On Oklahoma

Editors note: I lived in Oklahoma for four years during college and I learned to regard tornadoes as something akin to mythical beasts. They existed, but they were always just far enough away to not be dangerous yet close enough to still be powerful. I had friends who would chase storms for fun and friends who would stay locked inside the bathroom until they heard the all clear. During my senior year, I watched from the balcony of my apartment as a tornado touched down just a few miles north.

Everybody has a tornado story in Oklahoma. But there was always one story that all the natives knew and spoke of in hushed, serious voices: The one that hit Moore in 1999. I remember one of my friends telling me that eight years later Moore was still recovering and that it still had years to go.

And now this. Yesterday, yet another major tornado touched down in Moore and followed much the same path as the one in 1999. 51 were killed including at least 20 children. Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.

Today, as an act of communal lament, we're going to run a piece written by friend Ian who lives in Mustang a few miles west of Moore. After the piece, I'll include several links to places where you can donate/volunteer/give blood. This is what families do. They hurt together. They cry together. They help together. They build together.

Lord, hear our prayer.

by Ian McLoud

At times like this we want to try and make sense of what's happening. Well meaning people will say things like, “God will work through this disaster,” but to those who are living with through the horror of this, it just sounds like empty platitudes. Less well meaning people will find someone to blame whether that someone be God or the people of Oklahoma, or who knows. Blame follows pain. 

While it may be true that God will work through this disaster, that God is to blame or any number of caveats revealed after the fact, all of these responses are the wrong one. They’re wrong because they take away from the pain that is still happening, right now.

At times like this people need to grieve. They need to scream. They need to cry. Let them be angry with God. Let them scream at Him. Allow people to mourn. Allow people, to quote Dr. John Dorian, to “feel their feelings, Turk!” No one can explain why yesterday’s tornado happened. And what good would it do to try? 

During times of disaster, niceties are as useless to our sense of well-being as the carbon dioxide expelled from our mouth in the process. Nothing makes sense in a disaster. Nothing makes sense in a tragedy. 

In the wake of F4 tornadoes, the Boston marathon bombing, the Aurora shooting and countless other tragedies that happen on a daily basis, what can be said that will bring things back to normal? What words can be said to a family that has just lost their house that will make that loss okay or bring their house back from rubble? What words can be said to a grieving parent that will lessen the sting of knowing they will have to bury a child? Were Job’s friends truly of any comfort to him? Does the Psalmist find comfort in knowing that at some point, but not right now, God will take care of his enemies? Job wanted to make sense of his suffering right then and there. The Psalmist wanted immediate action taken against his enemies. Who can offer that to those affected by the tornado yesterday?

It’s human nature to want to do something. So offer an ear to listen. Offer a prayer, a hug, the comfort of your presence. Offer a laugh when it’s appropriate and a shoulder for crying when it’s not. We mean well when we say that God will make something good out of this mess. And maybe he will, but maybe isn’t right now. Right now it hurts. Right now we want to cry. Right now it’s not okay. And that’s okay.

If you would like to donate to disaster relief efforts in Oklahoma, you can text REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 donation to the American Red Cross. You can also donate online or call 1-800-RED CROSS to donate by phone. If you know of any further or more specific relief efforts, please leave the information in the comments.

Ian is the Youth and Family Minister at the Lakehoma Church of Christ in Mustang, Oklahoma. You can follow him on Twitter @KindaScottish.

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Abusing Each Other for a Good Cause

by Deb Winiarski

Somewhere in the hallowed hours of last Tuesday night, I checked my Facebook newsfeed before going to bed and saw a video posted by my friend Jennifer. I clicked it because she said it was ironic, and I love me some irony.

As I watched LA-based video producer Greg Karber throw shirts and jeans at people on the sidewalks of Skid Row, and listened to his narrative of Abercrombie & Fitch-bashing and ridiculous quotes from the company's CEO Mike Jeffries, I cracked a smile. I won't lie; I probably laughed out loud. Like I said, I love irony. I also love to see someone "stick it to the man" in a creative way that gets people to pay attention to things that we usually ignore or don't even bother to learn about.

