Does "Progressive" mean "Not Really"?

"'Listen!' said the White Spirit. 'Once you were a child. Once you knew what inquiry was for. There was a time when you asked questions because you wanted answers, and were glad when you had found them. Become that child again: even now... You have gone far wrong. Thirst was made for water; inquiry for truth."
C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

The other day I saw the name "ProgressiveChristianity.com" pop up on facebook. I was intrigued, so I checked it out. Unfortunately, I was only able to make it through about half of the "About" section before I was forced to close the window by a growing sense of the poetic "conscious impotence of rage at human folly." (T.S. Eliot ftw! He must have had a vision of the internet.) Among the more rage-inducing elements was its status as a haven for those who "find more grace in the search for meaning than in absolute certainty, in the questions rather than in the answers," as well as those who are "repelled by claims that Christianity is the 'only way.'" They also "affirm the variety and depth of human experience and the richness of each person's search for meaning," as well as a "respect for all religious traditions."

Yesterday, this made me a little angry (Had I stayed on the site, I imagine my anger would have increased exponentially for each subsequent minute). But now, looking at it today, I just have to laugh. There's just sooo much wrong with this, starting with the fact that they claim the title of "Christianity," despite the fact that they reject "the beliefs and dogmas [associated with] Christianity." One has to ask: Can you, in good conscience, really call it "Christianity" when it's stripped of its specifically Christian doctrines? And much of it really is laughable: For instance, the site assumes the existence of God (so that's one point in their favor, I guess). If God exists, that means he is solid. Real. And if He is solid and real, than that means that certain ideas can accurately be applied to Him (and if you correct me and say "She" or "it" or "He-She", then you are only playing right into my hand). If certain ideas can be applied accurately to God, then other ideas can be applied inaccurately to God. If God is Real, in any sense commonly understood by "Real," then not all ideas about God can be equally valid, because many ideas about God are contradictory.

The absolutely hilarious thing is that "progressive Christianity" explicitly condemns the "rigid, 'explain-all' dogma that overliteralizes and distorts the grand mysteries it seeks to illuminate" that is found in traditional Christianity. So they advocate respect for all religious traditions... except traditional Christianity? Because that doesn't sound very respectful: It sounds downright disrespectful, to me. It seems as though they're saying that traditional Christianity is in some way worse than progressive Christianity... but that can't be right, because they say right there that they're "opposed to any exclusive dogma." But everything on the page seems to say that their own dogma excludes traditional Christianity. Even if I worked at it all day, I couldn't make this any more ridiculous than they make themselves.

But that's really simple stuff. Today, I want to focus on something a bit trickier to look at: The elevation of "searching" above "finding."

I really need to talk some more about this, because this talk of "searching" being more important than "finding" is one of those truly ridiculous claims that can sound really nice when it's said in the correct tone... but if it's ever really thought about, it's revealed to be absolutely indefensible. Let's take this from the top.

There either is meaning to be found, or there is not. Those are the only two choices. There is no middle ground.  

If there is meaning to be found, then that means meaning is a solid thing. That means meaning, presumably, can be found. But it also means that meaning can be missed, can be left undiscovered, can be sailed right past in the dim light of human experience and reason.

So I have a question: Is there any other solid, real thing where searching for it can be said to be more important than finding it?

Let's take the fountain of youth. A lot of explorers looked for it: A few spent their whole lives looking for it. And I'm sure you could craft a cool story out of the search. I'll bet they had a lot of adventures looking for it. But you know how that story ended? They all died because they never found the fountain of youth. The search, ultimately, was worthless, meaningless, because they failed to find what they were looking for.

Or let's take diamonds, or coal, or friendship, or a spouse, or literally anything else that you have to look for. Is the search itself ever more meaningful than finding it? The very suggestion is ridiculous. Searching for something important (and in this case, meaning assumes ultimate importance) and not finding it is not fulfilling: It is hopeless. It is failure. It is meaningless.

But aren't there several instances of people searching for one thing and never finding it, but being fulfilled anyway because they found something else? Yes indeed... but that simply means that they were searching for the wrong thing to begin with. They found what was meaningful, and (and this is the important bit) had they not found it, they would have remained unfulfilled.

