Worship Spaces: First United Bretheren Church, Tulsa OK

Saturday, I attended an Earth Day festival at Garden Deva Sculpture here in Tulsa with Arianna. We attended under the auspices of her employer, Tulsa Hub (which is really cool, you should check it out.)

While there, I noticed an old (and seemingly abandoned) church across the street. I crossed and took the pictures seen here with my phone. They are the first in a series of posts featuring photography of the many beautiful churches here in Tulsa, and beyond.

But in doing a little research about the old church to share here, I found it has quite a magical history. Originally built as the First Evangelical United Brethren Church, at some point it was repurposed as a recording studio. In the early 70s, during the heydey of the Tulsa music scene, rock star and Tulsa native Leon Russell bought the building. During his five year stint as owner, the place became the center of music in Tulsa, attracting world-famous musicians such as Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Tom Petty, Peter Tosh and George Harrison to record there.

Since the 70s, it has been used on and off as a studio, at times sitting empty and unused. Five years ago there was a plan to revitalize the building and reopen it, but it doesn't seem much came of it. The building's Facebook page has posts from last fall about plans to renovate, but nothing new has been posted since October.

You never know what you'll find wandering about. I feel this is an auspicious start to this series. I hope you enjoy.

Reflection on Holy Week: The Descent into Madness, and the Devastation of Absence

I'm enjoying Holy Week more this year.

This isn't to say that I didn't enjoy it in the past. But I'm understanding it better now, as I grow in my knowledge and my faith. I've been able to focus on the progression of the week, the meaning of the days and the season as a whole. I've been able to just be present in this week.

Last year, I spent all of Lent and Holy Week terribly conflicted about what it all means.

This turmoil came out of my own personal Christology, for lack of a better term. As someone who views Jesus first and foremost as human, who doesn't put much stock in miracles and virgin births and physical resurrections, I was rightfully having a hard time deciding just what was so important about Easter. My big epiphany for last year was while having lunch with my pastor at the time, who told me that all Christians believe in the Resurrection of Christ, but we all may have a different idea of just what form that resurrection took.

This year, I feel more at peace about Easter and Holy Week. I'm excited about it, I'm enjoying the many, many church services, and I am spending a lot of time thinking about what it all means without worrying about it. I've been focusing on two main themes.

First, the dichotomy of Palm Sunday and Good Friday has really struck me this year. In the span of five short days, the Passover crowds of Jerusalem go from hailing Jesus as a king entering his kingdom, to condemning him to death in the most painful and humiliating way. To think about Jesus on the cross, saying "Forgive them, they know not what they do," is really powerful to me.

The whole thing just seems to be a big commentary on our own misunderstanding of what he meant, and of how quickly we can turn on something that seems great at first but ultimately disappoints. It's a striking reflection of our own flightiness and tendency to follow the crowd. We are all complicit in that rapid change. A whirlwind turn of events begins, and we get so wrapped up that the next thing we know, Jesus is on the cross and we are standing there not even realizing just exactly what happened.

Part of my reflection on this theme has been focused on the Cleansing of the Temple. That  really had to be the breaking point for most people. It was such a jarring act, one with such significance and passions surrounding it. That must have been the point when those whispers from the Pharisees began to sink in, and the ball started rolling down hill, and everyone slipped into a blood lust they didn't wake up from until a week or so later.

Except they probably didn't wake up from it. They probably just went about their lives, and one day in the future remembered back to that crazy rabbi who threw the moneychangers out of the Temple and caused such an uproar. What ever happened to that guy?

Second, I've thought about the devastating absence the disciples must have felt after Jesus' death. Here is a man they have dedicated their lives to for more than three years. He was wise, caring, loving, a force of character more powerful than anyone they had probably ever met. No doubt he had a mythical presence in their minds, a larger-than-life aspect of their lives as changeless as the seasons. Despite his assurances of his impending death, they clearly didn't believe him, assuming he would always be there, and leading the way to great and wonderful things.

