Years ago I took a theology class to an Eastern Orthodox Easter divine liturgy. The cathedral was packed, but I had called ahead and my friend, the dean of the cathedral, had reserved seats for us in the back (as requested). I had told my undergraduate theology students not to go forward for the eucharist but to wait and go forward for the bread of fellowship after the service or at the end of it. A kind usher came to us and instructed us to stand and join the whole congregation in moving forward to the front. I had forgotten to tell the students what to say when the priest, in this case the dean, offered the bread and said “Christ is risen!” The people in front of us were quiet as they whispered “He is risen indeed,” so the young student from California who led our procession didn’t hear the response. I saw her step in front of Father Wojcik as he handed her the bread of fellowship and said “He is risen indeed.” She took the bread, looked at him and said “He sure is!”

Father Wojcik got a good laugh out of that. Later, during the question and answer time, he made clear to us that her response was entirely appropriate and he enjoyed it because it was unexpected and unusual–out of the routine.

I have many good memories of Easter but many of them include snow and darkness. You see, I grew up in the Upper Midwest and often Easter was during winter–and I mean winter as in weather: cold, limited sunlight, wind, snow.  More often than not our (my brother’s and my) “Easter egg hunt” had to be held indoors. Our church always held an “Easter Sunrise Service” early on Easter Sunday morning. After that we retired to a large room with a kitchen attached in the nearby “Settlement House” for breakfast. (That room served as our church’s fellowship hall.) Then came Sunday school and worship.

One year, when I was a child and Easter came later than usual, when it was really and truly finally spring, our Easter Sunrise Service was held outdoors–in a cemetery. The pastor, my father, obtained permission from the cemetery. The sun began to rise as we stood there singing “Low in the grave he lay” and then “Up from the grave he arose!” The focus of the service that Easter was on the dead all around us being raised to new life–just like Jesus.  (My mother’s grave was near where we stood, so that made it especially meaningful and memorable.)

This past week, during “Holy Week,” I heard one of the best sermons on the resurrection, our resurrection (because of Jesus’ resurrection), that I have ever heard. The preacher was my colleague Joel Gregory, a true pulpit master. Not many preachers can move the congregation to tears one moment, laughter the next, and deep thought the next. Joel’s focus was 1 Corinthians 15:44 and 2 Corinthians 5:1. His sermon sparkled with intriguing illustrations and stories from his own ministry but also with references to theologians such as Oscar Cullmann (famous for rejecting the “immortality of the soul” as a Greek doctrine in favor of the “resurrection of the body”).

I especially appreciated that Joel emphasized that Jesus’ resurrection body was and ours will be “spiritual bodies,” not “physical bodies.” Paul’s phrase is σῶμα πνευματικόν and he contrasts it with “physical body.” Resurrection is not resuscitation of a corpse–even to everlasting corporeal existence (unless “corporeal” means simply “bodily”). Not long ago I preached at a church whose statement of faith, printed in the bulletin, included belief in a “physical resurrection.” I find that many conservative Christians think the resurrection body will be material. Joel made clear he wasn’t talking about us becoming “ghosts” or phantoms. But neither will we (nor was Jesus) revived corpses. What we will be is a mystery; we can’t really understand it except to say there will be continuity and discontinuity between our present bodies and our resurrection bodies.

Just hours after hearing that chapel sermon I led my students in discussion of the theology of Paul Tillich. (I wrote the chapter on Tillich in Stan Grenz’s and my 20th Century Theology book [IVP 1992] and have recently rewritten it for the forthcoming The Journey of Modern Theology.) Although Tillich had many great ideas, he was most to be pitied because he did not believe in a resurrection of the dead. When he died he probably believed in reincarnation, but it’s impossible to know for sure. (According to his wife she “read him over” using The Tibetan Book of the Dead at his request.) Tillich agreed with Bultmann that the resurrection of Jesus was a “restitution of faith” in the lives of the disciples. We look forward to no bodily resurrection (according to him).

