religion

Left Behind IV: Tribulation Force: God’s Presence and Prayer

Two ideas the evangelical Christian community holds in common are that one can be sure of the presence of God and that God answers prayers. Confirmation of God’s presence comes from what evangelicals call the “interior witness of the Holy Spirit.” God’s answers to prayers can be anything from an unexpectedly available parking place to silence, often phrased as “God isn’t ‘not answering’ your prayer; he just said, ‘No.’” In Tribulation Force, the second book in the Left Behind Series, LaHaye and Jenkins create a group prayer scene that demonstrates these two principles fairly succinctly, and the scenes also manage to highlight the logical inconsistencies in these two views.

Evangelicals often claim that they can somehow feel the presence of God. This most often happens during highly emotionally charged events: it’s one of the reasons music plays such a prominent part in evangelical worship, and it’s why the worship leaders conducting that portion of the church service encourage everyone to stand, to put their hands in the air, and to close their eyes. Tied to direct and indirect calls to move away from analytical logical thinking and a decreased level of self-awareness, It creates a physical and emotional unity tied to the music (itself a very emotive medium), and this will create warm positive emotions that believers later attribute to God’s presence. 

While four of the Tribulation Force characters meet together for a bible study session, they decide to pray together, on their knees. The first thing one character realizes is “he needed to surrender his will to God” which would involve “giving up the logical, the personal, the tightfisted, closely held stuff.” He later has a “fleeting thought of how ridiculous he must look assailed him, but he quickly pushed it aside.” Thus, logical thinking has disengaged and the character has taken a step back from his normal self-awareness. All he needs is a highly-charged emotional cue, which he gets shortly thereafter: 

Bruce had been praying aloud, but he suddenly stopped, and Rayford heard him weeping quietly. A lump formed in his own throat. He missed his family, but he was deeply grateful for Chloe, for his salvation, for these friends. 

This reaction in the context of the novel is understandable. These two characters were left behind while Jesus whisked their families off to heaven. They’re already emotionally fragile. It would take little to bring them to tears.

Of course, in the novel, it’s difficult to deny the existence of this god: he has apparently already made several million people disappear, and given their common fervent Christian ideas and the fact that the church (at least the evangelical church in America) has been preaching the coming rapture for decades, it’s difficult to deny from logic to deny the reality of the rapture and thus of the Christian god. But that’s the reality of the novel. The reality to which the authors hold makes the same claims about their god’s presence without the looming piece of evidence the rapture would represent. With or without the rapture, they would contest that the events of this prayer group constitute proof of their god’s existence. 

It’s at this point in the prayer that the character Rayford feels sure of his god’s presence:

Rayford lost track of the time, knowing only vaguely that minutes passed with no one saying anything. He had never felt so vividly the presence of God. So this was the feeling of dwelling on holy ground, what Moses must have felt when God told him to remove his shoes. Rayford wished he could sink lower into the carpet, could cut a hole in the floor and hide from the purity and infinite power of God.

In our non-rapture reality, this scenario would also count as evidence of some divine presence. Practitioners would have already given up “the logical, the personal, the tightfisted, closely held stuff” and accepted that “[w]hatever God wanted was what he wanted, even if it made no sense from a human standpoint.” Critical thinking has been disengaged and emotion rises. Everyone experiences the same emotion, and so that’s the “inner witness of the Holy Spirit.” Believers attribute it to their god because their pastors, church leaders, and friends have taught them to do so, and since critical thinking has already been bypassed and because they are looking for evidence of their god’s presence, this serves that role perfectly.

The evangelical view of answered prayer might be a tricky were it not for the fact that believers have a curious view of prayer: any coincidental event occurring within any temporal proximity to the prayer can count as an answer to the prayer. Events happening weeks, months, or even years after the prayer can count, and the petitioner might even have forgotten about the prayer until it is, in her view, answered. So anything counts as an answer to the prayer. But what happens when nothing happens that the believers can classify as an answer? It’s simple: their god did answer the prayer; it just said “No.” Thus answered prayer is a heads-I-win tails-you-lose situation: nothing counts against it, for to count something against it would be to doubt the god of Christianity. 

We see this tension in the prayer scene: Rayford, one of the characters who has asked the others to pray about a decision he must make, “wished God would just tell him audibly what to do.” He wants direct, audible help from his god. Of course, he knows that’s not what he’s going to get, but surely his god will answer his prayer somehow.

When the believers are done with their tear-filled prayer session, Buck, another character with an unresolved decision hanging over him, admits that as “wonderful as that prayer time was, I didn’t get any direct leading about what to do.” Rayford admits, “Me either.” A third character, Chloe (Rayford’s daughter and Buck’s love interest), comments:

“You must be the only two.” Bruce glanced at Chloe, and she nodded. “It’s pretty clear to us what you should do. And it’s clear to each of you what the other should do. But no one can make these decisions for you.”

Chloe has been arguing from the beginning how Buck and Rayford should resolve their dilemmas, and her prayer has somehow confirmed this. Her insistence that she was right all along, in turn, serves as an answer to Buck’s and Rayford’s prayer. As they’re leaving, Chloe comments that what they just experienced “was amazing.” We can see, then, that the whole prayer scene consists of little more than self-referential confirmation bias in an emotionally charged environment, yet all the characters attribute this to their god.

Again, in the book, there is substantial evidence for the existence of the evangelical god, which makes mitigates my argument a bit in the context of the novel. However, this scene echoes evangelical prayer sessions happening now.

One final observation about the source of this “inner witness of the Holy Spirit”: when Buck and Chloe are leaving, Buck comments, “I don’t know where I’d be without you people.” People and the emotional support they provide are at the heart of any religious group, an that alone makes evidence for this or that god only secondary. Through their emotional connections and highly emotional services, they themselves are the evidence for their god.

Left Behind III: Cause of Disappearance

One of the most interesting elements of the first Left Behind book is its necessity to create some kind of imagined explanation that the non-Christians would come up with to explain the disappearance of so many people. This is what the authors come up with:

The world has been stockpiling nuclear weapons for innumerable years. Since the United States dropped atomic bombs on Japan in 1945 and the Soviet Union first detonated its own devices September 23, 1949, the world has been at risk of nuclear holocaust. Dr. Rosenzweig and his team of renowned scholars is close to the discovery of an atmospheric phenomenon that may have caused the vanishing of so many people instantaneously.”

“Dr. Rosenzweig believes that some confluence of electromagnetism in the atmosphere, combined with as yet unknown or unexplained atomic ionization from the nuclear power and weaponry throughout the world, could have been ignited or triggered-perhaps by a natural cause like lightning, or even by an intelligent lifeform that discovered this possibility before we did—and caused this instant action throughout the world.”

“Sort of like someone striking a match in a room full of gasoline vapors?” a journalist suggested.

This Dr. Rosenzweig character is, in fact, a botanist, and his theory becomes the prevailing explanation among non-believers. In the Left Behind authors’ world, there are no skeptics saying, “Now, wait a minute. We stopped testing nuclear weapons decades ago. Even if your idea of ‘some confluence of electromagnetism in the atmosphere, combined with as yet unknown or unexplained atomic ionization from the nuclear power and weaponry throughout the world’ itself weren’t completely bonkers, there simply wouldn’t be any remnants decades later. The whole idea is ludicrous.”

This lack of skeptical characters is hardly surprising. The Evangelical authors don’t even understand current skepticism toward their faith. Any time any idea comes close to their religious beliefs, skepticism disappears.

Left Behind II: Miss What? The Prophecy

Early in the first Left Behind book, Rayford Steele, whose wife was raptured away, finds himself asking how he missed the rapture coming: “Yet even Captain Steele—an organized, analytical airline pilot—had missed it, and Steele claimed to have had a proponent, a devotee, almost a fanatic living under his own roof.” He should have seen it — he’s not an idiot! But he didn’t.

But miss what? The problem with Evangelical Christian prophecy is that it’s a mish-mash of weird interpretations, bad interpretations, and wrong interpretations of various parts of the Bible, all smushed together. It comes from Old Testament books like Isaiah and Daniel and New Testament books like Revelation. Nowhere in the Bible does it say anything like this:

These are the things that will happen, in order, just before the Rapture:

  1. This will happen.
  2. Then this will happen.
  3. Next comes this.

Evangelicals love the Biblical passage about learning “here a little and there a little.” Take this, plus this, plus this, and you get the end times prophecy.