But there was a sour turning in my gut as the video came to a close and Karber encouraged people to scour their closets and neighborhood thrift stores for discarded A&F clothes, and donate them to homeless shelters or other organizations that serve those who are not A&F target clients. And even though something didn't quite feel right, I clicked share and went to bed.

The next day, I started following the wildfire blaze of support and back-lash generated by the video's viral campaign. Apparently a lot of people out there don't much like the Abercrombie & Fitch crowd either. People seem to like spreading the word that Mike Jeffries is as much of a jerk as the kids I used to make fun of with my friends in high school. We sat on the front lawn eating by the flag pole instead of trying to vie for lunchroom seating among the "cool kids" who were often seen sporting the A&F logo, along with their "why-are-you-breathing-my-air" looks of disdain.

But I also came across people who protested Karber's actions and labeled him a "douche bag" of a different breed, but of the same caliber as Jeffries. Karber, they said, instead of trying to exclude the "un-cool" was using them to his own ends, and only including them as token pawns in his personal slur against a corporation that he does not like.

As I read such protests against the #Fitchthehomeless campaign, I recalled that sour taste in my mouth from watching the video and realized I shared those concerns. I didn't like how Karber treated the people on Skid Row, and I did wonder if he had explained his actions before shooting the video. But I also realized that it was not the first time I had experienced that sour, something's-not-right punch in the gut when watching an awareness ad.

That feeling I got last Tuesday night, I've also felt it when opening my mail and finding some charity's flier with a dying baby on the envelope. I've felt it in my gut when a Save the Children commercial interrupted my late-night movie marathon. I've even felt that kick in the gut when I looked at a magazine rack and saw some blood-spattered woman weeping over the limp body of her dead husband or brother or sister or parent, etc.

I realized that this feeling comes up when I encounter someone trying to help the marginalized, disenfranchised and abused people of the world with methods that seem voyeuristic and disrespectful. Then it got me thinking about Jesus.

Jesus often called people from the margins into the spotlight to make others aware of their situation and of his power to change it. From the woman with the blood disorder who only wanted to fade back into the crowd, to the man with the shriveled hand, to the widow and her tiny offering that was pointed out to all the people listening, Jesus used people who were outcasts and socially-discarded to prove his point. But he did it in a way that never compromised the humanity and God-breathed dignity of the person he was helping.

In fact, Jesus' actions and words usually brought people's innate value out more for others to recognize. The woman with the blood disorder was not only made clean, she was declared to have the kind of faith that set people free and healed them. The man with the shriveled hand was healed, but he also became a symbol of Jesus' lordship over the hypocritical power-mongers of his day. The widow's offering of two meager coins was exalted from social shame to the greatest sacrifice made in the temple that day.

Furthermore, even when Jesus was blatantly insulting someone or using irony to point out others' foolishness, he did it in a way that did not detract from anyone's dignity as children of God. Jesus always saw people first, before issues. That's the kind of charity that won't leave a bad taste in someone's mouth... well, except for maybe the ones doing the abusing.

We live in a society where it is easy for many of us to go our entire lives without talking to someone who makes us feel uncomfortable about how we use our resources and energies. In fact, the Abercrombie & Fitch slogan boasts itself to be "Authentic American clothing since 1892." The very fact that they can get away with saying that they are authentically American while making money by excluding people on the basis of skin color, ethnicity, weight, age, and socioeconomic situation speaks volumes to the actual state of our culture.

But, beyond that, what about those of us who are only willing to step outside of our comfort zones if it means a feel-good spring break, or a fabulous Instagram photo op for our troubles? Why do we have to work so hard to find the people who need our "help"?

Jesus just turned around and saw them standing in his neighborhood, found them in the places where he hung out, and met them on the street where they lived. The irony is that we tend to get annoyed with the people who use and, yes, abuse others in order to promote their own causes and campaigns; yet, should we not also be up in arms over the fact that many people need such viral videos in order for them to be motivated into action? By sharing these things and reacting to their presence in our virtual reality, we are spending time and energy perpetuating the spirit of voyeurism without having any real obligation to get out from behind our digitized screens and give someone a real helping hand.

