Recently in Religion Category

I abhor running and despise the taste of beer--two characteristics that are almost incompatible with being a Marine. Yet in the late 1990's, while stationed at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar, I decided to join the San Diego chapter of the Hash House Harriers, a running club which has as one of its stated goals, "To acquire a good thirst and to satisfy it in beer."

I had first encountered the infamous international group of "drinkers with a running problem" in Okinawa. Despite the running and the drinking I had enjoyed the camaraderie and so thought it might be an opportunity to meet new people in California.

On my first San Diego run we were on a long hash through the city when an old man jogged by, easily outpacing me and another thirty-something Marine. We chuckled at first, but as his balding grey head faded into the distance we realized that we didn't have the stamina to catch him. When I caught up to him at the finish line I expressed my shame at getting beat by a geezer. He laughed and boasted that as a retired Army Lt. Colonel he had been running longer than I had been alive.

Instantly charmed, I was eager to learn more about the life of Dave Connors. He told me about his kids, his grandkids, and how he had divorced after two decades of marriage. Dave also told me about what he considered his most noteworthy distinction: he was the world's oldest working pornographic-film star.

Over the next year I ran the hash nearly every week, logging over a hundred miles and a dozen conversations with the avuncular Vietnam Vet. We'd talk during the runs and after each event a gaggle of hashers would typically end up at a pub or restaurant to chat some more. Dave, needing always to be the center of attention, would steer every conversation toward the topic of sex--the raunchier and more twisted the better. He savored his pseudo-celebrity status and was eager to share with us the gory details about his on-camera exploits.

Being only slightly less moralistic than I am now, I was naturally disturbed and disgusted by Dave's repugnant vocation. Yet I truly wanted to be his friend. He was warm and amiable and, like many of us, completely messed up. For his age, he was physically vibrant and healthy. But it also seemed as if he suffered from a form of moral leprosy, as if his soul was slowly rotting.

Looking back, I realize I should have set aside my disdain for his work and my fear that he was contagious and simply showed him the love of Christ. But I didn't know how. I still don't.

[Note: A version of this article was originally posted in March 2006.]

The American linguists Edward Sapir and Benjamin Lee Whorf once argued that language is used not only to express our thoughts but to shape them as well. In linguistics, this explanation for the way that language relates to thought is known as a "mould theory" since it represents language as a mould in terms of which thought categories are cast. As Sapir wrote in The Status of Linguistics as a Science, "The fact of the matter is that the 'real world' is to a large extent unconsciously built upon the language habits of the group."
(Quote via Daniel Chandler)*

If the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is correct, then it would be wise to become as conscious of our "language habits" as possible. By doing so we might be able to recognize when our thoughts are being misshapen by language and to discard such words from our vocabulary. An example is the term "supernatural," a word that inadvertently causes muddled thinking and confusion.

The connotations implicit in the word supernatural differ based on the subject in which it occurs. When used in the natural sciences the term has a deistic flavor, while in a theological context it has a polytheistic quality. Consider, for example, the way our culture--including most Christians--have come to view the angelic realm. Although scripture is clear that they angels are created by Jesus (Col.1:16), we tend to consider them "supernatural" beings, existing not only outside of nature but outside of creation itself.

The fact that the denotative understanding occurs primarily on a subconscious level only adds to the confusion. By using the term supernatural to refer to such beings we are implying that they belong on the same plane or realm of existence as God.

God
Angels
Satan/demons___________

Man Nature (i.e., plants, animals, minerals)

One of the reasons we make such errors is because we buy into the modernist notion that all of creation is physical and that angelic beings must necessarily exists on a "supernatural" (i.e., nonphysical) plane separate and distinct from the material cosmos. Essentially, this leads us to concede a point to the physicalist worldview.

“That’s a cop-out,” I said mockingly, when a friend told me that he prefers to call himself “just a Christian” rather than an evangelical. My rude comment was out-of-place in our amiable discussion and I regret not apologizing at the time (in case he reads this: dude, sorry, really). The vehemence of my remark surprised me and caused me to wonder why I reacted as I did.

I realize now why I acted so irrationally: I’m afraid I’ll be the last person in America to embrace the term “evangelical.”

Naturally, I understand why some of my fellow evangelicals prefer not to be saddled with the label. The negative connotations imbued by both our friends and our enemies have weighted it down with unnecessary baggage. But I don’t think we should drop it altogether, especially for higher-level terms like “Christian.”

Of course to be an evangelical is to be Christian. Yet identifying oneself as a Christian is akin to saying you’re a North American. Globally speaking, North American can be a useful label for identifying the broad community in which you belong. But it is far too imprecise to be of much value if you’re talking to other norteamericanos. The term doesn’t specify whether you’re an American, a Canadian, or a Mexican. It doesn’t clarify if you live on the East Cost or in the Rocky Mountains or in big city or in a small village. It doesn’t give any clues to whether you might be offended by jokes about Newfies or snicker at quips about Aggies.

The reason we have labels like New Yorker or Alaskan or Puerto Rican is because geography often—though not always—says something about us, about our heritage, and about how we view the world. “Labels are useful only if they make legitimate distinctions,” says theologian Richard Mouw. “They serve us well when they are informative, when they tell us something important about the person who chooses a specific label.”

I agree, which is why I self-label with care. For instance, over the past four years I’ve lived in Illinois and Virginia, yet if you ask me where I’m from I’ll say I’m from Texas. Similarly, I go to a non-denominational Bible church and yet, while I haven’t stepped foot into a Baptist church in half a decade, I still consider myself a Southern Baptist (and, in typical SBC fashion, at least a dozen churches still count me on their roles as an “active member”).

Perhaps I cling to my geographic and denominational heritage out of a sense of rootlessness, a condition all-too-common among American evangelicals. I suspect what keeps me near is also what causes so many to leave evangelicalism altogether.

Related: Glenn Lucke has some insightful comments on grad students who reject the evangelical label

I am often baffled by the willingness of some of grad student believers to bend and blur their beliefs and practices in order to fit in. In countless scenarios, I’ve listened while formerly evangelical grad students engaged mightily in what sociologist Erving Goffman termed “impression management.” (See his Presentation of Self In Everyday Life.)
A part, but just a small part, of this pertains to the evangelical label. However, few of the specific ‘post-evangelical’ sophisticates that I’ve personally met call themselves “post-evangelical” because of the difficulties in determining the concept of evangelical. Probing conversation usually reveals that it’s a nervousness about being excluded in the academic environment in which the enculturated dispositions are fairly hostile to evangelicals.
More important than the label is the desire to adjust, bend, distort, and blur beliefs and practices in substantive ways, i.e. about matters of historic orthodoxy. Again, these friends and acquaintances seek to signal to the Powers that, “I’m in the club. I’m not radioactive. I’m not like those freaks.” Never mind that sometimes ‘those freaks’ are moms and dads, brothers and sisters, pastors and college buddies. More bizarrely, those freaks are sometimes people in the sophisticate’s current church, even small group.

