Diana Butler Bass: October 2009 Archives

I've often wondered why progressive Christians don't typically celebrate All Saints Day on November 1 with more enthusiasm.  It is, next to Christmas and Easter, my favorite church holy day--I eagerly await reading the texts of our Christian ancestors and the communal singing, "For All the Saints," in my Episcopal church.

Earlier this year, I published a history of Christianity, A People's History of Christianity, a book focused on "saints" of the liberal and progressive tradition--people like Origen, Perpetua, Abelard and Heloise, Katarina Zell, Lazarus Spengler, Anne Askew, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Harry Emerson Fosdick, Maria Stewart, and Samuel Green.  The stories told therein are about generosity and justice, about prophetic preaching and speaking truth to power.   As a result, I've spent the better part of 2009 in mainline churches and with progressive Christian groups talking about history and why history is important to both our spiritual lives and to enacting social justice.

And I've listened to many mainline Christians share their reticence about engaging history, thinking about tradition, and the stories of our saints. 

Of all Christians, liberal and progressive ones have the most awkward relationship with history and tradition.  After all, liberal Christianity developed from "modernism," a way of looking at the world that privileged new ideas, philosophies, and sciences as part of God's revelation in human culture.  Modernists broke with tradition.  They looked to the human past and saw much wanting--superstition, violence, and repression--and willingly abandoned that past, especially the religious past, in favor of reason and enlightenment.  In the nineteenth century, many Christians accepted modernism and worked to adapt their faith to the new intellectual climate.  At its birth, progressive religion was the offspring of a certain sort of historical ambiguity.  In the last two centuries, western Christians willingly shattered memory because the past was too painful, too oppressive, and too morbid for modern sensibilities of tolerance and equality.  Better forget than remember. 

The other reason that progressive Christians don't engage history as eagerly as more conservative ones is that progressives are more critical and less given to hagiography.  Indeed, progressive Christians actually look for flaws in their "saints" (I once heard William Sloan Coffin make this point) instead of celebrating the contributions of the wise leaders in their community.  Indeed, we will often dismiss the insights of an otherwise good leader or role model by whispering, "Well, did you know that he wasn't very open about women?" or "She was really a racist..." Over the years, we've developed a bad habit of undermining the wisdom of the past on the basis of contemporary attitudes--thus displaying a spiritually unpleasant lack of historical humility.  Not a nice trait in people who claim to believe in human goodness.

On this All Saints Day, I'd like to call progressives back to history for two important reasons: 

First, progressive faith takes new ideas seriously and we try to bring the best of contemporary thought into our theology and congregations.  That's who we are and we will always be.  But--and this is important--western societies no longer suffer from too much history.  We are suffering from too little history.  Two hundred years ago, it was a very good idea to step away from the past's darkness.  Today, however, most people suffer from spiritual amnesia--that we have no idea what our history is, and have little idea who we are because we are disconnected from that past.   Younger generations of seekers are yearning to find their story--and to experience meaning that comes through belonging to a community that remembers. 

Second, one needn't engage in uncritical ancestor worship in order to celebrate our past.  Hagiography is one thing; a realistic view of history is another.  In our quest for realism, we've forgotten that people may do good as well as evil.  Every great leader in the history of Christianity had flaws--some had seriously misguided ideas and violent prejudices.  Our ancestors were both saints and were profoundly human at the same time.  To use the language of prayer, they did things they "ought not to have done."  They were, as we are, men and women of their own times--even sparkling insights of the divine were mixed with their own personal sins and the sins of their own cultures. We need to engage a practice of historical generosity when studying the past.  Indeed, one day, we too will be held accountable for what our great-great-grand children deem hypocritical, stupid, or wrong.  We hope they might be kind to us; we hope they will understand that we were doing our best. 

A few months ago, I heard Jon Meacham explain why he'd written about Andrew Jackson--a flawed historical character if ever there was one.  Meacham explained, "History is to a country what memory is to an individual."  Indeed.  History is to a religious movement, a tradition, a denomination, a church what memory is to an individual.  Loss of memory isn't funny.  Loss of memory can be fatal.  Progressive Christians have much to celebrate about the past.  We have much to learn from history.  And we have much to reclaim.  Progressive faith is a great Christian tradition--and we have many great saints.  

This All Saints Day, remember.  

This week, the Vatican announced that it would make it easier for conservative Anglicans and Episcopalians--those uncomfortable with women priests and accepting gay people--to join the Roman Catholic Church.  The move surprised Anglican leaders who, evidently, had no idea that the Vatican planned a massive sheep-stealing campaign.  The news sparked lively--and sometimes mean-spirited--debate in both print and online media. 

