Friday, June 22, 2012

It seems to me that there is a cowardly timidity among Christian leaders in the public sphere. On the one hand, I can appreciate the fact that engagement has not always been to Kingdom purposes. It is very possible that the gospel has been identified with a political program. I understand that desire to speak prophetically to all factions. Even so, it seems only the political Right hears the tsking of some.
I'm gonna speak bluntly to my good friend here, and trust that the brotherhood we have in Jesus isn't doubted in the process. You want to be liberal? Fine. You want to hammer the Right all day long? Fine. You want to doubt the wisdom of natural ethics as applied to modern America? Fine. Stupid, but fine. But you have an obligation to speak Christian truth in this public space as a disciple of Jesus Christ, no matter who it offends.
And I would appreciate the public space to defend myself in like manner. You don't have to agree with me. I don't care. But I tire of knowing exactly where you'll fall, because--pardon the frankness--politeness is more important than truth. It'd be OK if you were consistently broad-minded, but you're not, I'm sorry to say. The Right hasn't politicized the public space, and neither have orthodox Christians. The Left has. If you don't like me trying to take it back for all of us, I have to ask what you want.
This isn't the first time you've intimated that my Catholicism is the true motivation for my advocacy, even though that had nothing to do with the matter at hand, and nothing whatsoever with my disagreement I had with another person.
I only opined that an opinion grounded in natural law was allowed as a part of the public discourse, and is not a priori illegitimate, just because it's Republican or conservative.
And quite frankly, I don't care if your friend John Schneider has 20 degrees from Oxford; he was rude, and he deserved to be called a bully (which I did). If not in that space, then here. And I'm not ashamed, because I believe I am right, and I was more than fair. As I have said many times, politics can be tough. I don't believe that the mandates of civility or Christianity require that I be disrespected.

First Things First

First things first. Pray for Jenny, everyone. I remember going to a trivia night for her when this battle first started. To be perfectly honest, cancer scares the hell out of me, and I didn't know what to say. But we'd met each other in a bible study, and everybody to a person says that Jenny makes everyone else feel better, and that's true. You're darn right, every winner gave the money back to Jenny. What would you do?
We have to take everything as it comes, whether good or bad. And we know that He's good, even if the way things seem makes us doubt it. All that said, if "fair" has any meaning, this is unfair. O Good Lord, I pray your unseen purposes be fulfilled in this. More than that, I offer my sufferings, if so doing helps Jenny in any way.
Jenny, you can find my contact information on Facebook, if you need another ear or shoulder.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

What that guy said. Prayers and well-wishes, Father.
Wow, 75 pageviews today, and I hadn't even written anything! Thank you! My childhood friend Kelly got suckered into a couple playlists on Spotify I made: the "Whitney" one, (predictable) and "JK's Love Mix" (oh, my!). On the other hand, I'm listening to Taylor Swift. She's outstanding. I tried to hate her, because she's everywhere, monopolizes the radio, (and not just country radio, mind you) and all her songs are about teenage-girl love. But I know good songs; I can tell you who you'll listen in 20 years without shame. And the truth is, she's one of those people.
The passion for the up-tempo "boys suck!" songs may cool, but when she slows it down to be brokenhearted, it's memorable, well-written--by her--and enjoyable. "Tim McGraw" was her very first song; I dare you not to like it. "Teardrops On My Guitar" is a song I love, and the young woman hadn't even given us what has become her signature song: "Love Story." She was 18 by this point, and she owned the music world. You can find out that she has had other hits; I'm just trying to be brief. The fourth song I want to note is "Back To December." You don't shake that from the memory easily.
What I'm saying is, I was wrong. I found her singing irritating, and I thought she'd be gone in 5 years. That was 6 years ago. Who's bigger than Taylor Swift these past 6 years? Maybe Lady Gaga? Which means that a lot of people are hearing what I'm hearing.
And the live album from the "Speak Now" world tour from last year doesn't suck. Kim Carnes and Train should thank her for those versions of "Bette Davis Eyes" and "Drops Of Jupiter," respectively. I'm just saying. [Most people hate country.--ed.] Well, Tim is no country-bumkin; ask him what he thinks. [And you always like the hot chicks.--ed.] Well, let's just say that I won't discriminate against the song out of fear that my affirmation will be judged to have a baser motive. If I say I like a song or artist, then I do.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

The irrepressible Bryan Cross sends this reply to my monstrous post from yesterday, blocked by an obviously Protestant combox:

"And so he gets an unfair reputation in some quarters as trying to intimidate with many words."

