Reasons Why

When I heard of the Aurora, Colorado shootings on July 20, one of my first reactions was to read the news stories for any information on the shooter's motives. From a purely practical perspective, there's little reason for this: the shooter's motive has no impact on the reality of the tragedy for the victims' families, the sense of closure that I'd get from knowing more about the story wouldn't remove my obligation to pray for those involved, and I'll never meet shooting suspect James Holmes, so whether or not I understand him will have no bearing on my life. It's just that I wanted to know why this terrible event happened.

I'm apparently not the only one to wonder why this happened; the web and news are full of stories delving into suspect James Holmes' personal history, discussions of his motives—or lack thereof—and speculations of his mental health or illness. As I'm writing this, one of links at the headline of CNN's home page is “Opinion: Why Kill?,” discussing possible motives. Almost as soon as I'd heard about the shootings, I got an email in my inbox talking about “making sense of” events such as this. Clearly, I'm not the only one wanting to know why this happened.

Wanting to understand why things happen—and why bad things happen in particular—is a powerful human desire. It's been suggested that one of the reasons journaling is therapeutic is because it helps us turn our jumbles of experiences into stories—organized series of cause-and-effect events, complete with implied whys for what happened—so that we can better understand them. Psychologists talk about the just-world hypothesis, the belief that the world is fundamentally just and that, therefore, if something good or bad happens to someone, it's because they deserved it. The just-world hypothesis is surprisingly widespread and strong. In numerous experiments, when subjects were presented with someone who received an electrical shock or had suffered illness, violence, or poverty, the subjects thought less of the victim. In other words, their hypothesis that this is a just world—their belief that there must be a why for everything that happens—caused them to think that the victim in some way deserved what happened. The just-world hypothesis can apply to good events too: if something good happens to someone (even if it's just luck), observes may assume that that person is skilled or virtuous.

As people who believe that the world is fundamentally under the control of a just God, we Christians are more prone to just-world thinking than others. I've heard countless variations of this sort of thinking from Christians over the years. This person died in a car crash because they were born out of wedlock. That person got sick because they didn't take care of themselves. The United States' historical rise was proof of God's blessing. The United States' more recent problems are proof of God's judgment. Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans because of the immorality there. The 2010 Haiti earthquake occurred because Haitians made a deal with the devil. Any and all of these whys are, technically, possible—after all, God is more than capable of using any means he wants to get people's attention, and God certainly does act in history—but unless the Christians who are voicing these whys have direct revelation from God, they should not be so presumptuous as to assume that they understand when and why the Almighty intervenes.

This thinking is hardly new. Much of the book of Job consists of Job's friends trying to convince Job that they know why he's suffering and that his suffering is his own fault, but in doing so, God replied, they “had not spoken the truth about me” (Job 42:7). Jesus' disciples assumed that a man's congenital blindness was due either to his sin or his parents' (John 9:2); Jesus replied that it was neither. And although there are plenty of stories in the Bible where the why is spelled out in immediate, just-world terms—this good thing happened because of this person's faithfulness, that bad thing happened because of that person's sin—Jesus is quick to warn his listeners not to be too quick to draw conclusions about why bad things happen:

Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.” (Luke 13:1-5)

My grandfather suggests, based on 2 Thessalonians 2's description of the power that opposes God in this world as “lawlessness,” that it may not even be possible to find a reason why bad things happen. If God is a God of order and peace (1 Corinthians 14:33), and if God is the source of our reason, and if the evil in this world is described as lawlessness—chaos—then it may fundamentally have no reason. (In The Dark Knight, Alfred perhaps gets at this aspect of evil with his description of the Joker: “Some men aren't looking for anything logical... Some men just want to watch the world burn.” However, I sometimes wonder if pop culture treatments such as this serve to trivialize rather than illuminate reality.)

It seems to me, then, that there are several guidelines in this area that we as Christians need to follow:

• We need to be aware of our innate tendency to look for whys and the limitations of those whys. (Rational explanations may not address someone's suffering, and even though they may provide closure, they do not relieve us of the need to wrestle with issues, offer support, empathize, or pray.)
• We need to reject naive just-world thinking that automatically attributes good events to good actions and blames people for bad events.
• Although we should not dwell on the evil in this world, we should not trivialize or ignore its lawlessness, chaos, and unreason.
• In spite of the unreason of evil, and in spite of our own inability to always offer just-world explanations, we should hold fast to our belief that the world is ultimately ruled by a just God. We have the Christian hope that, ultimately, justice will prevail.

(I'm trying to focus specifically on how we think about why things happen instead of the much broader question of why bad things happen. For a discussion of that question, Philip Yancey is a good place to start.)

Serious Business

Many American Christians seem to have a weak grasp of the theology of the church. Maybe it's an overreaction to the authoritarian, rigid hierarchy that Catholicism (and other denominations?) are seen to have; maybe it's simply a result of American individualism. For whatever reason, we often fail to realize how wonderful and how important the church is.

