The Primacy of Theological Discourse

James K. A. Smith, in Who’s Afraid of Postmodernism, describes the posture of a common theological strategy plaguing the church, the “correlationalist model.”  This approach begins with “a certain confidence in the findings of a secular discipline–whether philosophy, psychology, history, or sociology–[and then] adapts this neutral or scientific framework as a foundation and then correlates Christian theological claims with the facts disclosed by secular science.”  In an apologetic effort to make Christianity intelligible and universal to an audience, churches translate the gospel according to the rationale of scientific or “objective” truth rather than to the particularity of Christian revelation.  The correlative method also directs church practice as well.   Churches have assimilated business-growth paradigms with their definitions of success, as well as marketing strategies and their penchant for trends.

John Milbank offers a diagnosis for modern theology:

Radical orthodoxy, radical scarf.

“Once theology surrenders its claim to be a metadiscourse, it cannot any longer articulate the word of the creator God, but is bound to turn into some oracular voice of some finite idol, such as historical scholarship, humanist psychology, or transcendental philosophy.  If theology no longer seeks to position, quality or criticize other discourses, then it is inevitable that these discourses will position theology.”

- Theology and Social Theory:  Beyond Secular Reason

Confessions of a Theologian of Glory

Title page from Luther's Deudsh Catechismus, 1659

I have been reading through a book by Gerhard O. Forde, entitled “On Being a Theologian of the Cross.” Forde works his way through Martin Luther’s Heidelberg Disputation of 1518, juxtaposing a “theology of glory” with a “theology of the cross,” categories which he borrows directly from Luther.  The contrast between these ways of doing theology has shed light on my past year of theological training.  It is now apparent that I am functioning as a theologian of glory (again); for subtle shifts in my thinking have already occurred so that I no longer depend on the grace of God but rely on my own capacity to be faithful and to become more faithful.  Indeed, one of the chief claims of the theologian of the cross is that, by nature, every person is a theologian of glory.  We are in bondage to operate according to Scholastic Nominalism’s proposition to “do what is in one’s self” and let God do the rest.  This maxim encapsulates humanity’s unrelenting resolve to be “the master of [our] fate[s]/ the captain of [our] soul[s].”  We are, therefore, tragically bound to the insatiable thirst for our own glory.

As a theologian of glory, I operate as though my will were in control, free to choose between good and evil.  Under the assumption of “free will,” I attempt to reason myself into a more virtuous existence, or I try to make theology and virtue attractive so that it will appeal to my free choice.  My other strategy hinges upon my effort to discipline myself, to practice virtuous habits in order to reconfigure the years of sinful behavior patterns (e.g. impatience, anger, lust).  But an optimism about the elasticity of the will–that it may be bent toward faithfulness–says Forde, is the root cause of despair.  Telling a narrative that misrepresents the reality of human nature only leads first disillusionment then malady.

The cross is an attack on sin “that reveals the real seat of sin is not in the flesh, but in our spiritual aspirations, in our ‘theology of glory’” (1).  That is, the cross seeks to unmask optimism placed in human ability.  The real locus of sin lies not in our evil works, but in the good things we do; the theologian of the cross targets the “pretension” that accompanies what we do well.  Thus, the theology of the cross is offensive, for it reveals our rejection of God precisely through our good works.  This narrative upends and shocks us, pursuing us to the end of our rope, to surrender and cling to the cross.  This story claims that hope rises out of despair, that life comes only through death.

Luther organizes the Disputation according to the logic behind the division between the theologian of glory and the theologian of the cross: “The question of the knowledge of God is directly related to the claim that we can, by our natural powers prepare for grace by ‘doing what is in us’…A fault in the estimation of works [Theses 1-12] is based on a false estimate of the power of will [Theses 13-18], which in turn presumes a knowledge of God’s judgment on such works [Theses 19-24]” (70).  Theses 25-28 conclude the Disputations arch from the law of God to the love of God, arguing for the sole agency of the grace of God in the life of the theologian of the cross.

I will devote some space in the blogosphere to a series of reflections outlining the Disputation’s theses as they relate to my own grappling with Luther’s (and Forde’s) assertions.  Reading the book through the first time was convicting, confusing, challenging, and I am still unsure what it means to be a theologian of the cross in light of recent Biblical scholarship, e.g. more accurate views of “the Law” in ancient Judaism and the abounding critiques of Reformation exegesis of Paul, as well as some of modern theology’s push back on Luther’s ordo salutis and his definition of faith.  Finally, I hope these posts will help me work out how a theologian of the cross faithfully proclaims the ethical components of the gospel, the Christian vocation of justice and peace.

