Calvinists are better than their theology

Two people in the last couple days wanted to hear more about this idea, making it tied for the most requested post of all time on this blog. So...this one's for you.

There's been a bit of a brouhaha (which is surprisingly recognized by spellcheck!) over this post in the last couple of days. People who have heard me talk about Calvinism know that I support most of these ideas 100%. But here's the thing:

Most Calvinists are better than their theology.

Now, I have several Calvinist friends, and I know that any Calvinist who reads this is going to want to say that I'm thinking about it all wrong, or that I'm attacking a straw man, or what have you. I don't think that's the case. We're not going to agree, but I don't think it's because I just don't really get Calvinism.

Alright: Here we go.

Most Calvinists are better than their theology. Their actions towards the world (and the individual inhabitants thereof) are often more loving, more charitable, and just plain better than their theology entails.

Calvinists, by necessity, believe that God doesn't love the majority of the people on the planet. There's no getting around that. Not only does he not save them, but according to Calvin, he actively condemns them, "for no other reason than that he wills to exclude them from the inheritance which he predestines for his own children" (Institutes of the Christian Religion, 3.23.1). To love is to actively desire the good of the beloved, and the "inaccurate description of God’s character that Calvinism puts forth" (as Dr. Fred Sanders puts it) doesn't allow for that kind of attitude in God. And yet we find that many Calvinists, through missions work and charity, do in fact love people, many of whom are not merely not elect, but actively and purposefully condemned by God.

Let's get a little more specific, since the generalities can get muddy. Let's say that a good Calvinist has a beloved friend, or parent, or child, who dies an atheist. That good Calvinist, in loving that person and genuinely desiring their good, in praying for them and therefore actively working towards the good of that person, has loved that person more and better than their description of God is able to. Again, there is no way around that. Where God, far from desiring their good, actively condemned them to an eternity in Hell, these Calvinists have loved them, have worked towards their good and striven for their salvation.(And it is worth noting here that according to my Calvinist friends, God’s election/reprobation does not interfere with free will: Therefore, God is perfectly capable of saving these people without overriding their free will, and he chooses not to).  That is, of course, God's right...but it is not loving.

Calvinists are better than their theology. They describe God as someone who has eternally, irrevocably, irresistibly decreed not only the eternal destinies of everyone on earth, but every single action of everyone on earth as well...and yet many attack the mission field with the gusto of someone who might accomplish something meaningful. Many of them go through their day-to-day lives believing that a chance may come their way to bring glory to God, and believing (implicitly if not explicitly) that it is within their power to succeed or fail at that chance.

They're better than their theology. Many of them have a love for the lost that, according to their doctrine, just isn't shared by God. When someone falls away from the Church, they act as though it wasn't just God giving that person a temporary taste of goodness, just to snatch it away and render them even more worthy of damnation (3.2.11). That is why I would be happy to share communion with a Calvinist, and why this podcast missed the point. Because while it would be difficult to call brother someone who acted like their theology would entail, Calvinists are often better than that.

Motives, Mom-Blogs, and Over-Generalizations

Adam4d.com is a pretty great Christian webcomic. He has a gift for capturing foibles and errors--either of the world or the church--in just a few frames of comic. But sometimes, he goes too far--and because of his popularity and his proven track record, people go right along with it. And that's problematic.

In this comic, titled "The Rise of the Special Christian Mom-Blogs," Adam takes on the rise of "Christian Mom-Blogs," blogs that discuss certain aspects of life, from cooking recipes to Christian theology, from the perspective of a mom. And some of them--the "special" ones--have, according to Adam, abandoned orthodoxy and begun the descent into subjectivity. As the comic puts it:

"'Is there really a hell?' they asked. 'Is sin really sinful? What about sins that our contemporary society has decided to accept? Are they really sins anymore? Is the Bible really trustworthy?'"

I hated this comic. I hated it. I originally began this post with a discussion of the parts that I agreed with, but this is too important. 

This comic crossed the line. 

Because he did not confine himself to describing actions. He did not say "This is what they are doing, and this is why it is harmful." No. That was the first quarter of the comic. And then, without so much as a pause, he went straight into "They're doing it because they want the money/book deals/celebrity-status that comes with being heterodox in an age that prizes heterodoxy and heresy."

