Public Schools -- Learning to Live in a Diverse World

My children attend public schools and I am very glad about that. Public education is coming under increasing attack, particularly here in Arizona, where our state legislators seem determined to undermine the very foundations of public education. At the same time, many Christians seem intent on fleeing public schools in favor of private, Christian ones or of homeschooling. I am not opposed to either option and recognize that there are many factors that influence a family's decision about educating their children. But I think that we are wrong to abandon public schools, both as a nation and as Christians.

We did not plan or expect to have our children in public schools. Because of our work overseas, our children have mostly attended small schools for expatriate Christians, where class sizes were very small (our daughter had 10 children in her combined 4-6 grade class) and the worldview largely homegeneous. Even in those environments they did gain some multi-cultural exposure, as they often had classmates from several countries as well as living themselves in a cross-cultural situation. They also took classes on-line through a Christian internet school which offered high-quality classes, but in a largely homogeneous environment. Most of their classmates were from white, middle- to upper-middle class homes. Some, like our children, lived outside of their home countries, but most were simply homeschooled children in the United States. (In the interest of full disclosure, I now teach for that school and really enjoy the students with whom I work.) Prior to high school, the one year my children lived and went to school in the United States they both attended a local private Christian school. Although the school was good, it proved to be a less-than-ideal environment for our children, particularly our daughter. As a new junior high student she felt very much marginalized and out of place. Her classmates were from similar socio-economic backgrounds and lacked the multi-cultural perspective that our daughter had. Nor could they appreciate and affirm her uniqueness. This may be more because of their age than the school environment, but the lack of diversity in the school certainly left little place for someone to feel at home who was not just like everyone else.

Now my children are both in public high schools. Although our school district has some serious problems, I am comfortable that my children will receive a solid educational foundation that will equip them for life after high school. It certainly helps that my son attends one of the nation's best high schools, according to some rankings, while my daughter attends a good, though fairly average high school. But the quality of the academics is not the primary reason I am glad my children are in public school. In public school they learn to interact with people from a wide variety of backgrounds. Our school district is, as they say, majority-minority, which means that more than 50% of the student population are not white. Every day at school my children are reminded that they live in a country that is growing increasingly diverse, one in which people who look like them will need to learn to work alongside people who don't look like them. My daughter's school is less so than my son's, but even though the socio-economic and ethnic diversity is not as great as we might wish, she still encounters a wide variety of worldviews. Neither of my children spend their school days in a Christian worldview bubble. And that's a good thing, because they are not going to live in a world where the majority of people accept an evangelical Christian worldview, or even a Judeo-Christian one. They must learn to interact with a broader world and they must choose what they believe and why and they might as well begin in high school. We can't keep them in a sheltered environment forever.

I want my children to be comfortable with the reality that people around them look and think differently than they do. I don't want them to view people as threats simply because they are different in some way. I want them to accept the wonderful diversity that is the United States. I want them to be comfortable with having a black, Hispanic, Asian or female president, and with having co-workers from all these and other backgrounds, because that's the future of this country. I don't want my children to think that white men should be the natural leaders or control the levers of power and influence, at least not simply by virtue of being white men. The world is changing. Our country is changing. By studying in public high schools, my children are learning to deal with that changing world better, I think than they would in a more homogeneous environment.

I could list other reasons that I affirm public education, both for my children and for society as a whole, but this to me is one of the key reasons we need to have public education. Rather than fleeing from public schools, rather than tearing them down either actively or passively, we need to recommit to supporting and developing them. As Christians we should do this not less, but more. Ultimately I recognize, as I said earlier, that each family must make their decision for their own reasons, but I would strongly encourage us to give serious thought to supporting public education. We want our children to be prepared to engage with a diverse world and public schools can help us do that well.

If God wills...