The Creed: Forming A Posture of Trust

A wily Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury

Rowan Williams, in Tokens of Trust, asserts that the Christian’s faith is a matter of trust, not belief. Although throughout Christian history the words ‘trust’ and ‘belief’ shared synonymity, in modern use the words describe two very different postures for the way we engage God’s existence. Our language is important as it directs our engagement with what we ultimately hold to be true. It is therefore vital that the distinction is made between ‘trust’ and ‘belief’ if we are to allow the existence of God to impinge upon our lives. A sketch of each posture, then, is necessary if we are to explore the significance of Williams’ claim. This will provide a foundation to explore the ways in which a posture of trust gives shapes to how we “take up” the Christian faith. And so we shall see that trust is the vehicle through which the reality of God penetrates our existence, affecting the way we feel about ourselves and about the world .

For Williams belief is primarily a relationship to an abstract idea or thing. Belief answers the question of whether or not something exists out there. It regards the objects it probes as magical or mythical in nature, and so the question of belief in God is similar to, “Do you believe in ghosts or UFOs?” This is a rather impersonal question which is unconcerned with the consequence of whether or not something exists. That is to say, if a ghost really did exist, it would hardly make a difference in the grand scheme of things. This kind of belief cannot conquer the crippling effects of suspicion, because it forms a posture incredulous to hope, meaning, and relationship. Suspicion prevents one from participation in celebration, love, hope, and trust. It forms a posture closed to the possibility of God affecting the way we feel about ourselves and the world around us. This kind of posture rests on fallacious assumptions about God.

God is not the kind of being that is out there or ambivalent to what is going in the world. Belief for Christianity is not a question of opinion concerning whether or not God exists, but it is rather whether or not God is to be trusted. Williams makes this plain by turning our attention to the Creed, which draws for our imagination a radically different visage of God—one in whom we are invited to trust from the onset. The Creed is composed of statements that reveal God’s agenda by what God has done. It is therefore impossible to stand with neutrality in relation to God. Belief in God’s existence is inextricably tied to questions like, “Is God reliable? Does God have our best interest in mind?” The very nature of God thus demands that we not think of God in the same category as UFOs or ghosts. Belief is the wrong kind of posture for a God who is proximate and good. It is, then, a categorical mistake to approach God’s existence like one might an abstract being, such as a ghost. To do so is to relegate God to impotence and irrelevance. A posture of trust, however, invites God to make a difference in the way we feel about ourselves and the world around us.

Williams’ insistence on trust, not belief is rooted in the conviction that God is entirely other than that from which concept, theory or principle is constructed. Every mode of knowledge is defined by the nature of its object. Therefore, a God who is wholly other than creation necessitates a different kind of touching, seeing and hearing. Intellectual assent and conceptual postulation will not do. God is eternal and transcendent, but not impersonal or unknowable. God is not an impersonal force like gravity which pushes toward the center of the earth without reason or care; neither is God like a theory, a body of impersonal information to master. We must consider the proper mode of knowledge, or posture that accounts for the Creed’s proclamation of a God who cares, listens and speaks—a God who actually revealed Godself by entering our history as the human, Jesus Christ.

Since God lovingly cares for us, we are faced with the decision to receive or ignore God’s love for us. Care is the kind of thing that is only received when the source of care is trusted. It doesn’t matter how much God loves us, if we do not trust him, we cannot receive God’s love. A posture of trust is one of dependence and vulnerability in a relationship. Trust is germinated by its object when there is evidence that the object is working for one’s good and— of course—possesses the power to bring that good to fruition. We are compelled to trust that God is for us when we see God’s agenda made clear: peace and praise. This is most prominent in the cross where God suffered as a human in this world to set people free from fear and guilt to live a new life.

How then does a posture of trust shape the way in which we take up the Christian faith? If God is not an object of neutrality, but one who is relational and active for good, then abstract belief or intellectual assent will not do. And if the Christian life is a function of trust, not merely belief, then the task of spiritual and theological formation is to entrust our lives into the holy hands of God instead of amassing a framework of information. For this reason, the Creed’s theology is ultimately concerned that we entrust ourselves to the God it articulates. As we live our daily lives then, we must be attentive to situations in which we fail to trust God. We are often aware of external sin, but Williams’ emphasis on trust begs us to turn a critical eye to whether or not we, at a given moment, trust that God is perfectly loving, infinitely wise, and totally sovereign. We must ask ourselves, “Are my thoughts and actions indicative of trust in the God who is always and wholly for me?”