And that's not alright. That's so far from alright that at first I couldn't believe he'd done it. But he did, and we--we being orthodox Christians--should call him out on it. 

Because in assigning a single (very uncharitable) overarching motive to such a class of people, Adam engages in the same sort of hate-mongering and ridicule that we accuse them of when they paint orthodox Christians as hateful inquisitors.

I disagree strongly with certain aspects of "mom-bloggery". But to accuse them--all of them--of greed is not only counter-productive, but hateful; and not righteous hatred, but the childish, petty hatred that resorts to name-calling instead of argument. Because the truth is, the vast majority of these mom-blogs are likely people who have put thought into this, and who sincerely believe that what they are writing is true.

And that's important. Because if we want to engage with people, if we want to talk with them and not at them, if we want to fulfill our calling to charity and love, then we need to treat people charitably and lovingly--which means not assuming the worst of their motives without evidence. 

I feel like I'm just repeating myself now, because this issue is so mindbogglingly obvious. But if you disagree, I'd love to hear from you in the comments.

Now: here's the bit that originally came first, before I realized that I really needed to call out the bad parts of the comic before-hand. It still holds, but I wanted to make it clear that his comic was not ok, and that it's something we should come down hard on. 

I share Adam's disdain for such an approach to Scripture, and I especially despise how such blogs are often done under the apparently unassailable mantle of "vulnerability." The particular approach of the "mom-blogs," combining disarming charm and rhetoric with a noticeable disdain for "theology" (the domain "where ideas are put above people") and orthodoxy, is often quite appealing to a (growing) segment of evangelical Christians, and that troubles me as well.

I can only imagine that he's targeting blogs such as Beth Woolsey's "5 Kids is a Lot of Kids", who has a lot of good things to say, combined with a few that I believe are ultimately harmful (though they go down sweet). And of course, Rachel Held Evans misses being included merely by the fact of not being a mom (at least, I think so). Both of these bloggers pit "love" against "theology", and, as another celebrity Christian-turned-heterodox said a few years back, "Love wins."

The fact remains, though: They hold to this position because they have thought it through, and not because they are greedy/doing it for the book sales. We owe them that assumption, until it is proven otherwise. And to do away with that assumption is to fail at the charity that we are called to. 

Poetry Transformed: TS Eliot and the clarifying beauty of Christianity

After four years as an English major and Torrey student--after four years of reading some of the best poetry the West has to offer--there is exactly one poet I still read: TS Eliot.

And that comes down to a few key qualities of Eliot's poetry. The haunting beauty, the constant switching between barely comprehensible and maddeningly-yet-enticingly incomprehensible, his constant preoccupation with time, eternity, and the relation between the two...all of that, yes. But the most interesting fact is that TS Eliot began his career as a poet as an atheist, and ended it as a Christian, and the change is not  merely discernible, or hinted at, or "possibly" there...it is as evident as the edge between light and shadow, between a blasted wasteland and a blooming hedge in May-time.

Pre-Christian

His pre-Christian poetry is haunting, and even beautiful at times, in the way that Ecclesiastes is. It is a sad, wistful beauty at best, a longing for things to be different, and a resignation to things as they are. This resignation is, indeed, Eliot's greatest comfort, and that which removes or threatens that resignation even for an instant is cruel. "April is the cruelest month," The Waste Land begins, as Eliot laments the way that April brings life out of the ground...life that cannot hope to sustain itself in the stony wasteland that he wanders.

It is difficult to truly capture the docile confusion of The Waste Land, the gentle and unresisting death of hope, and the resignation against certain doom, by merely quoting lines here and there. To truly get the full experience, you would have to read it in its entirety (which you can do here). Eliot walks a wasteland littered with "stony rubbish...a heap of broken images, where the sun beats." Although it is repeatedly interrupted by vignettes of varying degrees of lucidity, it always returns to the wasteland, as Eliot laments "Here is no water but only rock /  Rock and no water and the sandy road."