One of the strangest Easters in my life was when I was a Ph.D. student at Rice University in Houston. The chairman of the Religion Department, my mentor Niels Nielsen, was preparing me to go to Germany to study for a year with Wolfhart Pannenberg who was the subject of my dissertation project. I had to raise some of the money myself, but he set up appointments with several wealthy women who had contributed to such fellowships for Rice students in the past. On Easter Sunday afternoon, 1981, I drove into an estate owned by one of the wealthiest women in the world. The estate was in Houston–hidden in one of the most luxurious neighborhoods of the city. The mansion was so decrepit that I wasn’t sure it was where she lived. Eventually she came to the door and bid me enter. She had been cutting white lilies from her garden and had some in her hand. After our strange conversation she handed one to me and said “This is to remember the resurrection of the spirit, not the body.” During our conversation I found out that she had been a close friend of Tillich’s and he was even buried on property she owned in Indiana. She had a special “roofless chapel” built for his burial site. She was a leader of Houston’s Jung Society (dedicated to the study of Carl Jung’s philosophy). She was one of the strangest people I have ever met, but she gave me some money to go study with Pannenberg, so I’m grateful to her.

Last evening, this Easter weekend, I attended one of the best Easter musical events ever at a church near where I live. It’s an unusual church: independent Pentecostal and Anabaptist. I don’t know of any other like it. The church has about a thousand members. There were approximately 1,500 people there last evening and most of them were not church members but guests. (Most of the church members voluntarily step aside to allow guests to have the seats. The choir, orchestra and singers put on the concert for church members another time.) As I looked around I saw many local dignitaries–judges, newspaper publisher, college presidents, etc. (Last year a former president and his wife and one of their daughters was sitting near us at the concert.)

I was moved to tears by a soloist’s (accompanied by the almost 100 voice choir and approximately 50 piece orchestra) rendition of “I See a Crimson Stream of Blood.” (The musical selections are about the cross and the resurrection.) She sang with passion (and great talent!) but it was the words that moved me.

For much of my adult life I have attended churches that rarely sing about the blood of Jesus. I grew up in a form of Christian life that talked and sang and preached about “the blood of Jesus” much. Whenever my family got in the car to go on a trip my stepmother would “plead the blood of Jesus” over the car (for protection). I tend to think now that was a kind of magic, but it was well intended. But it seems to me we contemporary evangelicals have become squeamish about the blood of Jesus. We substitute “death” for blood or avoid mention of his “blood” altogether.

Now anyone who knows me knows I’m not one of those fundamentalists (do these even exist anymore?) who insist that every sermon, every testimony must include mention of the “blood.” But have we gone to the other extreme? I think so.

I don’t hold with magical, mystical ideas about the blood of Jesus as in “The Chemistry of the Bood” by M. R. DeHaan–a famous radio preacher of the 1950s. There was nothing special about the “chemistry” of Jesus’ blood. It was ordinary human blood.

However, I wonder what motivates us, contemporary evangelicals, to abandon all mention of the blood. (I once led an informal hymn and gospel singing event with colleagues at an institution where I formerly taught. Some of them would not sing about the blood or even play their musical instruments for songs I chose that included mention of the blood of Jesus!) To me, when I was growing up, talk about the “blood of Jesus” made his death more realistic. Without it I would have been tempted to think he, being God, just sort of fell asleep or died a painless death, not the hideous death he actually suffered and died.

Anyway, I don’t see our abandonment of the “language of Zion” (as one of my seminary professors called it) as a good thing. Sure, it needs translation for the uninitiated. But Scripture itself is full of mention of Jesus’ blood. So is Christian tradition. I suspect we thin out our Christianity by making it less offensive to tender sensibilities. For me, “the blood of Jesus” is part of a “thick description” of Christianity–more profound and meaningful than Christianity bled dry of everything offensive.

 

Why Do We Call It “Good Friday” When….?

Today is “Good Friday.” To many students whose schools are on holiday and to many workers whose companies close for a long Easter weekend, it’s “good” because they can sleep in, go shopping, take a trip or whatever. But my question today is why Christians call it “good.”

Here’s an irony that causes me some cognitive dissonance whenever I attend a “Good Friday” service (which I usually do): We call it “Good Friday” but worship on it as if something terrible, depressing, sad and awful happened. Our “Good Friday” services tend to be dark, dour, minor key, funereal. At most we celebrate the Sunday coming (Easter)! “It’s Friday but Sunday’s Coming!”

