I’ve been writing here since late 2004. Back then, I was unmarried, not enrolled in seminary, and I had JUST changed party affiliation on my voter registration.
I wrote pretty sporadically back then – only a few posts each month. Everything was so ambiguous to me at that time that I felt I was stumbling through the dark. Or whistling (except that I can’t whistle). I still remember laying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if my questions would end in apostasy or atheism. I cried about that, scared to lose the thing that was so precious to me – faith – but also just as scared to lose the semblance of comfort and belonging I still felt so strongly in the Evangelical world. There was a part of me fighting to ignore the doubts and questions and disillusion, if only to retain that comfort.
Eventually, I lost that comfort, but I never lost my faith.
It wasn’t until 2008 that I got really serious about blogging here. I had a painful experience with a would-be mentor that woke me up to cold reality, but up till then I thought getting a book deal was going to be relatively easy. Naive, to be sure, but until then momentum had been going in my favor. That “momentum” ended almost as quickly as it had begun, and I was left with a bad taste in my mouth. I was bored and tired of my manuscript, but I didn’t want to give up on writing…
For the last couple of weeks, EmergingChristian.com has maintained an average daily visitor count that I’m quite excited about – it’s taken several years, but I have loved the conversations and friendships I have found along the way.
A lot of people tell me, “I read your blog, but I never have anything to add to the conversation, so I don’t comment.” That’s fine, but I always encourage them (and YOU) that conversations are what this blog is about. Conversations are what started my own spiritual evolution (or devolution, depending on your vantage) and there’s a layer of richness and depth that’s added here when YOU speak up.
Either way, the fact that you visit here – that you read my sometimes nonsensical rants – means a lot to me, and your participation in these conversations deeply affects my own faith journey. Thank you.
This is a review long overdue. I’ve been reading Becky Garrison’s Jesus Died For THIS? for the last two months. Homework, and a strange and short-lived reversion back to my teenage science fiction reading habits (David Brin, for starters), kept me from really seeing it through. It’s a fabulous read, though, so here goes:
There are few voices in the Christian literary world as distinct as Becky Garrison’s. That’s probably because the sub-genre of Christian-satire is decidedly small (too few of us have a very good sense of humor about ourselves) and because few Christian writers speak with Garrison’s clear honesty.
But there’s more to Garrison’s writing than biting satire and quick wit. What makes her so unique is her ability to remain somehow respectful, even pious, in the midst of sharp criticism and genuine cynicism.
Jesus Died For This? begins with Garrison’s visit to the Holy Land: an adventure rife with both the ridiculous and the sacred. “No trip to Christ’s crib would be complete without a visit to Nazareth Village, a community theatre-styled production depicting life as it ‘might have been’ when Jesus walked on this earth… I refrained from any Lamb of God lampoons, camel cracks, or sheep ‘n’ goat gaffes at the risk of offending our hosts, but this was getting way too Disneyfied for my tastes.” (18) Nearing her journey’s end, she reflects on a direct and intimate allusion to the Gospels: “During my last day in Israel, while the sun rose over Jerusalem, a rooster crowed in the background. At that moment, I had a flashback to Peter’s rooster revelation (Luke 22:34). The presence of God’s saving grace throughout history hit me in a visceral way, as though some theological two-by-four had whopped me upside the head.” (35)
In the next chapter Garrison leads us along the silly and sometimes-seedy underbelly of Christian writers’ conferences – riddled with kitsch, self-promotion and sweet, sweet capitalism (ever the good friend, she quotes me in this chapter with a shoutout to this blog – thanks for the ego stroke, Becky!!).
Throughout the book, Garrison consistently surprises with her ability to critique both extremes of the theological spectrum. Publisher’s Weeklywrites: “The author’s irreverent style is charming, but she does not use humor as a crutch; she clearly comprehends the Christian tradition and calls both progressive and conservative believers to task for misrepresenting the faith. The gospel, she contends, should not be twisted to fit personal agendas.”
It may be Garrison’s observations about emerging church folks that resonated most to me, and hit closest to home. She repeatedly points out the sad inequity of emerging/Emergent circles – inequities I’ve often complained about (and repented of) here in this blog: where are the women? Where are the minorities? At an emerging conference in the Bronx, Garrison laments:
…the “emergent” video shown consisted mostly of white males “talking” about “doing” church… I’m tired. Sick and tired of people preaching about ushering in this new kingdom of God, when their programs attract mostly well-educated males with only a smattering of minorities. Once in a blue moon, one can find a gathering that’s more female friendly. These women’s gatherings tend to remind me of my debutante and Junior League days, where the women get to be displayed on center stage. But do the math, and it’s pretty clear that in this game, women are just the players – the men still own the chessboard. (138)
I don’t talk about “doing church” much anymore because I’m not interested in programmatic kitsch. But still: ouch. Becky, you cut right to the core! I’m not afraid to have my own complicity and participation in “principalities and powers” called out, however. I need to be reminded. I need to be rebuked and pushed to be better – to share power and platform.
