Internet Sophism

I first heard about Garry Wills’ new book, What Jesus Meant, from a review in Newsweek. I wasn’t familiar with Garry Wills either at this point, but the review’s introductory paragraph drew me in. According to the review, here was a new book that gave a radical re-interpretation of Jesus of Nazareth as an extreme radical who opposed the two greatest institutions of his time – Wills pits Jesus against the State, and Jesus against the Church.

Wills’ book describes Jesus, a religious cleric by training, denying the religious cleanliness (holiness) codes one after another all through the gospels – coming into contact with the sick and dead bodies, breaking the Sabbath, sharing meals (the deepest sign of friendly communion in the first century) with prostitutes and thieves – while refusing to dine with his “fellow” clerics, encouraging drunkenness (turning water into hundreds of gallons of wine at a wedding reception and continually dining at rowdy tables), refusing to perform ceremonial washings, etc.

As I was reading this book, I kept thinking of the review I read a couple of weeks earlier, and was eagerly looking for the juicy bits – those that rang of political correctness, one-sided agenda driven witch-hunts, or maybe even heresy.

Wills’ successfully sparks a reaction from all his readers: he spends time discussing homosexuality (of which he has a generous view), the rich and powerful (of which he is not generous), and politically motivated, while also providing apologetic for a miracle performing, mystical Christ – thus offending both conservative and liberal interpretations at the same time.

What I found was a gospel that was already vaguely familiar to me, but somehow lost in my early religious training. This was a Jesus who hung out, was friends with, aided, the dregs of society – those society had forgot or hated. He refused to deal with politicians or religious leaders on their terms – they must come down from their seats of power in order to join Him (the Pharisees must come in and dine at the sinner’s table, the rich man must sell all his possessions, etc.). I learned these stories in Sunday School, but somehow it seems we had become the very religious elite that Jesus opposed. The stories and the teachings were right there in front of us, and we made elaborate excuses and intricate theologies to explain our benign neglect of the meaning of Jesus’ life.

As I read, I started to ask a very serious question. It is often said, “The Gospel offends”(usually to defend a poor door-to-door style evangelism). I thought about that for a while and then asked: “Who does the Gospel offend?” The answer I was raised with is, “Sinners, of course.” But then, what do we mean by “sinners”? The answer from many American Christians: “Those who are living sinful, adulterous, thieving, homosexual, smoking, drinking, cursing, leprous, unclean lives.”

This saddens me on so many levels. The good news is, many Christians do not ascribe to this Pharisaical attitude. Books like this are being written, as they always have – though we may not hear about them as often as they are not endorsed by the religious “machine” nor do they give people the self-gratifying effects desired after reading a religious book. By degrees, I have met people who have served as great mentors of mercy and compassion as I grew out of my grade-school fundamentalist upbringing. But there are still many religious people to confront and many more unclean with which to dine – of which, I hope I am one.

In his book, A Generous Orthodoxy, Brian McLaren attempts to take a kind of positive pluralist approach to the different orthodoxies within the Catholic (meaning here universal) Christian Church. McLaren analyzes several orthodoxies from Roman Catholic to evangelical to green to Lutheran to Anabaptist, and looks for the good within all of these traditions. This book introduced me to several Christian traditions that I was not acquainted with (or only nominally acquainted), and also challenged some of my assumptions concerning traditions more familiar to me.

The underlying assumption of this book is that there is beauty to be found in all of these traditions, and by focusing on the few negative aspects we miss out on a greater experience and understanding of God. McLaren embraces an epistemelogical relativism, meaning that our understanding of the world is created and limited by our unique experiences. By actively and positively listening to other traditions, we gain a fuller and more profound experience of God. While still holding firmly to the belief that Christ’s life and redemptive work through his death and resurrection is the only path to God, he questions whether one has to be a part of the culture of Christendom in order to be a follower of Christ. Could individuals within other religious communities such as Islam, Buddhism, or Hinduism also be Christ-followers? McClaren is optimistic about this. I am reminded of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s incisive question, “What is religionless Christianity?”

McLaren provides a wonderful example of living out a positive pluralism. Our culture today is in a state of unrest in both politics and religion. The two political parties in our country are more violently divided today than ever. Churches have firmly planted themselves in the warring camps of fundamentalism, evangelicalism, or ecumenicism. All the while, people are talking over each other with megaphones and picket signs, and no one is listening.

If we were able to view the world optimistically (glass half-full) and honestly believe that within the confines of our limited humanity we are each trying to do good, perhaps we would see that, at the core, we are all on the same side.