At one point, the characters sit in rapt awe as Bruce Barnes, their pastor (why wasn’t he raptured? another story altogether) explains everything:

But for now, let me just briefly outline the Seven-Sealed Scroll from Revelation five, and then I’ll let you go. On the one hand, I don’t want to give you a spirit of fear, but we all know we’re still here because we neglected salvation before the Rapture. I know we’re all grateful for the second chance, but we cannot expect to escape the trials that are coming.”

Bruce explained that the first four seals in the scroll were described as men on four horses: a white horse, a red horse, a black horse, and a pale horse. “The white horseman apparently is the Antichrist, who ushers in one to three months of diplomacy while getting organized and promising peace.

“The red horse signifies war. The Antichrist will be opposed by three rulers from the south, and millions will be killed.”

“In World War III?”

“That’s my assumption.”

“That would mean within the next six months.”

“I’m afraid so. And immediately following that, which, will take only three to six months because of the nuclear weaponry available, the Bible predicts inflation and famine, —the black horse. As the rich get richer, the poor starve to death. More millions will die that way.”

“So if we survive the war, we need to stockpile food?”

Bruce nodded. “I would.”

“We should work together.”

“Good idea, because it gets worse. That killer famine could be as short as two or three months before the arrival of the fourth Seal judgment, the fourth horseman on the pale horse—the symbol of death. Besides the post war famine, a plague will sweep the entire world. Before the fifth Seal judgment, a quarter of the world’s current population will be dead.”

“What’s the fifth Seal judgment?”

“Well,” Bruce said, “you’re going to recognize this one because we’ve talked about it before. Remember my telling you about the 144,000 Jewish witnesses who try to evangelize the world for Christ? Many of their converts, perhaps millions, will be martyred by the world leader and the harlot, which is the name for the one world religion that denies Christ.”

Rayford was furiously taking notes. He wondered what he would have thought about such crazy talk just three weeks earlier. How could he have missed this? God had tried to warn his people by putting his Word in written form centuries before. For all Rayford’s education and intelligence, he felt he had been a fool. Now he couldn’t get enough of this information, though it was becoming clear that the odds were against a person living until the Glorious Appearing of Christ.

“The sixth Seal Judgment,” Bruce continued, “is God pouring out his wrath against the killing of his saints. This will come in the form of a worldwide earthquake so devastating that no instruments would be able to measure it. It will be so bad that people will cry out for rocks to fall on them and put them out of their misery.”

Several in the room began to weep. “The seventh seal introduces the seven Trumpet judgments, which will take place in the second quarter of this seven-year period.”

“The second twenty-one months,” Rayford clarified.

Where did all this come from? Here’s the original passage in Revelation:

I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, “Come!” 2 I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.

3 When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come!” 4 Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make people kill each other. To him was given a large sword.

5 When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come!” I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. 6 Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “Two pounds[a] of wheat for a day’s wages,[b] and six pounds[c] of barley for a day’s wages,[d] and do not damage the oil and the wine!”

7 When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, “Come!” 8 I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.

9 When he opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain because of the word of God and the testimony they had maintained. 10 They called out in a loud voice, “How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?” 11 Then each of them was given a white robe, and they were told to wait a little longer, until the full number of their fellow servants, their brothers and sisters,[e] were killed just as they had been.

12 I watched as he opened the sixth seal. There was a great earthquake. The sun turned black like sackcloth made of goat hair, the whole moon turned blood red, 13 and the stars in the sky fell to earth, as figs drop from a fig tree when shaken by a strong wind. 14 The heavens receded like a scroll being rolled up, and every mountain and island was removed from its place.

15 Then the kings of the earth, the princes, the generals, the rich, the mighty, and everyone else, both slave and free, hid in caves and among the rocks of the mountains. 16 They called to the mountains and the rocks, “Fall on us and hide us[f] from the face of him who sits on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb! 17 For the great day of their[g] wrath has come, and who can withstand it?”

Some of this is fairly straightforward: the interpretation follows directly from the passage. But look at verse thirteen again: “and the stars in the sky fell to earth, as figs drop from a fig tree when shaken by a strong wind.” Stars, of course, don’t fall. An omnipotent being who created them would know that, but people 2,000 years ago wouldn’t. So we have to find a way to explain that, to interpret that. Why didn’t this omnipotent god just come out and say it? Why the need for all this interpretation? Those are questions about logic, which don’t belong in esoteric interpretation of ancient writings.

The characters even seem to realize that much of this just doesn’t make any sense. Barnes also admits, “I’m no theologian, people. I’m no scholar. I have had as much trouble reading the Bible as any of you throughout my lifetime, and especially over the nearly two years since the Rapture.” Why do even Christians have trouble understanding the Bible? These are the folks who say they have the indwelling of the Holy Spirit to guide them, but they can’t make heads or tails of it sometimes.

The passage continues as they struggle with Revelation 6, quoted above:

The time is short now for everyone. Revelation 6:7-8 says the rider of the pale horse is Death and that Hades follows after him. Power was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword, with hunger, with death, and by the beasts of the earth. I confess I don’t know what the Scripture is referring to when it says the beasts of the earth, but perhaps these are animals that devour people when they are left without protection due to the war. Perhaps a great beast of the earth is some symbolic metaphor for the weapons employed by the Antichrist and his enemies.

The thing is, while this is all taken from a book of fiction, this is the same kind of mental contortions Evangelicals put themselves through on a daily basis. They can’t understand what the Bible means sometimes, but instead of that being something that gets them questioning the whole enterprise, they double down.

Left Behind I: True Christians

I’ve always been fascinated with extremes, and for me, there is nothing more extreme in the contemporary American religious landscape than fundamentalist Evangelical Christians. They hold to some beliefs that they themselves would admit are fairly wild were another religion to espouse something similar. Few of their beliefs are more odd than their predictions about how the world will end. 

Christians have been eschatological in their theology from the beginning: Jesus in the gospels is always talking about the end of the word, and a substantial percent of Christians see large swaths of the Bible (both Old and New Testament) as prophecies about the “end times.” All this prophetic postulating has led Evangelicals to a belief in the rapture: Jesus will take all true Christians to heaven just before the end time hell-on-Earth led by the Antichrist. 

Christians will vanish off the face of the earth in an instant, the idea holds. Cars will suddenly become driverless; airplanes will fall from the sky as their flight crew disappears; and all the children below the ill-defined “age of reason” will disappear. 

(The Evangelical god is a merciful god: he won’t send children to hell if they don’t have the mental capacity yet to make an informed choice about whether or not to “give their life to Jesus.” In other words, despite children being born with the curse of Original Sin, they still get a pass — sort of a free forgiveness-with-Jesus card. Why everyone else can’t get that is a mysterious contradiction in the whole theory, but of course, the Evangelical god is a mystery. As is the Catholic god and the mainline Protestant god — all mystery when something strange or contradictory shows up.)

In the nineties, Tim LaHaye, a Baptist minister, and Jerry Jenkins, a dispensationalist Christian, wrote a series called Left Behind that explored the reality on Earth after the rapture had taken place, leaving behind millions and providing the series with its title. Left Behind, the first book in the series, tells the story of the rapture itself. It follows four main characters. 

Rayford Steele is a successful airline pilot married to Irene, a gungho evangelical Christiaion whom God takes up in the rapture and thus leaves Raford behind. 

Chloe Steele is one of Rayford’s children. A student at Stanford, she is logical and skeptical, thus rejecting God’s call and failing to become a true Christian. As a result, she too is left behind. 

Most interesting of all is Bruce Barnes, the associate pastor at New Hope Village Church (the church Rayford’s wife Irene attends). Though he is a minister in a church filled with people who are raptured, Bruce is left behind.

Finally, there’s Cameron Williams, given the ever-annoying nickname Buck because, according to other characters, he’s always bucking the system. He’s an award-winning journalist for Global Weekly, and he is on Rayford Steele’s plane when the rapture occurs. He sets out to discover the cause of all the disappearances, and in the meantime, he converts to Evangelical Christianity.

