Pastors

Discovering and Escaping Liturgy

Worship trends among the young are more complicated than you realize.

Leadership Journal April 3, 2009

For years I served on the staff of a megachurch with a very contemporary style of worship. We had a state-of-the-art sound system, large video projection screens, pop-rock music, and a sophisticated lighting system. The worship services were programmed to the minute: predetermined transitions, upbeat intro songs, announcements backed with PowerPoint slides, sermons crafted with felt-need application points, and abundant video clips.

The church was growing as several thousand people connected with the presentations each week. But at the same time the church was thriving with one generation, I began to notice that younger adults were not engaging as well as their parents. So I began listening to these young people to discover why they were not resonating with this way of doing church.

I repeatedly heard that they were longing for something less “programmed.” At the same time, I began hearing questions about “liturgy,” a word I’d never heard before. I was not raised in the church, and my only church experiences at the time had been at an organ-led Baptist church and the megachurch where I was on staff. Even in seminary, I had never been taught about liturgy (literally, the “work of the people”) or ancient forms of worship. And ministry conferences I attended only seemed concerned with the newest, cutting-edge trends.

One young man left our church to become part of a small Orthodox congregation. I was curious enough that I decided to visit. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. From the quietness and sense of history to the use of incense and chanting – I was intrigued.

All of this led me to study the history of worship. I was suddenly made aware of the myriad ways the church has worshipped throughout history, and I decided to experiment with some of these forms in the young adult ministry I led. It sounds clich? now, but we started by darkening the room and lighting candles and incense. We began singing some hymns and the Doxology. We also recited readings and prayers from The Book of Common Prayer. One of the elders at the church was concerned. He asked me, “Are you going Roman Catholic on us?”

The older generation may have been confused, but the younger adults found the changes refreshing. All they had known in church was pop bands and video screens. The introduction of ancient practices helped them feel grounded and rooted to something bigger than themselves.

Then I spoke at a conference about our rediscovery of liturgy and tradition. The room was packed – by that time liturgy had become a very hot topic. During my presentation, a leader raised his hand and commented in a very disappointed tone.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “You’re telling us that young adults are drawn to liturgy and ancient worship forms, but I serve at a liturgical church and our young people want to get away from liturgy and traditions. They think it’s boring. I came to this conference to learn new ideas from contemporary churches. I want to move forward, not back.”

I realized that worship trends among the young were complicated. Those raised in contemporary churches found practicing liturgy and following the church calendar refreshing and meaningful. But some who had grown up in traditional and liturgical churches saw these same practices as lifeless or routine. They were eager to incorporate more contemporary forms. One group wanted to rediscover the past, and the other was trying to escape it.

Several years later I worked with a team of young people to plant a new church. We decided that it would not help our goal of reaching the lost if our worship pretended it was stuck in A.D. 800. But we also did not want to dismiss the rich history and depth of ancient practices. So on any given Sunday our young congregation sings a mix of contemporary choruses and traditional hymns. We now celebrate Advent each year with candles, responsive readings, and benedictions. We draw from liturgical elements in ancient worship and prayer books. But we also display modern art, project videos, and use a variety of 21st century worship elements.

We have found that the goal shouldn’t be to maintain the past or to always be on the cutting edge. Our goal is to worship in a way that represents our community to God and God to our community. That means contextualizing worship for today, but not forgetting the family of God throughout history to which we belong.

News

Nearly 20 Percent of Evangelicals Thinks Obama is a Muslim

Christianity Today April 2, 2009

Ten percent of Americans still believe that President Barack Obama is a Muslim, the same percentage of those who believed the rumor during the campaign. As a group, evangelicals (19 percent) are the most likely to believe he’s a Muslim, according to a new poll from the Pew Center for People and the Press.

Just 38 percent of white evangelicals and 46 percent of Republicans identify Obama as a Christian. During the campaign, Obama made frequent references to his Christian faith and fought smear campaigns that said he was a Muslim. But since he took office, Obama has made very few references to his faith.

In his decision to overturn former President Bush’s policy on stem cell research, he said, “As a person of faith, I believe we are called to care for each other and work to ease human suffering.”

He spoke more about his faith at the National Prayer Breakfast, when he announced the launch of his version of the faith-based initiatives.

I didn’t become a Christian until many years later, when I moved to the South Side of Chicago after college. It happened not because of indoctrination or a sudden revelation, but because I spent month after month working with church folks who simply wanted to help neighbors who were down on their luck – no matter what they looked like, or where they came from, or who they prayed to. It was on those streets, in those neighborhoods, that I first heard God’s spirit beckon me. It was there that I felt called to a higher purpose – His purpose.

History

Ecumenism, education, culture-engagement and the “slippery slope” argument

The vision of John Comenius and the story of the Unity of the Brethren give us a good way to test a hypothesis.