Most stories pointed to the historic nature of the Vatican's action.  Evidently, not since the Protestant Reformation has Rome invited so many of its former children to come home.  There have been many remarkable individual "returns" of Anglicans to the Roman Catholic Church--most notably the English theologian John Henry Newman or the American bishop Levi S. Ives in the nineteenth century.  But historians strain to remember a mass invitation like this one.

Reporters, however, have missed something important.  While it might be unusual for Rome to formally invite Protestant to return to Mother Church, it is in no way odd for Roman Catholics--especially those in Europe, North America, and Australia--to abandon Rome for Protestant denominations.  For decades, cradle Roman Catholics have been leaving their church in favor of finding congregations that are open to divorce, practice birth control, support women in the ministry, and respect the dignity of gay and lesbian people.  Indeed, according to a 2008 Pew survey, one in ten adult Americans is an ex-Roman Catholic--with the Roman Catholic Church showing intense decline among Anglo- and African-American populations (Hispanic immigration is helping RC membership hold steady). 

A Catholic News service story from 2005 noted that the change was a "constant trickle," saying:

Among those changing denominations, the Roman Catholics generally say they long to breathe the "free air" of the Anglican Communion, with Catholic priests usually saying they plan to marry, the bishop said. The Anglicans usually say they have had enough of the "woolly thinking" of their leadership, he added.  "Anglicans who become Roman Catholic generally become very conservative Roman Catholics, while Roman Catholics who become Anglican tend to become very liberal Anglicans," he said.

These observations have been backed up in a number of academic studies--including my own work.  From 2002-2006, I conducted a Lilly Endowment funded research project on vital mainline churches (findings may be found in Christianity for the Rest of Us) and found that successful mainline congregations had large populations of former Roman Catholics, sometimes as many as a fifth of the members would have once been Catholic (in two Hispanic congregations, every member was a former Catholic). Several of the project pastors had also been Catholic.  In every case, the former Catholics praised the intellectual and spiritual openness of the mainline church as the major reason for switching. And the mainline congregations had accommodated many Roman Catholic faith practices--everything from centering prayer to Marian devotion--to help converts be more comfortable in the new Protestant setting.  

In western Christianity, religious switching is a way of life.  That the Vatican has just figured that out only proves they read polls.  That's it.  This isn't really news.  Churchgoers are a migrant lot--and they are voting for their favorite theologies with their feet.  Sometimes they vote liberal (as in the case of RC's leaving their church) and sometimes they vote conservative (as in the case of Protestants becoming Catholic).  But that they do it--and that their denominations engage in sheep-stealing to boast sagging membership rolls--should surprise no one.  When liberal Anglicans join the Roman Catholic Church en masse or conservative Catholics chose to become Episcopalians....well, that would be news. 

Although many pundits think the religious right is waning, Republican Bob McDonnell, whose political views were shaped by radical right-wing beliefs--those of Christian Reconstruction--appears poised to win Virginia's upcoming gubernatorial election.  

McDonnell's ties to the Christian Right were not an issue until the late summer when a Washington Post reporter obtained a copy of McDonnell's M.A. thesis in public policy written for the College of Law at Pat Robertson's Regent University.  In a series of articles, the Post--and a good number of liberal bloggers--reported that McDonnell's thesis attacks working women, birth control, and public school education.  Critics pointed out how "conservative" these views are and that McDonnell is associated with Robertson (McDonnell also served as a Regent trustee until recently)--implying that such views and associations should discredit his campaign. 

Bob McDonnell responded that he wrote the thesis twenty years ago, that he doesn't really remember much about it, and that he can't really recall the lectures of his thesis supervisor, Regent's Law School dean Herb Titus (whose views were so controversial that he was eventually removed from the faculty).  He also claims to have moderated--pointing to his own family as evidence of his broadmindedness (he has several successful grown daughters).  Mostly, however, he sidesteps the issue, implying that the press is out to get him, and that he is a genial jobs-and-economy/law-and-order sort of guy--not a Christian Right culture warrior.

There is, however, a problem with these claims.  McDonnell's thesis is not a benign Christian intellectual piece or slightly biblically goofy.  Rather, it is a detailed argument for the Republican Party to embrace a specific philosophical worldview called Christian Reconstruction, an interpretation of the Bible, politics, society, and the family that has proved so controversial that even some who hold these ideas will not admit to them in public.  It is difficult to imagine writing a M.A. thesis based on Reconstructionist thought and not knowing exactly what you are doing.

Christian Reconstruction is, according to Professor Julie Ingersoll, a leading expert on the topic, "a label for a small group of conservative Christians who advocate 'reconstructing' society to conform with biblical law."  The founder of this movement is the late R.J. Rushdoony, whose influence on the Christian Right has often been minimized by some of its leaders (because he advocated such things as stoning disobedient children) but whom others claim was the single most important intellectual influence on conservative Christianity in the twentieth century.  