I hope you’ll make space on your reading list for Jesus Died For THIS?. Becky Garrison’s is a voice we need in the vulgar clamor of American Christianity today. It’s medicine, but it’s not bitter – it’s a lot of fun along the way!
After my recent contribution to the latest e-issue of The Porpoise Diving Life (an article called “Family Questions: Will Evangelicals Still Love Me?”) Cheryl Ensom Dack, the current editor of PDL, asked me to do an online web interview about the article. Cheryl, again, thanks so much for the great conversation!
I mention some thoughts on hell in this video, and it’s timely, because I had a recent reader e-mail me about my thoughts on hell. In a few days, I’ll share that exchange with you.
I’m a lifelong Oregonian, and there’s a cool dude in Central Oregon named Bill Dahl, who has been running www.ThePorpoiseDivingLife.com since I-don’t-know-when. His site has been on my radar since I first started scanning www.EmergentVillage.com back in the early-to-mid-2000s, so it’s at least that old. I’d guess Bill has been causing online mischief for longer than that.
Several months ago Cheryl Ensom approached me, asking me to contribute to the latest e-issue of The Porpoise Diving Life. I was thrilled, since Bill had given her my name. Anyway, it’s been a pleasure getting to know Cheryl, the current editor of Porpoise Diving.
My article there is called “Family Questions: Will Evangelicals Still Love Me?”It’s all about the problem of being a liberal, and still wanting to be spiritually connected to the Evangelical community that raised me.
An excerpt:
For decades, Evangelicals were my family. I grew up with them. They helped form me into the person I am today. They taught me about kindness, hospitality, and the joy of the Lord! I found Jesus Christ with Evangelicals, through Evangelicals, and among Evangelicals. They were my siblings, friends, my social circle and my creative outlet. They took care of me when I was lonely in college, comforted me when I was crushed and brokenhearted, prayed for me when I was sick, and rejoiced with me when I married my wife.
Somehow, after all those years of fidelity and love, like a civil divorce based on mutual agreement, we politely parted ways citing “irreconcilable differences.”
I’m not sure I have ever weighed in on Paul Young’s The Shack here. The reason is because I don’t like it, but most of the folks who hate it do so because it’s “too liberal.” Mark Driscoll leads that charge, and I never want to be aligned with that dude.
I don’t dislike The Shack because it’s liberal. Before I share the reasons for my distaste, I want to offer a disclaimer. In the last few days, as I have dialogued with several friends on Facebook about The Shack, an old college friend (whom I hadn’t spoken with in years) offered some personal testimony on why The Shack was so helpful and meaningful in her life. I was convicted for my overzealousness to proclaim something as “bad” or “poor” because my thoughts are little more than personal taste (except for a conviction on racial caricatures), and as a writer I probably have a chip on my shoulder: I haven’t got a book deal yet; Paul Young has; maybe I’d like to whine about that. Without getting too derailed here, I’ll simply acknowledge that for all my ranting – for example – about contemporary Christian radio, there are millions of people who have been comforted and revitalized by lyrics like this: “How can you be so full of mercy? You race to meet me, and bring me back to life…” Or, “Like a rose, trampled on the ground, you took the fall and thought of me above all…” There’s nothing wrong with that, and my biggest beef there is with the monetization of Christian music, and the conversion of it into a form of entertainment, rather than worship or art. Same with books I suppose. But I’m getting off on a tangent…
I dislike The Shack because (a) it’s too tame, not too liberal. It’s conservative Evangelical theology in provocative clothing. The most (best) theological assertions the book makes are affirming the Trinity and exploring the femininity of God. Neither of those is bad (both are great, actually, I’d just like it to go further…) but in my reading, each carried with it a little too much self-awareness for the cleverness of the metaphor. If that makes sense (like, when I think I’ve written something particularly witty here, I usually bold it and change the text color – but you knew I was a struggling narcissist, right?) And (b) I dislike The Shack because I think it’s mediocre writing that often feels too cheesy for me to take seriously.
