Context 2

So, I'm wrapping up Bosch right now. I've got 70 pages left, and if I don't get my thoughts down now they'll disappear completely in a few weeks. So, sorry if you're a Bosch-hater, but that all you're gonna get for the next few weeks.

Characteristic to modernism is the tendency to blindly choose sides. My denomination is right, yours is wrong, that settles it. My political party is good, yours is bad, that settles that. I am reasonable, therefore all who don't believe what I believe are misguided or stupid. On and on.

Ideally, postmodern thought rejects this (often more in theory than in practice), and seeks to take the best of both worlds . . . whatever those worlds may be. This is partially what Bosch seeks to do as he tries to guide the reader to a postmodern theology of missions. He calls all of these opposing views dialectics. And, dialectics give us the opportunity for his favorite concept: creative tension. The idea is, if you don't pick sides, but respectully seek out the truth in each camp, you will move creatively beyond the stalemate that has blocked people previously. An example of this would be Brian McLaren's book A Generous Orthodoxy. McLaren writes 250+ pages on what he sees that is good in most denominations and opposing dialectical situations that divide Christianity today. It's an ok book; I'd give it a 4.5 of 10.

I think the point is that postmodern thought sees the world holistically and refuses to reject other viewpoints solely because they are "different". It seeks truth with complete openness and humility. It values sight over blindness, even when sight results in confusion and despair. "We see only in part, but we do see."

So as for context . . . the point that struck me today was the affirmation that many we contact every day hold to theology that is foreign and may even seem heretical to us. Yet, even each of us individually, have doubts and conflicting beliefs with the Christianity that we claim as our own. There are doctrines that the church body as a whole believes and proclaims, yet I don't know if I have enough faith in them to proclaim them. In this there is a tension going on. There is a dialectic between my faith and belief as an individual, and the doctrines of the body of faith I am a part of. In some ways, I am trying to fit faith into my context, and more often than not when I do attempt this, I eventually end up changing. In contextualizing, faith finally connect to my worldview and makes sense, and as it does, it challenges me. It may seem I am playing the pluralist, changing faith for my convenience. And, this is a risk. More often than not though, it was a necessary step for it to become my faith, and not the faith of my parents or grandparents. Also, this often results in change at the church level too. The truths remain the same, but as faith comes to fit my context the resulting religious practice changes.

So, on the level of missions, this dialectic between personal theology and community theology can be applicable. If we demand that the church we are planting adhere to the good ol' theology from back home, chances are they will be filled with unspoken doubts and an awkward faith that never truly becomes there own. In contextualizing the gospel we realize that we as missionaries will be uncomfortable in the church we plant, and likely the people we work with will be uncomfortable as the gospel message challenges them.

The cool thing is seeing the creative work of the Holy Spirit move among people. As I wrestle with doctrines I disagree with, I eventually arrive at those moments when I see beyond stale formulas and beyond my own selfish desires and get a glimpse of truth. In one moment I am convicted and relieved. Convicted of what I must now do differently, and relieved of the fact that my questions and doubts were not unwarranted. When others cannot accept the message we bring them, it is often similar. They must hear the gospel as a message that convicts and relieves.

True contextualization is perilous because it relies heavily on human judgement. On the one hand it is a hopeful venture. It respects free will, and allows the chance for deep conversion that thoroughly transforms all who believe it. On the other hand it poses a significant threat of syncretism, and gives room for mediocre pluralism/relativism to overwhelm vibrant faith. It is not a way of answers. Which leads me to my quote of the week,

Even if we are not equipped to decide between absolute right and absolute wrong, we should be able to distinguish between shades of gray and to choose for the light gray and against the darker gray.

Context

I intended to write on this yesterday, but I didn't want to just tack this on to what was already a very random post. So, before I succumb to the black hole of thallium stress tests (my project due thursday), allow me to give a few quick (ha!) thoughts on contextualization. In case you're wondering, yes, this is highly influenced by Bosch.

Sure, contextualization is good. We should do it. But, not so fast!! If only it were that simple my friend. What do you mean, contextualization??

