Words'nTone

“Theologians have long been asking how Jerusalem can relate to Athens; here the claim is that Bethlehem has something to say about Rome—or Masada” ~John Howard Yoder

As pointed out thus far, miracles, like Jesus’ parables, function in similar ways—having also similar responses.  My basic concern or point has been that the miraculous is not about power, that is, power given to the one who calls or prays for the miracle (albeit, even when it is “in Jesus name.” This power is often granted, not because of the power in the miracle itself, but the power granted or perceived because of how one feels about performing a miracle (i.e., internal pride, ego, over-inflated self-esteem) or how others feel about the one performing a miracle (i.e., status, position, awe, adulation, given of position, and even money).  I recognize that this external power given can come innocently because of the awe that is created in performing, praying, or claiming the miracle—the “wow, doesn’t that person have faith,” “God is really with him (or her),” etc.  Nonetheless, such power is not the function of the miracle.

It is interesting that Mark, in his Gospel, makes an obvious parallel through his story-structure between the parables in chapter 4 and the deeds that follow in chapter 5 (see the post below concerning chiastic structure of Mark 3:13-6:13).  Right after the rather long and detailed section on parables and “why they are given,” we encounter—straight away—Jesus’ confrontation with a man with an unclean spirit (a demonized person).  The story is remarkable at face value—the longest “miracle” story in the Gospels.  Even Matthew’s parallel is only 135 words to Mark’s 330 for the same miracle story account.  The event takes place, not in sacred territory (i.e., a synagogue or Jerusalem), but in a Gentile-laden district of Israel.  It deals with everything unclean that a good Israelite would shun, resist, and find despicable, even religiously unclean: pigs, lots of them, a demon-possessed individual living among the graves, and a cemetery.  (A note—I would also suggest, the event takes place not in what would be called a good-soiled field; a place where only wasted seed would occur.)

Although a true miracle story of exorcism, there is more to this story and imagery that we should consider.  Exorcism has already played a major role in Mark’s account of Jesus’ ministry (e.g., 1:21-28; 1:32-34; 3:11-12; 3:15) and will be significant afterwards as well (e.g., 6:7, 13; 7:24-30; 9:14-29).  Also noteworthy is the book ends to this chiastic periscope (3:13-6:13) are marked by reference to “exorcisms” (cf. 3:15 and 6:7, 13).  The “hometown” conflict story with the scribes centered on the issue of Jesus doing exorcisms (3:22-30).  Theologically, hermeneutically, and practically there are important links between the exorcism-pigs-story and the narrative company it keeps.  Furthermore, and to my point here, there is a good chance that the imagery created by the event and the written narrative, especially as it appears in Mark’s Gospel, is to bring to mind the Roman Empire’s occupation of Israel.

In Jesus’ day, pigs were a symbol of paganism (cf. Matthew 7:6; Luke 15:15-16; 2 Peter 2:22).  The term used for herd, ἀγέλη (5:11), is used to describe a band of military recruits—not farm animals.  Jesus even commands the unclean spirits to “charge” (or “rush”) into the water, a term not appropriate to animals, but to military troops.  Even the name “Legion” is an easily identifiable military term.  Interestingly, the wild bore was in fact the emblem of the Roman legion stationed in Palestine.  The term δισχίλιοι (two thousand, 5:13) also has military referents. The imagery here is of a “legion” moving in concert together as a military band would.  Strange imagery just for a simple exorcism.

Although a legitimate miracle, the way Mark tells the story, it is certainly “a satire on the Roman presence” in the region.  Maybe, even more specifically, this miracle-story of a demon-possessed man and a herd of pigs is “something of a political allegory.” That is, a parable.  Combine these observations with the socio-historical observation in the first post, that “miracle-stories” in the Hellenistic world were used to “order,” to help the elite and aristocracy to maintain order and their position in society, in particular among discontents and the rebellious.  In short, such miracles and miracle stories keep the order of life safe for those in power.