Read the rest.

It would be difficult to dispute that Barack Obama has a problem. But despite what is being claimed by many bloggers and journalists, the Senator's biggest problem isn't his relationship with the Rev. Jeremiah Wright. Sen. Obama's association with the rogue pastor is forgivable; his association with apostasy, however, is inexcusable.

Obama remains a member of an apostate, heretical church that makes no distinction between faith and politics. Trinity United Church of Christ adheres to a black liberation theology, a strain of heresy that makes Christianity subservient to a twisted, racialist political ideology. The purpose of Black theology is, as the movement's founding theologian claims, to make political "liberation" the "central theme of the biblical message."

Consider their introduction on the "About Us" section of the church's website:

We are a congregation which is Unashamedly Black and Unapologetically Christian... Our roots in the Black religious experience and tradition are deep, lasting and permanent. We are an African people, and remain "true to our native land," the mother continent, the cradle of civilization. God has superintended our pilgrimage through the days of slavery, the days of segregation, and the long night of racism. It is God who gives us the strength and courage to continuously address injustice as a people, and as a congregation. We constantly affirm our trust in God through cultural expression of a Black worship service and ministries which address the Black Community.

But it gets worse. Beneath that statement they add:

"The Pastor as well as the membership of Trinity United Church of Christ is committed to a 10-point Vision:

1. A congregation committed to ADORATION.
2. A congregation preaching SALVATION.
3. A congregation actively seeking RECONCILIATION.
4. A congregation with a non-negotiable COMMITMENT TO AFRICA.
5. A congregation committed to BIBLICAL EDUCATION.
6. A congregation committed to CULTURAL EDUCATION.
7. A congregation committed to the HISTORICAL EDUCATION OF AFRICAN PEOPLE IN DIASPORA.
8. A congregation committed to LIBERATION.
9. A congregation committed to RESTORATION.
10. A congregation working towards ECONOMIC PARITY.

Several of the points seem laudatory and explicitly Christian (#1, 2, 3, 5) while a few are unnecessarily divisive (#4, 6, 8, 9). But the use of orthodox Christian terms (salvation, reconciliation) is given perverse new meanings in black liberationist thought.

For example, consider the work of James Hal Cone, the founder of Black theology. (When Sean Hannity interviewed Wright, the pastor asked his interviewer, "How many of Cone's books have you read?") Cone once wrote:

[Note: It's time once again for my annual Halloween/Jack-Chick-bashing post.]

Every autumn Christians throughout North America engage in hand-wringing disputes over what to do about Halloween. The discussions tend to reflect in microcosm how we interact with overtly secular aspects on a larger scale. Should we separate and stand apart, becoming a witness by or disengagement or do we participate and attempt to redeem the event by acts of hospitality and neighborly love?

Last year my friend Bonnie from Intellectuelle adds a thoughtful contribution to the discussion, one in which I must confess to be in almost total disagreement with. But one section in particular caught my attention:

I think it could be wishful thinking to say that we can "redeem" Halloween by trick-or-treating in good will. It may not be expressive of good will toward those who do not understand the truth of spiritual matters. Again, aren't we endorsing the holiday itself by participating in it? The only alternative to non-participation is to hand out leaflets containing the history of Halloween (with appropriate verses of Scripture, plus a candy bar) or tracts to trick-or-treaters...but whether or not that is neighborly is a debate in itself. [emphasis added]

Reading that sentence about handing "tracts to trick-or-treaters" sent chills down my spine and reminded me of the most frightful man ever to be associated with Halloween: Jack Chick.

"I believe in an Almighty God," said President Bush in an interview with Al Arabiya, "and I believe that all the world, whether they be Muslim, Christian, or any other religion, prays to the same God. That's what I believe."

The President's attempt to promote a monotheistic ecumenism among the world's religions is noble but misguided. Neither Muslims nor Christians (or as I hope to show, Jews) believe that we "pray to the same God."

At the risk of overcomplicating the issue, let's examine the claim by putting it into a logical structure. The Muslim's argument, based on the Qu'ran, can be put in the form of a (modus ponens) syllogism:

1. {If P then Q} If you believe that Jesus is the begotten son of God, then you do not believe in the one true God (See Note 1: Qu'ran (Sura 112))
2. {P} Christians believe that Jesus is the begotten son of God. (See Note 2: John 3:16)
3. {Q} Christians do not believe in the one true God.

Note 1: Qu'ran (Sura 112) -- "Say: He is God, The One and Only; God, the Eternal, Absolute; He begetteth not, Nor is He begotten; And there is none Like unto Him."

Note 2: John 3:16 (KJV) -- "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

While I doubt the President was aware of this argument, I'm sure that he would agree this is a valid argument with true premises. He should also, therefore, agree that from the Muslim perspective, we do not all pray to the same God.

But the most that can be inferred by that conclusion is that Muslims do not believe Christians and Muslims worship the same God. A slightly more complex argument is needed to prove that Christians (at least those Christians, like evangelicals, who believe the Bible is authoritative) also should not subscribe to this view:

During the week I get so busy that I never find the time to be alone with God. So I've decided to dedicate this evening to prayer, solitude and study.

But before I get started I should check my e-mail so that I won't have any unwanted distractions. Thirty-two new messages? My inbox was already overflowing so I should probably reply to at least a few of these right now.

Six emails — no, wait, I really need to answer that one too — OK, seven emails down. Ah, I just got some invitations from Facebook. Those are easy to clear out so let me click through to accept those and I'm, hmm, I didn't realize I had more notifications.

Looks like Stacy finally launched a blog; I'll just click through really quickly to check it out. A lot of posts on here already, some great stuff. I really should add her blog to my RSS reader before I forget. I don't know how I ever read blogs before Google Reader came along and, what, "More than 100+ items?" Didn’t I just check this yesterday? I know this is prayer time, but I should really whittle these down a bit before it gets worse.

Here I was about to focus on prayer and Bible study and what do I find? My favorite theology-blogger has an excellent post on spiritual disciples. I have to share that with my own blog readers. That's a topic that's really on my heart today — and since I'll be praying and studying in just a few more minutes anyway — I'll go ahead and crank out a quick post.

