The Logical Fallacy of the Progressive Theology of the Cross

Is it possible that Jesus death was nothing more than the perfect example of selfless love?

As Easter approaches, and Christians around the world begin to celebrate and commemorate Christ's death and resurrection, I'm reminded that there will always be people apparently within the fold who will nevertheless question the historical understanding of what was accomplished on that weekend long ago. Traditionally Jesus' sacrifice on the cross has been understood through the lens of "penal substitutionary atonement." In simple terms, the traditional view is that our rebellion from God, and everything that separates us from God's perfection (what we call "sin"), required a punishment. So God, in his great mercy, and Jesus, in his great love, came up with a solution: it would be the solution of the substitute. If Jesus, in his perfection, paid the penalty for our sin, then we could be reconciled to God. For us to be reconciled to God (atoned for), we need someone who would stand in (substitute) to pay our penalty (penal).

It is shocking to me that there remains in the Christian church a group of people who would wish to redefine this and reframe it so that it appears to make more sense to our modern sensibilities. Today the group would bill themselves as "progressive" Christians, but it's just another name for what has historically been referred to as "liberal theology". It's an attempt to whittle down Christianity to "good deeds", as if this was Jesus ultimate goal: just to get us to act right. The reason I'm continually shocked by it is because of the glaringly obvious fallacy that it presents, particularly as it relates to the cross of Jesus.

The assertion of an article circulating this week is that Jesus message was ultimately only about love, and so Jesus death on the cross could not have had anything to do with penal substitutionary atonement. In fact, if that is what the cross was about, this author wanted nothing to do with Jesus.

The argument goes something like this (and again, it's just rehashing an old argument): Jesus whole goal in his life and death was to demonstrate that the heart of the law is simply "love". Therefore, when the Bible says that Jesus fulfilled the law, what it means is that demonstrated what it means to live out the heart of the law, which meant standing up to the power structures, living for the oppressed, and ultimately, on the cross, giving up his life for a friend. Jesus death, then, was the ultimate example of selfless love. This is what he requires of Christians. God's not mad, he's just trying to get us to love one another. Jesus showed us that by his death, and so now we should go and live that out and do what he did.

The logical fallacy that is presented by this argument has to do with the very nature of our reconciliation with God, if such a concept exists at all in this theological construct. Even this progressive author agrees that sin has separated us from God; in fact, this is the extent of the definition of sin: whatever separates us from God. So far, so good. But then the question is raised: if we are separated from God, how is it that we go about becoming reconciled to him? The issue with the argument outlined above is that you are left with only one of two options: either everyone is reconciled to God, or no one is ever reconciled to God.

The truth is that no matter how loving we wish to be, the reality is that we will still fall short. Every person, every Christian, no matter how loving they try to be or actually are knows that they don't measure up to the example set by Christ. If it were possible that some other figure, a non-divinity, some purely human character, could have eventually met the standard, then we wouldn't have needed the example of Christ. Even if it were only by pure accident, surely over time one person would have gotten close, and someone else gotten closer, and on and on until eventually we figured out that the "law" really only intended us to get to the heart of the law, which is love. This is the nature of human progression, after all. We see something that works, or looks better than what we already know, and we build upon it to progress forward. Surely the same thing would be true of our ability to meet the law and live in harmony with how God requires.

The very fact of Jesus existence reveals that this is clearly not the case. We won't eventually "figure it out". Even this construct admits that an example was needed, and a perfect one at that. A model that we could follow. Someone who made the ultimate sacrifice, and gave his life for a friend. Now, according to this model, the Christian must replicate that with their own lives. Yet anyone who is honest enough to admit it knows that they are a poor example, at best.

Again, Jesus may have showed us the way to reconciliation, but it is nevertheless on us to ensure that we live out that path if we actually want to attain the reconciliation. If Christ's death on the cross did nothing for me other than provide me with an example, my confidence is not found in what he did but in my own ability to replicate what he did in some meaningful way in my own life. "Salvation" is found in my ability to live out the same type of life, to the same degree, as Jesus did. As was already pointed out, we all fall ridiculously short of that mark. To say otherwise is to be a fool.

So then we are left with only two options. Either God, in his mercy, for no reason other than because he realized that we were eternally screwed otherwise, has decided to save us all and we all are okay at the end of the day. No justification required. Just a blank slate, wiped clean, just because. The alternative is that we are all left striving to attain a perfection which none of us can; we are chasing a dream that will never be realized. In other words, it's back to the original conclusion: either everyone is saved, or no one is saved.

Herein lies the fallacy of this theology and where it breaks down. Aside from the fact that none of this is particularly good news, since all it does is shine a light on my own failures, there is another inherent problem. If everyone is saved, then there is no law at all. Even Jesus perfect life (which, again, matters to me not one whit) was totally and utterly meaningless if God was going to just wipe the slate clean anyway regardless. Everyone being saved sounds great. It sounds like a very loving thing of God to do, but in reality it is a chaotic sort of anti-loving God that would allow that to occur. It's a God without order, a God who doesn't give us any meaningful guide by which we should live because ultimately, obey or not obey, we end up in the same position. But then, if no one is saved, we have the same issue: if I am as loving as I can possibly be, but I will still fall short, then what is the point of even trying? I am imperfect as it is, and there is no hope of my reconciliation, then I may as well enjoy myself in the process.

The only possible responses to this are to say, either, that a) it is actually possible for a human to attain some semblance of perfection, or something that is acceptable to God so that ultimately not everyone is saved but he will save each of us on our own merits, or b) Jesus actually did accomplish something meaningful on my behalf that enables me to live the type of life that he calls me to live, without guilt or shame.

