Don't Do Opium!

Postmodernism is typically known best for its rejection of absolutes. This has been a major clashing point for Christianity. Modernism was seen as compatible because it, at least, agreed with the Christian stance that there was an Absolute reality. We may disagree on what that reality is, but at least then we can debate on that. We stand on the same platform. It just comes down to who is more persuasive concerning the nature of the platform. Postmodernism rejects the very platform we stand on. No wonder it's such a scary thing to many. Yet, the rejection of absolutes is not the starting point for postmodern thought, but rather the conclusion of it. There are many presuppositions that postmodernists rest on to arrive at the statement that there is no Absolute Reality.

The one I find to be very important is subjectivity of all knowledge. Basically the idea that even when objective facts exist, we as humans are thoroughly incapable of leaving them as such. To live is to interpret. All experience must be altered (however slightly) to be useful. We must fit it into the framework of our worldview and life experience. Contrary to what science has told us for hundreds of years, facts are enslaved to values. Not vice versa.

Yesterday I went and saw The Constant Gardener. It's a hard movie. It points out the system of injustice that I as a "First World Citizen" depend on. The gist of it is: A British diplomat of modest position marries a political activist. They make their home in Kenya. The husband keeps a garden and does what he is told to, while largely unknown to him, his wife uncovers a massive corporate drug scandal. In order to save millions of dollars on developement, drug companies buy their way into Kenya, where they conduct involuntary tests on thousands of poor Kenyans, resulting in the deaths of hundreds. Diplomatic officials stand to profit from the situation, so they hush it up, and hush up anyone who would reveal their dirty little secret. It's a fictional story very much based in the reality we live in. It brought to mind the truth that science, which we acclaim as neutral, objective practice, is actually a puppet to the values system which controls it. In this case Westerners who value the lives of people in their own society, and value the substantiality of their own bank accounts, tell science who to kill for their own good.

Karl Marx proclaimed religion to be the "opiate of the masses". It was something to sooth the pain of experience. In the end it was an addiction, needing cure. Religion would never solve one's problems, it would only numb ones attention to them. Marx being the child of the Enlightenment he was offered up his alternative: ideology. Ideology was the path to utopia. Utopia was a place where no opiates were needed. Life was swell there. Marxism was a twelve step program to a better humanity.

It took off like wildfire in the East: Russia, China, Vietnam. It hit some bumps in Cuba, and never quite got established in any of the other Latin American countries, though it sure tried. Partially it didn't succeed because the ideological market was controlled by a strong competitor: capitalism. Sure, we call it democracy, but we all know what really runs the West. Capitalism is the cancer of democracy. The list of ideologies is far more extensive than that. Chances are if it ends in -ism it is, or is strongly controlled by, some ideology. Marxism, capitalism, facism, socialism, communism, fundamentalism, on and on.

This leads me to my favorite quote of the day, "Ideology is the opiate of intellectuals." It provides not more, but less of an answer to the pain of experience. Utopia is only acheived when the few steal from the many to numb their own pain by gratifying every desire. The world goes to hell before dying, while the rich and privileged steal a slice of heaven before succumbing to the endless void that they have spent a lifetime distracting themselves from.

Basically, I agree with the postmodern position. In regard to humans, there is no such thing as neutral facts. Objectivity is the smokescreen for the values of modernism. As a system, I believe modernism is thinly veiled paganism. Ideologies are the gods who demand that we sacrifice human life and the blood of our children to avoid their wrath. We live in endless uncertainty trying to appease them. Still, I find postmodernism to be an escape. In the face of such insatiable gods, I struggle to believe the answer is to leave them unchallenged by declaring only the subjective to be absolute. I think this makes us feel better about ourselves, but the pseudo-gods of our time will continue unchecked.

The answer is YHWH. The ancient, present, future God. He claims himself Almighty. He claims to be right and true. He calls out all other gods as demons. Every -ism is controlled by evil. Let's not buy the modern lie that God sanctifies our systems. The OT claims him to be YHWH Mekadesh: he sanctifies us. Trickle down theory does not work with God. He will make us holy, but not capitalism. Capitalism is a false god. He calls us to rebuke it, not justify it. The same goes for any other ideology we want YHWH to give a stamp of approval. Religion is opium. Ideology is opium. God is Truth, Reality, and the Ultimacy of Experience.

The "Reasonable" Gospel

When my Greek professor was attempting to justify himself for something he would always tilt his head a little bit, turn his palms up, and say, "I'm a reasonable guy." He said it with the kind of humility that attempts to sound humble while demanding appreciation. The rest of this post has nothing to do with my professor, but reason.

Before the modern paradigm, humans in general held a much more modest position in the world. They were sheep. They needed shepherds. So, politically they were ruled by kings. Religiously, they were ruled by a pope. In our time, we often criticize such a system. We see men in such power and hold to our modernist proverb, "Absolute power corrupts absolutely." But, in this we are failing to see the world through the eyes of the people that came before us. We are judging past generations on our own terms. For the dark, middle ages, popes and kings were not mere men. That is where we go wrong in our judgment. Popes and kings were divinely appointed; divinely placed. Mere laymen were not fit to question such structure. In that time, God's will (or so it was called) reigned supreme.