And ... send. There that should be ... hmm, looks like some comments are hung up in my spam filter again. Ah, it's always that same guy — and, oh man, there he goes again misrepresenting what I wrote. Well, I can't let that go unchallenged. Fortunately it will only take a few more minutes to write a rebuttal.

OK, now its time to finally buckle down and practice some solitude. Let me check the time on my Blackberry — no way, it's been four hours? — and who are these voicemails from? I better check them in case its someone from work calling, which would be really rude since this is Sunday, and I told everyone that I now devote Sunday to church and prayer and Bible Study and — no, it wasn't work, it was my buddy asking if I got his e-mail. All right, that's it. I really need to spend some quality time with the Lord.

But before I get started I should check my e-mail....

Read the rest here.

"For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes..." -- Romans 1:16

Dr. Russell Moore, Dean of the School of Theology at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, answers the the question, “What is the Gospel?”

(HT: Dean's Class)

"Of making many books there is no end," moaned the Preacher. Soon their will be one more tome to add to that lamentation. Yesterday John Coleman and I officially agreed to a contract with Crossway Books to publish our book, How to Argue Like Jesus. The book examines communications, persuasion, and rhetoric using Christ as the exemplary model.

First, I should say that it's a great honor for us novice authors to share the same publisher as Francis Schaeffer, R.C. Sproul, and John Piper (not to mention Tim Challies, Andrew Jackson, and Mark D. Roberts). Crossway was my first choice when I considered a publisher so it is thrilling to have them make such an offer. John and I are extremely grateful to everyone who gave us this incredible opportunity.

Second, I want to thank John for bringing this project to fruition. Back in January I mentioned to him that I had an idea for a book but that I lacked the discipline to write it on my own. John offered to help me out and I eventually suckered him in to being a co-author. (A tip for aspiring writers: If you're a procrastinator with limited writing ability, it helps to partner with someone smart, sharp, and disciplined. It certainly worked for me.) Even though he had a full-time job at McKinsey and Co., the world's most famous consulting firm, and was preparing to move to Boston to attend Harvard Business School(!), John found the time to write, edit, fix my sloppy contributions, and shape it all into a publishable work. I'm deeply grateful for his help.

Third, I want to say how much I appreciate those of you who unknowingly contributed to this book (you'll see your name in the acknowledgments).

Fourth, and most importantly, I want to thank God for being with me throughout this process. Even if no one else is edified by our work, it forced me to delve deeper into Scripture. My appreciation for Christ is magnified greatly by focusing on his genius.

We're polishing up the final draft so it shouldn’t affect my blogging as much as it has the past few months. I'll keep everyone posted on the details as I move forward on this exciting new venture.

Last week Dr. John Mark Reynolds and the group L.O.S.E. (Lovingly Opposed to Sin and Evil) gave us "Ten Commandments for Evangelical Leaders in Politics" and the position paper God is not a Republican or a Democrat from the group L.O.S.E. (Lovingly Opposed to Sin and Evil). This week he's back with L.O.S.E's second position paper, "A National Apology for Our Existence":

The worst thing about non-academics is their desire to make simplistic judgments about blame.

Non-academics think that if a Christian does a good thing because of the teachings of Jesus, that Christianity should get credit for it. Think of the result!

Thousands of years of hospitals, the rising tide of civil and political rights, the development of modern science, the creation of the university system, most of the foundations of Western art and literature: all of this would have to be credited to Christianity.

Think of the chances for pride.

Secularism, on the other hand, has not done much.

Think of their chances for humility. Wouldn’t you rather be a secularist without the temptations of our vast cultural accomplishments?

There is good news. We can destroy this temptation to false happiness in “what God has done” by passing credit for it to secularists!

Read the rest

[Note: Since other writing projects took up my time today, I've decided to repost this entry from last November. Its one of the few entries that I've written that I consider to be worth rereading (and reimplementing).]

This post contains a four step process that could transform your life by, quite literally, changing your mind.

After reading the entire post the vast majority of readers will snicker at such a hyperbolic claim and never implement the method I outline. A smaller number will consider the advice intriguing, my assertion only a slight exaggeration, and will also never implement the method. A tiny minority, however, will recognize the genius behind the recommendation and apply it to their own life. This group will later say that my claim was an understatement.

This post is written for those people.

In late August I stumbled across a variation of the four steps in a blog post by Fred Sanders. I implemented his recommendation that day and have followed the process almost daily since then. Last month I had the pleasure of meeting Sanders in person and telling him how his post had transformed my life. My hope is that at least one other person will follow this advice and experience the same transformative affect.

Before I reveal the four steps I want to reiterate that while the advice could transform your life, it most likely will not. As with most life-altering advice, it is simple, easy to implement, and even easier to ignore. Statistically speaking, the odds are great that you’ll ignore this advice. Therefore I encourage you to stop reading now; you’ll only be wasting your time reading further.

For the one or two people who will find this useful, the four steps that will transform your worldview are:

[Note: Since other writing projects took up my time today, I've decided to repost this entry from December 2005.]

Over the past thirty-eight years I've been, at one time or another, a pre/post/a-millennialist, dispensational-covenantal, semi-charismatic, Reformed-Arminian, Wesleyan-Calvinist attending a Southern/Independent/Fundamentalist Baptist/Free-Methodist/Free-Evangelical/Presbyterian (USA and PCA)/Pentecostal/Assembly of God/Bible/non-denominational church.

I've sipped grape juice from glass thimbles and red wine from gold-plated goblets while eating pieces of saltine crackers and chips of unleavened bread, I've had "dinner on the ground" with a pew's worth of believers and shared feasts with a stadium full of megachurch patrons. I've listened to seminary-educated pastors parse Greek verbs and heard semi-illiterate Mexican preachers deliver sermons in Spanish.

Over three dozen churches still have me on the roles as a "member."

With my experience I can talk to any fellow Christian about doctrine and scripture and within ten minutes can tell you a dozen things wrong with their theology. Given another ten minutes I can explain to them in graphic detail where they err. Whether the topic is baptism ("...you gotta dunk 'em down real good to wash away all this sin"), the emergent church ("...let me tell ya what's wrong with that McLaren guy..."), eschatology ("Rapture? The Bible don't say nothin' about no..."), or any other issues that has ever caused a Protestant to start their own denomination, I can jump in with my well-formed, incontrovertible opinion. I'm always willing to look past the mote in my own eye to help a brother get that speck out of his own. That's just the kind of guy I am.

