Bush Visit to Calvin College Exposes Divisions
Commencement address invigorates debates about the Reformed relationship to American politics and evangelicalism.
by Collin Hansen posted 05/20/2005 09:30 a.m.
Professor David Hoekema couldn't believe his ears when news spread in April that President George W. Bush would deliver the commencement address at Calvin College. He's thankful for the national attention focused on the 4,300-student Christian liberal-arts college in Grand Rapids, Michigan. But that doesn't mean he's happy with the visit.
"While the media have sometimes portrayed evangelicalism as unanimous in support of a particular political agenda, that's not the case [at Calvin]," said Hoekema, a professor of philosophy. "With the Iraq war in particular, the [Bush] administration really didn't even try to make the case based on traditional criteria of justified warfare. The longstanding commitment of the Reformed tradition has been that war is to be used as a last resort when some very steep moral hurdles have been cleared."
Hoekema and about 100 other Calvin professors plan to publicize their protest of Bush administration policies with a letter to The Grand Rapids Press on the date of his visit, Saturday, May 21. Roughly one-third of the college's full-time faculty endorsed the letter. In addition to the Iraq war, the signatories fault Bush for burdening the poor, fostering intolerance, and harming creation. Another protest letter, signed by more than 800 students, alumni, faculty, and friends of the school, ran in Friday's Press. That note calls on Bush to "repudiate the false claims of supporters who say that those who oppose your policies are the enemies of religion." Many letter signers plan to wear "God Is Not a Republican or a Democrat" pins during the commencement ceremony.
The political leanings of Calvin's faculty trend much closer to America as a whole than most of academia does. In a 2001 student-commissioned survey of Calvin faculty, 24 percent described themselves as politically liberal, while 28 percent said they were conservative, and another 48 percent identified as political moderates or none of the above. In straw polls during the 2004 election, more than two-thirds of Calvin students supported President Bush.
According to Calvin provost Joel Carpenter, White House political adviser Karl Rove approached former Calvin physics professor U.S. Rep. Vernon Ehlers, R-Mich., with the idea of Bush giving the commencement address. Bush is only expected to give one other commencement address: to the Naval Academy on May 27. And despite his 2004 election strategy to maximize Christian conservative support, the President seldom visits such conspicuous Christian venues.
Though Calvin rarely draws commencement speakers from outside the close-knit college community—past addresses have been given by faculty, pastors, and parents—Carpenter said the opportunity for national exposure was tough to pass up.
"We know there are risks, too," Carpenter said. "When the White House comes calling, you're thrust into the national public eye. But we thought, What kind of a witness would it be to our students to say, 'No thanks. We can't handle your being here.'"
Carpenter said the earliest concern about Bush's visit regarded disrupting the religious and communal nature of Calvin's commencement. But he said the White House has allayed such concerns by asking detailed questions about the college and seeking input for the speech. "Our format this year will be just the same as last year," Carpenter explained. "It will be a religious service, and the White House has been very respectful of the character of the event."
Bush's visit has added new fuel to the already raging debates at Calvin over the relationship of Reformed Christianity to contemporary American politics and even evangelicalism. Carpenter said the Christian Reformed Church, Calvin's denomination, has remained loyal to the politics of Abraham Kuyper, who served as Dutch prime minister from 1901 to 1905. Kuyper created the first Christian Democratic party, which shares much in common with Roman Catholic political teaching in its commitment to peacemaking and alleviating poverty.
Calvin College remains devoted to doctrinal orthodoxy, and most faculty oppose abortion and gay marriage. But significant historical and theological factors at Calvin cut against the grain of popular evangelicalism. In particular, the high-church tradition of the Christian Reformed Church looks skeptically on revivalism and independent congregationalism. "This community, in regard to evangelicals," Carpenter said, "has always been 'Yes, but … '"
At this point, no one can be certain what long-term impact Bush's visit will have on Calvin. Much will depend on what the President chooses to say. To be sure, the debates will continue.
"The first three or four weeks [after announcing Bush's visit], alumni with more liberal political views vowed to never give another dollar or encourage their children to come [to Calvin]," Carpenter said. "Now that some of our faculty have been voicing dissent with Bush's views, alumni with more conservative political views are vowing the same thing. I tell you, it feels like a crossfire. I think it goes to show, sadly, how deeply divided our country is on matters of religion and politics."
