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Sexuality: doing it wrong

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Issues of sexuality are notoriously controversial, and shirted around uncomfortably; especially where homosexuality is concerned. This goes beyond a “no sex, we’re British” attitude. Discussions turn into debates and degenerate into arguments far too easily, and cause rifts that have no reason to be there. Some practices, sadly, reinforce these rifts and lead us to a discourse that is far, far from Christian love. So here are a few ways in which we’ve been tackling homosexuality wrongly:

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1. Use arcane language that you wouldn’t hear anywhere else. In Issues on human sexuality, for instance, the CofE used in lieu of “homosexual” or “gay”, the word “homophile”. I understand that they wanted to express that being homosexual involves more than just the hanky panky. But in doing so, they made of Issues in human sexuality a document which appeared to have been created without any personal knowledge of homosexuals, and without any willingness to acquire any. It is a shame, because it means that this otherwise well balanced document reached far fewer people than it might have.

So steer clear of your own neologisms, even when you think you’re simply modelling Paul. Avoid archaic words too – “inverted” is likely to make you look just as out of touch.

2. Create distinctions that you wouldn’t be ready to apply to your own life. Far too often, people state that “being gay is fine, but acting on it is a sin”. In doing so, we are simply refusing to think about the theological aspects of homosexuality, while still trying to appear loving, accepting and liberal – basically sheltering ourselves from the “homophobia” label. But this soundbitey approach (a) appears to fly in the face of Matthew’s Gospel; and (b) fails to consider homosexuals as people. To all who use that sentence as an easy get-away, I say: hypocrites. Would you be willing to hear that “being attracted to the other sex is fine” just to be told within the same breath that you can’t touch this ever?

Now this does not necessarily mean that the theological stance that gay people are called to celibacy is wrong. But if we want to hold on to that viewpoint, we cannot dismiss sexuality as an easy thing to ignore. No, we should at the very least focus positively on celibacy and acknowledge that it is a tough calling, as Paul himself stated.

3. Pretend that it’s easy. This goes hand in hand with the previous point, but is addressed this time to both sides of the debate. It isn’t easy to completely give up one’s sexuality. It isn’t easy to follow a calling to celibacy. It isn’t a matter of simply “turning it off“. Yet equally, liberals shouldn’t pretend it’s easy to re-assess a complete worldview in which same-sex attraction was considered a sin. Try to put yourself in the place of someone who suffers from same-sex attraction (and I’m not using that word lightly): believing it to be a sin, you’ve gone through countless sacrifices to be as holy as you could manage, failing every now and then and feeling guilty for it. And then someone comes along and tells you it’s all fine and that you should just embrace “who you are” and that all your previous efforts were not just pointless, they were also stupid. Now that would hurt. Adjusting to this new worldview would just put you face to face with that pointless suffering.

So don’t just uphold an argument or a position. Uphold relationships.

4. Imagine that only one side of the debate is entitled to pastoral care. Yes, the conservative side of the debate has played the part of the oppressor on the LGBT minority, with some extreme cases: in some countries, homosexuality carries the death penalty. It is very clear who the victims are here. So we may not feel that they are deserving of the pastoral care which the oppressed need. But since when do we, as Christians, give care and support on the basis of who deserves it the most? Since when are we withholding love and care from others?

Now we may not see that conservatives need pastoral care. But these are people who live in a world that is changing far too rapidly around them. They may have built a large chunk of their life, say, on the conception that marriage is a sacred union between a man and a woman – only to have someone in authority tell them that, actually, it isn’t. I’m not talking about protesters (whose worldview on this topic is fundamentally unchangeable), but about those who see a large part of their life take on – for them too! – a new meaning. We should guide them and support them in their adjustment to societal change, just as much as we should guide and support gay people in their struggle with a world that doesn’t quite accept them fully. 

5. Hide behind the “all sin’s the same” or “we are all sinners” soundbite. For starters, this is a dangerously misleading theological shortcut. Yet beyond that, it does not reflect the church’s treatment of sin. Sexual sin is somehow more frowned upon – probably because it is easier to think we are not guilty of it, and easier to focus on than it is to focus on our own handling of money. Finally, pretending that all sin’s the same is grossly misunderstanding the nature of sexuality. Sexuality is perceived as part of one’s identity, whether it is accepted or rejected. It’s not the same as, say, being envious of your neighbour’s car, or even wife. Rejecting the latter as sin is easy, because it isn’t tied to who you are – rejecting the former, on the other hand, is hard.