But wait (I ask myself)! Why, then, do we call it “Good Friday?” Why not call it “Bad Friday?”

Whatever the opposite of celebration is, that’s what most “Good Friday” services are.

Okay, I can hear the thought some reading this are thinking: “But Jesus’ crucifixion was a horrible event—from one perspective, anyway. We need to remember his agony, his suffering, the injustice of his execution, his feeling of being abandoned by his Father, etc. All that stuff is bad and sad and not to be celebrated.”

True—“from one perspective.” But at the same time, of course, we believe that the cross event was also a marvelous victory, a triumph, a defeat of sin, death and the powers of evil. So there’s another perspective to recall and emphasize—without the cross no one would be saved!

Again, I can hear people reading this thinking “What’s your point, Olson?” Here it is…

If we call today “Good Friday” we should also celebrate the cross event and not just remember the evil and suffering involved in it.

If not on Good Friday, when do we celebrate the cross? What day do we set aside to rejoice with thankful hearts for the cross like we do the empty tomb on Easter Sunday?

The contrast between how we worship on Good Friday and Easter Sunday is jolting. It implies that the crucifixion was a huge error, only an injustice, undeserved suffering. This is one fault I find in the “church calendar” and how it is traditionally observed. If evangelical churches (of whatever denominations) are going to observe the liturgical calendar, we ought to amend the way it has been observed—at least in this case.

Here is my suggestion: An evangelical “Good Friday” service should begin in minor key, somber, remembering our Savior’s suffering and death from the one perspective mentioned above. It was a horrible event, a grave injustice, an undeserved death at the hands of sinners. The lights should be dim, the cross draped in black, the hymns focused on Jesus’ agony. The Scriptures read should be about all of that. But, halfway through the service, the lights should go up! The Scriptures read should be about the victory of the cross over death and sin and hell and evil powers! The songs should be celebratory and joyful! We should sing “In the Cross of Christ I Glory!” That other perspective should dominate. This event was the turning point of history, the moment of reconciliation, the cause of our eternal hope!

That’s why we call it “Good Friday!” And only if we do that should we call it that.

Where Have All the Theological “Public Intellectuals” Gone? (An Invitation to Participate)

Recently I have been lecturing and writing (again) about some of the “giants” of modern theology: Schleiermacher, Bushnell, Hodge, Ritschl, Rauschenbusch, Machen, Troeltsch, Fosdick, Barth, Brunner, Niebuhr, Tillich, Bonhoeffer, John Courtney Murray, Carl Henry, Hartshorne, et al. Some of them, perhaps all of them, spoke not only to the churches but also to society at large. Several of them graced covers of Time magazine: Fosdick (twice), Barth, Niebuhr, Tillich. Niebuhr was interviewed on a 1958 version of “60 Minutes” by Mike Wallace. Tillich was on the platform (honored guests only!) at Kennedy’s presidential inauguration. Even Henry was the subject of an article in Time. What made these (and perhaps other theologians) “public theologians” was that they gained a hearing from even non-Christians as respected voices of reason in the “public square.” People turned to them for commentary on public policy—not just as representatives of a perceived lunatic fringe but as spokespersons for religious perspectives that deserve a hearing from everyone.

Let me illustrate what I’m talking about. When I moved to Germany in 1981 I timidly turned on German television to explore what might be there. The very first thing I saw was a national broadcast on one of the German networks featuring theologian Jürgen Moltmann delivering a lecture on God and disability to a convention of disabled persons. It wasn’t just a ten second clip on a news program; it was an hour long broadcast during prime time. In Germany Moltmann and some other Christian theologians are considered public intellectuals, not just church theologians.

Ironically, the only theologians I can recognize as having the status of a public intellectual in American society today (2013) are Stanley Hauerwas and Cornel West. I say “ironically” because they eschew the kind of role Niebuhr and many other public intellectuals played—friend and advisor to power. They’re iconoclasts. But even they are not likely to be the subjects of “60 Minutes” segments or grace the cover of Time magazine. However, both have been subjects of article in Time.

