Rethinking the Gospel

The word "Gospel" is perhaps one of the most loaded words used by Christians (we've got our own private language, "Christianese"). It generally has two meanings. The first of which is soulful, Southern singing with a raging organ and the shouting of "Amen!" from the hecklers. The second is, literally, "Good News." The second meaning, however, is what I plan to talk about here (I know, I know; some of you are already disappointed).

For those of you who aren't familiar with Christian theology, the "Gospel," or the Good News of Christianity, is the central aspect of the faith. It is the fundamental message that forms the core of Christianity and distinguishes it from all other religions. To many, it is the litmus test of Christianity: If you affirm the Gospel, then you are a Christian; if you don't, then you're not. Such an important concept, however, ends up getting caught up in a few different tangles.

For example, the Gospel tends to be understood in two different ways by two different groups (and bear in mind that in exploring these two different perspectives, the liberal and conservative perspectives, I can't help but generalize. No doubt there will be many people in either camp who disagree with the way I portray their Gospel, but I think the way I show it here lines up with the majority viewpoint).

To many liberal Christians, the Good News of Christianity is that Jesus came to earth, giving us instruction for how to live our lives and love one another. He taught us about sacrificial living, serving others, and turning the other cheek. The Good News of Christianity, to many liberals, is that we now have the perfect example to follow, in order for us to become better people and truly fulfill our potential.

I theorize that this Gospel arose out of a reaction to trends in more orthodox Christianity. Liberals might see more traditional Christianity as being too silent and apathetic on issues of social justice and too hateful in their preaching of a fire-and-brimstone "believe or go to hell" message. In all honesty, these criticisms seem just. After all, while conservative Christianity has, overall, done a great deal to assist the poor and hurting, in recent years especially it can often be guilty of being too internally-focused. The wants and needs of church members can often take priority over those outside the church, and accepting doctrine can seem more important than reaching others.

Similarly, the charge of conservative Christianity being too absorbed in talk of hell is also poignant. This is perhaps more forgiveable - it is certainly more understandable. After all, if there were a place of eternal damnation, would this not seem to be of the utmost importance? Should we not be warning everyone of it, so that they might escape it? Certainly such an approach could be considered fear-mongering, but would not such a label be worth it to rescue others? And yet, when one examines the Gospel shared by the Apostles and the first Christians, the afterlife seems to have been mentioned rarely, if ever (though, to be clear, they affirm its existence). The earliest Christians seemed to be drawn to Christ by neither promises of heaven nor threats of hell, but something different (but perhaps not entirely different. More on this later). So, then, if not preaching hell at every opportunity makes me a poor Christian, then at the very least I am in good company. 

However, while this liberal Gospel is not necessarily wrong in its criticisms, it nonetheless falls flat on its face and ends up being utterly impotent. Ironically, in an attempt to re-interpret Scripture in light of existentialism, it fails to address the deepest existential despairs of Man. Instead, it ends up serving a thin, moralistic soup of little consequence: In the end, it promises little, if anything, that cannot be found elsewhere. Moral teachers, life coaches, social clubs; each of these things can be easily obtained without having to drag religion into the picture. As the so-called "New Atheists" have been so eager to point out, it is quite possible for a person to live a good life and to love others without believing in God for a minute. What purpose, then, has such a Gospel? It is an antiquated ritual that has been made redundant by secular humanism. Again, there is an overwhelming irony: It was this accessible moralism that once caused the social elite to praise liberal Christianity as being the future of religion in a secular world, and yet it is this same moralism that has caused it to become utterly irrelevant; one of the fastest shrinking religious groups.

The conservative Gospel, however, isn't all that much better off. Conservative Christianity tends to make the Good News of Jesus primarily about eternal destiny. It is about God sending His Son down to earth on a rescue mission so that His creation might be able to join Him in heaven. It often leads off with questions such as: "Do you know where you're going to go when you die?" or "Are you a good person?" or "If you died today, what do you think God would say to you?"

Again, this approach has its positives. First, it captures the immediacy and urgency brought about by our species' tragic lack of longevity. Life could be cut short at any moment, and no one can say for sure how long they'll last. One could take perfect care of themselves only to suffer an unavoidable accident. The majority of people have lost loved ones and so know how sudden and how devastating this can be. And in such a world, would it not make sense to get directly to the point - that is, eternal destiny - as quickly as possible? If someone could die the next day without having heard the Gospel, is it not imperative that they be told as soon as possible, no matter the consequences?

This also gives lie to a bigger issue: We may talk all we like about love and self-sacrifice, but when the topic of the afterlife, a final resting place in which one might spend the rest of eternity, ears tend to perk up. After all, to wager against there being any sort of hell is a hefty gamble, even if one doesn't believe in that sort of thing at all. And so it is perhaps in response to this and the above that the conservative Gospel has become so distinctly focused upon one issue.

However, as I implied earlier, it too is not without its flaws. Some are relatively minor; for example, it connotes a rather self-centered view of the universe, as though it all revolves around us and our desires. That being said, as nearly every worldview is rather self-centered in one way or another, this is forgiveable. Much more egregious is its emphasis upon eternal destiny at the expense of all else. Converts are often told that all there is to Christianity is believing that Jesus died for their sins on the cross and now they are forgiven. However, any Gospel that begins and ends with the cross will be woefully lacking - such a Gospel brings about Christ-believers, but not Christ-followers. In other words, it is, to reference Matthew 28:18-20, baptising without making disciples.

Let us examine the book of Acts a bit deeper in this. Acts, as its name implies, is the account of the acts of the Apostles immediately following Christ's crucifixion and resurrection, specifically focusing on two men: Peter and Paul. What's interesting about this book is that while the message of the Gospel takes a central role as the Apostles and other church leaders share it with many, the Gospel message they seem to share is very different from the one that conservative Christians are putting forth today. For one thing, the notion of any sort of afterlife is only mentioned once, and that's in Acts 4:2, where it says that the Apostles Peter and John were proclaiming though Jesus the resurrection of the dead. The Gospel is shared many times throughout the book of Acts, so the fact that the afterlife is only mentioned once is significant. It shows, as mentioned above, that fearmongering was never a part of the early Christian message, that there was no part of it that said "Believe this or you will go to hell!" Nor is heaven ever used as a sort of bribe to attempt to goad people into accepting their beliefs. Interestingly enough, the cross is rarely brought up, as well. The cross is the centre of the conservative Gospel, and yet it seemed to play a very minor role in the message shared by the Apostles - when it is spoken of, it is shared as being the way through which Jesus died, rather than due to its power for salvation. Indeed, even forgetting the Gospel for a brief moment, as soteriology alone (soteriology meaning the study of the understanding of salvation) the cross is woefully insufficient as it omits some of the most important aspects of salvation, including the resurrection. Despite all this, how many of you who are from conservative Christian circles believed while growing up (and perhaps even still believe now) that the Gospel is: "Jesus died on the cross for your sins so that you can go to heaven?"