Whereas, like unto the parables, the Gospel miracles challenge the status-quo, subvert the order of safe-life, and challenge those in power. The exorcism-pigs-miracle story occurs as the first public miracle after the teaching of mustard seed bush parable which is symbolic of the kingdom of God and its rag-tag community of faith which would overcome—albeit ironically and subversively—the “towering cedar” of Rome (cf. Mark 4:30ff, Ez 17, Ez 31).  Finally, the outcome of the exorcism-confrontation describes reactions similar to how “the preached word” is received.  The people “became frighten” (v 15) and “they began to implore Him to leave their region” (v 17).

There is good reason to see Mark’s parallel between the function of the parables in chapter 4 (C in the chiastic structure provided below) and the function of the deeds that followed in chapter 5.  I have not worked through the healing miracles in chapter 5, but have centered on the exorcism-story because of the significance of exorcisms in this section (as well as in Mark) and its obvious connection to the Roman Empire.

---

In light of the use of miracles, the chiastic structure, and the obvious “Roman socio-economic” social location weaved in the exorcism-pigs story, I’d like to present at least a mild rationale of why social action can be a form of evangelism, indeed a modern deed-parable similar to a miracle story and their subversive function. (Read all the posts on this thread, 1, 2, 3, 4.)

I do believe that Jesus actually did miracles, as I also believe miracles can and do happen today.  I also believe there is the “gift of miracles” (1 Corinthians 12:10, 29), where God through His Holy Spirit, and in His time and in His purpose, grants individuals the ability to heal (1 Corinthians 12:28) or other miracles as part of what He does through a community of faith.  I do not believe that Jesus was a “miracle-worker” or “performer of miracles” simply to gain popularity or hold power over His audience.  In fact Jesus did not use miracles to install or build faith.  Quite the contrary, actually.  Miracles were not and are not “for show.” I have always been at odds with those who just think by making some form of pious prayer (almost akin to an incantation) or by claiming a miracle that healings and miracles were/are at the command of men and women.  Miracles were not and are not for power, but for teaching, confrontation, and for subverting the powers of “this present age.”

As I mentioned in the previous post to this thread, miracles, like their cousins the parables, function in a similar way.  They are miracle-parables, or maybe more properly identified as deed-parables.  Here I would just like to propose two reasons why Jesus’ miracle ministry are actually miracle-parables.  And then in the final post, why miracles are subversive to unhinge the power of man and his unrighteous systems that hold power over others, leaving them vulnerable, helpless, and dependent on those who hold or claim that power.  And in that final point, I will—every so briefly—explain why I believe social action can be similar to the miracles of Jesus.

First, as I have studied Mark, I noticed that Gospel’s structure puts word-parables and deed-parables in parallel consideration.  This structure is made clear in how Mark lays out his material.  We first hear that the Gospel is about “Jesus the messiah, the Son of God” (1:1).  As we read, we find at Mark 3:11-12, while confronting a possessed individual, the demon acknowledges that Jesus is the “Son of God.” This helps identify that Mark 1:1-3:12 is most likely a section, with what follows being a new section to the structure of Mark’s material.

This allows us to look for structural clues to the next section which will help, obviously, with discovering the meaning and purpose of the stories and narrative itself.  There is an interesting chiastic structure built into the span between Mark 3:13 and Mark 6:13.  Here is that chiastic framing:

 A) The twelve and their kingdom task of word and deed (3:13-19)

      B) Hometown skepticism and the Beelzebul story (3:20-35)

         C) Word-parables (4:1-34)

            D) The authoritative, mysterious One (4:35-41)

         C) Deed-parables (5:1-43)

      B) Hometown rejection (6:1-6)

 A) The twelve and their kingdom task of word and deed (6:7-13)

You will note—if you have your bible—that the commission of the twelve (A) frames the stories and narrations that occur in-between (B, C, D).  Interestingly, the commission is to repeat the pattern of Jesus in word and in deed—preaching the kingdom and having authority over demons, casting them out.  This is significant for 1) it makes sure we understand that word and deed are indeed parallel in task (note C in the structure), and 2) the “casting of demons” is the big miracle—the longest story-narration in Mark’s Gospel—that helps frame the purpose of the exorcisms done by Jesus.  (I will get to that in the next post.) Here it is sufficient to point out that word and deed, proclamation and action are cousins in the ministry of the kingdom with parallel functions.