While attending the University of Tennessee, I was blessed to be a part of the Christian Student Fellowship there. I don't know how campus ministries are generally organized—I've heard of various combinations of outreach, Bible study, and social activities—but in the words of Sam Darden, the campus minister, the CSF was simply “a church made up of college students.” Sam was continually amazed that God would take a small (thirty to forty) group of college students, whose members changed constantly from year to year, who lacked money and regular schedules and (often) maturity, and form a church out of them.

Sam also talked about the gift of the church. Church isn't just something that we do because we're commanded, and it's not just a place where we can individually “fill up” on our spiritual needs for the weekend, and it's certainly not just a social gathering or a vehicle for entertainment. The Church is a gift: we get to be a part of the body of Christ; we get to share with others the joy of worshiping God; we get to form eternal friendships; we get to help other people (physically and spiritually) and be helped by other people.

This should affect how we view the church. Ephesians 5:25-27 (NLT) reminds us that Christ “loved the church. He gave up his life for her to make her holy and clean, washed by the cleansing of God's word. He did this to present her to himself as a glorious church without a spot or wrinkle or any other blemish. Instead, she will be holy and without fault.” If Christ values the Church this highly, then we should too.

This should affect how we view churchgoers. We are to “stop evaluating others from a human point of view” (2 Corinthians 5:16, NLT) - as earthly friends, or as rivals in the argument du jour, or simply as whoever's warming the pew next to us. C.S. Lewis elaborates on this idea:

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. (The Weight of Glory)

The church is serious business.

This makes it all the more serious when people harm the church, either by action or inaction. It's strange to think that we can by our human deeds harm the body of Christ, but the Bible contains too many exhortations about how both our actions and our inaction (James 4:17) affect others for us to not think that this is the case.

We harm the church with our divisions and our arguments (John 17:20-23, 1 Corinthians 1:10-17, 3:1-9).

We harm the church by failing to pray for it and for our brothers and sisters in it (1 Samuel 12:23).

We harm the church when we judge our brothers and sisters by our own standards (Romans 14). I recently read of a ministry leader who espoused a doctrinally shaky position. In discussions online, he's being challenged Scripturally on his position - which is good and healthy - but he's also being assaulted, insulted, and torn down for daring to hold such a position. This is being done without regard for the faithful service he continues to do and without any apparent awareness on the attackers' part that their own doctrine may be imperfect.

We harm the church when we tolerate continued immaturity (Hebrews 5:11-14). Everyone is at different stages of maturity, but wherever people are, growth—genuine discipleship—is required.

We may harm the church when we put ourselves forward as ministers, leaders, or champions of a cause without recognizing our own immaturity. 1 Timothy 3:1-13 describes the requirements for elders and deacons specifically, but the principle is clear: simply having the desire to serve is not enough, if qualifications of character and maturity are not present. I have seen and read of people who persist in trying to do something in spite of their own failings and do harm as a result. We need humility to recognize our own shortcomings.

We harm the church when we try to turn it into an association of our favored race or social class or into a vehicle for our pet ministry or social or political cause. Examples of racist or overly politicized churches are too common; thankfully, though, other churches are consciously cutting back the “stuff” that they do so that they can focus on what is truly ministry. (See, for example, here.)

We harm the church when we bash it. Criticizing and looking down on the church and Christians for their shortcomings is a common pastime, and I've indulged in it myself often enough. Realizing that Christ loves the church enough to die for it should stop me in my tracks: how can I disparage something that my Lord loves so much?

I harm the church when I keep to myself in my pew, singing and absorbing the sermon and doing nothing else, or when I only look for my handful of close friends, instead of coming out of my shell and reaching out to whoever I can to carry out the 59 “one another” commands of the New Testament.

Paul knew very well how serious the business of the church is:

I face daily the pressure of my concern for the churches. Who is weak, and I do not feel weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not inwardly burn? (2 Corinthians 11:28-29)

Do we recognize this too?

In discussing the divisions and arguments within the Corinthian church, Paul gives this warning to those who would harm the church:

Don't you know that you yourselves are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in your midst? If anyone destroys God's temple, God will destroy that person; for God's temple is sacred, and you together are that temple. (1 Corinthians 3:16-17)

Let us recognize how great a gift the church is and do all that we can, by prayer and deed, to build it up.

Pledge Now

Our area Christian radio station recently finished its pledge drive. Over the course of the pledge drive, I heard several variations of the following two statements:

“Christian radio is an important ministry and worth supporting.”

“If you pledge now, then you'll be entered in a drawing to win a new iPad.”

These two statements seem a bit contradictory. If a ministry is intrinsically worth supporting, then why does it need to offer an extrensic reward?

I once saw a church web site that offers all first-time guests a free Starbucks gift card to “say thanks for coming and taking time out of your busy schedule to be with us.” I think that giving some sort of welcome gift to first-time visitors is a nice touch—for example, the church that I used to attend offered loaves of homemade bread—but if a church feels that they should give cash value gifts for people spending the time to attend their services, then what does that communicate about how valuable they believe their services are?

