Ultimate Evil

I believe that human suffering is not the ultimate evil. It is not the thing we should  most ardently avoid or prevent.

What is? Human comfort.

This position was clarified for me by an episode of The West Wing. I was a huge West Wing fan. That show may have been the best-written television program of all time. In Episode 127, "A Good Day", Congressman Matt Santos leads a clandestine scheme to vote down Republican legislation that would cancel funding for stem cell research. To defeat the bill, he has to convince a freshman Democrat of the value of stem cell research. He does so by appealing to "the greater good". He tells the freshman that millions of lives might be spared suffering if we use a few lives to prevent it. The trade-off is worth the cost.

I remember sitting in silence for a long time after that episode, trying to decide if Matt Santos was right. If human suffering is the ultimate evil, then we should do all we can to prevent or reverse it. The meaning of life becomes a numbers game in which we measure suffering (Willing to trade one million more ulcers in exchange for 100 fewer cancers?) and work the solution that ensures the least.

But I think that's a fearful and myopic approach to life. And though I loved the West Wing scripts, I often disagreed with the worldview from which they were written.

So what is the ultimate evil? Meaninglessness.

In his book Don't Waste Your Life, John Piper equates ultimate evil with ultimate waste. He recalls reading a story in Reader's Digest that told of a couple who seemed to embody the American Dream. They "took early retirement from their jobs in the Northeast five years ago when he was 59 and she was 51. Now they live in Punta Gorda, Florida, where they cruise on their 30-foot trawler, play softball and collect seashells."

Piper cajoles:

Come to the end of your life — your one and only precious, God-given life — and let the last great work of your life, before you give an account to your Creator, be this: playing softball and collecting shells. Picture them before Christ at the great day of judgement: "Look, Lord. See my shells." That is a tragedy. 

Ultimate evil is not human degradation but human exaltation — not when we are forced against our will, but when our will succumbs to force.

When the Holocaust hero Father Maximilian Kolbe redeemed his suffering by trading his life for that of another prisoner, he ensured that his life was not wasted and his suffering not victorious. He turned evil to good. In fact, the setting for greatest evil was transformed to good by his chosen suffering.

But of course there were others in those prison camps — and in every kind of prison since then — who did not suffer well, who considered their own comfort or deliverance the highest cause.

We are most noble and most good and most God-like when we, in fact, choose suffering for another's sake — when we run toward the burning building, when we don't love our lives so much as our humanity. We are most evil when we love ourselves highest and look out for number one until it kills us.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not looking for any opportunities to suffer, and I believe God is grieved by human injustice. Humans are icons of God, and when they suffer injustice, God is mocked. But a belief system in which human suffering is the ultimate evil is one in which human comfort is the ultimate good. That's humanism or consumerism. It's not Christianity.

Book Review: A Faith Of Our Own

Christians are bad at politics. We always have been. And Jonathan Merritt says we should just give up. In his new book, A Faith Of Our Own, Merritt tackles the tricky relationship between Christianity and politics in America. Merritt's conclusions dovetail with his personal story. A graduate of Liberty University, he was poised to inherit all the perks, traditions, and cultural assumptions of evangelical royalty. His father was president of the Southern Baptist Convention. His book opens with a story about having breakfast with Jerry Falwell.

But for all his conservative Christian heritage, Merritt is something of a political prodigal. He proposes a different way, a new approach to Christian engagement with politics and culture which, it turns out, isn't new at all.

Merritt's thesis is that it's time to abandon the culture wars. Intertwined with stories from his own journey through the subculture of the Moral Majority, Merritt gives several reasons for this:

1. We've Lost
The culture wars are over and Christians have lost. We have failed to persuade both Capitol Hill and Hollywood to embrace Biblical values. We can keep beating the same dead horses or we can see the handwriting on the wall. Culture wars haven't worked. God hasn't moved our nation through them. So it remains for us to ask Him whether this is a test of perseverance or an opportunity to follow Him into something new. Like DC Talk of old, Merritt says God is doing a new thang.

2. Jesus Didn't
This is perhaps the most compelling argument in the book and one that could have used more emphasis, I think. When we examine Jesus' own relationship with his culture and government, we see a different pattern than the one we're used to. Jesus lived under an oppressive government that was intolerant of Judaism (and later Christianity), that refused to embrace any religious faith save for its own secular humanism (worshipping Caesar as god may be the very definition of humanism), and that taxed religious people to fund immoral government programs. Like conservative Christians of the 20th century, Jews of the first century were ready to "take back their nation for God." That's why they were eager for Jesus to seize political power, to assume his place as a political savior. But Jesus refused every opportunity to do so. He consistently chose obscurity and humility over power-grabs. This was, in fact, one of the areas in which Satan tempted him directly.

Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the wold and their splendor. "All this I will give you," he said.

Merritt's assertion is that Christians have mistakenly bowed to the prince of this world by making the kingdom of God nothing more than a political faction in his worldly system of me-first politics.

3. Disunity
Merritt presents some interesting statistics about Christians on both sides of the political aisle. Thanks to the well-funded and radio-broadcasted voices in evangelical politics, we often think of Christians as exclusively conservative. But Merritt cites sources that show that our brothers on the left can be just as polarizing and just as blindly attached to party. When believers are divided by politics, it elevates matters of governance above matters of the heart. It undermines Jesus command for us to love one another so well that it becomes our touchstone. Merritt argues that when we engage in culture wars we create civil war in the kingdom of God. And a house divided against itself cannot stand.

4. Bad PR
Finally, Merritt argues that Christians have created a negative stereotype for ourselves in the culture, and we only reinforce that stereotype when we fight culture wars. Of course, that's not fair. Not all Christians are gun-toting, war-making, greedy, gay-bashing hate-mongers. No stereotype is fair. But in all our politicking, we have failed to learn the ancient political truism that perception is reality. Just because the vast majority of Christians are kind, generous and compassionate, doesn't mean we don't have to deal with the perception that we are otherwise. To refuse to deal with the stereotype because it's false is to reinforce the stereotype. The wise choice, instead, is to prove it wrong. And we do that best outside the sphere of politics.

Winning hearts to faith in the White House seems like a bigger coup for the kingdom of God than winning hearts to faith under a bridge in South Dallas. But the latter requires more faith. His ways are not our ways.


It's hard to disagree with Merritt's theses, but it's also easy to finish his book without clarity about how to go forward. Should Christians abandon political involvement altogether? Should we even vote? Our primary citizenship is in heaven, but shouldn't we also take seriously our American citizenship? Shouldn't we work for mishpat and shalom in the land of our sojourn?

Merritt's most explicit answer to those questions comes in the form of a quote from one of his mentors:

"As faithful Christians, we may be compelled to enter the political arena from time to time. But we should always be uncomfortable there."

But that's hardly robust enough advice to govern all the ways Christians are to interact with government and culture.


Besides these reasons for abandoning culture wars, Merritt makes several other strong points and addresses a few hot-button issues.

Civility
Merritt argues that Americans are, and have long been, unable to engage in constructive, civil discourse about controversial topics. He asserts that the current state of journalism only feeds this incivility which has become a major obstruction to good governance and a peaceful union, not to mention evangelism.

One of the encouraging things about Merritt's approach is how he handles "Crazy Uncle Harry". Referring to conservative Christian political activists, Merritt quotes Pastor Joel Hunter: "It's like our crazy Uncle Harry got out of the home and ran into city hall wearing a shirt with the family name. We love him, but he misrepresents us."

I've heard this accusation before and it's accurate. But what we have to realize is that it's always accurate for everyone. None of us is comfortable being represented by anyone else, whether in our faith family, our natural family, our political party, or our sports team affiliations. But that's what family is about. We have to learn how to embrace our family members, even when they embarrass us. I may not wear a sandwich board and shout like the street preacher, but I have to be willing to count him a brother and a servant of God on equal footing with me. I have to believe in a family of God big enough for both of us. Merritt seems to be willing to do that with culture warriors.

Constantine
Last year, I read Greg Boyd's book, The Myth Of a Christian Nation. Boyd was even more forceful than Merritt in his warnings not to mix faith and politics. Both authors refer to deep changes that happened in the church when Christianity became intwined with Roman government in the fourth century. What Merritt argues in A Faith Of Our Own is that the culture wars in America may represent our own Constantinian watershed. If the 1950s marked the high point of American civil religion, they may also mark the beginning of the end of true kingdom building.

Gay Marriage and Abortion
Each of these topics gets its own chapter in the book, and Merritt's political positions are easy to decipher. He's a social conservative: Baptist habits die hard. But the point of these chapters is to think about new ways to hold up the virtues of God's moral law. Merritt argues that Christians are awfully good at hating sin; unconvincing when it comes to loving sinners.

We Are America
There's one other principle that Merritt only touches lightly, but that has become my rallying cry in the culture wars: repentance. I believe that every time a Christian decries the evil of our culture, the next sentence out of his mouth should be a prayer of repentance. Because the truth is that if we were doing our job as salt and light, our culture wouldn't be as immoral as it is. Merritt says, "Our major social problems are not the cause of our decadence. They are a reflection of it."

