show. And there are cases where he has reinvented the wheel, which is not really development at all, but regression. For instance, he rightly captures a world-affirming eschatology in ch. 7. But a little help from Jonathan Edwards (or a host of other figures) could have helped him iron out some of the remaining wrinkles as well as kept him from making over-compensating moves. Repainting the Christian faith requires a thorough knowledge of the original painting, which includes the long history of Christian thought. Only then will we be sufficiently "trained by the masters" to pick up our own brush in the contemporary situation.

(2) Judaism

Although Bell helps to correct our perennial Israel-forgetfulness, he assumes a Jewish-Christian continuity that is historically and theologically dubious. Practically speaking, he encourages Christians to "play Jew." This is utterly offensive to still-walking-and-talking Jews who would prefer that we don't pretend to practice their religion and ours at the same time. Bell has gone half-way by acknowledging the Jewish background of Christianity. Now he needs to go all the way by acknowledging the Jewish neighbor in our midst. Despite our shared roots, Jews remain a religious "other" to Christians, and it is our responsibility to respect that otherness. Blurring the lines not only hurts our relationship with God's chosen people but also risks our own identity as the Church of Jesus Christ. For Christians, Jesus is not just another Rabbi. Unfortunately, Bell's misconstrual of our relationship with Judaism leads him to such a Rabbi-Christology, which leads us to our last point...

(3) Jesus

Although Rob Bell certainly focuses on Jesus, he falls short of a true Christocentrism. In ch. 3, he explains the relationship of the divine Logos to the man Jesus in a way that the true, the good, and the beautiful are logically prior to the identity of Jesus Christ. We follow Jesus because he is true, good, and beautiful, rather than seeking truth, goodness, and beautiful out of our radical discipleship to this man who is God in the flesh. Although this may seem like a picky issue of priority, it has big implications. Why? Once some general principle is in control of Jesus, aspects of his story that don't fit well into the system get marginalized. Noting just one huge example: Bell's Jesus in Velvet Elvis is a Jesus without a Cross. Now Bell certainly speaks elsewhere about the death of Christ, but the fact that it can be left out of even a short book on the Christian faith is troublesome. It shows that Bell seeks the Jesus known via the bits-and-pieces of his sayings, having not yet discovered that the Cross is the string that holds these pearls of wisdom together.

Thus my review of Velvet Elvis in short would be to follow Bell's prospects in a way that does not fall into Bell's problems. Read Bell's book. Take his advice to read it critically. I hope that these warning will be a guide toward such a critically appreciative read.

Any thoughts?
Do you concur with my assessment?
Any problems that you would add?

"Hospitality & the Grammar of Holiness" - New Item at The Writing of John Drury

A new item has been posted on The Writing of John Drury.

"Hospitality and the Grammar of Holiness"

It is a draft of a paper to be presented at the Annual Meeting of the Wesleyan Theological Society in Kansas City this March. Feel free to check it out and provide any feedback here at this post.

Also, if anyone is thinking of going to WTS and needs a roommate, let me know here or via e-mail.

Review of Velvet Elvis (Part One) - Prospects

I had a chance to read Rob Bell's book Velvet Elvis over Christmas break. I would like to add my own contribution to the now raging dialogue concerning its claims and implications. A quick glance of the reviews on Amazon will reveal a lack of mediating responses. Most reviews are either a 1 star indictment or a 5 star defense. Well, I intend to fill that gap with my own mediating perspective. In other words, I would give it 3 stars.

As with most thinkers, Bell's strengths are the flipside of his weakness. Specifically, I would like to note three of such prospects. I will discuss their corollary problems next week.

Prospects

(1) Theology

First of all, Bell has an uncanny grasp of what it means to do theology. His subtitle is instructive: Repainting the Christian Faith. He understands tradition as kinetic power that moves us forward into new developments. He grasps that the history of the Church is precisely the history of the development of doctrine. In particular, Bell makes us of the concept of "binding and loosing" as a practice of responsible interpretation of the Bible (ch. 2). The key word here is responsibility: the church in general and Bell in particular can and should take responsibility for their theological decisions. As the Jewish Christians in Acts 15 did, so we too must make decisions, claiming only that "it seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us." Such a clarion call for responsible theological thinking is sorely needed.

