Playing with Jesus?

I stumbled upon something this week that caught me a little off guard. I had read a book review in which the writer lamented the phenomenon of the “cuddly Jesus.” This is the idea that we have sometimes made Jesus so feminine that no self respecting man would want to follow him, and we’ve characterized him as such a safe, passive, “buddy” that really, no one would be inspired to following him.
That struck me as an interesting observation, so I did a search for “cuddly Jesus” to see what other writers might have to say about it. What I got back was information about Jesus “toys.” I’d heard rumors, from time to time, about Jesus action figures, but I had no idea just how many Jesus toys are now available. Most of them seem to be manufactured with good intentions, such as the Jesus puppet, for use in Bible classes and storytelling. The action figures of Jesus and other Bible characters are supposed to help our kids act out their favorite Bible stories. And the plush Jesus dolls (think Beanie Baby) are supposed to help kids “bond” with our Savior. Other toys are so cynical as to be considered blasphemous by some, such as the “Jesus Astronaut Action Figure” (a limited edition, no less) and the various bobble-head and talking dashboard Jesuses.
I am tempted to take offense at these last few products, but I know it is, for the most part, the shallow, card board cut-out version of Jesus that they mock, and not the real, Lion of Judah Jesus. So, I feel obliged to extend some measure of grace, even if I find the some of the offerings pretty tasteless and rude.
Blasphemy, as I understand it, is limited to those who know they are messing with God, and do it anyway. I don’t get the impression the makers of these toys really know who they are dealing with. I mean, if Jesus can hang on the cross and ask his Father to forgive those who put him there because they don’t understand the significance of their actions, then I guess we can handle it when the world gives us some ribbing about our Christian images and idiosyncrasies.
What I actually find more disturbing are the toys intended for our good. I don’t want to be overly pious about this. I can certainly understand the argument that if our children have toys that reflect their favorite heroes, they should have a toy that reflects the ultimate hero of humanity. But there is a definite ironic ickyness to having a Jesus that we can so easily manipulate. Or a Jesus that is perpetually warm, soft, and cuddly. We may well be forging a bond between our kids and Jesus, but what Jesus? Is this the revolutionary Jesus, who upset the social and religious order of things? The Jesus who is the living image of the invisible God? The Jesus who endured death on our behalf and invites us to take up our own cross and follow his example? Is this the dangerous, powerful, and controversial Son of God? Or is this the Jesus that we can leave on the shelf or in the toy box until we are ready to play? Is this the “always a comforter, never a confronter” Jesus that our culture has so embraced?
Perhaps I’m being overly cynical, as I often am. But our world has an infatuation with a Jesus that always affirms, always comforts, always endorses my own plans. He is a Jesus whose actions I can control; whose presence is my decision. He is fun to play with, but He is not the Jesus of the Gospels.

The Best Buy

The phone rings during dinner and a the voice of an enthusiastic stranger on the other end thanks you for a moment of your time and explains they are calling people in your area to solicit their opinion about something. Perhaps they even tell you about the sweepstakes you won but, mysteriously, don’t remember ever entering. And, of course, they assure you they are not asking you to buy anything. How likely is that, really?

Truth be told, we are being sold something all the time, whether it be a product, an opportunity, a candidate, or just an idea. The world around us is absolutely chock full of stuff we don’t really need but “can’t live without.” And there is always someone at hand, ready to sell it to us. This is, perhaps, never more true than when someone claims they have nothing to sell.

Over recent decades, we have evaluated the effectiveness of churches based largely on their sales appeal. Success, it is implied, comes in the form of the three B’s: Buildings, Budgets, and Butts in the seats. If you had these things, your church was considered successful. Visitors would flock through the doors to see what all the fuss was about. Members prided themselves on the attendance measured by thousands, the collections measured by millions, and the new church campuses constantly under construction. Leaders could write best selling books and speak at seminars about how to replicate their success.

Now many Christians are beginning to question this well packaged and efficiently marketed brand of church. How, we may ask, can anyone argue with the obvious success of these ventures? Well, to begin with, one would be hard pressed to make the argument that Jesus was motivated by any one of the three B standards. In fact, his ministry seems to demonstrate just the opposite as a standard of success. He was apathetic about buildings and budgets, and, rather consistently, it was a tiny minority that answered his call to discipleship. So, would we then argue that Jesus was not “successful” in ministry?