The way to "win America back to God" is not to shout at Americans that they need to repent, or pass laws requiring moral decisions. The way is for the church to lead in repentance. This land is our land; this sorrow must be ours too.

Bad Writing Is No Different

Don't tell me what's not different about your subject.

How many times have you read a lead like this:

"Everyone needs a challenge, and Sally was no different."
"Everyone needs love, and Harry was no different."
"Every Cowboys fan is familiar with disappointment; Jerry was no different."

Today I read the following paragraph in, ironically, a blog for writers:

"We all long for community. For family and friends. We were made to experience life in the context of groups to which we belong. We all need a loyal "band of brothers [or sisters]" to embrue us for who we are. Writers are no different."

Here's the problem: your readers aren't interested in reading about the mundane or common place. In fact, a story is only worth telling if it is NOT common. News is only news if it is unusual. "Dog Bites Man" isn't news; "Man Bites Dog" is. When was the last time you saw a news headline declaring:

Sun Rises, Warms Earth

You haven't. No one has ever written that story because it's not worth reading. Stop telling your readers to tune out by telling them how unremarkable your article will be.

Rethinking the Long Tail

I'm a Seth Godin fan. I worked in marketing. So I get the long tail. But I'm starting to wonder what it's doing to our relationships.

The long tail is a statistical pattern popularized by Wired Editor Chris Anderson in 2004. Anderson's thesis was that the wave of the future is for businesses to sell more individualized products to a wider spectrum of customers, instead of the traditional mass-market pattern of selling the same "big hit" product to everyone. It means selling deep cuts, not just the hits. And in the digital age, when it doesn't cost any more to customize the customer's experience, it completely makes sense.

The long tail is revolutionizing our media and our culture. Why would I pay thousands for an ad in the Yellow Pages, when I can put my ad in front of only the very people who are looking for my service, and only pay a fee if they respond to the ad? Facebook is the holy grail for marketers.

And we're quickly growing accustomed to it. I'm miffed when I get Living Social emails for specials in Atlanta. (This continues to happen; what the heck, Living Social!?) We "customize our user experience" with what we watch, read, listen to and "like". It's individualism and consumerism mashed up and gone to seed. I can find an app, a publication, and a group of people for any interest I can dream up.

• Fiddle players in Stockholm? There's a meet-up.
• Cubs fans in Anaheim? Like our Facebook page.
• Left-handed log stretchers with one eye and a dog named Bonfire? Check out our Etsy store.

Last month, I was sitting around a table with eight other people involved in small groups ministry and one of them pointed to where this is all going. Dr. Mark Heinemann said, "It's narcissistic: everyone wants to be in a small group with himself."

He was right. Our culture is becoming increasingly ruled by the long tail and it's removing us from one another. We spend so much time "liking" that we are loosing contact with people unlike us. Evangelicals are terrible about this. We insulate under the banner of protecting our virtue. We "other" (I know that's not a verb) under the banner of "standing up for" Jesus. We should be haunted by the line from Blue Like Jazz: "You only believe that stuff because you're afraid to hang out with people who don't."

But we're not alone. Americans are all retreating, hanging out with people who like the same music, the same TV shows, the same clothes, the same games, the same mobile devices.

Our separation has been centuries in the making. The industrial revolution took Dad out of the home. Then the rise of two-income families took Mom away. Global business and air travel took Grandma and Grandpa out of state too. And the growing size of our communities meant we had to divide by age at school, church, and day care.

 Now, we grow up almost exclusively among people of matching age, race, intellect, and affluence.

And I think it might be affecting our ability to get along. According to a Public Agenda Research poll, almost 80 percent of Americans believe that lack of civility is a "serious national problem."

We don't know how to discuss or disagree. We've forgotten how to walk in one another's shoes. We just can't relate.

There is great hope for the church in this. Jesus has called us from every "tribe and language and people and nation." (Rev. 5:9) Paul has taught us that at church there should be no divisions or hierarchies based on nationality, race, ritual or social class. (Col. 3:11) Church could be the one place where we are forced to love and live with people of different generations, races, social strata, and political persuasions. We've effectively jettisoned our natural family members who aren't like us. What if we refused to do the same with our church family? What if we left the long tail to the advertisers and embraced a more diverse and holistic family? What would that look like? What would it do for our witness in the world?

The Gay Chicken Debate

Today, thousands of amateur activists for traditional marriage will buy lunch from Chick-Fil-A. Maybe millions. Thousands of activists for gay marriage will also visit CFA locations to picket, argue or order water. This could go very badly. I cringe at the thought of media reports tomorrow about shouting, violence or arrests at Chick-Fil-A locations across the country. I pray that doesn't happen.