Then everything changed. Luther found that God's will from the pope was in total contradiction to his will in the Scriptures. People found that God's will from the king, well, only benefited the king while the rest of them starved. They found "God's will" wasn't trustworthy. Turmoil ensued for the next centuries, and emerging victorious in the Enlightenment we found reason now dominating the scene. Luther's attempt to get back to the Texts was required to employ reason to help in interpretation. Though probably necessary, it proved to be a costly servant. People turned to reason to find justification for the upheaval of tyrannical kings. It took two World Wars to find that reason itself can be as merciless a tyrant as any man.

Westerners became dogmatic in their belief that reason ruled in the hearts of all men. All men given enough education would become moral, decent people. They would benefit society, and society would progress infinitely. Reason became the new Messiah. If we could make sense of the world, if we could unlock all the laws of it, then reason, reigning in our hearts, would establish a utopian world. We would be free of illness and strife, and logic "would wipe every tear from our eye." This is the lotus flower eaten for centuries, and still turned to in times of uncertainty.

It's funny the many ways church has adopted the second Messiah as well. Our hope may be in Jesus, but our strategies are consumed by reason. When I was doing my internship for missions in Europe, I got to be part of a typical American church in a foreign context. In America where all people are autonomous and "free", we appeal to their individuality to bring them to Jesus. We employ reason to answer their questions. We attempt to meet their needs. In the end, we hope to bring them to the Lord, individually. We are blind to the fact that few other countries in the world have our appreciation for "rugged individualism". They see what we are often so blind to, that a person outside his society is not a person. To lose your social bearings is to lose a massive part of who you are! This, in part, is why the church I was with in Europe had a back door that matched the size of the front. It was a church where people could come be an American for a few years, but as soon as they were expected to be transformed (often evidenced by being put into leadership) they withdrew and soon never returned.

That church was a great resting point for them. They learned English and American customs, which generally resulted in better jobs and futures. Yet few if any seemed truly committed. Why? Partially because it meant adhering to American morality.

The other reason I think is this: Americans (Westerners) still carry a romanticized ideal of individual choice that stems from all people being 'reasonable'. We expect that if we present individuals with the gospel in plain, easy terms, and bring them to a simple choice they will, being "reasonable guys", give in to logic and accept Jesus. Or at least be manipulated into attending church where we will continue to force-feed them the love of Christ in nice, easy terms. We think it all hinges on reason. Most sermons we hear in America tend to reflect this. We present a message that pushes toward a climactic end where we present the altar call that all non-Christians will respond to if they have any "sense" at all. It's an easy choice.

What we ignore is that people are more than just a brain that processes data until they are brought to a decision about certain circumstances. They are a body that lives in a society, and at the core they have a spirit that is ill, deluded, and is crying out for God. If we think all that is necessary to cure them is a crash-course in systematic theology, we are fools. People are reasonable, but we deceive ourselves pretending that reason has much at all to do with how they truly make most decisions.

Suppose I loved a girl for a long time without her knowing. One day I walk up with a list of things I did. "I sent you that little gift in the mail two years ago. I learned your favorite movies and watched them all. I wrote you a song or two. I try to be around you as much as possible. . . ." The list goes on and on. Then after I finish them all off I wrap it up with, "Therefore, based on this evidence I will be kneeling at the front of the auditorium with a wedding ring, should you choose to accept, please come, while we stand and sing."

In our relationship with Chirst there is the element of choice, as there is with all relationships. But, no one is reasoned into love. Christ died on a cross to display his love. I would contend that more importantly he came into our world! He did not come with a pithy list of the activities he was going to do to win our hearts. He did not come simply to manipulate us into a shallow choice based on reasoning out the facts. He came to win our hearts. When he left (which he said was for our own good), he did so to send the Spirit who carries on the same activity, not by shallow empirical evidence, but by transforming our world, our minds, and our bodies. The Spirit surrounds us with beauty and hope, desiring our hearts, and nothing less, turn to God in a gaze of love. When we do, reason falls humbly into the periphery.

The Agriculture of the Gospel

"Do not bring me the gospel as a potted plant, bring me the gospel as a seed and plant it in my soil." - Some guy in India talking about missions.

This quote was one of the big ones we were supposed to remember when I was going through school, studying missions. I like the seniment of it. I agree completely that too often, whatever country we may be from, export our gospel to foreign peoples. It worked for us after all . . . Our gospel has arisen in our context. It addresses our history, our needs, our hopes. It is shaped by our language, our attitudes, our typology. Ultimately, the gospel I love, I love because it has set its roots in my heart. It fits, and in the places where it doesn't, it is growing to fit. The gospel I love has taken centuries to grow into a shape that I would love. It has taken this long to be lovely to the eye of a guy in Texas, who speaks English, has a vague understanding of history and science, and understands the world as one who thinks in a modern/postmodern paradigm. Is it any wonder that the things I love about the gospel make little to no sense to a guy in India who speaks Urdu, has never heard of Texas, doesn't know the difference between modern and postmodern, and has no use for the concept of paradigms?