Second, the miracle-stories (miracle-parables) produce similar reactions of faith and resistance as does the “purpose of the parables” described in the parable of the Sower who sows.  There is amazement, awe, confusion, hatred, division.  In the Mark 5 pigs-demons story, the miracle-parable frightens the people and in fact they “implore” Jesus to leave their region (v 17).  Later, in the next section, after Jesus “performs” the miracle of the bread and fish, he notes the unbelief after the miracle in similar terms as He does the reaction to His parables (in Mark 4: Their hearts become hardened (6:52).  And previously—in the section we are considering, 3:13-6:13, we hear after Jesus heals, unbelief is linked to the hardness of their hearts (3:5). And you should note, even the miracles are shrouded in mystery, where Jesus often, even demands that they not reveal the occurrence to others.

These two observations alone should help us to see that parables and miracles are indeed cousins with similar functions and effects.  And as such, applying the meaning and purpose of them in our contemporay context should open us up to a wide range of deed-parables.

---

In the next post to this (now) 4-part thread, I will conclude as to the subversive nature of miracles and then why, as such, I think social action can be a similar deed-parable today (post # 4). (Read all the posts on this thread, 1, 2, 3, 4.)

I have learned more than I bargained for while studying, researching, and pondering on the issue of social action and evangelism, especially as I have made strides to learn from Mark’s parables in chapter four of his gospel.  One important thing I have learned is the value and function of the action-parables that come in the form of healings, exorcisms, and other miracles.  Miracles function similar to parables in that they reveal the presence of the kingdom of God and at the same time indicate, teach, or show some level of subversion (as do the parables) to the surrounding status quo.  I have also learned something about the contemporary need to see miracles, believe in miracles, and to proclaim that miracles are possible and do happen—on command, and usually by select individuals.  I find that this contemporary use of miracles is radically different than their use and function through Jesus and in the hands of the Gospel writers.  As one writer, Chet Myers, has pointed out, the healings and exorcisms pre-Mark 4 (and the parables of sowing) and the following (especially in Mark 5) are central to this section of Mark.  As Myers continues on with this point, he refers to G. Theissen’s work on the The Miracles Stories of the Early Christian Tradition, where the study of the social function of early Christian miracle stories are somewhat—really radically different—than the miracles stories of the contemporary Hellenistic world.  In the Hellenistic world miracle stories “originated from the aristocracy, and through the highly institutionalized practice of divination and technique-magic,” the primary concern was with the continued “maintenance of the accepted order and way of life.” Obviously this was to the advantage of the elite of the day.  As it is for those in places of power, status, and position today.  Other ancient pagan traditions also show miracles were used in order to dissuade “growing social disintegration.” Myers continues:

“In contrast, the gospel miracles assert the promise and possibility of radical socio-political change in behalf of the disenfranchised.  They function to subvert, not legitimate, the dominate order” (Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus, p 264).

I find, in our contemporary social and Christian setting, that the promotion of the miraculous is not for teaching or disclosing God’s action in this world as in Mark’s Gospel, but provides the sensational to give power, in particular to those proclaiming miracles or (trying) to perform them (in the guise of calling on Jesus to provide them).  As in the older Hellenistic world, a miracle (even just the appearance of claiming them, calling them to appear and be manifest) is actually more about the desire of the “performer” to exercise power over people or to build a constituency dependent on such performance.  Of course, the performance needs to continue to maintain the power over that constituency.  In some since to maintain and perserve the status quote--of the power structure in place, one particularly promoted by “the preformer.” Miracles, however in the hands of Jesus indicate the presence of the kingdom and of the king who does not care to share power with others.  An elite group is not so privileged in light of Gospel teaching.  Furthermore, the miracles done by Jesus and placed in their literacy settings in the Gospels by the writers (such as Mark) are subversive in function.  Like their cousin, the story-parables, miracle-parables challenge the power structures of the status quo.  They confront power and those who in the guise of piety who claim such power are false-miracle-workers.

---

In the next post to this thread, I will highlight how the action-parable, i.e., miracles in chapter 5 of Mark’s Gospel teach us, as do the story-parables, lessons of subversion. Then I will follow with a post on why I think social action can function similar to miracles.  For my post on the subverstive nature of parable, take a look at ”Parables ought to subvert our world.” (Read all the posts on this thread, 1, 2, 3, 4.)

