Here’s my story in a nutshell:

I grew up in the church. Went to a Christian school. Frequented youth groups.
I learned that God is against “premarital sex”.
I saved myself for marriage.
I expected married sexuality to be totally awesome and perfect, based on these previous facts.

Well, it’s been a challenge, as you can imagine.

Let me preface all of this by saying that I enjoy sex with my wife. A lot. And I also have no problems with someone keeping their virginity until marriage—in fact, I believe its preferable. I think that the idea that I am (as far as I’m concerned) going to have sex with one person for the rest of my life exciting and incredibly special.

I also should say I’m writing this from the perspective of a straight Christian man. Who lived through all of the Promise Keepers and purity movements and all of that stuff in the 90s, so I can’t really speak from any other perspective.

Back to my story. I mentioned that I learned that God is against “premarital sex.” That’s where the issue starts. For one, I think that the way the Bible is used to “prove” that sex outside the confines of marriage (which is a really shitty way of talking about marriage in my opinion) is not God’s desire for us is shaky at best, and two, I believe that what is really implied in our culture is that God is against all premarital sexuality.

Coming into marriage, my mind, body, and heart were all trained to believe that sexual anything was evil. And I’m not just talking about going around and having sex, or looking at pornography, or checking out every other girl’s hind-quarters. I’m talking about coming to terms with who I am sexually. Understanding what makes me tick. What attracts me. What “turns me on.” What I have to look forward  to, so I know who to look for. 

Newsflash: we are (incredibly) sexual beings. Our sexuality is a gift. Our sexuality is an amazing, beautiful creation of the Most High God.

Looking back on my time as a Christian youth, if I would have had people I looked up to telling me that the way seeing that beautiful girl makes me feel physically and emotionally was not only good but God-ordained, I believe my personal issues with lust and pornography addiction would have been much less pervasive in my life. I believe that if I went into my marriage bed not just telling myself that sex with my wife is special and beautiful, but actually knowing that it would be, because our sexuality was already special and beautiful, many of the sexual issues that still plague us five years in would be much less pervasive.

Instead, I went into marriage thinking that sex was a light switch that flipped between “evil” and “perfect.”

I think its funny that the most-used Christianese word when we talk about sexuality is “brokenness.” Because it’s true. Our sexuality is so fragile.

Our sexuality is not evil.
Our sexual orientation is not evil.
Our sexual desires are not evil.

It’s created by God. And it’s really fragile. We like to use all of these Bible verses to speak against sexuality in general, or same-sex relationships, or to keep oppressing our own sexual desires—all in the name of purity. But if we step back and look at the bigger picture, the various authors of the Scriptures are, in my opinion, not implying specific sexual acts, but revealing an overarching narrative that our sexuality is not something to just throw around. It’s fragile. It’s easily broken.

I believe we have a chance to really change how we Christians come across on the issue of sexuality. I believe we can shift from prude religious assholes to agents of sexual restoration.

God wants to redeem our sexuality. God wants to be an intimate part of how we view ourselves from a sexual perspective. I believe we need to teach our children to invite God into their sexuality from an early age—instead of instilling in them that God is sitting there watching them explore their sexuality, shaking his head and pointing his finger at that red door that says “HELL”.

I believe that we need to tell our children from the moment they understand our words that they are beautiful creations of a loving God, that they were created just they way they are, and that their identity is found in Christ and being His image—not in who they give their bodies to.

And I believe that we need to have honest conversations with our children along the way about sexuality instead of spewing the same trite cultural Christian answers at them. We need to discuss the fragility of our sexuality. It’s too easy (and wrong) to just say “Sex is bad. Don’t do it. Until you are married, of course.”

A psalm. For giving grateful praise.

Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth.
Worship the LORD with gladness;
come before him with joyful songs.
Know that the LORD is God.

It is he who made us, and we are his;
we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving 
and his courts with praise; 
give thanks to him and praise his name.

For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;
his faithfulness continues through all generations.

Psalm 100 (emphasis mine)

If there’s any passage that I feel is totally played it’s that one. Especially verse 4. I would be curious how many church services include that verse on any given Sunday. In any given part of the world. As a Christian, it’s just one of those verses that’s IN me. As in totally ingrained.

Well, about a month ago, a couple of well placed words from those close to me, a couple of well placed words from God in song form, and one sermon spurred me towards trying what I’m calling my “prayer experiment.”

I haven’t asked God for anything in a month.

A month. Not one petition. Not one “God, would you just…” Not one “I ask for [blank] in Jesus’ name.” Not even one “would Your will be done.” (That last one is hard for a former/disgruntled Calvinist as myself.)