Christian History April 2, 2009

History is a great place to go to test “slippery slope” arguments ? claims that “Questionable Belief or Practice A” will inevitably lead us to “Horrifying Situation B.” One way to answer the argument is to appeal to precedent: “Let’s look back and see whether things like ‘A’ have led to situations like ‘B’ in the past.”

These days evangelicals with a heart for (1) ecumenical dialogue, (2) liberal education, and (3) cultural engagement are being told by fundamentalist watchdogs that they are leading good, faithful, Bible-believing people straight down the road to “liberalism.”

Let’s put this to a historical test.

Our focus: a small, persecuted, pietistic sect to which “father of modern education” and Protestant bishop John Comenius belonged in the 1600s.

This was the Unity of the Brethren, which descended from the pre-Reformation reformer Jan Hus. At a key point in their history, this pietistic Protestant group, exiled from its own lands (Bohemia and Moravia) during the Thirty Years War, made a decision NOT to pull in its horns and retreat into a culturally marginal fundamentalism. It decided instead to engage the culture around it.

It was this single decision more than any other that allowed Comenius to forge a highly effective Europe-wide program of Christian-based, ecumenical education that earned him the title “Father of Modern Education.”

Comenius’s educational plan transformed the way children were schooled, created an ecumenical vision for scholarship that inspired Britain’s Royal Society (which fostered “fathers of modern science” like Isaac Newton), and today is honored by a pan-European educational initiative that is named after Comenius.

Comenius believed that we are often involved in strife with groups culturally unlike us because we have not been educated to understand one another. He understood that lack of education as part of a larger pattern of sinfulness. And he integrated into that educational vision a priority for godliness and a distinctively Christian morality. Essentially, he brought Europe a new and effective plan for Christian liberal education, from cradle to graduate school.

Comenius’s Christian vision broke through what we might call “the Scandal of Confessional Education” that had contributed to the Thirty Years War, and contributed to the tolerant denominationalism that followed the Westphalian Settlement.

Now, in response to the fundamentalist “slippery slope” argument: To create this vision of Christian education, Comenius had to turn away from any bitterness he felt at his small sect’s persecution and exile during the religious wars that marred his youth. He had to find the resources turn to his persecutors in Christian love and show them a better way. Where did he find the courage and vision for this?

In my forthcoming book Patron Saints for Postmoderns (IVP, September 2009), I conclude a chapter on Comenius with these words:

The second paradox of Comenius’s life lies in reaction to the slaughter and exile of his small, fringe Christian community by others bearing the name ‘Christian.’ This sectarian leader certainly could have done what so many others persecuted Christians have done: retreated in rage and bitterness, licked his wounds with his people, and set up legalistic fences to keep outsiders out. Instead, he insisted on the ecumenical slogan: ‘In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.’ And he poured his life out for church unity and international peace.

Before his often tragic life was done, John Amos Comenius created a breathtaking vision of international peace and cooperation. At the heart of this vision was a comprehensive educational program that already, in his lifetime, began to transform the way Europe’s children were taught. We have asked how Comenius could possibly do this, given his background in a small persecuted group who were hounded, killed, and exiled by fellow Christians. It seems a paradox that a persecuted, pietistic sect could form a person such as this!

The key to this paradox seems to be something that had happened to the Unity of the Brethren by the early sixteenth century. Now flourishing and increasingly influential, the Brethren were forced to confront the perennial question of the relationship between Christ and culture. Many devout Christians believe growth and cultural power cannot happen without compromising the radical nature of the gospel. The church must, such folks argue, forgo all attempts to ‘transform culture,’ for such attempts inevitably suck the life out of the church. Was this the case with the Unity and Comenius?

Certainly in the decades of their peasant origins, the Brethren had distrusted all people of other classes and all trappings of culture. But as a new diversity of folks – even nobles such as Count Zerotin – were drawn by these people’s strong devotion and joined with them, the group moderated its views. Inevitably, some Brethren felt this moderation as a betrayal. They pushed the group to ‘hold up its ancient standard’ of enmity against all structures of worldly culture. But this group of world-renouncing conservatives did not win the day. Instead, a schism occurred, with the majority taking the progressive (though still theologically conservative and experientially pietistic) position.

? [H]ad this social widening not occurred among the Brethren, Comenius would likely never have developed his unique mix of deep piety and broad (‘liberal’) culture. Nor, very likely, would the European Union today be acknowledging Comenius as its teacher in this matter of international liberal education. But in fact, it is doing so: the European Commission of the EU has created a government-supported, pan-European elementary education initiative ?, named ‘Comenius’ after the Brethren bishop and educator. The program promotes the same values that drove its namesake’s reforms of the 1600s: pedagogical innovation, transnational cooperation, and equal opportunity for all students. Comenius, and his Lord, seem still to be at work.