There is no in-between answer to these two things, if we claim to be a Christian. If Christ's life and death accomplished nothing on my behalf, then my reconciliation to God must be found in my own merits, or else, nothing about God's law matters at all. This was precisely the belief of the religious leaders of the day when Jesus arrived on the scene. Each person would be judged on their own merits. It's why the religious folks were self-righteous and the tax-collectors and sinners were outsides. This was the message of the power structure of Rome: as soon as you didn't perform according to their standards, they booted you out and killed you. The reason Jesus message was such good news to those desperate ears–and the reason the power structure hated him–was because they had already been told that their justification was up to them, and they found it to be terribly oppressive; Jesus message was just the opposite. "The only way to be reconciled to my Father is to go through me."

The truth is that no serious theologian denies that Jesus fulfilled the law. He did fulfill the law through his perfect life including and up to his death on the cross. The heart of the law is this: that we would love God (perfectly) and love others (perfectly). The law only serves to demonstrate that we, on our own power, cannot accomplish what we want to accomplish. But God, in his great mercy, sends a substitute. This substitute fulfills the law on our behalf by living a perfect life. This substitute pays the penalty for being a law-breaker on our behalf by dying an absolutely gruesome but perfect death on the cross. As a result, this substitute breaks the grip of death–separation from God and from one another–and rises from the dead on the third day. Salvation is found in no one but him.

Now we find that our justification, our righteousness, our goodness, our perfection, are all applied to us because of Jesus substitution on our behalf. He takes what we deserved and gives us what he earned. The irony of it all is that the decision we face is precisely the one that the progressive theologian has said we shouldn't have to answer at all, and it is this: will you put your confidence in the merits of Christ, or in the merits of yourself? The good news is that we can put our confidence in the merits of Christ. This is the what it means to have faith.

The alternative is to go on trusting in your own merits. And if you are, then I wonder what the standards are by which you are assessing your own goodness. If it is your own standard, then what does Jesus matter to you? There is no need to follow Jesus if you get to set your own standards. But if the standard by which you assess your own merit is Gods–that is, if your standard is the law of God–then how can you go on trusting your own ability? The good news is that you don't have to, because Jesus has already met the standard, and reconciled your failure, on your behalf, so you can be free.

This is the meaning of the cross.

Entering the Fray

We are more informed than ever. We are more confused than ever. Let's call that "the fray".

My wife and I had an interesting conversation a couple of days back where she recounted what a 50-something grandmother told her about being a parent. It was one of those "back in my day" comments, but it offered a lot of insight. It had something to do with the amount of stress modern parents tend to be under while they are raising kids. It was something she hadn't experienced when she raised her own children.

It's not hard to figure out why that's the case. In days gone by, there were only a few sources of input; a few "experts" you would turn to for your parenting: Your mom. Your aunt. Your grandma. Your older sister. If you were an over-achiever you'd read a book or two. And that was it. Today, everybody and their mother thinks they are an expert on parenting, and there is no shortage of ways to be exposed to their opinion. At any given moment you have too many kids and too few, keeping them alive and killing them by the food you feed them, fostering attachment issues or loving them unconditionally, and protecting them or sheltering them. Of course it's not just parenting.

Today I spent an hour reading articles related to the recent bill passed in Indiana related to religious freedom. I expected partisan commentary as it relates to the content of the law, which may not make it any easier to figure out what to think about it, but at least I knew it was coming. What I didn't expect as much, and what was much more frustrating, was the mixed bag of supposed "experts" commenting on what Christians believe about politics and gay marriage in particular. Most of the articles–the mainstream ones, at least–were incendiary at best and downright incorrect at worst. They painted some negative portrait of the Christian perspective, only so that they could then articulate their view, the truly Christian one, the one that Jesus himself would surely have. It's no wonder we're confused. Everyone's an expert.

But then who am I? And why would I want to enter into that fray, as one more voice? Who cares anyway? And won't the only people who appreciate my input be the ones who already agree with me?

Of course, that's the nature of the "everyone's an expert" approach. Once everyone is an expert, no one is (you can say the same thing about superheros according to Syndrome from The Incredibles.) And if no one is an expert, if no one has some objective credibility or expertise on an issue other than the fact that they posted something on the internet, then in the end I'll just go with whatever opinion feels right. Most of the time, the one that tugs at my emotions the most. It's no wonder we're not willing to live in the "truth and love" tension that is Christianity. Living in that tension hurts. Period. And we don't like to hurt.

The reason I write, personally, is because I hope that there will be a renaissance of Christian thinkers who are willing to live in that tension of love and truth. Let's not treat Christian truths like we can just widdle off what we don't like; let's not also assume that we can simplify them into pre-packed tweets that can be blasted out to our followers. Let's not assume that theology doesn't impact real life and real people. Let's not assume that if truth is hard, it must not be truth at all, or must be something that's secondary to "love". Let's not assume that truth is contradictory: that if you believe marriage is between a man and a woman you must not know any gay people, or at very least you hate them if you do. Let's not assume that getting to know what God really thinks is easy, or that we can reduce it to simply how we feel at any given moment.

So I occasionally enter the fray and attempt to offer something worth thinking about. I try to treat issues like they aren't one-sided. As if there are people on the other end of the truth. And of course, as if the truth can be known.