One of the most interesting questions in the book is the reasoning behind who was taken and who was left behind. There are some obvious groups that would have been left behind: non-Christians are all still around, and this group definitely includes liberals and the college elite. Chloe, a student at Stanford University, calls home after the disappearances:

“Mom? Dad? Are you there? Have you seen what’s going on? Call me as soon as you can. We’ve lost at least ten students and two profs, and all the married students’ kids disappeared. Is Raymie all right? Call me!”

There were about 13,000 undergraduate and graduate students in 1990.If the rapture took ten students, that represents only 0.0769% of the students This fairly clearly shows the Evangelical view of “secular” education. Once even True Christians enter a liberal university like Stanford, they will fall away from the faith. (Of course, most Evangelicals would argue that those who fall away from the faith were never True Christians to begin with. This No True Scotsman fallacy is one of Evangelicalism’s favorite arguments.)

While many people should have expected to be left behind, many people who thought they were Christians remained on Earth, much to their confusion. In this way, the book makes it clear that not all who call themselves Christians will make it in the end. There exists such a thing as “Christians so-called.” Rayford starts to see this quickly. When he lands and is waiting for a phone to call home, he gets to watch a little news:

Rayford was second in line for the phone, but what he saw next on the screen convinced him he would never see his wife again. At a Christian high school soccer game at a missionary headquarters in Indonesia, most of the spectators and all but one of the players disappeared in the middle of play, leaving their shoes and uniforms on the ground. The CNN reporter announced that, in his remorse, the surviving player took his own life.

But it was more than remorse, Rayford knew. Of all people, that player, a student at a Christian school, would have known the truth immediately. The Rapture had taken place. Jesus Christ had returned for his people, and that boy was not one of them.

This poor soccer player thought he was one of God’s elect, that he’d given his life to Jesus and completed all the requirements to be saved from the hell of end times only to discover at literally the last moment that he’d deceived himself.

Even the hardened skeptical reporter Buck Williams, who “never claimed any devotion to the faith,” remembers during a conversation with his father that his family “had [Buck] in church and Sunday school from the time [he was] a baby.” In exasperation, Buck’s father declares, “You’re as much a Christian as any one of us.”

Even Rayford Steele was something of a nominal Christian: 

For years he had tolerated church. They had gone to one that demanded little and offered a lot. They made many friends and had found their doctor, dentist, insurance man, and even country club members in that church. Rayford was revered, proudly introduced as a 747 captain to newcomers and guests, and even served on the church board for several years.

However, it wasn’t true Christianity. Irene learns this when she discovered the Christian radio station and what she called ‘real preaching and teaching.’” Rayford found the sermons at the new church “a little too literal and personal and challenging” and so he stayed away. Therefore, when the events of the novel actually begin, he’s at best a nominal Christian though more likly a lapsed Christian or even an apostate nonbeliever altogether.

Bruce, the associate pastor, is a much trickier case. In telling his story to Rayford, he explains that the “Bible says that if you believe in Christ you have eternal life, so [he] assumed [he] was covered.” Evangelicals like to say that’s all one has to do: believe in Jesus, believe in the efficacy of his sacrifice to cleanse you of your sins. If you do that, you’ll be saved from the consequences of your sin (i.e., hell). 

Bruce, however, finds that there’s more to it.

I especially liked the parts about God being forgiving. I was a sinner, and I never changed. I just kept getting forgiveness because I thought God was bound to do that. He had to. Verses that said if we confessed our sins he was faithful and just to forgive us and to cleanse us. I knew other verses said you had to believe and receive, to trust and to abide, but to me that was sort of theological mumbo jumbo. I wanted the bottom line, the easiest route, the simplest path. I knew other verses said that we are not to continue in sin just because God shows grace.

According to Left Behind, then, believing in Jesus is not enough. One has “to trust and to abide.” But what does that mean? And how do you know if you’ve done that? For Bruce, it’s “sort of theological mumbo jumbo,” which correctly suggests that there’s nowhere in the Bible that lays out what this trusting and abiding might look like. Indeed, there’s nowhere in the Bible that says, “In order to be saved from hell and spend an eternity with God, do this, this, and this.” Indeed, this is why we have so many Christian denominations: it’s just not clear what it takes to get right with the god of this religion.

Bruce goes on to explain,

I told my wife that we tithed to the church, you know, that we gave ten percent of our income. I hardly ever gave any, except when the plate was passed I might drop in a few bills to make it look good. Every week I would confess that to God, promising to do better next time.

So to be a True Christian, guaranteed of salvation, you have to give ten percent of your income to the church? Christians like to say that salvation is a free gift: “You don’t have to do anything.” This sure sounds like doing something, though.

Bruce explains further: “I encouraged people to share their faith, to tell other people how to become Christians. But on my own I never did that.”

Now our list of required acts has expanded to four items:

  1. Believe in the efficacy of Jesus’s sacrifice.
  2. Trust and abide.
  3. Give ten percent of your income to the church.
  4. Share your faith with others.

Yet that’s not all, because Bruce’s story continues, “I hardly ever read my Bible except when preparing a talk or lesson. I didn’t have the ‘mind of Christ.’ Christian, I knew vaguely, means ‘Christ one’ or ‘one like Christ.”

Now our list is:

  1. Believe in the efficacy of Jesus’s sacrifice.
  2. Trust and abide.
  3. Give ten percent of your income to the church.
  4. Share your faith with others.
  5. Read the Bible.
  6. Have the “mind of Christ.”

Later in the series (in the fourth book, Soul Harvest), when Rayford is explaining everything to a colleague named Mac, he discovers the inadequacy of the traditional explanation of what it takes to be saved.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“It’s simple and straightforward, Mac.” Rayford outlined from memory the basics
about man’s sin separating him from God and God’s desire to welcome him back.

“Everybody’s a sinner,” Rayford said. “I wasn’t open to that before. But with everything my wife said coming true, I saw myself for what I was. There were worse people. A lot of people would say I was better than most, but next to God I felt worthless.”

“That’s one thing I don’t have any problem with, Ray. You won’t find me claiming to be anything but a scoundrel.”

“And yet, see? Most people think you’re a nice guy.” “I’m OK, I guess. But I know the real me.” “Pastor Billings pointed out that the Bible says, ‘There is none righteous, no, not one’ and that ‘all we like sheep have gone astray,’ and that ‘all our righteousnesses are like filthy rags.’ It didn’t make me feel better to know I wasn’t unique. I was just grateful there was some plan to reconnect me with God. When he explained how a holy God had to punish sin but didn’t want any of the people he created to die, I finally started to see it. Jesus, the Son of God, the only man who ever lived without sin, died for everybody’s sin. All we had to do was believe that, repent of our sins, receive the gift of salvation. We would be forgiven and what Billings referred to as ‘reconciled’ to God.”

“So if I believe that, I’m in?” Mac said.

“You also have to believe that God raised Jesus from the dead. That provided the victory over sin and death, and it also proved Jesus was divine.”

“I believe all that, Ray, so is that it? Am I in?”

Rayford’s blood ran cold. What was troubling him? Whatever made him sure Amanda was alive was also making him wonder whether Mac was sincere. This was too easy. Mac had seen the turmoil of almost two years of the Tribulation already. But was that enough to persuade him?

But this contradicts what Bruce later teaches as the requirements for being a True Christian. After he tells his story about how it happened that an associate pastor in an Evangelical church missed out on the rapture, he explains to Rayford what one must do to be saved:

First, we have to see ourselves as God sees us. The Bible says all have sinned, that there is none righteous, no not one. It also says we can’t save ourselves. Lots of people thought they could earn their way to God or to heaven by doing good things, but that’s probably the biggest misconception ever. Ask anyone on the street what they think the Bible or the church says about getting to heaven, and nine of ten would say it has something to do with doing good and living right.

This is the standard explanation in Evangelical circles about how to obtain salvation. But what about that list we culled from earlier portions of Bruce’s story? What role does “living right” play in all this? Bruce explains: “We’re to do that, of course, but not so we can earn our salvation. We’re to do that in response to our salvation.” In other words, once we’re saved, we should start acting like it. We should be reading our Bible, having the mind of Christ, trusting and abiding, and — lest we deprive our pastor of funds to complete his work — giving ten percent to the church.