Now don’t get me wrong: just because it’d be hard to reject one’s sexuality, doesn’t mean that it should be left alone. If (and that’s a big if) you see homosexuality as a sin, then it is serious and it should be addressed. But don’t let’s belittle the struggles associated with sexuality and identity by associating them with petty thievery. That’s just plain disrespectful.

6. Stay on the fence, even if only pending deliberations. It is highly laudable for us as a church takes due consideration of issues of sexuality and to not rush to a conclusion. However, in the meantime, there are a lot of people in need of guidance who are left to constantly reconsider how they ought to live out their lives. We are all in a position of authority to someone, and we owe our honesty to them.

And so to me, staying on the fence includes hiding behind the soundbites listed at numbers 2 and 5. Because when you’re using those soundbites, you’re not giving the issue of sexuality any real consideration; and you’ll be caught short when someone tells you “what about me?”.

While sitting on the fence is, then, not an option, it doesn’t mean you should be entrenched into one side of the debate. I would advocate, for instance, to have a preliminary view on the issue but to be open to explore it further if and when the need arises. It doesn’t mean that view should be aired or shouted at the first occasion – you may have noticed that I haven’t shared my own (though I’d be ready to do so, in private). But I have good reason for that: I believe that this post has something to say to both sides of the debate, and I wouldn’t want to be dismissed because I’m a partisan for the opposite cause. Which brings me to the final point:

7. Dismiss all other stances as heretical and/or bigoted. This includes recourse to the phrase “The Bible says so”, which tends more to shut down a conversation than bring it life. It includes the phrase “ah, but you go to that conservative church, of course you’re going to say that.” It includes outraged “You can’t say that! That’s homophobic!”. If we stick to these arguments, we’re helping no one but ourselves, as we are ego-trippingly asserting our own brilliance.

Dialogue is where it’s at. Understanding the other side of the debate. In doing so, we aren’t discarding our own views – and I’m not advocating that we start doubting the truths to which we hold. But if we are to love our brothers in disagreement, we cannot look down on their views as idiotic – merely misguided ;-)

Ultimately, then, what we should do is both easy to summarise and incredibly hard to do. We should remember at every single point that, behind the theology, behind the debate, are people whose lives could be shaped by our views. We should love these people, and extend a hand of friendship, fellowship and swallow our own pride – whether it is in our theology or in our sexuality. But that is a tough call. And so it cannot be met without prayerful consideration. Pray pray pray pray pray. And then pray again. For wisdom and for love and for peace. Not for being right.

That you may believe

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A traditional view of the Bible: Jesus performed miracles. They are proof of His power and divinity. The ultimate such proof is His resurrection. The apostles then performed miracles of their own. They are proof of their authority.

Now additionally to this, each miracle recorded in the Gospels has its own story, and each of them has its own, distinctive nugget of wisdom for us. Arguably, the variation between these nuggets is not about Christ or His divinity (which would be established from the very first miracle). Still, we would be wrong to consider the miracles in the Gospels as nothing more than an anthology on human condition.

The core of each miracle is the mystery of the Incarnation; and it is magnified by those words, used to describe the entirety of the miracles: “that you may believe“.

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Photo: Flickr user Al, reused under CC license

The traditional view, which I outlined at the start of this post, would be to say that what we are to believe is that Christ is, simply, God. Yet they also show Christ’s humanity. If your friend gets married and runs out of wine, wouldn’t you try and procure that wine for them? If you see a sick person and have it in your power to heal them, isn’t it the one thing you would want to do? And isn’t it the pinnacle of human condition to be overcome with grief or anger?

If all that the miracles were meant to prove was Christ’s divinity, well, then a few smitings would have done the trick. But this is not the only thing that they show. They show Christ displaying at the same time both divinity and humanity.

That we may believe then turns from a conversion power-trip to a statement of love. What we are to believe changes from factual information (that Christ is God) to deeply personal knowledge: that the divine meets the human in the person of Christ. And that is immensely beautiful.

This is the face our own evangelism should adorn. Not one that convinces others for the sake of “winning people over to Christ”. Not one that is simply grounded in the truth of the divinity of Christ; yet rather one that is grounded in the meeting place between  His divinity and humanity; and thereby in a love for all that knows no bounds and no fear. This love cannot be ours to hold on to or to merely dispense. Showing love in evangelism is not merely being nice and caring to others, for this is but a pale image of the love of God. No, the love we display in evangelism needs to see us be mere tools, channels of Christ’s love for others.