My prayers for the last month have only consisted of thanksgiving, praise, exaltation, and declaration. I just thank God for who he is. Thank God for things I have. Even thanking God for things I would normally complain about. I declare that God is good. I declare that he is sovereign. I declare that his will is perfect. I declare that he only desires what is best for us (not just the Christians).

The interesting thing about all this is that I feel more hopeful and happy and care-free as it pertains to many of the stressful parts of my life than I have in quite a while. What’s even more interesting is that my view of God is much more personal and more intimate than it has been in some time as well.

So, like I do, I started think of the theological implications of this. At first it just sounded like an interesting challenge. But as it ramped up and kept going (with no signs of stopping any time soon), I started realizing that theres a bigger picture here. A bigger point.

God was showing me something big.

I don’t think its any coincidence that the writer of the Psalm mentioned “his gates” and “his courts.” Picture a palace, and picture Christ in the throne room, on the throne. When you get to the palace, you’d go through the gates first. You aren’t in the presence of the King yet. Then you’ll enter the courts, which is the inner circle of the palace where people would congregate, but you aren’t in the throne room yet—you aren’t in His presence. I believe that the bigger picture of this Psalm is that thanksgiving and praise is a way of getting our hearts in the right place before entering God’s presence.

I believe wholeheartedly that God want’s us to ask for things. I believe he wants to give us the desires of our heart as our desires align with his will—what’s best for us.

I also believe that most of the time I’m asking God for something, I’m asking him with the expectation that he might not answer my prayer, so I just pray harder and more aggressively. From there, I might start feeling good about it, “I’ve got faith like a mustard seed! God’s definitely going to answer my prayer.” And then when it doesn’t happen—or doesn’t happen how I want it to happen—the blame goes squarely on God.

I was expecting him to do my will. Because I came at him with a heart focused on me.

In other words, I entered his gates with an idea for what I want to happen, and his courts with a plan of making him do it.

I believe that if we come right out of (er, into) the gates with declaring how good God is, declaring how thankful we are for what we already have  and what he’s already done for us, then we enter his throne room—his presence—with a heart that understands that God knows what he’s doing. That God is for us and not against us (Romans 8:31).

And not only are we preparing our hearts for his presence, we are also preparing our hearts for his answer. Let’s face it, God is confusing sometimes (most of the time). God’s will does not often line up with our will. At least in my case. And this is something that’s really hard for the human race. We like things to turn out like we want them to. This is one reason so many turn from God, because they don’t get why he doesn’t answer their prayers. (Chances are that he has, they just don’t recognize it because it wasn’t what they wanted to hear.) But when we recognize that God is good and that God is for us, we also are more prepared to hear what he has to say, even if it’s outside of our own will.

I’m not sure how long this experiment will last. I’m sure I’ll break and ask God for something sooner or later. But I have seen significant growth in the past four weeks through a simple, interesting challenge that I gave myself.

I encourage you to take the challenge. Even if it’s not a month or more like me. Even if it’s one prayer per day where you just stop asking and start thanking. Start declaring. Start worshipping.

Because it really is simple:

God is good.

God is for us.

And that’s the Gospel. 

Ten years ago, I reached a point in my Christian life where I made a conscious decision to not call myself a Christian anymore. It wasn’t a crisis of faith, in fact my faith was never shaken, only stronger. It was a crisis of faith in my fellow Christians. I had exhausted my patience for judgementalism and fundamentalism. I was sick of Christians preaching love and grace and not showing love and grace whatsoever. By the grace of God I decided to keep my “title” and instead try and “reclaim the name” for the true Gospel of Christ.

Fast forward 10 years. Last night I had a Christian meltdown. All of this Rob Bell/universalism/Calvinism/Heaven-and-Hell talk has taken it’s toll on me. Last night I was more embarrassed to be a Christian that I have been in these past 10 years.

After some careful consideration, discussion, and prayer from my wife and two of my best friends, I’ve decided to write this letter. Like any good Christian, I’ve split my friends into two groups (sarcasm) and I have split this letter into two parts.

First, to my non-Christian friends:

I’m sorry. I can’t say this enough. Speaking on behalf of my incredibly dysfunctional family, Christians, I’m sorry that we’ve come across as the same self-righteous, I’m-right-you’re-wrong, jumping-to-conclusions, ignorant assholes that we always have. If you have Christian friends, I’m sure you’ve read some tweets, some Facebook discussions, or have even seen a news article on your favorite mainstream news website about how “evangelicals have called one of their own a heretic.”

“One of their own.”

It’s a shame, really.