The idea is that when we present the gospel we should make it applicable to the context/setting/life experience of whoever we are talking to. This goes for our own culture as well. If we hope to not suck at presenting the gospel (evangelism), we have no choice but to try and connect it to those we are talking to. For all the talk of getting back to the first century church that we occasionally hear, the truth is we can't. This is one of the breakthroughs in theology over the past fifty years: the realization that the only gospel that exists is the contextualized gospel. The Word we believe in always puts on flesh. And, that's all fine and good, but what does it mean man!? . . . . .

Bosch points out four different forms of contextualization. The first two fall under the subtitle of "indigenization". Which is jargon for making something indigenous or native. Indigenization encompasses translation and inculturation. Translation is obvious. We take what we know and translate it. We find the closest words and micro-concepts in the receiving culture and do our best to fit the message we're bringing into them. This is great for a first step, but ultimately it leaves out one fact . . . . the message we are taking to them has been translated into our language and culture first. Often this has taken place over hundreds of years, and in the process the message (gospel) has done quite a bit to reshape our culture. In short, the message we are giving them is not one that was translated for us. For us it was inculturated. Maybe translated at first, but translation is only a stepping stone. It is inferior to inculturation. Any missionary who has any sense can testify that it is better that they preach in the local language than trust a translator. So, hooray inculuration.

The next two forms fall under the subtitle of socio-economic contextualization. If you are a filthy rich Western preacher taking the gospel to the dirt-poor, impoverished mine workers of Bolivia, chances are your message will not be truly respected. Maybe they'll act like they buy it in hopes it will pull them out of the hell they live in at the moment, but it's doubtful the seed you sow will last very long before it withers. Under socio-economic contextualization we have two different forms. First there is what we can call contextualization "from above", or evolutionary. This is where the beneficent (and patronizing) nations commonly found in the West triumphantly listen to the gospel call to die to self, and sacrifice their dreams of owning a cabin in Colorado (since they already have three other properties and two cars per family member) to better the poor wretched lives of people in other countries. They travel far to build houses for impoverished peoples. Taking three times as long as any of the skilled, unemployed workers in that country would, and doing half the job in the process. They do this so they can return home to tell their friends and family of the horrible things they have seen "over there", and inform them of how miserable they must be because they only eat two meals a day and don't have air-conditioning in their church building. The way to contextualize in this situation is to "develope" their country/economy, or politically advocate some kind of trickle down economic growth that will help these people. But the truth as Bosch points out is that this maintains, and more often then not, increases the gap between the rich benefactors and the poor margins who depend on them. It gives the illusion of contextualization, but rarely actually acheives its name.

The other side of this is "from below" contextualization, or revolutionary contextualization, which takes shape in liberation theology, feminist theology, etc. The gist is that the ones needing to repent are not the people being preached to, but the ones doing the preaching. When we go on missions, the ones needing the gospel (read, needing to be evangelized) are the missionaries themselves. And, to some extent I find this to be an inevitable truth. Most people in missional contexts spend much of their time realizing their own depravity and sinfulness. Yet, "from below" theology demands more. It demands that those in the West who have claimed the gospel as their own for so long should realize the poor as having more right to determine theological truths than those of their own context, since the poor were Jesus' favored segment of society. In the end revolutionary contextualization becomes "anti-contextualization", but only if the pendulum is allowed to swing freely.

So, what do we mean by contextualization. I say all four can be good with moderation (imagine that). We should humbly respect all cultures, realizing our gospel is dressed in American clothes. We can't expect it to be respected in other places. We should expect that it won't be. We can translate, but only in humility. Translation is always inferior to inculturation. Our goal is to allow the gospel to make sense while it simultaneously shifts and molds their culture to what Jesus (and not we) would have it be. This is what leads to evolutionary contextualization as those indigenous Christians placed in more affluent and powerful levels of society exert their influence. We also realize the value of the marginalized, and listen to their voice, caring for them as Jesus did. Those with wealth and power realize part of their conversion is seeking the good of the poor at the cost of their own comfort and pleasure. While, the poor and subserviant realize part of their conversion is not giving in to the role of victim, and never letting the feeling of powerlessness convince them to give up their God given power.