It's important to stop here and clarify one thing, however. We know from their epistles (letters) that the Apostles Peter and Paul affirmed the existence of the afterlife and the importance of the cross in Christian soteriology. I am not attempting to undermine either of those teachings - they are important. But a Gospel consisting of those two elements alone is sorely lacking, bereft of the majority of the Good News that Scripture attempts to convey.

And of course, there is the matter of the "sinner's prayer," this bizarre notion that if you pray the words "God, I am a sinner, but you have forgiven me, amen" or something similar, you are a Christian, regardless of what you actually believe or how you act, etc.

The problem I have with both of these Gospels, astute readers may have noticed, is not that they're wrong, but rather that they're incomplete. Both the statements "The Gospel is that Jesus came to exemplify love" and "The Gospel is that Jesus came to die for your sins" contain a great deal of truth to them. If they both contain truth, one might then wonder, would not a more acceptable Gospel message simply be the marriage of the two? To suggest that Jesus came teaching us how to love, and eventually exemplified this love in the utmost by dying on the cross for us? Surely that would be a satisfactory summary of the Christian message? It's not. But it's getting there.

Here's how I would frame the Gospel. Bear in mind that I am still working through this myself, and that if the Gospel is as transcendent a truth as we Christians believe it is, then by definition it is something that we will not fully grasp and something that we will continue to grow in our understanding of with each passing day.

The Good News of Christ is that God became man and walked among us in fulfilment of the covenants God made with Israel, establishing His kingdom here on Earth, a kingdom not of political power or of geographical boundaries, but one of love and grace, justice and peace. The seeds of this Kingdom were planted in the Old Covenant; the Kingdom was birthed when Christ came to Earth, showing us through word and action how a member of this Kingdom ought to live, through loving others and living good and upright lives; the Kingdom was legitimized when Christ was killed on the cross, was buried in the ground, and rose again three days later, signifying the end of the harsh slavery sin, darkness and death maintained over the human race; and the Kingdom will one day be consummated, or fulfilled, in which all darkness and evil and death will finally be fully defeated and the peace and love glimpsed briefly today will become a universal reality. Membership to the kingdom is extended to all who would desire it, that they might believe in the person and actions of Christ and enter in, experiencing powerful and transformational relationship with the Triune God, living lives that mimic the example laid out by Christ as best they can while partaking in the defeat of sin from Christ's death and resurrection, being fully forgiven by the mercy of God the Father.

(And of course, it is important to note, the example of Christ is showing love to everyone, not just those others who believe what you believe. It is not about blockading yourself in a community of people who are like you, but rather extending yourself to show love to people of all kinds)

I would consider this to be a working, albeit still slightly incomplete, understanding of the Good News of Christianity, the truths that bind all Christians together, and the truths that, should one embrace, makes one a Christian. Our understanding of things is always limited, and we should always be seeking to question our beliefs and develop our comprehension of our truth-claims. I think that this Gospel message validates that: For example, is the consummation of the Kingdom the literal end of the world, or something symbolic? Does the cross work through penal substitutionary atonement? Is it a matter of single imputation, double imputation or no imputation at all? Do we choose the Kingdom, or does the Kingdom choose us? (If you don't know what any of that means, don't worry). A person might take any position on any number of those issues and still affirm the statement above. Faith, like all other things in this world, needs to be subject to constant questioning in order to remain authentic, and as the Gospel is the centre of our faith, it is something that needs to be put under constant scrutiny.

More importantly, however, I believe that the above Gospel message is faithful to all aspects of Christ's live, rather than focusing exclusively on His ministry or His death. It attempts to articulate the Gospel message as expressed by the entirety of Scripture. Most importantly, I believe, it frames the Gospel as something tat both promises freedom from the great existential darkness of mankind as well as pushing for the necessity of Christians to emulate Christ in all that they do. Of course, we fall short on a regular basis. But it's a process of picking yourself up off the floor every time you're a jerk or unloving, and growing from it, trying harder next time. That's part of what the forgiveness mentioned above is all about.

If you desire freedom from the darkness within, if you seek deliverance from the meaninglessness of existence, if this message stirs anything within you, then I sincerely encourage you to explore the truth-claims it makes. If you are a Christian who feels that the message you have believed in is lacking, then again, I encourage you to explore the Gospel that I have posited here. You are, of course, free to message me, and I'm more than happy to talk to anyone about this (including if you're a conservative/liberal Christian who thinks that what I'm saying is bunk).

If you want to read more about what I'm saying, I've arrived at my own understanding of the Gospel through reading the works of theologians like N.T. Wright, Dallas Willard and Scot McKnight. McKnight's The King Jesus Gospel is a good place to start.

Jesus, Lazarus and the Existential Plight of the Suffering Man

I was asked to read a passage of Scripture at a service in New York some time ago and doing so pushed me to think about it a fair bit. The story was of Lazarus, from John 11 (here's a link:  http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John%2011&version=NIV). If you're not familiar with the story, or need a refresher, I recommend you read through it before we continue.

Now, if I were to write a paper on this passage, I would probably start by looking at its context. I would try to figure out how it relates to the chapters surrounding it, the Gospel of John as a whole, and what message the authour was trying to send by including this story. But I'm not going to do any of that, because instead of the main narrative of the passage (which I would say ties in to the idea of death and resurrection through Christ), I want to look at something else. A back alley, if you will. I don't believe that what I'm going to say is the central intended message, but it's something I find very interesting, and something the passage speaks to quite remarkably nonetheless.

What I want to remark on is the incredible humanity we see exhibited in the reaction of those who interact with Jesus. What is of specific interest to me is verse 37, where some of the onlooking Jews scoff at the presence of Jesus, saying: "Could not He who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?" I find this striking because of its rather pointed honesty - it is real. Similar is Martha's accusation of Jesus, echoed by her sister Mary: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died."