In a country where I lived and worked for several years one often heard the phrase “Khudo khohad,” which equates to the Arabic phrase “Insh Allah.” We could translate this phrase along the lines of “If it is God's will.” In the culture where I lived, this phrase was frequently used to absolve oneself of responsibility for planning or for the outcome of one's actions. After all, the individual is not really in control, so what does it matter what one does? If God wants it to happen it will. If he doesn't, it won't. End of story.

This attitude permeated the culture in many ways, resulting in a fatalistic worldview. Why should one plan or work toward a better tomorrow when the future lies beyond one's control anyway? Why feel accountable for one's actions when we know that all things are really in God's control and not our own. If something happened, it must be God's will. If it doesn't happen, it obviously wasn't. Other factors come into play in this particular cultural context which only sharpen the fatalism, because in many ways people really do lack control over their world. One man had worked hard to build a couple rooms on his house for his family, only to have the whole property taken from him by the government overnight and bulldozed to make way for a prestigious government project. Although he received some minor compensation, all his efforts to plan, work and save for his family were reduced to naught without any opportunity for him to counteract it. In such a world fatalism seems to be a realistic worldview, but it isn't a very helpful one.

This mindset is quite contrary to the Western worldview in which I was raised. American culture teaches us that we can change our lives, that we are in control of our destinies, that we can make a difference in the world. This mentality runs through many Protestant churches as well. But does it sync with the teachings of Scripture? What do we do with a passage like James 4:13-17.

Instead you ought to say: “If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that.”

This sounds a lot like saying “Khudo khohad” to me. Should we as Christians in fact be fatalistic? Does the sovereignty of God render our activity pointless?

I have wrestled with the question a lot in my life, at times actively, at other times passively. I come from a Reformed theological background, which emphasizes the sovereignty of God. But I look at the world and find that God exercises this sovereignty in baffling ways, allowing things to occur that must surely grieve God's heart. Other Christians claim to see God's sovereign hand in natural disasters and other tragedies, claiming that they are God's punishment for certain sins. This mentality stems from an Old Testament worldview, but isn't entirely incompatible with a strong view of God's sovereignty. However, I cannot accept that God acts in this way. It strikes me as far to capricious and arbitrary (especially since these claims always seem to relate to certain types of sin. I've never heard anyone say that hurricane Katrina was the punishment for the greed and consumerism of Americans, for example.)

If we adopt too strong a view of sovereignty, we become passive chess pieces in some divine game. We may think we have a say in the course of the game, but we don't really. Or if we allow for some individual freedom but insist on God having a clear and decisive plan for each person's life, we can spend our energy worrying constantly whether we are in or out of God's will. I grew up with this mindset. I understood that my goal in life was to fulfill God's plan for it. I understood that this plan would be clear to me if I simply prayed and sought wisdom. But experience has shown that sometimes God's will is rather unclear. In fact, God's plan seems to me more like a broad directive than a specific agenda for each day, week, month or year. Before I worried that if I stepped outside of God's will, if I moved off that clearly defined path he had laid out for me, I would basically be trashing my life. Now I see God's will more like the markers that illuminate the edge of the highway. Yes, there are areas I don't want to go, but there is a broad swath of possibilities that are fully within “God's will.” And don't even get me going on the idea that God has a “perfect someone” for each of us to marry.

I keep running up against this question of God's sovereignty and the extent to which what I do really matters. I don't think Scripture teaches us to our actions and decisions have no real meaning. But can we change the course of events, or are all things so completely determined that our choices have no real significance? I would not want to live in such a world, nor would I consider such a God particularly worthy of worship. I don't think God wants us to be mere automatons.

Interestingly, I found a new way to think of this after watching the movie MiB3. (I must say that I never imagined having my theology influenced by Men in Black!) In that movie, agents K and J meet Griffin, a fifth-dimensional being who sees multiple timelines simultaneously. To Griffin, all futures are possible until the point that an event occurs which then eliminates some of them, while opening up new alternatives. Because Griffin exists multi-dimensionally, none of the outcomes is fixed or determined, but he can see all of them as real because he can see what would happen should any particular event occur. What if God is in some manner like Griffin, only more so? What if God's sovereignty doesn't mean that an exact course is already fixed for each of us, but that God knows the ultimate outcome (the full restoration and redemption of the creation) and in God's multi-dimensional existence can simultaneously see all possible paths to that endpoint, without dictating that any particular one of them should occur?