Contrast that radio station and that church with Rob Bell's approach in starting Mars Hill Bible Church:

I remember being told that a sign had been rented with the church name on it to go in front of the building where we were meeting. I was mortified and had them get rid of it. You can't put a sign out front, I argued: people have to want to find us. And so there were no advertisements, no flyers, no promotions, and no signs.

The thought of the word church and the word marketing in the same sentence makes me sick. (Velvet Elvis, p. 99)

Much of what churches and parachurch organizations do falls under the category of marketing or advertising:

marketing, noun: the process or technique of promoting, selling, and distributing a product or service (Merriam-Webster)

Advertising is a form of communication used to encourage or persuade an audience (viewers, readers, or listeners; sometimes a specific group of people) to continue or take some new action. (Wikipedia)

By these definitions (which I confess to having cherry-picked a bit; for example, the American Marketing Association has their own, much harder to parse definition), asking for donations as part of a fundraising drive, trying to get people to come to church, and raising awareness of social and moral ills (as my church did recently with a presentation on human trafficking) are all advertising and marketing.

Advertising and marketing don't have to be bad things. There are plenty of problems with how it's often practiced in the business world—the annoying pervasiveness of ads, the attempts to manipulate people, the shading of the truth that sometimes happens—but there's nothing wrong with the basic concept of promoting something worthwhile. In fact, promoting the Gospel—promoting God's glory—is at the core of the Christian life.

So, on the one hand, we should do all that we can to promote God's glory and the Gospel. On the other hand:

• The more we believe that God is in control, the less we'll be tempted to resort to alarmism in an attempt to motivate human action. (“The family is under assault! America is in crisis! Democrats might win elections!”)
• The more we feel secure in our love for Christ, and the more we believe that the gospel is truly Good News, the less we'll feel embarrassed about or feel the need to apologize for stating our beliefs.
• The more we trust the Holy Spirit to lead people to repentance, the less we'll try to guilt trip people.
• The more we believe that our causes are worthwhile and that God provides, the less we'll feel the need to use fundraising gimmicks. (George Mueller, who never directly asked for money and instead prayed for all of his orphanage's needs, took this to an extreme.)

The more we experience the greatness of Christ, the less we'll try to attract people with anything that's not Christ.

Jesus said, “I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” (John 12:32)

Funerals

I attended two funerals in 2010.

The first was of my grandfather, Bob Martin. To his students, he was known as Bob, because, taking Matthew 23:8 to heart, he rejected any title to set himself apart. To me, he was known as Papaw. He didn't think that a Christian should ever be merely "okay," so whenever anyone asked, "How are you?", he replied, "I'm rejoicing in the Lord!" He preached in Indiana, Pennsylvania, Kansas, and Tennessee, and taught Bible and theology at Johnson Bible College for 28 years, touching the lives and shaping the faith of thousands of students. When he died, someone set up a memorial page on Facebook for him; there were 17 pages of comments from people expressing the impact he'd had on their lives. He was the finest Christian man I know. He was 82, half a century older than me.

The second was of Cheryl Beckett, the daughter of an area minister. She was one of ten medical-aid workers who were killed in Afghanistan, where they were living, serving, and loving the Afghan people. I did not know her, but at the funeral, I heard how she lived a life of service and sacrifice even before her death: passing up a prestigious education and job opportunity because it wasn't where God was leading her; travelling to Honduras, Mexico, Kenya, and Zimbabwe doing service work; and giving up numerous rights, freedoms, and comforts to service in Afghanistan. Her father, in a sermon, mentioned how humbling it was to realize how much he had to learn from her. She was 32, barely older than me.

It's popular to ask, “What would Jesus do?” However, there are two problems with the question. The first is one of fact; as Dallas Willard explains in The Spirit of the Disciplines, asking what Jesus would do at the point of decision-making fails to recognize the kind of life that Jesus led that gave him the strength and discipline to make those kind of decisions. It's like asking, “What would my sports hero do?” on the field or court without attempting the training that enables that kind of performance. But Willard develops this idea much better than I could, so I won't go into it further now.

The second problem is psychological. Even while asking ourselves, “What would Jesus do?,” it's easy to subconsciously discount the answer. After all, Jesus had a bit of an advantage over us, right? Can we seriously expect our own actions to match up to the standard of the perfect God-man? So it becomes easy to relegate ”what Jesus would do” to an abstract standard or unattainable ideal. As long as we're at least growing, as long as we're heading in the right direction, that's the best we can reasonably hope for, right?

Looking at the lives of Papaw and Cheryl Beckett makes me realize that taking this view would be wrong. While it's true that, in this life, growth is the best we can hope for, there's a huge difference between the kind of growth that Papaw and Cheryl showed and the kind of growth that we too often settle for. Attaining to the perfect standard of what Jesus would do is, in this life, impossible, but Papaw and Cheryl show me how far it's possible to go. True, Papaw had fifty years more than I've had to grow and mature, but if my life continues on its present trajectory, will I reflect Christ to the degree that he did? Cheryl was my age; does my life now reflect Christ to the degree that hers does?

What changes do I need to make for my growth in Christ to be more like theirs

What changes do you need to make to grow more in Christ?