(2) Judaism

Bell's particularly way of doing theology is by tapping into the Jewish roots of Christianity. Bell thankfully reminds us that Jesus was a Jew (too bad he didn't say that Jesus is a Jew, but more on that later). Familiarity with such Jewish roots provides a treasure-trove of exegetical insight (ch. 5-7). The result is the Bell actually deals with actual Biblical texts, making him the most "biblical" of the Emergent cadre of writers. Furthermore, such a focus on Jewish roots re-embeds the Christian faith in history (where it belongs), and thus brings with it a world-affirming spirituality sorely needed for the progeny of individualistic-forms of evangelicalism.

(3) Jesus

Bell is unquestionably a Jesus-centered thinker. He shares with many a focus on Jesus at the center of our faith, but with a detailed attention to Jesus' words and thoughts and deeds often lacking in most Jesus-talk. Building on his knowledge of Jewish backgrounds, Bell is able to get to the heart of Jesus' message within the context of the whole of Scripture, attends to specific Jesus-texts and their interpretation, and takes seriously the political aspect of Jesus' life. Such concrete advances among the typically shallow Jesus-people are a contribution for which I am grateful.

Any thoughts?
Do you concur with my assessment so far?
Would you add any other points of strength?

For part two of this review, click here.

New Items Posted at The Writing of John Drury

Two new items have been posted at The Writing of John Drury, my collected writings page:

Calvin Seminar Paper -- “God's Fatherly Nourishment: An Analysis and Critique of B. A. Gerrish, Grace and Gratitude”

Barth Seminar Paper -- “Jesus Christ is on His Way: Transitioning from Christ to Us without Eclipsing the Spirit in Karl Barth’s Church Dogmatics IV/3 §69.4”

If you are into that sort of thing, check them out here under "hotspot." If you have comments, feel free to leave them at this post.

And remember to regularly check out drurywriting.com/john for essays new and old.

Is the Christian Story Tragic or Comic?

I just watched Woody Allen's Melinda and Melinda. If you haven't seen it, I can share the basic premise without spoiling it at all. Two playwrights debate over dinner whether life is basically tragic or comic. In order to make their case, each one narrates the story of the same character Melinda via their respective dramatic lens.

Woody Allen's film experiment invites us into this thought experiment: Is life ultimately tragic or comic? More specifically, is the Christian narration of existence tragic or comic?

At the center of the Christian story there hangs a man who we call God dying on a cross. This moment of abandonment is utterly tragic. It serves to embrace the tragic elements of life. Christians ought not to approach suffering glibly. We worship a God who takes on our suffering.

But the tragic story of the cross is revealed as a triumph by the Easter story. The resurrection of Christ is the comic twist in the story. Moreover, Easter reveals that the Cross of Christ was not a failure after all, but achieved our salvation. So the there is a “happy ending” to the Christian story.

The question for Christians is whether this comic aspect undermines any genuine tragedy in the story. Does the “happy ending” that gives us hope eliminate a real embrace of the tragic? Practically speaking, are Christians able to embrace the suffering in this world, call it what it is, not try to gloss over it, yet all without losing hope? Can we despair and hope at the same time?

Putting the question back into dramatic categories, we might ask whether there can be a hybrid of tragedy and comedy. Of course, there are many instances of tragedies than begin comically (Romeo & Juliet being the most famous of these). But can a story that ends comically ever truly embrace the tragic?

It seems to me that the story of Jesus may be such a hybrid. Easter does not undermine the pain of the cross, but embraces it. The risen Christ remains the crucified Christ, as the scars in his hands and side attest. Thus the Christian outlook includes both a tragic and comic vision. We really can take others’ pain seriously without leaving them in despair. And we can offer others real hope without dismissing their pain and calling evil good.

Any thoughts?
How can we keep these aspects of the Christian story together?
Are there any clues or habits to help us?
How does this play out in our relationships with those who suffer?

Busting the Categories

Over the Christmas break I read this excellent article about the busting of categories on the web. The author makes the observation that some web searches (e.g., yahoo) retain the librarian’s mentality that every item has a “place” where it “belongs.” Other searches (e.g., google) have busted the categories wide open, allowing the user to determine the parameters of her search. In other words, information on the web has no “place” and thus categories are free form.

If categorical thinking is busted wide open on the web, what might be the implications for theology (at least when it is practiced on-line)?