And then they wake up Saturday morning, and...he's dead. His dead body seems a lot smaller than proportions it seemed to have taken on in his life. His words and teachings already seems like a distant echo.

And life goes on, and things are the same as before, and no one really seems to care except the  11 of them, the Women, and a few others.

And most of all, their teacher, their leader, their brother, their friend-their good, dear, loving, close friend- is dead. How devastating must that have felt that morning? What did the last three years even mean if here they are, alone?

Again, as someone who doesn't believe in a bodily resurrection, this is where the questions deepen. Because it's not just Saturday morning that they wake up in despair. It's the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and so many more other days that they were supposed to be doing amazing things. Life must have seen empty in the days and weeks after the crucifixion, as these men and women tried to figure out how to go on  and what to do with their lives now.

And so the big question becomes, what does Easter really mean now? If it's not about Jesus rising bodily from the tomb on that Sunday, what is it all about? That's what I've really been pondering for a couple years now. And this year, I'm starting to get some glimpses of just what it may mean.

When I think about those lost and devastated disciples, I start to understand what Easter means. Because they didn't give up, go into hiding, or return to their old lives. They built something new. They took up the mantle Jesus relinquished in his death, and began the process of changing people's lives and spreading the message they had internalized.

That's what Easter is about: the inability of death and darkness to prevail, even in the most depressing of times and situations. It's a reminder to us to keep pushing forward, that Jesus' life mattered for something and so does ours, and we have responsibility to engage in something greater than ourselves. That's Easter. That's Holy Week.

The questions keep coming, the pondering doesn't end, but the meaning is there.

It's Time to Welcome All People to the UMC Table

Update: Edited for clarity.

I read this passage the other day, from Lindsay Harts, on moving from Evangelicalism to an Episcopal congregation:

"Everything is centered around this one moment where people of all ages, gender identities, races, ethnicities, sexual orientations, political beliefs, and backgrounds are welcome to come to the table and receive the elements. Whether or not the bread and wine are a symbol or whether you believe that they are the literal body and the blood are up to you. I believe they have enormous power to change hearts, attitudes, lives, tear down prejudices, bridge gaps, and bring peace. I believe that in most cases, the elements speak louder than any sermon or hymn or prayer. Something mysterious and unfathomably beautiful happens at the table. It's a place where any person, no matter what belief system or background they come from can come and receive the God of peace.”

I think this is a beautiful rendering of the Church, as a place for all people to come together in Christ and share in the table fellowship that breaks down all barriers. 

This is what I want in a church. 

After trying out a variety of other churches and denominations, I came home to the United Methodist Church because that is where my heart is. I love the Wesleyan theology and tradition, connectionalism, and the unified, global structure of the UMC that does so much good in the world. 

But I think the UMC is deficient in one area: treating all people as equal. 

As a denomination, we still embrace a discriminatory stance towards our LGBT brothers and sisters. Our Book of Discipline contains language that makes them second-class Methodists, both through their denial of marriage equality and the ability to serve the church as ordained clergy.

Many of the Methodist clergy I have been around include a variation of this phrase in their communion liturgy: "This isn't just this church's table, or a Methodist table; it's the Lord's table and all are welcome here." But as long as the Church continues to deny full equality to all, then every time a pastor says this, it is in part a lie. When we as the Church refuse to extend that attitude of inclusion and hospitality beyond just the act of communion, we undermine the inclusivity that it represents to the world.

Communion is one of the most poignant and central rituals in the Christian tradition. The table is a place with no barriers, no restrictions, no rules about who can sit and partake. It is a place of Christian fellowship for all God's children. The symbolism of all the people coming together around a common table, where all are equally valued and loved, should extend beyond the table to the entire life of the church. I hope and pray the UMC will soon make that true in practice as well as in rhetoric. Because when I am ordained, I want to be able to say that at this table "people of all ages, gender identities, races, ethnicities, sexual orientations, political beliefs, and backgrounds are welcome" in all aspects of the Christian life and experience.