Once we realise this, evangelism will, I’m sure, look beautiful rather than dutiful to us.

6 ways in which sins are like bug bites

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‘Tis summer, the season of mosquitoes and other bugs stinging and biting us. In many ways, bug bites are like sins:

mosquito

Photo: Hardo Müller, reused under CC License

1. They can be debilitating and deadening. For some sins, in particular addictions, this is easier to see (but harder to break out of!); while some menial sins do not seem altogether so bad. But, when we sin, there is that part of us that acts as though it were deaf to God. Dull, and numb.

2. Scratching them can be the worst thing to do. Focusing on our sin and responding to them “naturally”, on our own, is likely to only aggravate them. In a few cases, the sting, or the tick, etc., must be removed first and the venom sucked out. Whilst this can often be achieved without outside help, the correct strategy may not be the intuitive one, and external help is definitely beneficial – especially in places that are harder to reach.

3. They are often easy to hide from view. Yet hiding them does not make them go away. We know they’re here, and far more importantly, they are known to God.

4. Mosquito nets are available, but they are only practical in so many situations. Otherwise, we might trip on them! It is easier, and feels safer to remain sheltered from the world, but that also stops us from being effective in mission.

5. Bug repellent is also available, but in order to be effective, it needs to be put up regularly and properly. Disciplines can help avoid sin, but they have to be applied with due diligence.

6. We don’t actively seek to be bitten, yet it does happen. We, individually, bear no responsibility in the bite. But we react to it, even when this is not intentional; and it is that reaction which causes the actual itching.

Getting it wrong, or the importance of the resurrection

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Not too many years ago, for an application form, I had to describe my understanding of the Christian faith. More particularly, I was asked to describe how I understood the role of the death of Christ (and, therefore, of his resurrection). This is part of the answer I wrote:

(…) the defeating of death works as a warrant of Jesus’s divine nature and that God can indeed grant us eternal life.

And that was it. That was all I said about the point of resurrection.

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Nothing about Christ continuing His ministry of intercession today. Nothing about the importance of Christ’s human (and bodily) nature. To me, all that mattered, in the resurrection, was that it was a proof of the claims Christ had made so far. A proof that he was who he claimed to be.

The tomb was empty solely that we may believe.

As if there hadn’t been plenty of other miracles up to that point, sufficient for our belief. Or, taking it from another perspective, if I don’t believe the miracles so far, there’s no way I’m going to believe the resurrection happened. I mean, Thomas Didymus couldn’t believe it until he saw it himself!

The very notion that the Empty Tomb is the proof for the claims of Christianity is nonsensical. Now, this does not mean that the historicity of the Empty Tomb does not matter – of course it does. If Christ did not rise from the dead, it would discredit his own claims (as they have been recorded). But it is a mistake to consider it as the main historical event upon which hinges the truthfulness of Christianity; and I believe it is therefore also a mistake to focus evangelistic apologetics on this particular event.

Now, the importance of resurrection is not what I want to focus on here. Here’s what matters here: I used to think the resurrection had little incidence for us today, at least when compared to Christ’s death itself. That opinion changed. Not as a traumatic experience, but as an exciting and bewildering eye-opening. It was good. This is not necessary true of all theological adjustments – particularly those that confront us to our sins – although, in my experience, it has generally been just that. Good. A relief of sorts. Because even when that new opinion diminishes our self-perception, it magnifies our perception of God and brings us closer to him.

So what I would like to say is this: theology is not fixed. Opinions can change. And we should be ready to re-assess our opinions, particularly about those things we believe do not matter. In my case, there are still a fair amount of matters of doctrine and practice I agree with but which I believe matter little (e.g., the virginity of Mary, the historicity of most of the Old Testament, glossolalia, the use of vestments, etc.). But for those, I’m ready to have my eyes opened.

Does that mean our personal theology should be subject to mere whims, always in flux and never fixed? No. There are some things which we can determine after careful consideration. As far as those are concerned, we should not have the arrogance to say that our way is the only way, but we should be able to assert them with confidence.

What matters here is that we’re not holding on to our old beliefs through sheer pride. We can get it wrong – and I certainly do sometimes. Let us simply recognise it.