In my estimation, as important as Hauerwas and West are, their public voices are whispers compared with, say, Niebuhr’s or Tillich’s or even John Courtney Murray’s. That’s not because what they have to say is unworthy of wide public attention but because the media have generally turned away from theologians—except those shrill voices on the extreme ends of the social and political spectrums the media use to boost ratings.

I once conducted a study of Time magazine covers from its inception up until the time I conducted the study (around 1990). I’ve tried to pay attention to Time covers since then as well. I may have missed a few. Until the 1966 “Is God Dead?” infamous cover Time frequently put theologians and noted religious leaders on its covers (which always also meant feature articles about them inside). After that no theologians (unless you consider evangelists and popes theologians) were featured on Time covers. I once found myself on a hotel elevator with the publisher of Time (Henry Luce III) and asked him about that. He said he hadn’t noticed it.

My theory is that once real theologians came out publicly denying the reality of God many people decided theology isn’t worth paying attention to. It would be as if some medical researchers declared themselves devoted Christian Scientists (i.e., members of the Church of Christ, Scientist). If nothing happened to them, if they were applauded for their courage by their peers, what would people think of medical researchers? Beginning in the 1960s (but with older roots) Christian theology became a joke. Without anyone to yank theologians’ credentials, theologians get by with saying anything. The ethos of the theological (and religious studies) academy is to reward the craziest notions. I realize this is not unique to theology or religious studies, but that’s my area of scholarship, so it’s the one I’m most concerned about.

Yet there are still voices of reason among theologians that deserve a broader and deeper public hearing. They’re unlikely to get it. Instead of naming candidates here, I want to invite you to name one and give a brief explanation why you think he or she should be on Time’s cover or featured in a “60 Minutes” segment.

Now what do I mean by “voices of reason among theologians?” I mean people who express themselves calmly and reasonably—with messages that could be heard and understood and even heeded by the public at large. I’m not assuming a “view from nowhere” kind of Enlightenment rationality. I am assuming that perhaps, hopefully, a confessionally committed theologian might nevertheless be able to express himself or herself to public issues in a way that is persuasive—at least causing people who are not so confessionally committed to stop and think and consider.

Please post your nominations here and give a brief (two or three sentences) explanation.

The subject was Calvinism and Arminianism. The setting was City on a Hill Church in suburban Seattle (Federal Way). The reason was to explain Calvinism and Arminianism and answer questions about both. The audience was mostly young people from many churches–some as far away as Sacramento (CA).

 

Part One: http://vimeo.com/62468956

Part Two: http://vimeo.com/62474379

Do “Religionists” and “Secularists” Share the Same Goal?

Tom Krattenmaker is a Portland-based writer specializing in religion in public life and a member of USA TODAY’s board of contributors. His column “Secularists, Meet the Religionists” appeared in USA TODAY March 22. A large, bold print side bar appears to be the article’s subtitle: “You may have different beliefs, but you do share the same goal.” Really?

Much of the article is based on a book entitled How to Be Secular by Jacques Berlinerblau who is described as a “secular Jew” on the faculty of Catholic Georgetown University.

The gist of the column (I haven’t read Berlinerblau’s book) is that “secularism” is the solid foundation for religious freedom and therefore “religionists,” including conservative evangelicals, should embrace it.

According to Krattenmaker (and apparently Berlinerblau) “Properly understood, secularism is not about total godlessness or an absolute separation of religion from government. It is, more precisely, a model of church and state….” According to this definition, “secularism” is simply non-interference in religion by the government and non-control of the government by “church authority.”

Krattenmaker argues that “even the most vigorous religionists” should oppose church-state entanglements because if they don’t some rival religious group may eventually control the state and persecute them. (I’m paraphrasing what I understand his argument to be.)

He specifically mentions how Baptists vigorously opposed church establishment in early American history.

I have a few quibbles and qualms about Krattenmaker’s (and apparently Berlinerblau’s) argument.

First, Krattenmaker suggests that some Christians want to make “Thou Shalt Not Be Gay” the law of the land. The thrust of the column is that “religionists” ought not to attempt to persuade government to enshrine their ethics as law. The current controversy over “gay marriage” seems to be the catalyst for the column.