One of the essentials of systematic theology as traditionally practiced is the loci-format. Loci are the topics or domains of Christian doctrine that one works through systematically. Courses in systematic theology are usually structured around these loci, as are the outline of theological texts.

But a perennial problem for this loci method is the placement of certain topics. I will give one significant example: where does the doctrine of predestination belong? Does it come at the beginning in the doctrine of God (where it has a tendency to control everything that follows)? Does it come with the doctrine of sin (where it becomes an explanation of a problem)? Does it belong somewhere in the doctrine of salvation (where it functions in a highly individualistic way)? Does it go at the end of the doctrine of salvation as an aspect of assurance (where Calvin puts it)? Does it go with ecclesiology (where it evades the difficult questions)? Wherever you put it, the doctrine of predestination will perform differently within your theology.

The googlization of categories leads me to ask: what if this doctrine does not have a “place” where it “belongs” at all? What if predestination is just a biblical theme that we talk about again and again in connection with all sorts of other doctrines? What if this is true for all the loci of theology – that they do not belong anywhere, but can be treated freely when needed? What would it mean to be “systematic” under these open conditions? Could one systematically integrate theological topics by means of hyperlink rather than an outline?

What are the dangers of this approach to categorization?
What are the benefits?
Any other implications to add?

Jesus and the Transcendently Immanent God

There is an age old problem for thinking theologically at any level: the tension between the transcendence and immanence of God. Many wish to stress the transcendence of God: that God is above us, different from us, free from us and rules over us. Others wish to stress the immanence of God: that God is with us, like us, available to us and in us. The rest of us try to strike a balance: God is both far and near, over and in, different and alike.

This Christmas season I would like to stake a claim against this talk of balance. I contend that as long as the transcendence and immanence of God are treated as two abstract poles to be navigated by our own intellectual savvy, we will forever be plagued by this problem. Furthermore, this balancing act will necessarily keep us from realizing the full radical significance of either the transcendence or immanence of God. By trying to have both, we end up with neither.

So, what is the alternative?

The way of wisdom is to see where the transcendence and immanence of God intersect: the Incarnation. Here God is thoroughly immanent – Immanuel, God with us, God in the flesh, God working miracles in our midst. And God remains transcendent – the man Jesus prays to God, he is led by the Spirit into the wilderness, he submits to death on a cross at the Father’s will. In other words, God becomes human without ceasing to be God. Here we see the immanence and transcendence of God intertwined into one concrete story.

And here is where it gets really interesting. Not only do transcendence and immanence intersect in the Incarnation. They also mutually characterize one another.

By becoming permanently linked to this one Jewish man, the transcendence of God takes on the form of the distance between any two creatures. We are distant from God in the way we are distant from one another: he takes up his own space and time as do we. We get to know him by patiently learning his story like we would anyone else. This is a thoroughly creaturely and therefore immanent mode of transcendence.

When God links his presence with the world definitively and fully to the man Jesus, the immanence of God takes on the form of a particular historical personage. We are close to God the way we might be close to any other human being: by a face-to-face encounter. But we can truly encounter another person only by overcoming cultural, spatial and temporal boundaries. In this case, the one person Jesus is able to overcome these boundaries by the divine power of his Spirit. This means that God is not just simply “available” to us in the world, but rather comes to us by his initiative. This is a thoroughly free and therefore transcendent mode of immanence.

So, in the Incarnation, God is immanently transcendent and transcendently immanent.

"I Believe in the Virgin Birth"

"I Believe in ... the Virgin Birth." What a statement of faith! What an incredible miracle! What a strange thing to believe! This little phrase has been the shibboleth of fundamentalists, the scourge of liberals, and the annual fare of doctrinal sermons every Christmas season. Of course, you hear the most about the Virgin Birth on the far left (where it is set aside as a barrier to cosmopolitan believers) and on the far right (where it is defended with gnashing of teeth). But I suspect the cozy middle takes this doctrine for granted. "Of course we believe in the Virgin Birth; we're Christians!"

Well, as one small aspect of our spiritual act of worship this Christmas, let's dare to ask why we believe in the Virgin Birth. Notice, I am not asking whether we should believe it. That's an apologetic question, whereby one takes the objective standpoint outside of faith to prove the basis of the belief (a procedure shared by both the fundamentalist defenders and liberal detractors). That is not the question that interests me here. No, I want us to think about why we believe what we believe.