These accusations, these confessions of hesitation, of doubt (even though Martha's was followed up by an expression of faith) appeal to me so much because they seem very much the sort of statement you or I might make in this sort of situation - and though we as the readers can see that Jesus already knows what will happen, it is still all too easy to put ourselves into the shoes of the questioning onlookers (and note that Jesus does not rebuke them for asking these questions). This story, in other words, has buried within it a reflection of the interaction between the divine and the human during times of great trauma and sadness.

Consider how one might respond to tragedy today. We, too, would level these same accusations. We too would say "God, had You desired, You could have stopped that hurricane," or "God, You are capable of great power, could You not have healed that dying child?" Ultimately, we challenge God's goodness, for we see it as contradictory to our own idea of how a good God ought to act. This is addressed in the Bible itself, in the book of Job (and elsewhere), where in response to the titular character's questioning of the evil that has fallen upon him, God's answer essentially boils down to: "I am God. I am in control. I know what I'm doing. You do not need to know why these things have happened the way they did. Just trust in me." This is something that is logical to us: The concept of information being on a need-to-know basis is something that most of us understand. If someone is fired from their job, would it be right for their co-worker to write the CEO and demand to know the reason why this person is dismissed, or how much they received in their severance package? I think fundamentally, we all know deep down that "Tell me because I'm curious" isn't exactly an authoritative imperative, no matter how much angst our externally-imposed ignorance might cause us.

Yet as much as it might be logical, that doesn't mean we have to like it, and that is the true problem that intrigues me. The unfortunate reality is that as much as the statement "Shut up, don't ask questions and trust God" might have some small metaphysical validity to it, it completely violates who we are as human beings. We may not have the right to question God, but question Him we shall regardless. It is who we are. In fact, if we as humans are truly imago dei (that is to say, in the image of God), then it seems logical that this questioning is not only something He expects, but something He designed - this is preferable, at least, to the alternative, which suggests that man's tendency to ask questions is a product of his sinfulness and that his natural state is to gaze apathetically at the world around him, bereft of anything resembling wonder or curiosity. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is far better to question God in the face of tragedy - there is little more disturbing than one who would regard a traumatic event with complete placidity, and to give such an empty and unperturbed platitude as "It doesn't bother me because God's got it under control" in response to death and destruction is, in my view, evidence of a heart that is calloused and blasé, rather than faithful and rooted in love. A proclamation of faith is one thing. For that faith to give birth to apathy is quite another.

Yet, despite all of this, a thirst for knowledge and an innate curiosity do not necessarily equate to the right to the answers. That God created us as questioning beings does not mean for a second that He is bound to give us all the answers. And so this leaves us left trapped in a tension: There are questions which we may not be able to find the answers to, yet which when left unanswered fill us with angst and doubt. And this is the second part of why this story so deeply intrigues me, as it shows Christ's response to this. Let us examine a couple of the more interesting points.

A Loving God Is A Mourning God

This story is notorious for containing the shortest verse in the English Bible: "Jesus wept." These two words are so loaded with meaning that one could easily fill a library attempting to understand them, so I will try to keep things concise. The basic meaning we can take from this is that even with the full knowledge of what will happen, with the complete understanding that Lazarus will be raised from the dead, Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God, was still so overwhelmed that He broke into tears. Tears of sorrow over the the tragedy that might have led to Lazarus' death, tears of sympathy for the despair that might be overwhelming his loved ones, perhaps even tears for death in general, and the tyranny it holds over mankind - we do not know for sure, but the context makes these likely. Some commentators have suggested that they are tears over the ignorance of the onlookers, that they would dare to question Him, but as this is incongruent with His lack of rebuke and His decidedly non-weepy approach to the many religious leaders who verbally assaulted Him, this seems highly unlikely.

The point of all this is that Christ shares in our sufferings. He is not an aloof God who watches without caring, nor is He a stern taskmaster who harshly reprimands us should our faith falter. Instead, He is a God who weeps, who mourns. Even though He knows the happy ending, knows how every smidgen of evil will be redeemed for good, how every tear will be dried and every wound healed, He still weeps, that the evil happened at all - or perhaps for other reasons, for what man could know the mind of a deity?

Through all this, we know that we are not alone in our sufferings, that though our spirit rails against the dark void of tragedy, divinity is united in us with this. It is also a stark reminder that the future redemption of tragedy does not negate the present suffering felt by it. It emphasizes the hollowness of such platitudes as "Don't cry, things will get better;" if Christ Himself wept at Lazarus' grave, in the full knowledge that Lazarus would shortly be among the living once again, who are we to reprimand our brothers and sisters for their grief? With such divine precedent established, one cannot ever hope to link sorrow or mourning with a lack of faith in God's goodness. Do not become ruled by grief, but do not fear it, either, for in it, we experience a glimpse of the divine.

To Know the Divine Is To Question the Divine

It is imperative to note in this passage that at no point does Jesus rebuke those who question him. I touched on this above, but here we shall go into greater detail, exploring what, precisely, it might mean. First, it is important to underscore the fact that Jesus did not take offence to their questioning. This is encouraging in one way, since, as I pointed out above, these are often the questions we ask. It is helpful to know that God understands the bafflement and anger we can feel in the face of darkness, and that these are not always items to be rebuked. The experience many may have with the church is that it is an environment in which questions are not tolerated, yet this seems to run contradictory to the actions of Christ. Consider the follow passage, taken from early in the same Gospel:

⁴⁴ Philip, like Andrew and Peter, was from the town of Bethsaida. ⁴⁵ Philip found Nathanael and told him, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote —Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”

⁴⁶ “Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” Nathanael asked.

“Come and see,” said Philip.

⁴⁷ When Jesus saw Nathanael approaching, he said of him, “Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.”

(John 1:44-47)

Notice that Nathanael, upon hearing the Good News of Jesus, is skeptical - he does not believe. He offers an expression of disbelief (that may or may not double as a minor witticism). What is important, however, is Jesus' response: He praises Nathanael. He does not offer the response that some of us might expect; that is to say, He does not condemn Nathanael for his disbelief. Instead, we see a fascinating and revolutionary scene: Jesus commending the skeptic.