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Here's an interesting take on Yoga from an evangelical:
Yes to Yoga
Can a Christian breathe air that has been offered to idols?
by Agnieszka Tennant posted 05/19/2005 09:30 a.m.
In-out-in-out-in-out.
In-out.
In. Out.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inn … Outt …
Innn …
It's 7:45 p.m. on a weekday and for the first time today, I consciously slow down my breathing. I send the air deep down into my belly, letting it rise and fall like a wave. Inn … Outt …
Along with a group of 30 people in a darkened exercise studio at a Lifetime Fitness gym near Chicago, I use the unhurried cadences of the air filling and leaving my lungs to lull my muscles and joints into daring postures. My body becomes a mountain. An eagle. A warrior. A pigeon. A downward dog. A cobra. Finally—my favorite pose that comes at the end of each workout—a corpse, during which I lay down and relax every muscle.
Oh, and I'm an evangelical—mostly, a proud one. Proud of Christ, of Mary Magdalene, of G.K. Chesterton, of the way the Bible cuts through all cultures and all times and all hearts, and of smart evangelicals like historian Mark Noll at Wheaton College who have pried open the collective evangelical mind.
Sometimes though, I admit, I'm a tad embarrassed to be a member of the diverse evangelical family. Like yesterday, when I heard on NPR that the National Association of Evangelicals had led a charge at the Supreme Court opposing out-of-state wine shipments. May the finest wine maker have mercy on us!
Also yesterday, shame rushed through my face as I read on The Huffington Post, the hot, new, militantly liberal website, a reference to an article on yoga published by Christianity Today's sister publication Today's Christian Woman. In it, Max Blumenthal rightly pokes fun at the admiring article's main voice, which belongs to Laurette Willis, who believes yoga is pretty much of the devil. "Yoga's breathing techniques (pranayama) may seem stress-relieving, yet they can be an open door to psychic influences," Willis says.
Willis, who used to be a yoga instructor, believes that the practice opened her mind to New Age spirituality and led to her depression and alcoholism. After she was born again, she's remade herself into a PraiseMoves instructor (and skilled marketer). She wouldn't say this, but let's face it: she's still a yoga instructor—thus acknowledging yoga's healthful benefits—but now offers biblical explanations and biblical-sounding names for the poses.
Now, Willis and other Christians may have good reasons to feel uneasy about yoga. With her background in New Age, which was clearly an oppressive force in her life, I could be weary of what yoga reminds me of, too.
But it bothers me that people like Willis demonize a healthful exercise regimen, and engage in fear mongering (or is it fear marketing?) among evangelicals. The stereotype of evangelicals they reinforce I'd rather live without. We can leave the spreading of wrong-headed stereotypes about evangelicals to the more experienced bashers—some columnists at The New York Times, for example.
To dispel the stereotype at hand, let me witness that yoga has never had any negative influence on me, and it doesn't trigger any harmful religious impulses. Just the opposite is true. The three hours a week I spend doing yoga not only make me more flexible, tone my muscles, and relax me. They also draw me closer to Christ. They are my bodily-kinetic prayer.
Need I say that it was Alpha and Omega who first thought of and then created the common graces of oxygen, stretching, flexibility, breathing, and soothing music?
My natural response to any deep-breathing exercises is an emotionally felt love of God. Soon after I take off my socks and do a couple of poses, spontaneous prayers soar to Christ. Give me five minutes of yoga, and my mind immediately goes to the metaphor of God's spirit being as omnipresent and as necessary as the air.
In the same way that measured breathing is essential to yoga, the Spirit—which in both biblical Greek and Hebrew also means breath—is indispensable to my soul. Breathe in. Breathe out. Holy Spirit in. Anything that's not from God out. Come Holy Spirit. Renew my mind. In. Out. Thank. You. As I twist my body into places it hadn't been before, I can't help but pray this. Why fix what ain't broke?
Now, my enthusiasm for yoga doesn't mean I'm in denial about its Hindu roots. The magazine Hinduism Today editorialized that "the knowing separation of hatha yoga from Hinduism is deceptive." I know that hard-core yogis believe that yoga is more than exercise or a relaxation technique. To them, it's a religious ritual.