I find that I need room in my theology for my actions and decisions to count, so that my life has meaning beyond simply preparing me for some heavenly future. I don't believe that God created me and placed me in this world simply so I could learn some lessons in preparation for eternity. I believe God calls me, and all people, to be co-creators, or at least co-workers in the process of bringing the kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven. If one emphasizes too strongly God's sovereignty one can eliminate this element of human cooperation and render human life as a fully pre-determined set of events without real significance. One can also end up with a God who is distant and unmoved by the events of this world. Otherwise, surely God would act to rectify the injustices and sufferings of God's creation. If we believe that God does act, but through God's people without specifically compelling them to act, then we must allow room for flexibility in the working out of the divine will.

In a blog such as this I can only begin to touch on this deep topic. I have on my shelf a book I first read many years ago in seminary by Clark Pinnock and others entitled The Openness of God. This book caught my attention the first time I read it and it may be time for a second read. I know that it was not well received by many evangelical theologians because it directly challenges some long-held theological positions, but the questions the authors raise and the suggestions they make offer an alternative way to understand this tension between divine sovereignty and human action. If only Pinnock had had MiB3 to watch!

I have no nice conclusion to this post, because the issue remains open for me. I do not reject God's sovereignty, but I need to understand it in a way that allows for real, meaningful human action and freedom. I don't want to be reduced to saying “If God wills” and absolving myself from responsibility or action. On the other hand, I do want to recognize that my actions and plans still rest within the larger framework of God's actions in the world. That provides, as it were, a safety net, because I can have confidence that God remains in control even when I make the mistakes that I inevitably will.

Energy Independence -- at what cost?

I believe we have a moral responsibility to care for the created world. Creation care, as I have written earlier, is part of our worship of God the Creator. As such, I advocate for the development and use of sustainable energy forms, among other things. I see the growing impact of climate change on our world—most particularly on the poorest regions of the earth-- and cannot continue to live complacently a high-consumption American lifestyle. In the past few years I have, with mixed feelings because it also impacts my budget, welcomed the increase in the price of gasoline and other petroleum-based products. As these fuels become more expensive, they make alternatives more desirable and cost-effective. This benefits the environment and has the potential to create new economic growth in sustainable energy.

Now I read (in articles such as this in The Atlantic) that advances in technology, combined with the higher price for petroleum and therefore the higher economic return on the investment, have driven significant new discoveries of oil and natural gas within the United States as well as in other regions. Within a very short time frame we have gone from a scenario in which oil would become in increasingly short supply to one in which the supply has suddenly become quite abundant, or at least potentially so. In fact, some argue that the United States could become not only oil self-sufficient but even an oil exporter in the next several years.

This could be the best thing to happen to not only our country but much of the world in quite some time. If we could eliminate our dependance on oil from the Middle East, Venezuela and other countries, we would no longer be investing our money and resources supporting petro-dictatorships. It doesn't take much to recognize that the largest oil-producing countries also have some of the worst political and human rights situations in the world (think of Saudi Arabia, Iraq and Iran). As long as we depend on their oil, we will support those in power in these countries because we cannot afford to rock the boat too much. But if we and other countries no longer depended on them, they would suddenly lose the funds that keep them in power. That might in fact be very destablizing for those countries and their people, and possibly for the world as a whole, but it would at the least mean we wouldn't have to keep paying tribute to governments whose behavior violates many of the principles that we as Americans claim to hold most dear.

Producing oil and gas domestically could also be environmentally positive in that, if we were to enact and enforce strict environmental legislation, we could create a situation in which they would be produced with the least negative impact on the environment possible. We don't have that control in other countries. We can have it here, although the power and influence of the oil and gas industry makes me doubt we will be as stringent in this area as we ought.