I believe that within these two scenarios there lies a deep, fundamental truth with regards to man's relationship with God: Questioning God is a necessary step in knowing God. Consider the interaction between Philip, Nathanael, and Christ. Philip brings the Good News, Nathanael hears it but does not believe it until an encounter with Christ Himself. This points to a large flaw, I believe, in the modern method of evangelism, in which one (the Philip) simply pushes the Good News upon the other (the Nathanael), refusing to cease until the latter yields and accepts. Compare this to the story above, in which the actual Philip merely tells Nathanael of Christ. Nathanael's conversion does not come from persuasive methods or from winsome argumentation, but from his meeting with Christ. It is true that there are many instances in Scripture of individuals being won over as soon as they hear the message, but this is not always the case. In fact, we need to understand that in attempting to force someone to accept the Good News, we are not doing them a favour, even if they end up agreeing, for we rob them of any existential wrestling with Christ. Small wonder that there are so many Christians whose commitment is marginal, who are bereft of Love! For they have not truly encountered Christ, but rather have only known Him vicariously through those well-meaning souls who have pushed their knowledge of Him upon others.

Philip merely informed Nathanael of the Good News; the rest was between Nathanael and Christ. It is my opinion that this is what our evangelistic paradigms are lacking: The opportunity for the man as an individual to wrestle with the Divine. Instead we expect - nay, we demand a decision, as soon as possible, denying the process of the individual's coming to reckoning with Christ, and as such hamstringing his faith.

These two stories outline one truth: Questioning God is an integral part of knowing Him. We see it from both camps; from Mary and Martha, who already knew Christ, and from Nathanael, who did not. If one is a Christian who does not question, one's knowledge of Christ will always be curtailed. If one is an unbeliever who does not question, one's conversion, should it happen, will be similarly lacking.


These two principles - the divine validity of grief and the existential imperative of questioning - are foundational to the development of authentic relationship with God. As such, what I am proposing is for us as a faith community to seriously examine and consider our vocabulary and ideals when it comes to suffering and uncertainty. Too often we dismiss both of these, offering superficial platitudes with a side order of insincere sentimentalism; instead, however, we must recognize that the faith that does not mourn and that does not question is no faith at all.

In Defence of Escapism

I'm writing this post in what is an attempt to offer a thoughtful response to the great deal of anti-video game rhetoric that has been floating around evangelicalism, especially neo-reformed circles.

First, I want to establish where they're coming from. The issue that many of these pastors, speakers, authors and bloggers bring up is not that video games contain some intrinsic evil or that they're turning children into mass-murderers - no, those are objections that stem mostly from the fundamentalist camp, and seem to have few champions outside of that. Rather, their criticism is that they have become a time-sink that threatens to paralyse a generation. Which generation is unclear - they seem to believe those primarily being undermined by video games are young men, despite the fact that the average gamer is somewhere in his/her early 30s and nearly half of them are female (http://www.onlineeducation.net/videogame) (as an aside, here's a fun fact for you: there are slightly more gamers above the age of 50 than there are below the age of 18).

But the actual threat of the video-gaming epidemic is not what I'm writing about. I will concede that they are certainly sucking up an excessive amount of many people's time, young men included. I myself am no stranger to this: While I enjoy video games as a way to unwind, relax, and de-stress, I confess that I can take that too far. Heck, I remember when I was in my second year of college, studying for an exam one night, and my roommate handed me a copy of Rollercoaster Tycoon. All of a sudden it was three in the morning and I still hadn't done any studying - though I had built some pretty awesome theme parks, if I do say so myself. One even had an underground train people could take to avoid crowded areas. But I digress - the point of this is that I, too, have plunged hours into video games that I won't get back, hours that could have been spent on more productive things.

But like I said, this isn't what I'm talking about. Obviously with these criticisms came counter-arguments, people saying "Well, sure, we waste time on video games. How is that any worse than people from your generation (because it's always a generational criticism) who waste time doing other things? Our fathers who spend afternoons watching football or our mothers who spend hours a week curled up in bed with romance novels?" And of course, the answer was, "Well, uh, it's not." So now there's a bit of a crusade not only against video games, but against escapism in general - against doing things that take away time from your role as a man of God (because it is always men who bear the brunt of these attacks).

The truth is, though, is that this isn't anything new. It's been kicking around for a while. We've seen it in music, too. There are very few people today who would consider rock and roll to be the "Devil's Music" -:and even those who do usually do so rather quietly and aren't taken all that seriously - but this has been replaced with an entire new approach that argues much the same thing, but in a subtler way: "I don't think there's anything wrong with rock/[insert genre here] music, I just don't see why I'd listen to it when I could be listening to music that praises Jesus and builds up my relationship with Him" - as though music is only worship if its accompanied by some doggerel about how Jesus is your boyfriend! But that, too, is a topic for a different time.

What I'm getting at is this: There is a growing trend within evangelicalism (and again, perhaps within neo-reformed circles in particular) to dismiss anything that does not, as they put it, contribute directly to the Kingdom's cause. There's a couple of flaws in that line of thinking, which I'll explore in a bit, but first, let's look at the results. I realize this conclusion might offend some of you and anger others, but I think it is an observation that is accurate, and that observation is this: The evangelical church is a cultural wasteland. Perhaps this is a recent development, perhaps it has always been such - I would not venture to comment on that at this point in time. It's also a little unfair, since America itself has become a bit of a cultural wasteland in recent years, and its possible that the church's shortcomings in this area are simply reflective of the surrounding society. I don't think so, though - or at least, I don't think that's the whole story.

This is not, it is important to point out, an observation limited to those outside or on the fringe of evangelicalism, either. This is an issue that seems to me to be in constant discussion within the church. "We need to bring excellence to the arts!" is a common rallying cry in music and art ministries across the continent. There seems to be this understanding that we as Christians need to be producing higher quality art. Here's a question: What comes to mind when you think of Christian art? We're not exactly known for our creative output; our music is often derided as being generic and simplistic, our attempts at film are generally discarded as being cheesy and having low production values, and our recent literature is criticized for lacking substance or subtlety (I'm not even going to mention Christian video games). These criticisms do not apply across the board, and there are certainly plenty of exceptions in all three categories. Moreover, many of those criticisms can also be applied to their secular counterparts (anyone who's listened to the Top 40 or flipped through the New York Times bestselling list recently will know that humans don't need the church's help to create bad art). But the point is that even by the people creating Christian art, there's a sense that things could be better. "After all," they say, "We've got the greatest inspiration, don't we? Our art is fueled by the love and grace of an omnipotent God, who created the very concept of beauty. Why, then, aren't we creating the best art?" Why indeed.