There is yet one more refuge for the professional seeker: That seeking, itself, is meaningful. But guess what? If you come to the conclusion that "seeking meaning" is exactly what is meaningful in life, then the search for meaning is over. You have found the answer: You have discovered that meaning is found in looking for it. Congratulations! Or... not, because you've only replaced one fixed meaning (which you claim to hate) with another, equally fixed meaning. If meaning is found in seeking, then once you begin seeking, you have found it. This is just as fixed, just as dogmatic, as anything about Christianity that you claim to be repelled by.

And you cannot escape from this sense of fixity, because if meaning is--if there is such a thing as ultimate meaning (which, in this case, is God and how he interacts with us)--then meaning must be a fixed thing. The Progressive Christian looks down on those who (he thinks) try to find this meaning in "fixed, over-literal dogma": The Progressive Christian tries to find meaning in the ongoing action of searching, and in doing so, he thinks he has escaped fixity. He is wrong. His meaning is just as fixed as anyone else's: Just as gold is always gold, whether it is found panning in a river or digging in a mine.

Now: If there is NOT meaning to be found, then nothing is meaningful: This includes the search. If there is no meaning, then the search for meaning is meaningless. If there is no meaning to be found, then the search for meaning is a horrible, futile, never-ending, hope-destroying thing, like Sisyphus rolling his boulder up the hill forever.

So what are you, Progressive Christianity? Are you a wildly inconsistent, all-inclusive-except-for-stuff-we-disagree-with feel-good pseudo religion ... or merely the starting point of an inherently hopeless search for something which doesn't exist? You seem utterly intent on being both at once.


I don't want to be unfair, I don't want to misrepresent anything, and I don't want to replace debate with pointless mocking. I don't feel as though I have done anything of the sort here: But if you do, then please, feel free to comment.

God does not do meaningless things

“What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing of which it is said, ‘See, this is new?’ It has been already in the ages before us... I have seen everything that is done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind. What is crooked cannot be made straight, and what is lacking cannot be counted.” Ecclesiastes 1:9-10, 14-15

The world of the author of Ecclesiastes is old and stale. Nothing has any meaning or creates any lasting difference—the author questions, then, whether it is worth it to do anything at all. If the wise die in the same way as the foolish, if the rich suffer the same fate as the poor, if the good man fares the same as the evil man, why even make an effort? Even his last words carry the same sense of melancholy and hopelessness. “The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for that is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil.” Fear God and obey him, because it is your duty: it will not help you in life, it may not help you in death, you will still die the same as an evil man… but it is your duty nonetheless.

And that was the end of the matter. There was nothing more to said, nothing more to be heard, because even the words of the wise were vain and meaningless.

And then something happened that had never happened before. A new star appeared in the heavens and a company of angels sang to the shepherds of Bethlehem, because God had been wrapped in swaddling clothes and was lying in a manger. This was, without a doubt, the most important thing that had happened since creation. And what this meant was… everything.

God was a child. He had friends, he played games with them, he skinned his knees, he was hungry and thirsty and tired. And then God grew up and was a man. He was sarcastic and biting towards some people and utterly kind and gentle towards others. He was enraged at the misuse of the temple and driven to tears by the death of a friend. He had friends and ate and drank and slept under the stars when he could have had an angelic canopy.

And as we think about these things we must remember one simple truth: God does not do meaningless things.

And this does not just apply to his “kingdom work.” The ultimate proof of this is his very first miracle in John 2. This miracle was not planned: this is evident from his response to Mary: “What does this have to do with me? My hour has not yet come.” But he does it anyway: he has the jars filled with water and by the time the first cup reached the master of the feast, it is no longer water but the finest wine that had yet been served.

God does not do meaningless things. There were any number of ways to make his disciples believe in him, if that was his main goal. He could have made the water disappear: he could have turned it into grape juice (as some Christians fervently wish he had). But instead he chose to turn it not only into wine, but into the finest wine, wine so good that it made all the other wine pale in comparison. We are forced to realize this amazing truth: that God did something not just to further his mission, not just to make his disciples believe in him, but to help people celebrate a wedding with wine, the ultimate of extravagant beverages.

God does not do meaningless things. And that means that the world of Ecclesiastes is gone forever. 