With all that said, there is an easier way to say it all. First a non-contextualized gospel is dead. The Word becomes flesh and makes its dwelling among us. To not contextualize is to confine the Word to a page and it won't live there. So whatever setting we are in (context) we have to allow the Word to live and dwell there. Second we must realize that no matter where we are, the gospel is for us and is calling us to repent (read change). If we have greed in our hearts we must die to that. Greed applies to the rich and the poor. If we are arrogant (rich) we must change. If we are bitter (poor) we must change. No matter where we are, the gospel that dwells with us demands we do things differently. True contextualization means that Jesus speaks our language, and then in words we understand he convicts us of two truths:

"If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions giving to the poor so your treasure will be in heaven. Then come, follow me."

"But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute (oppress) you. . . Be perfect as your Father is perfect."

Simply put, contextualization is refusing to play favorites with God's love and truth.

this post has no point

Today was a bit crazy. I went on my church's college retreat this weekend. Retreats are starting to feel different as I get older. They seem less and less like micro-summer camps, and I'm not quite sure what they feel like instead. It's just different. I guess it seems now like I come away from such things without the 'spiritual highs' I used to get. Now, it's more like I walk away with a ton of questions that I'm not sure can be answered.

Not to say it was a bad weekend. It was good. I think I learned a lot of things that will probly make sense in a month or two, though I don't have a clue what to make of them at the moment.

And, taking the weekend off means that I didn't do any of the hundreds of things I was supposed to do for school. I'm a little behind. And, I got caught up writing a song last night, so that didn't help either.

School today was interesting. I'm one of six guys in our nursing class, meaning we're in there with 23 females. One of them found out she was pregnant this weekend. The ensuing conversations today revealed far more about the female anatomy than I think I really want to know. I think I'm still innocent . . . maybe. If so, I get the impression that won't be the case for very much longer.

On the retreat, one girl kinda pointed out (or re-pointed out) to me that I'm still in a transition stage. Today that felt very accurate. It was one of those days where I felt really restless in my heart, like I'm ready for something new. I'm confined to this area at least for another year, but today was one of those days where if I could, I probly would have packed up and moved really far away if I had the shot. I'm not sure if it's the season change, or maybe that I just feel really disconnected from things that used to make me feel like this area was home. It doesn't feel much like home right now. My parents house doen't feel much like it either.

Maybe that's what I'm in transition to. And, I'm not giving some cliche', "this world is not my home speech". I think it's human nature to make a home while we're on earth. Maybe it's imperfect and transitory, but it is a home. That's more what I'm talking about. Right now I just don't have home at all, which for me, means I'm ready to migrate when it feels like that might be a smart idea. That was the other thing today that I probably should praise God for, I just felt lighter. Like some burdens had been lifted. I didn't really feel euphoric or anything, but just a little bit relieved and a little bit more hopeful. . . . and very much ready for something new and different in life.

Today wasn't a day where life felt very coherent. I'm not totally sure what to make of it. It was a bit weird, but good. There, that's my journaling for the day. . . . back to ulcers and the integumentary system. hooray skin . . . .

Psalm 145

Great is the Lord. He deserves praise more than any other!
His greatness none can fathom.
One generation will joyfully declare your works to another,
Your mighty acts are our history.
Generations share your glory and splendor
and I pause to dwell on them.
Generations proclaim your power, seen in your deeds
and I, too, will declare them.
Generations will dance for you are good
Generations will sing loud that you are righteous.

In all these things we see your Kingdom.
Generations will declare your might in that reality,
and all will know this might.
All will know your glory.
All will see the splendor of this Kingdom that we know.
It is a Kingdom that never fades.
In it, your reign, Oh Lord, is total and never-ending.

God loves us all. He is loyal and faithful.
God lifts us from the dirt.
We look to God for our needs, and he gives them in due time.
His hand extends the gifts which fulfill all who ache with desire.
For he is near; he is not out of range from our cries or our prayers.
He hears. He will give.