“History throws up too many instances in which the perfervid mix of religion and politics has destroyed the possibilities of civil discourse…When politics is conflicted by putatively divine revelations, there is little room for reasonable argument and compromise…The case can be made [however] that the great social and political devastations of our century have been perpetrated by regimes of militant secularism, notably those of Hitler, Stalin, and Mao. That is true, and it suggests that the naked public square is a dangerous place. When religious transcendence is excluded, when the public square has been swept clean of divisive sectarianisms, the space is open to seven demons aspiring to transcendent authority. As with a person so also with a society, the last condition is worse than the first. Nonetheless, the awareness of this truth does not alleviate our anxiety about forces that, no matter how much they deny it, seem bent upon establishing something like a theocracy.” ~Richard John Neuhaus

What happens if we don’t live in a closed universe?  What happens if we can’t prove everything through the observable scientific method?  What happens if reason and logic and philosophy (that is philosophical questioning) are actually valid forms for determining the validity of truth and whether something is real, or whether it is reasonable for something to exist?  Whoever told Richard Dawkins et. al. that we live in a closed universe?  Whoever told Dawkins that it is only the scientific method (and the observable one to boot) is the only method for determining truth or matters of this universe?  Dawkins in his The God Delusion makes a remarkable faith commitment to his assumptions about time and space and science and the universe.  Dawkins makes a supra-historical, ultimate, non-scientific assumption: “Everything that exists or has existed can be proven and verified by the scientific method.” Now, who told him that?  How did he come to that conclusion?  Did he use the scientific method to prove the scientific method (sounds circular to me)?  What happens if we live in a world that is not closed and is not subject only to the discoveries made though the scientific method?  What happens if we live in an open universe that exposes the limits of the scientific method?  Even if Dawkins and his kind of atheistic worldview want to say, “You can’t prove an open universe?” I’d respond at two levels: First, why are we limited to the observable scientific method?  (Who made that rule?) And second, that’s fine, but your assumption that its the scientific method or nothing else is an a priori assumption that is just as much a faith statement as my belief that Genesis 1:1, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth,” is a true statement.  (In fact, logic and science seem to grant us that the Genesis 1:1 statement is a reasonable one even if one discounts the need for revelation.) Dawkins must start with a faith statement about the universe.  Just saying the universe is closed and what exists only exist if it can be verified it through science doesn’t make it a true.  It just makes it a worldview statement that is a matter of faith.  Dawkins and his atheistic community still must deal with first causes and the matter of matter.  And I love it when they say there was no first cause, we just exist, eternally.  And for that matter, we do have unchanging, eternal laws in the universe that can’t be tested through science—say, the laws of logic.  Ah, Dawkins, for all his verbose in The God Delusion still has a problem with his own first assumptions—they are, shall I be polite—out of this world.

Another thing: where do we get the idea that each one of us has an individualized purpose, a custom-tailored -just-for-me-purpose designed by God?  In America, as one person remarked, we have 290 million gods.  And, it is hard to please them all.  I’d add: we have 290 million popes that can determine, all by themselves, God’s individualized purpose for their lives.  If we all are to find individualized purpose—a plan designed just for me—then we are bound to be vying for fulfilling that purpose—all together, each one doing what is right in his or her own eyes.  (Isn’t there something biblical negative about that in the first place?) Now don’t get me wrong, or misunderstand.  I do believe that, through council, a discipleship relationship, and with the assistance of a larger Christian community (one’s church or elders for example), a sub-purpose (and individual plan) can be promoted and determined and fostered and fulfilled.  But such calls for finding God’s purpose for one’s life isn’t set within that mode of disciples, but set very much within the context of American individualism and self-fulfillment.  On a Sunday morning, we are not 300 (using my church’s attendance as an example) individuals looking for custom-tailored purposes (And, perhaps potentially competing purposes, too.  And what happens if the purpose I hear--determine--God calling me to is to preach at my church--do you think the present pastor is just going to say “Okay”?).  We ought to be 300 individuals being called to a purpose.  We continue to confuse God’s call to “seek first His Kingdom and His righteousness” with American individualism and self-fulfillment.  No wonder God’s purpose doesn’t get done and we find ourselves frustrated, joyless, troubled, anxious, and plagued by individual sins and guilt.