Now, fundamentalist watchdogs of today who would look back at that key moment when the Unity decided not to go in a fundamentalist direction would doubtless trot out a “slippery slope” argument: “Any denomination that went in this liberal, culture-engaging direction could not last as an evangelical, pietist denomination. It would become liberal in theology and disappear from history as an effective gospel witness.”

So it’s worth asking: What did happen to the Unity of the Brethren?

Answer: the ragged, exiled remnant of this group showed up on Count Ludwig von Zinzendorf’s doorstep in the mid-1700s. Initially they found themselves not getting along at all with the other religious exiles at Zinzendorf’s estate. But through a kind of “Pentecost experience,” they joined with the German pietists and other exiles and formed the Moravian Church.

Was this a liberal denomination that sold out the gospel? Hardly. They started a 100-year round-the-clock prayer meeting, sent missionaries all over the world, and inspired John Wesley, who birthed evangelicalism in England. They did all of this while maintaining a strong ecumenical testimony. Zinzendorf used to talk about the many Protestant denominations as “facets of a gem.”

The Moravians, anything but theologically liberal, held to the dictum Comenius’s Brethren had espoused: “In essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty, and in all things charity.” And yet they believed and practiced an evangelical orthodox faith that affirmed Reformation essentials such as Justification by Faith and Sola Scriptura, and preached the need to be born again.

Engaging culture and opening the ecumenical windows are closely-related enterprises. Both require an openness to higher education and a desire to see our sons and daughters educated in a “liberal” mode – meaning not theologically liberal, but open to “all knowledge as God’s knowledge,” and seeking understanding across the boundaries that separate people and even drive them to violence.

Again, the heirs of the fundamentalists are criticizing evangelicals more and more for “selling the farm” theologically because they stick firmly to both an agenda of cultural engagement and an openness to finding true Christians within a broad array of denominations and churches – perhaps even among the Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox.

Such critics tell us that by such openness we will cut ourselves off from essential truths of the gospel and cease being effective for God’s kingdom. Comenius’s Brethren and Zinzendorf’s Moravianism – two key genetic precursors of the evangelicalism that nurtured these very same modern fundamentalists – are proof that this critique is false.

And when we get to John Wesley, one of the two “fathers of evangelicalism,” we see him furthering this same impulse. As he said in one famous sermon: “If your heart be as mine, then give me your hand.”

A subtext of this fundamentalist critique: any attempt at liberal education will inevitably work against the gospel.

If this is true, then isn’t it odd that Oxford-trained John Wesley could pick up the ecumenical, evangelical pietist vision, which had its roots in Comenius’s vision of a liberal, educated, culture-engaged pietism, and start the most significant religious revival in modern history?

Did John Amos Comenius put us on a slippery slope?

Yeah, right down into evangelicalism.

* * *

Related elsewhere:

Bethel University recently convened a conference on pietism. Read about it here and here.

Jan Amos Comenius was the featured topic of Christian History Issue 13. Find an index of online articles here. To purchase copies of Issue 13, click here.

* * *

Public domain image of J.A. Comenius via Wikimedia Commons and taken from Aug. Schorn and Herm. Reinecke, Pedagogikens historia (1895)

Fighting Irish: CT on Moody Radio

Books & Culture April 2, 2009

An invitation to pro-choice President Barack Obama roils the University of Notre Dame. Stan Guthrie and Sarah Pulliam discuss the controversy, and the meaning of truth, with John Blok of Prime Time Florida.

History

The Mind of the Emancipator

Abraham Lincoln was not a philosopher, but to him ideas mattered.

Christian History April 2, 2009

There is no end to the flow of books written about Abraham Lincoln. But Allen Guelzo’s 1999 book, Abraham Lincoln: Redeemer President, is a solid part of the canon. An intellectual biography of Lincoln, the book won the Lincoln Prize for 2000 and the 2000 Book Prize for the Abraham Lincoln Institute. Guelzo won both prizes again in 2005 for Lincoln‘s Emancipation Proclamation: The End of Slavery in America.

Now Guelzo has followed up with Abraham Lincoln as a Man of Ideas (Southern Illinois University Press, 2009), a collection of essays on key (and sometimes conflicting) aspects of Lincoln’s thought. From 1998 to 2004, Guelzo was the dean of the Templeton Honors College at Eastern University. Since 2004 he has been the Henry R. Luce Professor of the Civil War Era at Gettysburg College.

In the introduction to Abraham Lincoln as a Man of Ideas, you write about the way people frequently ask, “What would Lincoln do?” WWLD, if you will. Given the tremendous technological, political, and cultural gap between Lincoln’s time and ours, how realistic is it to ask that question?

It’s not realistic at all.The interest in WWLD is more metaphorical, more a matter of character questions. People are really asking what kind of a person Lincoln was. When we see intractable political or economic problems, we want those traits to be deployed and to succeed in the same way that Lincoln succeeded in facing the Civil War.

