My mom and I had a discussion last night about a book she's reading, The Importance of Being Foolish. The author, Brennan Manning, discusses the need for Christians to turn away from the secular world and the things that distract us from Christ. But instead of the small-scale traditional punching bags like secuar music and television, Manning tells us we need to turn from the diversions of security, power, being liked.
On the one hand, it's easy to say money is the root of all evil, that man cannot serve God and mammon (Matthew 6:24). But what does it mean to serve money? There are the obvious examples of people devoting their whole lives to the collection of obscene wealth. But most people aren't in that sort of financial position. Yet surely Jesus wasn't just talking to the Donald Trumps of the world?
The passage from Matthew (also in Luke 12:22-31) continues with Jesus pointing out that God provides everything for sparrow and even flowers. He says we matter much more than these things to God and so therefore we should not worry about how our needs will be met. How literally should we take this? Should I seriously not worry about going to work and getting paid, trusting that God will feed me and give me shelter? But even animals have to do some work (and plants too, if photosynthesis counts as work) to get food.
Maybe the passages are more about stockpiling wealth. The disciples were instructed not to bring money, extra clothes, or even a walking stick (Luke 9:3, Matthew 10:10 although Mark 6:8 allows the walking stick) on their journeys with Jesus. And he told a parable about a foolish rich man who, instead of giving his excess away, built larger barns in the hopes that he would have enough riches to last the rest of his life (Luke 12:13-21). Is this the same as a retirement plan? Is it wrong to save money for the future?
I'm sure there are people who would answer yes. And I'm sure these people whould argue that a person won't suffer or starve if s/he truly has faith that God will provide for her/him. But the logical end to that argument is that every poor person in the world is suffering simply because they do not have faith enough in God--that it is their fault they are hungry and homeless. I simply can't see God wanting us to purposely court poverty in order to prove our focus on Him. I do think we are called to live simply and give our wealth to those with less. But I don't think ignoring the monetary needs of our lives is the answer; perhaps redefining "need" is a good start.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
A New Creed
I read this post last fall and have been thinking about my personal creed ever since. The idea of a personal creed rather than a community creed bumps up against and tussles with my Catholic schooling, my belief of church as community, and my mixed emotions about "cafeteria Christianity". Thus, it's been an incredibly empowering thought, and also an incredibly uncomfortable one.
Sometimes something is said in church that I don't agree with or don't believe. When I went to Catholic school, we were taught that one has to believe the entire creed of a religion in order to belong to that religion (along the lines of the people with bumper stickers that read "You can't be a Catholic and be for abortion."); rejecting one single aspect of a religious group meant you rejected the entire religion. When you're thirteen (or thirty), this is horrifyingly scary because it means that your inability to wrap your mind around the Trinity means you've rejected the entire Church and are therefore going to Hell.
Though I'm far more liberal with what I accept in my religious repertoire these days, I'm still acutely uncomfortable when something said in church doesn't jibe with me, particularly if the something comes from the Book of Worship or from a sermon. In many ways, it's more difficult to reject a tenet of belief than to accept it. Rejection seems more final and divisive, especially when you're surrounded by people who at least outwardly accept the thing you cannot.
Thus, it's empowering and comforting to be able to think, "I don't believe that." It gives a person control over her/his own belief system. Instead of being wracked with guilt, it allows for the fact that belief cannot be forced. Since I've begun thinking about my personal creed, I'm always mentally adding to it or deleting from it. Instead of blindly accepting certain articles of faith, the idea of having my own creed has made me think through them more deeply. The result is that the things I believe are on a firmer foundation because, in giving myself more permission to wrestle with them, I've thought them through.
The idea of a personal creed is uncomfortable at times. How deeply can a person get involved in her/his personal belief system? If a creed is completely personal, what's the point of being involved with a community at all? When does rejecting a belief distance a person from her/his faith community? Does the ability to reject something as "not what I believe" close the door to discussion and furthered understanding? And is there a danger that having a personal creed prevents wrestling with difficult ideas and articles of faith but instead allows for simple rejection of things that are difficult or uncomfortable?
One thing I dislike about a lot of modern religious movements is the emphasis on a "personal God". Instead of working in community, a lot of people are hung up on their own private relationships with God, which I think detracts greatly from the communal aspects and benefits of religion. So there must be a point where ones' personal creed goes too far, where it puts up more walls than it brings down. The trouble is finding that point.
Sometimes something is said in church that I don't agree with or don't believe. When I went to Catholic school, we were taught that one has to believe the entire creed of a religion in order to belong to that religion (along the lines of the people with bumper stickers that read "You can't be a Catholic and be for abortion."); rejecting one single aspect of a religious group meant you rejected the entire religion. When you're thirteen (or thirty), this is horrifyingly scary because it means that your inability to wrap your mind around the Trinity means you've rejected the entire Church and are therefore going to Hell.
Though I'm far more liberal with what I accept in my religious repertoire these days, I'm still acutely uncomfortable when something said in church doesn't jibe with me, particularly if the something comes from the Book of Worship or from a sermon. In many ways, it's more difficult to reject a tenet of belief than to accept it. Rejection seems more final and divisive, especially when you're surrounded by people who at least outwardly accept the thing you cannot.
Thus, it's empowering and comforting to be able to think, "I don't believe that." It gives a person control over her/his own belief system. Instead of being wracked with guilt, it allows for the fact that belief cannot be forced. Since I've begun thinking about my personal creed, I'm always mentally adding to it or deleting from it. Instead of blindly accepting certain articles of faith, the idea of having my own creed has made me think through them more deeply. The result is that the things I believe are on a firmer foundation because, in giving myself more permission to wrestle with them, I've thought them through.