This still leaves the question of what all these things mean. What exactly is trusting and abiding, and how can we be sure we’re doing it? What precisely does it look like to have the mind of Christ? This formulation leaves Evangelical in constant doubt of their own salvation, and so it serves as an ever-present stressor, constantly pushing the Christian to examine her life and  constantly undermining that faith at the same time.This push and pull of grace versus works, salvation verses damnation is perhaps the most unhealthy aspect of Christianity.

Once Bruce is done with his story and explains how to be saved, he leaves it in Rayford’s hands. However, he does “leave [him] with one little reminder of urgency.”

You may have heard this off and on your whole lives, the way I did. Maybe you haven’t. But I need to tell you that you don’t have any guarantees. It’s too late for you to disappear like your loved ones did a few days ago. But people die every day in car accidents, plane crashes—oh, sorry, I’m sure you’re a good pilot—all kinds of tragedies. I’m not going to push you into something you’re not ready for, but just let me encourage you that if God impresses upon you that this is true, don’t put it off. What would be worse than finally finding God and then dying without him because you waited too long?”

This fear aspect of Christianity (and I guess Islam as well) is the one of the most dangerous and harmful ideas in the religion. It haunts believers even after they’ve left the faith: if I was wrong, abandoned the church, and then die, what? The answer to that question lingers: hell.

But it’s not just fear for oneself. When Rayford converts (“accepts Jesus as his Lord and Savior”), he instantly becomes worried about Chloe:

He felt hopeless about Chloe. Every thing he had tried had failed. He knew it had been only days since the disappearance of her mother and brother, and even less time since his own conversion. What more could he say or do? Bruce had encouraged him just to pray, but he was not made that way. He would of course, but he had always been a man of action. Now, every action seemed to push her farther away. He felt that if he said or did anything more, he would be responsible for her deciding against Christ once and for all.

What an utterly hopeless situation! This god Rayford has come to believe in might send Chloe to hell because Rayford can’t get through to her, and worse, the god is so impotent that Rayford might actually push Chloe away from his god and to his god’s hell.Overall, Left Behind presents the horrors and illogic of Evangelical Christianity in a manner that demonstrates Evangelical Christians’ complete lack of self-awareness. These issues would be plain to them if they were fervent believers of another faith looking at Christianity, but being so deeply enmeshed in the belief system, they’re completely oblivious to these issues.

The Problem with Faith

I saw a meme the other day that got me thinking about the nature of faith. A high school friend, who is a pastor and lovely human being in every sense, posted the following thought:

The problem with this is simple: this god never says anything. All we have are people saying that this god has said something. The meme should read:

Man says, “Show me, and I’ll trust you.” Some people say God says, “Trust me, and I’ll show you.”

That puts things in an entirely different situation. The dichotomy is not between a supposedly-fallible self and an supposedly-infallible deity. The division is between trusting your own senses and experiences versus trusting claims someone else makes about a deity. The first quote is asking for evidence; the second is asking for blind faith.

I’ll go with evidence every single time.

Pack’s Confusing Response

Everyone’s favorite cult leader, David C. Pack, is at it again. In part 541 (I wish I was being hyperbolic, but alas, he’s been preaching the same sermon series for years now, setting dates for the return of his convoluted version of Jesus, resetting those dates, and resetting them still again, literally hundreds of times) of “The Greatest Untold Story,” he made some comments about the averted longshoremen strike. He, of course, made it seem like such a strike would result in the end of the United States itself. But God has had mercy on us:

Now God seems to have allowed it to abate, maybe for our sake or because of his work, but that’s what would come come winter and certainly in the spring, if time went on and the wrong person was elected, which may or may not happen.

What is most striking about this is the double-think involved in it. Pack and his predecessors before him (namely, Herbert Armstrong) always asserted that the fall of the United States was a certainty, that it was, in fact, the central element of God’s end-time plan. It would be something someone who really believes this silliness would positively anticipate, with almost giddy excitement. He wouldn’t go around saying this fall will almost certainly happen “if time went on and the wrong person was elected.” Since God is orchestrating the whole thing, it’s utterly impossible for “the wrong person” be be elected.

It makes me think, yet again, that these guys know what they’re saying is utter bullshit but they have fallen in love with the power and prestige (prestige in the eyes of a few hundred people at most, but god-like prestige all the same) they have.

August Saturday

I’ve written often enough, I suppose, about how my Saturday rhythm has changed over the last forty years or so. Saturday once meant church, seclusion, no work, no socializing with non-church folks, no sports, no school-related activities. Nothing that could pollute our minds or get our focus away from our sect’s teachings.

Saturday afternoon at 2:30 we met at the IBEW (International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers) union hall. We usually arrived at least an hour earlier, and stayed at least an hour past the 4:30 end time. Every Saturday afternoon, a two-hour meeting during which men of dubious theological education pontificated about the conspiracy theories that comprised the bulk of the organization’s theology. The only saving grace was the playing (and later, as a teenager, socializing) that took place before and after the meeting.

Shrubs before

These days, my Saturdays are so much more fluid. Sometimes, there’s a clear outline to the day, with chores in the yard occupying much of my time. Once school starts, I send a fair amount of the morning grading students’ work. Today, for example, I went through 43 kids’ single-paragraph analysis of “The Cask of Amontillado.” They wrote things like this:

The narrator’s story can be trusted because Montressor is confessing his actions to the priest on his deathbed. For example, Montressor talks to the preist because he knows the “nature of [his] soul.” and would not believe that he “gave utterance to a threat”. This proves that the priest knows Montressor very well, probably because the same priest would come to his house often. The priest also would not suppose Montressor killed someone. He would most likely want to admit his wrong doings before he died. Another example is, In “half of a century” no one has disturbed the catacombs or found Fourtunado’s body. It shows that no one has found out what happened to Fortunato 50 years later. This also explains the reasoning why Montressor would tell his priest, because he would be very old by this time; old enough to be on his deathbed. To sum it up, because Montressor is confessing to the priest that he killed Fortunado, this narrative can be reliable.

I worked through the papers in between trimming shrubs, cleaning my bike chain, and cleaning out the basement.

The shrubs — didn’t L just trim those? Her chores on Saturday usually include getting crickets for her frog, shopping (she usually gets the week’s groceries on Fridays, but there’s always something more we need), and cleaning her room.

Shrubs after

The bike chain — didn’t I just clean it? Bike maintenance is something I’ve never really enjoyed. It’s so tedious cleaning a chain, replacing cables, adjusting brakes, replacing tires. But the worst of it all is definitely chain cleaning. No matter how carefully I clean it, there’s always a bit of grime left behind. But nothing makes a bike look better than a spotless chain.

Today, I used a new degreaser, and I was fairly pleased with the results. Ultimately, what I’d like is an ultrasonic cleaner that I could just drop the chain into for a few minutes and then let dry. But in the meantime, I’ll use a degreasing solution and toothbrush.

Cleaning out the basement — there’s been a crate of old books that K will eventually take to Goodwill, and among the books are several of my college lit anthologies. I’ve kept them for so long because — well, I really don’t know why. I haven’t cracked one open in so long. I had them at school for a long time, but I’ve run out of shelf space and brought them hope.

That is a story in and of itself. Last year, the state of South Carolina provided each English teacher with $3,500 worth of independent reading books so we could have a classroom library of contemporary, high-interest books. But this year, things changed:

Effective August 1st, 2024, SC Regulation 43-170 requires teachers to produce a complete list of the Instructional Materials (including classroom library books) that are used in or available to a student in any given class, course, or program that is offered, supported, or sponsored by a school, or that are otherwise made available by any District employee to a student on school premises. That list shall be provided upon reasonable request by any parent/guardian of a student in the District.

Greenville County Schools Press Release

In short, we’re not to have any books that even hint at sex. It’s another last-gasp effort of the far right to maintain its stranglehold on young people’s minds, I say to myself. For me, it’s simply a headache, which is why I’ve closed my library: I haven’t made the list yet, and I have no idea when I’ll be able to. In the meantime, I posted a sign explaining the situation, and I look forward to Meet the Teacher night when all parents can see the signs because I’m going to make my presentation standing right beside one.