Life is not always Black & White

Over the past week or so a couple of articles have cruised past the ol' browser window having to do with the topic of "Death with Dignity" or "Doctor Assisted Suicide", depending on your extremist position. Much of it has to do with laws that are coming to the fore attempting to regulate if and when it is possible for a patient to choose to die on their own terms, as well as the recent national story of Brittany Maynard, who became the poster child for this issue when she decided to end her life before succumbing to terminal cancer. I wrote about this around the time that she made her choice and while I was admittedly thinking things through and not necessarily taking a definitive stance on the issue, I think that most of what I wrote still stands.

The thing that bugs me about debates like this is that choices in life are rarely black and white. There is rarely an exact right and wrong, specifically in matters that are beyond the scope of what is addressed in Scripture, if by exact we mean universally right and wrong. Choices like this require us to think through not just the choice itself but the implications of attempting to draw any universal conclusions.

The opponent of Death with Dignity (DWD from here on out, which I use not because I'm attempting to take a position, but because I think it's less inflammatory than Doctor Assisted Suicide) will argue that life, by it's very essence, is black and white. With that I agree. You cannot be both dead and alive at the same time; it is, by it's very definition, a black or white issue. But the question is not really as simple as life or death, no matter how much we'd like to be able to simplify it. If that were the case, and we could reduce any difficult decision to life or death, we'd find that most of the time we would be remarkably inconsistent. Reduce war to life or death. Reduce medical intervention to life or death. Reduce criminal punishment to life or death. Reduce birth to life or death. Even if we were to answer consistently on the side of life–not to lean that direction, mind you, but unequivocally, without fail, in a black or white manner to choose life over death–we would inevitably find some examples that do not fit so neatly into our categories. What if childbirth will lead to the death of the mother, for example? What if refusing to go to war means that some other innocents will die at the hand that we could have stopped? What if our aging parent received a fatal diagnosis, and they could either live for two months pain free and then die in their sleep, or extend their life for two years, albeit in substantial discomfort?

I'm not suggesting that there is a right and a wrong answer to any of those questions, but that is precisely the point. What I am suggesting is that if you choose one over the other without at least wrestling with the question, I do not think you are giving the question it's just due. You do not feel the weight of the decision. And if you do wrestle with them, as you should, then you must at least admit that the choice is not purely a "life or death" decision. One answer may not be the correct answer in every single case. It's easy to say that you would never go to war under any circumstances, until your family lives in the country being attacked.

Such is the case with DWD. There are implications to our choices that go beyond whatever our extreme position is. For example, should hospital resources, already in somewhat tight supply, not ever be taken into consideration? What is the difference between "pulling the plug" on a family member who may be breathing on their own, but unable to feed themselves, and giving a bit of medication to speed up the process? Aren't we choosing death in both cases? And of course many difficulties exists on the side of the pro-DWD crowd: at what point does DWD just becomes suicide, as the opponents rightly question? Surely there is a line. Surely there will be people who want to take the pill and end it all as soon as they are given a terminal diagnosis, even if they appear to be in full health. Is that justifiable?

Inasmuch as I think that the question must be wrestled with and the decision given it's just weight, I do think it's possible is that you may come to a conclusion that is always right for you. You may decide that you will never, under any circumstances, have a doctor give you medication that will end your life short of how it may have ended. I think that you can come to that decision personally, without having to say that it's true for every person in every circumstance. In fact, to have wrestled with the decision personally and come to a conclusion is commendable; I'd argue that if you have done that, you would be unlikely to mandate that same conclusion for everyone else.

This is ultimately to say nothing about whether a law that regulates the practice is good or right, nor, perhaps more importantly, what should go into any such law that was passed. What seems reasonable is that if DWD becomes a legal practice, it ought to be regulated, and probably very tightly.

To say at the end of the day, however, that one decision is right over the other in all cases is to assume a level of knowledge that you do not and will not ever have. That doesn't mean that laws shouldn't still be passed or rejected–one way or the other, we are always responsible for our decisions–but it does mean that in considering the law, we ought to avoid platitudes that alienate more than clarify. Maybe let's commend those who are willing to be in the gray area with us; after all, that's where we all live.

The God Who Destroys False Impressions

My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself. He is the great iconoclast.

Lewis, C. S. (2009-06-02). A Grief Observed (Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis) (p. 51). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition. 

After C.S. Lewis' wife died, he filled nearly four journals with his thoughts and impressions, chronicling and hopefully channeling his grief. The four volumes were published under a pseudonym, for fear that if anyone knew what he was really thinking, it would turn them down a path he didn't wish them to go. It's one thing for an anonymous griever, as it were, to think such things about God. It's another thing for a cherished Christian author to feel that way. Or at least such was the theory.

Eventually the volumes were correctly attributed to him and they are fascinating because of their honesty and for the depth of thought that Lewis is known for bringing to the table. As he processes his grief, he moves from a state of anger with God, where he cannot possibly fathom why it feels like God would be so distant now as opposed to when things were going well to a state of...is it acceptance? It's a deeper understanding, that is for sure. 

One such understanding stood out to me, above. It's true that we have an idea about God. We think certain things about God. Each of us has an impression of who God really is, much of which is wrong, but all of which falls ultimately short of a true understanding. I've often quoted A.W. Tozer who said that what we believe about God is the most important thing about us. It's a true statement in it's own right. Our view of God will shape how we view the rest of the world; it is certainly to be the central thought in the life of the Christian person, but the thought is equally true of the skeptic. Not believing in God, or simply not thinking of him at all, is just as important in determining how we view the rest of the world and the cosmos and everything in it.