We have turned biblical Christianity into a religion of pragmatism, exchanging a biblical worldview for a mere, and lower, utilitarian religion.  One case in point is our fascination with “practical application.” I find it ironic that I hear so much appeal for finding our purpose as Christians.  Over the course of thirty years, I hear almost every Sunday that there is a big plan for my life; that I have a purpose; that there is a grand picture, a bigger picture into which I fit.  Then, and almost in the same breath I’ll be asked about the details of my life.  I’ll be asked to repent of individualized and private sins.  Every text I hear from preachers seems to bear on the minute details of my life, or so it seems from the sermonizing.  How are we to grasp the larger picture when we’re forced to think about the details?  Especially the details of my life?  How can I find the purpose when I am asked to consider the particulars?  To decipher the minute, moments and details of my everyday life.  That’s what has me bogged down in the first place.

I find this ironic and very puzzling.  I understand that a “popular” preacher is practical and is skilled at showing how practical Christianity and the Bible is.  This is important to the current marketing of the church and of Christianity in modern society.  I understand this.  But its not remotely derived from a biblical model.  I believe it was G.K. Chesterton who once said, “For those who do not believe in God, joy is peripheral and suffering is fundamental; but for the believer, suffering is peripheral and joy is fundamental.” In other words, the Christian is one who maintains a worldview where joy is fundamental, and outside of that (i.e., the details), such things as suffering are peripheral.

Current demands on pastoral leadership (here I mean market demands and the demands of how success is now measured) present pressure that cause us to reverse this in our preaching and teaching: be practical, offer details, but yet demand everyone to sign on to God’s big purpose.  This is self-defeating—and no wonder us humans have a hard time with Christianity.  This works against the goal of discovering God’s big purpose.  In fact this works against much of Biblical material, even the texts of command and exhortation, for the biblical documents are filled with worldview-developing exhortations, and rarely the details and minutiae of private application.

Moreover, for the most part the inspired sacred text is given to help us gain the big picture, i.e., a biblical worldview.  When Mark expressed the essence and summary of the Gospel as preached by Jesus—and to be repeated by those who follow—it is, just that, a summary that is to help us frame our worldview.  Details will follow naturally.  Just as when an athlete (since its Winter Olympic time now) gives himself or herself to the sport (the big picture) and to the objectives and goals of that sport, other things, peripheral things (the details) become clear.  The athlete learns what can and cannot be done, what should and should not be done in order to fulfill the One Big Picture (i.e. play the sport).  I do believe that, within a discipleship relationship with a mature Christian mentor, one can find a sub-purpose (a personalized purpose) that can be lived out in light of the ONE BIG PURPOSE of God’s Kingdom that has arrived in the Person of Jesus Christ.  But we get lost in the details, our eyes are too close to the map, the colors of the painting all bleed together because we’re too close… We need to hear that from Scripture that we are called to this ONE BIG PURPOSE, which can be summed up, easily in two texts from the Gospels:

“Now after John had been taken into custody, Jesus came into Galilee, preaching the gospel of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel.’ As He was going along by the Sea of Galilee, He saw Simon and Andrew, the brother of Simon, casting a net in the sea; for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, ‘Follow Me, and I will make you become fishers of men.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed Him” (Mark 1:14-18).

“But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 6:33).

I believe that the preoccupation of the details—that is concentrating on the privatized aspects of our lives, sins, and the attempting to make Christianity so individualized and practical—actually works against God’s actually Kingdom-mission purpose being believed, own, and actualized in our life.

Don’t pray for patience
Scares me when someone leads in prayer, “Lord, help us to be more patient.” I know—and we all should know—there is only one answer to that prayer: God will bring about things in our lives to make us more patient, i.e., trouble, anguish, hurt, irritation…I think you can supply the remainder of the list.  There is no worse prayer to pray, accept asking God to make you more humble.  Again, there is only one way God can answer that prayer…and it should scare the wits out of us.  You might sound pious praying such a prayer—but you will not find such in all of Scripture.  In fact, you can scour the Bible cover to cover and you will never—ever, never, nada, not one verse, or even a hint—read a command or even encouragement to ask God for more patience or humility.  In fact, we are simply commanded to be humble, seek humility, and have patience.