The Life-and-Death Contest

I think a Bonhoeffer quotation is far past due:

“Thus at the very beginning of Christian fellowship there is engendered an invisible, often unconscious, life-and-death contest.  “There arose a reasoning among them.” :  this is enough to destroy a fellowship.

Hence it is vitally necessary that every Christian community from the very outset face this dangerous enemy squarely, and eradicate it.  There is no time to lose here, for from the first moment when a man meets another person he is looking for a strategic position he can assume and hold over against that person.  There are strong persons and weak ones.  If a man is not strong, he immediately claims the right of the weak as his own and uses it against the strong.  There are gifted and ungifted persons, simple people and difficult people, devout and less devout, the sociable and the solitary.  Does not the ungifted person have to take up a position just as well as the gifted person, the difficult one as well as the simple?  And if I am not gifted, then perhaps I am devout anyhow; or if I am not devout it is only because I do not want to be.  May not the sociable individual carry the field before him and put the timid, solitary man to shame?  Then may not the solitary person become the undying enemy and ulitimate vanquisher of his socialbe adversary?  Where is there a person who does not with instinctive sureness find the spot where he can stand and defend himself, but which he will never give up for another, for which he will fight with all the drive of his instict of self-assertion?

All this can occur in the most polite or even pious environment.  But the important thing is that a Christian community should know that somewhere in it there will certainly be “a reasoning among them which of them should be the greatest.”  It is the struggle of the natural man for self-justification.  He finds it only in comparing himself with others, in condemning and judging others.  Self-justification and judging others go together, as justification by grace and serving others go together.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, pg. 90-91

But to Correct a Flood, One Does Not Want a Drought

Amy and I are reading Thomas Howard’s Evangelical is Not Enough.  What began as a post directed toward the book’s main thrust–the worship of God in liturgy and sacrament–has found its way to what has always been an intriguing topic to me:  the division between “sacred” and “secular”.  I am planning to compose something closer to the center of Howard’s fascinating book later, but until then…

Evangelicalism has rightly pointed that the locus of true spirituality lies in the heart.  In an effort to protect piety, a distinction has been made between the sacred, that which is spiritual, and the secular, that which is non-spiritual (and merely physical).  In the former, Sunday worship, Bible study, and prayer matter more than what takes place Monday through Saturday in the latter, washing the dishes, cooking, work, ect.  Within this rubric, prayer is a more spiritual labor than cooking a meal as it only deals with the physical aspects of our humanity.  Ministry deals with “souls” and thus matters most.  Conversely, the worth of a secular marketplace job springs from its use as a channel for evangelism, or when part of one’s salary can be tithed.  It is against this that Thomas grimly asserts:

“False religions perpetuate the great divide between flesh and spirit, rather than between good and evil where Christianity says it lies.”

Howard observes that many Christians embrace this false dichotomy between flesh and spirit when they read St. Paul.  For St. Paul, the spiritual is not the “disembodied”, nonphysical; there is no distinction between the spiritual life and regular, ordinary living.  To understand what St. Paul meant, we must briefly revisit the garden of Eden.

In the beginning, the universe was a single tapestry woven harmoniously together.  All things were interwoven, overlapping in proper relationship with one another.  Creation was whole, blazoned with God’s Glory; it seamlessly and continually lauded its Creator.  As Howard points out, “The distance lay not between the “physical” and the “spiritual” so much as between the created and the Uncreated”  (30).  But humanity’s grab for the apple tore the tapestry of creation saying, “this much of it will be mine.”  We wrecked it all in our commodious swipe and, “The poor remnant we clutched in our fists was secular, in the most tragic sense of the word:  that which is not acknowledged as God’s.  It is a noncategory of course, since nothing that exists belongs to anyone but God” (30).

The vast splintering of creation alienated us humans from the Creator, from one another, from the rest of creation, and it even divided our self from its true identity.  We are not yet through reaching.  We grab at what does not belong to us in every relationship, whether it be a romantic interest, pleasure, resources, money, a job, fame,  a church–and even at God!  Because we struggle to relate properly to God, we are prone to worship the created, or claim it as our own.  As a result, we see too dimly to rightly acknowledge what is God’s, and worse, we wrongly adjudicate what are his good creations as culprits of evil.