For your acts, for your Kingdom, for your faithful love,
I will praise you, God. Let all the earth join in.

Basically, hundreds of years of really wise and spiritually attuned people pass this song on to us. God's Kingdom is comprehensive, and his power is attested to by so many things he has done. All this to say, he's one step away, and listening intently. I may feel alone, but in silence, he's not absent. He's listening. He's waiting to satisfy me as I become satisfied in him.

Two Points from the Padre

My class has ceased to call me reverend, and has now changed my name to "Padre". It's funny enough that I think I like it. And, it seems that it is an accurate title. God's been whispering that to me all week: "This is my flock". I think he's trying to pull me out of the lonely depression I've been in, at least partially, by turning my eyes toward them. Selflessness can be medicine when it doesn't make you feel like you're dying.

There are two things God has revealed to me the past couple days:

1. Part of selflessness is being yourself. I think for the past few months I've done the selfless thing, while being wholly and completely focused on myself while in doing it. In the process I miss God and the other people involved in the situation. My class is pointing that out to me. I'll see opportunities to care for them, but I'm too down and beat up myself to feel empowered to do anything about their problems. There are days where I'm so discouraged that I end up checking out on my own spirituality because I don't feel qualified to do anything spiritual that day. I know all the great doctrines about atonement and redemption, but there are days where they mean nothing to me. Other days, I walk strong in the truth of redemption. On good days I feel grounded and ready; I'm on the lookout for opportunities to minister. Opportunities rarely come up on good days. It seems like bad days are the ones full of chances to share the gift of reconciliation. Maybe God's trying to tell me something in that.

Today was a hard day, and it made me realize this: when I'm focused on what image I'm giving off, I have no energy left to listen and see what God is doing in a specific situation. Basically, I have to give up trying to be somebody or something to these people, so I can let God be who he is in me. I need to quit worrying about my sin, my emotions, my circumstances or anything else that prevents me from focusing everything I've got on what God is doing right in front of me. The truth is I keep sinning and I hate it. I've felt down for weeks, and am struggling to be the positive guy in the room. I'm dealing with being lonely, stressed, overwhelmed, busy, and frustrated at all that goes on with me daily. And the truth is I'm forgiven for sinfulness. I'm hopeful even when I'm down. I have every reason to be calm and at peace despite the noisy, obnoxious struggles of each day.

I am somewhere between those two competing realities. David Bosch would probably call it a creative tension. A tension that results in creativity to meet the paradox of existence. It's a good thing. I'm learning against all other voices that I'm glad to be where I am/who I am. It's only when I've accepted this dual reality that I can choose the better one, and persistently work to make it happen. (more on persistence some other time)

2. Salvation. The majority of my class isn't "saved". Most of them have no connection to any religious body. Like so many people between 20 and 35 they are suspended indefinitely, respecting all religions, but choosing none of them. Like one girl said today, "I'm just not ready for that." Here's what I was realizing today: Seeing as most of my class already has me classified into some preacher/pastor role (even though I haven't really said a word about my faith to any of them yet) I've been wondering what I would say to them in that regard. I was thinking about salvation. I realized that we use salvation as though it really carried with it a definition that all people would understand. I don't think there is such a definition, and we just ignore that fact and procede so we won't have to deal with theology.

I like theology, so here goes: I think we should throw the words "salvation" and "saved" out of our vocabulary. The only exception should be if we attach the word "from" to the end. Example: never again should any of us say, "He got saved." In my mind that means absolutely nothing. It means he probably adhered to some empty ritual which now makes him "in" with whatever religious group that ritual belongs to. I'm going to place myself on the side of the world and say we should take back the words "salvation" and "saved". Let's despiritualize them.

If I were to talk with one of my classmates about 'salvation', we would end up talking about religious ritual or I would give him a monologue about how great it is being "saved" though never defining what that means. I'm not in favor of either option. I don't think Jesus is either.

Jesus saves us . . . . from our sins.
Jesus saves us . . . . from oppression.
Jesus saves us . . . . from death.
Jesus saves us . . . . from ourselves, or sickness, or destructiveness, or satanic powers, or fatalism, or pessimism, or greed, or starvation, or addiction, or emotional scars, or doubt . . . .
Jesus saves us, but he only saves us from _____.