A pet peeve
I have, as my kids would say, a number of pet peeves.  One that gets me, which happens in most churches week after week at church: Regular attendees who constantly sit at the far ends of the pews (or row of chairs), that is the opening, the first sets of chairs or spaces, making every single person that comes in after them, including guests, older folks, and women with infants or small children) climb over them to get to open seats in the middle of the pew (or row of chairs).  I am not too bothered by guests doing this, but regulars…come on.  Not only is this unthoughtful, it is such an obvious display that our world revolves around ourselves—which is not supposed to happen at the most unselfish, character revealing, sin unveiling, and other-centered moment of our week: corporate worship of the Creator God and Savior Jesus Christ.  Now, granted this habit might be an unconscious one.  But what are we thinking?

Counting our individual, private sins and losing any sense of purpose
I have tired of hearing about personal, individualized sins that I might or might not be committing—especially when I hear about them from the pulpit.  Our corporate sins, our congregational responsibilities, our neglect of living out as a community the very things God wants in His community, the forgetting and neglect of the poor, the putting our corporate light under a bushel and refusing to be a City set on a hill gets lost in the call to repent of a thousand personalized, private sins.  Maybe if we would hear from the pulpit of our sins of omission as a congregation and calls for corporate repentance (one example is our neglect of the poor), maybe we wouldn’t have so many personal, private sins to repent of—there wouldn’t be as much time for them anyway.  Making every text of Scripture speak to the minutia of details in our lives drives us away from purpose, not toward it.  In fact, most texts (including the one’s read and referred to on Sunday) speak to our corporate character as a body of Christ.  But, I guess it is a whole lot safer to admit that I look at a porn website every once and a while rather than feel guilty for not ministering to the poor, and easier than contributing to the guilt of a body of people who neglect the poor.  Lot easier on the preacher too.

[A repeat posting I feel needs to be reread—again and again]

---

A while back I read a rather intricate essay on getting to church on time—no wait, I mean it was on preparation for Sunday worship begins on Saturday.  It was church mail.  And believe it or not, the same ideas were repeated at church the very next Sunday as well.  Almost like pastor-talking-points.  Nonetheless, it stirred my thinking.  First, although I agree that the church corporate, for the most part and throughout church history, has met on Sunday for worship, there is actually no biblical demand or command to do so.  In fact, Paul in Romans scolds those who lift one day above another.  (Friends, this is the New Testament era, not the Old—a rather important redemptive concept we keep forgetting.) Second, corporate worship, like the Old Testament day of rest (which is Saturday by the way), is cumulative, a climax, an ending, a final celebration marking the passing of time.  I had always thought that preparation for the Sunday gathering of God’s people and corporate worship actually started on Monday.  And this leads to my third thought:  It is not about what I do or don’t do on Saturday, it is about who I am and who I belong to—all week.  This last idea is what keeps the experience of corporate worship out of the realm of law and under grace.  These are hardly definitive or exhaustive thoughts, but I am always amazed how much we constantly put ourselves “under law” in our Christian life rather than “under the Spirit” and grace.  I am all for preparing for corporate worship together, but I’d like to see (hear) the discussion from a Biblical, rather than, pragmatic perspective.  Again, this idea of preparing for Sunday on Saturday reminds me that our Christian and worship experience is built on my experience and participation in the American way of life, and not a reflection of the redemptive potential (my Pastor’s term) of who we are in Christ; built on the modern (and postmodern) American social and cultural values we have become accustomed to rather than expression of a biblical worldview we are being discipled in.