Since Lincoln was not a religious believer in the way that most other Christians of his time were, where did Lincoln’s morality come from?

It came from a number of sources, the most important of which is natural law theory. But Lincoln, not a professional philosopher, dabbled in a number of systems or theories about virtue. He didn’t really feel under any particular compulsion to be completely consistent in how he used them.One part of Lincoln embraced utilitarian ethics. And I literally mean utilitarian in the sense of 19th-century British liberal utilitarianism.

“The greatest good for the greatest number”?

Exactly. He even quotes that line of Bentham’s. And we know that Lincoln read very extensively in liberal Utilitarians like John Stuart Mill. In one of Lincoln’s most famous descriptions of the ideal economy, he says that the prudent penniless beginner works for someone else, then the next year, having saved that money, he works on his own account, and then the year after that he’s acquired so much success he hires someone else. Lincoln says that’s the ideal system.

From his earliest entrance into politics in the 1830s until the mid 1850s, Lincoln is dealing pretty much on the basis of liberal utilitarianism. But when he encounters the slave crisis, he has to find another base from which to operate, because liberal utilitarianism’s fixation on nonmoral considerations—on property rights, on economics, as the basis for understanding human relations—didn’t offer a very stable ground from which to criticize slavery. In searching for an alternative ground on which to base his opposition, Lincoln started reaching for natural law.

That’s significant for the religious part because the moment he does that, he steps into a circle that is shared widely in the 19th century in America by religious thinkers. The founding of the American republic is very much an epoch in the Enlightenment. And in the 1780s and 1790s, that meant the marginalization of religion, which in this case, really, was Christianity.

How do you get belief out of the prison of these marginalized religious institutions and back on the public square? The method for doing that is natural law because Christianity certainly had a long record of appealing to natural law as being the same message as that which is preached by Christian revelation. The one is natural revelation; the other is special revelation.This became a default position for American religious figures who no longer could get the attention of the American system by appealing to divine revelation.To appeal instead to natural revelation is not denominational, it’s not institutional, and it’s something that can appeal to everyone because the Enlightenment itself did a lot with natural law. With Lincoln appealing to natural law as a basis to oppose slavery, he suddenly finds himself standing side by side with Christian thinkers who are preaching natural law.

And he uses God language to do that.

Oh yes, he does. Talking about God is part of the overall constellation of natural law thinking.In natural law you talk about Nature and Nature’s God, but if you’re not watching the little cups on table, you can switch these around and suddenly that can become Christian God too.And that creates a commonality that puts Lincoln in the 1850s much closer to religious language and religious thinking than he was in his green and salad Utilitarian days.

Lincoln didn’t believe in moderation, middle-of-the-roadism, or compromise. But he did believe in the virtue of prudence. What is that exactly?

Moderation is a passive, tragic point of view. Moderation suggests that we really cannot reconcile the conflicting situations we’re find ourselves in. So we have to take a bit of this and a bit of that and hope that somehow they will cohere. Lincoln was instead about prudence. Prudence is ironic rather than tragic. It is ironic because it understands that there are unintended consequences of your actions, and therefore you have to chart your path toward your goal with exquisite care, having full regard for the integrity of means as well as the integrity of ends.

But charting your course toward your goals is difficult when you believe that there will be unintended consequences.

Exactly. It makes you aware that you may not be perfect. The immediatists of Lincoln’s day, the abolitionists, were perfectionists. As the heirs of Jonathan Edwards and the Awakenings, these people knew exactly what the answers were even before the questions were asked. They thought you didn’t waste time abolishing slavery any more than you waste time calling people to the anxious seat.The whole reason you’ve got the anxious seat is that you want an immediate response. That was the genius of Finney’s preaching. The abolitionists are a marvelous echo of that because they despised anything that was not an immediate, fully virtuous response.

Lincoln hasn’t got any time for those people or any other kind of reform movement. As early as the 1840’s in talking about temperance reform, he puts all of his chips on the Washingtonian Temperance Society—a secular alternative to most temperance organizations in the country. Lincoln would not have been sympathetic to Cary Nation. He favored the Washingtonians because they were gradualists.They believed in reasoning with people. They were aware of the possibility of unintended consequences. And he carried that attitude over to the abolitionists.

Abraham Lincoln is not a revivalist.And here is the third factor that comes into the making of his religious geography—the ancestral burden of Calvinism. His parents are members of the Separate Baptists, who are absolute, utter predestinarians. Even after he has long since untied himself from the explicit dogmas of Calvinism, the mental habit of fatalism and determinism sticks with him.

Lincoln wants nothing to do with revivalism because that smacks too much of the self-actuated will. He doesn’t believe that people can change themselves. You have to offer them motives. As soon as I say motives, we’re in bed with utilitarianism. See how this circle of ideas works in Lincoln’s mind.It’s not philosophically coherent but each of those clusters of ideas, Utilitarianism, Natural Law, Calvinism, each of them has a valence with each other.