I want to tell you that the true Gospel of Christ is so much bigger and so much better than these petty arguments that are going on right now in the Christian world. These debates don’t really matter in the long run. So please, try and look past the rhetorical argument (screaming match) going on right now and look at the living, breathing Christ standing behind it, because he sure as hell isn’t in it.

Matthew 7:16 says “by their fruit you will recognize them. Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, and figs from thistles?” And Galatians 5:22-23 says “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” So as you look out across the Christian landscape, if you are going to judge us by anything—let it be that.

And I can’t stress enough that you try your hardest to not judge the God of the Bible by the way His followers are acting. Christ is alive and incarnate among us in Grace and Truth.

(And a side note, the earthquake/tsunami in Japan wasn’t Him either.)

Now, to my Christian friends:

We are not doing anything good for the Kingdom of God. Nothing. Our current arguments are nothing but rhetoric and in no way represent the living Christ.

Whatever “team” you are on in this current landscape, chances are that you are just “defending the true gospel.” The Gospel does not need to be defended. If we are walking in Grace and Truth like Jesus did, the true Gospel will speak louder than we ever could.

We must remember that we are one body with many parts. Our head is Christ. The body can’t survive if it cuts one of it’s own organs out. Well, it might survive, but it will walk with a limp at least.

If you are a Bell supporter, stop defending him. He’s a big boy and can take criticism. Defend nothing but the Gospel of Christ. His death and resurrection.

If you are a Bell detractor, please look at the fruit of his work before you start saying things like “false teacher,” “itching ears,” and “heretic.” Because if someone is leading folks toward the living Christ—that’s not false teaching. The false teachers the Scripture talks about would draw people away from Christ, not toward.

Regardless if you agree with Rob Bell or not (this is not about him by the way, this would be the same if any one else—Rick Warren, John Piper, John MacArthur, I don’t know—brought this conversation to light), he is doing work for the Kingdom of God. Matthew Paul Turner said on his blog yesterday that the fact of the matter is because of Bell’s message, many who probably closed the door on God a long time ago have a reason to reopen it. Let’s not give them a reason to slam it shut again. The Holy Spirit is the one who convicts, not us. If Bell’s teaching is off, the Holy Spirit of God will convict accordingly.

In John 13 Jesus, speaking to his followers, says that we will be known to the world by our love for one another. We must keep this at the top of our minds as we engage in public discourse. We are looking to the world right now less like two brothers who can’t get along, and more like two brothers who have decided to divorce themselves from their family.

If you believe the Bible is composed of the inerrant, literal words of God, that’s fine. I don’t. Which is also fine. I believe the Bible is authoritative, inspired by God, breathed by the Holy Spirit. I believe it’s the living, breathing Word of God. Literalist or not, we can both agree with that. The Word is Alive. Let’s let it be that and agree to disagree. If the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus is at the center of our teaching, preaching, and conversation, everything else is just theology.

One more thing, Christians:

The fruit of the Spirit is

love,

joy,

peace,

patience,

kindness,

goodness,

faithfulness,

gentleness,

and self control.

Matthew 7:16 says “by their fruit you will recognize them. Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, and figs from thistles?”

Correct answer: they don’t.

If you are a Christian, and you are on Twitter or Facebook, I’m sure you’ve come across someone going nuts about the advertisement for Rob Bell’s new book, Love Wins. He might be flirting with Christian Universalism in it. Or he might be just doing what he does—raising questions for you to think about and not actually answering them (this is more likely in my opinion). Regardless, I’m not really going to comment on it, because its a book synopsis that people are arguing about, which is written by the publishing company for the sole purpose of selling the book. But all of this defense of Hell has gotten me thinking quite about our nature as humans and what we really think about Hell, God, love, and justice—and I think we’ve swung the sovereignty scale a bit too far in our direction.

Before I say anything, I’ll start by saying that I am not a universalist. I really wish I was one, but I just can’t find the evidence in scripture. I actually subscribe to Annihilationist theology. Not only does it have the most brutal name, I personally believe it holds the closest to how I view God’s love, justice, and mercy. That being said, I believe some sort of hell exists, and that it’s true separation from God.

I’ve noticed something in the blog posts, Facebook comment threads, and Tweets getting thrown around all weekend though. It seems to me that all of the judgement, hate, and criticism getting thrown Bell’s way isn’t rooted in some higher view of God, but really rooted in a very saddening defense of damnation.

I’m really not concerned with the fact of belief in Hell or not. Or believe in universal reconciliation as opposed to eternal conscious torment. Because none of these things should change our view on how we look at the person of Jesus, and the death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. Because Universalists and Calvinists and any other Christians can all agree that Jesus’ blood is the only thing that atones for our sin as humans. And this is where our focus should be.