If article-length replies entail an attempt to "intimidate," all academics who write book-length replies must ipso facto be bullies. Perhaps twenty years from now, anything beyond a tweet-length reply will be considered an attempt to intimidate, and those who now think I am trying to "intimidate" with article-length replies, will themselves be dismissed as bullies for writing three paragraphs. A thorough reply should not be assumed to be an "attempt to intimidate," because it might very well be only an attempt to be thorough, as the first and greatest commandment of love calls us to love God with all our mind. Otherwise all the great doctors of the Church in her two-thousand year history were ipso facto uncharitable bullies for writing whole books against false positions.

In the peace of Christ,

Clearly, he should have been a lawyer. [Ouch.--ed.] Well, just the facts. [I'll bet his dissertation makes War and Peace look like a health pamphlet.--ed.] Anyway, there we are.
Ross Douthat: (h/t, John Armstrong)

The real-Jesus project, though intended as a rebuke to biblical literalism, has ended up vindicating modern fundamentalism twice over. One the one hand, the self-understanding of fundamentalists depends on the assumption that once you depart even an iota from a literal-factual-commonsensical reading of Scripture you’re on a slippery slope to denying basic Christian dogmas–which if course is exactly what most of the historical Jesus popularizers believe as well! (The example of a figure like Ehrman, who lost his faith completely when he went to graduate school and realized that actual human beings might have been involved in the composition of the gospels, is almost a parody of a fundamentalist cautionary tale.) At the same time, the way that many fundamentalists actually interpret the Bible–through Cyrus Scofield’s dispensationalist framework–is precisely the sort of do-it-yourself Christianity that real-Jesus “scholarship” implicitly encourages. What are the Left Behind novels if not a “new fiction that takes as its starting point the central event in the Judaeo-Christian drama and reconciles that middle with a new story that reaches beyond old beginnings and endings”? Like Funk and Pagels and so many others, fundamentalists have fashioned a Jesus in their own image, and declared that he is good (Bad Religion, 179).

Yes, my dear John, I shall read it as soon as I get my hands on it. You only need a few more paragraphs like this, Ross, to make it worth whatever I might spend. Note to Bryan Cross: I cannot find the CtC article from recently with similar thoughts. It's subtitled "An Unlikely Agreement" or "Surprising" or something. It was Anders-flavored, thought I, but I combeth the archives with little success.
I actually read some Tillich in the library back in my seminary days. It didn't suck that bad. Maybe like Barth, he theologically kills you slowly, but makes you comfortable on the way. Wow, I enjoyed writing that sentence. [You enjoy writing all your sentences, you vainglorious toad.--ed.] True again!