At least I used to be. I find that I just don't have the stomach for those old arguments anymore. I'm still willing to discuss doctrinal differences. But now I'm less sure that I'm standing on the right side of scripture. Is the view heretical or likely to lead someone away from salvation? Then I'll fight it tooth-and-nail. If not, then I'll probably just sit this one out. I no longer have an interest in being what Anthony Bradley calls a "wife beater":

"If we have no idea what Jesus looked like, how should he be portrayed?"

It's not often that I disagree with John Piper. But on this question Dr. Piper and I are on opposite sides. Andy Jackson recently pointed to a brief excerpt from one of Dr. Piper's sermons titled "What do you think of pictures of Jesus?". I've transcribed the text from the audio:

I'm a little hesitant about portraits of Jesus at all. There's that argument about whether that's breaking the first Commandment -- don't make any graven images, don't have pictures of Jesus in your house. The reason I'm not a stickler on that is because Jesus became incarnate, therefore we know he had a face. God the father didn't have a face, except insofar as He and the Son are one.

Jesus had a face and even though we don't know what it looked like I think renderings of it to show various things are okay. And if we're going to do that, they should be real diverse. I think they should be real diverse because you lock in on that famous one--I don't know what it's called, the one with the long hair, kind of the idyllic face and the blue eyes---that's absolutely absurd.

But I think they should probably be black portrayals of Jesus, and white portrayals of Jesus, and Chinese portrayals of Jesus. And everybody knows that they're not accurate. There isn't one that's accurate. That's why it's legitimate to do lots of inaccurate works. Because you just say we all know that we don't know what he looked like so what we want to say with our inaccurate Jesus is something true about Jesus. Namely, he's there for everybody.

There are three points in this statement in which I agree. I agree that such images do not break the first Commandment and I agree that Warner Sallman's "Head of Christ" is "absolutely absurd." I also agree that Jesus is there for everyone. Unfortunately, the rest of the passage seems to me to be confused and illogical.

For example, Piper says that the images should be "real diverse." But how much diversity is acceptable? Would he approve of portrayals of Jesus as an elderly man? What about as a woman?

The fact that no particular rendition can be completely accurate does not make it "legitimate to do lots of inaccurate works." Unless the work is intentionally abstract, then a degree of realism is to be expected from the artwork. By offering a portrayal that intentionally veers from the Biblical portrait of Christ, the artist is using Jesus to further a particular racial, ethnic, or political agenda.

Piper is also just flat out wrong in saying that "everybody knows that they're not accurate." Hitler claimed that Jesus was probably Gallic and that "it's certain that Jesus was not a Jew." The view that Jesus has Nordic features is still held today by white supremacists. Similarly, the view that Jesus was black is espoused by syncretic religions, such as Santeria or Voodoo, where African gods were merged with saints of the Roman Catholic Church. The Black Hebrew Israelites (a group that can be found preaching on street corners in our Nation's capital) also claims that since black people are descended from Israelites, Jesus had to be black.

The antisemitism that motivates and inspires most of these images is reason enough to condemn such revisionist art. Christians should stand firm against this vicious ideology by refusing to budge on the truth that our Lord and Savior took the incarnate form of a Jew.

But even when the motives are noble, we should reject such this faux diversity. Instead, we should express our humility by honoring the choices that God made in taking human form. We are created to reflect the image of our Lord; we shouldn’t try to recreate his image to reflect our own.

UPDATE: Abraham Piper adds more some additional thoughts on the Desiring God blog. He adds an interesting point about the metaphorical uses of imagery in order to say something true:

If the goal of art is to strictly represent reality, then, yes, Jesus should always be portrayed as a first-century Jew. But if the goal of art is to interpret reality in order to draw out something particularly true or beautiful, then precise realism is not always required. For example, certain attributes of Christ are highlighted when he is called a lion and others are highlighted when he is called a lamb. Needless to say, neither of these images is "accurate." He is neither a lion nor a lamb; he is a first-century Jew. But beautiful, true things about him become clearer to us when we picture him in these "inaccurate" forms.

I completely agree with his point, yet disagree with the applicability in this situation. Portrayals of Jesus as a lion or a lamb are unmistakably metaphorical. They are also completely Biblical.

The same can't be said for "black Jesus" or "Chinese Jesus." A metaphor is when an image is used that is not literally applicable in order to suggest a resemblance. What would the metaphor of a "black Jesus" mean? That while Jesus is not black he is like black people? While that would technically qualify as a metaphor, it is an insulting one. It is also unnecessarily devisive to images of Jesus with various racial traits is necessary to convince people that he is their Savior too.

Using metaphors in religious art is entirely justifiable. But are these types of images really metaphorical or are they simply revisionist?

My buddy Steve Dilliard recently launched Catholics Against Rudy, a website created to "empower faithful Catholics at the local level to educate their fellow parishoners about Rudy Giuliani’s abysmal record on non-negotiable “Culture of Life” issues (e.g., abortion, embryonic stem cell research) and traditional marriage."

Steve's main focus will be on Rudy's policy positions, though he acknowledges that the mayor's character is not off limits for criticism. Most importantly, he encourages "all Catholics to pray for Mayor Giuliani on a daily basis; specifically, that he will confess the error of his ways, fully embrace the teachings of the Catholic Church, and return to full communion with the Church."

Although I can only pray for that first part, count me in with the "Protestants who support Catholics Against Rudy" camp.

Although I don't subscribe to the Left Behind-style theology of this video (at least not anymore), I thought I'd post this for my pre-mill dispensationalist friends.

Stick with it until the end and you'll either find this awesome in a scary way or scary in a funny way. (I found it to be both.)

In almost every one of my relationships there comes a point when the other person—whether acquaintance, friend, or coworker—realizes that I’m kind of a jerk.

It often comes as an epiphany, a sudden realization that, now that they think about it, I was a jerk all this time---they just never realized it before. Perhaps they had chalked up my standoffishness to introversion or my critical nature to an analytic mind. Maybe my gruffness was because I was in the Marines or that my social skills atrophied because of disuse. However they had previously excused my behavior, they now realized that, nice guy that I might appear on the exterior, I am a barely tolerable jerk.

Generally, they are too polite to acknowledge this openly; mostly I just recognize it in their eyes. However it happens, it is unmistakable and the moment brings me both relief and distress. It's like publicly removing a man girdle that has been holding in an excess of gut and love handles. Although I can finally breathe easier, everyone else is looking at me with disgust.