In Matthew 22: 36-40, Jesus puts it as frankly as possible:

“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Jesus focuses on one thing: Love. Although Jesus speaks very seriously elsewhere about the reality of separation from God and really believing in Him, when asked what is the greatest commandment—which in my opinion could be read as “where our focus should be”—he doesn’t say anything about judgement, condemnation or hell here. He is telling us to focus on love. Walk in love for God and love for humanity, and everything else will fall into place naturally.

The problem I’m seeing with all of these Hell debates is that the idea of condemnation and suffering is being defended with an almost excited zeal. I know that’s kind of an intense statement, but I really believe it’s true. I believe what we humans have turned the theology of hell into is an outlet for our own judgements and ideas of what justice looks like. Jay Bakker asked in a sermon once if we are “eager for the damnation of others.” Again, a brutal statement, but it holds a lot of truth. We are much quicker to point out why a certain attitude, sin, lifestyle, sexual orientation—you get the point—puts someone in danger of the fires of hell than to actually tell them how much God really loves them and wants to meet them in whatever place they happen to be in. We are too quick to whip out all of the scriptures that talk about (how we view) hell, and not nearly as quick to bust out the more important scriptures about love, grace, mercy, and acceptance.

I think that this idea really manifests itself in a tired old phrase: “go to Hell.” We’ve seen it in movies. We’ve read it in books. I’m sure we’ve all used it at some point. But I think it perfectly illustrates how we have re-imagined God in our own image. I know it sounds like I’m making a big deal out of a little statement, but I think it just describes the bigger picture so well. Telling someone to go to hell puts us on this “godlike” pedestal where we can make ourselves feel better by telling someone off in a way that describes the worst possible punishment we could receive. And at the same time, subconsciously, we paint a picture of a god who points and zaps people to eternal damnation because he happens to be unhappy with their actions that day.

In the bigger picture, the obvious problem with this mindset about God’s “love” and “justice” is that we leave out God’s grace and mercy, and are left with the same image of God that much of the world hates us for in the first place. This immature God playing chess up in heaven and being completely happy with the decision to sentence someone to eternal suffering. When in reality, if hell and eternal separation from God exists, I believe that it is a much sadder, heart-breaking decision for the Most High God.

In Jesus’ great commission, he tells us to go and make disciples of all nations. He doesn’t tell us to go and argue for or against the existence of hell and why or why not people should go there. He doesn’t tell us to call out other Christians who might not believe the same as we do on stuff that doesn’t really matter in the long run. He commands us to go out and love and train up the generations to continue to love. It’s not our job to make the judgement call about who is going where. And it’s not up to us to trash other theologies that are still completely rooted in loving and following Jesus, even if we cover up our hate speech with out of context scripture defending judgement of other believers.

God is the sovereign one. It is up to God who gets their names written in the book of life (and although I’m not a universalist, I can still hope and pray that it’s everyone, right?). And as for us humans walking out the great commission, there is no room for condemnation in the love we show the world.

It was an interesting post. I was really trying to do nothing more than declare over us that “it’s OK” as long as the Holy Spirit is involved. Turns out a couple of semi-bold statements kind of overshadowed that. One statement in particular was very polarizing. Many of my Christian friends got a little tweaked about it, and many of my non-Christian friends praised it and said it helped them feel better about how they viewed Christianity.

I said that there are things in the Bible that I know I don’t believe. After thinking about it this week, and talking about it with my wife and a couple of my best friends, I’m changing my mind on that one. I actually went back in the post and edited the sentence. The point is still there, let me clarify it: there are plenty of theological concepts and popular/”orthodox” interpretations of scripture that I do not believe or subscribe to. (I am not going to go into them here, I feel like it has the potential to be counterproductive and distracting. Get at me if you really want to know.). This does not change my belief in the power of the living Word of God.

I believe the Bible is Holy. I believe it is sacred. I believe it is the Word of God. I believe it is truth. I believe it is transformative. I believe it is beautiful. And scary. And uplifting. And confusing. And thought-provoking. And angering. And more than anything, I believe it is ALIVE.

I also affirm the Nicene Creed. By these standards, I guess I could consider myself truly Orthodox.

Whew, I’m not a heretic after all.

The point I was originally making is that beyond our belief systems, we need experience. We need to get in touch with our inner mystic.

That word conjures up so much weird cultural baggage. Like all of a sudden I am advocating some far-eastern religion or going all new-age on everyone. What I am meaning is really getting in touch with the Kingdom of God here and now. Really looking for and feeling the presence of the Holy Spirit of God. And not in some trite, overly-emotional charismatic way (not trying to sound condescending), but really just laying our hearts and minds down and letting the Holy Spirit work in us. To call on God to feel His presence, not just to ask for something.