I felt patronized and offended reading his black mother-God:
“No, Mackenzie,” chuckled the black woman. ”We is all that you get, and believe me, we’re more than enough.” (p. 85)
“We is all you get”? Maybe Young took a cue on blackspeak from George Lucas’ atrocious Jar Jar Binks alien slave caricature.
There’s a reason even Disney stopped distributing Song of the South.
Young’s description of Jesus as a “big-nosed Jew” is hardly eloquent, either:
“I guess I expected you to be more,” be careful here, Mack, “uh… well, humanly striking.”
Jesus chuckled. ”Humanly striking? You mean hand-some.” Now he was laughing.
… “It’s my nose isn’t it?”
Mack didn’t know what to say.
Jesus laughed. ”I am Jewish you know. My grandfather on my mother’s side had a big nose; in fact, most of the men on my mom’s side had big noses.” (p. 111)
Not, in my opinion, a home run for the perception of Christians as culturally enlightened. It amazes me that this kind of prose makes it to the New York Times bestseller list: “over 2 million copies sold.” But there are reasons for this:
My friend Jim Henderson (Off The Map) who is generally more gracious than I, recognizes that this book has provided hope and healing for a lot of folks damaged by rigid – particularly masculine - views of God. At its best, Young’s God is gracious, kind and approachable. But the same can be said for the God of most fundamentalists (at their best)… Mark Driscoll hates this book particularly because he can’t stand God being described as a woman. His God is an asshole warrior. Just like his Jesus. I’d include some youtube clips of Driscoll talking about it, but I’d rather not fan his flame.
In any case, good can be gleaned from The Shack, and a lot of people find it a breath of fresh air for its reminders of who God can be to us, and how we can begin to heal from the wounds life and religion both throw at us.
My college friend on Facebook wrote to me [edited for length]:
Don’t you believe that the trinity would depict what Mack himself would see, not what everybody would see? I guess that was just my interpretation – that we each would view or see the trinity differently based on what our spirits feel/see.
…I, a very white girl learned a great deal about ignorance and racism through teaching in a very underprivileged area in Houston, TX. It was quite the experience. So, I hear what you’re saying [about race]. I just think that sometimes Christians need to relax a bit and allow others to experience books for what they are, knowing that most are intelligent enough to figure out that it isn’t the Bible…
…I’m a bit on the outskirts of knowing what the typical christian views as controversial and have no idea as I don’t attend church any longer and have no desire to. The book for me got me through a tough part in life while I saw my family being torn apart from several terrible life circumstances… The Shack was truly instrumental in my family as we faced some serious tragedy. I think when a believer feels abandoned by God it’s important to understand that the Bible might not be the first place they turn, so if a popular book like The Shack helps to remind them of their faith that’s okay…Wouldn’t we all love to get a letter from God reminding us of how deep his love is for us as a unique being? As we’re in the midst of a terrible tragedy that has no end in terms of grief to have a moment where you feel God, no matter how physically or spiritually real, but to just feel him, that would be an amazing blessing… I just know that this book allowed my family to sit and chat about how it helped to remind us that we know God loves us even in the middle of having our amazing family members tortured with cancer…I think that is why others whom have had other major tragedies in their lives have endorsed it also. Grief calls for amazing stories sometimes to help them through and this book is one of those stories.
Eloquent and powerful, Sarah. Thank you for sharing, for your openness, and for the reminder that we all have very different needs. I’m thankful this book was useful to you and to many others.
SO! If you happen to be in Seattle on September 10th, it’s worth your time to attend this event. Henderson is one of the most gifted interviewers/moderators I’ve ever seen, a genuinely good guy, and I’m certain he’ll facilitate some fabulous dialogue. He’d like Mark Driscoll to attend too, though I wouldn’t wish that on my enemies.
I haven’t been diagnosed, but my wife has commented, and now on vacation, with no real responsibilities except feeding the cats, I myself wonder.
I love reading, and I love writing. I have always done both. But as a pre-teen homeschool kid, I could sit for six hours at a time, devouring book after book. I would often spend as much time sitting in front of my 386SX computer, attempting to recreate fantasy worlds like those of J.R.R. Tolkien or Terry Brooks.
As a 30-something adult, spending a solid hour reading for pleasure is a personal victory. As I do so, my mind races through all of the other books I could be or should be reading. The list builds, I jump from book to book, and eventually the television too often wins out.
With my writing, I spend more time on this blog than I do on my manuscripts. Here, I can usually finish a thought, and that sort of satisfaction of completing something is too rare.
I download individual songs on iTunes, rather than whole albums, not because of cost but because of time investment: I rarely devote myself to the experience of a full album.
