Last night, as I attempted to finish the book I was reading, I found my eyes wandering from the sentence I was finishing to the toddler on the TV screen. One of my wife’s guilty pleasures, and mine too, is watching trashy TV. In this case “trashy TV” manifested itself in the form of Toddlers in Tiaras. This episode was particularly intriguing to me because of one the parents insistence that her “conservative Christian faith” plays a pivotal role in pageantry.

I couldn’t help but scoff throughout each scene when this woman espoused her fanatical fundamentalist perspective. I about lost it when the woman uttered the following… “I had to pray real hard about the spray tan.” I could not stop laughing. This was the apex. She prayed about everything from the costumes to the routines her 6 year old daughter would do and it reached its zenith in the spray tan. I had to share my awe with people and so I tweeted/posted a status on facebook relaying the hilarity of the situation I was witnessing.

Immediately though I was confronted with the arrogance of what I had done because after my tweet I went back to reading that book. What book? Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margins of Error by Kathryn Schulz. **(To watch a short video about the ideas in the book click here) Ironic to say the least. Here I am reading a book about how embracing error helps to fundamentally change the way we interact with ourselves, the world, and others because it opens us up to new possibilities and I am delighting in the (perceived) error of another. I say (perceived) because who is really to say that she is wrong in that notion? From my perspective she’s an idiot, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who sees her that way but that doesn’t mean she really is an idiot.

This is one of the ways Kathryn Schulz describes how we treat people when we think they are wrong. We either think they are ignorant, idiots, or evil. If I take a minute to think about people I think are wrong I tend to put them into these three categories. This is especially true when I think people are wrong theologically. I am notorious for being a smart-ass and in college I was even more notorious for being a condescending smart-ass when I disagreed with you. I can think of several scenarios where I labeled someone ignorant, idiotic, or an evil piece of… work.

For good or for bad theology is the discipline I have found a home in. For the last 7 years I have studied it at both the undergraduate and graduate level. I have the ability to interact with the text in its original languages. But all of that training does not mean I am going to get everything right. Even those with more letters after their names who have even more training than I do, they too will not get everything right. Being someone who is perspectival I have, at least over the past few years, grown in my appreciation of other perspectives. Still though, not every perspective is one I embrace and I still find myself calling people idiots or ignorant because of their inability to see beyond their own perspective.

This is not their problem though, its mine. Theology as a discipline prides itself on being right, on having the truth or at least being able to explain it. It is no wonder then that people speak the way they do and it is also no wonder that I become so frustrated by their (perceived) wrongness. So then what can I do? I can either keep getting pissed or condescending because they don’t see things way I do or I change the way I interact, not only with people, but with the discipline itself.

Being wrong is something we run from because from an early age we know that being wrong is a bad thing. This is the notion that Kathryn Schulz challenges. Rather than seeing wrongness as something we should shy away from it should be something we embrace. Think of it this way, when we are kids everything is an adventure because we dont know everything. Wrongness puts us back into that same position. Being wrong opens us back up to the adventure that is life.

So what does this have to do with the theological task? First, I am not right about everything. Second, neither is anybody else. When it comes to theology this is most certainly true. Not Luther. Not Calvin. Not Walther. Not Zwinglii. Not Even Paul. Or John. Or Peter. And rather than shy away from this or try and justify some longheld belief we need to enter into theology as a kid enters the world. Not with knowledge but a sense of adventure. I know I am going to be wrong about a lot of things. But this is not something I should fear because being wrong doesn’t mean I’m evil, it means I’m human. So rather than approach theology as a place where truth reigns, I want to approach it as a place where adventures are had . As a place where I’m surprised by what happens. A place that doesn’t see wrongness as a thing to be avoided but sees it as integral to the discipline as it is to life.

770 miles later here I sit in an old favorite coffee shop of mine. No, I did not make the road trip just for the wonderful coffee they serve here, it just so happens to be a bonus. This is not to say that there aren’t plenty of coffee shops that offer succulent variations of the coffee bean, it just so happens that I like the atmosphere here and the coffee is wonderful. It reminds me of a place I used to frequent back in my days in St. Louis called Kaldis. It has been quite a while since I set foot in one but the coffee and atmosphere of a Kaldis is unforgettable. It really was one of the bright spots in an otherwise tumultuous campaign at the sem down there.