Everything is no longer vanity and meaningless: instead, everything assumes a colossal importance. Even “neutral” things like eating or sleeping become full of meaning when we consider that God has done these things as well. When we eat, even a snack, we are reminded that God has done the same. When we sleep, we are reminded that God did too. When we attend a wedding, we remember that in doing so we walk in the footsteps of Christ. Life is full of meaning: I might even say full to bursting. Serving God is no longer a mere duty, but a privilege, an honor, a gift, as we walk this new world and think of Christ taking his first steps in Bethlehem.

A man of light and flesh

I saw a broken world hanging in the broken cosmos, like a broken ornament on a broken tree. It had cracked, and all the meaning had leaked out of it, and it had grown old. There was nothing new under the sun, and the sun gave forth dead light. The world was full of dead bones, a skeleton people. All was vanity and chasing after the wind, and even if one caught the wind he would find that he had not caught it at all: it had escaped his grasp and mocked him as he tried in vain to breathe under the dead sun.

Then the Lord saw that the people were dead for lack of meaning. He saw that they stumbled around in the dark, clicking and clacking in their never-ending chase of the wind. And he said “Who will go for us, and who will make these dead bones live?”

And many spoke, and many were sent, but it was no good: None could be found who were not skeletons. There was no one living to be found among the whole world.

And then, when silence had fallen in heaven, the Lord answered out of the whirlwind and said, “Here I am: send me.”

And the veil, which had been over the earth for so long that it had been forgotten, was torn, and the Lord opened the floodgates of heaven, and the people dwelling in darkness saw a living light. And the angels sang and the heavens danced in honor of the God who did what no god had done before. The light came into the darkness and became flesh, and the darkness understood neither the light nor the flesh, for nothing like this had ever happened before.

The light was a child, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger, and the manger and the whole world sagged under his weight. The baby breathed, and there was a freshness in the dead air. Then the babe laughed, and it seemed to those listening that no one had ever laughed before.

The child grew up, and a man of light and flesh walked the dead earth, leaving meaning in his wake. Some were afraid of him, and others followed him, and both did so because they realized that there had never been a man like this before. And those following him began to change: their bones ceased to rattle, and gradually they, too, had flesh. And they realized that they could breathe, and that their new lungs would hold the air. They ate and were filled, they drank and their thirst was quenched, the sun warmed their skin and the green grass tickled their feet. And they ceased to chase the wind and began to live, as no one had done since Adam walked the garden.

Something New

I was driving today, listening to my Christmas music, and I realized I hadn't listened to Barlow Girl's rendition of "Carol of the Bells" lately. I strongly urge you to listen to it here, because it's awesome. Are you listening to it now? Good. Let's begin.

The Christmas Spirit... Every year there are new movies and television specials that attempt to capture it. It is usually thought to have something to do with children or family or giving for the sake of giving--it's generally  shown to be something along the lines of "children are precious," or "family is more important than presents." All of these movies are wrong. These are not "Christmas" things: they're just things. It is true that children are precious, and it is true that family is more important than gifts--but these things have always been true and they always will be true. Christmas, however, is about new things.

Christmas renews old things, and makes them more than they were before. That children are precious is an old thing, and that family is more important than gifts was already known. That first Christmas was something new, something that had never been seen before: finally there was something new under the sun, and the newness radiated out from that cave in Bethlehem and changed the world. It was in the old world that the sun set on Mary and Joseph knocking on locked doors, hoping against hope that a place could be found for them. And it was in the new world that the sun rose to the sound of a crying baby boy lying in a manger--and I think that when Mary heard those cries, she must have thought that she had never heard anything like it.

Every time a baby had been born before that point, it was an occasion of great joy--but always, always, there was the knowledge that the child was born into a world of pain and death and sin, that the child would die, must die. There was the sense that even this celebration of life and birth was vanity and a chasing after the wind. Children were precious... but they would be lost, eventually.

And then a special child was born, a child who would save his people from their sins--and everything was different. It was a birth not only of a child, but of the new world--a new world in which life did not have to be a mere progression towards death. It was a world where life could be a progression towards an even greater life. It was a world where God Himself had become a child, and as a result all children were infinitely more precious and could never be called meaningless again.

Because of Christmas, children can be even more precious to us, and family even more dear to us... but to say that those things are the point of Christmas is to miss it entirely. The meaning of Christmas is not subjective. It in no way depends on the one celebrating it. It is a reminder and celebration of that fixed point in time and space when Something New appeared under the sun, when something was done which had never been done before--it is a reminder of when everything was changed forever.

Christmas, people: accept no substitutes.