It would be far more accurate to say that Jesus subscribed to a different standard of success. He did not offer a product for us to consume like a new shirt or a TV dinner. He offered us something that would consume us. Something that would require self denial and missional zeal. Something that would replace the life we thought we wanted, with the life we were made for. Something that would replace our will with his. Sadly, even in the light of redemption and grace, there have been relatively few takers over the centuries. The Gospel has always done better in the hands of a zealous few than in the pocket of ambivalent masses. A few, consumed by it, will always do more good than a thousand who buy it.

Even as we have clambered to satisfy our own definitions of success, the church has borne fruit, though sometimes in spite of ourselves, rather than because of our efforts. These successes don’t negate the fact that our definitions have often been dramatically different from Christ’s. And they will never change the truth that we will advance the Kingdom more by living in it, than by trying to sell it.

Power Broken

A new construction project at my house involves, among other things, expanding and upgrading our utility systems. A sub-panel must be installed to power the addition, a tap line must be added to our water/pump system, and new hydronic heating loops have to be created. As we consider all the things we would like included in these improvements, the question has come up a couple of times: What about a generator?

At least once every couple of years we have a big enough ice or snow storm to take out our electricity for more than 24 hours. And every time it happens, the discussion about generators comes up. Given the infrequency of these prolonged outages, it is an expense somewhat difficult to justify. But in the midst of the storm, the ability to pump water, fire the heaters, and keep the freezer from defrosting prove to be powerful motivators.

It is at these times that I become aware of just how dependent we have become on these conveniences. I find myself almost constantly flipping light switches, anticipating power that isn’t there. And the cave like qualities of those windowless basement bathrooms become apparent, even though we seldom notice this when they are washed in warm incandescent light. And since, like so many mountain households, our water is supplied by a well, the absence of power also means an absence of running water. But I still forget that I can’t flush the toilets or wash my hands in the sink. The simple fact is, these are conveniences so common to my daily life that I take them for granted. And while I will probably eventually break down and buy a generator, there is a part of me that recognizes the inherent value of going without from time to time.

There is, of course, the unpalatable reality that these things I consider basic necessities are not even available to large numbers of the worlds population. But there is more to it than simply having grown accustomed to these luxuries. Modern utilities have helped to convince us of our own independence, power, and control. With a simple light bulb, we are no longer accountable to the cycle of the sun. With a pump or a public water utility, we no longer need a communal well or the shared responsibility of carrying water to provide for the needs of the community. With power lines strung to my home, I can pretend my household is an independent island; that I neither need anyone else, nor do I answer to anyone.

But then, when the power goes off, the independence I think I have is no longer such a great thing. Honestly, one of the reasons a generator would be such a welcome addition to our infrastructure is the fact that it would help me maintain my illusion of control. But one of the things I actually like about the occasional storm and outage is the way my neighbors and I all come out and work together to take care of things. There is a certain admission of powerlessness that undermines our pretense of independence. And the resulting community is, actually, very enjoyable. Needing each other, it turns out, is really a very healthy thing to do. And the control we think we have, when we really think about it, turns out to be a rather tenuous illusion. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Like Jesus

One of the things we've been trying to overcome is the tendency of Christian people to have, exclusively, Christian friends. Even new converts to Christianity, after a few years, tend to have minimized or abandoned their relationships with non-Christians. Part of this is understandable, I guess, as we tend to surround ourselves with people who share our values. A person who goes through a values shift, like a Christian conversion, probably naturally seeks out those who will understand that shift. Still, we make a keep a variety of friendships with people whose values are diverse from ours in other ways, so why are we so exclusive about faith?

A lot of this is probably cultural. I know I grew up in an atmosphere where you sort of avoided places where you knew people would be sinning. Problem is, I can't seem to find a place where people aren't sinning - even at Sunday morning church service! So really we avoided people who had sins we didn't. We might practice self righteousness, pride, apathy, or hypocrisy, but hey, we didn't get drunk or sleep around, so it's all good, right? Kind of silly in retrospect.

At this point in my journey, I'm starting to wonder if the reason we've neglected friendships with non-believers is not because we are so much better than them, but because we are not really better than them at all. We are more religious, perhaps, but we are not, as a rule, what we claim. We are not Christ-like.

I mean, the rhetoric is that to be a Christian is to be Christ-like, or at least aspire to that. But it can be rather startling how much we Christians don't look much like our King. In fact, it seems to me we expend a considerable amount of energy justifying the differences.

I don't mean that I expect everyone to start wearing a robe and sandals and start wandering from town to town preaching, but if our lives are going to have the single minded Kingdom focus that Jesus asks of us, I don't see how we can continue to live so much like everyone else, and still hope to be like Jesus.