But the Hindu gods don't make it onto my mat. Yoga purists don't lead classes at mainstream American gyms. Could it be that some of them learned yoga from the purists? Yes. But no one's making me repeat any mantras. The closest any of my gym's several yoga teachers get to religious utterances is by bowing and saying "Namaste" at the end each class, which can be translated as "The soul in me honors the soul in you" or "The image of God in me honors the image of God in you." I like it! It just reminds me that, as C. S. Lewis put it, there are no mere mortals.
But let's suppose an improbable scenario: that one of these religious yoga proselytizers sneaked into my gym with the intent of spreading Hinduism. Say she'd put on a beautiful, rhythmic melody with an Oriental boy choir chanting words of worship that address an idol. Could she seduce my soul, over time, away from Christ?
I don't think so. I don't, for one, because worship is a conscious act of the mind. If it's busy overflowing with gratitude to Christ for the way he made my body, I simply don't have the mental space to give up to an idol. Second, can a non-existent idol snatch me away from Father God who has adopted me as his child? No chance.
In other words, yoga is like the meat that had been offered to idols. Can I put it on my sandwich? That, more or less, was the question on the minds of some of Christians in Corinth. "We know that an idol is nothing at all in the world and that there is no God but one," Paul wrote to them. "For even if there are so-called gods, whether in heaven or on earth … yet for us there is but one God." Food "does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do," he said.
But some people, he acknowledged, are "so accustomed to idols that when they eat such food they think of it as having been sacrificed to an idol, and since their conscience is weak, it is defiled." Willis, by her own admission, falls in this category when it comes to yoga.
As for me, put that meat on my sandwich! Yummy! Thank you, Jesus!
Christ in.
Stress out.
Holy Spirit in.
Fear out.
God the Father in.
Carbon dioxide out.
Yes to Yoga
Can a Christian breathe air that has been offered to idols?
by Agnieszka Tennant posted 05/19/2005 09:30 a.m.
In-out-in-out-in-out.
In-out.
In. Out.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inn … Outt …
Innn …
It's 7:45 p.m. on a weekday and for the first time today, I consciously slow down my breathing. I send the air deep down into my belly, letting it rise and fall like a wave. Inn … Outt …
Along with a group of 30 people in a darkened exercise studio at a Lifetime Fitness gym near Chicago, I use the unhurried cadences of the air filling and leaving my lungs to lull my muscles and joints into daring postures. My body becomes a mountain. An eagle. A warrior. A pigeon. A downward dog. A cobra. Finally—my favorite pose that comes at the end of each workout—a corpse, during which I lay down and relax every muscle.
Oh, and I'm an evangelical—mostly, a proud one. Proud of Christ, of Mary Magdalene, of G.K. Chesterton, of the way the Bible cuts through all cultures and all times and all hearts, and of smart evangelicals like historian Mark Noll at Wheaton College who have pried open the collective evangelical mind.
Sometimes though, I admit, I'm a tad embarrassed to be a member of the diverse evangelical family. Like yesterday, when I heard on NPR that the National Association of Evangelicals had led a charge at the Supreme Court opposing out-of-state wine shipments. May the finest wine maker have mercy on us!
Also yesterday, shame rushed through my face as I read on The Huffington Post, the hot, new, militantly liberal website, a reference to an article on yoga published by Christianity Today's sister publication Today's Christian Woman. In it, Max Blumenthal rightly pokes fun at the admiring article's main voice, which belongs to Laurette Willis, who believes yoga is pretty much of the devil. "Yoga's breathing techniques (pranayama) may seem stress-relieving, yet they can be an open door to psychic influences," Willis says.
Willis, who used to be a yoga instructor, believes that the practice opened her mind to New Age spirituality and led to her depression and alcoholism. After she was born again, she's remade herself into a PraiseMoves instructor (and skilled marketer). She wouldn't say this, but let's face it: she's still a yoga instructor—thus acknowledging yoga's healthful benefits—but now offers biblical explanations and biblical-sounding names for the poses.
Now, Willis and other Christians may have good reasons to feel uneasy about yoga. With her background in New Age, which was clearly an oppressive force in her life, I could be weary of what yoga reminds me of, too.