How is this possible? How can I be a Christian for over three decades (since the age of six) and still be such a jerk? The only response I can give is that if I wasn't a Christian I'd be much, much worse. As Evelyn Waugh--another Christian who recognized he was a nasty chap--once said, "If not for my faith I would be barely human."

While true, that answer seems a bit of a cop-out. I don't like being a jerk and I don't like making excuses for my nasty behavior. So I attempt to be nicer, more likable. I pretend to be genial and gregarious in the hope that I'll eventually become less of a jerk.

But it doesn't work. The more I pose and pretend that I'm something I'm not, the more I appear to be a hypocritical jerk.

The main problem is that I go about it all wrong. Instead of trying to be more likable I should focus on being more loving. As C.S. Lewis once noted, "Christian Love (or Charity) for our neighbors is quite a different thing from liking or affection."

After reading this weekend's Blog Against Theocracy blogswarm, I scoured Bartlett's and other sources to help me find the best way to describe this event. Though Shakespeare and Samuel Johnson are keen observers of human nature, their words seemed too lofty, too dignified to be used for such a banal purpose. So instead I turned to one of my favorite cultural critics. Although the reference is to The Matrix, it's an apt description of the experience I had reading these posts:

[It's] like watching a retarded bear in the circus. It's painful and annoying and just frustrating because you just wish there was something you could do. But you don't really want to watch it. No one really wants to see that.

Indeed, it is painful, frustrating, and annoying to read such ignorant drivel. In the past I've written numerous posts on the "theocracy canard" in a futile attempt to address this misconception. But for the radical fringe of the secular left--the Chomskyites, the 9/11 conspiracy theorists, Rosie O'Donnell--reason and logic are like kryptonite. Because they live on emotion what they feel is what is true, regardless of facts and reality.

The theophobes, however, are a bit unique in that they embrace an infantile brand of libertarian socialism.* Like other leftists, they tend to advocate for collectivist government solutions. But their support ends when government interferes with their "rights" to do as they please. This is why they hate--and hate is not too strong a word--people who refuse to keep their religious beliefs in the closet. Christians, in particular, are considered a group that is always trying to impose their bourgeois standard of morality on society despite how it makes some people feel.

To get a sense of what I mean, all you have to do is read the introduction to the blogswarm:

This month marks two years since I left the Marine Corps. Although I love being a Marine I can honestly say that I don't miss it active duty all that much. In fifteen years of service I sat on the sidelines during three separate wars and like most Marines, being away from the action drove me insane. Sometimes being on the supporting end back in the U.S. is even more frustrating than being in a combat zone. This post, which I originally wrote three years ago, is for all the soldiers and Marines who wish they were spending Easter with their buddies in Iraq.

When a Marine is killed or seriously wounded, the duty of notifying the next of kin falls upon the Casualty Assistance Calls Officer (CACO). Normally the tasks of the CACO team (comprised of a senior NCO, a commissioned officer, and a chaplain) are carried out by the same people. But the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan have increased the need for more CACO teams and so I’ve been added to the roster of those assigned the morbid duty. Since my unit is one of the few active duty commands in the state, we’ve been assigned a large swath of Texas and are responsible for notifications over an area that spans hundreds of miles. Normally a command can expect to make one or two “casualty calls" a year; we made that many this week.

Marines are, of course, no strangers to death. While we would rather see the enemy be the one to “die for his country" we realize what sacrifices we may be called to make and stoically accept of our fate. But though we may be able to face our own mortality, nothing prepares us for the chore of carrying such news to the family of a fallen comrade.

No training can adequately prepare us for all the factors that can go wrong as we carry out the mission. For example, my unit was recently forced to call upon a mother who, upon seeing a trio of Marines in dress uniform standing on her porch, began to break down sobbing. When the officer asked the woman’s name he found it didn’t match the next of kin for the deceased. There had been a mix-up in the addresses and after a few frantic phone calls it was confirmed that this mother's son was still alive, the correct address was a home across town. After profuse apologies the Marines left, leaving the woman to be alone with the guilty relief that somebody other than her would be grieving the loss of their child.

Given my personality, you probably won’t be surprised to hear that I’ve been referred to by a number of insulting titles. Every cuss word you can think of—and a few you probably couldn’t imagine—has been hurled at me over the years. If the label is filthy, vile, disgusting, hurtful, or profane, then someone, somewhere, at sometime has attributed it to me.

Fortunately, I have a fairly thick skin. I'm able to absorb most invectives with bemusement. However, there is one particular four-letter word that always gets under my skin. One insult that I find most offensive and shocking to my sensibilities is when I'm called a "liar."

There are two reasons why that term bothers me more than any other. The first is that it isn’t true; I strive to be honest and forthright. The second reason is because it is true; I have a history of lying, particularly to keep myself out of trouble. The word is offensive because I strive mightily to be a person of integrity and it shocks my sensibilities because it reminds me that I too often fall short of that ideal.

There is another word, equally applicable, that I wish carried the same stinging rebuke: sinner.

Somehow I have become too comfortable identifying myself as a sinner. I consider it purely descriptive, like saying that I have blue eyes or brown hair. I rarely find it shameful. In fact, call me a sinner to my face and I am apt to say that “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost.”

Unlike, St. Paul, though, I don’t really comprehend what I’m saying. While I can regurgitate doctrinal statements about Original Sin and Atonement, Paul understood in his bones what it means to be a sinner and the price our Lord had to pay. Compared to him I am but a third-string sinner.

However, like Paul, I have been born again. I have put off the rotting skin of the dead man that I was and put on the new life in Christ. Yet I still find myself turning my gaze from the Cross to lick the sores of my old maggoty corpse. As a dog returns to his vomit, I return to my wicked ways. Worst of all, I am not horrified when I look upon my sins. I’m not shocked when I glance back and see how few steps I’ve taken on the road to sanctification. I simply shrug: What can I say? I’m a sinner.

Although I won’t shake that label until I shed “this mortal coil”, I don’t have to wear it as a badge of honor. I was a sinner, am a sinner, and will be a sinner until I die. But Jesus has saved, is saving, and will save me from the wages I owe because of my sin. The price is paid in full. I have been set free.

I know this and yet do not live it. I treat such priceless grace from my Creator as if it were a polite favor from an acquaintance. But Jesus died. On a Cross. For me. Knowing that doesn’t fill me with guilt and make me want to wear a hairshirt. But it does make me want to be less comfortable wearing the label “sinner.”