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Hello, friends. As a sidebar before I even start, certain enthusiastic Lutherans asked me to call a little more often. I'm notoriously bad about this; for one, I hate talking on the phone. An impersonal device where I cannot see a person's face and they can't see mine is not my idea of a good time. [You do it all the time.--ed.] But it is a concession to time and distance; nothing more. And I wouldn't know anything about the impersonality of technology causing painful ruptures in my relations. [Ouch.--ed.] I know, right? In any case, I will get better. I was feeling a little bog of sadness that I didn't want to foist on him.
Anyway, that Bryan guy is at it again. Michael Horton needs to give this its due attention. But I also know that Bryan's philosophical nature and attention to detail causes problems he does not intend. There is ground in the discussion that has been trod over many times, which many interlocutors have not seen, not accounted for, and noted. Because new ones come all the time. Having been over it many times, he refers to other lengthy discussions where those preambles have been established and discussed. This is what CtC is in existence to do: put everything on the table in the Protestant-Catholic dispute, and test it together in the light of truth. But a Crossian (especially the head one himself) may well forget we're not all philosophers, and to deploy words like "invalid" (or others) in such a discussion, while philosophically appropriate, might cause an unintended emotional reaction. And since he is so detailed, those responses are like tomes, as he well knows. And so he gets an unfair reputation in some quarters as trying to intimidate with many words. Others, however, may well not understand the depth of the Catholic position itself, how familiar so many Catholics really are with common objections, and "how deep the rabbit-hole goes." I'm just telling you; if you want to understand fully the Catholic position--especially with respect to Protestantism--you need about 2 years. You can have one other big Life Thing and be OK, like say, graduate school, or a job as a PCA pastor. But if you think you can waltz in with some bromides dusted off from Boettner or wherever, and lead the Catholic captives in your train back to Geneva, well, that's almost as funny as a Jim Gaffigan sketch. Flat-out, most people don't understand what the Catholic Church is saying; they don't understand her sense of self, from which comes all the pronouncements and claims to authority. Some of you may be--not naming any names here--using your perceived lack of time as an excuse to ignore that gentle knocking on your heart, asking to explore this more deeply, if only to understand.
If you want some grist for psychoanalyzing me and my conversion, I'll give you some, even though it's not intellectually honest or fair for Horton or Dr. Anthony Bradley to attribute to the whole thing some emotional baggage. The one thing that made me willing to listen to the Catholic Church was, in my view, the indefensibility of Sola Scriptura as a principle. Because it undermines the very ecclesiastical authority the well-known Reformers were keen to establish and maintain. The very principle upon which their protest was legitimized in their own eyes bears fruit in the churchless, mindless evangelicalism so many of today's leaders decry. I had seen enough of the Protestant world to know that sin does not satisfactorily explain the variances in Scriptural interpretation one can observe. It just doesn't. In fact, because I could see that those interpretations are often in good faith, it made the problem urgent. Thus, I cannot and could not posit some bad faith or intellectual deficiency to those who disagree with me. To posit the Church as a mediator between me as the interpreter and Christ the Revealer of the Father in the Holy Spirit only invites the question, "Which 'Church' do we mean?" My local church with my elders and pastor? No; most often we mean the universal Church. And when we do not, we fail to distinguish it. Next obvious question: "What is the relationship between the Church and my local church?" I realized--still as a Protestant, mind you--that there wasn't an obvious one. My session could bind me to any particular of Reformed orthodoxy it wanted, whether the ancient common orthodoxy (even if held without principle) or the distinctives of the Reformed tradition, and if I disagreed, I could leave. And this is the key point: I could leave, in either case, still believing I belonged to Christ. That is, by our own agreed definition of Church, these elders did not and could not speak for Christ. And they'd agree, depending upon the issue. But then, I reasoned, why submit in any case? Because I'd still be a Christian, wouldn't I? They could be wrong. But wouldn't I have this same veto power over them all? Thus, they can't be branches of Christ's Church, because they don't agree on what Christ's Church is, or what it believes. If no smaller body with any surety whatever can say they are binding and loosing on behalf of the universal Church, what is the point? I knew just from this that if I could move from one visible expression of church to another still within the Body of Christ as I understood it, I could go really very wrong doctrinally or morally, and still retain that veto power. In other words, I could not say that such a motion would be principled. And this pushed me to ask what it meant to 'submit' in the first place?
What of these communities then? Knowing of their historic doctrinal disagreements with one another, I had to ask what truth value those distinctives really have, if doctrinally I could reside anywhere, profess any of them, and be welcomed. Morally, the same holds. If I do not believe the Bible condemns my behavior x, can I not find a church somewhere that will agree? I could easily presume God is pleased with me when He is not.
We're still not into Catholicism yet. Not even close. Well, realizing this obvious problem--that Christ's invisible Church and its members can believe whatever they want, and no one can do a thing about it--the Noltie Conundrum, though I could not name it--I picked up a book. This book. Some of you seem to think Mathison is not an able defender of Sola Scriptura; on the contrary, he does it well. And he adds plenty of well-deserved shots at the evangelicals and fundamentalists I alluded to earlier.
Later, once I started to live among Catholics and how they receive Christian truth, I saw that Mathison's first section critiquing Catholicism was off point; he didn't understand it. What he critiques there is a boogeyman that has never existed as Catholicism proper. But I didn't realize it at the time, and I didn't care. What does interest me still is his devastating critique of what he calls "Solo Scriptura"--the ahistorical, positivistic assertion that me, my Bible, and the Holy Spirit is all that is needed. Chapter 8 in the book. It is fantastic. It cannot be done better.
I did feel an instant sympathy with the Catholic Church, because I knew even their second-rate apologists could take these fundies down with the same arguments. Said I, in the summer of 2009, still nearly 2 years from being Catholic: "I've never read a better argument for Catholicism than this." And what I began to see is that Mathison's appeals to creeds and history and the giants of our Christian faith was not paradigmatically different than the fundamentalists; oh, mind you, in practice of Christian life and discipleship, it is very different. Healthier. More catholic (and Catholic). But the interpreter is still the same: me and my Bible. I decide which parts of history conform to what I believe the Bible to teach. I decide what the creeds really say. I decide who was right and wrong.
But don't you see? I could do the same thing with the church I live in. As I pointed out above. So, I'm an individualist (which is really what 'fundamentalist' truly means) who's read more and personally appreciates more of pre-Reformation history than [insert fundamentalist you disdain here].
But who cares? I wanted to know what Christian truth was, not celebrate my intellectual honesty and breadth. This forced me into history. If you like, "What did they know, and when did they know it?" [Oh, brother.--ed.] Or, rather, how? How did the patristics understand truth? How did they then know what the Church and the gospel, revealed in Christ, was? Well, each church father certainly has his own distinct emphases, opinions, and the like. If we simply appeal to the fathers as the reason not to be Protestant, we do a disservice. We just give ourselves more fuel--and even a presumed authority--to our own ad hoc judgments about what the gospel is. What was most compelling from the church fathers was three things: The primacy of the Petrine office, apostolic succession, and their understanding of the Eucharist. And in fact, I knew by then that the heart of the Catholic claim upon me was actually these three things. That is, if the Catholic Church today was the same as this patristic Church I saw, then I must be Catholic, because it's the Church. All that is to say, by their emphases, the fathers asserted that the Church was visible, which was problematic and comforting at the same time. Quite frankly, in terms of soteriology, I found Calvinism amongst the ancient authors--among those later deemed heretical. But it was also important to see that the leading lights of the time--including Augustine--were synergists. And despite their insistence that grace was always and everywhere necessary for any good work, an unsaved person need not be redeemed before he responds to God. That was important, as a side issue to the dispute of whether Rome or the Reformers were faithful interpreters of the early Church. The final thing that clicked into place before I was forced to choose was the link between Thomas and Trent. I, along with some others, read sessions V-VII of the council one summer and fall, all the while being involved in a reading group of St. Thomas's work Summa Theologicae for the two years between 2009 and April, 2011. There is no discernable soteriological discontinuity between St. Thomas and the Council of Trent. Any Calvinist who appeals to St. Thomas for support is being selective (and probably dishonest, if intentional).
But importantly, I was forced to ask what the authority of that Council or any council had. I began to see that Catholics rightly practicing accept Ecumenical Councils as true as such. They are the outworking of a visible Church at work, discerning the meaning and application of the faith once delivered. The very definition of a Council is tied irrevocably to the successor of Peter. So, of course we will disagree if I say, "The Council is true; it must be" and you say, "councils may err." There's your paradigm difference, in a nutshell. But I got my answer. Why was I a creedal Christian? What was the link between what I had always believed and the ancient Church? I was Catholic, and I just didn't know it. And I had to receive those conciliar decisions on the terms in which they were offered, under the authority of those who offered them. And that's why, on April 23, 2011, I became a  member of the Catholic Church. I did it because it is the Church Christ established. And I have always endeavored to follow Christ, since the day He showed himself to me.