But it bothers me that people like Willis demonize a healthful exercise regimen, and engage in fear mongering (or is it fear marketing?) among evangelicals. The stereotype of evangelicals they reinforce I'd rather live without. We can leave the spreading of wrong-headed stereotypes about evangelicals to the more experienced bashers—some columnists at The New York Times, for example.
To dispel the stereotype at hand, let me witness that yoga has never had any negative influence on me, and it doesn't trigger any harmful religious impulses. Just the opposite is true. The three hours a week I spend doing yoga not only make me more flexible, tone my muscles, and relax me. They also draw me closer to Christ. They are my bodily-kinetic prayer.
Need I say that it was Alpha and Omega who first thought of and then created the common graces of oxygen, stretching, flexibility, breathing, and soothing music?
My natural response to any deep-breathing exercises is an emotionally felt love of God. Soon after I take off my socks and do a couple of poses, spontaneous prayers soar to Christ. Give me five minutes of yoga, and my mind immediately goes to the metaphor of God's spirit being as omnipresent and as necessary as the air.
In the same way that measured breathing is essential to yoga, the Spirit—which in both biblical Greek and Hebrew also means breath—is indispensable to my soul. Breathe in. Breathe out. Holy Spirit in. Anything that's not from God out. Come Holy Spirit. Renew my mind. In. Out. Thank. You. As I twist my body into places it hadn't been before, I can't help but pray this. Why fix what ain't broke?
Now, my enthusiasm for yoga doesn't mean I'm in denial about its Hindu roots. The magazine Hinduism Today editorialized that "the knowing separation of hatha yoga from Hinduism is deceptive." I know that hard-core yogis believe that yoga is more than exercise or a relaxation technique. To them, it's a religious ritual.
But the Hindu gods don't make it onto my mat. Yoga purists don't lead classes at mainstream American gyms. Could it be that some of them learned yoga from the purists? Yes. But no one's making me repeat any mantras. The closest any of my gym's several yoga teachers get to religious utterances is by bowing and saying "Namaste" at the end each class, which can be translated as "The soul in me honors the soul in you" or "The image of God in me honors the image of God in you." I like it! It just reminds me that, as C. S. Lewis put it, there are no mere mortals.
But let's suppose an improbable scenario: that one of these religious yoga proselytizers sneaked into my gym with the intent of spreading Hinduism. Say she'd put on a beautiful, rhythmic melody with an Oriental boy choir chanting words of worship that address an idol. Could she seduce my soul, over time, away from Christ?
I don't think so. I don't, for one, because worship is a conscious act of the mind. If it's busy overflowing with gratitude to Christ for the way he made my body, I simply don't have the mental space to give up to an idol. Second, can a non-existent idol snatch me away from Father God who has adopted me as his child? No chance.
In other words, yoga is like the meat that had been offered to idols. Can I put it on my sandwich? That, more or less, was the question on the minds of some of Christians in Corinth. "We know that an idol is nothing at all in the world and that there is no God but one," Paul wrote to them. "For even if there are so-called gods, whether in heaven or on earth … yet for us there is but one God." Food "does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do," he said.
But some people, he acknowledged, are "so accustomed to idols that when they eat such food they think of it as having been sacrificed to an idol, and since their conscience is weak, it is defiled." Willis, by her own admission, falls in this category when it comes to yoga.
As for me, put that meat on my sandwich! Yummy! Thank you, Jesus!
Christ in.
Stress out.
Holy Spirit in.
Fear out.
God the Father in.
Carbon dioxide out.
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Baptist Pastor Accused of Expelling Kerry Voters Quits
Nearly three dozen parishioners join Chan Chandler in exiting East Waynesville Baptist ChurchAfter national media attention over a confrontation with church members who supported Democrat John Kerry for President, East Waynesville (N.C.) Baptist Church pastor Chan Chandler resigned yesterday.
"For me to remain now would only cause more hurt for me and my family," he said at a special business meeting last night. "I am resigning with gratitude in my heart for all of you, particularly those of you who love me and my family."
"Remaining church members said they sat in silence for a long time after Chandler and 35 of his loyal followers left the sanctuary—a silence broken when one of the members stepped forward and began to play hymns on the piano," reports the Raleigh News & Observer. The paper says he will continue his M.Div. studies at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary.