So what about St. Paul?  Thomas delineates:

“To be spiritual for Saint Paul was to have brought everything back to God where it belongs and where it was in Eden.  It is to have had one’s life knit back together so that it is no longer secular and divided, but whole… ‘The flesh,’ as Saint Paul used the term, refers, ironically, not to our bodies but to fallen human nature.  The ‘carnal’ spirit is the one that devours things for itself and refuses to make them an oblations to God.  The carnal spirit is cruel, egocentric, avaricious, gluttonous, and lecherous, and as such is fevered, restless, and divided… The difference between the carnal man and the spiritual man is not physical.  They may look alike and weigh the same.  The difference lies, rather, between one’s being divided, snatching and grabbing at things, even nonphysical things like fame and power, or being whole and receiving all things as Adam was meant to receive them, in order to offer them as an oblation to the giver.

It is the demand for things that Christ sets us free from, not things themselves… Once again we may stand in our proper relation to things, as lords over them and not as their slaves.”

The challenge is to learn, or rather, relearn how to relate properly to all things.  Although creation is good, we have the witnessed incalculable corruption of it.  The abuse of  authority, food, sex, and humor show us that it is a dangerous thing to handle and touch what God has made.  We must be very careful, for we are easily mastered.

There is something in us that would rather not engage in the reweaving of a world reordered in subordination to Jesus’ rescue of God’s creation.   Instead of correction, we often choose prohibition.  It is easier to hide from the task to relate properly.  “But to correct a flood, one does not want a drought”, cautions Howard.   This dictum parallels the stern warning St. Paul issued to the Colossian church:

“Since you died with Christ to the basic principles of this world, why, as though you still belong to it, submit to its rules:  ‘Do not handle!  Do not taste!  Do not touch!’?  These are all destined to perish with use, because they are based on human commands and teachings.  Such regulations indeed have the appearance of wisdom, with their self-imposed worship, their false humility and their harsh treatment of the body, but they lack any value in restraining sensual indulgence” (2:20-22).

Let Justice Roll Down: Evangelicals & Civil Rights

Retro cover. Forever sassy.

John Perkins’ autobiography is a glimpse into the black struggle for equality, opportunity and justice against the formidable social structures of oppression.  Set against the backdrop of the civil rights movement, it’s also the story of a black Christian caught between two churches polarized by color, and his devotion to the whole Gospel revolutionizing both.  Moreover, it is an account of the Gospel disarming the powers and authorities, making a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross (Col. 2:15).

——————-

Soon after his conversion, the rumblings of conviction surfaced.  Perkins knew that his own plans for a “good” Christian life were not God’s good plan for his Christian life.  His life was no longer his own and God quickly issued a decree: Return to Mississippi with the whole Gospel for your people, those you know are “zealous for God, but their zeal is not based on knowledge” (Rom. 10:1-2).

So, John Perkins moved his family back to a very familiar place of segregation, hollowed out by injustice and blighted by oppression.  His goal was to use the Bible to teach to a church devoid of knowledge of God that same truth that captured his heart.  First, Perkins founded Bible classes at several local black high schools and a junior college, none of which had ever been exposed to the Scriptures.  In conjunction with this, he traveled around the county using a tent as a meeting place where the Bible could be expounded.  Throughout all of these endeavors, Perkins ministered to the problems of those who sat under his teaching.  After all, he and his family shared their same economic and political woes.

Perkins also knew that in order for the Gospel to take root in this community, it would have to become a visible truth.  The collection of believers with Bible knowledge would need to become a church, the body of Christ; a witness of Jesus Lordship fleshed out in social action.  This led to the organization of Voice of Calvary Bible Institute (VOC) and the creation of community development initiatives, such as: food and housing co-ops, voter registration, free healthcare, fair lending, and an effort to boost the quality of education.

Procuring the funds from both white and black churches in California to finance these projects proved to be a laborious effort.  Perkins laments the absence of the evangelicals during the civil rights movement:

“How sad that so few individuals equally committed to Jesus Christ ever became a part of [the civil rights] movement.  For what all that political activity needed–and lacked– was spiritual input.  Even now, I do not understand why so many evangelicals find a sense of commitment to civil rights and Jesus Christ an “either-or” proposition.

One of the greatest tragedies of the civil rights movement is that evangelicals surrendered their leadership in the movement by default to those with either a bankrupt theology or no theology at all, simply because the vast majority of Bible-believing Christians ignored a great and crucial opportunity in history for a genuine ethical action.  The evangelical church–whose basic theology is the same as mine–had not gone on to preach the whole gospel.”