And while the ending seems to bring relief, it is only the relief of having nothing left to hope for. He fishes on the shore of a fish-less lake (earlier described as "Oed' und leer das Meer"), having turned his back on the wasteland, as the poem winds to its disjointed and unsatisfying end ("These fragments I have shored against my ruins"). Add in the footnotes that most people believe are completely made up, and you have the complete picture of a meaningless, ultimately futile journey that can only end in acquiescence to the wastes.

And as bad as that is, The Hollow Men is worse. Holy crap, is it worse. "We are the hollow men," it begins. "We are the stuffed men / Leaning together / Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! / Our dried voices when / We whisper together / Are quiet and meaningless."

This is hopelessness. This is futility. This is Ecclesiastes, but with a crucial difference: Solomon knew that there was something more and better, even though it was unknowable. The Hollow Men betrays no such hope: Only a listless questioning of whether it is like this "in death's other kingdom."

This world is dead. And it ends "not with a bang but a whimper," as Eliot tries-and fails--to find comfort in a recitation of The Lord's Prayer, as the end of the world overtakes him. (I should say here that another good friend of mine sees the possibility of a more hopeful death here, which might result in a resurrection: We disagree).

A classmate in Torrey lamented Eliot's "pessimism" and his low view of life and existence, but she was wrong to do so: pre-Christian Eliot is notable precisely for his exacting accuracy when it comes to an atheistic worldview.

That was written in 1925. And in 1927, Eliot entered the Anglican Church of England. And in 1930, he wrote Ash-Wednesday, and everything was different.

Christian

The mechanics of his poetry did not change. The broken sentences, the half-finished thoughts, the mixture of knowledge and incomprehension, that all remains. But there is now an unmistakable sense that his thoughts have something real and actual to strive for, that though the finishing of his thoughts are beyond his ability, they are not beyond existence.

In his conversion, TS Eliot did not go halfway. He went straight from atheism to the ceremony-laden, sacramental "high church" of Anglicanism, rather than the "low churches" that had sprung up in a sort of rebellion against it. And Ash-Wednesday, itself named after one of the Holy Days of the Anglican calendar, shows Eliot wrestling with that sense of collision between earthly and heavenly things that such a sacramental order entails.

Make no mistake, this is not the "Now I'm a Christian and everything's super great!" kind of conversion story. Eliot may not understand his faith entirely. He may not understand how he can leave his past behind. He wrestles with his past, with the meaninglessness of his past life, in imagery that is extremely graphic. He is confused and questioning about his new faith. But it is not the resigned confusion of The Waste Land or the deathly apathy of The Hollow Men. It is, rather, a passionate and active straining towards understanding. Rather than lament his lack of understanding, he actively petitions for this lack to be remedied--and what's more, he holds out genuine hope that it will.

But the contrast is sharpest and most evident in his Four Quartets, which is similar in structure to The Waste Land--but that is where the similarities end. In The Waste Land, the meaning is always much less than you had believed and counted on. The narrator spends the poem searching for water, and once he find it, it is nothing but a desolate sea, a place to fish and wait for the ruin of the world. But in Four Quartets, "the purpose is beyond the end you figured." It is not a dearth of meaning, but an unforeseen abundance and significance, found in prayer, and resulting in redemption ("And prayer is more / Than an order of words, the conscious occupation / Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.")

Here we see the operations of the "wounded surgeon", who with "bleeding hands" and "sharp compassion," is able to heal those who are dying. Here is the wrestling with the sacraments, and the paradox of Good Friday ("The dripping blood our only drink,/The bloody flesh our only food:/In spite of which we like to think/That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood-/Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.")

And always--always--we see the relationship between time and eternity, and the idea that time can be conquered and redeemed, but only from within time, only from an interaction between eternity and time. And of that, we have the Incarnation, where "the impossible union / Of spheres of existence is actual."

You could write a paper on just one of Eliot's poems. I cannot do them justice here. But it is crucial to note that the end of all this is redemption: A redemption that comes not through comfort and ease, but through sacrifice and fire. As Eliot wrestles with his past life and considers how much of it was wasted, or misguided, or "things ill done and done to others harm/Which once you took for exercise of virtue," he sees that there are but two outcomes:

"From wrong to wrong the exasperated spirit
Proceeds, unless restored by that refining fire
Where you must move in measure, like a dancer."