So, why do we believe in the Virgin Birth?

In the first instance, we might say that we believe in the Virgin Birth because it is in the Bible. That's true. Matthew and Luke both indicate in passing that Mary conceived Jesus without any help from a man. But then again, only Matthew and Luke mention this. It does not become a major theme in the New Testament at any level. It is completely lacking in Paul, and suspiciously absent in John (where it would fit oh so nicely). So one wonders why this one event which appears in only two places has become the standard of orthodoxy. There's a lot of other things mentioned a lot more than two times in the Bible that don't carry the same weight as the Virgin Birth does in the Christian community.

So, in light of this sufficient but minimal Biblical basis, what else might account for our belief? We might quickly appeal to tradition. Yes, the church has traditionally affirmed the Virgin Birth, and has even made it a central tenant of faith. It is part of the faith that has been handed down to us through the ages. But this does not really address the question, because we have not yet answered why the tradition has affirmed this miracle. We are not really learning from the tradition if we merely repeat what it has said. We need to learn to think through the tradition so that it really becomes ours and therefore a living tradition.

So why do we join the tradition in affirming the Virgin Birth? Well, a common answer to this question is because of original sin. The sin of Adam is transmitted sexually to the each member of the human race, and in order to avoid this Spiritual STD, Jesus was born without the taint of sexual procreation. Once you accept this other doctrine, the logical necessity of the Virgin Birth falls right into place. Sinlessness, the prerequisite for Jesus' sacrificial work, is guaranteed by the Virgin Birth. So we believe in the Virgin Birth because we believe original sin and the sinlessness of Jesus.

The problem with this answer, however, is that a robust belief in the Virgin Birth far predates the development of the doctrine of sexually-transmitted original sin. This does not automatically rule out the doctrine of original sin, even in these sexual terms. It merely rules out an appeal to original sin as the basis of belief in the Virgin Birth. There must be something more basic at work propping up this scandalous belief.

So why do we believe in the Virgin Birth? The short answer: because we believe in the incarnation. Christians believe that the God of Israel, who is the Creator of the Universe, became flesh and dwelled among us. This is the deepest miracle of Christmas; in fact, it is the deepest miracle of all! It is easy for Christians to believe in a crazy story about a young girl conceiving without a man because we believe in a God who became human. Once you believe in this miracle of all miracles, the Virgin Birth is easy to affirm. It's just the icing on the cake. More precisely, it is the miraculous sign that points to the miraculous event of the incarnation of God. As a sign, it is intended to point beyond itself to the reality of the incarnation. But precisely as a sign, it has its own significance, for it befits the miraculous nature of the incarnation to be accompanied by an equally miraculous sign attesting it. By showing forth the glory of the incarnation, the Virgin Birth shares its glory. And so the worshipping community affirms the Virgin Birth along with its affirmation of the Incarnation.

So this Christmas, let the sign of the Virgin Birth point to its basis, purpose, and meaning: that God became flesh.

The Jewishness of God

This Christmas I have been hearing a lot about the Jewishness of Jesus. Radio Preachers, Seminarians, Bible Scholars, and Rob-Bell-fans have been reminding us that Mary and Joseph were Jews and that the Jewish baby Jesus was wrapped in Jewish swaddling clothes and laid in a Jewish manger. These are not particularly new this year; actually, such ruminations have been around for ages. They just seem to be appearing with greater frequency (according to my anecdotal evidence).

Why all the talk about Jews at Christmas? What is the significance of the Jewishness of Jesus?

Historicity:

I think one reason why we talk about the Jewishness of Jesus is to defend the historicity of the event of Christmas. We want to assert that this is not myth or a legend in the order of Santa Claus. This story is real flesh and blood history that took place in the time and space of the Jewish people. Such an emphasis on historicity is especially important for apologetics, as it serves to shore up a potentially floundering faith in the face of modern skeptics. The Jewishness of Jesus' birth empowers us to say, "No, this is not a myth; it really happened!"

Hermeneutics:

But historicity is not the whole picture. The apologetic concern is not the only concern. We also talk about the Jewishness of Jesus because it helps us understand the story better. Hearing about the complexities of Jewish bethrothal practices helps us to grasp why Mary and Joseph's situation was so harried. Knowing that the shepherds were were the lowest class in Jewish society helps us get the message of Luke's account. The Jewishness of Jesus helps the stories make more sense, therefore making an old story come alive.