Monday, June 18, 2012

I have two Facebook friends who always post statuses at night right before they sleep. Quite frankly, I already know that people who sleep at night are tired. If you were at my house and wanted to wish me goodnight, obviously, I won't spurn it. But I would be utterly unshocked to find that you are tired every night at say, 11:30. If you truly believe this forum to be a giant virtual house and we are the Waltons, tag me. I'll be more than happy to return your appeal for friendship affirmation couched in the form of 'I'm tired' with all the affection I can muster.
Failing that, though, I must conclude that you simply are vain, and you need attention from others up 'til the very moment you pass from consciousness to sleep. I've known vain people; there are worse things. [Yeah, you're vain. You blather on pointlessly in the hope someone cares.--ed.] I agree. But writers are a special kind of vain. A writer knows that you don't have to read the book or open the blog page. You 'converse' with me because you want to. If someone else is more interesting, if the oddly bilateral monologue between author and reader proves unfruitful or untimely, or any other thing, the choice is all yours.
I can easily say in my own defense that I write for me, and I don't mind inviting you along. This broken world begs for the images of God to partner with God in putting it all back together in the whole realm of his created things. Some build skyscrapers and some build finely-tuned German automobiles or myriad other things. I'm trying to help with words. In the last seven years, the thing that has charged me up, has made me feel useful for the first time in my life, is to write. Anyone who has known me also knows I love conversation. But how often do the needs of this life intrude on the conversations no one wants to end? This is why we have memories, I believe. So we can store the things that matter for a later time. Books are special things, too. Someone found it so important to speak something good, true, or beautiful that he got some friends together to make that memory as permanent as possible. We could be wrong about any of that, of course. After all, I'd rather read Ratzinger than Schleiermacher, and you could do your own comparisons. Writing a book may make you highly esteemed, but it won't necessarily make you correct. But that we try means we're made as keepers of something beyond valuable. More than that, we are that thing. Think on that.
I didn't come here to tell you that. I came here to tell you to see "For Greater Glory" when you get the chance. Frankly, I lack the words to tell you why, so I'll keep it brief. I only know that this witness, this heroism, moves me so deeply that I'm not the same. It wasn't a movie; it was a testimony. But if you must know, Academy Awards are due to someone for this. I may be a tad emotional, but a whole theater of sobbing patrons tells me something.