And it is that refining fire which dominates the ending of the Four Quartets. it is a fire that heals and purifies even as it burns, and it is in contrast to the fire that only rends and destroys.

"The dove descending breaks the air
With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one dischage from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre-
To be redeemed from fire by fire.

Who then devised the torment? Love.
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove
The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove.
We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire."

This has been TS Eliot. You might enjoy him as much as I do: You might be unable to stand him. However, you should definitely at least give it a shot.

Simon, Who Is Called Peter (Why you should buy my book)

As most of you know, Wipf and Stock Publishers recently published my book Simon, Who Is Called Peter! This is extremely exciting, and if you haven't seen it yet, you should definitely check it out here.

Still not quite sure? Not ready to click the link yet? That's alright, let me tell you a little about it.

Simon, Who Is Called Peter is a heavily researched, extensively footnoted first-person account of Peter's life, from his first meeting with Jesus (recorded in John 1) to his traditional martyrdom in Rome.

Do you like narrative and a good story? Do you want a personal look into the life of the disciple most talked about in the Gospels? Do you want something that treats Peter as a man, instead of an object lesson? You're going to love this book.

Or are you reading the above paragraph and thinking, "Psh, another book that passes off imagination and speculation as a work of scholarship? No thank you!"? You're still going to love this book.  Every incident is footnoted to the appropriate scripture, and I've cited dozens of commentaries and works of Petrine scholarship in order to minimize the need for speculation, ensuring that the book remains biblically and theologically responsible.

But don't take my word for it. Listen to these people, who are actually paid to be really smart about the Bible!

"Moving between contemporaneous episodes in prison and recollections of Peter's place in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus and the first days of the church, Mulligan gives meaningful shape to Peter's life and offers us a novel take on both Peter and Jesus, yet ever faithful and attentive to the biblical witness. This sounds like Peter and would be an excellent companion to students of the New Testament, both lay and academic."
—Matt Jenson, Associate Professor of Theology, Torrey Honors Institute, Biola University, La Mirada, CA

"Human beings are eternal and one of the greatest of those souls was the Apostle Peter. Peter did not start as he ended: a man willing to be martyred for faith. Mackenzie Mulligan has illuminated the life of this Christian hero and reminded us of his full humanity. Mulligan's classical training and bright mind are obvious as he unlocks his material in a manner that is intellectually stimulating, honest to the source documents, and devotional."
—John Mark N. Reynolds, Provost, Professor of Philosophy, Houston Baptist University, Houston, TX

"Never moving outside Scripture's own footprint and reading as a disciple of Jesus himself, Mulligan offers an imaginative retelling of the 'Peter of the Bible.' Rather than a speculative filling-in-the-blanks, he offers a comprehensive portrait of Peter that is delightfully and skillfully woven together with the fabric of the New Testament. In what Jenson aptly categorizes as a form of lectio divina, Mulligan's narrative is a sustained reflection on the text of Scripture."
—Darian R. Lockett, Associate Professor of Biblical and Theological Studies, Talbot School of Theology, Biola University, La Mirada, CA

"From encountering Jesus with his brother, Andrew, to suffering for Jesus on a Roman cross, the Apostle Peter recounts his life and experiences as a devoted, but sometimes stumbling, follower of the Lord. . . . Mulligan succeeds in putting together an account that is both faithful to the biblical text and engagingly expressed. What a great resource this will be for a class on Peter or for Bible study groups who want to explore Peter's life."
—Clinton E. Arnold, Dean and Professor of New Testament, Talbot School of Theology, Biola University, La Mirada, CA

Right? Riiiiiiggghhhht? Professor of theology? Biblical and theological studies? Provost of Houston Baptist?  Dean of Talbot? Yeah. So come on. Click that link. Or this link, if you want to buy from Amazon. Heck, if you live in Fresno, you could just buy it direct from me. Whichever you choose, let me know in the comments! Oh, and don't forget to review it on Amazon!

Causing someone to stumble?

NOTE: This entire post is written with the assumption of alcohol consumption that is both a) legal (no underage drinking!) and b) responsible/moderated. Drunkenness is out, as is habitual/addictive drinking. Those are obviously prohibited. Alright: read on.