As I was contemplating what to write about for Christmas, I stumbled across this article by my friend and co-worker, Suzanne Bowdey. Since it was far superior to anything I could have said I asked Suzanne, the Senior Writer and Editor at Family Research Council, for permission to reprint it here on EO:

In Baghdad, the blackened cars outside churches and abandoned houses where people once worshiped point to an even greater emptiness in Iraq. Since the war, Christians have faced great persecution and hardship, all signaling a new era in a country that was once the cradle of their faith. While it may be home to the ancient cities of Ninevah and Babylon, Ur and the Garden of Eden, families of God are fleeing Iraq—afraid for their lives and the daily threat of terrorism. Frightened by a future where they would be hunted or outcast, thousands of Christians have fled for safe havens.

In the past few years, the fragile peace between the country’s Christians and Muslims has been shattered. God-fearing Iraqis have watched helplessly as their brothers and sisters in Christ fall victim to bombings, assassinations, kidnappings, and intimidation. In the face of great suffering, the shrinking population still searches for asylum. By record numbers, nearly half of what was once considered the world’s oldest Christian body has disappeared. As one religious leader said, “The situation that is in the country will not allow us to practice our services freely. It is not safe to go [out] from home. We are meeting every Sabbath, but it is very difficult. We expect an explosion at any time during the day.” Like every Iraqi, he prays for a better tomorrow. “We hope that things will change,” he said. “But no one knows except God.”

Two thousand years ago, the fate of the world hung by a similar thread. A virgin birth. The innocent manger. A promise of salvation. All were endangered by a Middle Eastern tyrant who slaughtered millions in hopes of killing the rightful King, Jesus Christ.

In the beginning God made man in his image...and ever since we've been returning the favor. Occasionally mankind has stooped to worshiping graven images like the golden calf. But mostly we prefer to worship something even more rare and valuable – ourselves. We just don't talk about it much. Murder, theft, and adultery get all the press while idolatry has become the sin that dares not speak it name. Violations of the first commandment, however, are by far our most pervasive sin. In fact, it is often the root of sin. What sin cannot be traced back to our desire to put ourselves in God’s place, allowing us to rebel against our Creator with impunity?

Still, it is rather shocking to hear someone be unabashedly open about their idolatry as Bart Campolo, son of Tony Campolo, is in a recent article for The Journal of Student Ministries*:

Some might say I would be wise to swallow my misgivings about such stuff [like God's sovereignty, wrath, hell, etc.], remain orthodox, and thereby secure my place with God in eternity. But that is precisely my point: If those things are true, then God might as well send me to Hell. For better or worse, I simply am not interested in any God but a completely good, entirely loving, and perfectly forgiving One who is powerful enough to utterly triumph over evil. Such a God may not exist, but I will die seeking such a God, and I will pledge my allegiance to no other possibility because, quite frankly, anything less is not worthy of my worship.

Please, don’t get me wrong. I am well aware that I don’t get to decide who God is. What I do get to decide, however, is to whom I pledge my allegiance. I am a free agent, after all, and I have standards for my God, the first of which is this: I will not worship any God who is not at least as compassionate as I am.

Hubris and heresy from someone named Campolo probably shouldn’t be that surprising. But it is an extreme example of an all too common problem, even among non-heretics: failing to recognize the holiness of God.

Contra Campolo, God is indeed completely good, entirely loving, and perfectly forgiving. But He is also holy – pure, wholly perfect, transcendent. Holiness demands that we tremble in God's presence; instead, we rebel. Justice demands that we we pay for our impunity; instead, we are allowed to continue living.

Theologian R.C Sproul, in one of the most enlightening passages ever written on the subject, explains how God’s holiness relates to his justice:

This post contains a four step process that could transform your life by, quite literally, changing your mind.

After reading the entire post the vast majority of readers will snicker at such a hyperbolic claim and never implement the method I outline. A smaller number will consider the advice intriguing, my assertion only a slight exaggeration, and will also never implement the method. A tiny minority, however, will recognize the genius behind the recommendation and apply it to their own life. This group will later say that my claim was an understatement.

This post is written for those people.

In late August I stumbled across a variation of the four steps in a blog post by Fred Sanders. I implemented his recommendation that day and have followed the process almost daily since then. Last month I had the pleasure of meeting Sanders in person and telling him how his post had transformed my life. My hope is that at least one other person will follow this advice and experience the same transformative affect.

Before I reveal the four steps I want to reiterate that while the advice could transform your life, it most likely will not. As with most life-altering advice, it is simple, easy to implement, and even easier to ignore. Statistically speaking, the odds are great that you’ll ignore this advice. Therefore I encourage you to stop reading now; you’ll only be wasting your time reading further.

For the one or two people who will find this useful, the four steps that will transform your worldview are:

Although I don't often write confessional posts, there is an issue that has been weighing on my heart. Certain discussions throughout the evangelical wing of the blogosphere have led me to finally speak up about an issue that I've tended to keep to myself. The problem concerns my faith: I am plagued by certainty.

It's no secret that I have a high opinion of my own opinion; a confidence in their correctness that borders on the obnoxious. Like Ivan Turgenev, "I share no man's opinions; I have my own." But while I may embrace and defend my opinions with firmness, it is a humble form of certitude in which I have to acknowledge that there is a statistical likelihood -- whether trivial or significant -- that I could be wrong.

Not so, however, when it comes to matters of faith.

I don't doubt that God exists or that the Bible is his Word. I don't doubt that Jesus was born of a virgin, that he died and was buried, or that he rose again after three days in the tomb. I don't doubt that he died for me, a truly wretched sinner, or that I will spend eternity in His presence. I would find it easier to doubt my own existence than to doubt the Nicene Creed. Maybe I'm delusional (though I doubt that) but I have few doubts about my faith.

My certitude is admittedly personal. I believe I have justification and warrant for my beliefs and that if pressed, I could attempt to provide proof and evidence for these claims. The level of "proof" I could give, though, would not provide the same level of certitude that I have. Proof is rather limited in that regard. I couldn't prove that Joe Carter exists much less prove that he likes the color blue, that he kissed Christie Cozart in the 7th grade, or that he hates referring to himself in the third person.

While I can't prove those things beyond a shadow of a doubt, I don't doubt them at all. Similarly, my certainty in my faith isn't based on what I can prove to other people or even, for that matter, what I can prove to myself.

When the famed German physicist Wolfgang Pauli would criticize the theories of his colleagues, he would often declare them to be ganz falsch, utterly false. But on one occasion Pauli was shown the paper of a young physicist and remarked, �It is not even wrong.� By this he meant that the work contained such erroneous thinking that it could not even be considered ganz falsch.