“Conversion, which had made Christians into distinct people—resident aliens—now was something that made people ordinary, not resident aliens but simply residents.” ~Alan Krieder

Reading through The God Delusion I hear arguments retold I have heard many times over the 30 years of my Christian life.  In fact I heard some of them before my conversion to Christ in 1978.  They were the ones I used to argue for my own form of atheism.  But, as C S Lewis once stated in his The Pilgrim’s Regress, an allegory of his own conversion to Christ, “Reason came riding on a horse and rescued me.” Now I can fully admit, not everything was simple reason or logic.  But that opened the door for faith to find a place to land in my heart.  Dawkins is attempting to kick the rider off the horse and shake up the land so my footing becomes shaky.  He calls me “imbecilic,” “stupid,” “foolish,” “a believer in fairytales.” Yet, as I read Dawkin’s book, although I could tell it would be attractive to skeptics and utilized by American atheists, and by many more as an excuse for continued disbelief, he relies on calling names and belittling believers, and he shows his arrogance by crafting out a God (really a straw-god) that few people actually believe in to make his point.  So the book, in the end, is not to convince believers to abandon their faith, but to sell his brand of atheism to a market of starving atheists who need a foundation (albeit from Dawkin still a shaky one) to sustain their disbelief in God, especially a disbelief in the God of the Bible.

I have been paying attention to atheist blogs and sites for some time now, and after reading (even some of) Dawkin’s book, I realized where they are getting their talking points from.  As a reasonable person, I do read with interest.  I am still quiet amazed at Dawkin’s lack of knowledge of Christian sources, texts, and arguments, though.  His own bibliography in the book shows his lack of interacting with Christian scholarship, even at the popular level.  His references are either of skeptics who state the same thing he wants to say, or straw-men (quotes with no reference cited so we can check it out.) I am so overwhelmed by his hatred for Christianity and his belittlement of Christians that I can’t even appreciate the good and reasonable questions Dawkins raises.  I continue, page after page, to be left with these thoughts:

What is a scientific defined basis for morality?

What is a scientific definition of ‘good’?

How does science produce a foundation for a moral, good, and righteous society?

What kind of objective guide or standard does science give us to be good or moral?

In fact, these terms (good, moral, righteous) lose their definition and meaning as I realize, through Dawkins, there is no objective standard to give meaning or weight to these ideas and words.  Good has to mean, by Dawkins’ own advocacy of evolution (including his selfish-gene theory) whatever passes on the most genes wins—how do these genes know what is good anyway?  On the one hand Dawkins tells us we are the product of long term evolutionary progress and our gene pool has determined—conditioned—our responses to life; meanwhile he tells us we are to be good for just being good.  But our genes take over and tell us what has to survive to pass on.  He expects caring and selflessness even though are genes as selfish.  As Dawkins is amazed that seeming intelligent people buy into religious thinking, I am amazed, dumbfounded that decent, thinking people find his own arguments sound.  On ever page, I recall the Psalmist who said, “A fool has said in his heart, ‘There is no god.’”

I was letting my daughter and stepson get some books at Borders one afternoon—my mom gave me a gift card to use, some of which was to be spent on my kids (of course).  I started browsing Richard Hawkins’ new book, The God Delusions.  Even after the first page, I wanted to start replying to his straw-men, false assertions about Christianity and the Bible, as well as his horrible use of logic.  I bought the book—at least it was 30% off!  So I respond to the one area I find most vulnerable to Western Atheists: the question of a basis for morals, moral assertions, and doing good.  Richard Dawkins entitles one of his chapters, “If there is no God, why be good?” This actually seems like a good question.  And, he rightly sets up the debate, really the potential answers to this question:  If you are being good to gain God’s approval or reward or to avoid his disapproval and punishment, that’s not morality, that’s just “sucking up.” Silly argument, really.  I taught logic and debate and critical thinking at the college level and one of the most important things one needs to do is define terms, and those definitions need to be agreed upon by all sides, and the definitions must, obviously, work in reality.  Dawkins makes an interesting proposition, albeit not so original: We do not need God to be good.  But there are so many problems, at so many levels, with this premise.  Nonetheless, despite its weaknesses, this premise is re-worded to be a question, and then used to smash Christians and their beliefs.  The question, at first glance, even seems reasonable.  So, if God doesn’t exist, would we be and do good?  Here are some random thoughts to highlight the weakness and logical fallacies in what this question assumes and seeks to imply:

The question itself is used to set up the believer with a catch 22 dilemma: Be good to please God and that’s sucking up; say no ‘I can be good without God’ and the Christian then defeats his or her own argument.  But the questioner must be questioned before an answer is given.  The question is wrong from the start.  It is not that we need God to be good or do good.  Atheists can and do good, as I imagine that criminals, the insane, and even cannibals do good at times as well.  This is one significant place—really only one of many places in his arguments—Dawkin gets it wrong: We do not need God or even a belief in a god to do good.  (That’s a no brainer.) But we do need God to define what good is.  (I’d even say for argument sake, we need some objective, ultimate Being—but that’s further down the road for this argument.) This the atheist’s problem.