Chandler didn't speak to the media, but his lawyer explained, "He feels like in light of everything that has taken place, instead of continuing to fight with the various factions, he feels it's in the best interest of everyone concerned that he resign."
Actually, Chandler did speak to one media outlet. Baptist Press scored a coup with its exclusive interview yesterday, before the pastor's resignation. But even Baptist Press had a hard time figuring out what really happened at the church:
As Baptist Press tried to clarify whether the nine people were in fact voted out of the church, Chandler said they initially left voluntarily. Since some of those who willingly forfeited their memberships were trustees of the church, other members thought it prudent to make their actions official.
Chandler said the church had undergone several months of disharmony, some of which he speculates was the result of his preaching about Christians' responsibility to be reflective of the Bible in the way that they vote. And more hesitatingly, he also speculated that, since the church had baptized almost 30 people and was growing under his leadership, then those who had been in church leadership positions for years may have felt threatened. …
[At a May 3 church meeting, Chandler told] those who were unhappy with him as pastor that if they could garner a simple majority against him, he'd leave, despite the bylaws provision that such a vote to terminate the pastor requires a two-thirds vote margin.
Chandler also said that if those who were dissatisfied with him couldn't garner a simple majority, then they should leave.
But did Chandler actually say that those who didn't vote for Bush should be expelled?
"I don't know how these folks voted," Chandler told Baptist Press. "And I never endorsed any candidate." But he does admit that he talked about the "unbiblical values" of John Kerry, particularly in regard to abortion and homosexuality. "I also mentioned two Republicans' names" as examples of those whose positions are unbiblical, Chandler said.
"But those were negative endorsements," he explained. There was "never a positive endorsement" of a candidate from the pulpit, he said. The closest he came was to encourage writing in a new name when none of the candidates on the ballot promoted biblical positions.
That may or may not be good advice, but it still violates the tax code and puts the church in danger of losing its tax-exempt status. The Internal Revenue Manual explains:
IRC 501(c)(3) precludes exemption for an organization that participates in or intervenes in (including the publishing or distributing of statements) any political campaign on behalf of or in opposition to any candidate for public office. This is an absolute prohibition, with no requirement that the activity be substantial. (Emphasis added.)
So by actually campaigning against Kerry from the pulpit, Chandler put his church's funds in danger. Apparently he didn't know he was doing so, but there you have it.
As it turns out, though, the debate is more about the new demographics of the congregation than it is about IRS standing.
"The storm that hit the church … divided it along generational lines," The News & Observer's Yonat Shimron explains. "Many of the older members are traditionally Democrats, though some have voted Republican in recent elections. Many of the newest and youngest members have always been Republicans. In this, the church reflected Southern voting habits that have dramatically embraced the Republican Party in recent decades."
Chandler, by the way, is 33. Those reportedly "kicked out" of the church are about twice his age, and they're not crazy about these kids today, what with their conservative ideas and such.
"A lot of these young people had not been in the church more than a year," Maxine Osborne, 70, told The News & Observer. Chandler and his wife, she said, "brought in a lot of young people, but they also brainwashed them."
Misty Turner (or Tucker, depending on the news source) seems to be one of the young 'uns.
"The only thing I want to say is that everything that's been in the press is a lie," she said. "I have never bowed down to Chan. I've only bowed down to the Lord." She's leaving. "I'm not going to serve where there are so many ungodly people."
Thirty-four others joined her in walking out of the church yesterday after Chandler's resignation.
A sad epilogueSo what lesson can be drawn from Chandlergate? Bill Leonard, dean of the divinity school at Wake Forest University, says the moral of the story is don't believe everything you read. Weblog agrees in part: Reading the papers this week, especially the op-ed pages (and editorial cartoons like this), it's clear that there was more than one political agenda at work. Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary vice president Waylan Owens rightly noted that most press reports exclusively quoted those allegedly voted out and their supporters. Where are "the members of the church who actually did the voting?" he asked.
But Wake Forest's Leonard isn't talking about being skeptical toward the press. For him, the danger is in believing Scripture.
"When you believe in an inerrant Bible, then the next step is to have an inerrant interpreter and then an inerrant morality," he said. And that's a bad thing.