... but ...

But I wonder if these two aspects really get at the heart of what it means to say Jesus is Jewish. I wonder what it is like for Jews to overhear Christians talk about this stuff. I wonder if Jews think we don't take the Jewishness of Jesus seriously. Because if we did, we would not just talk about historicity and hermeneutics. Why? Because as long as its just about defending and understanding the story, the Jewishness of Jesus is still just accidental to the story itself. In other words, it is not an essential or necessary aspect of the story. We are interested in Jesus' Jewishness because we are interested in Jesus, and he just happens to be Jewish. If he happened to be Filipino, Belgian, or Kazakh, then we would be studying one of these cultures. But he didn't. So we just happen talk about Jews during Christmas.

Theology:

What would it mean for the Jewishness of Jesus to be more than accidental to the Christmas story? It would start with remembering that Jesus is a Jew because he is the the fulfiller of God's covenant with Israel. He is Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Annointed One of God. These are Jewish titles, which are not just culturally interesting but theologically loaded. They remind us of the history of Israel, and that we are not talking about God-in-general but Yahweh, the God of Israel. Furthermore, Christians confess that this Jewish man Jesus Christ is the Incarnate Son of God. To put it more badly: God became a Jew. God is Jewish.

The Jewishness of God should give us pause concerning how we treat our Jewish neighbors this holiday season. More importantly, the Jewishness of God should give us pause concerning how we treat God this year. Do we really beleive that he became this man? Do we take that seriously? Does it bring out awe in our hearts? Does it color everything we do? Does it affect our picture of how God relates to his creation? Does it imply something about what it means to be human? Do we really worship the God of the Jews who became a Jew to save the Gentiles?

In light of the Jewishness of God, Christmas is also about identifying God. It did happen in history (historicity), and its cultural context helps us understand it (hermeneutics). But it also definitively and irreversibly identifies God as the God who became this Jewish man. This God, and this God alone, we celebrate this and every Christmas.

Does the Resurrection of Jesus Really Matter?

If the life and death of Jesus perfected our reconciliation with God (see below), why the resurrection? If the words "it is finished" are an apt description of the cross, why was Jesus raised? If we are saved by the blood of Jesus, who could ask for anything more?

These questions show that the way we talk about the saving significance of Christ's life and death seems to make the resurrection an afterthought. This may explain why so many modern theologians have found it so easy to question the historicity of the resurrection. Certainly they are propelled by the modern suspicion of the miraculous. But modern theologians will stand by a miracle when they feel it is needed for the integrity of the faith. Yet again and again, people have found ways to have faith in Christ without faith in the empty tomb.

And before you swiftly dismiss these modern notions of resurrection-less faith, take note of the fact that the resurrection often plays no explicit role in the faith of those who do defend it as history. Sure, they stick by it as a matter of principle, usually connected to the authority of Scripture. But do they really take seriously the function of resurrection in the economy of salvation? If the best we can do is say "The Bible says...", then we have not yet begun to explore the significance of the resurrection for us.

Well, why does the resurrection matter? I would argue that the resurrection is best understood as the revelation of who Jesus is and what he has done.

Who is Jesus in light of the resurrection? Well, people are not raised into glory just any time. For first century Jews, that's something that happens at the end of time to everyone. But to happen in the middle of time to one man shows that this man is actually the Lord and Judge of the world, seated at the right hand of God himself.

What did Jesus do in the light of the resurrection? Since God has raised him, Jesus' life and death is proven to be vindicated. He lived and died for us, achieving for us forgiveness of sins and new life. God has forgiven us in the death of Christ, and we know this to be the case because he raised him from the dead.

But what if Jesus lived and died and that was it? Would our salvation really be won? Yes! But would it do us any good? No! Upon the completion of his history, Jesus Christ now contains within himself the new life of a redeemed humanity. But how will that new life get to us? He must be raised so that what he has achieved for us may become available to us. He must traverse the barrier of time and space so that we can partake of the goods he has in his possession. It is this transition from him to us that makes the resurrection so important, so essential to the story of our redemption.

Any thoughts?

Is it true that allowing certain beliefs to go un-integrated makes them vulnerable to unbelief?
Does this account of the resurrection's significance help to make it more essential to our faith?
Is there some other way to think about the resurrection that better accounts for its significance?