I was walking the dog tonight and reflecting on this. I am going through a someone stressful time with my family right now, trying to sell our condo in a bad market. For over a year now. Running out of space for our family, and needing a lower mortgage payment. It’s been really hard. But I start to think about how I really only truly give my heart and mind to God when I am at my most stressed moments—when I’m freaking out the most. Why do we only call on God when we “need” him. The fact of the matter is that we need the power of His presence ALL the time (Psalm 140:12-13).

Maybe if I was walking in the physical presence of God all of the time I wouldn’t be overly stressed in the first place? Maybe I still would, but I’d like to think that I’d have a better perspective on my problems.

I’ve found myself pouring over the Scriptures, trying to figure them out, wrestling with them, searching for their “true meaning.” This is all good. Wrestling with the Word is a great thing. But out of it’s proper balance, it does us no good. We need times to just soak in what God wants to speak to us through the Living Word. We need to meditate on it. We need to let the Holy Spirit open it up for us in a different way than the last time we read it.

Too much do we look at the Bible as a finite, completed textbook. The Word is alive. The Word existed before the Bible (John 1:1) and will exist after it.

The Word came incarnate. The Word resurrected. The Word still lives. The Word is still speaking. We just need to be listening.

I grew up in an interesting time. With some interesting friends. I went to Cornerstone festival every year for 6 or 7 years. I used to wander the grounds—the merch tents, the drum circles, the disgusting lake, the campsite crustpunk shows—and dream. Many of us had the same dream:

“How awesome would it be to live outside the grid of American religiosity? Just us and God. All on the same level. Not being bastardized by Western Christianity. Not following the rules of man-made religion.” It sounded awesome then, and it still sounds awesome now. The shame is, much of the time that attitude just doesn’t work.

Most of my friends that dreamt that same dream with me became one of three things: an agnostic, an atheist, or a slightly more liberal/hip version of good ol’ Churchianity (I’m not going to focus on this one). But why? Why have so many of my friends given up on the faith? Why have so many of them turned their backs on their “first love?”

I chalk it up to a lack of balance that leads to a subconscious rejection of the moving of the Holy Spirit.

Much of the attitude behind the fringe-Christian’s dream stated above starts in a rejection of leadership. “Whoa! Stop right there,” you say, “who do you think you are? A megachurch pastor?” No. I’m not. I believe the rejection of the form of church leadership so prevalent in our country deserves to be rejected.

Too many churches have turned the idea true, biblical servant leadership on it’s head. Leadership has been turned into an authoritarian power-grab based on a cultural (and wrong) definition of what it means to submit. This theology should be rejected. The real shame though is that in our Christian culture, this dangerous form of leadership tends to be (also wrongly) synonymous with discipleship. So when being discipled gets defined as being “led,” which actually means “being told how to live my life,” discipleship gets thrown out the window as well. This attitude of rejection that’s being repeated and becomes a lifestyle, it festers, it corrupts, and turns from something that may have originally been a beautiful, fresh idea into a haven for negativity and rebellion.

And I believe (warning: bold statement ahead), that this lifestyle of rejection trickles up the ladder all the way to the Father. It plagues our minds to the point that even true, real, loving discipleship from the Holy Spirit becomes a casualty to the rejection of authority.  The voice of God becomes a whisper, then silence.

Oh, how quickly can “my Kingdom is not of this world” turn into “no gods, no masters.”

Paul was definitely right in Romans 8:7 when he said “The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so.” It’s such a simple concept. A mind shut off to the work of the Spirit of God physically can’t give itself to anything but itself.

But I don’t blame my atheist or agnostic friends. At least not completely. Like I said, I’m often surprised I’m not right there with them. And I am by no means picking on my punk/hippie/anarchist/liberal/intellectual friends. I only used that as an example because this is the story that I’ve experienced first-hand.

The bigger issue is just that our culturally-formed Christianity has lost its balance. By its own obsession with self it has unknowingly driven out those who wanted to embrace it in its purest form. But when the Spirit of God is taken out, Christian spirituality can’t stand on theology and religiosity for long.

If I based my spirituality on my theological questions alone, I would have become an atheist a long time ago. We need a little mysticism in our lives.

There are a lot of theologies/interpretations of things in the Bible that I know I don’t believe. There’s even more that I’m not sure if I believe. But belief alone isn’t the whole picture. Experiencing the supernatural is the other side of the same coin. And in my opinion, it holds even more weight.

James 2:20 says that “faith without works is dead.” Our faith, our salvation, is meant to be an ongoing, interactive process with God. I’m sure in this verse “works” just means the fruit of being a Christ-follower. But I believe the Word is truly alive, and looking at it from a bigger perspective, couldn’t “works” mean wrestling with belief through prayer and petition? Could it mean lamenting? Or praising? Or could it also mean the work of the Holy Spirit in us?