Lewis would agree, but he would add a caveat. Not only is whatever we believe about God the most important thing about us, but it's so important, in fact, that God himself will seek to root out and destroy any false thoughts or false impressions that we have about him. It does us no good to pray to a God who doesn't really exist; whatever we think God is, Lewis points out, is not a divine idea at all. It's typically our own idea or our own interpretation. As such, it falls short in such immeasurable ways that it is the only loving thing that God can do to weed out such falsities. We need to know the real God, not the one that we made up.

This is another of the "temptations" that C.S. Lewis points out in his book The Screwtape Letters. Wormwood the demon is instructed not so much to stop his subject from praying–although that would be the ideal–but rather to have him pray in such a way where the God he is praying to or the outcome that he is praying for is not based on truth of who God actually is, but rather is based on his own impression of who God is. Thus he will walk away feeling as if he did his righteous duty, but will have had zero impact at all, since whatever he prayed was almost certainly his own will, based on his own idea of God, rather than based on the truth of God and his actual will. 

So God takes great pains to destroy the image that we have of him that is inaccurate, and one of the ways that he does that is through suffering. We humans are somewhat of a self-centered bunch, and no matter how righteous or others-focused we appear to be the reality is that most of our efforts and energies are poured into a world that revolves around us. God's blessings toward us, his enthusiasm towards us, his love of us, all seem to wrap around our own self-interest. The second that something appears to not be in our self-interest, we immediately turn on God; we act as if he's this spiteful, vengeful being who, after all this, would make our lives terrible. But here is the trouble: it was never about us to begin with. It wasn't about our self-interest, at least not the way we define it (another mythical area of our belief, the one in which we think we have the means to articulate what really, ultimately, is in our best interest.) If it is about our self-interest, then our self-interest stems from our knowledge of the real God, the real source of life, and not the fanciful version that we learned about in Sunday School. Anything else is a fraud.

So C.S. Lewis would say in his masterful lecture, The Weight of Glory, that we go on settling for mud pies in a slum because we cannot possibly understand what is meant by a holiday at sea. We settle for the mundane and the false, rather than pursuing the truth and the life. And God would have none of that for his most favorite creation.

Finding Your True Self in the Valley

Now it may surprise you to learn that in His efforts to get permanent possession of a soul, He relies on the troughs even more than on the peaks; some of His special favourites have gone through longer and deeper troughs than anyone else. The reason is this. To us a human is primarily food; our aim is the absorption of its will into ours, the increase of our own area of selfhood at its expense. But the obedience which the Enemy demands of men is quite a different thing. One must face the fact that all the talk about His love for men, and His service being perfect freedom, is not (as one would gladly believe) mere propaganda, but an appalling truth. He really does want to fill the universe with a lot of loathsome little replicas of Himself— creatures whose life, on its miniature scale, will be qualitatively like His own, not because He has absorbed them but because their wills freely conform to His. We want cattle who can finally become food; He wants servants who can finally become sons. We want to suck in, He wants to give out. We are empty and would be filled; He is full and flows over. Our war aim is a world in which Our Father Below has drawn all other beings into himself: the Enemy wants a world full of beings united to Him but still distinct.

Lewis, C. S. (2009-05-28). The Screwtape Letters (pp. 38-39). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition. 

Suffering is a strange thing. Lewis talks about it as the "trough". In Letter 8 of "The Screwtape Letters" (Lewis' writes from the perspective of Screwtape, a demon who is writing to his nephew and protege as he works to derail the faith of a human) he contrasts what God wants for us, and what the realm of evil desires for us. The chief difference is that evil takes, and God gives.

The irony is that we would tell ourselves that if we can live how we truly desire, if we can make our own choices, if we can control our own destiny, then we will be a sort of pseudo-god; certainly we'll be the gods of our own universe. This was the lie that was told since the beginning, when the bond between God and man was shattered when man decided that instead of accepting the psuedo-God likeness he already had, he would attempt to replace it with an image he found more desirable. Rather than replace the image, what we found (and find, in our own lives), is that sin doesn't give us more identity, but actually robs us of our identity. The status we thought we'd gain turns out to be a lie. We end up being less ourselves than we would have been otherwise.

This is often the result of suffering. All that we would identify with begins to be stripped away and we find that at the core, in the deepest parts of our soul, was written an identity long ago that is more us than we have ever known; deep inside is the true us, the one that is now being filled again with the perfection of sons and daughters through Jesus Christ.

Screwtape would rather that men blindly give in to passions/desires/sin. God would desire that men willingly and gladly follow. They are replicas, but only because they are distinct.

The Reality of Suffering

I had one of those streams of thought this morning during that period of time where you're awake but you're not really awake that led me to this post. I read an intriguing article last week about a cocktail bar in Philadelphia and it's mysterious owner. That was the first thought. The second was about the person who posted the link. The third thought was about what I'd say if we talked. The fourth was that my worldview and this particular blogger's are polar opposites–he an atheist, me a Christian. The fifth was, your worldview is only good if it works in the reality of your life. And that's the point of this post.

Christianity is a "meta-narrative". It doesn't just explain that there is a savior, but it also explains why one was necessary to begin with. It doesn't settle at just explaining your particular situation, but it actually provides an all-encompassing, overarching view as to why things are the way that they are. This is the point that is missed by many people, I think, as they easily write off Christianity as just another crutch or religious expression or whatever. Everyone consciously or unconsciously understands the world within the framework of some meta-narrative, even when they don't know what it is or they can't explain it.