Our Dishonesty About Consumerism

There are few things I have less patience with than Christian dishonesty. This ought to be a contradiction in terms, but it's not. There are some things we have not come clean about. There are lies we tell ourselves that bleed over into lies we tell other people. Most of those lies, it seems to me, have to do with sex and money.

I'll save the discussion of sexuality for another post. Here are some of the lies I think we've told ourselves about money:

We are not wealthy. Bull. I live in an affluent community and I've discovered that, no matter how much people make, they don't consider themselves truly wealthy. That's a description always reserved for the guy that makes a thousand or a million more. This is almost more pronounced among Christians, because the teachings of Jesus are so critical of materialism. We simply don't want these teachings to apply to us. But if we are going to look at wealth in relative terms, let's be honest. Rather than the inevitable comparison between my estate and the millionaire's, how about I compare myself to the developing world? By this standard, my affluence is astounding. And my household is at the low end of households in this community. Which means, if I'm rich, we are all rich, and everything Jesus says about wealth and the standards of stewardship to which the wealthy are accountable applies directly to us.

We are not materialistic. Double Bull. I can't tell you how many times people have told me that it's not about how much money or stuff we have, but it is about our hearts. And I agree with this, in principle. But that doesn't mean I can embrace the same consumer mentality as the secular world and pretend I'm not being materialistic because I have a different attitude about it. As a matter of fact, if I pursue the same accumulation of wealth as the rest of my consumer society, the evidence all points to the probability that my attitude towards wealth is not significantly different from anyone else's.

If I have more, I'll be able to serve the Kingdom better. Right. That's why Jesus always went looking for the wealthy to make disciples. Because the Kingdom is so dependent on your personal and professional success. Granted, many of us are extremely generous with what we have, and someone is always trotting out the story about the guy who made millions but lived on $10,000 a year and gave all the rest away. Problem is, that isn't us. The Kingdom may indeed benefit from our financial successes, but for most of us, that won't happen until our homes have gotten bigger and our cars have gotten newer. In other words, we serve ourselves first, so let's not pretend our pursuit of materialistic goals is altruistic.

It's judgmental to assume that people are being materialistic. Ohh Pleeease! I can be honest enough with myself to acknowledge that I'm materialistic in my choice of a home, a car, a computer, and cell phone, and on and on and on. But I should assume there's no materialism involved in the choice to drive a Hummer, or buy a 7000 square foot home? That's rediculous! Of course it's materialism. But in defending the materialistic practices of others, we are really defending our own barely bridled materialism.

We are rampant consumers within a society where consumption is a value, having little to do with need. It has shaped the modern church, and the modern practice of Christianity. And the fact that we fit in so well in this setting is not an indication that our behavior is acceptable, but is rather a cause for shame.

Religious Institutionalism

We have good reason to hold religious institutions in suspicion, but no more or less than we do other cherished cultural institutions. While our culture is largely founded upon the idea of rugged individualism, the reality is that our institutions have, as an intrinsic purpose to their being, the goal of turning out a relatively uniform constituency. Governments are infamous for their inefficient bureaucracies and apathetic non competitive workforces, because government does not reward innovation nearly as well as it rewards uniformity and compliance. Public schools, which have the presumed goal of educating the youth of a society, actually produce relatively few truly bright students, because the environment and curriculum is too uniform to produce creativity, too programmed to produce self teaching learners, and just generally too much geared toward the lowest common denominator. Thus, our educational institutions produce a few remarkable students, and an exceedingly large number of unremarkable or even deficient students. Granted, the self motivated can sometimes glean an exceptional education, but it must also be presumed that this environment suppresses the real potential of others.

These institutions produce a public that is educationally sufficient, industrially uniform, and easily manipulated. This might explain why, as a nation, we are willing to believe that the government, with its lackluster management track record, is going to suddenly and magically possess the ability and knowledge to fix our ailing economy. We are not, generally speaking, taught to think for ourselves or to resolve our own problems.

But further, it illuminates a frightening reality about the institutional church. That too, I'm sad to say, has as a central goal the production of a uniform and marginally educated membership. Religious institutions, as a rule, do not produce members who routinely think for themselves about the faith, but rather individuals who are loyal to the institutions interpretations of Christian principles. Nor do these institutions teach their members to seek or expect a calling. That is, we have all sort of bought into the idea that a few people have a calling from God to do something of significance for the Kingdom of Christ, and that the rest of us have no higher calling than membership in the institution.

At its worst, institutionalism in all its expressions becomes a vehicle of indoctrination rather than hope. A few will emerge as leaders. A few will excel as students. A few will rise to prominence in the work force. And a few will follow the Spirit of God into new places. The remainder of the society will practice rigid compliance.