Professor Ingersoll argues that "the ideas of Reconstructionists helped to frame the worldview of the Christian Right, and helped weave together the issues that have dominated the Christian Right's political agenda while grounding those issues in a specific understanding of the 'family.'"  Indeed, at the center of Rushdoony's thinking--and that of his disciples, such as Herb Titus, Bob McDonnell's thesis advisor--stands the idea of the authoritative, patriarchal family.  McDonnell's thesis?  "The Republican Party's Vision for the Family: The Compelling Issue of the Decade." 

The Post, the Virginia Democratic Party, and liberal bloggers have looked at the thesis but have failed to really understand it--partly because they don't understand theology.  They see Pat Robertson (whom they don't like); they see a lot of anti-feminist language (which they also don't like); they see some sort of narrow version of Christianity (that appears to scare them); and they see conservative politics (and, of course, they don't like that).

What they don't understand is that McDonnell's work closely follows that of Ray Sutton, a Rushdoony disciple and the author of Who Owns the Family?  God or the State?   Published in 1986 by Dominion Press, Sutton's book is an influential Reconstructionist work--outlining a "statist" attack on the family through humanistic education, oppressive taxes, sexual perversion, women's rights, abortion, welfare, and national healthcare policies--and arguing that the family needs to be reconstructed to the biblical image of the Old Testament patriarchs in order to build a theocratic society.  Indeed, McDonnell's analysis of the contemporary family follows Sutton point-by-point (a dependence that is clear in both the body of the thesis and in the footnotes).  If the analysis is the same, does McDonnell also want to reconstruct the "biblical" family in order to create a Christian America?  He certainly said that he wanted to "restore" a "proper balance of church, family, and state authority" to the nation (McDonnell, p. 61)--and called the separation of church and state "conventional folklore" (McDonnell, p. 62). 

I am a Christian--and Christians have every right to bring their moral convictions into the public sphere.  But faith convictions need to be held in tension with the separation of church and state, laws of equality, and religious diversity. McDonnell's thesis does not support separation, is not pro-gender equality, nor is it religiously inclusive. His thesis outlines a specific theological agenda--that of Christian Reconstruction, an overt movement to, in the words of Rushdoony, "subdue the earth and exercise dominion over it . . . Man must bring to all creation God's law-order. . . This government is particularly the calling of the man as husband and father, and of the family as an institution."

Is this the sort of government Virginians really want?  Do they understand or care about the implications of McDonnell's own writings?  Whether McDonnell still holds these convictions--whether or not he will completely denounce and renounce (and not just avoid) them--is an important matter for both Virginia and the nation. 

(The quotes about Reconstruction and Rushdoony are from Julie Ingersoll, "Mobilizing Evangelicals:  Christian Reconstruction and the Roots of the Christian Right," in Brint and Schroedel, eds., Evangelicals and Democracy in America, Volume II:  Religion and Politics, 2009.) 

Some African churches have taken a frightening literal turn: accusing children of witchcraft and torturing or killing them to purify their souls. 

Over the weekend, the Associated Press reported that more than 15,000 Nigerian children have been accused of being witches in the last decade, with around 1,000 of those children murdered because of the accusation.  These were not random acts of violence.  Instead, family members and pastors often executed their children claiming to literally follow the biblical injunction, "You shall not allow a witch to live" (Exodus 22:18).   In addition, thousands of children have suffered torture at the hands of "exorcists" who charged their impoverished parents vast sums to cleanse their children of witchery.

In Eket, Nigeria, local police try to stop the worst abuses.  But they confess, "We cannot afford to make enemies of all the churches around here" and say that the "vast majority" are involved in the practice.

Since the 2002 publication of historian Philip Jenkins' fine book, The Next Christendom, it has become popular in some Christian circles to romanticize African Christianity as more orthodox, spiritually vital, and morally pure than western Christianity.   Although Jenkins did not specifically say so (and it is a bit misreading to so claim), his readers have often depicted western Christianity as a tired and corrupt tradition awaiting the energy, insight, and vibrancy of a new Reformation springing from Africa that would remake the Jesus-faith for the future.   Indeed, some critics of western Christianity--as in the case of the Episcopal Church in the U.S.--embraced this analysis so completely that they have forged ties with various African churches in order to destroy the western forms of their denominations in favor of a new, "more orthodox," Africanized version. 

The combination of Jenkins' argument and its politicization by North American conservatives has sapped the confidence of some western denominations--thinking that their historical day was somehow over in favor of Christianity in other parts of the world.

But stories like this witchcraft story prove otherwise.  African Christianity is as vast and diverse as American Christianity.  Some of its most vibrant forms are its most progressive types--like the theologies that fostered justice in South Africa or sponsored the Truth and Reconciliation movements.  And, as the Associated Press points out, some of its most regressive forms are its most literal--like small town pastors who kill children they think to be witches. 