Note: I want to be very clear, so that this post won't be misconstrued or misunderstood - both purposefully or accidentally - that I am in no way implying that the UMC refuses Communion for LGBT people. One of the most wonderful things about the Methodist tradition is that in fact all are welcome at the table. I am of the opinion, as articulated above, that I think that attitude should be extended within the life of the whole church. Thanks to all who commented and engaged in the debate that helped me realize this post needed some clarification. -JD

Books of the Bible: Amos

On Facebook the other day, I asked what people thought the oldest written book in the Bible was. I expected a variety of answers, with a majority saying Genesis. I was surprised, however, when the unanimous answer I got was Job. As recently as planning this blog series, I thought so too. But Job is not in fact the oldest book in the Bible. Now, this isn't the same as saying the story of Job isn't the oldest; it very well probably is. But for the purposes of this blog series, when I say "the oldest book in the Bible," I am speaking very specifically about which written text as we posses it today is the oldest? That question brings us to two possible answers: Hosea or Amos.

I wrote at the end of my post introducing this series that we would be starting with Hosea, that it is the oldest book in the Bible. However, in the course of researching deeply, I have come to the conclusion that Amos is, in fact, an older text than Hosea. The difference isn't great, as they were contemporaries, but as I'll detail later, I think the evidence points to Amos being older by about 20-30 years.

Who wrote the book of Amos?

While the sayings of Amos were probably collected and written down either during the prophets life or immediately thereafter, it probably wasn't by Amos himself. The book describes him as a shepherd, making him relatively lower class, and thus probably illiterate. His sayings were probably collected by a follower or admirer and put into written form, or even dictated by Amos himself. Although he was the first to have his writings collected and passed down in a form available to us today, Amos was merely the next in a long line of Jewish prophets that included Elijah, Elisha, Nathan and Gad.

When was Amos written?

Amos wrote during the reign of King Jeroboam II in the Northern Kingdom, Israel, and the reign of King Uzziah in the Southern Kingdom of Judah (1:1). Verse 1 also dates Amos' ministry "two years before the earthquake," but scholars aren't sure what historical event this refers to, so an exact date is impossible. The reigns of Jeroboam II and Uzziah overlapped from 783 BCE to 746 BCE, so Amos' ministry can probably be dated to the middle-to-late part of this range.

Hosea was slightly contemporary to Amos, but his ministry took place primarily during the tumultuous times that followed Jeroboam's reign, although he started during Jeroboam. He probably overlapped Amos, but chances are his sayings were collected later than Amos.

Where was the book of Amos written?

Although Amos was from the small town of Tekoa in the Southern Kingdom, he traveled to the North to preach, centering his ministry in the major cities Bethel and Samaria. The books were almost certainly written here as well.

What is the book of Amos about?

The reign of Jeroboam II was one of peace and prosperity, the last Israel would have before the Exile. Yet, despite the good times, there was growing inequality and injustice in Israel. The gains being reaped weren't being felt by the vast majority of people, while a select few were getting richer and richer. Dr. Gene Tucker, Professor Emeritus of Old Testament at Candler School of Theology describes the times:

“The reigns of Jeroboam and Uzziah were long and relatively peaceful. There had been no major threats to the small states from major Near Eastern powers such as Egypt or Assyria, and peace seems to have been accompanied by prosperity, at least for a few and -according to Amos-at the expense of many. There seems to have been a breakdown in the old tribal and family systems of land ownership and the emergence of a wealthy class at the top of society.”

Why was Amos written?

Being a small-time, poor shepherd, Amos acutely felt the pinch of the great mass of people, despite the peace and good times all around. As an observant Jew, Amos was aware of the teachings of Moses and the Patriarchs, and the injustice he experienced in everyday life at the hands of fellow Jews provoked a strong sense of moral outrage within him. Amos called strongly for a return to the more egalitarian society God envisioned for God's people. Social justice was the central theme of Amos' ministry, and he warned of coming destruction if change didn't happen. His predictions would come true just two short decades later, in the destruction of Israel by Assyria in 722/1.