I believe it’s all of these things.

Sure, belief is great. But faith alone can quickly turn to the self. It can turn into a crutch to make ourselves feel better. It’s nice to believe in something. (I can’t take credit for those last two sentences, I’ve been reading and listening to a lot of Peter Rollins lately.) But really feeling or hearing the touch or the voice of the Spirit of God? I believe this is God’s true desire for us. To feel His power. Getting in touch with the mystical side of our minds adds the most real, beautiful balance we can dream of. Not to mention how seeing or experiencing the work of the Spirit through healing or the speaking of wisdom with a truly open heart actually strengthens our belief.

I’ve got my questions. And for many of them, I definitely don’t have answers. But in Paul’s words:

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13

That’s what keeps me around.

In our culture, the Nativity has become two things. The first being a legend. Christian or not, we grow up hearing the “true meaning of Christmas” to be this story of a manger, a drummer boy, stars, and wise men. It does make for a good story, and regardless of what you believe, it tends to be this nice heartwarming tale of the season. (In actuality the story is not that cutesy.) The second thing the story has become is political fodder. The War on Christmas. The “you better believe it’s my Constitutional right to put my Nativity scene out in front of my business” war on Christmas.

So we have two things—a good story and something to argue about. That’s the “true meaning” of Christmas?

I’m starting to recognize the story of Christmas to be a really tangible view into the character of God—a God that’s not afraid to get His hands dirty.

I have always held to the traditional theological understanding of the virgin birth. Sin is passed through the male, death through Adam, so if Jesus was going to be completely sinless, that was the only way it was humanly possible. I’m not sure I totally buy that now, but I’m not trying to say I have all the answers, and I sure haven’t studied that one, so I’m going to leave it at that. But what I am finding about the virgin birth to be so beautiful is the fact that God was so sure about it. Here’s the conversation between Mary and Gabriel in Luke 1:34-37:

Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?”

The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; and for that reason the holy Child shall be called the Son of God. And behold, even your relative Elizabeth has also conceived a son in her old age; and she who was called barren is now in her sixth month. For nothing will be impossible with God.”

It’s easy to read Mary’s question as a simple “well…explain to me how this is going to work, God.” But I can’t help but think it’s more than that. In her culture, a “virgin” getting pregnant makes no sense. People would think she was lying. People would probably start to gossip about her throughout the community. And in Matthew 1, we see a very confused Mosaic law-abiding Joseph who wanted to divorce Mary (although he loved her enough to want to do it “quietly”).

I believe God is a big god. I believe that he could come Incarnate to earth riding in on fiery clouds with lightning and thunder on a half-unicorn-half-siberian-tiger. With his angels by his side riding dinosaurs. But he didn’t. He chose to become one of us, through very messy means. He wasn’t afraid of the implications of this decision. Because He came in His infinite power. The Amplified version of the Bible translates Luke 1:37 a little better in my opinion:

God came to us in a messy way. But he came knowing that those He chose could handle it. He came as a baby. In a poor Jewish community. In a way that confused everyone involved. But along the way He only affirmed, assured, and gave Grace and favor to those whom “He called according to His purpose.”

We often use the name Emmanuel this time of year, but I feel like more often than not we use it interchangeably with the name Jesus. They are both names for Him, but they mean different things. Emmanuel means “God with us.” Not ahead of us. Not behind us. Not above us or below us. (He is all of these things.) But with us. He decided to come among us not to clean up our mess. But to be with us in the midst of it. To walk us through it in only ways that the Most High God knows we need.

That is good news of great joy.

Now, I am not involved in the Emergent church formal. I honestly don’t know that much about them as an “organization” or “movement.” I would say being involved in the Vineyard movement, I know a thing or two about “emerging” types of Christianity, because although some would contest it, I would say that the Vineyard movement is a more left-of-center movement as a whole (although very close to center). All that to say, I am not going to act like I am all-knowing when it comes to the E-word.

But what I do know is that we are getting to a place in our Christian culture where new ideas and old ideas are having a harder and harder time living together. Where post-modern Christians, or millenials, or whatever are having an increasingly hard time making nice with people like, say, my old-school Baptist Grandma. I know I’ve talked about this before. I actually talk about it a lot. This type of division makes my heart hurt. And I know that much of the time, I am waist deep in it.