At the same time, oil independence could be the worst thing to happen to our country and our world, for a couple key reasons. First of all, most of the new oil and gas being produced comes from the practice of fracking. This practice, in which steam and other chemicals are introduced into deep wells to fracture the rock, thereby releasing the petroleum and gas locked within, has opened vast new deposits of petroleum to production. But it has also raised some serious questions about the long-term effect on the environment. North Dakota has been undergoing an oil boom for some time due to this process. It has brought great wealth and economic opportunity to the state, but at an uncertain cost. Farmers have complained of their farmland becoming toxic in some manner. Wells and water sources may have become contaminated. The link between fracking and these effects remains hotly contested, but the oil and gas industry is doing their best to stifle the discussion with reassurances that fracking is completely safe. If they are so certain that it is, then why not allow more open debate and discussion, as well as unbiased analysis of the effects? We will make a very poor exchange indeed if we purchase our short-term energy independence at the cost of the long-term destruction of our environment, especially the environment that produces much of our food.

In addition, oil independence reduces the incentive to pursue and promote alternative, sustainable energy sources. Why should we concern ourselves with those when it appears that we have a supply of oil that will last far longer than anyone imagined a short time ago? Despite the advances made in alternative energy sources in the past decade or more, they still cost more per energy unit than oil and gas at current market prices. If oil supply continues to increase – even if demand also increases – oil will still remain less expensive than alternatives. Nonetheless, while acknowledging that we will continue to need petroleum-based energy for quite some time, we cannot continue to use these types of sources as we have for so long without significant harm to our environment and, ultimately, to ourselves and our children. Unfortunately, I think far too many people are content to continue living the status quo as long as possible.

I would love to see us have a healthy discussion of these issues as a society, including but not limited to the political realm. What kind of future do we want for ourselves and our world? What price are we willing to pay for our own comfort and convenience now as opposed to the sustainability of our world and our country for future generations? I fear that such a conversation will not take place, at least not openly and publicly, because so many special interests are at play and they are the ones with the wealth and power to control the conversation, be it through the information we receive or through the political discussions in Congress and state legislatures. What role do we as Christians have to play in this? How can we engage in the conversation and bring a theology of creation care into it?

Accusers or Defenders? Reflections on The Crucible

As I shared the other day, I reencountered two classic works of literature this past week. I already wrote about my thoughts on watching the 2011 film version ofJane Eyre. Today I want to explore my reaction to watching a production of Arthur Miller's play The Crucible.

I had not seen or read The Crucible since high school. I remembered the basic plot but had forgotten most of the details. I had not ever, to my recollection, seen it performed on stage. Although I knew of the connection between the play and the infamous Salem witch trials of 1692-93, I was not prepared for the strong reaction I experienced as I watched the performance of a local Christian high school. In the director's notes was written:

It is our hope that as we leave the theatre following the production, we will heed the lessons of history to search our own souls.

Watching this play, particularly after viewing Jane Eyre only days before and after reading Danielle's reflections on visiting a slave prison, certainly has caused me to search my soul.

The Salem Witch trials were conducted in one of the most religious communities in America. To cite the director's notes: “The Puritans believed God had chosen them to establish a model community for the rest of the Protestant world and envisioned themselves as a 'city on a hill.' Their leaders created a theocracy founded on biblical principles, whose purpose was to prevent any kind of disunity that might open them up to destruction.” When I read this, I immediately think that this remains the ideal of certain groups of Christians. God has established the United States to be a city on a hill to the world and as such we need to found our laws and culture on biblical principles. Although I do not agree that God has established the United States as a city on a hill, I am certainly inclined to support the idea that we should found our laws and cultural norms on biblical principles.