The key to the meta-narrative is it's consistency. I heard the story (one of many) of a person who, after a particularly devastating storm in which many people were left homeless, didn't feel like it was his obligation to help anyone because he had already helped so many people already, and really he was super busy. Somewhat ironically, if you asked him what the most important thing about humanity was, this person would almost certainly say "helping others". His actions demonstrated, however, that while he may have thought this was true in the moment, it wasn't actually his meta-narrative. For him to believe that sometimes he needed to help others, but other times he didn't, meant that there was no consistency in his "helping others". The only consistency was that helping others was totally random. In other words, his actual meta-narrative was "chaos" or "randomness". Such is the reality of much of the post-modern, relativistic world.

The consistency of the meta-narrative is what gives it "legs" when it comes into contact with the reality of our every day lives. It can speak to the particular realities that I find myself in. If a meta-narrative can't satisfactorily explain the common, every day life that you live, if it has no traction in reality, then I see no value in it. It strikes me that this is quite similar to the scientific method of testing: develop a hypothesis, test the hypothesis. If it doesn't work, find a new hypothesis. Obviously that's a simplistic view of both the scientific method and the means of testing a meta-narrative, but it serves the point. Much of the time the way that we know that what we believe about the world actually makes any sense is when we are confronted with a confusing or difficult situation in our lives and realize that we actually have an explanation. 

Hence, the reality of suffering as per the title of this post. Over the past few weeks and months the reality of suffering in peoples' lives has become clear and present for me. In times past it was suffering or evil itself that was used as a denial of God's existence. Philosophers have stopped drawing from that well, however, as the shortcomings of the argument have become evident. For one, you can't even define evil unless you can define good, and "ultimate evil", or evil that is always evil, only exists if there is a corresponding "ultimate good". Using the argument of suffering and evil to deny God, then, leaves you in a bit of a predicament. If there is no God, then there is no ultimate evil. If no evil, then suffering is totally random and as a result, it is totally meaningless. And that leads to the second problem with this line of thought.

There is more to us as humans than just our material being. Somehow, we love, we have emotion, we have a will, we have a spirit, we have an internal light; there is something that gets snuffed out at death and it is more than just our material ceasing to function. I've seen skeptics claim that death is like a "light switch being flipped off", but why the analogy to light? If the body is just material, then it is more like shutting your car off than it is the disappearance of light, yet anyone who has ever been at someones bedside when they passed knows that there is an indefinable "snuffing" that goes out; something more than just material decay has taken place. All of this is just to point out that if all we are trying to define is the material reality of suffering, that is, accept that it happens and deal with it as a reality of our physical being, it leaves a gaping hole in our understanding. Namely, whether or not life has any meaning at all.

To remove God from the equation of evil and suffering is to ultimately remove any meaning from our lives, whatsoever. No one denies that the reality of evil and suffering in light of a sovereign and loving God is a difficult truth to rectify in our minds; if you watch a friend go through suffering or tragedy and you act like you understand why it is happening to them, you are not an intellectual, you are a jerk. The Christian, however, has a view towards suffering that not only explains it's existence, but it also allows for the possibility of meaning within it and hopes for it's complete eradication. Thus, there is more to it than simply "suffering for sufferings sake". There is meaning not just in my suffering, but in my very existence. There is no such explanation of suffering if God is removed, other than just to say that it's all random. And if it's all random, then you are just a pawn in a deterministic universe; you literally do not matter.

Thus we come back to whether or not your meta-narrative can speak to your situation, right now, "boots on the ground". The Christian endures suffering because even when it doesn't seem to have any reasonable explanation of why it would happen to me, there is still the possibility of meaning in it. We do not enjoy suffering, like some sort of spiritual masochists, but we can wrap our minds around the reality of it's existence. And then, even when the world is closing in, we can cling to a God who is bigger than the world. We are loved, even when life sucks. There is hope, even when it's dark. And then the promise of the good news of Jesus: someday, suffering will be eradicated once and for all.

Unique & Useful

Several weeks (months?) ago I was asked to speak to a group of churches about what makes them unique. I had been assigned to study the question with a group of colleagues and after various conversations we had what I thought was a decent set of things that made this particular church group unique. As I prepared the presentation, this was the opening slide that I used.

The thing is, these churches were unique in certain ways that I considered to be very important. It was what they believed that made them stand out amongst the larger community of protestant Christian churches. Without going into much depth, one of their fundamental beliefs is similar to what this blog is about: the sovereignty of a good and creative God over all aspects of life. This particular group of churches had a rich history of encouraging families, building schools, health care facilities, and elderly residences, taking care of people from birth through death. The view was that the Christian life didn't just encompass a particular "doctrine", but that whatever that doctrine was had to actually work when it came into contact with real life. The challenge, however, wasn't their uniqueness, it was their usefulness.

One of the reasons that many of these churches were no longer particularly useful is because they had strayed away from their fundamental beliefs. There's an old turn of phrase, "methods are many, principles are few; the methods always change, the principles never do." The fact is that many of these churches had attempted to change the principles and keep the method. In cases where they did hang on to their principles, the method was outdated and irrelevant. In both cases, they were no longer useful.

It's possible to o good things but have a poor method that leads to a lack of usefulness. One of the big problems with a lot of well-meaning non-profit organizations is that while their work appears to solve a particular problem (let's say hunger), it actually fosters a greater dependency so that the person receiving the food never learns where to get it for themselves.

The reverse is also true: we can say and do the right things but if our hearts aren't in it, the whole thing crumbles. The sports news cycle has been filled for a couple days with the story of an excellent linebacker who decided that the reasons he was playing weren't worth the risk, so he retired after one year in the NFL. He was still excellent at the sport. His methods were good. But his principles (or reasons for being in) no longer made the sport useful for him. So he walked away.