So he didn’t believe that people could change themselves, and yet as a Whig, he thought that people could be definitely motivated to achieve and run after rewards.

Exactly.You respond not because of the self-actuating will, but because of motives appealing to your self-interest. So what is important as a Whig is to dangle the appropriate motives in front of people. This is how he explains the process of emancipation. In the letter he writes to James Conklin in September 1863, he speaks about black soldiers. He says, you people who are criticizing the war and emancipation, you would like the war to be won, yes?And everyone says yes, and then he says, Well don’t you imagine that emancipating blacks and making them soldiers is going to help us win the war? And they say, a little less enthusiastically, uh, yes. Well, you have to offer them motives, because Negroes, like all other people, act upon appeals to their self interest. So you have to dangle the greatest motive, freedom, out there, and they will enlist and help win the war.

You say the Lincoln was opposed to slavery on principle. But you also say that his hatred for slavery was very subjective. Was this the public Lincoln versus the private Lincoln?

Yes. Publically, he offers a variety of reasons for opposing slavery.A lot of them are linked to natural law considerations in contrast to Steven A. Douglas’s appeal to simple, raw, white majoritarianism. Privately, other things are burning inside Lincoln that are spin offs from personal experience. One personal experience, certainly, is his antagonistic relationship with his father and the experience of always having his father appropriate the wages that were paid to him. Lincoln later described his early youth by saying, “I was once a slave.” Lincoln conceived of slavery as any condition of economic seizure or confiscation of the fruits of someone’s labor. And that is the real fundamental origin of his opposition to slavery. It’s not a matter of racial empathy. A certain element of that later begins to work on Lincoln. But for much of his life, the origins of his opposition to slavery are not cerebral. They are not theoretical. They really are rooted in this very raw sense of indignation that he worked and someone else got the benefit.

Thank you very much for giving us a great book.

The cherry on top is the book jacket, because that portrait of Lincoln by W. B. Traverse, a European artist, painted from life, has never been reproduced.

It is privately owned. I’m not even allowed to tell you the identity of the private collector. The owners of the painting really don’t want a stampede of people coming to see this portrait.

This particular portrait had taken my attention many years before when I saw a black-and-white reproduction in a magazine, because it captures the man’s intellectual curiosity.So often the image we have of Lincoln is this simple, honest country bumpkin. He let people think that way because they would underestimate him. But Leonard Swett, one of Lincoln’s legal associates on the 8th judicial circuit said that anybody who took Abraham Lincoln for a simple-minded man would soon wake up with his back in a ditch.

I love the way that portrait captures Lincoln’s sharp, shrewd curiosity. It was so lifelike in capturing the man that when the painting was unveiled, Mary Todd Lincoln fainted from the shock of seeing it. It was him, and it is very rare that a photograph or a portrait completely captures Abraham Lincoln. He was such an elusive character.

Copyright © 2008 by the author or Christianity Today/Christian History & Biography magazine. Click here for reprint information on Christian History & Biography.

News

Comrade Duch in the Dock

Born-again Khmer Rouge prison director apologizes, asks for forgiveness in trial.

Christianity Today April 2, 2009

In four years, Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge killed 1.7 million of their fellow Cambodians. In the first trial that addresses the horrors of the regime, the man known as Comrade Duch has asked forgiveness for crimes against humanity, war crimes, homicide, and torture.

Duch is the nom de guerre of Kaing Guek Eav. He ran Security Center 21, a prison where 17,000 people, including children were “smashed.” As The Financial Times reports, that’s “the Khmer Rouge’s chilling euphemism for torturing and murdering victims as part of the regime’s attempt to create a perfect agrarian society.”

Duch is making the news for taking responsibility and apologizing – something none of the other accused have come close to. “At the beginning I only prayed to ask for forgiveness from my parents, but later I prayed to ask forgiveness from the whole nation.”

Prayed? It’s not a mistranslation. Duch was baptized under the pseudonym Hang Pin after his wife was murdered in 1996. Purpose Driven Connection published a story about his conversion and discovery by British journalist Nic Dunlop (Dunlop discovered Duch’s identity; Mary Murphy wrote the Purpose Driven Connection article). Their reporter, Mary Murphy, spoke to his pastor the only one who has been let in to see him. He says Duch has been reading the Bible to prisoners and guards during his imprisonment.

However, Murphy reports,

Truth be told, it is hard to find many in Cambodia who believe in Duch’s sincerity. [Chief investigator] Youk skirts around the spiritual implications of the question. He pauses for a while to collect his thoughts. “I think Duch was living with guilt and perhaps looking for something to reconcile with, within himself,” he says. “Duch is looking for an exit strategy, an internal reconciliation with himself. But he dare not go to anybody here, because they are all his enemies. The only ones he can go to are Christians.”