Not even Chandler has made this case a litmus test for biblical authority. Does Leonard really want to go there?
Nearly three dozen parishioners join Chan Chandler in exiting East Waynesville Baptist ChurchAfter national media attention over a confrontation with church members who supported Democrat John Kerry for President, East Waynesville (N.C.) Baptist Church pastor Chan Chandler resigned yesterday.
"For me to remain now would only cause more hurt for me and my family," he said at a special business meeting last night. "I am resigning with gratitude in my heart for all of you, particularly those of you who love me and my family."
"Remaining church members said they sat in silence for a long time after Chandler and 35 of his loyal followers left the sanctuary—a silence broken when one of the members stepped forward and began to play hymns on the piano," reports the Raleigh News & Observer. The paper says he will continue his M.Div. studies at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary.
Chandler didn't speak to the media, but his lawyer explained, "He feels like in light of everything that has taken place, instead of continuing to fight with the various factions, he feels it's in the best interest of everyone concerned that he resign."
Actually, Chandler did speak to one media outlet. Baptist Press scored a coup with its exclusive interview yesterday, before the pastor's resignation. But even Baptist Press had a hard time figuring out what really happened at the church:
As Baptist Press tried to clarify whether the nine people were in fact voted out of the church, Chandler said they initially left voluntarily. Since some of those who willingly forfeited their memberships were trustees of the church, other members thought it prudent to make their actions official.
Chandler said the church had undergone several months of disharmony, some of which he speculates was the result of his preaching about Christians' responsibility to be reflective of the Bible in the way that they vote. And more hesitatingly, he also speculated that, since the church had baptized almost 30 people and was growing under his leadership, then those who had been in church leadership positions for years may have felt threatened. …
[At a May 3 church meeting, Chandler told] those who were unhappy with him as pastor that if they could garner a simple majority against him, he'd leave, despite the bylaws provision that such a vote to terminate the pastor requires a two-thirds vote margin.
Chandler also said that if those who were dissatisfied with him couldn't garner a simple majority, then they should leave.
But did Chandler actually say that those who didn't vote for Bush should be expelled?
"I don't know how these folks voted," Chandler told Baptist Press. "And I never endorsed any candidate." But he does admit that he talked about the "unbiblical values" of John Kerry, particularly in regard to abortion and homosexuality. "I also mentioned two Republicans' names" as examples of those whose positions are unbiblical, Chandler said.
"But those were negative endorsements," he explained. There was "never a positive endorsement" of a candidate from the pulpit, he said. The closest he came was to encourage writing in a new name when none of the candidates on the ballot promoted biblical positions.
That may or may not be good advice, but it still violates the tax code and puts the church in danger of losing its tax-exempt status. The Internal Revenue Manual explains:
IRC 501(c)(3) precludes exemption for an organization that participates in or intervenes in (including the publishing or distributing of statements) any political campaign on behalf of or in opposition to any candidate for public office. This is an absolute prohibition, with no requirement that the activity be substantial. (Emphasis added.)
So by actually campaigning against Kerry from the pulpit, Chandler put his church's funds in danger. Apparently he didn't know he was doing so, but there you have it.
As it turns out, though, the debate is more about the new demographics of the congregation than it is about IRS standing.
"The storm that hit the church … divided it along generational lines," The News & Observer's Yonat Shimron explains. "Many of the older members are traditionally Democrats, though some have voted Republican in recent elections. Many of the newest and youngest members have always been Republicans. In this, the church reflected Southern voting habits that have dramatically embraced the Republican Party in recent decades."
Chandler, by the way, is 33. Those reportedly "kicked out" of the church are about twice his age, and they're not crazy about these kids today, what with their conservative ideas and such.
"A lot of these young people had not been in the church more than a year," Maxine Osborne, 70, told The News & Observer. Chandler and his wife, she said, "brought in a lot of young people, but they also brainwashed them."
Misty Turner (or Tucker, depending on the news source) seems to be one of the young 'uns.
"The only thing I want to say is that everything that's been in the press is a lie," she said. "I have never bowed down to Chan. I've only bowed down to the Lord." She's leaving. "I'm not going to serve where there are so many ungodly people."
Thirty-four others joined her in walking out of the church yesterday after Chandler's resignation.