There is a sweet spot in everything that we do where the reason or purpose behind what we do is in harmony with what we are actually doing. That's the position of being useful. Not only is our method or our work relevant and impactful, but it's actually making a meaningful difference at the same time.

Unique is not all it's cracked up to be. Usefulness is where it's at.

Taking Aim

““...we make it our aim to please him.””

— 2 Corinthians 5:9

““We make it our aim….” It requires a conscious decision and effort to keep our primary goal constantly in front of us. It means holding ourselves to the highest priority year in and year out; not making our first priority to win souls, or to establish churches, or to have revivals, but seeking only “to be well pleasing to Him.””

— Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

Every Tuesday morning we get together for prayer at our church. It's a small group of us at 6 am. We drink coffee and talk for half the time, spend a bunch of time going over areas of prayer, and end up by praying for less time than we should since our hour is usually almost up. We also attempt to incorporate a devotional in there, and recently they've come from the timeless devotional, "My Utmost for His Highest". This morning's was particularly poignant for those of us who have planted a church.

hat is the primary goal of the Christian? Is to to evangelize, proselytize, free the oppressed, feed the hungry, etc? Is it planting churches or holding revivals? Or is it to be pleasing to God?

We American's are quick to point to our accomplishments for God as the chief indicator of our spiritual prowess, but this is not the heart of the good news of Jesus. If it were possible for us to do any good for God, perhaps a savior would not have been necessary. The good news is that even when we find that we can't do any good, even when we find that our good deeds are really just like filthy rags to God, he loves us anyway and gives us perfection because of Jesus. If we are pleasing to God, it is not because of what we have done, but because of what Jesus has done. This was the heart of the Angel's message to the Shepherds: on earth, peace to those on whom he is well pleased. God's pleasure towards us has little to do with us, it has everything to do with Jesus.

Living in that reality–indeed, aiming at it–is the chief goal of the Christian. I must aim to find God's pleasure in Jesus Christ. I must learn to live in the reality of that pleasure, to discover what that pleasure really looks like and really means. And then, from that pleasure, will flow a great love for others beyond what I even knew I could have.

When we disrupt the order and get it backwards, that is, when we focus on our efforts as a means to please God, we not only bring ourselves back under condemnation (by essentially asking God to judge us based on our own merit rather than Christ's) but I also think that we begin to alienate those whom we would aim to reach. I can't help but think that our obsessive focus on evangelism, at the expense of being who God would truly have us be because of his pleasure towards us in Christ, has alienated as many as it has drawn near. I can't help but think we have confused a great number of people who think that it is their own efforts–their concern for social justice, their concern for the poor, or the marginalized–that will bring God's pleasure. Why should they not be confused? When we reverse the order, this is our implicit (and sometimes explicit) message: yes, Jesus is good, but to really have God's pleasure, we must _______________.

This is nothing new. The first century church dealt with their own version of it. Instead of good works, it was religious ceremony or dedication that earned God's pleasure. Paul called those who would fall into that deception "fools", and passionately declared that anyone who would teach that should go so far as to castrate themselves.

We take aim to be pleasing to God. The way we take aim is to focus on the goodness of Jesus, through whom we have the pleasure of God in full. Focus on that, and the rest begins to follow.

The Visitor

My goal for nosquareinch.com is that it would be a place where ideas can be presented openly and honestly. I've asked my friend Nate to post when he has time and present his ideas on life, faith, and whatever else comes to mind. You can check out more of Nate's work at natekohrs.com.

There is currently a small mouse residing somewhere in my kitchen. I saw him again last night, which was the first I've seen him since my initial sighting a few days ago. I was hoping he had found the crumb selection here to be disagreeable to his delicate rodent intestines, and had perhaps set off in search of another kitchen to invade with his filthy, free-loading vermin self. Try 12B you little bugger... I always smell delicious food wafting from over there.

I placed some traps around. The good kind... the old-school wood and metal blood and guts kind you can't use if you have small children or pets. The kind that glisten coppery gold in the pale fluorescent light of a desperate New York City midnight. Cruel and medieval they sneer and wink from across the room. Waiting.

My subject has so far eluded me, but no matter... I will soon have my vengeance. So sleep peacefully for now little mammal. Soon your hunger and curiosity will get the better of you and you'll venture out again. 'Oh, what's that??' you'll surely ask yourself. 'It smells like Smuckers all natural creamy peanut butter.' There it will sit, just a quick scamper across the linoleum away. It will call you to.... taunt you from atop what you will no doubt see as a shiny amusement park ride resting on a copy of last month's Time magazine.

And then, oh yes my friend, and then I shall hear the sound that separates the men from the beasts. The sound that ensures the dominance of the human over the rodent. A sound to echo long and sweet across the open spaces of the world. Short, violent, final.

Snap.

Should Non-Profits pay Property Taxes?

Mr. LePage, a Republican, has called nonprofits “takers, not givers,” and argues that they need to contribute for services like the police, firefighters and snow removal. His proposal, which is part of his $6.3 billion budget plan, would require organizations to pay taxes to municipalities if their properties were worth more than $500,000. They would pay taxes only on the property value over that threshold and get a 50 percent discount on the rate.

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/08/us/nonprofits-protest-a-tax-on-property.html?_r=0

When I came across this article last week, I had a mixed reaction. Non-profits in the United States have historically been excluded from the tax rolls, for a variety of reasons. Chief among them, I think, was the belief that an organization doing non-profit work was fundamentally for the public good, and therefore, they paid their "community dues" as it were with their work, rather than their taxes. In the past several years, that mindset has shifted (or begun to shift) dramatically. Instead of viewing non-profits as inherently good for the community, the tendency is to see them as "takers, not givers". Inasmuch as I'd generally disagree with that assessment, I'd also suggest that there are plenty of good reasons to assume that some non-profits are in the business of being out for their own good rather than the good of the public at large. Extremely high salaries for executives (or in some cases, Pastors), a wide range of what constitutes a "non-profit", and so on. Inevitably this has led to calls for change in terms of how non-profits are handled in terms of their taxes.