I have narrowed down the possible explanations to one culprit, and that is this: In the church, art is seen as a tool. This is where things get tied back together with the whole "Everything must advance the Gospel!" attitude that I mentioned up above somewhere. See, the issue is that because the Gospel (the Gospel being understood here to be the message that Jesus died on the cross for your sins - I am familiar with the arguments of N.T. Wright and others that this is a very incomplete understanding, and what's more I rather agree with him, but this is the definition, I think, that would be most prominent in evangelicalism) is the centre of Christianity, there is therefore seen to be a need for all Christian art to point to the Gospel. If there isn't some sort of prominent indication of salvation through Christ in the art (or of God's glory, if you're a new Calvinist), then it is a waste of time and is not worthy of support. In other words, many Christians refuse to accept art unless it preaches at them. After all, we are here to share the Good News, are we not? And isn't anything that doesn't do that mere distraction, not worthy of our time?

I'm not so sure. First, this image of life paints a picture of the Kingdom of God being little more than a dull, dreary sweat-shop, where men and women with neither names nor faces toil endlessly to make certain  that enough Gospel messages are rolling off the assembly line to be delivered to everyone. It's a bleak portrait that prizes utilitarianism and functionalism ahead of everything else. Don't get me wrong, there's a place for that mentality. There is a need to share the Gospel, don't get me wrong. But I think this negates an important part of who we are as human beings: We are tainted, even corrupted by sin, yes. This is evidenced every day in a million different evils we commit. But, underneath it all, we bear God's likeness. Even in the midst of the darkness that writhes inside us, we carry the spark of the divine. We are, at our core, in His image - and, like Him, we are creators.

Of course, humans can't truly create. As I said in my last blog post about jazz, our creation is more synthesis - we take ideas that we have already encountered, and fuse them together into something new. But the point is that this act is not merely distraction, but that there is within the work of art a celebration of who we are - an affirmation of our status as the creation of God. Surely not all of art is a positive creation, and there is some of it that is detestable by the standards of anyone and more that is so to the average believer. Yet it remains that much of it is not. In other words, what I am arguing is that art is either creation itself or the enjoyment of another's creation, and as a result it is the revelling in this divine spark within us. Art for art's sake is not an empty proposition, but is actually an expression of our status as children of God.

"This is all well and good," some of you might be saying, "but even if it were true, how useful is any of this if the Gospel isn't a part of it?" I might reverse the question and ask: How powerful is the Gospel if this divine spark is never witnessed? Of the many songs being mass-produced to share the Gospel, of the cookie-cutter paintings of Jesus (with long hair, white skin, and a gentle expression, of course) being handed out at conferences like mints, how many of them instil within the partaker a sense of the divine, of transcendence, of there being in creation something more than mere man?

Let me put it all in a nutshell: The fundamental flaw of Christian art isn't that the artists themselves are unskilled, because while many of them certainly are, there are also a number who are quite capable. The problem is that it's seen primarily as a marketing tool, Advertisement for Jesus, and therefore seems cheap and superficial. I would instead suggest that artists ought to create whatever they feel compelled to create, to fashion whatever their muses dictate. After all, if Christianity is true, then all beauty ultimately points to God, and if it is not, then creating art that promotes the Gospel is a waste of time anyway. This, however, is not the biggest issue. The biggest issue is that we, as a church, must seek to encourage art, even if it doesn't have obvious allusions to the Gospel, even if it doesn't preach what we want it to preach - even if, heaven forbid, it's made by non-believers.

So let's tie this all back up to the opening paragraphs. What we as a church need to begin doing, I think, is accepting and appreciating beauty that doesn't immediately denote the Gospel. I know there was some criticism when the game Skyrim came out: "They're spending time in awe of a virtual world" people complained, "instead of being outside in awe of God's creation!" But is not this imaginary world every bit as miraculous as the natural one? Not as beautiful, certainly, nor as large or deep or full or fulfilling. But it is a celebration of the divine spark and a testimony to our role, however much some of us may have forgotten it, as the bearers of God's image.

In closing, escapism in general and video games in particular do pose a very real threat - one can become easily addicted to them, and become so deeply embroiled in them that commitments and relationships suffer. But, should these impulses be mastered, escapism also provides the opportunity for enrichment, for development, and for sheer revelling in the incredible breadths of the imagination and this God-given spark - and to provide perspective, thinking how much this pales in comparison to God's own creative ability.

Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater, and remember that beauty is every bit as much a part of the Kingdom of Heaven as truth

Why I Love Jazz: A Musical Journey

So I'm writing this because over the past couple of years I've gotten waaaaay into jazz, and I know there are a lot of people out there who are like "Buh? What? Jazz? Is that still a thing? I thought that died out years ago!" And if you've known me for a while, you'll know that I used to be huge into classic rock and progressive rock, and when I was a freshman I even went through a brief metal phase (and by "metal phase" I mean I listened to Dream Theater and an Iron Maiden album. I also bought a Dragonforce CD, which is a purchase I regret to this day). So people are all like "Man where's this jazz crap coming from?" Let me tell you.

(As an aside, I haven't left that classic rock music behind me. It's all still there, I still listen to it, I still have every Pink Floyd album worth owning, plus The Wall, I still love King Crimson and have a great time with Zeppelin, so all you rockers panicking can cut it out. I did basically stop listening to metal, though. Except for Opeth. Mmmmm, Opeth).

Where It All Began

So I studied jazz guitar on and off for a few years, mostly because it's basically the most advanced and interesting stuff you can play on the instrument. You can only run pentatonic scale patterns over blues riffs for so long, you know? And metal excited me for a bit, because it was more difficult. But then you realized that the only reason it was more difficult was because it was faster. It was still basically the same thing as rock, just sped up a bit. But jazz was entirely different. A "Whole New World," for all you Disney fans out there (man I cannot believe I just made that joke). But more on this later.

Anyway, despite the fact that I'd been messing around with jazz guitar, I still wasn't really into jazz. Like I had a few recordings of jazz guitarists (mostly Wes Montgomery, of course), but I more appreciated them for their impressive guitar work than I actually, you know, enjoyed listening to them.

But then, one day, I heard Charlie Parker's nonet (fun fact: a nonet is a nine-piece band. Like a quintet, but with nine people) playing A Night In Tunisia. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxibMBV3nFo

(And yes, that is a very young Miles Davis on trumpet there)

I don't know what did it, but somehow, when I heard that recording, everything clicked. To me, that music had a spirit to it that was just so vibrant, so alive. It was technically demanding, but at the same time, it was incredibly soulful. They put themselves into their music in a way that I'd never really heard musicians do before, and it spoke to me. It said "Man, forget everything else. You want to be able to create like these guys do." I'd never been so excited about improvising in my life. Suddenly it became less about playing guitar solos and more about creating, on the spot, a statement, an expression of yourself, your soul. Something that only you could say, that no one else could ever express, that even if they played the same notes in the same order as you, they still wouldn't be saying what you said. Man, just about every alto sax player who's ever lived has tried to learn Bird's solo (Bird was Charlie Parker's nickname, for the uninitiated) from that recording, but none of them have ever been able to play it quite like he did.