But then I consider the results of this in New England. I watched the performance of The Crucible with a deeply troubled soul. At times it pained me to see these “biblical principles” applied in such a way that innocent people were accused, condemned and many of them hung merely on the basis of suspicion and ungrounded accusations. Certainly the issues involved were more complex than simple religious fervor, but the insistence that they were doing the work of God as they tried, condemned and executed these people (mostly women, which is also significant, although some men were also accused and executed) for witchcraft makes me question the very principles which they sought to uphold. They believed they were upholding the teachings of Scripture, when in fact they were violating the very teaching of Jesus to “love your neighbor as yourself.” Their own fervor blinded them to the travesty of their actions.

Arthur Miller wrote The Crucible at the time of the McCarthy trials, in which suspected Communists were accused and condemned publicly. He saw a distinct parallel between the two events. As I watched the play I saw parallels to our current society as well. Out of fear of perceived threats to the “biblical foundations” of society, out of insecurity and fear in light of cultural transformation and the economic difficulties we have been passing through for a few years now, I see a tendency among some to react with a similar witchhunt – looking for a group or groups of people whom we can blame for the “decline” of our country. The “illegal” immigrants are to blame, or the homosexual community with their “gay agenda.” We may not be able to put them on trial in a court of law anymore (thank God for that), but we still see them put on trial in the court of public opinion. We see our legislators in many states and in our national Congress, working too often to enact laws that restrict, exclude and punish those we blame for our issues, rather than looking for positive solutions that embrace the diverse mix of people that form our nation.

Where is the Church in all this? Are we, like the Puritan leaders of 1692, leading the witchhunt, seeking to accuse and condemn those we determine to be sinners? Or are we defending those unjustly accused, standing with them, affirming their dignity, worth and value as children of God against the voices that would cast them out? Will future generations look back on us as we now look back on the Salem witch trials?

I want to stand for those who are accused, condemned and outcast because they are different than the majority. I want to stand for those who do not have power, influence and privilege in our country. I don't have to affirm everything such people may or may not do. That is not the issue. The issue is that they are also children of God, uniquely created just as I am and worthy of full embrace as brothers and sisters. Jesus didn't exclude those who were on the fringes of society, the ones that the “righteous” people so readily condemned. No, he embraced them, ate with them, loved them, while directing his critique to those who considered themselves righteous. Do I care more about maintaining an outward appearance of righteousness, or do I care more about loving the real people God brings into my life?

Jane Eyre and Religious Abuse

I have reencountered two works of literature this week and both encounters have left me disturbed and reflective. The questions that they have raised dovetail with the issues raised by Danielle's post on visiting an old slave fort, as I wrote about the other day.

A few nights ago my wife and I watched the 2011 film version of Jane Eyre, starring Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender. I do not aim to write a review of the movie here, but will say that my wife and I both found it enjoyable and well-done. I had not read the book in many years, so although I was familiar with the basic plot trajectory, many of the details had faded from my memory. I will not attempt a thorough explanation of the plot here so if you are unfamiliar with it, you may find it difficult to understand some of my comments.

As I watched, the role of religion in Jane's life struck me quite strongly. Jane is a strong-willed child, a girl who refuses to simply acquiesce to the expectations of those around her. This trait brings her much trouble. (And the feminist in me asks whether a boy demonstrating such behavior would have experienced the same response. Probably not. But we shall set aside examining the story from a specifically feminist perspective.) Sent off to a school for orphans, she enters a world that is disturbing in the manner and degree to which it seeks to crush the vitality of each girl sentenced there. This alone would be troubling, but more troubling still, this school, called the Lowood Institute, is run by a minister who believes that he operates it in a manner consistent with instilling godliness in its subjects. As such the girls there are deprived, abused and dehumanized, all while being preached to and indoctrinated with the Bible. Religion becomes a tool of oppression to Jane and the other girls of this prison.