Maybe Mike Jeffries is a douche bag because he doesn't want to sell clothing to people who don't fit his idea of cool and beautiful. Maybe Greg Karber is a douche bag because he tossed unwanted clothes to people on the street whom he judged to be homeless, and made a show of it without telling us their stories, or even their names.

But maybe I'm a douche bag because I laughed at them both, shared a video that made me feel like I was making a statement against cruelty and injustice, but then rolled over and went to sleep in my nice warm bed without even a thought for the person who was spending the night under the bridge less than a mile from my front door.

Ironic? Yeah.

Deb is currently working on her Master's of Divinity at Lipscomb University in Nashville. According to Facebook she likes The Bill Cosby Show. You can follow her on Twitter @the_deeb, but I wouldn't since she hasn't tweeted for about 2 years.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
 
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On Pop Theology Podcast: Episode 23 - On Superheroes

by Ben Howard

Ben, Jesse and Sebastian sit down to discuss superheroes, superhero movies and why we love them so much. We talk about superheroes as salvation figures, whether Superman is Jesus or Moses, how superheroes respond to our desire for control over chaos, and how the ethos behind superheroes presents a negative view of humanity. We also talk about weird stuff like when Superman fought the Ku Klux Klan. Join and enjoy our rambling and kind of ridiculous ravings.

You can download the podcast by clicking here. Or you can subscribe to the podcast by searching "On Pop Theology" in the iTunes music store. If you download the show through iTunes, please be so kind as to rate and review us. We want your feedback and it helps the show to grow. 

Also, remember to "Like" On Pop Theology on Facebook and follow us on Twitter @OnPopTheology for all the updates, posts, and links throughout the week.
Finally, if you'd like to stream the podcast, you can do that here:

Peace,
Ben

If you have any questions, comments, or if you just want to say hi, you can contact us at onpoptheology [at] gmail.com.

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• On Pop Theology Podcast: Episode 22 - Jason Collins, Homosexuality, and Christianity
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A Refrigerator's Existential Crisis and the Best things You'll Read All Week

Reads of the Week

1) Deciphering Missions by Jamie Wright
"While I was virtually paralyzed by depression and anxiety, I used Missionary Code to turn every innocuous coffee date with a friend into 'discipleship time'. Hours spent circling Facebook were important to 'support development', and everyday interactions with grocery store clerks and bank tellers suddenly became meaningful when referred to as 'intentional relationships'."

2) Everybody's a Little Bit Racist: Why Being Called Racist is Not the Issue by Dianna Anderson
"This understanding of one's own privilege is the baseline for communicating about race, sexuality, gender, and everything surrounding marginalization. Your privilege will give you blind spots. And you don’t get to determine the lengths of that privilege."

3) A Letter to Abercrombie by Micah Murray
"For the sake of everyone that has ever felt marginalized, excluded, or uncool, I wish I could make you eat your words. I wish I could denounce you with righteous indignation. For being so insensitive, so discriminatory, so crassly materialistic. But I can’t. Because if I’m willing to look in the mirror you’re holding up, I’m forced to admit to myself that I’m not as different from you as I’d like to think."

4) Psalm 55 - Betrayed by Registered Runaway
"But a part of us dies too. A part of us remembers that even in the arms of our brothers and sisters in Christ we are not guaranteed goodness. We are not guaranteed love. Protection. Comfort. Christ doesn’t always speak from the pulpit."

5) Is God's Presence Limited to Scripture by Rachel Held Evans
"When we become more committed to the testimony than to the Person to whom it testifies, we are likely to miss the presence of Jesus even when it’s right in front of us. Probably because it took some form we weren’t expecting. Probably because it showed up outside of our boundaries."

Honorable Mention

"We Have A Better Version of the Gospel" [Diversity Repellent] by Christena Cleveland

You Don't Have to Be Good by Addie Zierman

The Problem of Evil is Hanging in Your Closet by Zack Hunt

Line of the Week

"Maybe Mark Driscoll was playing a game of truth or dare ten years ago, and he chose "dare." And, boy, was it a good one." - Jason Boyett (@jasonboyett)

On Pop Theology Week in Review

On Missing the Point: Gatsby, Zero Dark Thirty and Obsession by Ben Howard
"These lessons, the ones that are most difficult to hear, the ones that rock us to our core, are the most important."