Buddhist monks I interview later at their temple are even more dismissive. “Duch has become a Christian to earn points,” one monk scoffs. “In our belief, you take your sins with you to the next life. Duch will surely come back in a form befitting his crime.”

What sort of form of life? The monk doesn’t hesitate. “A bug.”

Duch’s defense is arguing that he shouldn’t face the life sentence because he was following orders, trying to save his and his family’s lives. He says he is a scapegoat for those who were higher up in the regime. The trial is expected to last a few months.

Ideas

Where to Find the Real Atheists

Columnist; Contributor

Lent teaches us how much we Christians hate God.

Christianity Today April 2, 2009

A couple of weekends ago, I attended what was perhaps the Christian non-event of the year, the Christian Book Expo in Dallas. Organizers had expected 15,000 to walk the aisles, meeting authors and buying books. Only 1,500 showed up. One thing people did show up for, though, was to hear the atheist.

In this case, it was Christopher Hitchens, author of God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything. He sat on a panel discussion (“Does the God of Christianity Exist, and What Difference Does It Make?”) littered with Christian apologists: Lee Strobel, Jim Denison, Douglas Wilson, and William Lane Craig. It was the atheist facing the Christian lions.

I think the lions won, and not because they outnumbered the atheist. Hitchens doesn’t have any trouble slipping in his arguments — uh, statements. The truth is that they are not arguments. I could make better arguments against Christianity, I’m afraid. But Hitchens is certainly entertaining, which was one reason for the draw.

In fact, atheism in general is entertaining. Thus, the national attention given to atheist books that, by any standard, are wretchedly argued. Thus, entertainment media noting that Family Guy character Brian came out as an atheist on the show this week. Thus, the coverage given this week even in a very local newspaper announcing, “Tulare County Atheists Organize … “. (To get a headline, you would think the initial meeting had attracted hundreds. Nope, only ten showed up.)

Some Christians are threatened by atheism’s rise on the pop charts. Some say atheists “hate God.” But of course, a philosophical atheist cannot hate something he does not believe exists. Many atheists, though, do hate religion. Hitchens calls it a poison. Richard Dawkins, author of The God Delusion, calls it a “mind virus.” This is not nice. If Christians used the same rhetoric, we would be called narrow-minded fundamentalists who don’t know how to have a civil conversation.

Then again, who said life would be fair?

* * *

Speaking of being fair, let’s. I wonder if our fascination with atheism is well-focused. If Lent, the season we are currently slogging through, reminds us of anything, it reminds us that Christians are often practicing atheists. As I said, philosophical atheists cannot hate God. Christians, on the other hand, know God exists and therefore can and do hate him. One thing you do with persons you hate is pretend like they don’t exist.

We dutifully say our prayers in the morning, but then go about the day hardly giving God a thought, making decisions and engaging the day as if we had left him at home. At the end of a whirlwind day, we fall exhausted into bed, and, if we are particularly devout, we offer up another prayer. But the picture at the center of this prayer-framed life is often blank.

Take simple moral choices. Jesus tells us not to lust. But that doesn’t stop the occasional peek at porn. We are told to speak the truth in love, and yet we tell so many white lies, we need an Excel sheet to keep track. We know we should turn the other cheek, but we delight in imagining rituals of revenge.

There are unconscious sins — the thoughtless word or angry gesture that comes out of nowhere. But then there are the deliberate sins: we have a moment to ponder our duty, which lies clearly before us. No question what God is calling us to do. And we do the opposite.

If this isn’t a form of atheism, even of hating God, I don’t know what is. No wonder Jesus uses stark language to describe faith: We either hate Jesus (John 15:23-24) or we hate ourselves (John 12:25). That’s what it comes down to. And we often know who “our first hate” is.

During Lent, faith becomes stark and simple for a while. We make a small vow — let’s say, not to eat sweets for the season. It’s a silly vow, which is why many eschew it, thinking it not serious enough. But I have found that the sillier the vow, the more difficult it is to keep. It is the very silliness of the vow that tempts one to cheat: What difference does it make to the cosmic order if I have a piece of candy before Easter? What’s at stake, of course, is not the piece of candy, but the vow supposedly made in love and devotion.

It turns out that I apparently don’t have that much love or devotion, because I violate most vows within hours. Lent reminds me that, for all my prayers and church attendance and devotion to Jesus and SoulWork pontifications, I’m a practical atheist. I let God into my life when it feels good. And when it doesn’t — which is most of the time — I pretend he doesn’t exist.

This would be a horrifying reality to face up to if we didn’t know another piece of news — that the One who died for us on Good Friday died knowing he was giving his life for a bunch of atheists. Atheists who would populate his church, and take his name in vain. No wonder the church has such a bad reputation. No wonder philosophical atheists hate religion.