Later, after a period of life in which she experiences happiness and love for the first time ever, Jane's world falls apart again and she flees the situation which is crumbling around her. Her flight brings her to a remote region where, facing death from exhaustion, she is taken in by another minister, Mr. St. John, and his two sisters Mary and Diana. In their home she experiences grace and kindness in the name of the Gospel. At this point my heart lifted, for I saw faith portrayed at least in some degree as it should be lived. Through their kindnesses and help Jane's well-being if not happiness is restored and she resumes life in new circumstances. However, her fortunes again change, this time for the better when she inherits a large sum of money. Because of their kindness to her Jane shares this inheritance with the St. John family, which allows Mr. St. John to fulfill his own desire of going abroad as a missionary. At this point the ugly side of religion shows itself again as he tries to persuade Jane to join him in his mission, not as a fellow laborer but as his wife. He insists that he knows what God has called her to and scorns her offer to travel and work alongside him as a sister but not as a wife.

This second abuse in the name of religion is not as severe on the surface as that given at the Lowood Institute, but it strikes me as abuse nonetheless. Although Mr. St. John is well-intentioned, by asserting his claim to know God's will for Jane and by expressing scorn for her when she offers an alternative demonstrate, he discounts her individuality, her wishes and her own relationship with God. As a man, he assumes that he knows what is best for her as a woman. As a pastor, he assumes that he has the spiritual insight and authority to tell her what she should do. But what gives him this right? And why can he not consider her viewpoint, her wishes and her desires? What he proposes strikes me as another form of imprisonment, likely far more benevolent than what she experienced at the Lowood Institute, but a form of bondage nonetheless since she would be pressed into it against her own will.

I recognize that Jane Eyre is a work of fiction and that there is far more to this story than the role that the Christian religion plays in her life. Nonetheless this particular aspect disturbs me, because it reminds me once again of how faith, religion and the Bible are too often used to abuse others rather than to liberate them and restore them to the fullness of their created humanity. Jane finds this restoration, but not specifically through the grace of Jesus Christ expressed through his children. Although Mr. St. John and his sisters do demonstrate this grace, Mr. St. John then contradicts it through asserting his own power and will over Jane.

I do not think this is what Jesus asks of us. I do not think he wants us to exert power and control over others, regardless of whether we think and believe that we are acting in their best interests. In most cases, we must earn the right to speak into the lives of others. (There may be at times a place for a prophetic word, but prophetic words in Scripture most often challenge the abuse of power, privilege and authority, which is not how we most often think of them in modern Western culture.) We should also consider carefully whether in our actions which we believe to be in the best interests of others we are truly affirming and upholding their dignity. Thankfully I think we have come a long way from the days of places such as Lowood Institution, but that doesn't mean we should not continue to examine our beliefs and our actions, lest in the effort to do good we actually do evil and destroy the image of God in another person.

I don't think Charlotte Brontë set out to write a critique of religion, but her novel certainly challenges me to think again about how I live out my faith. I would grieve to find when I stand before God that my well-intentioned actions were in fact abusive and destructive of human dignity, grieving God's heart. We can easily deceive ourselves, so we need to listen to the voices of others, both those who affirm us and those who critique us (both inside and outside the Church), seeking always to demonstrate the kindness and grace of God through our actions, rather than to exert power and domination over others in God's name.

In a future post I shall write about my other recent experience, this one with Arthur Miller's The Crucible.

A Legacy of Shame

Recently Danielle at From Two to One wrote a powerful article describing a visit she and her husband made to an old slave fort in the country of Ghana. I won't try to retell her story; you must read it yourself in her own words. Her tale has remained in my mind since I first read it, disturbing my efforts to ignore unpleasant truths. One detail that she shared sticks out particularly: that over the dungeon where the captured Africans were held, abused, tortured and dehumanized until they were sold and shipped away, the white masters of the fort and the territory had their chapel. Danielle writes:

As they [the white masters] sang worship songs to the Almighty God, the captives who had been beaten and raped and tortured shouted for mercy and rescue.

How, I ask myself, could people who call themselves by the name of Jesus Christ engage in such behavior? How could they so casually worship God while under their very feet were hundreds of humans whom they had abused, raped and tortured and whom they were going to sell into lives of slavery to serve the economic interests of other white Europeans?