A sad epilogueSo what lesson can be drawn from Chandlergate? Bill Leonard, dean of the divinity school at Wake Forest University, says the moral of the story is don't believe everything you read. Weblog agrees in part: Reading the papers this week, especially the op-ed pages (and editorial cartoons like this), it's clear that there was more than one political agenda at work. Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary vice president Waylan Owens rightly noted that most press reports exclusively quoted those allegedly voted out and their supporters. Where are "the members of the church who actually did the voting?" he asked.
But Wake Forest's Leonard isn't talking about being skeptical toward the press. For him, the danger is in believing Scripture.
"When you believe in an inerrant Bible, then the next step is to have an inerrant interpreter and then an inerrant morality," he said. And that's a bad thing.
Not even Chandler has made this case a litmus test for biblical authority. Does Leonard really want to go there?
Sunday, May 08, 2005
A few nights ago, I caught the end of a primetime special where Tim Lahaye and Jerry Jenkins, authors of the Left Behind series, were being interviewed. Tim Lahaye, in particular, represents the more literal view of Scripture. He believes in taking the book of Revelation very literal. Opposed to Tim Lahaye is the author of the new book The Last Disciple, Hank Hanegraaff. Hanegraaff is a partial preterist who takes the view that most Biblical prophecies were fulfilled in the first century. These two men represent two very visible sides of the debate in evangelical circles. Because of the media’s love for anything that makes evangelicals look bad, the debate has been widely publicized.
Lahaye’s views, however, go far beyond viewing the book of Revelation as literal. The deeper question focuses on how one views the Bible as a literary work. Lahaye chooses to ignore the big picture and instead focuses on a very literal interpretation of events. Unfortunately, men like Lahaye are generally intolerant of anyone within evangelical circles that may disagree with him. Of course, one cannot say too much about Hanegraaff either who has been brought into the debate and lowered himself to Lahaye’s level.
This debate is far bigger than simply eschatology. This debate reaches into the very nature of each school of thought. Although Lahaye may be characterized as an evangelical, he most closely resembles a fundamentalist. The word “fundamentalist” in and of itself is not a bad word. It represents the school of thought that countered Protestant Liberalism that occurred in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. However, the word has evolved and has come to represent a militant group of believers, usually dispensational Baptists that insist on a greater separation between “the world” and the Christian. They also tend to be very dogmatic on many issues evangelicals would not consider essential. Evangelicals, on the other hand, believe mostly what fundamentalists believe, but they do not place such an emphasis on separation and even will engage the culture on many levels. Orthodox evangelicals will not go so far as so-called neo-evangelicals in their engagement with culture, but they will not withdraw themselves so far into a Christian subculture that they become irrelevant. The biggest difference, however, between evangelicalism and fundamentalism is attitude. As the old joke goes, and fundamentalist is an evangelical who is really mad about something.
There is, however, a new breed of evangelicals that characterize a growing number of Christians. This group of Christians would consider themselves evangelicals, but on the conservative side of the group. They would believe all of the fundamentals of the fundamentalists and may even be dogmatic on certain issues that most evangelicals would consider non-essential, but they would not be as big on the issue of separation, except when it is obvious that the Christian should be separate. These Christians may or may not be dispensationalists; they may or may not be Baptists. This group of people would believe that evangelicalism has gone too far in its acceptance of questionable theology such as any theology influenced by postmodernism. In my experience and research I am unable to find a name for such a people, but I have come to believe in recent months that I am one of these people.
Although I respect Tim Lahaye, my eyebrow is raised at the whole idea of the Left Behind series. It has nothing to do with my being a dispensationalist or not. It has everything to do with Lahaye’s arrogance and insistence that he is right and everyone else is wrong. Now before you go and say that I have been influenced by postmodernism, step back a second. I believe that there is a right and wrong and I believe that Lahaye is either right or wrong. But fervent belief is no excuse for being rude and virtually killing any dialogue by misrepresenting your opponent’s views. I do not like Lahaye’s dogmatism. But I do respect it. After all, I have become rather dogmatic on some issues that most evangelicals would say are not essentials for unity. I disagree with Lahaye, but I do respect him. He has the guts to stand up and say that these series of books represent his beliefs.