Screaming Obscenities: How Derek Fisher is Like Substitutionary Atonement by Ben Howard
"I spent most of last evening screaming obscenities at a middle-aged man for doing an unimportant thing poorly."

Derek Fisher and Atonement Theory: Part Deux by Ben Howard
"It's not that the theory isn't useful, it's that it's being asked to do too much."

Anselm Gets in the Game: Atonement Theory, Part Three by John Thornton Jr.
"We would do well, however, to continually question the games we play, and how we seek to wrangle Christ into them, as well as what rules we use Jesus to validate and what plays we draw up."

Let's All Talk About What We're Tired Of (A Response to Tony Jones) by Lyndsey Graves
"My race, gender, socioeconomic class, regional background, and religion are all aspects of my identity others have used to dismiss me – to disempower me."

Song of the Week

"Comes and Goes (In Waves)" by Greg Laswell

Peace,
Ben 

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology. 

Contact us at onpoptheology [at] gmail.com. 

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Let's All Talk About What We're Tired Of (A Response to Tony Jones)

by Lyndsey Graves

Let’s all talk about what we’re tired of.

I’m tired of being called a racist, too. 

In the nine months I’ve worked at a church food pantry/Sunday breakfast, I’ve been called a racist on at least three occasions, all three times because someone I’d never met asked for something I was holding in my hand and I didn’t give it to them. It was a slap in the face. I felt powerless.

Another thing I’m tired of being called is White Bitch, which is usually my name when I ignore the catcallers on the street in my neighborhood.

I also don’t like being catcalled generally.

I’m tired of waiting in line for food at the food pantry, waiting for the bus, waiting in line at the DSS, waiting for the food stamp line at the farmer’s market, the dirty looks I get when I pull out my food stamp card, and I don’t even feel the half of it because I choose my thrift store clothes so I don’t look poor.

I’m tired of hearing a Southern accent being used as shorthand to imitate a moron.

I’m tired of letting “Pentecostal” slip and having others laugh nervously, or assume that I and the scholars I learned under at a Pentecostal institution are not “in dialog with the older, more developed theologies of the West”. Are there plenty of Pentecostals with a narrow theological vocabulary or whose practice does not span the global history of Christianity? Sure, that’s true of any Christian tradition. But writing off an entire denomination as being “out of touch” is reckless and irresponsible.

My race, gender, socioeconomic class, regional background, and religion are all aspects of my identity others have used to dismiss me – to disempower me.

But usually, unless I am in physical danger (which I don’t think Mr. Jones is), I try to see these incidents, while upsetting, as opportunities. They’re opportunities for dialog (not diatribes) with people who make such hurtful insults or assumptions – and opportunities to live my life in a way that proves their assumptions wrong.

I think legitimate complaints about being called a racist exist; I think I have legitimate reasons to be hurt and defensive against the accusations of racism I’ve experienced. Even in less clear-cut cases, cases in which the accusation of being racist might be true even if I don’t see the ways in which it is, I find long discussions and accusations and nitpicking complaints about privilege can very quickly become tiresome and counterproductive.

But the point is not whether or not Tony Jones’ grievances are legitimate. What his article makes most abundantly clear to me is that he’s not very used to being tired of anything. The overblown tirade of a blog post and the snarly lashing-out against quite reasonable commenters seem like the almost farcical ravings of a man trying to avoid even a moment of self-reflection.

It’s the difference between:

So this is what it feels like to be misrepresented, disempowered, shut down, and talked over.

And:

I’m a victim of your over-sensitive vocabulary-policing progressive privilege!

Hmm.

Incidentally, I do think such privilege exists. I don’t think Jones is actually a victim of it. I think both people he refers to made very good, non-hysterical points that warranted a more humble, self-reflective response than “get off my back”.

But, come on, everybody – if that’s how he feels, that’s how he feels.

 
Welcome to the club, Tony. We’d all love to hear about how you feel marginalized, just as soon as you extend the same consideration to others.