As I said, many Christians are upset with the New Atheists, but I wonder if we should be more riled about the old atheists, the ones found in the pews, who proclaim their theism while living like the average pagan. Instead of shaking our heads at the inability of some to believe in God, we would do well to fall on our knees in fear and trembling, recalling that there is a God who, in word and deed, at least believes in us.

Mark Galli is senior managing editor of Christianity Today. He is the author of A Great and Terrible Love: A Spiritual Journey into the Attributes of God (Baker). He also interacts with readers on his blog.

Copyright © 2009 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

Related Elsewhere:

Previous SoulWork columns are available on our site.

History

Was Easter Borrowed from a Pagan Holiday?

The historical evidence contradicts this popular notion.

Christian History April 2, 2009
Ben Crowder/Flickr

In this series

Anyone encountering anti-Christian polemics will quickly come up against the accusation that a major festival practiced by Christians across the globe—namely, Easter—was actually borrowed or rather usurped from a pagan celebration. I often encounter this idea among Muslims who claim that later Christians compromised with paganism to dilute the original faith of Jesus.

The argument largely rests on the supposed pagan associations of the English and German names for the celebration (Easter in English and Ostern in German). It is important to note, however, that in most other European languages, the name for the Christian celebration is derived from the Greek word Pascha, which comes from pesach, the Hebrew word for Passover. Easter is the Christian Passover festival.

Of course, even if Christians did engage in contextualization—expressing their message and worship in the language or forms of the local people—that in no way implies doctrinal compromise. Christians around the world have sought to redeem the local culture for Christ while purging it of practices antithetical to biblical norms. After all, Christians speak of "Good Friday," but they are in no way honoring the worship of the Norse/Germanic queen of the gods Freya by doing so.

But, in fact, in the case of Easter the evidence suggests otherwise: that neither the commemoration of Christ's death and resurrection nor its name are derived from paganism.

A celebration with ancient roots

The usual argument for the pagan origins of Easter is based on a comment made by the Venerable Bede (673-735), an English monk who wrote the first history of Christianity in England, and who is one of our main sources of knowledge about early Anglo-Saxon culture. In De temporum ratione (On the Reckoning of Time, c. 730), Bede wrote this:

In olden times the English people—for it did not seem fitting that I should speak of other nations' observance of the year and yet be silent about my own nation's—calculated their months according to the course of the Moon. Hence, after the manner of the Greeks and the Romans, [the months] take their name from the Moon, for the Moon is called mona and the month monath. The first month, which the Latins call January, is Giuli; February is called Solmonath; March Hrethmonath; April, Eosturmonath … Eosturmonath has a name which is now translated "Paschal month" and which was once called after a goddess of theirs named Eostre, in whose honour feasts were celebrated in that month. Now they designate that Paschal season by her name, calling the joys of the new rite by the time-honoured name of the old observance.

The first question, therefore, is whether the actual Christian celebration of Easter is derived from a pagan festival. This is easily answered. The Nordic/Germanic peoples (including the Anglo-Saxons) were comparative latecomers to Christianity. Pope Gregory I sent a missionary enterprise led by Augustine of Canterbury to the Anglo-Saxons in 596/7. The forcible conversion of the Saxons in Europe began under Charlemagne in 772. Hence, if "Easter" (i.e. the Christian Passover festival) was celebrated prior to those dates, any supposed pagan Anglo-Saxon festival of "Eostre" can have no significance. And there is, in fact, clear evidence that Christians celebrated an Easter/Passover festival by the second century, if not earlier. It follows that the Christian Easter/Passover celebration, which originated in the Mediterranean basin, was not influenced by any Germanic pagan festival.

What's in a name?

The second question is whether the name of the holiday "Easter" comes from the blurring of the Christian celebration with the worship of a purported pagan fertility goddess named "Eostre" in English and Germanic cultures. There are several problems with the passage in Bede. In his book, The Stations of the Sun, Professor Ronald Hutton (a well-known historian of British paganism and occultism) critiques Bede's sketchy knowledge of other pagan festivals, and argues that the same is true for the statement about Eostre: "It falls into a category of interpretations which Bede admitted to be his own, rather than generally agreed or proven fact."

This leads us to the next problem: there is no evidence outside of Bede for the existence of this Anglo-Saxon goddess. There is no equivalent goddess in the Norse Eddas or in ancient Germanic paganism from continental Europe. Hutton suggests, therefore, that "the Anglo-Saxon Estor-monath simply meant 'the month of opening' or 'the month of beginnings,'" and concludes that there is no evidence for a pre-Christian festival in the British Isles in March or April.