Phyllis Tickle calls what our Christian culture is going through “The Great Emergence.” She talks about how this sort of reforming change happens every 500 years or so, the last being the Great Reformation. And I don’t doubt her. Because historically, it does line up. And I do believe we are going through a culture shift in Christendom. And I know when she says “emergence”, she isn’t speaking of Emergent. So I also have no issues with that title. But one thing I’m noticing more and more is this hostility between the different Christian camps. Liberal Christians like me—scratch that—even moderate Christians, or anyone who is “anti-Religious” will look at the more religious Christians or fundamentalists or legalists and be like “YOU PHARISEES! YOU ACT LIKE YOU HAVE ALL THE ANSWERS (actually, I do). YOU ARE DOING MORE HARM THAN GOOD (am I any doing any better by calling you out in judgement?). YOU ARE MAKING US ALL LOOK LIKE JUDGMENTAL A-HOLES (oh, wait…)!”

People on my side of the fence act this way all the time. I know I do. And what is it other than the same judgmental, elitist, with-us-or-against-us attitude with a different face on it.

The Scripture is very clear on this subject. Just a couple verses as an example:

“If you bite and devour each other, watch out or you will be destroyed by each other.” Galatians 5:15

“There is one body and one Spirit, just as also you were called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all who is over all and through all and in all.” Ephesians 4:4-6

“…Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name, the name you gave me, so that they may be one as we are one.” John 17:11 (this one is Jesus himself talking)

I believe that God is sovereign. I believe that Jesus is on the throne and our great Unifier (Colossians 1:17-18). And I’m in no way saying that we shouldn’t hold each other accountable and correct each other as needed in love. By no means am I saying we should just give each other passes on everything for the sake of “playing nice.” I’m just saying before ANYTHING we need to put Jesus first. And focus on that as what unifies us. For instance:

Is Christian A a free-market capitalist? Is he in love with Jesus? Start there.
Is Christian B a Christian anarchist? Is she in love with Jesus? Start there.
Is Christian C a universalist? Is he in love with Jesus? Start there.
Is Christian D a Calvinist who believes the spiritual gifts have ceased? Is he in love with Jesus? Start there.
Does Christian E believe in a literal 6-day creation? Is she in love with Jesus? Start there.
Is Christian F a pre-trib Baptist waiting on the rapture at any given second? Is he in love with Jesus? Start there.
Is Christian G in favor of gay marriage? Is she in love with Jesus? Start there.
Even farther, does Christian H believe homosexuality is not a sin? Is he in love with Jesus? Start there.

You get the point.

What I’m getting at is that I think “The Great Emergence” should be called “The Great Convergence.” Some of those questions above are very bold, and some are even more polarizing. That was the point. I’m not sure polarization was what Jesus had in mind when he prayed that we might be one. I would like to see us move into a brand of Christianity that embraces each other’s love for Jesus and His Way of abundant life BEFORE debating the issues. Before hashing out our differences. Because then we might actually learn from each other, or learn more about ourselves instead of just casting unrighteous judgment. I’d like to see a Christianity emerge that we could describe as coming together. Something like “Convergence Christianity.”

It’s definitely interesting, and definitely something I’ve thought about before, but more than that it’s just got me thinking. I was reminded of the above quote from Einstein, for instance.

Now, I don’t agree with that quote fully. The first half of it that is. I do think there are blessings and corrections from God (personally, I think “reward” and “punishment” are very polarizing words that in our culture are quite counterproductive—or maybe I’m just being too PC), some of which are very humanly understandable, and some of which fall in the “divine mystery” category. But I think good ol’ Al is up to something with that last kicker—we make God into this humanlike being that is just as frail as us.

Just as emotional. Just as easily-swayed. Just as unrighteously angry. Just as judgmental.

I know there are plenty of good quotes from pastors and theologians and other witty people talking about how we’ve made God in OUR image, but I don’t feel like trying to track them down, and chances are you’ve already heard them. The point is that we have. We’ve turned God into this person who can get pissed off in a moment’s notice. Or hate all of the same people we hate. Or justify the things we don’t think are in God’s nature but still are in scripture. We have turned God into a being that acts solely on emotion rather than sovereignty and omni-everything.

But what about all the good theology about God’s nature, especially in the Old Testament? You know, where He is more relational and personal—more humanlike— than all the other ancient deities?

More importantly, what about Jesus? Fully God and fully man? I’m not questioning any of that. I just think we have it backwards.

I would argue that a personal, relational nature is a divine quality, not a human one. If you look at the Creation narrative, you see a beautiful story of a God who is in complete communion with His creation. It only makes sense that God would continue to be that kind of a God throughout the Bible. And maybe His Incarnation was His way of saying “look, I understand you. I empathize with you. But I know what true, perfect humanity looks like—I created it. Let me show you the Way.”