This was the evangelical response to what was perceived to be a liberal movement.  Perkins’ interaction with black evangelicals reluctant to join the civil rights movement lays bear the true reason for evangelical precaution:  this was just a pretext to avoid personal involvement, to escape responsibility.  Christians invented this perception as an excuse for our inaction, to escape the gospel’s call to answer the question: What should the Church do?  What should I do? The stark reality of evil necessitated that Christians do more than sigh, sympathize, vote, or give money.  What was needed then–and is still needed today–is a life oriented around the self-donation of the cross.

Evangelicals continue to employ this tactic to elude the Lordship of Jesus Christ, to keep their lives rather than loose it for the sake of the gospel (Mark 8:35).  Are there things today that you and I, in a surreptitious attempt to maintain security and control, label as “liberal” to evade the truth that Jesus is Savior and Lord?  For me, it is an ongoing battle to surrender entitlement, no longer hiding behind theological quandary, to follow Jesus into the radical ordinariness of nitty-gritty, everyday living of loving my neighbor.

And to do this, maybe we must emulate God’s love  for us , who as Eugene Peterson puts it,  “became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood” (John 1:14).

At the very least I cannot shirk John Perkins’ pointed inquisition:

“Well, what are you doing to correct these bad things with your ‘good’ theology?”

Let Justice Roll Down: The Conversion of John Perkins

"Maybe evangelical Christians, black and white, were confusing theology with the status quo."

John Perkins’ autobiography is a glimpse into the black struggle for equality, opportunity and justice against the formidable social structures of oppression.  Set against the backdrop of the civil rights movement, it’s also the story of a black Christian caught between two churches polarized by color, and his devotion to the whole Gospel revolutionizing both.  Moreover, it is an account of the Gospel disarming the powers and authorities, making a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross (Col. 2:15).

There were two religions of God in segregated Mississippi.  There was the white man’s God who approved of the evils of racism and reinforced a violent system that pinned the blacks in grinding poverty.  And there was the black man’s God, who in Perkin’s mind, was no God at all.  The black church was empty of God; it was nothing more than writhing emotionalism.  Perkins easily rejected both as “just another form of exploitation” (pg. 65).  He had no use for religion that would not acknowledge the reality of southern brutality.

Many years later, after Perkins fled Mississippi and the memories of his murdered brother, he was befriended in California by a few black Christians.  Their God was one of whom he had never heard.  His curiosity pulled him into a serious study of the Bible which slowly put words to his whole experience.  But there was one verse, Romans 6:23, which confronted him with powerful resonance : “For the wages of sin are death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Wage language was John Perkin’s vernacular; wages dictated all of his existence.  He had suffered unfair wages all of his life.  That was exploitation.  Those were the “wages of sin”.  Paul’s vocabulary, albeit familiar, called Perkins’ attention to a strange wage unknown to him.  Perkins writes:

“But was there other sin? My sin?  Back and forth from life to Scripture my mind went that morning…For the first time I understood that my sin was not necessarily and altogether against myself or against my neighbor.  My sin was against a holy God who loved me, who had already paid for my sins.  I was sinning in the face of His love.

I didn’t want to sin anymore.  I wanted to give my life to Christ, so He could take care of my sin.  I sensed the beginning of a whole new life, a new structure of life, a life that could fill that emptiness I had even on payday.

God for a black man? Yes, God for a black man! This black man!  Me!

That morning I said yes to Jesus Christ” (pgs. 71-72).

St. Augustine on the Struggle for Belief

St. Augustine: to renew and exalt the faithful hearing of the gospel of man's utter need and God's abundant Grace.

“…though I could not yet know for certain whether what he taught was true.  For all this time I restrained my heart from assenting to anything, fearing to fall headlong into error.  Instead, by this hanging in suspense, I was being strangled.  For my desire was to be as certain of invisible things as I was that seven and three are ten.  I was not so deranged as to believe that this could not be comprehended, but my desire was to have other things as clear as this, whether they were physical objects, which were not present to my senses, or spiritual objects, which I did not know how to conceive of except in physical terms.

If I could have believed, I might have been cured, and, with the sight of my soul cleared up, it might in some way have been directed toward thy truth, which always abides and fails in nothing.  But, just as it happens that a man who has tried a bad physician fears to trust himself with a good one, so it was with the health of my soul, which could not be healed except by believing. “

St. Augustine, Confessions, Bk. 5, Ch. 4

The Political Dilemma of Faith

Hauerwas asks, "What do I need, or what do we need, to be a community of friends that can not only tell one another the truth, but want to be told the truth?"