When I heard that the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) had developed an �educational resource� that recommended referring to the Trinity as "Mother, Child, and Womb", I had a similiar reaction: I thought the idea was not only wrong, but utterly wrong. However, after reading the document, �The Trinity: God�s Love Overflowing� (PDF), I've changed my opinion. The concept is, as Pauli might say, �not even wrong.� But not necessarily for the reasons I first thought.

Based solely on media reports, it would appear that this document had been produced by church leaders who adhered more to the writings of Dan Brown than to Holy Scripture. But that impression is unfair. In many ways the document is not only orthodox but evangelical in reaffirming the centrality of the doctrine of the Trinity. The members of the task force treat the doctrine with due reverence and seriousness: �The doctrine of the Trinity is a summary of the gospel of Jesus Christ--it cannot be understood apart from the gospel, and the gospel cannot be fully understood apart from the doctrine of the Trinity.�

They lose their theological footing, however, when they attempt to �speak of God in historically faithful yet freshly imaginative ways.� True, almost all the analogies that they use come directly from scripture. But when linked in groups of three they form conceptual metaphors that can be misleading and muddle our understanding of an already mysterious doctrine.

The Way of the Fathers has a great post on youth ministry in the Patristic-era:

Now, don�t jump to conclusions. I haven�t uncovered any evidence that St. Ambrose led teens on ski trips in the nearby Alps. Nor is there anything to suggest that St. Basil sponsored junior-high dances in Pontus. (There�s not even a hint of a pizza party.) In fact, if you check all the documentary evidence from all the ancient patriarchates of the East and the West, you won�t find a single bulletin announcement for a single parish youth group.

Yet the Fathers had enormous success in youth and young-adult ministry. Many of the early martyrs were teens, as were many of the Christians who took to the desert for the solitary life. There�s ample evidence that a disproportionate number of conversions, too, came from the young and youngish age groups.

How did the Fathers do it?

They made wild promises.

They promised young people great things, like persecution, lower social status, public ridicule, severely limited employment opportunities, frequent fasting, a high risk of jail and torture, and maybe, just maybe, an early, violent death at the hands of their pagan rulers.

You know, that sounds a lot like what I used to offer as a Marine Corps recruiter. Perhaps I could apply the skills I learned on recruiting duty in a ministry setting. Any megachurches out there want to hire me to implement the Patristic-driven youth ministry in their suburban church?

(HT: Disert Paths)

Whenever I reflect on ecclesiology�the study of the nature and function of the church�I�m overcome with deep dread, a sense of eschatological angst brought about by a disturbing sense of doubt: What if, contrary to all that I�ve ever been taught, I get to heaven and find that God has a preference for Methodists?

This uncertainty, combined with the reality that there are over 33,000 Christian denominations in the world, prevents me from becoming overly dogmatic about denominational distinctions. I still cling to my Southern Baptist heritage, but I don�t hold on too tightly. I may love a good argument but I have no interest in debating church polity with Presbyterians or infant baptism with Lutherans.

Instead I prefer to rest in the shade of the broad categories that can be preceded by the qualifying adjective �mere�: orthodox, reformed, evangelical, Christian. Doctrinal fences are needed to clarify important divides (i.e., the Catholic/Protestant split) or to prevent believers from slipping off into heresy. But I find that creating too tight of a boundary around my faith can hinder my fellowship with my brothers and sisters in Christ.

I believe my friend Tim Challies has inadvertently created just such an arbitrary and unnecessary division between believers. Following the reasoning he outlines in a recent post, for example, he would have no legitimate warrant for considering me to be a �Christian.�

[Note: This article was originally posted in February 2005.]

I have a confession to make: I don�t like church. I�ve been a Christian for thirty years (since I was six years old) and have attended services at churches that were Southern Baptist, Independent Baptist, United Methodist, Free Methodist, Presbyterian (both PCA and PC (USA)), Pentecostal, Adventist, Assembly of God, and various denominations that call themselves �non-denominational.�

I�ve been in some churches were the preacher spoke in dulcet tones and others where he�d speak in tongues. I�ve been in churches were the congregation sits in the pews and others were they roll in the aisles. I�ve been in churches where people raise their hands in praise and others where they keep their hand on their wallet. I�ve been in everything from mega churches in California to house churches in Japan. I'm no stranger to church.

But no matter where I go there is always one idiot who ruins the experience for me. They think they know more theology than the pastor or believe they would do a better job leading worship than the music minister. They are invariably unfriendly, judgmental, hypocritical, and more than a little bit smug. Every church I go to I find a fool like that and so I shop around trying to find one that won�t let someone like that join their ranks. But he�s always there. No matter what I do I can�t shake him. Because that guy is me.

While a political strategist for Richard Nixon, Kevin Phillips made a name for himself by being a race-baiter. Phillips argued that Republicans could win over the working-class white voter who was willing to defect the Democratic Party over Lyndon Johnson�s embrace of civil rights legislation.

When The Emerging Republican Majority appeared in 1969, Newsweek described it as "the political bible of the Nixon Administration" and launched his career as a Republican prognosticator. Phillips says he voted for Reagan (twice) and would have �eagerly voted for John McCain� yet has since become disillusioned with party politics. He left Washington D.C. in 1997, �disgusted with how Washington politics had sunk to herald Bill Clinton, Al Gore, Newt Gingrich and George W. Bush.�

Phillips may be a Bush-hater but it�s still a bit odd seeing an unreconstructed, hardcore Nixonite being embraced by the political left. Politics, though, tends to create strange bedfellows, which is why the �Republican� Phillips is allowed space in the broadsheet of the hard-left, The Nation, to rail against a common enemy: theocrats.

�Is theocracy in the United States,� asks Phillips, �(1) a legitimate fear, as some liberals argue; (2) a joke, given the nation's rising secular population and moral laxity; (3) a worrisome bias of major GOP constituencies and pressure groups; or (4) all of the above? The last, I would argue.�

Last May, after reading the Harper�s Magazine series of articles on �The Christian Right�s War On America�, I realized it was time to introduce an observation, similar to Godwin�s Law, on a recurrent theme in political debate. Such a clear pattern of rhetorical hyperbole has led me to codify Carter�s Law of Political Rhetoric:

As the number of religious conservatives expressing an opinion on a moral or political issue increases, the probability that someone on the political left will invoke the term �theocracy� approaches one.