And it also shows that western Christianity--especially its liberal and progressive versions--has something important to say in today's world.  A few hundred years ago, western Christians killed witches, too.  In places like Massachusetts.  And they also interpreted the Bible literally--"You shall not allow a witch to live."

Our ancestors figured out that was a stupid interpretation and they embarked on a long theological quest to figure out what the Bible does and does not teach, how to understand it dictums, to explore its context, to discover the meaning behind the literal words.  This quest--the move from pre-critical Bible reading to a critical approach to the Bible--framed much of Christian history during the modern period. 

Contemporary Christians often take this quest for granted--because it was so successful.  Very few North Americans actually read the Bible literally.  Yes, there are those who believe in a six-day creation, think wives should submit to husbands, or burn books in God's name.  But can you remember a time when a person was excommunicated for eating pork or failing to cover her head in church?  Have you ever seen someone bring his slaves to church? Have you witnessed a Christian being chastised for "touching the skin of a dead pig" (that's in Leviticus--think football) or walk around maimed because he cut off his hand due to sin?  Even the most conservative Christians read selectively, metaphorically, and contextually--and they do so because the liberal, critical approach to Bible reading has been so thoroughly accepted in the west.

Critical reading is not the source of decline; it is the source of great spiritual vibrancy.  And literal reading is not a source of spiritual wisdom or moral purity; it is the source of serious distortions of faith.  Approaching the Bible with a critical eye restores scripture to its primary place as a collection of wisdom documents--the record of human experience that maps our understanding of God.  It isn't a rulebook or a phone book or a history book or a science text or a political science handbook.  The Bible must be understood in its context, as a series of different literary genres, as an inspired collection of ancient tales about life, God, and faith.  In this way, it possesses great insight into the human condition, about how to love, and about wise living. 

Western Christianity is a great tradition.  We've done things wrong--that goes without saying.  But we also are full of life, insight, and wisdom from historical experience.  We've been around for a long while.  We've learned a thing or two.  Like it isn't a good idea to read the Bible literally.  That killing and torture are wrong.  Always wrong.  Especially in the name of God.  Most especially when it involves the innocent and oppressed. 

Once upon a time, western Christians tried to inflict our views on Africans.  That, too, was a bad idea and came from a misreading of the Bible.  But maybe if we shared what we've learned about God, Jesus, scripture, and the Christian faith with humility and respect, we might actually be able to help our African brothers and sisters avoid some of our stupidest mistakes.  

Yesterday, a friend sent me a link to a video from Southwestern Baptist Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas entitled "Taking the Hill."  I thought it might be a political video encouraging conservative Christians to go to Washington to lobby against health care or some such thing.  Actually, it was much worse.  "Taking the Hill" is a bizarre call to evangelize depicting Christians as "soldiers" in a war for souls under their "real" commander-in-chief, Jesus.  It reveals almost pornographic-religious obsession with guns and violence that should be deeply disturbing for any faith community.

The "Taking the Hill" campaign was launched last month at the seminary.  According the September 17 edition of The Baptist Press, President Paige Patterson  kicked off the project:

FORT WORTH, Texas (BP)--Dressed in camouflage and stationed as the gunner in a Chenowth Desert Fast Attack Vehicle, Paige Patterson stormed onto the chapel stage.

After firing a round of blanks from a .50-caliber Browning machine gun, Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary's president took his place behind the pulpit and initiated operation "Taking the Hill."

....Patterson lifted his Bible, pointing out that God has armed believers with His Word, along with prayer and proclamation. Then, reading 2 Corinthians 5, he urged believers to testify to the Gospel of Christ, reminding them of Paul's motivation: the "terror of the Lord," the righteous judge of all men and women, and the "love of Christ," who died to save all who believe.

....Lifting his left hand, Patterson saw that it was covered with blood -- the blood of a woman who died without hearing the Gospel although she lived less than a mile from the seminary. His right hand was covered with the blood of a man who took his own life because Patterson did not witness to him at God's prompting.

I know that it is a free country, and that we have both religious freedom and certain rights to own guns.  But when these two rights interweave--as they are doing--it is dangerous to both church and state.  Any church that advances such a crusading and violent vision is far from its founder's vision, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for theirs is the Kingdom of God."  And the state that fails to understand that people with guns who believe that God has armed them are dangerous isn't serving the good of a peaceable society.  

Although weapons and religion may have been natural partners in the Middle Ages or on the American frontier, isn't it time to recognize that we live in the twenty-first century?  Guns and grace don't go together.  Shouldn't true religion--genuinely transformative faith--call God's people away from violence and toward passionate peacemaking?