Is it any wonder that when I bring him the gospel he sees it as a potted plant, already accustomed to a context different from his? My gospel will die in his soil, not from the attacks of evil, or due to the harshness of his environment. My gospel will wither and live permanently stunted because of irrelevance. Relevance is the taproot of the gospel. It is the root that penetrates strait down into the heart of culture. My gospel may live as a bonsai tree: cute and pleasing to keep contained in a garden or atrium, but as message that stands little chance of spreading or becoming the grand thing that God desires it to be. People may take it and shove it off in a corner, but it won't ever be what it was intended to be: a healthy, strong declaration that continues to grow and reach infinitely towards God, and to bear fruit that is pleasing. That is what the gospel is intended to be. So, yes I agree, we can't just take our gospel to others. Potted plants that grow in Texas, don't fair to well in India (except maybe our weeds, but that's a different story).

There's one massive problem in all of this though. The gospel is incarnational.

What that means is that as far as our part of the deal is concerned, there is no such thing as the "gospel as a seed". We can strip it down to "You're bad, so Jesus died, and now God likes you again, and has somehow made you good, so be good", and call that the gospel, but it's not. That may be the bones of the gospel, but it has flesh too. It has a mind. A Spirit. The seed of the gospel is Christ himself. If the faith that arises in a culture starts from anything else, we have given them a potted plant; A cutting of our own gospel that is devoid of the only thing that really matters, Christ. We give them bonsai faith. It may amount to a cute ornament for rainy days, but it will never amount to anything that matters.

The gospel that saved me came to me in flesh. In the midst of an empty, suburban, American pipe dream that was life for me, I met Christ. He spoke English. He grew up in the context I lived in, and meant something. This is the only Christ I have known. I've attempted to see him through the eyes of historical context, where he speaks Aramaic, and his followers talk about him in Greek. It was a potted plant for me. Cute and "meaningful", but totally and completely irrelevant to my life and the lives of those I interacted with daily. The Jesus of scholarship is one who lives in the corners of libraries and is confined to seminary classrooms. When healthy it may even find public display on pulpits, but it is far from being a Jesus I can advocate for people in my apartment complex. The historical Jesus is the Jesus of Bonsai faith, not a seed. And, this is why it is so complicated: I don't know Christ as a seed. Neither did Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. He was incarnate for them. He is incarnate for me. I can't take the gospel as a seed to India and plant it in Urdu speaking soil. The only gospel I have is an English, Texan, modern/postmodern gospel. So, doesn't that take the wind out of my missionary sails. That would imply the only way I can take the gospel anywhere is as a potted plant.

All this leads me to something I am growing to believe more and more: Jesus has already planted himself in the hearts of people. The seeds are already there. Where this is not the case, I imagine he plants the seed through us, but let's not arrogantly pretend as though we have discovered the "pure, unadulterated gospel". If the seed of the gospel is planted, I firmly believe we will have little clue when or how this was done, because Christ will be planting it. He is the sower in the parable of the soil. He scatters himself freely and haphazardly. He does not analyze the soil first, he throws himself to the wind, trusting the harvest will be plentiful. He is also the Lord of the Harvest. We are employed to participate in this, but only as we ask him to send us into the field. Let us never forget who is in charge. Paul planted the seed because Christ commanded him to. Paul did nothing autonomous of Christ's direct command. Apollos watered the seed. No doubt Christ was the authority behind this action as well. But, Christ determined the growth.

Trees can grow out of boulders. In the desolate cracks of unforgiving mountain peaks we find grass growing. Faith may be challenged by paths, rocks, or shallowness, but Christ makes it grow. It grows wherever it will.

So, as a missionary we do simply what Christ calls us to do. If it is proclaim the gospel, we proclaim it. We do so in a way that would make as much sense as is possible to those receiving it. In their language. As much as possible, in their though forms, with concepts. In their paradigm. Yet, let's make no mistake about it, we are proclaiming our gospel. We don't know any other. We have no choice but to proclaim it as it came to us, with the hope that they will see how the gospel made us grow and they will allow it to shape them as well.

I think missionaries are called to obey Christ's voice first and foremost, and secondly to be themselves. If I go to a foreign culture, I go as one who does not have the answers to their problems. I go as one who has found, and is finding, the answers to my own, and I allow Christ through me to teach them to do the same.

I go as a potted plant, that started from the seed. I grow as Christ commands me to grow. I grow reaching for God. If I sow the seed of the gospel in others, I won't even know it, because Christ will do it through me. If they grow, it will be Christ growing in them. If I have anything to do with it, it will be because Christ commanded me, not because I did it out of my own goodness. As a potted plant, I plant myself in their soil. Christ in me will strengthen me to thrive no matter what the environment or conditions. The seeds planted centuries before I arrived, and the ones I involuntarily sow will grow totally apart from my guidance or help. I serve only as a foreign plant who is indwelled by a Spirit that defies soil, climate, environment, and the evil that would all be my death if his life were not inside me. Yet, I live, and live abundantly. That's good news.