I asked my wife this question and she gently reminded me that humans have a remarkable ability to justify their behavior, often by dehumanizing others. The white masters didn't feel any sense of guilt because to them the black Africans were not really fellow humans. They were fundamentally inferior, even inhuman. Therefore it was not immoral to treat them as beasts. Worse still, these people who considered themselves Christian in some sense of the word turned to the book of Christians, the Bible, for justification of their actions. This book which speaks of God's love for humanity, which describes the great lengths to which God has gone to restore humanity—all of humanity—to harmony with the divine as it was intended, was read in such a way as to support the dehumanization, abuse and degradation of people created by that same God.

The painful truth is that one can read the Bible in that manner.

In fact the Bible has often been used to justify the mistreatment of various groups of people throughout history. One can cite verses in which slavery appears to be normal and acceptable. One can cite verses in which God commands one group of people to annihilate entire cities and other groups of people. One can cite verses in which a woman who has been raped must marry her rapist. One can cite verses to argue that women are subordinate to men. The list could continue. What troubles me is that I so rarely hear anyone in my circles speak of how they are bothered by these verses or how they are interpreted to justify and support the exclusion or abuse of entire groups of people. In the past year I have found a growing number of voices who do speak openly of this, but I'm still not hearing it from the pulpit, at least not very often.

Instead I continue to hear voices that call for the submission of women as the biblical model. I hear voices that would have us deny equality to women, homosexuals, immigrants and other groups. These voices cite the Bible as their authority, often pointing to specific texts as support. How does one interact with a text that can be so freely used to support the subjugation of other members of God's creation? How is it that the message of redemption, liberation, restoration and renewal are so often drowned by the voices of exclusion and privilege? What am I to do with this book that has been used to condone some of the most inhumane behavior humans have committed?

I'm not sure we really have learned much since the time when the white British and Dutch masters ruled that slave fort in Ghana. Yes, we no longer buy and sell slaves openly as we did then, but we continue to tolerate slavery. We continue to use the Bible to justify our exclusion of women and others from full participation in society. We may not be just like those slave masters, but are we really so different? Am I really so different? How do I in my reading of the Bible and in living out my faith support either explicitly or implicitly the abuse of others? How do I need to think, read and act differently to stop participating in these acts of injustice?

I appreciate the many voices I have found that are speaking up openly and powerfully on these questions. Thank you Danielle, not only for this thought-provoking post but for your consistent advocacy for those who are marginalized, excluded, abused and cast off. If we are not to remain blissfully ignorant or complacent of the evils which our faith has been used to justify, we must learn to see, read and think differently. I would hate for my legacy to be looked at with the same scorn and shame that we now look back at those slave traders.

What did Jesus' Death Accomplish?

As much of the Christian Church begins Holy Week (our Orthodox sisters and brothers will not celebrate Easter this year until May 5), the topic of atonement returns to the forefront of my mind. I don't regularly ponder this, but over the past year I have revisited much of my theology, questioning and examining it in light of my experience and learning over the past several years. I find that in some places my theology no longer fits as it once did. In places it pinches, in others it is too baggy. Some spots now appear threadbare. The time has come to refresh this theological garment.

When I last seriously considered my theology I was in my mid-twenties, with no children, attending seminary classes part-time while living and working in a medium sized American city. Since that time a lot of water has flown under the bridge. I have experienced new cultures. I have walked through many joys and sorrows. I have seen two children born and grow into their teen years. I have found and embraced feminism as a key element of my worldview. I have returned home from years of cross-cultural living feeling defeated and deeply wounded. I don't see the world and I don't see God in the same way that I did some twenty years ago.