I do believe that evangelicals, in their quest to be relevant, have started to become just the opposite. By not insisting on some beliefs, they have allowed other beliefs, like the influence of postmodernism and open theism, to come into the evangelical fold, beliefs that should not be there. The term “evangelical” has been watered down by the media and by evangelicals themselves. As an evangelical, I feel like I am part fundamentalist. I am getting mad.
Unlike the big difference between evangelicals and fundamentalists, I no longer see this new breed of Christians as simply being separated by anger. These new breed of Christians seem to be gathering the troops. Rather than be on the defensive, they are preparing for the offensive. They are armed with the Great Commission and are committed to showing that the gospel has never lost its relevancy and does not need reinterpreting or improvement.
I’m not sure where this army is, but I somehow feel I have joined it.
Lahaye’s views, however, go far beyond viewing the book of Revelation as literal. The deeper question focuses on how one views the Bible as a literary work. Lahaye chooses to ignore the big picture and instead focuses on a very literal interpretation of events. Unfortunately, men like Lahaye are generally intolerant of anyone within evangelical circles that may disagree with him. Of course, one cannot say too much about Hanegraaff either who has been brought into the debate and lowered himself to Lahaye’s level.
This debate is far bigger than simply eschatology. This debate reaches into the very nature of each school of thought. Although Lahaye may be characterized as an evangelical, he most closely resembles a fundamentalist. The word “fundamentalist” in and of itself is not a bad word. It represents the school of thought that countered Protestant Liberalism that occurred in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. However, the word has evolved and has come to represent a militant group of believers, usually dispensational Baptists that insist on a greater separation between “the world” and the Christian. They also tend to be very dogmatic on many issues evangelicals would not consider essential. Evangelicals, on the other hand, believe mostly what fundamentalists believe, but they do not place such an emphasis on separation and even will engage the culture on many levels. Orthodox evangelicals will not go so far as so-called neo-evangelicals in their engagement with culture, but they will not withdraw themselves so far into a Christian subculture that they become irrelevant. The biggest difference, however, between evangelicalism and fundamentalism is attitude. As the old joke goes, and fundamentalist is an evangelical who is really mad about something.
There is, however, a new breed of evangelicals that characterize a growing number of Christians. This group of Christians would consider themselves evangelicals, but on the conservative side of the group. They would believe all of the fundamentals of the fundamentalists and may even be dogmatic on certain issues that most evangelicals would consider non-essential, but they would not be as big on the issue of separation, except when it is obvious that the Christian should be separate. These Christians may or may not be dispensationalists; they may or may not be Baptists. This group of people would believe that evangelicalism has gone too far in its acceptance of questionable theology such as any theology influenced by postmodernism. In my experience and research I am unable to find a name for such a people, but I have come to believe in recent months that I am one of these people.
Although I respect Tim Lahaye, my eyebrow is raised at the whole idea of the Left Behind series. It has nothing to do with my being a dispensationalist or not. It has everything to do with Lahaye’s arrogance and insistence that he is right and everyone else is wrong. Now before you go and say that I have been influenced by postmodernism, step back a second. I believe that there is a right and wrong and I believe that Lahaye is either right or wrong. But fervent belief is no excuse for being rude and virtually killing any dialogue by misrepresenting your opponent’s views. I do not like Lahaye’s dogmatism. But I do respect it. After all, I have become rather dogmatic on some issues that most evangelicals would say are not essentials for unity. I disagree with Lahaye, but I do respect him. He has the guts to stand up and say that these series of books represent his beliefs.
I do believe that evangelicals, in their quest to be relevant, have started to become just the opposite. By not insisting on some beliefs, they have allowed other beliefs, like the influence of postmodernism and open theism, to come into the evangelical fold, beliefs that should not be there. The term “evangelical” has been watered down by the media and by evangelicals themselves. As an evangelical, I feel like I am part fundamentalist. I am getting mad.
Unlike the big difference between evangelicals and fundamentalists, I no longer see this new breed of Christians as simply being separated by anger. These new breed of Christians seem to be gathering the troops. Rather than be on the defensive, they are preparing for the offensive. They are armed with the Great Commission and are committed to showing that the gospel has never lost its relevancy and does not need reinterpreting or improvement.
I’m not sure where this army is, but I somehow feel I have joined it.
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