But that sort of expressiveness doesn't come easy. Miles Davis once famously said "Sometimes you have to play for a long time before you're able to play like yourself." And I soon learned that half of playing - more than half, probably - is listening. You've heard the expression "You are what you eat?" Well, with music, you sound like what you listen to. And the more widely listened you are, the more you kind of pull from to knit together, the wider the range you have to synthesize sounds into your own unique voice. So I started listening like crazy. First thing I did, I went out and bought a bunch of jazz albums - Kind of Blue by Miles Davis was one, Giant Steps by John Coltrane was another. And the more I heard, the more I wanted. I suddenly just couldn't get enough of it.

Here's Coltrane's Giant Steps:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30FTr6G53VU

Man, that blew my mind when I first heard it. Still does, every time I listen to it. He's cooking along at around 300 BPM (that's beats per minute), switching keys roughly every two beats, and he somehow manages to have it sound musical. I used to look up to guys like John Petrucci and Steve Vai when I was a teenager but this, this was a whole new level entirely. I couldn't even fathom it.

Anyway, I was talking earlier about listening. This also mean that I had to do a bit of a cull of my music. "But I thought you wanted to diversify your listening as much as possible!" you ask, confused. I did. And I do. But here's the thing: Not all music is helpful. Just as how a balanced diet doesn't include McDonald's, balanced listening doesn't really include three chord music. The whole point of broader listening is trying to push your ears outside of the box, and it's hard to do that when some music keeps pulling you back in. I know to some of you I probably sound like an elitist jerk, but there doesn't really seem to be any other way of putting it. Some music is meant to be listened to, and some music is meant to be consumed, and I try to avoid the latter.

Why Jazz?

There are a few things about jazz that really attract me to it.

The first is, like I said before, its challenge for the instrumentalist. If you want to push yourself on your instrument, go for jazz. I can't think of a single other genre that will work you more. Maybe classical, for piano, but even there, just about everything you're playing has been written out beforehand. Here's the deal: Jazz pushes you in all three major ways: Technically, because you've got to be a master of your instrument to be able to play effectively. You've got to be able to shred at lightning speeds, to be intimately acquainted with the different positions, and be acutely aware of the unique sounds, abilities, and opportunities your instrument brings to the table. It's not enough to just memorize scale patterns, because it pushes you outside of boxes. And that segues into the second way, mentally. A comprehensive knowledge of music theory is key if you want to be able to create in a jazz setting. There are always these myths about how the greatest musicians never knew a lick of theory - there's not a shred of truth to that. These guys studied a ton of theory, formally or informally, but they did it. You're bouncing between different keys, you're improvising solos over +5b9 and min/maj13#11 chords, you've got to be able to understand how things work together, and why. Most importantly, this helps to push the boundaries - if you don't know that you're "supposed" to play an E natural in a certain spot, how are you going to know that you can get out of the box by playing an Eb instead? The third way is emotionally. With jazz, it's not enough to just be able to play a chart. You've got to put yourself into it, you've got to be able to play stuff that's musical, that's compelling, that can push the audience to feel what you're feeling. It's not just enough to have game, you've gotta have soul, too. This made me realize: All that talk about being a technically gifted musician vs being an expressive musician is a false dichotomy. If you see that as being either/or, as being you can either play fast or play soulfully, you will never be anything more than a mediocre musician.

One of my favourite examples of all these things coming together is right here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_PmQrXv4O0

Technically, it's pretty impressive. It's not a fast standard, but Jim Hall still manages to throw in some blazing lines - which are, most incredibly, very tastefully understated. The speed is not a "Look at how fast I can play! moment, but rather an expression of what he felt was most fitting at that point. It's also mentally impressive too - he's stretching the harmony of the song, going outside the box while still keeping it palatable to the average listener. His chord solo is also pretty amazing on those lines - the ability to, on the fly, come up with a series of chords that both work together to form a musical statement as well as sound good over the underlying harmony is not easy at all. Finally, emotionally it reaches a level that I couldn't even imagine when I first heard it. It was a hugely influential song on me for that reason, because it's what taught me that by being conscious of your dynamics, your picking technique, your tone, etc, a guitar can be very nearly as expressive as a horn (note: "horn" is jazz slang for any wind instrument, not a French Horn).

Another big thing for me is the subtlety of the music. It doesn't smack you over the head with emotion, but instead slowly lures you in. That was something I'd become a bit burnt out on in rock music. When it's angry, it's ANGRY! When it's happy, it's HAPPY! When it's sad, it is DEPRESSED! It beats you over the head a bit with what its saying. Not that there's anything wrong with that; sometimes you're upset about something and what you really need is something that just screams ANGER! But more and more, I began wanting something with a bit more emotional depth to it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEC8nqT6Rrk

Listen to that song. It's off one of the first jazz albums I ever heard, and is one of the most well-known recordings of all time. It's very expressive, very emotional, but what emotion is it conveying? It doesn't instantly assault you with being happy or sad or angry or fearful. Instead, to me, anyway, it's got a thousand different emotions to it, many of which don't have names. It reaches inside and pushes parts of your brain that you didn't know where there, making you have feelings you didn't know existed. To me, it allows for a greater level of communication between the musician and the audience - the musician puts his heart and soul into what he's playing, and the audience takes away from that, well, whatever they take away from it. Like a good book, the listener can take what's being said and be impacted by it in a different way (yeah, yeah, call me a filthy post-modernist. Go on, I dare you), and jazz has more room to do that than any other style of music I've heard.

Another thing I love about jazz is the way that it's not afraid of dissonance. Rock always made itself out to be about rebellion and bucking standards, but compositionally it was pretty tame. Even black metal and death metal that I've heard will usually mess around with tritones and maybe the occasional minor second and call it a day. In jazz, harmony goes outside the box all the time, and it's all about taking sounds that clash and making them sound musical anyway. To me, that seems almost more honest. It's very true to life. Our world is full of dissonance, and if you just avoid things that aren't pleasant, you'll never live at all. But if you find a way to take that dissonance and make it musical, poetic even, then you've transformed your setting. Okay, enough pseudo-philosophy, here's some Monk:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vofbnkQcW_Q

So What?