To be sure there were other bright spots. I don’t mean to sound so overly critical of my time spent in St. Louis but if I were to be honest it was two years that broke me down emotionally and spiritually. There were those people though, the ones who were the bright spots. They kept me sane, they pushed me further, they challenged me to become something better than I was. You fellow scoffers, you know who you are, I will never forget you guys. So much time has passed since we last sat out by the chapel, smoking cigars, having an adult beverage, our conversation dripping with sarcasm and discontent. So many days and nights have passed since then but in some ways I feel that I am right back in front of that chapel. Why? Because sometimes the only way for me to process what I am experiencing is by having a good sarcastic session of word vomit.

Take last night for example. My sister-in-law had a dance recital which lasted 3, count them, 3 hours. I could not help but be overly critical of what I was witnessing. I found it so ironic that the same parents who would clamor about teens being too sexual and TV being responsible for that sex drive put their kids in a program like that. And yet, I know I am overly critical, but sometimes I wonder if people are critical enough. Thats why I really appreciated that old group of scoffers, we were the critics. Sure, no body outside of our group heard the critiques so who knows if it was even worth the time, but if nothing else we helped each other process what was going on.

But sometimes I feel like that is all I ever do, process. I sit back in my chair, critique anything and everything and don’t throw my hat into the ring because I see it as a lost cause. To be sure there is a reason for this, its called college. Back in college I threw my dog into every fight I could. It didn’t matter if I really cared about the subject or not, I had something to say and I said it, especially when I knew it would take things too far. I felt it was my duty. However, in the end all I feel like I did was piss a lot of people off, except my friends and sometimes even them too. Then came seminary. Every day fellow students and even faculty openly and mercilessly ridiculed people and positions I held or respected. It was funny for them to scoff at people who were pro-choice or pro equal marriage rights. To them those people were just dumb. I knew where I stood and so I began to sink within myself. I wasn’t the only one, my best friend quit and another close friend was forced to leave because he didn’t fit the mold. We were all broken.

However, over the last few months I have begun to find my voice again. I dont know where or how, I am sure it has something to do with the place I am at in life both literally and figuratively. I may not always agree with the positions of my current fellow students or faculty but the difference now is that its ok to disagree and they at least are willing to listen.

But beyond the new sem I am at there is something else different. Its like I am settled. For the last year I have been running from the person I know that I am. Running and hiding because I was scared something would try and break me down again and I would lose even more than I had before. I feel a little like the browncoat hero Malcolm Reynolds of Firefly lore. Broken and for a while just trying to fly and be free of anything that would seek to force him to be something he is not. The sem is my battle of Serenity Valley and to be sure it was one I lost. But now I am in a position to be me again. The group I meet with on Mondays is just a start, I feel like more is to come. Now more than ever I am critical, but the difference is I know I need to use that critique to affect change. I need to use that voice I once lost. And as the great Malcolm Reynolds once said, “So no more runnin’, I aim to misbehave.”

Tonight as I made my way to meet up with some folks at a nearby coffee shop the song of which this post is titled came on to the radio. I have always been a fan of Jethro Tull, judge me as you will, and I have always found within their lyrics some sort of philosophical handle or idea toward which I gravitate. Tonight was no exception.

I am part of a group currently reading through Love Wins by Rob Bell. Most assuredly the book has ruffled a few feathers amongst the orthodox Christians out there because of Bell’s intense desire to ask questions and because of the answers at which he arrives. Say what you will, what I really appreciate about the book is the fact that it asks questions, it brings up for discussion those things which seem to have been long forgotten.

This is not foreign to Christianity. The history of Christendom is full of people who asked questions and dared to purport a position in opposition to an accepted belief. For every picture of God Christians paint there is another hanging right next to it in the gallery. Every affirmation comes with a negation and every position with its counterposition. After all, the Nicene Creed did not just appear for no reason. For as long as there has been those who purport differing ideas there have been those who stand in opposition to it. Arius is not unique in history because he stood in opposition but because of how he did it, rather, because of what he stood for. It was his position the Nicene Creed attacks and then affirms the contrary. But again, this is not some strange phenomena, it has happened time and again.