This is not a new issue, either. I've come across it in a variety of ways in the past ten years, starting when I was in Seminary. At the time, the town in which the Seminary I attended was located held hearings or a public forum regarding the Seminary's contribution to the public services like education, police, and fire safety. The particular issue in that case (if memory serves me correctly) was that there were dormitories on the campus that were often filled with families, and those families sent their kids through the public school system, but neither the Seminary nor the parents of the families paid anything in property taxes to support their use of the services. The Seminary wrote an open letter to the community describing several different ways in which they voluntarily contributed to the public fund as well as the general community through voluntary payments towards the police and fire department, as well as encouraging a significant number of teachers aids and volunteerism in the school. The argument that the Seminary was trying to make was that they contributed in other ways to the community, so that overall, in their view, they were pulling more than their weight.

Another way this has come up is in relation to how the tax code treats clergy-owned or church-owned housing units. Without going into much detail, a clergy person essentially receives a double benefit when they own a home. Any money that a clergy person receives that goes to their housing is not taxable for Federal Income purposes. (A common misconception is that this is therefore totally untaxed, which is untrue. This "housing allowance" is still subject to the Self-Employment tax of 15%, which includes social security and medicaid. Although there is a tax loophole that allows clergy to opt out of Social Security, in my experience, most do not take that option.) Nevertheless, the "housing allowance" is not subject to FICA, which is the first benefit. The second benefit is that, just like every other tax-payer, the clergy person can deduct the tax and interest that they paid on their mortgage. Again, historically clergy-persons were considered "good for the community" but as time has progressed, that view has changed. (I'd also suggest that the church has probably too quickly expanded the definition of "clergy", which has led to more regular church employees receiving those tax breaks.)

The third way I'll mention that this property-tax conversation comes up is in relation to church-owned buildings. Our church is currently in the process of moving into a leased commercial space, and as we were planning I had an off-the-record conversation with a town official in which he told me that, as long as we were leasing it, we wouldn't have a problem. If we were to purchase it, however, the process might be dragged out. The reason? If we purchased it as a non-profit, it would be taken off the tax rolls, and the town wasn't willing to give up that extra income. Our story isn't unique, either. I've probably heard from at least ten different churches who all expressed a similar story: they wanted to purchase something, but the town wouldn't allow them to, because it would mean a loss in tax revenue.

My mixed feelings on this particular article come down to several factors.

First, I really have no idea how much revenue would be raised by this proposal. At what point does the revenue earned offset what will certainly be a net-loss for the non-profit community? The proposal in Maine doesn't tax all non-profits, just those who own property valued at over 500,000, and then only half of the normal rate at any valuation over that half-a-million mark. How many non-profits will be included in that? And what kind of non-profits? My guess is that most or at least many churches have a property value of 500,000 and higher. Educational institutions certainly would be included. There was a food pantry mentioned in the article, although I'd imagine that must be an outlier. So then I wonder, is it really just that we want to tax churches and educational institutions?

Second, as I mentioned, there is a part of me that understands the perception that the non-profit or church world is all about their own gain. Unfortunately, the non-profit/church world includes people who are going to abuse the system. My hope and experience is that those who would do that are a very small minority, but they do exist, and in the socially connected world, those minorities often end up being the loudest. The fringe ends up defining the rest of us. While I understand that dynamic, I don't think it defines the community as a whole and so I don't think that non-profits being "takers, not givers" is ultimately true, and therefore is not a good reason to justify a property tax. There might be a reason. It's just not that.

Third, there is also a part of me that feels like there are certain cases where the church would have more credibility in the public square if they were financially invested into it. One of the reasons that I prefer to purchase my own home, rather than live in a church-owned parsonage, is because then I pay property taxes just like my neighbor. That gives me a voice in the community that would otherwise be disingenuous, like when I'm at a barbecue with my neighbor and we're all complaining about how high our taxes are. I can only commiserate in theory, unless I'm on the hook for the same bill he is.

The bottom line is that this isn't a cut and dried issue, as most people probably assume. We need to think through the issues. Are non-profits good for the community? If so, does that mean they should be exempt from property taxes? I don't know if I agree with the Maine proposal, but I'm certainly not afraid of the discussion.

That's What the Technology Costs

Okay, this is my last post on the Apple Watch because I have better things to do. After writing the last post, however, I continued thinking about it (I had a three hour meeting last night so I had some time to think...) and I thought that there might be one angle that I had alluded to in my very first post on the subject, but didn't mention yesterday. What if $400 is a perfectly reasonable price for the Apple Watch?

I had originally concluded that based on what it could do, $350 seemed like a reasonable price for the technology that was included in it. If a Jawbone UP 3 now costs $179, with no display and no notification system built in or no way to add apps, you can start to see how maybe $400 is worth the technology that's included, especially when you factor in a healthy profit margin which Apple most certainly did (for the rest of this post, $400 is the price point for the Apple Watch because that's the least expensive model at the size that I personally would buy.) The real challenge for me is figuring out how I could justify $400 for something that doesn't really do anything I need it to do. It really is just something that I want, because I think it's pretty cool.