In a world of Twitter microblogging and Facebook status updates, are we losing our capacity to focus?
I’m afraid I am, at the very cost of my own spirituality. I spend far less time in prayer and meditation than I once did. Investment in silence seems more burdensome than ever.
Anyone else feeling this? My mother bought us a gift certificate for a hotel on the coast, dedicated to book-lovers. No TV, radio or computers allowed. Sounds really nice, if only I can find the time to get over there…
I’ve been thinking about a series of conversations I had some time ago. It was with a middle-aged Christian woman, a friend who became interested in my writing. She was an aspiring writer, herself. Knowing her background, I brushed off requests to read my stuff. I eventually even tried to deter her, not interested in upsetting her with the sorts of things I was thinking about. I knew it wasn’t a “fit.”
After a time, she convinced me to share a few samples. She assured me she was trustworthy. I gave her a few older pieces that were less theologically liberal/heretical than what I’m writing now, but focused more on removing cultural boundaries and engaging in deeper relationships with non-Christians.
I didn’t hear from her for several weeks. Finally, she e-mailed me: “You’re a very good writer, but I can’t understand why you even call yourself a Christian.”
Wow.
One of the pieces had been about visiting a gay bar with some friends, and thinking about how badly the church had treated the folks who were there. I called it a “fallout shelter” from an intolerant religious culture. The other piece was about going to an after-party, following a stage show I saw in Portland. My best friend was an actor in the production, and afterward we went out and mingled at a bar with the rest of the cast and crew. As usual, my conversations with strangers tended toward the spiritual, and I had some really great (and some painful) conversations with people who felt really betrayed by their church experiences.
Nowhere in either vignette did I question Christian orthodoxy (as I often do now), or profess outright liberalism (as I am guilty of today). I was simply painting a picture of what the world really looks like, and I was doing it in a way that attempted to portray an ethos of nonjudgmentalism, and a lack of fear.
Apparently “Christians” can’t do that.
Last Sunday I attended an Episcopal Church service. In the circles I was raised in, Episcopalians aren’t even considered “Christian.” The 3rd largest Christian sect in the world (Anglicans rank 3rd behind Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox) somehow doesn’t manage to rank “Christian” in the eyes of many conservative Evangelicals. Frankly, the same circles wouldn’t affirm Roman Catholics as Christian either. Lutherans follow shortly after. It’s a dangerous cycle that ends with individual, local, sectarian microcosms digging theological trenches and machine-gunning everyone on the other side.
So what does “Christian” even mean? And do I even care?
It’s one thing to meet established authors after reading their books. Very exciting (the cult of celebrity is powerful, no matter how we/I disparage it)! It’s been equally exciting, in a very different way, to watch as friends begin to establish themselves and make headway in the very difficult world of published writing!
I’ve had the pleasure, over the last couple of years, to get acquainted with Rachel Held Evans, a blogger at rachelheldevans.com/blog. I think, when we met online, Rachel already had a book deal with Zondervan, but her experience reminds me of what a long process it can be, even after the “deal” is done.
Have I mentioned that anything with the words “Monkey Town” in the title has already won me over? I really dig monkeys. Bravo on the title, Rachel! And nice work on getting your first book out there!
I’m an M.Div student at George Fox Seminary, and a contributing writer in Spencer Burke’s Out of theOOZE (NavPress), Leonard Sweet’s Church of the Perfect Storm (Abingdon Press) and Christian Piatt’s Banned Questions About Jesus (Chalice Press).
I’m a liberal, an egalitarian, a deconstructionist, an Outlaw Preacher, and a loudmouth. I want to be your friend...
I wrote pretty sporadically back then – only a few posts each month. Everything was so ambiguous to me at that time that I felt I was stumbling through the dark. Or whistling (except that I can’t whistle). I still remember laying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if my questions would end in apostasy or atheism. I cried about that, scared to lose the thing that was so precious to me – faith – but also just as scared to lose the semblance of comfort and belonging I still felt so strongly in the Evangelical world. There was a part of me fighting to ignore the doubts and questions and disillusion, if only to retain that comfort.
It wasn’t until 2008 that I got really serious about blogging here. I had a painful experience with a would-be mentor that woke me up to cold reality, but up till then I thought getting a book deal was going to be relatively easy. Naive, to be sure, but until then momentum had been going in my favor. That “momentum” ended almost as quickly as it had begun, and I was left with a bad taste in my mouth. I was bored and tired of my manuscript, but I didn’t want to give up on writing… 
, So we have some history of being on each other’s radar, in addition to our geographic proximity.
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