The question is better put, “If there is no God, is there ‘good’?  And, to push it a little further, more personal, more practical, “whose ‘good’ is Dawkins talking about—his own, Hitler’s, Gandhi’s, Mother Theresa’s, my teenager’s?  Whose?  We need God, not just to have a reason to be good, but to know what good to be or do.  Richard Dawkins is clever enough not to develop his moral basis and foundation for defining good because in doing so he must borrow from his rejected Christian worldview.  Additionally, I’d even say, what’s wrong with being good or doing good for someone else?  My daughter does things to receive my affirmation or approval or even sometimes for reward, as I do for my wife, and for my own mother (sometimes).  Such action does not always imply a negative.  I love my daughter no matter what she does.  But what’s wrong with her loving me and wanting to do things for reward or affirmation?  Dawkins will have to give us some reasons why that’s so wrong anyway—he does not offer one reason on that assertion of his.  And maybe I want God’s approval.  If Dawkins is advocating a truly altruistic human existence, he is delusional himself.

“We have lost the text, in a measure, because we have become knowing and technologically competent, and one cannot build public greatness on the foundation of irascible Holiness who subverts.  Our controlling power and self-confidence have come to require a text not so disruptive, either this one smoothed to management or another one in its place” ~Walter Brueggemann, The Word That Redescribes the World: The Bible and Discipleship, p. 6

In the years I have been a Christian, I’d say, aside from the reference to John 3:16 and Revelation 3:20 (“Behold I stand at the door and knock”), Mark 1:17 and Matthew 4:19 have been some of the most quoted and referred to verses I have heard from the lips of Christian leaders.  In my research on social action and evangelism, I hear these verses quoted, actually, quite often as people offer definitions of evangelism.  Ranking right up there with Galatians 2:20 (“I have been crucified with Christ”), Jesus’ words about becoming “fishers of men” are staple references to refer to the way one is to be a Christian.  In some measure I agree, but not for the same reasons given by most (e.g., fishers of men = witnessing, catching people for Christ).  (In fact all the popular verses mentioned above will deserve Rough Cut time on this site!) I was struck by the fact that the interpretation of Mark 1:17 that I had posited made it difficult for this popular verse to be applied.  My interpretation didn’t seem practical.  I have always struggled with our fixation with application.  I wrote in the fishers of men Rough Cut:

It can be too easy to resort to popular interpretations because they are, however misleading (away from the text), often easier to grasp.  We shouldn’t exclude difficult to understand allusions just because they are harder to relate to, or are more difficult to apply personally.  I pause to point out that we, in the contemporary American Church, are fixated on application.  There is a tendency to skip and even to eschew the vital step of interpretation (by which I mean exegesis).  Somewhere along the way, we abandoned the discipline of exegesis and biblical interpretation in exchange for American pragmatism.  The Bible often becomes, with each individual part (i.e., each text, each verse, and even sometimes just a word here and there in a verse), a utilitarian tool to give detail instructions and application—specific do’s and don’ts.  Every text has to be practical.  This makes it all the harder to offer interpretations that—on the surface—do not seem practical, or easily applied.  (The fishers of men Rough Cut)

This fixation on application and practicality makes it especially difficult to offer interpretations of popular verses that are hard to understand and difficult to apply.  Such fixation on texts having to always be “practical” can lead us away from what God is actually saying through a text (like “I will make you become fishers of men” or “I have been crucified with Christ”).  As my essay on “fishers of men” points out, we should seek to understand the significance of a text first, then—and only then—can we apply what God has said.  (The fishers of men Rough Cut)