Jesus shows us that our human nature isn’t, at it’s core, anything but a perfect image of the Most High God. That when we operate in His image, our emotions are a beautiful gift that we are allowed to act in. That we don’t need to judge anyone, because we’re all made in the same image. That true humanity walks in Grace and Truth (John 1:14).

God gets us. He created us. He created the idea of humanity out of His own image. But He is so much bigger and mysterious than what we can ever even try to fathom. Therefore we can’t really get Him. Some people are uncomfortable with this. Which I definitely understand. Honestly, I’m more uncomfortable with it than I’m not. But what it all really boils down to is that all throughout the Scriptures, throughout nature, throughout history, we see a God that’s not worried about people getting Him.

What we see is a God that is inviting us to know Him.

Growing up in legalistic churches, not revering God is definitely a deal-breaker. If you aren’t reverent, you might as well set yourself on fire, because that’s what God’s going to do to you anyway.

So my first question:

I’ve grown up with the understanding that reverence is two things: a) respecting God as sovereign father, and b) understanding that I am stupid, God is smart, and that it’s actually ok to be that kind of robot. I’m not in anyway saying that this viewpoint of reverence is correct, I’m just saying it’s what I’ve always believed.

But what about Jacob wrestling with God? What about Jonah? Or Moses? Or Job? Even though God had the final say, at least they stood up to him, right? Why can they voice their opinion and I can’t muster up the courage to do the same? When am I allowed to throw two middle fingers up and be pissed?

I’ve been listening to David Bazan’s new record “Curse Your Branches” a lot lately. I’ve never been a huge Bazan/Pedro the Lion fan, but when I heard about the lyrical content, I was intrigued. He recently lost/started losing his faith, and this record was deemed “a breakup with God.” I gave it a listen, and although much of it is incredibly sad, the whole album is very challenging, and makes me think about myself a lot. The last verse of the last song, “In Stitches,” has some of the most pointed and emotional lyrics on the entire album:

When Job asked you the question,
You responded, “Who are you
To challenge your Creator?”
Well if that one part is true,
It makes you sound defensive
Like you had not thought it through
Enough to have an answer
Or you might have bit off more than you could chew

Just reading it gives me chills. Listening to it almost gets me choked up. It’s a pretty deep theological challenge, and he is obviously speaking out of a much more bitter, jaded heart posture than I have. That’s not really what gets me about it. (And to you reading this, I’m sorry if that theological question becomes a stumbling block. My intention is to not focus on that part.) What gets me is his honesty. The way he is talking—to the Collin of the last 20 years or so—is very irreverent. You just don’t talk to God like that.

But I’m starting to think that doubt or questioning or wrestling do not equal irreverence. And what gets me about that verse is that he is willing to talk to God in a more honest way than I ever have. Honesty does not mean irreverence. Honesty is not disrespect, or lack of honor.

In the scripture he is talking about in the song, God is basically telling Job to shut up, that He has it in control. At the same time, I don’t really think that’s a bad thing. I’m not sure its an invitation from God to be a Christian robot. I think that Job was being reverent. I think that Job needed to question God, and that God needed to rebuke him. I think Job learned that God is emotional. And that even though God is sovereign, it’s ok to get in His face every once and a while. He didn’t punish Job. He just told him to know his place.

There’s a pretty interesting website I often read called The Hardest Question where the different guest authors wrestle with some really hard theological concepts. Things that don’t make sense. Things that I would have normally just skipped over. They wrestle with the sacred texts with honor. With respect. With reverence to the Father. Without giving up on their core faith. And generally without a bitter attitude. Knowing when to say “I don’t know.” And I’m not saying there isn’t something to divine mystery. I do believe there are things we just can’t know. Or won’t know. And personally, I’m ok with that. I think mystery is just as beautiful, if not more, than understanding. Anyway…

Personally, I believe that reverence and honor has a lot more to do with submission. Which is a word I really struggle with. Submission tends to sound authoritarian. It starts to sound like what I’ve been talking about—being a robot. A few months ago I was reading about the word submission and I came across an interesting definition: “to allow oneself to be persuaded by.” This doesn’t mean blindly saying “yes.” This doesn’t mean just going with it. It means taking it in. It means allowing it to be on equal level with your own thoughts and ideas. It means putting yourself in a posture of being pliable. It means putting your heart and mind in a posture of allowing persuasion. Notice the definition is an invitation to hear someone else’s opinion, and equate it with your own. Even if you’re angry. Anger with respect. (So to answer my own question, there is never a time to throw two middle fingers in the air.)

Reverence is answering an invitation. An invitation for an honest, respectful, emotional, and quite possibly heated dialogue. And that’s what sets God apart.