A few months ago, I accidentally discovered something pretty startling: That the whole "Christian Temperance" movement is still alive and kicking, crappy theology and all. If you have a strong stomach for ignorance, grammatically incorrect hostility, and the most horrible logical fallacies around, feel free to search for "Should Christians drink?" on your search engine of choice. Those with comments sections are the most amusing/enraging/saddening (depending on which mood you're in already).

There are lots of arguments against Christian consumption of alcohol, ranging from the awful ("The world does it, so we shouldn't, because SEPARATION!") to the really awful ("We're not supposed to get drunk, so that means we shouldn't drink at all!"), to the absolutely nuts ("Also, the wine in the Bible is non-alcoholic, except for when it isn't, and then it's bad!"). I'm not going to go into those arguments, because rather than requiring dismantling, most of them just fall apart in the face of a stiff breeze.

But there's one that remains, one solid stand-by that never fails: Admit defeat, but claim the protection of the "weaker brother." "And even if it's somehow not a sin, we think it is, so Paul says that you can't do it, or else you'll be causing us to stumble!"

After all other non-arguments have failed, this one stands defiant, proud to claim the title of "weaker brother." So let's talk about that. Let's talk about what it means to cause someone to stumble.

First, the source text: Romans 14:20-23

"Do not, for the sake of food, destroy the work of God. Everything is indeed clean, but it is wrong for anyone to make another stumble by what he eats. It is good not to eat meat or drink wine or do anything that causes your brother to stumble.The faith that you have, keep between yourself and God. Blessed is the one who has no reason to pass judgment on himself for what he approves. But whoever has doubts is condemned if he eats, because the eating is not from faith. For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin."

So: How do you cause someone to stumble? What does it mean to do that?

First, it does not mean "Make someone upset on the internet." If someone you don't know is actually going out of their way to despise you and pass judgement on you, you're not causing them to stumble. (although they are putting themselves firmly in Paul's crosshairs throughout the whole of Romans 14).

Secondly, it does not mean "Do something that someone else thinks is sin." We see this illustrated throughout Paul's missionary life. As an easy example, we see him eating with Gentiles, when such was seen as sin by the Judaizers from Jerusalem. In fact, he actually calls Peter out for catering to their immature doctrine (see Galatians 2:11-14).

Finally, it does not even mean "Proclaiming something to be neutral or good, when others believe it to be evil." Otherwise, Paul couldn't even have written Romans 14 without causing people who disagreed with him to stumble!

Here's what it means: Encouraging someone to partake of something that is either a perceived or actual sin. That's it. That's what it means. If someone firmly believes that drinking alcohol is sinful, and you're in their presence, encouraging them to drink, then you are, in fact, causing someone to stumble. Or if you're with a recovering alcoholic and order a drink, then you are causing someone to stumble.Your freedom is a reminder of their captivity, and an invitation to be captive again.

Don't do that. Don't tempt recovering alcoholics, and don't pressure people to do something they see as a sin.

But if you aren't doing that--if all you're doing is pissing off Pharisees with your moderate and self-controlled drinking--then have fun, and think about Jesus doing the same at the wedding in Cana.

Children as Casualties

Quick summary for those who aren't familiar with all this: In the space of two days, World Vision USA has managed to piss off pretty much every single spectrum of American Christianity. And in that, one group of people in particular is almost certain to suffer: The children helped by World Vision.

It all started when they announced that they would be modifying their hiring policies to allow practicing homosexuals in committed "marriage" relationships to be employees of World Vision. Previously, their hiring guidelines had included celibacy for single employees, and monogamy/faithfulness for married employees, all in an effort to reflect their company-wide Christian identity.

And this decision angered and/or saddened a lot of people. The Gospel Coalition did a couple of posts about it, and Matthew Lee Anderson over at Mere Orthodoxy wrote a slightly different take on it.

And then, seemingly in response to all the flak, World Vision USA reversed course, saying "The board acknowledged they made a mistake and chose to revert to our longstanding conduct policy requiring sexual abstinence for all single employees and faithfulness within the Biblical covenant of marriage between a man and a woman." Obviously, this angered/saddened even more people, with Rachel Held Evans putting together a particularly grieving post.