Here's the key: Most people don't know what sin is, and don't care. Our big selling point is that Jesus will save people from their sins. Sin is abstract; make it real! Anyone who thinks about it long enough will admit that they have something that they can't shake. There's something they can't beat. There's something that is spiraling downward in their life, and a they don't know what to do about it. Plenty of them might not be willing to, but what of the one sinner who repents? Find, specifically, the place in the lives of others that plays the role of the spiritual black hole. What is it that is ruining their attempts at living a better life. Before we go spouting off some nonsense about salvation from sins, how about we let Jesus save them from their broken marriage? Save them from selfishness. Save them from emptiness.

I've realized this more clearly the past two weeks. Salvation is a process of being delivered from the things that we can't solve on our own. I'm still being saved, praise God. But, my salvation is not merely salvation from my sins (a lovely vague, impersonal term). My salvation is from selfishness, self-hatred, doubt, fear, and ten-thousand other things, all of which are specific and real, and which I am fully aware of. The reason salvation means something to me is that it is attached to negative things that serve to tear my life apart. I value being saved from these things. I think so would most who don't care about religion.

Loneliness

"I used to want to be in love again as I assumed this was the opposite of loneliness. I think being in love is an opposite of loneliness, but not the opposite. There are other things I now crave when I'm lonely, like community, like friendship, like family. . . . Loneliness is something that happens to us, but I think it is something we can move ourselves out of. I think the person who is lonely should dig into a community . . . Jesus does not want us floating through space or sitting in front of our televisions. Jesus wants us interacting, eating together, laughing together, praying together." - Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz

I'm an only child, so to me, doing things by myself feels normal. But, I hate it. The thing I crave the most, but struggle the most to accept is community. The biggest instance I can think of is my current living situation. A few months ago I was living in a two-room apartment with three other guys. It was community overload. By the end of it, I was frustrated with all of them, and hated going home. So, when I got my new apartment, I chose the other extreme. I live alone, and that was going well until I started school.

I just finished up my second week of nursing school. It's dang stressful. Stress makes me withdraw. That's how I handle it. So, one can imagine how that compounds my sense of loneliness. Basically, the nature of this program forces me to not have any social activity between Monday and Thursday night if I want to pass. I'm sure I could squeeze out an hour here or there, but all my friends live 20 minutes away, which means that for 40 minutes of driving I could get 20 minutes of "quality time". All in all, it's looking to me that loneliness is just gonna be a fact of life for me for the next year.

The bigger problem I've been wrestling with the past week or so is this: Even when I'm in community I still feel very much alone. I know I've commonly felt this way in the past. At least for introverts I think this may be a sad fact of existence; I can be surrounded by friends and feel like I'm still very much by myself. This happened to me the other night, and hit me really hard. I've been wrestling with what it is that makes me feel this way. It truly bothers me, because in the end it makes me feel worse for having been around people, which seems very contrary to what Christian fellowship is supposed to be.

I'm definitely still wrestling with this. I barely have an answer, but I do think I'm grasping a little of what the problem is. 1 John 1, as best as I understand it, says that it is when we walk in God's will that we have fellowship with one another. And, my relationship with God has definitely been anemic for the past couple of weeks. I guess part of the reason why comes back to the whole heart vs. head thing. I'm used to having all day to read theology, and that was my biggest connection to God. Now, I have no time for theology at all. My relationship with God, this week especially, is out the window. Not to mention, I'm the only firm believer in my entire class. If God is going to come into my classroom, it's gonna be through me, and I'm not a very good conductor right now. I feel like God is absent, which means I'm totally alone. I have faith that my feelings mean nothing: God is present whether I feel him or not. Still, there are times like the other night when I see my closest friends, and feel more empty afterwards. It hurts.

I should turn to God and seek his face, but I don't have time for theology anymore, and I'm still clueless in other venues. Community might be what I need, but I don't want to feel any worse today. I guess I'll just take a nap . . .