I wanted to call this section "So What's Next?" but I couldn't resist making that awful pun. It's tough to be an amateur jazz musician because there isn't much of a scene for beginners. Most of the jazz clubs out there are dominated by guys who have been playing their instrument for decades, so for someone like me, who's young, inexperienced, and pretty mediocre, to find a gig is not easy.

But I've got a bigger concern than that, though it encompasses that. My concern is this: I am worried that jazz is taking the same path as classical music to becoming "museum music" - in other words, music that music students get together and listen to and write papers on, and that's respected for its achievements, but that has absolutely no impact on the culture around it. It's not there yet, because jazz still has some importance in more urban areas, but it's not too far off. And I don't really want to see that happen. Jazz is vital music, and if it's not communicating anything, where's its vitality?

Miles Davis responded to this by merging with all sorts of different styles. After Woodstock, he invented jazz/rock fusion. Later, he did a collaboration with Prince. When he died, he was partway through recording an album that mixed jazz with hip-hop. And I don't know, maybe that's the answer. Fusion, like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnR39KzcKUk

Or even like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Siq2qkINyPY (minus the dated synth sounds, of course)

That might be more palatable to a modern audience than straight jazz. And I love fusion just as much as I love jazz, so it's no concern of mine if it does.

But my concern isn't losing "saxophone music," or whatever. I mean the sax is a great instrument, but the issue to me is the aesthete behind jazz, the idea of music being the opportunity to create on the spot, to inspire, for the musician to communicate to the audience exactly where he is and what he's feeling at that precise point in time. Its vital creativity is, to me, a celebration of life, and is something that should not die. I've become almost incapable of playing other people's songs note for note now, and I get frustrated when people say "Okay play this riff exactly as written" or "Oh man, can you do the entire Stairway to Heaven solo?" because to me, you're not making music, you're just taking what someone else said and parroting it. It's glorified Guitar Hero. And I just don't see the point. Why should a band go up there and play Comfortably Numb the way Floyd played it? Why not instead just put on the album? It's the same thing, only it sounds better. And when bands play original material, why play the same song the same way every night? If I wanted to hear that, I'd put it on my ipod and listen to it there. Sure, when I improvise my own solo over a song, it's not going to be as good as the original solo, but that's the whole point. You're not up there to make yourself look good. If you're playing music for your ego, you're going to fail.

In other words, this jazz mentality is something that I think is applicable everywhere, and something that ought to be a part of just about all music. Why parrot when you can create?

To close, here's one of my all-time favourite jazz performances by a man who is possibly the greatest guitarist to have ever lived: Wes Montgomery. Listen to this if you want to hear the raw levels that the guitar can get to.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZsdGVYqGco

PS: One closing note. There's a lot of dismissal amongst jazz guys of "smooth jazz" - guys like Michael Buble, Kenny G, that sort of thing. There's a reason for that. These guys take the aesthete of jazz that I was just talking about and urinate all over it for the sake of money. It sounds like just your typical snobbery, but it's not. Not only is their music bad, but they've publicly defaced the image of jazz. If you've ever heard someone describe jazz as sounding like "elevator music" or something along those lines, its because of guys like this. I'm only saying this because novice jazzers tend to describe anything that sounds smooth or cool as "smooth jazz." Never, EVER go up to a professional working jazz musician at a gig and say "Great playing, man! I love smooth jazz like that!" He's not going to take it the same way you mean it.

Let me put it this way: Kenny G is to jazz what Avril Lavigne is to punk rock.

Just a caveat.

3 Categories of Doctrine: Why What You Believe Doesn't Matter (Except For When It Does)

So I know I started this blog a few months ago, posted a rant about how the faux-masculinity fad is stupid, and then disappeared. Life happened, writer's block (before even making my first post I started work on a blog post about music. I am still working on it with little headway), excuses, excuses, etc. But now I'm back. And with a blog post on doctrine, no less.

Doctrine might seem to people annoying and boring (if they made a list of words that were most likely to automatically put someone to sleep, it would probably be near the top), but it's something that's been on my mind a fair bit recently. I'm going to put it right out there that I'm a pretty ecumenical kind of guy. Ecumenicism, for those of you too lazy to load up dictionary.com, is a movement that sprung up a couple of centuries ago that basically said "Hey, we've divided the church pretty badly, let's see if we can bring it back together." It's a push towards putting aside petty differences and instead attempting to unify the greater Body of Christ. It's a bit of a pipe dream, because in some cases there's simply too much bad blood, and in other cases, people have been indoctrinated to believe everything about a certain denomination is wrong. It's always been a matter of fascination for me, for example, the difference between what the Catholics I've known believe, and what some Protestants say they believe.

But in order for this to actually work, we need some sort of framework for doctrine, because, here's the deal, we're never going to agree on everything. It's just not going to happen. And in fact, that's probably a good thing. When everyone agrees on everything, that leads to one thing: Stagnation. The fact is that God is transcendent, i.e. He's much bigger than any of us can grasp with our minds, and as a result this means any conclusion we draw about Him will always be, by definition, incomplete. So competing doctrinal ideas actually help to highlight the insufficiencies in our own understanding of God; provided, that is, they're dealt with maturely and constructively, and not by rampaging about the countryside setting fire to everything you disagree with (I'm looking at you, Dutch Calvinists).

But at the same time, there does need to be some common ground. There needs to be a certain set of beliefs which define you as a Christian: If you believe in these, you are one. If you don't, you're not. For example, someone who says "I don't believe in any sort of God or anything, but I would consider myself a Christian" is not a Christian. I'm not trying to be exclusive with this, but there is a need for a certain level of definition, otherwise our terms stop making sense. I'm not the thought police, and I'm not telling people that can't believe what they believe, but the statement "x and y are mutually exclusive, I believe x, therefore I am y" is logically incoherent. It would be as if someone said "I believe in God, and I even pray to Him every once in a while, so I would say I'm an atheist." All it accomplishes is degrading the English language even further.

So that's why I'm working on a system of dividing doctrine to help understand what matters, and what doesn't. I'm not nearly pretentious enough to believe that I'm the first person to come up with something like this, but I've devoted the last couple of years to working on my musical knowledge, which has left me a bit behind the ball when it comes to theology (though I've been trying to play catchup these past few weeks), so I can't pinpoint specific authors.