This month marks a year since I left the Marine Corps. Although I love being a Marine I can honestly say that I don't miss active duty all that much. In fifteen years of service I sat on the sidelines during three separate wars and like most Marines, being away from the action drove me insane. Sometimes being on the supporting end back in the U.S. is even more trying than being in a combat zone. This post, which I originally wrote two years ago, is for all the soldiers and Marines who wish they were spending Easter with their buddies in Iraq.

When a Marine is killed or seriously wounded, the duty of notifying the next of kin falls upon the Casualty Assistance Calls Officer (CACO). Normally the tasks of the CACO team (comprised of a senior NCO, a commissioned officer, and a chaplain) are carried out by the same people. But the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan have increased the need for more CACO teams and so I’ve been added to the roster of those assigned the morbid duty. Since my unit is one of the few active duty commands in the state, we’ve been assigned a large swath of Texas and are responsible for notifications over an area that spans hundreds of miles. Normally a command can expect to make one or two “casualty calls" a year; we made that many this week.

Marines are, of course, no strangers to death. While we would rather see the enemy be the one to “die for his country" we realize what sacrifices we may be called to make and stoically accept of our fate. But though we may be able to face our own mortality, nothing prepares us for the chore of carrying such news to the family of a fallen comrade.

No training can adequately prepare us for all the factors that can go wrong as we carry out the mission. For example, my unit was recently forced to call upon a mother who, upon seeing a trio of Marines in dress uniform standing on her porch, began to break down sobbing. When the officer asked the woman’s name he found it didn’t match the next of kin for the deceased. There had been a mix-up in the addresses and after a few frantic phone calls it was confirmed that this mother's son was still alive, the correct address was a home across town. After profuse apologies the Marines left, leaving the woman to be alone with the guilty relief that somebody other than her would be grieving the loss of their child.

The American linguists Edward Sapir and Benjamin Lee Whorf once argued that language is used not only to express our thoughts but to shape them as well. In linguistics, this explanation for the way that language relates to thought is known as a "mould theory" since it represents language as a mould in terms of which thought categories are cast. As Sapir wrote in The Status of Linguistics as a Science, "The fact of the matter is that the 'real world' is to a large extent unconsciously built upon the language habits of the group."

If the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is correct, then it would be wise to become as conscious of our "language habits" as possible. By doing so we might be able to recognize when our thoughts are being misshapen by language and to discard such words from our vocabulary. An example is the term "supernatural," a word that inadvertently causes muddled thinking and confusion.

The connotations implicit in the word supernatural differ based on the subject in which it occurs. When used in the natural sciences the term has a deistic flavor, while in a theological context it has a polytheistic quality. Consider, for example, the way our culture--including most Christians--have come to view the angelic realm. Although scripture is clear that they angels are created by Jesus (Col.1:16), we tend to consider them "supernatural" beings, existing not only outside of nature but outside of creation itself.

The fact that the denotative understanding occurs primarily on a subconscious level only adds to the confusion. By using the term supernatural to refer to such beings we are implying that they belong on the same plane or realm of existence as God.

God
Angels
Satan/demons___________

Man Nature (i.e., plants, animals, minerals)

One of the reasons we make such errors is because we buy into the modernist notion that all of creation is physical and that angelic beings must necessarily exists on a "supernatural" (i.e., nonphysical) plane separate and distinct from the material cosmos. Essentially, this leads us to concede a point to the physicalist worldview.

The most influential Christian in America is likely to be a white Protestant middle-aged man who pastors a megachurch in Texas, hosts a radio show and a television program on TBN, has published several books, and has borderline heretical views.

At least that�s the composite that can be gleaned from the Church Report�s list of 50 Most Influential Christians in America. The Church Report bills itself as a �national business news magazine that is distributed to over 40,000 senior pastors and Christian leaders from across the United States.� Each year they poll their magazine and online readers to determine the most influential leaders in the American church.

Such self-selecting lists are admittedly easy to dismiss, and many bloggers have already begun snickering about some of the choices (Dr. Phil?). But those of us in the blogosphere need to remember that we aren�t necessarily representative of the broader church culture. The Christian blogosphere is often as hermetic as a seminary and many of the names that we might consider to be familiar (Albert Mohler, R.C. Sproul, N.T. Wright) are not necessarily known by the people who only listen to Focus on the Family.

I�ll be the first to admit that seeing most of the names on the list made me cringe, though there are a few grains of wheat mixed in among the tares. If this is who is considered the most �influential� within the American church�and it probably is more than we care to admit�then we need to be aware of that fact. We also need to recognize that when most non-believers in America think �Christian� these are the names that spring to mind. Once we get over our horror we need to ask ourselves, �What are we going to do about it?�

In order to provide a broad overview of the type of people on the list, I�ve broken down the data into some numbers that I found to be particularly revealing:

Every autumn Christians throughout North America engage in hand-wringing disputes over what to do about Halloween. The discussions tend to reflect in microcosm how we interact with overtly secular aspects on a larger scale. Should we separate and stand apart, becoming a witness by or disengagement or do we participate and attempt to redeem the event by acts of hospitality and neighborly love?

Bonnie from Intellectuelle adds a thoughtful contribution to the discussion, one in which I must confess to be in almost total disagreement with. But one section in particular caught my attention:

I think it could be wishful thinking to say that we can �redeem� Halloween by trick-or-treating in good will. It may not be expressive of good will toward those who do not understand the truth of spiritual matters. Again, aren�t we endorsing the holiday itself by participating in it? The only alternative to non-participation is to hand out leaflets containing the history of Halloween (with appropriate verses of Scripture, plus a candy bar) or tracts to trick-or-treaters...but whether or not that is neighborly is a debate in itself. [emphasis added]

Reading that sentence about handing �tracts to trick-or-treaters� sent chills down my spine and reminded me of the most frightful man ever to be associated with Halloween: Jack Chick.

While you may not recognize the name, if you�ve ever used the restroom of a truck stop then you�ve probably seen his work. Chick produces tracts and comics that look like work that R. Crumb would have produced had he attended Bob Jones University. For over twenty years the tracts have been used to spread such Christian messages as Catholics are going to hell and that the Holocaust was a Jesuit-led inquisition against the Jews.

To me, though, Chick is not just another anti-Catholic bigot. When I was a kid Jack Chick was the man who was responsible for more nightmares than the Twilight Zone and Kolchak: The Nightstalker combined. Chick not only scared the hell out of me, he made me afraid that hell was all around me.

While his comic books are less well known than his tracts, they were a primary source of literature around my fundamentalist church. In a typical display of twisted '70s fundie logic, our congregation believed that comics about Satan and the occult were more wholesome than reading about Spiderman or Archie and Jughead.