Ask two people in America what “the story” or “the point” of Christianity is and you will get two different answers. Sure there could be agreement, but even among those who agree there are differences. For every affirmation of a position there seems to be a negation. It seems as though Christians straddle the line between orthodoxy and heresy and actually uphold both positions quite well sometimes.

Take for example the bible, long held to be the inspired inerrant word of God. For many this book is just that, a book. You can touch it, hold it, pull it off your shelf, dust it off, open it up, read it, and then put it back. This is a relatively new experience for Christians because of the fact that until the 16th Century bibles were not written in the language of the common person. If you go even further back, 3oo years existed when the church didnt even have a codified New Testament. Some books were affirmed, others were questionable. Even those that were the authors are in question. The text itself can even be questioned. And somehow the church has survived. Now it seems Christians base everything off of this book which didn’t even exist for a good portion of the early days and for most of history was not accessible to most people and at best is a collection of works that may or may not have been written by those who claim it if that text is really even the text originally written. How then can that book be the basis when for a majority of those who went before the book did not posess the same authoritative nature? As John Caputo would say, the archive has become the arche, the icon the idol. Any position contrary to that orthodox one of inerrancy is heresy right? Yet there is so much evidence to the contrary.

So I come face to face with this paradox. On the one hand you have a long held position or belief, traditional orthodoxy. On the other hand though, you have dissention and differing ideas. You have interpretation winning the day. Not just about the bible but about Christianity itself. Can all the pictures we paint be true? How do we navigate between the two seemingly contradictory assertions that Christians have an orthodox position and continually question that position? This is why that Jethro Tull song was so apropos for tonight because…

he who made kittens put snakes in the grass

let’s bungle in the jungle, well thats alright by me
i’m a tiger when I want love and a snake when we disagree

So maybe then the way  I am approaching things needs to change. Am I open to questions about both? To real attacks that penetrate the surface of both my orthodoxy and my deconstructive nature? Am I willing to hold my beliefs so loosely that I can straddle the line even closer than before. Am I willing to stand in that place? To embrace the paradox and ambiguity amidst the certainty.

Maybe the point is not what I believe but how I believe it.

Later today my wife and her family are going to be putting their dog down. SoCo, yes he is named for Southern Comfort, has had a life full of love, but also a life of health problems. It is no shock that his time has run out as he has been struggling immensely for the last few months, but still, he has carried on and it seems as though he can carry on no longer. His life may not have been what my wife’s family had dreamed it would be, but it was a good life for a dog.

It seems as though a lot of things in my life are turning out different than I thought they would. Back when I was a freshman in college, some 7 years ago this August, I did not know what I was even doing by going to college. I did not know who I would meet or what I would do. Over time I began to think that I was destined, along with my close group of friends, to affect change. To bring down walls and break down systems. But 7 years later I can tell you it wasn’t me or my friends who brought the system down, it was the system who broke us down.

The groups I was a part of were once vibrant and alive, now they are nearly nonexistent. The adults in charge were once perceived as bulletproof, but I have seen them take their hits. This ebb and flow of life, while not unexpected, forces me to continually redefine or re-imagine my place in this world. Once I did not see my self as amounting to much. As time went on I thought that maybe I could have an impact. When I went to sem I was broken in two and left for dead. But now, as I live a life renewed I realize that there is actually no place I’d rather be than the one I am in. I have a great job, a loving wife, and I am going to school to finish what I started. Sure it isn’t in the same place I thought it would. And yes, the people I was once close to are now nowhere to be found. But the fact remains that I am being pushed and challenged in ways I never have before.

This morning I had a chance to catch the commencement address that Conan O’Brien gave to the 2011 graduating class at Dartmouth. If you have not watched it I suggest you do. (CLICK HERE). Despite the hilarity that emanates from the comedic genius that is Conan O’Brien, he notes something that I have experienced to be true. Your dreams will change, and that’s ok. Whatever you think you are now, wherever you think you are going, this too will change. I know it has for me. And rather than sit back and seek to go back to some romanticized version of the past where everything seems to be better than it really was I want to keep moving forward. Building up and tearing down. Deconstructing and affirming. Doing all of those things that challenge me and push me to arenas I didn’t know existed.