So I guess in a way, my Saturdays have come full circle.

Reflections

Why would there be any way to see hate in a text written by a completely benevolent deity?

Why would there be any way to see prejudice in a text written by a completely benevolent deity?

Why would there be any way to see malice in a text written by a completely benevolent deity?

Signs 3

During our three trips to Florida this summer, I noticed a lot of interesting billboards. I also saw a sign on the the trailer of several semi trucks.

I’m not sure what that image is supposed to evoke. There are hints of Uncle Sam draft posters in the overall design, but the wording would have been something like “I want you to pray.” Additionally, given the right’s strong feelings about the necessity for clear gender boundaries, this person seems unexpectedly androgynous. Finally, there’s the feeling of aggression inherent in the shadows and pointing finger. It’s like it’s daring you not to pray.

Signs

We’ve been traveling back-and-forth to Florida quite a bit lately, which means we drive through almost the entirety of South Carolina each trip. Along the way, I’ve noticed yellow and red billboards along the highway with one of two messages. when simply says, “Jesus, save me.” That’s a fairly straightforward. Evangelical sentiment were used to seeing signs like that in the audiences of football games though many of them are simply the John 3.16 signs, which reference the Bible verse proclaiming that God sent his son to save us. there are certain logical issues I have with such a sentimental sense. God and the sun are supposed to be the same being thanks to the doctrine of the Trinity, and the person doing the condemning from which we need to be saved is God. This means that God sent himself to save us from a consequence that he himself was going to implement. In short, God sent himself to save us from himself, which makes absolutely no logical sense. But that’s not the most interesting sign. The most interesting sign is this one.

Critics of prayer often say that many prayers amount to nothing sentimentality: “Bless this food” does nothing to the food. It’s just a nice sentiment.

With Catholic prayers, some of them have a feeling of being nothing more than magic words. This is especially true of the prayers that the priest will say during communion, prayers which allegedly transform a bit of unsavory bread and overly sweet wine into the body and blood of Jesus, I used to think that price of prayers didn’t really have this magical word sense, but this sign makes me wonder.

Yet here with this particular formulation, we see real magic words. If this sign is to be relieved, all one has to do is say these words and salvation is a done deal.there’s nothing on the sign to indicate you actually have to mean it. There’s nothing on the sign that indicates that you have to hold this belief for any particular period of time. There’s nothing on this side that suggest you have to do anything or change anything. All you have to do is say the magic words.

No, I understand that the individuals who sponsored this sign don’t really think that it’s just a matter of saying these words. And the same font with the same color scheme there are science that simply say repent usually a few miles after the sign. Of course, repent in this case usually means For them to take a conservative point of view regarding LGBTQ issues, physical issues, death penalty abortion, and all the other right wing issues. Repent for them basically means become a republican, and a far right Republican and usually at that.

However, you can’t get all of that on a sign. What’s most important is to get them to say the words and maybe just maybe they’ll actually mean it. Or if they don’t mean it now perhaps mean it later.

There was an article in the Charleston Post and Courier about this which the AP picked up and carried. Apparently at least one of the individuals sponsoring the billboards spends 50% of his salary on them. He suggested it’s money well spent if it keeps even more in person out of hell. I find it strangely ironic though that Jesus in the Bible seems to suggest a different way ofspending one’s money: to sell all and give what give all the proceeds to the poor as he told the rich young man in one of the gospels.

Article

Fluff

George Carlin once called religion “the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims” in his “religion is bullshit” bit:

Part of the bullshit of the Christian religion is its attempts to verbally meander itself out of the corners it paints itself into. Christianity is a monotheistic religion; it also has a god that has three persons; but that’s not the same as three gods; but it’s three distinct persons.

Bullshit.

Catholicism is particularly adept at this kind of word salad, this verbal meandering, that says absolutely nothing but sure sounds fancy nonetheless. Here’s Bishop Robert Barron’s take on how the Trinity makes sense:

God is, in his ownmost reality, not a monolith but a communion of persons. From all eternity, the Father speaks himself, and this Word that he utters is the Son. A perfect image of his Father, the Son shares fully the actuality of the Father: unity, omniscience, omnipresence, spiritual power. This means that, as the Father gazes at the Son, the Son gazes back at the Father. Since each is utterly beautiful, the Father falls in love with the Son and the Son with the Father-and they sigh forth their mutual love. This holy breath (Spiritus Sanctus) is the Holy Spirit. These three “persons” are distinct, yet they do not constitute three Gods.

Robert Barron, This Is My Body

In what sense could one being be said to “speak himself” and then have this “Word that he utters” be both “the Son” and himself? How the hell does a being speak another being that’s the same being? It’s nonsense.

And then there’s this: “This means that, as the Father gazes at the Son, the Son gazes back at the Father. Since each is utterly beautiful, the Father falls in love with the Son and the Son with the Father-and they sigh forth their mutual love.” What is this, a theological Harlequin Romance? It’s so vapid that I’m embarrassed for Barron: the man has a doctorate from the Sorbonne (I think), and he writes nonsense like that?!

Bed and Faith

Written on Wednesday 14 July 2021 at 6:54 PM

Getting out of bed is so simple an act that we do it without thinking. We might sometimes want to stay in bed a bit longer, but the act of slinging our feet off the bed and hoisting ourselves into a sitting position — we don’t give that much thought.

When I had my hernia surgery some six years ago, I realized how much we use our abdominal muscles to get out of bed, and because those muscles were terribly sore after surgery, I thought very much about getting out of bed. It was painful, and I wanted to get out of bed quickly to lessen the time my muscles burned, but the act of getting out of bed quickly made them hurt all the more. It was a lose-lose situation. The decision to get out of bed, then, was always a reluctant one.

On the other hand, every time I’ve overslept, I’ve leapt out of bed in a single motion, and it’s a conscious act: I’ve got to get out of the bed as fast as possible and into the shower as fast as possible so I can get dressed and bolt downstairs as fast as possible to grab something to shove down my throat as fast as possible so I can get to work as fast as possible.

Other than that, I rarely think about getting out of bed. The physical act is simple, effortless, and without consideration of its simple significance, a significance that doesn’t appear as such until the ability to do so disappears.

In two or three weeks my father has gone from being semi-independent (such that we could leave him alone for stretches up to eight hours) to being completely bedridden. I don’t think he’s quite come to accept that fact or even completely to understand it. There’s still hope in his mind that he will one day be walking again. I don’t think that’s the case; the doctors don’t think that’s the case; and deep down, he probably doesn’t think it’s the case. Several times a day he tries to get out of bed only for us to remind him that it’s not safe for him to get out of bed. He says things like, “I can’t wait until I get out of this bed and get back to normal.” He doesn’t realize that this new normal is just that, nor does he realize that tragically this new normal will only last for some period of time (weeks? months?) before the next dip, the next drop in his condition, the next “new normal.”

Every new normal makes the previous one look like a paradise. Every new normal reminds us all anew that no matter how trying and depressing for all of us involved, it’s only going to get more trying and more depressing. Every new normal makes the old one seem eons ago. Every new normal quickly begins to feel like it will always be normal, that it will stagnate. That it has stagnated. And then another dip. Another episode. Another new normal.

And the bed he occupies becomes his whole environment, his whole world, his prison.

How anyone could watch how this man is suffering mentally and emotionally and believe that the god he dedicated his life to, supported fiscally (so to speak), and was eternally devoted to would turn his back on him in his time of need — how anyone could think in such a situation that a god like that could exist, and if that god did exist, how it could be considered anything other than capricious and evil, I just don’t know. Belief gives hope, apologists claim. Yet it also gives despair. “What have I done to deserve this?” Dad has asked in his lucid moments. “Why won’t God do something after I’ve devoted my life to him?” Nana pleaded. For both of them, I think, it’s not a matter of “Why doesn’t God heal me so I can go back to my normal life” but something more basic: “Why is God allowing me to suffer like this instead of just letting me die peacefully in my sleep tonight? Why do I wake up day after day to this same prison?”