But who among “religionists” is trying to make “Thou Shalt Not Be Gay” the law of the land? Well, perhaps some are. But that’s not clearly stated by any that I know. Rather, most conservative Christians involved in this debate say they are simply attempting to keep current laws and stop them from being changed to expand “marriage” to include same sex couples. Is that the same as trying to make “Thou Shalt Not Be Gay” the law of the land? That seems to me to be a leap beyond anything I hear from most conservative advocates of traditional marriage.

Second, does “secularism” really mean just separation of church and state? Of course not. A case can be made that it includes separation of church and state, but there’s much more to “secularism” than church-state separation—especially in popular meanings.

Having said that, it’s true that “secular” can mean (according to the Oxford Dictionary) simply non-religious. However, to the average person in today’s society, secularism often means anti-religious.

Years ago theologian Harvey Cox made a helpful distinction between “secularity” and “secularism.” I think this distinction has to be brought into the discussion. “Secularity” means simply without religious affiliation or commitment. “Secularism” is a worldview that is anti-religious. A government based on secularity is one thing; a government based on secularism is something else.

Which does Krattenmaker mean? Well, in his column he says “’Secularism’ is not the church person’s bane as it’s often made out to be but the best protection ever devised for religious freedom.” Really? Secularism is the best protection ever devised for religious freedom?

I think Krattenmaker is confused about his categories.

Separation of church and state is one thing. Secularism is another. He is confusing them. A secular state is one thing. A state that resists being influenced by religious believers is something else.

Furthering the impression of confusion, Krattenmaker begins the column with “religionists” being advocates of specific religious teachings enshrined in laws. But he ends with “religionists” being champions of religious freedom. Apparently the turning and connecting point is “Baptists and other evangelicals” who believe in separation of church and state but who also advocate for their religious beliefs in law. The entire column seems aimed at convincing them to drop their advocacy of religious beliefs enshrined in law—especially traditional heterosexual marriage.

And yet, in the middle of the column, Krattenmaker, relying on Berlinerblau, denies that secularism is about “total godlessness or an absolute separation of religion from government.” Really? I think “secularism” is that whereas secularity may not be. Also, the thrust of the column seems to be for an absolute separation of religion from government. If religious conservatives ought not to attempt to influence government to keep traditional laws regulating marriage, how ought they to relate to government?

I would like to give Krattenmaker the benefit of the doubt and think that some editor at USA TODAY slaughtered his column. That’s happened to some of my writings. As published, the essay is confusing at best and confused at worst.

My main concern, however, is with the suggestion, which Krattenmaker and Berlinerblau seem to make, that religious people should not attempt to influence government.

Sure, no ecclesiastical authority should dominate government. But many people confuse separation of church and state with absolute resistance to, total deafness toward, religious beliefs by governments.

Many advocates of gay marriage base their message, aimed at changing laws, on religious beliefs such as the dignity and equality of all people based on the image of God. (The article includes a picture of an Episcopal priest who will soon be officiating at same-sex weddings. I’m confident he would say his decision is at least partly based on his religious beliefs.)

Given Krattenmaker’s and Berlinerblau’s logic (as expressed in the column), such religious advocates for gay marriage should have no influence over government and law. If they should, then so should opponents of gay marriage, defenders of traditional laws regarding marriage—whatever their motives may be.

What this column appreas to be is a call for “religionists” and “secularists” to find common cause for religious freedom in separation of church and state. Sure, that’s a good call. But it doesn’t settle anything with regard to what role beliefs should play in law.

The implication seems to be that religious beliefs should play no role in preserving or reforming laws. But why only religious beliefs? And aren’t many progressive causes based on, rooted in, religious beliefs? Whatever revisionist historians may say, the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s was largely based on, rooted in, religious beliefs and driven by religious motives. Was it therefore wrong when it took aim at bringing down segregation laws and establishing The Civil Rights Act? And why reject only religious beliefs from influencing laws? Haven’t we learned from postmodernity that there is no such thing as absolute neutrality, a “view from nowhere,” “pure reason?”

My overall point is not about laws regarding marriage. My point is that this column, published in a major national newspaper, contributes more confusion than clarity to the issues it deals with.

Krattenmaker’s book The Evangelicals You Don’t Know will be released by Rowman and Littlefield next month. I can’t wait to review it here. Watch for that.