Lyndsey lives and works in Syracuse, NY. She majored in theology at Lee University, which is like eating cake or listening to thunderstorms - too enjoyable to be called work. Also, no one will pay you to do it. You can follow her on Twitter @lyndseygraves and you can find more of her writing at her blog To Be Honest.

You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
 
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Anselm Gets in the Game: Atonement Theory, Part Three

This post is the third part of our impromptu series on atonement theory. Check out parts one and two.

by John Thornton Jr.

If I'm reading Ben correctly, what he's saying is this: 

Atonement theology will always be embedded within certain social formations similar to players on a basketball team. Each one will play a role and help the team accomplish what it hopes to accomplish.

I assume that when Ben writes "substitutionary atonement" what he means is "penal substitutionary atonement." I understand the assumption, but I just wanted to clarify because I believe that so long as any understanding of the atonement takes the incarnation seriously, it will always be substitutionary to some extent. Christ acts for us on our behalf and as us in the incarnation, forming a type of substitution in our relation to God.

However, the nature of that relation is the question atonement theory seeks to answer.

A standard penal substitutionary atonement is rooted in the belief that God created humanity to obey certain orders or laws within creation. In sinning, humanity disobeys God, violates those laws, and because God is just, God must punish us as sinners. Christ recognizes this and, as God, takes the punishment that humanity deserved from God. Thus, our accounts are sort of evened out in a way, based on a satisfactory punishment being given out. God's justice has been maintained in giving Christ the punishment that we deserved. 

The resurrection is a bit of an after thought here and Jesus' actual life matters very little. What really matters is that we sinned, broke the law, had to be punished by God, so Christ took our punishment and now we're even.

This theology routinely gets attributed to Anselm of Canterbury; however, it's a bit of a misreading of his work Cur Deos Homo. According to Anselm, God created us for perfect obedience. God gave each creature a "station in life" which it is logical and reasonable for that creature to remain in. Doing so maintains a sort of beautifully ordered, functioning universe. In maintaining the order of the universe by obedience within a station, each creature gives honor to God. God's honor or glory is what holds the universe together. When we as creatures step out of our station in disobedience, we steal honor from God and incur a debt so great that we cannot repay it, but of a nature that God cannot simply forgive it and remain honorable.

Enter Christ.

Christ comes into our world, in our place, as a substitution and offers to God the perfect obedience we could not. When confronted with the God-Man, we could not accept his claims to perfect obedience and his lack of conformity with our understanding of God. As such, the God-man was put to death. By offering his perfect obedience even to the point of death, Christ offers the full obedience humanity owes to God. God's honor is restored and, because every good gift deserves another, God gives Jesus the gift of eternal life. Because Christ is God, he passes that eternal life onto us. Thus we become initiated into a type of gift giving relationship with Jesus and God, through the Holy Spirit.

What I find helpful about this understanding is that it moves us away from a God who punishes Christ instead of us as the only way in which the atonement works or accomplishes our salvation. To be sure, God does punish humanity, but in this model, it is not because of a breaking of laws, but a stealing of honor which may sound a bit weird to us, but has more of a relational dynamic than simply breaking the law. However, what Christ offers on our behalf is not the acceptance of punishment, but full obedience.

Christ does substitute for us in this understanding, but does so by way of offering obedience in a rationally ordered station of life. Christ becomes the obedient slave that we never could be.

All of this sounds really nice in theory and, in a way, it kind of is.

But, to use Ben's basketball analogy, what does it look like "in the game"? What sort of player or life does this view of the world make, and how does Christ function in it? What kind of people does this understanding make us into?

[This is not to say that we are the judge by which atonement functions or falls. Anselm's theology could be absolutely correct in his understanding of creation, nevertheless, it is important to think through what it looks like to carry this theology to its logical end.]

By my reading, there are two small, but very important pieces at work in Anselm that give a glimpse into what this looks like "on the ground."

At one point, Anselm answers an objection as to how humans can be told to forgive when God is the only one capable of forgiveness. His answer is that sometimes God punishes sinners in this world and is good and right and just when doing so. But (and this is key) sometimes that punishment is handed over to entities/powers in the world to carry it out justly. This makes sense in light of some of what Paul writes in Romans. However, thinking through Anselm's own station in life, and the church's position in the world at the time, it takes a bit of a darker turn. The church is standing on the cusp of the crusades. So you're reading this with a missionary/military effort just about to come online, and thinking "Oh right, sometimes God hands authority over to earthly powers to punish people for their sin. And who could do that more justly than the church?"