He remains, as far as I can tell, steadfast in his faith. “I know where I’m going” is his general demeanor, and that might give him some comfort. But I can’t help but think that perhaps that comfort is not worth the anguish it also brings.

In the meantime, we try to comfort him in those admittedly-rare moments of angst, keep him calm throughout the day, and help him take each day in his bed one moment at a time. I don’t know that there’s much more we could hope to do.

Coping

An article by Karl Vaters entitled “13 Reasons Not to Worry About the Future of the Church” offers insight into how Christians are dealing with the nosedive in attendance and affiliation they are experiencing in America. Vaters acknowledges this immediately:

The church is in trouble.

It must be. My blog feed keeps telling me it is.

For several years now, barely a day goes by without someone writing about the imminent demise of the body of Christ.

Everyone seems to have a different reason why they think the church is dying:

  • The “nones” are growing faster than the church
  • The “dones” are leaving faster than we’re replacing them
  • People aren’t singing together any more
  • Offerings are way down
  • Regulars attend less often than they used to

The post-pandemic turndown seems to be permanent in many places
But despite all the gloom and doom, I have not lost one moment of sleep over the demise of the church.

That Vaters feels no stress reveals the basic disconnect between believers and non-believers on this matter, and that gap is, I’m afraid, permanent and unbridgeable.

It’s evident from the first of thirteen points he makes:

Point 1: The Church Belongs to Jesus, Not Us.

The explanation for this point is one sentence: “And Jesus knows what he’s doing.” God is in control, believers insist, and so even if it looks bleak, his steadfastness is cause for calm. But this, of course, assumes that Jesus/God exists and operates the way Christians believe he does. They are not open to the possibility that the reason people are leaving religion is because they’ve realized the truth: gods don’t exist. Instead, these people are somehow deceived or never were Christians to begin with. This seems a little obvious, perhaps even axiomatic, but the shortsightedness inherent in such a position (“We could be wrong!”) means they will be in constant denial about the reality of the problem, and as it worsens, some of Vaters’s more moderate positions might radicalize.

Point 2: The Picture Is Not As Bleak as We Think

His second point is an attempt to make things global:

While the European and North American church is dealing with significant issues, the church in many parts of the world is experiencing strong, steady growth. As reported at Lifeway.com, “There are fewer atheists around the world today (147 million) than in 1970 (165 million), and the Gordon-Conwell report expects the number to continue to decline into 2050.” Plus, “Not only is religion growing overall, but Christianity specifically is growing,” especially in the global south.

We could summarize this point as follows: Sure, in the West, where scientific literacy is steadily rising, religion is on the decline. But in the developing world, where scientific literacy lags, it’s growing.

If the growth of your religion is most pronounced where scientific literacy is most lacking, it doesn’t say much about the foundations of your religion.

Point 3: The Church Always Thrives Under Persecution

Christians have a persecution complex: they see it as inevitable because it’s throughout the New Testament. True Christians suffer for their faith. This is so engrained in the Christian psyche that I’m not surprised it appears this early and only surprised that it wasn’t the second point.

If persecution is coming to the American church (which is where almost all of this hand-wringing is coming from) it may reduce church attendance numbers and perceived cultural influence, but it won’t kill the church.

Prosperity is far more dangerous to the church than persecution has ever been. As the Puritan writer Cotton Mather put it in the early 1700s, “Religion brought forth prosperity, and the daughter destroyed the mother.”

This point seems more like pop psychology than measured reasoning. It also ignores the reality driving this decline. People aren’t leaving the church because they have cushy lives — not exclusively, anyway. They’re realizing they don’t need this in their lives anymore, and they have tools at their disposal (read: the internet) that put dissenting views and reasoning well within their grasp. They can begin by feeling church is just not for them anymore and fill that in later (as they so choose) with good critical analysis of Christian theology that makes them add, “Well, not only do I not need it but it also just doesn’t really make a lot of sense when I think about it.”

Point 4: Loss of Privilege Is Not the Same As Persecution

This point is actually refreshing.

The removal of the Ten Commandments monument from a courthouse is not persecution.

I’m not saying it’s good, but it’s not persecution.

There are Christians in places like Syria and Iran who know what real persecution feels like. When we claim persecution for what is a loss of privilege, we minimize the real persecution our brothers and sisters face all over the world today.

It does feel a little like Vaters can’t make up his mind, though: are Christians facing persecution or not? As church attendance continues to dwindle, he might shift his opinion on this a bit.

Point 5: The Church Is at Its Best When We Are Counter-Cultural

I get the feeling that this is an attempt to be a little edgy, but it is in fact quite ridiculous:

The church doesn’t hold the reins of power well. We’re better in a burr-in-the-saddle role than being the conquering hero on the stallion. Let’s leave that role to Jesus himself.

Christianity has dominated the Western world for most of the last 1,700 years. It’s had a near-total monopoly on the culture. Its myths fill our collective consciousness. For hundreds of years it had the power to compel compliance through various means (including torture). To suggest that at any time in modern history it’s only been a “burr-in-the-saddle” of society is absolutely ridiculous.

This is why Christians are panicking. They are losing that monopoly. They are losing their political and cultural power. And they are going crazy about it.

Point 6: The Church Is Bigger than Our Buildings and Our Denominations

Churches are being turned into residential units, bars, and even skateparks. What are we to make of that?

We are likely to lose many church buildings in the coming decades. This will be especially challenging for churches with full-time pastors and a mortgage. I also foresee massive stress points coming for most, if not all, denominations.

I sympathize with those who love their church’s historic building and their denomination, only to lose one or both. But I’m grateful that buildings and denominations are not needed for the church to survive and thrive.

In fact, we may need to lean on our buildings and denominations less in order to lean on Jesus more.

This point is just to serve as a balm to those handwringing traditionalists who are upset about the material decline in the church, nothing else.

Point 7: The Church Is People Who Love Jesus, God’s Word, and Each Other

If churches aren’t buildings, what are they?

This is one of the main reasons the church thrives under persecution. It forces us to turn to what really matters and can never be taken away – loving Jesus, following the Bible, and caring for each other.

Churches (particularly Protestant churches, especially those that align with the Evangelical movement) maintain their hold on people through the social cohesion they provide. Non-theistic churches are forming that attempt to fill this void, so this point is a non-starter from the beginning.

Point 8: The Church Has Faced Bigger Problems Than This (Whatever Your “This” May Be)

Besides, Vaters says, it’s not all that bad:

Whatever your real or perceived church crisis may be, it is not “the greatest calamity the church has ever faced.”

We tend to magnify the severity of small pains that are close to us, while diminishing the reality of much larger pains that are further removed from us.

The church has faced far bigger problems than what most of us are currently experiencing, but those problems are so far away from us that they feel insignificant. The church survived them all.

But it is that bad. Christians fail, intentionally or unconsciously, to realize exactly what the problem is.

The internet is killing the church. It is exposing young people to more and more arguments against theism in general and Christianity in particular. These ideas weren’t widely diseminated in times past. A thousand years ago, uttering such criticism would risk death. Now, it’s everywhere. And content creators are getting better and better at presenting the dark and illlogical sides of Christanity, and Christianity just keeps throwing the same apologetics mud at them. And here, the internet applies something new: reactions to those apologetics. Discections of those apologetics. Critical analysis of those apologetics. So not only does the internet provide the initial explanation of why Christianity makes no sense, it provides answers to Christians’ attempts to explain away those faultlines and fractures, and it shows apologetics to be hollow, shallow, and repetative.

Point 9: My Corner of the Church Is Not the Church

I’m not sure why Vaters put this one in here:

My segment of the body of Christ may be tied to a particular worship style, theological stance, historical background, denominational identity, or any of a wide variety of other distinctives. But the way I worship is not the church. It’s just my little corner of it. If the way I like to worship becomes less popular, that has nothing to do with the strength of the church as a whole.

In fact – brace yourselves – even if the church in America collapses, as tragic as that would be, it would not mean the end of the church.

Jesus has sheep that are not of this fold.

It’s really a tweak of point 6.

Point 10: Maybe the Parts that Can’t Survive Shouldn’t

This point seems like it’s going in a direction of critical self-examination.

I know that sounds harsh, and it may even be triggering for many small-church pastors who have heard something similar because of their lack of numerical gowth. But the small church is not the issue.