A note before we get started: The word doctrine essentially means a statement of belief. The belief in God's existence is a doctrine of Christianity. The belief in not eating meat is a doctrine of vegetarianism. The belief in victory no matter how irrational it might be is a doctrine of the Montreal Canadiens, etc. I would hold doctrine to be very different from dogma. Dogma is, in my view, any doctrine that is expected to be believed without question. For example, most people would take the existence of themselves as a dogmatic belief; you expect people to not question their own existence, and if someone did you might think they were insane. I personally believe that dogma has no place within Christian theology, that yes, there are certain parameters that define the Christian faith, but even those need to be held with an open hand, examined, and tested; if only because if you don't do that, then it can be very difficult for your faith to become personal.


Major Doctrine: This is what I talked about above. The defining marks of a Christian. This is pretty easy to assess, actually, because it's been laid out since the early days of the church. Something called the Nicene Creed does a good job of putting it in writing. Here it is:

We believe in one God,
the Father, the Almighty,
maker of heaven and earth,
of all that is, seen and unseen.

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,
the only Son of God,
eternally begotten of the Father,
God from God, Light from Light,
true God from true God,
begotten, not made,
of one Being with the Father.
Through him all things were made.
For us and for our salvation
he came down from heaven:
by the power of the Holy Spirit
he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary,
and was made man.
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;
he suffered death and was buried.
On the third day he rose again
in accordance with the Scriptures;
he ascended into heaven
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,
and his kingdom will have no end. 


We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,
who proceeds from the Father and the Son.
With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified.
He has spoken through the Prophets.
We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.
We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.
We look for the resurrection of the dead,
and the life of the world to come. Amen. 


Regardless of whether you're Baptist, Lutheran, Roman Catholic, Orthodox, Presbyterian, Southern Baptist, Reformed, Episcopalian, or anything else, you should be able to agree with those statements. They're like the bread and butter of the Christian faith.

Now, are they above questioning? No, absolutely not. On the contrary, these are statements that we should be poking at, making sure they hold water. You can't just believe them because the early church said you should, you need to take them on as personal truth. However, this is the theological statement that time and again, century after century, pastors, priests, theologians and writers have all affirmed as being the core of the Christian faith. If you accept those as being true, you're a Christian. If not, then saying you're a Christian would be like the aforementioned guy who believes in and prays to God but calls himself an atheist.


Minor Doctrine: I'm tempted to just put "everything else." Your view on the "End Times" is minor doctrine. Your view on how literally we ought to take Genesis 1-3 is minor doctrine. Your view on free will vs God's sovereignty is minor doctrine. Got that? Don't get me wrong, these are all important things to be talking about. But in the end, they don't affect your standing with God, they don't disqualify you from Christianity, and they certainly aren't a good reason to go around ex-communicating people. These are the areas where we as Christians are going to have different opinions. We're going to disagree. We're going to have issues with the things people say, but these are things that need to be resolved constructively. Say "Hey, I believe this, you believe that. Let's sit down and talk about it, and realize that if we end up agreeing to disagree, that doesn't change the fact that we are still brothers and/or sisters in Christ."

Now, I know these messy things called emotions end up getting in the way, and we end up getting upset or offended or hurt when someone disagrees with us. That's fine, that's the way things are. But surely we can muster the maturity to be able to disagree without splitting a church? There's also a lot of people out there who think that the best way around this is to not have opinions at all, and I'm certainly not suggesting that. Research these issues, read about it, think about it, pray about it. Really, when we do theology, we're expanding on our understanding of God (uh, hopefully), so doing your work here could really end up jump-starting your relationship with Him. It has for me a few times. But let me say this: If you can look at someone and say "If you're not a dispensationalist/Young Earth Creationist/Calvinist/whatever then you're no brother/sister of mine!" then you are to Biblical literacy what Kim Jong Il was to free speech.


Practical Doctrine: I made this category very begrudgingly because I know it's open to all kinds of abuse. The basic idea here is that there are some points of doctrine that are theologically minor, but are of such practical importance that it can be hard to attain unity. A great example of this is the role of women in the church. There's basically two Biblical views: complementarianism, or the idea that men and women are equal but created for different roles, and that women cannot be pastors, and egalitarianism, or the idea that men and women are equal and can both fulfil the same roles. Now, you can't ever possibly say to someone that they're not a Christian because of their position on this issue. However, complementarians are going to have a tough time attending a church with a female pastor, and that's just how it is. Similarly, egalitarians probably won't stick around very long at a church the places restrictions on the opportunities for women to lead. It's certainly possible to have believers of both under the same roof, but it's a ticking time bomb, and sooner or later, something's gotta give.

This is a category where I would include very few statements of doctrine. The above issue of women in leadership is one, and I might consider baptism (whether it should be performed on infants or adults) to be another. But really this is a very limited category, one or two issues of minor doctrine where a split might be justified as a last resort.


So why am I going through all this? Because we need to get in our heads what is the core of our faith, and what isn't. This is fundamentally an appeal to unity within the Christian church. We need to learn how to focus on what unites rather than what divides (an example: I don't know, maybe the Gospel?), and to stop taking hard stances on soft issues, and taking harder stances on the hard issues (the notion that denial of the Trinity is more acceptable in some churches than egalitarianism makes me want to weep). Accept that with a God as big as the one we worship, there's going to be all sorts of different understandings as to how He works, and that not only should we accept positions contrary to our own, we should acknowledge that we actually have a thing or two to learn from them. And a big part of this is accepting that arguing is not fundamentally wrong. Just because we sit down and disagree on something doesn't mean that we have to draw a line in the sand between us. Debate is typically attributed to disunity, for some reason, but to me, it is one of the hallmarks of true unity.

And you know what? This is even an appeal to unity outside of the church. I know it might not seem like it, with all the Major Doctrine "you need to believe this to consider yourself a Christian" stuff, but here's my take on things: This idea that "All religions are the same" is bunk. Anyone who's ever studied comparative theology should know that the major world religions are actually quite different, and when you equate them all, that's patronizing to everyone. If we as Christians can understand the core of what makes us Christians and why, then we'll be much better suited to sit down with people of different beliefs and actually have mature, intelligent conversations where we share ideas, instead of sitting around making vague statements about how "love is cool". Seriously. I've never once met a Muslim who was happy about seeing the distinguishing features of their religion swept under the rug. Same with Judaism. I've never once met a Hindu or Buddhist period, but I would guess that it's something similar.

Maybe I'm in idealist, but I strongly believe that we as Christians can be honest with people who disagree with us, both other Christians and non-Christians, without trying to kill them. So let's give it a shot, eh?