As cliche as it sounds, things change. But rather than run from the fight I want to run to it. Rather than sit back and defend that which I have, I seek to place that in harms way. So here goes…

I am a postmodern. I do not believe this excludes me from Christianity as some claim. I admire satirists. I seek to change the way people see, understand, and interact with theology, the church, God, and each other. I am a husband. A son. A student. Sarcastic. Jaded. Perspectival. Open to challenge and questions. Unfinished in my thoughts and philosophy. Constantly evaluating where I am and where I am going.

And although this is where I am today it doesn’t mean Ill be there tomorrow. And thats ok. Life does not need to be figured out, it need only be experienced.

So I just finished watching the latest episode of South Park and I couldn’t help but think, wow, thats me. Its an episode about cynicism. Stan starts to see everything as “shit,”  literally. Comedic value of the episode aside it brings to light a reality that I face everyday, the older you get the easier cynicism is to come by.

I am a romantic idealist, often imagining the possibilities that could improve a situation. But as the years have gone on my idealism, while stronger than ever, manifests itself in a deeply jaded cynicism. Take tonight for example, I stumble across a website for a church and less than a minute later I catch myself ranting. Over what you ask? Coffee. Yea thats right, coffee. This church put on its website that they have two locations, one a little more traditional one and the other a little more contemporary.  As the descriptions of each followed the latter included a quip about enjoying a cup of coffee. The first thing that popped into my head was, “why is it that so often being relevant is so closely associated with drinking a cup of coffee?” I then proceeded to soap box about how being relevant doesn’t mean you need to have coffee.

Being the idealist that I am I cannot stand it when I see or hear such an asinine statement. It is tough for me to walk the path of someone who highly values perspective especially when I see what I would call stupid  informing or forming a bad decision. Or when I listen to a sermon, its like hearing nails on a chalkboard. There is a hint of arrogance to my cynicism. A hint of superiority and not one of humility.

I dont know why cynicism is my knee jerk reaction. I also dont know if cynicism  really is as bad as I or other make it out to be. I feel like there needs to be  a line. One that recognizes those who have gone before and then looks toward what one day might come. A line that has a lot of room for simple and complex answers, for open and closed ways of doing things. Perhaps if there were such a line I wouldnt be as cynical.

Probably not. I have a feeling that I will always carry with me the cynicism. It has been there since before college and will more than likely be there in the life to come. The question is though, how will I direct my cynicism. Should I silence it? Offer my services to the highest bidder? Be an equal opportunity cynic? Somehow I think I won’t have to choose because there will always be plenty of cynicism to go around.

In the summer of 1991 I was but a lad of 5 going on 6 when my mom took me to see Backdraft. I will never forget the images I saw at the now demolished DuPage Theater. Romanticized images of heroism took hold of me and seized my imagination for the weeks, months, and years to come. Although I am sure I did not understand the movie as a kid I was moved by the music and what little I could really gather from the story line. Looking back, one thing that strikes me about my love and experience with that movie is that (*SPOILER ALERT*) even though Scott Glenn is revealed to be the arsonist, I never saw and still do not see him as the bad guy.

Swayzak, now theres the real enemy. He’s the guy closing firehouses for money and getting firemen killed. Him and his deceased brethren are the ones to dislike, the ones to abhor, not Adcox. Axe as he is called, he is someone who is using the only thing he knows, fire. The irony of killing those who kill firemen with fire is not lost on me, and there is something to be said for burning things. For taking them down. Exposing something for what it is and melting it to its core. That is how I perceive Axe. He is a man burning things down, but not without purpose, he has a goal. Put another way, he has a love he is trying to defend and fire is his only recourse. He is much different than the character of Ronald who just wants to burn it all. Who wants to ignite fires with no remorse or purpose. Ronald wants to burn the world, but not Axe. Axe has purpose.