The question I keep asking is, "Why are we doing this?" What do we Christians think we're going to accomplish with National-Straight-People-Eat-Chicken-Day? Here are a few of the most common lines of thought.

Be not ashamed
There's a legitimate sense among evangelicals that the good old days are gone and our country is moving away from a Christian worldview toward a humanist one. I think it's hard to argue otherwise. For more than two centuries, Christians (especially Protestants) enjoyed a cushy life in America. With laws and cultural norms deeply influenced by our religion, we didn't have to deal with opposing viewpoints very often. That is clearly changing and Christians are right to worry that immorality is both accepted and legalized, that ultimate truth is undermined, and that peer pressure is turning to persecution.

The unconsidered response to those developments goes something like this: "That's not right. That shouldn't be! Someone has to do something. I'm going to stand up for truth! Let's eat chicken!"

But I think a more measured response might be more Christlike. Is huddling at CFA with other christians really the best way to stem America's moral decline? Remember, the early church refused to be silent about Jesus, not politics, and they did so at the risk of losing their lives, not their chicken biscuits. Refusing to renounce one's faith in a Roman coliseum is a far cry from denouncing gay marriage in a fast food joint.

Serving as the conscience of others
To be sure, many in our culture have calloused or perverted hearts that could use pricking. As do many in our pews. But the New Testament never admonishes us to rebuke immoral behavior in unbelievers, only in our brothers and sisters. Unbelievers are supposed to behave like unbelievers. We should stop expecting people who believe there is no ultimate truth to adjust their lifestyles to ultimate good. Instead, the pattern the Bible promotes is for us to rebuke one another inside the church — sharpen, love and encourage one another to the point that we're so Christlike that unbelievers want to be like us.

Let your light shine before men that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.
— Matt. 5:16

Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day He visits us.
— 1 Pet. 2:12

Here's a tip: if you're picketing, boycotting, condemning or otherwise demonstrating against the behaviors or beliefs of others, no one wants to be like you. Activism is not the way to win friends and influence people.

Standing up for free speech
This is probably the most logical reason for the demonstration but also the most insincere. Yes, Dan Cathy has every right to speak his political and religious views, and run his company any way he likes. And yes, customers have every right to visit or avoid his stores because of those views. But for Christians to suddenly take up the mantle of free speech seems a bit disingenuous. The same constitution that protects Dan Cathy's speech also protects war protestors, gay pride parades, and porn publishers. Christians quickly lose their First Amendment fervor when the topics change.

Whatever the reasons for the CFA demonstration, no one is pretending that it will actually lead to a better place. No one thinks thousands of Christians are going to show up at CFA and win the argument — as if every gay American will wake up tomorrow and think, "Hmm. Those people all ate chicken on the same day. They must be right. I'm straight."

Instead, the lesson gays are more likely to take away is simply that Christians are spoiling for a fight.

So if the CFA demonstration isn't going to accomplish anything healthy, what will it do? I think what we're actually accomplishing is marginalizing our own message. We seem to have forgotten in the public sphere a truth that we all embrace in our churches — that heart change happens in the context of relationships.

Which brings me to the most troublesome facet of this issue: we are increasingly removing ourselves from the culture. More and more, evangelicals are neither in the world nor of it. A friend of mine recently quoted one author (I'm sorry I haven't been able to track down which author) who wrote that the problem with social justice in the American church is not that Christians don't love the poor; it's just that they don't know them. The same is true for gays. I would venture to guess that less than half of American evangelicals have a gay friend. We seem more than happy to go out of our way to protest gay issues, but not to meet gay people.

Recently, I went to lunch with two gay friends to talk about the gay marriage issue. We didn't solve any great public policy debates, but we did express care for one another. We treated one another like real people, not like political opponents.

That may be the best thing to come out of today's CFA debate. Maybe instead of escalating to shouts and violence, people from both sides of this debate might meet one another at the fast food counter, learn one another's names, and get out of their comfort zones. If you're planning to show up at CFA today, I encourage you to love your political opponents the way Jesus loved you when he called you out of darkness into light. If you see someone ordering water, consider buying a meal for them. Learn their name. Express your concern that this whole thing has come across as judgmental. Maybe even pray for them. Better yet, skip the chicken and visit them on their turf, not yours. Show up on Friday for the "kiss-in" and make some new friends. Forget about protecting your righteous image long enough to reach out to your fellow man.

Chick-Fil-A didn't invent the chicken sandwich, but if we do this right, they might be inventing a new, more civil forum for political and religious discourse. That's what I'm praying for.