There is another objection to the claim that Eosturmonath has anything to do with a pagan goddess. Whereas Anglo-Saxon days were usually named after gods, such as Wednesday ("Woden's day"), the names of their months were either calendrical, such as Giuli, meaning "wheel," referring to the turn of the year; metereological-environmental, such as Solmónath (roughly February), meaning "Mud-Month"; or referred to actions taken in that period, such as Blótmónath (roughly November), meaning "Blood Month," when animals were slaughtered. No other month was dedicated to a deity, with the exception (according to Bede) of Hrethmonath (roughly March), which he claims was named after the goddess Hrethe. But like Eostre, there is no other evidence for Hrethe, nor any equivalent in Germanic/Norse mythology.

Another problem with Bede's explanation concerns the Saxons in continental Europe. Einhard (c. 775-840), the courtier and biographer of Charlemagne, tells us that among Charlemagne's reforms was the renaming of the months. April was renamed Ostarmanoth. Charlemagne spoke a Germanic dialect, as did the Anglo-Saxons in Britain, although their vernacular was distinct. But why would Charlemagne change the old Roman title for the spring month to Ostarmanoth? Charlemagne was the scourge of Germanic paganism. He attacked the pagan Saxons and felled their great pillar Irminsul (after their god Irmin) in 772. He forcibly converted them to Christianity and savagely repressed them when they revolted because of this. It seems very unlikely, therefore, that Charlemagne would name a month after a Germanic goddess.

Spring holiday

So why, then, do English-speaking Christians call their holiday "Easter"?

One theory for the origin of the name is that the Latin phrase in albis ("in white"), which Christians used in reference to Easter week, found its way into Old High German as eostarum, or "dawn." There is some evidence of early Germanic borrowing of Latin despite that fact that the Germanic peoples lived outside the Roman Empire—though the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes were far very removed from it. This theory presumes that the word only became current after the introduction of either Roman influence or the Christian faith, which is uncertain. But if accurate, it would demonstrate that the festival is not named after a pagan goddess.

Alternatively, as Hutton suggests, Eosturmonath simply meant "the month of opening," which is comparable to the meaning of "April" in Latin. The names of both the Saxon and Latin months (which are calendrically similar) were related to spring, the season when the buds open.

So Christians in ancient Anglo-Saxon and Germanic areas called their Passover holiday what they did—doubtless colloquially at first—simply because it occurred around the time of Eosturmonath/Ostarmanoth. A contemporary analogy can be found in the way Americans sometimes refer to the December period as "the holidays" in connection with Christmas and Hanukkah, or the way people sometimes speak about something happening "around Christmas," usually referring to the time at the turn of the year. The Christian title "Easter," then, essentially reflects its general date in the calendar, rather than the Paschal festival having been re-named in honor of a supposed pagan deity.

Of course, the Christian commemoration of the Paschal festival rests not on the title of the celebration but on its content—namely, the remembrance of Christ's death and resurrection. It is Christ's conquest of sin, death, and Satan that gives us the right to wish everyone "Happy Easter!"

Anthony McRoy is a Fellow of the British Society for Middle East Studies and lecturer in Islamic studies at Wales Evangelical School of Theology, U.K.

Priest Who Professed Islam Defrocked by Episcopal Church

Her.meneutics April 2, 2009

An Episcopal priest who professed two years ago that she was also a practicing Muslim has been defrocked by the Episcopal Church.

Rhode Island Bishop Geralyn Wolf informed Ann Holmes Redding, who lives in Seattle, of the decision on Wednesday. Although she lives outside the diocese, Redding was ordained in Rhode Island and remained under Wolf’s authority.

“Bishop Wolf found Dr. Redding to be a woman of utmost integrity and their conversations over the past two yeas have been open, honest and respectful,” the diocese said in a statement. “However Bishop Wolf believes that a priest of the Church cannot be both a Christian and a Muslim.”

The diocese learned in June 2007 about Redding’s Muslim profession. It removed her from ministry temporarily and told her to spend a year on “discernment of her faith commitment.”

After that year, a diocesan committee determined that she had abandoned her Episcopal faith “by her formal admission into a religious body not in Communion with the Episcopal Church.” She was restricted from public ministry and told she had until Tuesday to determine if she would renounce either her Muslim faith or her Episcopal ordination. The diocese “deposed,” or defrocked, her when she did neither.

“I am very sad,” Redding told the Seattle Times on Tuesday. “I’m sad at the loss of this cherished honor of having served as a priest.”

Redding, formerly a director of faith formation at St. Mark’s Episcopal Cathedral in Seattle, told Religion News Service in a recent interview that her two faiths “illumine each other much more than they collide” and she didn’t spend much time on theological disputes.

“My experience and my call is to follow Jesus,” said Redding, who was an Episcopal priest for 25 years, “even as I practice Islam.”

Pastors

Ur Video: Shane Hipps on Medium and Message

How you present the gospel may matter more than what you actually say.

Leadership Journal April 2, 2009

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