And those are just the people the who make a living writing about things like this. When you get to the other people, the people who comment on stories like these, it gets ugly. The comments sectionson these posts invariably descend into name-calling and accusations of hatred/wishy-washiness/worldiness/hatred again. (And while this most certainly includes "fundamental" Christians, many of the most vitriolic comments come from the commentators over at RHE, that bastion of tolerance and free thought). As a result of this flip-flop, the divide is deeper than ever.

But in all of this, as traditional Christians pondered whether to withdraw support in the face of the original decision, and as "progressive Christians" ponder whether to withdraw support in the wake of the reversal, one group of people has incredible potential to be hurt: The kids.

I have to be honest: I don't think the question of actively withdrawing support should ever have come up, from anyone even remotely close to "mainstream" Christianity. 


Simply not renewing support when the time comes, and transitioning to another program? Sure.

Continuing to support, but with a letter to WV explaining your grief at their decision? Heck yeah.

But actively withdrawing support, especially en masse and immediately? No. Because no matter who picks up the slack, no matter whether you immediately begin funding another organization, I have to think that your lack of support would make an impact in the life of a child who had nothing to do with the decision. I don't think that ever should have been on the table, and I'm saddened that it wasn't condemned by those who write blogs that people actually read.

Was World Vision's original decision in error? Definitely. Was it a serious error? Yes. is it something that we should just "agree to disagree" on? No. That way lies apathy and death. Sin is sin, and sin is serious...and condoning it is serious as well.

And yet...considering the fact that the Church has already caused such suffering with its (past and, in too many places, current) terrible treatment of this issue...considering the fact that actively withdrawing support would likely directly impact the life of a child who had done nothing wrong...considering that it would be so easy to affect a smooth transition so as to eliminate that negative impact...we should not have said what we said. And we definitely shouldn't have allowed 10,000 people to drop their sponsorships without saying one word against it.

Talitha Cumi

"While he was still speaking, there came from the ruler's house some who said, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?” But overhearing[e] what they said, Jesus said to the ruler of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.”  And he allowed no one to follow him except Peter and James and John the brother of James.  They came to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and Jesus saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. And when he had entered, he said to them, “Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. But he put them all outside and took the child's father and mother and those who were with him and went in where the child was. Taking her by the hand he said to her, “Talitha cumi,” which means, “Little girl, I say to you, arise.” And immediately the girl got up and began walking (for she was twelve years of age), and they were immediately overcome with amazement." Mark 5:35-42 

Talitha cumi. Little girl, arise. We went over the corresponding passage in Luke today in church, and the pastor jumped over to Mark just for these two words. Talitha cumi. Rather than the Greek which Jesus likely often taught in, he changes to Aramaic when speaking to this small Jewish child.

Pastor Scott suggested that these were likely the words which her parents would have used to wake her each morning. I have no idea how true that is, but it seems right. Scott talked about how these were the words that had woken her from sleep since she was born, but how they took on a new meaning and power when spoken by Christ.

And as he spoke, a scene came together in my mind.

Jairus, a devout Jew, a ruler of the synagogue, is off on a mission of last resort, to bring the rising-but controversial rabbi Jesus to his home. His wife stays behind, at the bedside of her dying daughter. And as her daughter slips further and further into the sickness, the mother whispers, "Talitha cumi." Little girl, arise! Wake up! Please, please wake up...

Where is Jairus? Where is the rabbi? The sickness grows worse, and again she whispers, "Talitha cumi." But her girl lies still, un-moving and un-hearing.

She waits, but there is no word of her husband. Perhaps Jairus could not find the rabbi. Perhaps the rabbi refused to come. And then she realizes that her daughter, her only daughter, is no longer breathing, and she begs, choking through the tears, "Talitha cumi!" And her daughter lies there, as though sleeping, but not, and there are no words that will wake her.


The Bible is full of pieces of stories, of which we often only hear one part, one moment in time, when Jesus breaks into the story to make it right. But in order to fully appreciate that moment, I think we often need to step back and look at the rest of the story. This was not an object lesson or a Sunday-morning sermon to Jairus or his wife: This was the moment that their little girl came back from the dead. Something worth remembering, I think.