Why ecumenism is bad, too

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Lots of words ending in “ism” are bad. Fundamentalism. Radicalism. Racism. Schism. But they’re certainly not all bad: Altruism. Prism. Arminianism.

Ecumenism is one of the things that gets bandied about as an intrinsically good thing. I’m a massive supporter of it: where possible, things should be done together with other Christians regardless of minor doctrinal differences. If we believe we make up one body, we certainly should act like it. That’s the idea behind ecumenism – and that sure is a great idea.

ecumenism

Photo: Bob Jones, reused under CC license

However, in branding an event “ecumenical”, or in trying to be deliberately ecumenical, we are not only recognising our differences, we are exacerbating them. A friend of mine, openly Protestant, once attended a Catholic fellowship group. As it turned out, all that was talked about was points of disagreement (Immaculate Conception, sola scriptura, etc.) Now all ecumenical events do not have to be like that. Thankfully, most insist on the commonalities rather than on the disagreements. Yet even then, if the event is branded as ecumenical, the denominational differences are likely to end up as the proverbial elephant in the room. The differences we try to bridge through ecumenism become all the more visible in the end.

Therefore, before we go out of our way to be openly ecumenical, we should make sure that there are differences between the groups involved, lest we create more divisions than we bridge. Worse still, if we do, we may make it impossible to do stuff together outside of the “ecumenical” label.

I fervently believe the aims of ecumenism (the visible unity of Christ’s people), just like those of mission, are best served by a “belong before you believe” attitude: unity will come from people from an unspecified variety of backgrounds hanging out together and just knowing each other as Christians. Crucially, denomination-membership is no prerequisite to hanging out together; and therefore, it is unlikely to be branded “ecumenical”. And a side effect of this is that there may not be many clearly defined theological statements.

Even in this approach, though, deliberate ecumenism can be dangerous. Not that the absence of a clear theological outlook means that the individuals see their own faith falter, or that the ecumenical action is devoid of any meaning. Of course not. Going to church does not mean celebrating all specific doctrinal points that the local church adheres to; or at least not every Sunday!

No – the potential danger concerns the rest of our activities, those done within the limited circle of our own local church and denomination.

I have been working in a school for the past year. Now in a school the staff is not made up of only teachers: there’s also admin, janitorial staff, pastoral care team, etc. Be that as it may, the teachers, naturally, tend to hang out together (this isn’t helped by the teachers having their specific staff room). Interaction between us and the rest of the staff often remains on a professional level. In the cafeteria, the teachers sit and eat together, and admin and the pastoral care team usually sit at another table.

I don’t like that separation. We are a team, and I feel this should not be limited to dealing with students. So I occasionally try to bridge that separation and deliberately spend more time with non-teachers. This makes it sound like it’s a chore, so let me insist that it isn’t! The staff at my school are all lovely and have been a true blessing to me this year.

But I’m left to wonder how it might feel to the teachers. When I’m deliberately eating at the non-teachers table, it also appears that I’m deliberately not eating with them. The time spent “ecumenically”, as it were, is also time not spent with my natural group. Now, in the case of my school, there is little tension between the two groups (outside of crises, of course); and so there’s no risk of being branded an apostate/traitor/heretic who’s defected to the other side.

Still, there were moments of unease or incomprehension as to why, say, I wasn’t eating with the teachers. They were short-lived, but they are telling of a crucial problem with ecumenism. When done indiscriminately, it can end up as a one-person initiative which ends up sowing discord within the individual groups themselves. This is how I had to walk the rather fine line between spending time with teachers and with non-teachers, gradually bringing the two together. Needless to say, this could not be done without the willingness of both the teachers and the non-teachers!

And so it is with ecumenism. It must not be done at the expense of the groups’ individual life, and must be grounded in both. If we are to be a bridge between two denominations, we cannot simply hover in thin air: we need foundations. On both sides. And for these foundations to be strong, it is vital that the ecumenical drive be not perceived as a departure, but as a bringing together.

Let us take the example of the recent vote, in the Church of England to have women bishops. Some voiced concerns that it would make unity with the Roman Catholic church more difficult. This unity is a laudable aim, but my contention is that, in this matter, it is secondary. Secondary because a large majority of the Church of England (as expressed in the synod votes) is in favour of women bishops and that it is an important issue to many within the CofE. Inner harmony comes before bridge building, or the bridge will lead to nothing.