This is not a point about size, but of type.

Anything Jesus does will not just survive, but thrive. Eternally. So I have to wonder, if my favorite form of church is dying, maybe it’s because Jesus isn’t building it?

Everything but the church itself (as defined in point #7, above) has an expiration date. No denomination, worship style, or tradition is forever. Sometimes a congregation, tradition, or denomination dies because it has finished serving its purpose.

This point is not meant to trivialize the very real pain of a local church going through serious hardships. I stand with you. Like John said to the suffering saints in Philadelphia (Rev 3:7-13), “I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name.” You have my heart, my prayers, and any help I can offer.

Instead, though, Vaters is simply using an old apologetics technique applied to those those who leave the faith to explain why some churches are failing: they weren’t really Christian.

Point 11: The Church Is the Most Relentlessly Growing Organism In History

This, too, is a short point — two sentences.

For almost 2,000 years of great triumphs and horrifying persecution, the church keeps going.

When Jesus builds something it tends to stand. And stand strong.

The fact that it’s been dominate in the political and cultural machinary of Europe and America for centuries has nothing to do with its longevity. It’s all Jesus’s work.

Remember when we used to worshop Zeus? Neither do I. Worshiping Jesus will eventually seem as antiquated.

Point 12: Worry Doesn’t Work

Another one-sentence explanation: “In fact, worry makes it worse.” This smacks of desparation, but I could be reading more into it than is really there.

Point 13: Jesus Told Us Not to Worry About Anything

The bottom line:

You can toss the previous 12 points. This is all I need to know.

To wildly (but hopefully not inappropriately) paraphrase Jesus’ words in the Sermon on the Mount from Matthew 5:25-33:

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your church building, where you will worship or fellowship; or about your denomination, what decisions it will make. Is not the church more important than buildings, and the faith more important than denominational creeds? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his church’s life or a dollar to its offering basket? But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Whatever is of worry is not of faith.

And we need all the faith we can get.

Vaters is doing his best to cope with the coming reality, but he’s still in denial, so he will never accept it when it comes.

karlvaters.com/future-of-the-church/

Hell

www.ncregister.com/commentaries/jimmy-akin-being-precise-about-catholic-church-teaching-on-hell

Pope Francis recently sparked a discussion when he told an Italian television program, “What I am going to say is not a dogma of faith but my own personal view: I like to think of hell as empty; I hope it is.”

I was not surprised he would have this view. It is common in some ecclesiastical circles and was proposed by theologian and priest Hans Urs von Balthasar in his book Dare We Hope That All Men Be Saved?

Given how Pope Francis’ comments often function as a lightning rod, I was not surprised by the discussion that followed, and one contribution was a recent article by Ralph Martin.

Although framed as a piece about what the Church teaches on hell, Martin spent much of it arguing for his own view, which is the traditional one, that hell is both a real possibility and an actual reality for many people. He explores this further in his book Will Many Be Saved?

I wish Martin well in arguing his case — and arguing it vigorously. The thought that hell might be a real but unrealized possibility is a comforting one that can be attractive to many today. However, Scripture contains serious warnings about hell that do not sound hypothetical.

As a result, the theological field should not simply be ceded to what we moderns find comfortable and reassuring. If there is to be any reassessment of the traditional view of hell as an actual reality for many, Scripture’s statements need to be taken seriously and both sides need to be argued vigorously.

(I’d note, in particular, that in his book von Balthasar never even addresses Luke 13:23-24, where in response to the question, “Lord, will those who are saved be few?” Jesus responds, “Strive to enter by the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able.”)

My sympathies are thus with Martin, but I would refine a few things about his article.

First, regarding Pope Francis’ statement that what he was about to say was “not a dogma of faith,” Martin offers a definition of dogma that could suggest it is restricted to revealed truths connected with salvation. I would point out, by contrast, that in current theological jargon, a dogma is any truth that the Catholic Church has infallibly defined to be divinely revealed, whether or not it has any direct connection with salvation. (Culpably rejecting a dogma is a mortal sin; but the truth itself doesn’t have to have a direct connection with salvation.)

Second, there is a passage where Martin conveys a misleading impression about the views of Cardinal Avery Dulles. First, he says that “the traditional interpretation … by the Church’s greatest theologians is that it is very likely that many people go [to hell],” then he identifies Cardinal Dulles as “perhaps the leading American theologian of the 20th century,” and then he cites a 2003 article that Dulles wrote in First Things.

The problem is that Martin quotes a part of the article in which Cardinal Dulles refers to several passages of Scripture and says, “Taken in their obvious meaning, passages such as these give the impression that there is a hell, and that many go there; more in fact, than are saved.” The impression is thus that Cardinal Dulles is firmly in the line of “the Church’s greatest theologians” who believe that “many go there; more in fact, than are saved.”

However, this is not Cardinal Dulles’s view. He notes the obvious interpretation of various Bible passages without asserting that the obvious one is the only possible one. In fact, he concludes:

The search for numbers in the demography of hell is futile. God in His wisdom has seen fit not to disclose any statistics. Several sayings of Jesus in the Gospels give the impression that the majority are lost. Paul, without denying the likelihood that some sinners will die without sufficient repentance, teaches that the grace of Christ is more powerful than sin: “Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more” (Romans 5:20). Passages such as these permit us to hope that very many, if not all, will be saved.

All told, it is good that God has left us without exact information. If we knew that virtually everybody would be damned, we would be tempted to despair. If we knew that all, or nearly all, are saved, we might become presumptuous. If we knew that some fixed percent, say fifty, would be saved, we would be caught in an unholy rivalry. We would rejoice in every sign that others were among the lost, since our own chances of election would thereby be increased. Such a competitive spirit would hardly be compatible with the gospel.

Martin’s article thus conveys a misleading impression of Dulles.

What does the Church actually teach? This is found in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, which says, in part, “The teaching of the Church affirms the existence of hell and its eternity. Immediately after death the souls of those who die in a state of mortal sin descend into hell” (1035).

The Church thus teaches that hell is a real possibility. If you die in mortal sin, you go there. But does the Church leave room for the idea that God might rescue all from mortal sin — even at the last moment?

The Catechism states, “The Church prays that no one should be lost: ‘Lord, let me never be parted from you.’ If it is true that no one can save himself, it is also true that God ‘desires all men to be saved’ (1 Timothy 2:4), and that for him ‘all things are possible’ (Matthew 19:26)” (Catechism, 1058).

The Catechism thus seems open to the possibility that God — for whom “all things are possible” — might be able to rescue all from mortal sin and thus hell might be empty.

This view seems to be permitted on other grounds. After von Balthasar proposed it in Dare We Hope, Pope St. John Paul II named him a cardinal — specifically for his theological contributions — though Father von Balthasar died before the consistory.

Further, as Cardinal Dulles notes in his 2003 article, John Paul II seemed to have a change of view on this subject. The cardinal notes that in his non-magisterial 1995 interview book Crossing the Threshold of Hope, the Pope raised Father von Balthasar’s view and says, “yet the words of Christ are unequivocal. In Matthew’s Gospel he speaks clearly of those who will go to eternal punishment.”

However, as the cardinal notes, in a magisterial text in 1999, Pope John Paul seemed to have shifted, saying, “Damnation remains a possibility, but we are not granted, without special divine revelation, the knowledge of whether or which human beings are effectively involved in it” (General Audience, July 28, 1999, emphasis added).

Based on what he said, John Paul was open on the question of “whether” human beings actually go to hell, and Cardinal Dulles concludes that “the Pope may have abandoned his criticism of Balthasar.”

It should be noted that in the version of the audience currently on the Vatican website, the words “whether or” have been deleted. However, this does not alter what John Paul II apparently said, and we cannot know why the words were deleted or whether John Paul II gave his approval to this edit.

For his part, Pope Benedict XVI also took an optimistic view regarding hell in his 2007 encyclical Spe Salvi. He states:

There can be people who have totally destroyed their desire for truth and readiness to love, people for whom everything has become a lie, people who have lived for hatred and have suppressed all love within themselves. This is a terrifying thought, but alarming profiles of this type can be seen in certain figures of our own history. In such people all would be beyond remedy and the destruction of good would be irrevocable: this is what we mean by the word hell (45).