And remember who it is who deserve punishment - those who have stepped out of their "proper station in life." Those who are disobedient to the proper order of the universe. Muslims, Jews, disobedient slaves within a kingdom. These are the ones who God punishes, and sometimes hands that punishment over to be meted out by those in the world whom he chooses.

Two pages later, Anselm says that when God punishes, he sometimes does so by seizing both people and their property. He makes no mention that this is done by people in the world acting on God's behalf, but that's still hanging around, fresh in the reader’s mind.

What does any of this have to do with Christ?

A good deal actually. This system requires hierarchy. Honor cannot function amongst equals. There has to be some inequality at some point or in some way for something to seem more or less honorable. And what better way to know who to give honor to than by consulting one's prescribed station in life? Slaves, then, must give honor to their master through their obedience and if they disobey, they have to give up their property or personhood to the master.

Jesus Christ, then, in Anselm’s model, does nothing to upend this system of hierarchy. Jesus is a perfectly obedient role player on this team. Jesus Christ says nothing to the slave other than that when they disobey, they dishonor God. To the masters, he reifies their position of hierarchy and sanctifies the whole stratified system by being obedient even to the point of death.

To think about it in terminology a little bit more familiar, Jesus became the perfectly obedient employee, showing up for work every day right on time, and when his co-workers couldn't accept the value he added to the company, they got him fired. This Jesus does nothing to upset a system that might abuse employees. Christ, in this reading, does not confront hierarchies that kill and destroy, or indict them as being anti-Christ or anti-God, but only sanctifies them by his perfect obedience to them.

We obviously will not ever arrive at a stable conclusion of our understanding of the atonement. Christ’s love and life are too expansive and excessive for us to comprehend. We would do well, however, to continually question the games we play, and how we seek to wrangle Christ into them, as well as what rules we use Jesus to validate and what plays we draw up.

I couldn't leave him out entirely.

I was recently at a wedding and during the Lord’s Prayer, the minister said “forgive us our debts, while we forgive our debtors.” She was Presbyterian and apparently that’s how they do it. Meanwhile, the rest of us prayed the word “trespasses” instead of “debts.” After the service, I talked with a few friends about the difference (this is what you do when you and a majority of your friends went to a large Baptist school in Texas and studied religion or philosophy). I made the case for the reading of “debts” for three reasons. 

First, I don’t really know what the hell a “trespass” is. Is God really that concerned with loitering and private property? Second, Jesus talks a lot more about money and lenders and collectors than property owners and trespassers. Third, forgiving debts is a hell of a lot harder for me to do. I believe that Christ’s divinity is a radical challenge to everything I presume to be “normal” about being human. For instance, what would happen to our economy if every person had a credit card with no limit and for which no one would ever expect a return? People would stop showing up to work. People would lose their jobs. Our economy would come to an immediate halt. People would no longer have incentive to work and grow or sell food or water or any of the other things we might need simply to survive. This is the risk involved in forgiving debts and is much more challenging to my everyday existence than whatever “trespasses” might imply.

Again, this is not to say that we are the standard by which the gospel is judged, but it is to say that when we find ourselves on a “winning” team, when we find the things we know to be absolute realities (like prison, and debt, and capitalism, and jobs) to be sanctified and glorified by Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, we might do well to pause and question what team we are on, what game we are playing, and what it means to proclaim Jesus as Lord. If my life (and the debt and prisons and the armies and the death it takes to sustain it) are not challenged by God’s entering into humanity, then I should certainly pause to reconsider whether or not I am worshiping the right Jesus, the Jesus of Scripture and the church.

God's entering into humanity is an affirmation of love and life through and through in a way that does not necessitate punishment of those who step outside of their station, but rather calls into question our desire to establish those stations, our need to administer punishment in the first place.

John Thornton Jr. is a first year Divinity student at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. You can find more of his writings at Clear Words, Full Thoughts. Also, you can follow him on Twitter @johnthorntonjr.

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