Rarely do Christians stop and consider the act we refer to theologically as “atonement.” We understand and affirm that in his life, death and resurrection Jesus Christ altered the fundamental relationship between God and humanity. But how, exactly, did he accomplish this? To phrase the question in other terms, why exactly did Jesus have to die? Could God have altered the divine-human relationship in another manner? Thomas Oden, in the second volume of this systematic theology trilogy The Word of Life, provides a nice, relatively concise, summary of four key streams of thought among Christians concerning this question. He labels these four motifs as:

The Exemplar or Moral Influence Motif

The Rector or Moral Governance Motif

The Exchange or Satisfaction Motif

The Victor or Dramatic Motif

The Christian traditions in which I have spent most of my life have overwhelmingly embraced the exchange or satisfaction motif. In this motif, the death of Christ serves as penal substitution for human sin. It satisfies God's holiness. Oden writes: “It is in keeping with God's justice that sin not be cheaply remitted, but must be punished, or some satisfaction offered. Since sin is an infinite offense against diving holiness, the satisfaction for sin must be infinite. Either satisfaction or punishment was required by God's very nature.” This motif comes through regularly, although perhaps without our explicitly recognizing it, in many popular Christian songs that speak of the blood of Jesus cleansing us of sin.

One can find support for this motif in certain passages of Scripture, but I have come to question whether this view sufficiently describes the need for and enactment of atonement in Christ's death. This motif seems to emphasize a divine, angry, judgmental God who must have “his pound of flesh” but out of mercy directs this wrath upon his own son. As Oden writes in pointing out objections to this motif: “Too much is made of the divine majesty being offended, neglecting the fact that God can show mercy and forgiveness without harming his honor or majesty.” The emphasis on blood, on satisfaction of righteousness, on paying a debt through the sacrifice of another seems to run contrary to the idea of God as loving and merciful Creator. Again, I do not deny that certain passages in Scripture use this language and we must somehow account for it in our understanding of the divine-human relationship. But if we hold primarily or exclusively to this motif, do we adequately or, perhaps more importantly, appropriately capture the nature of atonement? At the same time, does my hesitancy to affirm this teaching arise from an inadequate appreciation of God's holiness?

I appreciate Oden's volume of systematic theology because, unlike many Protestant systematic theologies, he doesn't insist on a single understanding of the atonement. He asserts the need to hold all four motifs in tension. (Due to space I am not going to explore all of the motifs here.) The evangelical Protestant American churches that I have been a part of in my life rarely did so, at least not explicitly. I find myself looking for an atonement theory that deemphasizes wrath, judgment, violence and punishment and that emphasizes love, mercy, reconciliation and restoration. I cannot say that I have yet come to an adequate understanding. This threadbare part of my theological garment remains under repair.

Although Oden does a good job of looking back to the church fathers in his review of Christian theology, I wonder if he adequately examines traditions outside of Protestantism. I would be very curious to know how the Roman Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church understand atonement in light of their whole theologies. I would gladly hear from someone who could enlighten me in this area. Even within the Protestant church traditions, I would love to learn more from someone whose church emphasizes something other than penal substitution, whether their understanding fits within the four motifs offered by Oden or not. I wonder in particular how the Quaker (or Friends, to refer to them in their own terms) tradition understands the death of Christ.

Ultimately I am able to live with ambiguity in this area because I recognize that, however it is understood, the basic reality remains that in his death and resurrection Jesus Christ did fundamentally transform the relationship between God and humanity. Somehow, in the cross-event and the resurrection event, we now have the opportunity to be restored to what God created us to be, and not only as humans. In the death and resurrection of Christ God has initiated (and culminated in some sense) the renewal and restoration of creation. The power of evil has been broken. The world need not remain enslaved to it. There can be no better news, however we understand this to have been accomplished.

Today in worship we sang a new-to-me song that captures well the victory of Jesus that we celebrate in particular this week:

Sing to the King who is coming to reign

Glory to Jesus, the Lamb that was slain

Life and salvation His empire shall bring

and joy to the nations, when Jesus is king

How do you understand the death of Jesus Christ? Are there ways in which the way you have traditionally understood atonement that now pinch or are threadbare?