This appears to me to be one of the tenets of  “Hauerwasian” thought:

“The call to be part of the gospel is a joyful call to be adopted by an alien people, to join a countercultural phenomenon, a new polis called church…The challenge of Jesus is the political dilemma of how to be faithful to a strange community, which is shaped by a story of how God is with us.” Resident Aliens, Pg. 30

Our living is dictated by the way in which we frame the problem of faith.  What part of me is being confronted by faith?  God and his Gospel is demanding something of me, but what?

The locus of faith does not reside in right belief; it is not an intellectual problem, but a problem of trust.  The compulsion of the Gospel is not to believe a worldview or adopt a series of propositions, but a summon to entrust my whole self to a good God, a merciful Savior.  The challenge is not to believe the right thing, but to trust in the right person.  Let me be clear, it is precisely because faith it is not an issue of “what”, but a matter of “whom”, that it is imperative what we believe.

Hauerwas contends that while Christianity is not a system of belief, unbelief (atheism) is a problem.  He defines the problem not as intellectual unbelief, but socio-political unbelief.  In other words, the Christian faith is a matter of right living not right thinking. Therefore, atheism cannot be defined in the terms of wrong thinking; it must be defined as wrong living. The problem is not intellectual, but political. The Christian must act on the presupposition that he is a part of God’s people and his plan for history.

The Gospel, as a result, is an invitation to entrust my whole life to God.  Consequently, I now also trust that being adopted into his family (the Church) signifies a new allegiance and with it, a new dilemma: to be faithful to the promise that God is with us.  The moment I ask, “What does it look like to live with a trust that God is with his people in a special way?” faith becomes a sociopolitical predicament.   How do I arrange my life in fidelity to a God and his community to reflect who he is and that I believe in him?  Hauerwas, of course, suggests that to do this is to embrace the oddity of being a Christian.

The Sermon on the Mount is a call for the church to be faithful to who God is and to believe that he is with his people in a way that means something.  The Christian life should be noticeably odd if a person’s values are prioritized around the those Jesus marked in the beatitudes: “blessed are the poor, those who hunger, those who weep, those who are persecuted”.  Certainly, the command to “love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” and to “turn the other cheek” is a sociopolitical challenge.  Jesus says that the world loves those who love them, and the world worries about what they will eat, drink and wear; but this is not true of those who seek the kingdom first.  To seek the kingdom first requires odd living in the eyes of a society that believes each person has the right to make the most of his life.

I Pledge Allegiance?

Hauerwas' theology makes for an uncomfortable read.

Stanley Hauerwas’ classic work, “Resident Aliens,” explores the implications of the church as polis. That is, those who are called out by God are to embody a social alternative that the world cannot on its own terms know. What does it mean for the Christian to be a stranger, to live in community with other believers as an alien colony amidst society?

Is society fundamentally opposed to the church? In particular, is the American axiom, “Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” antithetical to the Cross of Jesus Christ? Democracy is rooted in the belief of unalienable rights. Our society exists to serve the individual’s needs, wants and desires. Our supreme value is freedom: each person as the individual right to choose and to pursue whatever is wanted as long as she does not impede upon that same right in another. Consider the prophetic assessment of Hauerwas:

“The primary entity of democracy is the individual, the individual for whom society exists mainly to assist assertions of individuality. Society is formed to supply our needs, no matter the content of those needs…It has thus become our unquestioned assumption that every person has the “right” to develop his or her own potential to the greatest extent, limited only by the parallel rights of others.”

The primary entity of the Church is Jesus Christ, for whom the Church exists to mirror the very nature of God as revealed through Jesus Christ. The church was formed in and through an all encompassing act of self-donation: the cross.  And on the cross, Jesus forfeited his agenda, his rights, his health, his future, and even his own blood.  If we are a to be a witness, a carrier of our Savior’s costly cross, maybe Jesus’ exhortation to “deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Mark 8:34-38) is more than a privatized “spiritual” allegiance.  Perhaps this pledge constitutes a person’s whole life in such a way that he or she becomes very peculiar in society that values “freedom” above all else.

After all, the followers of Jesus relinquish EVERY personal right, and he calls them “blessed” (Matt. 5:3-10).

What consonance is there, then, between the life of the Christian and the rhythms of a society that presumes to be human is to have unalienable rights?