The idea of a personal creed is uncomfortable at times. How deeply can a person get involved in her/his personal belief system? If a creed is completely personal, what's the point of being involved with a community at all? When does rejecting a belief distance a person from her/his faith community? Does the ability to reject something as "not what I believe" close the door to discussion and furthered understanding? And is there a danger that having a personal creed prevents wrestling with difficult ideas and articles of faith but instead allows for simple rejection of things that are difficult or uncomfortable?
One thing I dislike about a lot of modern religious movements is the emphasis on a "personal God". Instead of working in community, a lot of people are hung up on their own private relationships with God, which I think detracts greatly from the communal aspects and benefits of religion. So there must be a point where ones' personal creed goes too far, where it puts up more walls than it brings down. The trouble is finding that point.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
I don't know how you keep on giving
Today at the gym I got stuck watching "The 700 Club". I try to avoid such programs (and their creators) as much as possible, so this was a new experience for me. As far as I could tell, the entire show consisted of Pat Robertson trying to rally people into a frenzy by setting a clock indicating that there are "ten minutes to reach the goal of X dollars!" When only a minute or so remains, someone else has come forth with a new matching funds amount and the clock is reset. The viewer is shown some of the things done with the money (which are of the "giving water to African villages" variety) and constantly reminded that God will bless you if you give money. Stories are told of people who had God work in their lives and give them abundance--but only after they started to tithe their income. One man even "repaid" money he hadn't tithed over the years. Once tithing starts, people get jobs, build new houses, etc.
I cannot say how disturbing I find this mindset. Yes, I believe we are called to give to those who are less fortunate than we are. And I also think that most people are far more fortunate than we think, especially when compared to most of the world. But the idea that giving God a certain amount of money guarantees that I will receive physical, monetary benefits sickens me. I don't dispute that the Bible tells us to give; I do dispute that giving money to others will make it come back to me.
For starters, shouldn't we give out of a desire to see our brothers and sisters live better? If I give money so that God will reward me, isn't my understanding of generosity and faith akin to that of a child who does chores simply so s/he can watch a favorite movie? Shouldn't grown people be a bit beyond such a simplistic concept of reward and punishment?
Secondly, if God will reward me if I give enough money away, what's to stop me from becoming a total Calvinist and asserting the converse--that God is punishing those who don't have riches galore for not tithing. If "The 700 Club" presents me with countless tales of wealthy people who got that way because they tithed their income, even during sparse times, how can I not eventually conclude that my hard-up neighbor just needs to give a little more? And if I tithe but don't reap the supposed rewards, do I feel bad because I'm not giving enough?
Thirdly, I'm deeply uncomfortable with the idea of excessive material wealth being presented as God's reward. Am I a bad Christian if I don't net a million dollars a year? If my wife doesn't wear a pound of diamonds, does it mean I'm not doing right by my neighbor? If I only have one car am I out of favor with God? The people featured on "The 700 Club" as examples of success found through tithing weren't that bad off to begin with. It seems like a cruel (even more so, given that it's unintended) irony to feature stories about villages with dirty water, people who make a living scavenging garbage dumps for bottles to recycle, and children who can't attend school because they can't afford pencils alongside stories about "struggling" Americans who live in large single-family homes and clear six figures a year working on Wall Street.
After watching "The 700 Club", I wonder if this is really all the image of God some people have. If so, I feel sad for them. How awful to see the Creator of the Universe, the Redeemer, the Awesome Lord as a bank--put some in, get it back with interest. And how sad to only give out of a desire to increase your own wealth. I guess that's what makes me so mad--this show (and presumably an entire culture of Christianity) is encouraging people to limit God to this pathetic bean-counter.
I cannot say how disturbing I find this mindset. Yes, I believe we are called to give to those who are less fortunate than we are. And I also think that most people are far more fortunate than we think, especially when compared to most of the world. But the idea that giving God a certain amount of money guarantees that I will receive physical, monetary benefits sickens me. I don't dispute that the Bible tells us to give; I do dispute that giving money to others will make it come back to me.
For starters, shouldn't we give out of a desire to see our brothers and sisters live better? If I give money so that God will reward me, isn't my understanding of generosity and faith akin to that of a child who does chores simply so s/he can watch a favorite movie? Shouldn't grown people be a bit beyond such a simplistic concept of reward and punishment?
Secondly, if God will reward me if I give enough money away, what's to stop me from becoming a total Calvinist and asserting the converse--that God is punishing those who don't have riches galore for not tithing. If "The 700 Club" presents me with countless tales of wealthy people who got that way because they tithed their income, even during sparse times, how can I not eventually conclude that my hard-up neighbor just needs to give a little more? And if I tithe but don't reap the supposed rewards, do I feel bad because I'm not giving enough?
Thirdly, I'm deeply uncomfortable with the idea of excessive material wealth being presented as God's reward. Am I a bad Christian if I don't net a million dollars a year? If my wife doesn't wear a pound of diamonds, does it mean I'm not doing right by my neighbor? If I only have one car am I out of favor with God? The people featured on "The 700 Club" as examples of success found through tithing weren't that bad off to begin with. It seems like a cruel (even more so, given that it's unintended) irony to feature stories about villages with dirty water, people who make a living scavenging garbage dumps for bottles to recycle, and children who can't attend school because they can't afford pencils alongside stories about "struggling" Americans who live in large single-family homes and clear six figures a year working on Wall Street.
After watching "The 700 Club", I wonder if this is really all the image of God some people have. If so, I feel sad for them. How awful to see the Creator of the Universe, the Redeemer, the Awesome Lord as a bank--put some in, get it back with interest. And how sad to only give out of a desire to increase your own wealth. I guess that's what makes me so mad--this show (and presumably an entire culture of Christianity) is encouraging people to limit God to this pathetic bean-counter.
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