The frightening prospect in this, for the church, is that it suggests a subcultural ethic in which a few are called to walk in the Spirit, and the rest are called to membership, wherein they participate, by proxy, with the Spirit led among them. Too many Christians in the church today are entirely too content to let others live the life of a disciple for them, while they donate a bit of time and money and try, generally, to keep their noses clean. Too many more non-believers reject the faith entirely because its original import and vitality have been dimmed by institutional varnish.

Seems like we need a good old fashioned rebellion.

The Organized Religion Problem

So, if I'm not opposed to organization, then what, exactly, is my issue with organized religion? It has mostly to do with the way an organization tends to separate us as individuals from our responsibilities. Large companies incorporate, in part, to insulate themselves from liability or, in other words, to avoid a measure of personal responsibility for the actions of the company. I'm afraid churches often work the same way. It is somewhat symptomatic of our culture. We turn over more and more responsibility to the government, relieving ourselves of the threat of personal responsibility for our success or failure. We let public schools educate and partially raise our children for us, and we become less responsible for their future. We let organizations accomplish the work of being the church for us, and we then get to just "go to church." We may opt to be more involved than that, but as a baseline, all we expect of ourselves is to show up on occasion, and perhaps to fork over a little money for a good cause. Thus organized religion fosters an atmosphere where church is a place I go, rather than a movement of which I am a part.

Most people reject organized religion, it seems to me, for fairly legitimate reasons. Organized religion is not what it purports to be. It does not accomplish, in large part, what it was created to accomplish. It actually has a tendency to make its members less accountable to the ideals of the faith, by diminishing these as a matter of personal responsibility in favor of a more corporate responsibility.

The flip side of this problem is that few of the people who claim to have a problem with organized religion are doing much at all about their spiritual health, either in or out of organized religion. There is hard spiritual work to be done, if we are at all serious about it. But most people don't seem to be prepared to do it. Some will rely upon organized religion to be spiritual for them, and some will do little or nothing about faith and will blame organized religion for their disinterest. Neither will do the hard work of following Jesus.

Organized Religion

In our community, like in so many others, there is a high level of skepticism about organized religion. Since I make my living as a minister, some people make the mistake of thinking I'm a sort of advocate of organized religion. Truth is, I'm probably as skeptical as they are. But I don't think its the organization that is at issue. I think the issue is the import people place on the organization - making a specific practice of religion the point of religion.

If you think about it, when we say we believe in God, but not organized religion, its a little like saying we believe in accounting, but we're against organized accounting. So we will practice accounting, but we will reject accounting software, accounting firms, CPA's or anything else that appears organized.

Organized religion is merely a tool we use to accomplish certain objectives of our faith. Some people have tried to make that tool more than a tool. Some people have used the tool very poorly. But it's still just a tool. The sad thing is we sometimes get so focused on keeping the tool of organized religion in motion that the tool isn't even accomplishing its purpose. The resulting emptiness and irony of organized religion is easily recognized, and thus, we reject it.

Towards a Transformational Community

"Community" has been a focus of my ministry for some time now, but I'm fairly certain that many of the people I talk to about it—even those who listen so often they are tired of hearing about it—don't really understand what I'm talking about. It's not really their fault. It's just that real community is such a rare commodity today, that people often are not aware of its existence. We don't know what we are missing.

So, when I start talking about community, a common reaction is for people to say, "Oh yes, I have that...I have a great community." When, in fact, what they may more likely have is a healthy social network. They have friends. In regard to their church involvement, they have a sense of belonging and they feel welcome and valued. These are all great things, but they don't approach the level of community required for our mission. Real community is interdependent and nearly constant. Few people have that outside their immediate families, and many don't have it at all. As a society, we are far too independent to form healthy communities.

I'm working from the premise here that the ministry of Jesus, and of the early church, invoked a rather profound level of community that, in addition to being very close knit, was extremely countercultural, and yet, integrated with the larger surrounding culture. This band of believers, living out their countercultural identity while integrated in community with non-believers and pagans, had a transformational influence on people.

In other words, the experience of that faith community and its radical adherence to the person and teachings of Jesus, impacted others such that they became radical disciples of Jesus as well.

In the absence of such deep community connections, modern evangelism has become much more individualistic. Its all about a personal relationship with Jesus. We "get saved" as an extremely individual experience, then, ideally, become integrated into a faith community. I'm pretty sure this is backward. I think we are integrated into a community, in the context of which we encounter Jesus. It's no mistake that Scripture associates such public declarations as confession and baptism with the decision to follow Jesus. These point to the fact that salvation is inherently realized in a community context.