So here's the thing. It is pretty cool. It's neat technology. Yes, it's going to be obsolete in a few years. That's life. But the question is, what should that neat piece of technology cost? 

My mistake was thinking that I could compare it with something else on the market, but I now think that's misguided. Should we compare it to watches? Watches are mechanical devices, at the $400 dollar range they are definitely into the "fashion" category, and you tend to keep them. The Apple Watch is something different than that. So is it a fitness tracker? Fitness trackers are relatively simplistic, largely just sensors wrapped in rubber with a battery and some LED's, and are very much single purpose. The Apple Watch is something different than that.

In the end, the Apple Watch is something completely new. And I think that the price points Apple has come up with–thinking primarily about the technology aspect and not the fashion aspect–is that this is what a piece of technology like this should actually cost, especially if the company wants to make any money. The reason I differentiate between the technology and the fashion is that the technology is the same in each of the devices. The Sport, Watch, and Edition contain exactly the same internals. It's the case and the band that are different, and that is the fashion aspect. It's the fashion that ultimately gets the price so astronomically high. But what should the technology cost for this brand new device, the likes of which really doesn't exist on the market, or if it does, is not as well made and really hasn't gotten any traction?

This is a question that played itself out in a similar way with the price points of the original iPad. One of the criticisms of the iPad, or even the Mac throughout the years, is that there is an "apple tax". People think that Apple charges higher prices for the same technology, and so they are a rip off. Increasingly, that's not the case, since Apple products have become more competitively priced, particularly as their volume has exploded. Nevertheless, you will still pay a bit more on an Apple product. And here's why: because that's what it costs for the technology in the product. Apple isn't going to make a crappy iPad. They are going to make a great iPad, and they are going to price it like it costs, with their profit margin built in. They don't make any apologies for needing to make money as a company. That's their job. They are a business. So they aren't going to sacrifice profits for the sake of sales. When the iPad was released, you could get one for $499. Because that's what it cost for that type of technology.

Compare that with an Amazon Kindle Fire, for example. People look at it and say, "see, I can get a good tablet for almost half the price of an iPad. Apple is too expensive." Except they aren't. Apple isn't overpricing; Amazon is shooting themselves in the foot with a ridiculous business model. Apple makes a great device and says, "here is what it costs." The device is going to work, Apple will make money, and you will be pleased, because they are going to sell you a device that works at a price that makes sense. The Kindle Fire might work pretty well (not as well as an iPad), but Amazon isn't making any money off of it at all. They have sacrificed build quality to get it at the price point they wanted (something Apple won't do) and then they basically forego any profits in order to keep it as cheap as possible.

Again, Amazon will orego profits on it's product in order to sell their devices. That truly is a ludicrous business plan, but it's the business plan that most of the tech industry operates under. It's the reason that year after year, Apple takes some ridiculous percentage of the total profits of all tech companies combined. They are the only ones that are selling the device for what it actually costs. 

What that means for the consumer is that even though you are going to be paying a little bit more for the product, you can know at least two things. One, the transaction Apple is making with you is one in which they have put together what they consider to be a great product, and they are giving it to you for what it costs, so that they can continue doing what they do. The only way that system works is if, when you buy that product, it actually is better than some other product you could buy, either because of build quality, technology, or customer support. Apple does well on all three. Two, because of the nature of the transaction, where Apple is simply telling you what it costs and what they need to make on the product (the profit margin) to continue to do business, when you buy it, you have an implicit understanding that because they have gotten all the profits they need from the consumer, they don't need to go searching elsewhere for more income. Practically speaking, they don't need to sell your data. They don't need to serve up ads. They don't need to commoditize you. They already had a profitable transaction with their consumer, and everyone can be happy.

So back to the Watch. Apple has not asked, "what are people willing to pay for this type of technology?" They have built a product and asked, "what does this type of technology cost?" Whether or not people are willing to pay it is yet to be seen. My guess is that for those who are willing to spend the money for that particular technology, what will disappoint them is not the technology per se, but their experience of the technology. It won't be the question of whether that piece of technology should cost $400 (it should), but whether or not the benefit to their life was worth the $400 (or more) that they spent. Again, I think that's the experience of the iPad. I don't think you can walk out with a $500 iPad and think to yourself, "I overpaid", as you hold a piece of glass in your hands that is more powerful than most of the laptops I've recently owned. I think discouragement that you spent $500 creeps in when you realize that you don't really have a need for the iPad, or you don't use it as often as you thought you would. (For the record, I've never felt that way about either of my iPads. Every time I've used it, I've felt like I got a great deal for what the thing can do, and it meets my needs perfectly.)

Will people feel that way about the Watch? I don't know. What I think I can be certain of is that the technology costs $400. And if you want that type of technology, then that's what you'll need to pay, no apologies. And not only are there no apologies this year, but there won't be any apologies two years from now when you'll need to spend another $400 for newer technology. That's just what this type of technology costs.

The unanswered question is whether or not people are willing to pay that type of money for this type of technology. It's not a watch. It's not a fitness tracker. It's something totally different. It's a computer on your wrist.

Some people will definitely buy it. I think the first generation will probably be a mild success. Good by Apple's expectations, bad by analysts. I think the real indication, however, will happen overtime, as people wrap their heads around the cost of this particular type of technology. Eventually, when we think of wrist-computers, we'll probably just think to ourselves, "wrist-computers cost $400", just like we might think that "phones cost $200" (they don't, by the way) or "tablets costs $500" or "laptops cost around $1000".

From there, we'll decide, "do I really want a wrist computer?" And if we decide we do, then we'll happily go out and spend $400 on one. Because that's what this type of technology actually costs.