He then contrasts these with people who are so pure they go straight to heaven and then concludes:

Yet we know from experience that neither case is normal in human life. For the great majority of people — we may suppose — there remains in the depths of their being an ultimate interior openness to truth, to love, to God (46).

This latter category goes to purgatory to be purified. Pope Benedict thus thought that “we may suppose” that few go to hell, few go directly to heaven, and “the great majority of people” go to purgatory before heaven.

We thus see the three most recent popes taking optimistic views of hell, with the later John Paul II seemingly open to the idea it may be empty, Benedict holding that we may suppose those who go there are few, and Francis hoping that it is empty.

I’m firmly convinced of the value for theological discussion of vigorously arguing the traditional view that some and even many go to hell — and hearing what the optimists have to say in response. 

At the same time, when presenting the teaching of the Church, we should be aware of the flexibility that is being displayed on this matter, including by the recent popes.

Use It or Lose It

There was a post on a friend’s account about the importance of “training up a child” (evangelicals especially like to use that Biblical term) to be a Christian. The post hit on a theme I harp on in a secular sense all the time: you’ve got one shot with your kids. But they took it in a different direction:

You have one shot to raise your children in church.

That’s all you get. One. When it’s gone, it’s gone forever. You can’t go back. You don’t get a redo.

As parents we accomplished our life’s greatest accomplishment. We raised our kids in church.

What they do with that is up to them, but we did our best. I’ll stand before God knowing that.

Faith is often inherited. So is a lack of it.

I am so thankful I heard that while my children were little. I determined then and there to get my kids as close to Heaven as I could. I knew I couldn’t save them, but I could raise them in church. I could get them in His presence. I could get them to an altar.

Nothing, not football, not baseball, not Boy Scouts, not a Playstation, not a demanding coach, not a job, not any other distraction was going to keep them out of church. I stood face to face with the devil on more than one occasion fighting some temptation to keep my kids out of church. Often, the devil was in the mirror.

But thanks be to God, we did it. We raised our kids in church.

Now, before 2023 begins, I remind all the parents:

You get one shot. It’s precious, scarce, and fleeting. Use it or lose it.

The post came with a picture:

It got me thinking again about the roll of imitation in the raising of a Christian child. Consider two scenarios:

Scenario 1

The children huddled at the altar railing in the picture: why are they doing that? Because they saw adults in their community do it. Why are they experiencing such a flood of emotion? Because churches run their services in a way to create that emotion: soft music, quiet speaking, repetition. Why do these kids think it’s the Holy Spirit doing this in their life? Because their parents told them that emotion comes from the Holy Spirit.

Scenario 2

Kids visit a science exhibition to learn about waves and then participate in a science exhibition demonstrating those waves. They’ve given tools to measure those waves. They’re taught to make predictions about what changing the amplitude of a wave will do to the sound, then they test and check their predictions. They’re shown the difference between a sine wave and a cosine wave and given a chance to predict what will happen if both occur at the same time at the same wavelength and amplitude. And then they check their predictions.

“Faith is often inherited. So is a lack of it.” I couldn’t agree more about the first statement, but there are many causes to the second. When kids realize the difference between these two scenarios, it might lead to doubt.

  • The first is based entirely on trusting how others tell you to interpret reality. It offers no predictive capability and is limited in its scope.
  • The second is open to questioning (indeed, encourages it) and offers ways to verify its claims. It has a built-in predictive capacity and is almost unlimited in scope.

This is the reason fundamentalist Christians don’t like science.

Tuesday Back

The Girl went back to school today for the first time since Friday before last, as in January 5. It’s been a tough ten days, and we still have issues ahead of us, but at least we’re to a point where something of a normal life can return. I never missed ten days for an illness, but I missed significant time in the first semester because of having to go to the Feast of Tabernacles every year (along with the Feast of Trumpets and Atonement, which meant missing more school days). If I’d been as worried about my grades as L is about hers, that probably would have caused me more stress than it did. But then, the founder of our little sect died (38 years ago today, in fact), the new leader made a few changes, and the FOT (as we called it) became a thing of the past. Something the Girl doesn’t have to worry about.

The Boy is still frustrated with his schedule this semester, particularly that he doesn’t have PE anymore. In middle school, I hated PE. In the mid-eighties in Virginia (maybe not the whole state, but at least in our area), there was none of this “you can only fail once before high school” mentality that’s the standard here. (There are benefits to that, to be sure, but I’ve had kids tell me, “I’ve already failed once. There’s nothing you can do to me,” and then promptly do nothing the entire year.) But we didn’t have that, so kids could fail two or three times before getting to high school, which is why when I was in seventh grade (it was a junior high, with only two grades), there were two sixteen-year-old eighth graders. Dodgeball, which we played with those stinging rubber kickball balls, was utter hell. Those kids were strong. But fortunately, E doesn’t have that worry, so he consequently loves PE.

Two ways my childhood was so very different from our children’s.

Saturday’s Adventures

On the way to the basketball game, the Boy makes a comment about how many churches are around, and then turns the discussion to religion, remarking that Jesus has been dead 2000 years and has still not returned.

“Two thousand years is a long time,” he suggests.

I simply agree.

He continues: “How do we even know that all that stuff happened?”

“What do you think?” again trying to remain non-committal.

“Well, they say they were there,” he suggests.

“How do we know that?”

“Because that’s what they wrote.” He stops to think about it for a moment and then asks, “But how do we know those documents are authentic?”

The short answer is, we don’t. The Gospels, despite the purported authorship the Bible affixes to them, are anonymous. Those names — Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John — appear only in documents from the third or fourth century if memory serves. But I say none of this. Instead, I simply respond, “That’s a very good question. What do you think?”

“Well, all the Christian scientists trying to prove that are biased. They want to prove it.”

For a moment, I think, “Wait, how did we get onto the topic of Christian Science, but I realize quickly what he means: he’s referring to apologists and Christian New Testament scholars who consistently make the arguments that support Christianity, explaining away the problems like the one of the gospels’ anonymous authorship. But his point is very salient: apologists are indeed biased. They are not seeking truth as much as seeking ways to buttress Christian belief, and many skeptics suggest that apologists are almost exclusively preaching to the choir, so to speak, giving believers answers to questions they might have rather than providing skeptics with evidence to overcome their skepticism.

These are all very good questions that will lead to some answers that might lead the Boy away from church teaching, but I am trying my best not to provide any answers.

We get to the game and immediately see what we’re up against: a bunch of guys eighth graders who are enormous and merciless. They tower over most of our boys.

Their brutality comes from the coach down: They begin applying full-court pressure in the second half when they already have a significant, and they would only begin doing that (I think) because their coach has instructed them to do so. Every time the opposition scores, the coach whoops and hollers like it’s the greatest comeback in history. The final score is 13-22, and I hear the say to his team, “That was okay, but you missed a lot of easy baskets.” Translation: “You beat them badly, but you should have beaten the —- out of them.” At least that’s how I interpreted it as an objective observer…

Rebranding

There’s a local mega-church that rebranded a few years ago to “Relentless Church.” I thought that was an odd name. I always assumed it was suggesting that the Christian god is relentless in trying to reach the so-called unchurched, but there was something needlessly aggressive about that name. To be relentless seems antithetical to one of Christianity’s claimed attributes (claimed only, I would argue): that it’s built on mercy. To relent is, to some degree, to show mercy. Still, I thought they could have chosen a sillier name.

The pastor, a large man named John Gray, caused some controversy a few years ago when he bought his wife a $200,000 Lamborghini SUV. It made the Today Show:

His defense was that he used money from the couple’s reality show and his book sales to purchase the vehicle. It still seems pretty tone deaf to be a supposed servant of God and spend that kind of money on a vehicle.

But apparently tone deafness is one of Gray’s predominant qualities, for he’s decided to rebrand his church once again. This time: Love Story Church.

Considering the stream of sexual abuse scandals in countless denominations over the last few years, I couldn’t possibly imagine a worse name for the church

Taylor

This is making the rounds in social media circles connected to this ass-hat’s manipulative bullshit. I think he just makes this crap up…