Perhaps unknowingly, the juxtaposition of the two characters has shaped my perspective on life. Allow me to explain. Tonight I found myself, as I tend to do from time to time, watching videos or perusing websites of people and organizations I do not like or have some objection to. Tonight though my travels took me back to the place that sparked the darkest days of my life, the place that I would never wish to go back to, the place that still puts my stomach in knots. My old fieldwork church. Now I could spend time rehashing all of the old hurts. All of the old struggles and challenges. All of the old feelings. But I fear that would serve little than to be therapeutic to my soul at the expense of others who actually do have a love and affection for that place.

Regardless of how others view it, experience it, and participate in it, my old fieldwork church hurt me. It played a part in breaking me, just as the fieldwork church of my best friend had a role in breaking him. And so when confronted with this reality I want to, in a more philosophical or theological way, burn it down. I want to defend myself, my best friend, and others from this enemy that seeks to look out for its own interests the only way I know how. But it isnt just my old fieldwork church I want to burn down, its the sem, the synod, the theology and policy. It is all of those things which took a turn at beating me and others into a broken mess. And it is when I see myself going to this extreme that I realize my burning would have no purpose or remorse. In Backdraft terms I would be Ronald, not Axe, and I have to take a step back.

This doesnt mean I am not going to light theological or philosophical fires but the ones I do light have to serve a purpose. Its finding the balance. I cannot sit idly by on the sidelines, silent. I need to find the voice I once had before I was broken. But I know I cannot just deconstruct things for the sake of deconstructing them, there has to be a purpose.

Sometimes the only recourse you are left with is lighting that match. I know I am going light it. That fire will burn. But will I burn it all or only a part? I dont know. I just dont know.

It is amazing what can happen in a few years. I apologize for being vague but stick with me. No, this isn’t some happy nostalgic post, I’m actually at a loss for words. I am just not sure how something can go from epic to nonexistent. But I guess that’s the way of things when they are based off of people rather than ideas. But ideas can be just as empty and problematic so I just don’t know what to say or do.

But despite how things have been, tonight was good. It felt like old times and for a minute it was like I was in college again and this was just one out of many weeks. It didn’t matter that a conclusion wasn’t reached, in fact, I think that was a strength. Its a reminder that things are always in flux. Sure it may not be what it once was, but that does not mean it can’t become something new.

And isn’t that the beauty of life? Isn’t that the beauty of the event?

John Caputo once wrote,

“The divinity that shows through Jesus consists not in a demonstration of might but in a complete reversal of our expectations culminating in the most stunning reversal of all.”

That reversal is not simply bringing metaphoric life out of death. It isn’t some ideological resurrection. It flips your world upside down. I don’t think it’s hope that I need tonight. It’s doubt. Right now that’s the reversal. If I don’t embrace something for what it is I’ll never be moved to do something about it. Not because I have some idealized depiction of how it could turn out but because I doubt anything will exist.

I guess what I am saying is that not knowing the ending has a profound effect on how you live. I wonder if the same would be true of Christianity. What if we didn’t “know” about the resurrection? Would it change the way you or I acted if we didn’t know the ending?

One of my favorite stories ends like this…

We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don’t get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won’t solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we’re called home.

This is but a piece of the story of how To Write Love On Her Arms came to be. It is such a well crafted yet simple enough assertion. We were made to love, not to solve the mysteries, but help the vulnerable ones. What I appreciate about this quote is that it calls people to suffer with one another. But I wonder how far people are willing to go.

I know the church is good at claiming it is the hands and feet. I have experienced the love and care of so many people who lived out exactly what this quote is attempting to elicit but I still wonder just how far people are willing to go.

This past spring I spent time considering what our class called an incarnational ethic. It is this notion that a community is what forms and informs the decisions of individuals based upon the story of that community. For example, abortion is not wrong because it violates some abstract principle concerning the sanctity of life but because our story asserts that life is a gift and we are willing to help you in any way we can. We are willing to suffer with you. While I can appreciate the approach I am turned off by the notion that the story dictates how a person should act. What if that person who is part of your community does not want to listen? What if they hear your story and still want to pursue a different course of action? To go along with the example, what if they heard your story about life and still want to proceed with an abortion?

What do you do?

How far are you willing to go?

Are you willing to put away your story and drive them to the clinic?

Are you willing to enter with them into the fray?