Amos' language is sharp and uncompromising, some of the most direct prophesy among all the Old Testament prophets. His language of defeat and destruction stood in sharp contrast against the peace and prosperity Israel was experiencing. The Collegeville Bible Commentary calls Amos a "fierce champion of justice."

How does Amos relate to the rest of the Bible, and to us?

Given the antiquity of the text, and the urgency of it's message, the book of Amos sets a tone for the entire Bible, a lens of social justice through which all the later texts are viewed. The call for justice and equality is some of the strongest in the whole Bible, matched only by the words of Jesus himself.

Amos' words ring true in today's world, as more and more wealth and power flows to the top and leaves the great masses of people behind. Inequality and injustice are prevalent in our world, and the poetic nature of verse 5:24 - "But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream"- has been a rallying cry for equality and social justice since the Civil Rights movement of the 1960's. 

The Books of the Bible: Exploring the History of the Scriptures

Pop quiz: what is the oldest book in the Bible?

The assumption many people make is that Genesis, as the first book in the Bible, is in fact also the oldest, authorship being attributed to Moses. But, as any Biblical scholar will tell you, both of these assumptions are wrong: Genesis was written in the 6^th century BCE, probably by two different groups whose works were combined, during the exile in Babylon.


Understanding the historical context of the various books in the Bible opens one up to a whole new understanding of the content of Scripture. In our above example, it takes you to a whole new place if you read Genesis knowing that Jewish priests wrote it in exile to keep the cultural memory of the Jewish people alive in anticipation of the day they would return to their destroyed temple. Yet, most Christians have no idea about when, where, or why the books in the Bible were written. Instead, they are allowed to keep thinking along the same lines as the pre-Enlightenment church, assuming that Moses wrote the Pentateuch while he wondered Sinai, and the apostle Matthew wrote his Gospel in the immediate aftermath of Jesus' death.


This uneducated view of Scripture reduces it, stripping away it's importance and purpose to those who wrote, to replace it with myth that only sows confusion and Biblical illiteracy. This lack of education is not the fault of lay Christians; instead, it lays at the feet of clergy and teachers who don't think their students and congregants are up to the challenge of hearing something that contradicts what they have been (erroneously) told their whole lives.


The purpose of this series is to explore the books of the Bible, one by one, in the order they were probably written, to understand:

• when they were written
  
• who wrote them
  
• where they were written
  
• why the author(s) felt the need to write these traditions down.
  

I want to undertake this project because, as I prepare for seminary and then my doctorate in history, I am delving into this subject matter and feel called to share what I learn as I learn it. One of my driving passions in getting my PhD in history along with a seminary education is I want to teach people about the world Jesus and his followers lived in, in an effort to deepen and grow the understanding we have of His message and example.


I don't intend this to be comprehensive. I am learning as we go, and there is always the likely probability I will miss something, or get something wrong. But know that this is a honest undertaking, and I will never intentionally lead you astray, and will correct mistakes as I catch them or are made aware.


I am going to be drawing from a variety of sources. My Harper Collins Study Bible, NRSV, is a primary sources, as it my Collegeville Bible Commentary. I also recently started reading Diarmaid MacCulloch's masterful Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years, and will certainly reference it. I will also be scouring the writings of Biblical scholars I can find online. Of course, any and all sources will be shared, along with links, so feel free to check me.

As I said, this will be in the order the books were most likely written. Now, as I couldn't find any authoritative sources who listed the chronological order, my first task in this project was to do this chronology myself, something I have been working on for a couple weeks now. As I did that, I decided to include what is commonly called the Apocrypha by the Protestants. That means books that are included in the Catholic and Orthodox Bibles will be included. I do this because, in my initial studies, I found these texts to be not just authoritative to many Christians worldwide, but also central in many ways to the tradition of Judaism that Christianity arose from. Not to mention they are full of wisdom and should be read and understood by Protestants everywhere just as the rest of the Old Testament is.

I hope you enjoy this series. Please share all questions, comments or corrections you may have in the comment section; I will endeavor to answer them all in a timely manner.

And the answer to the pop quiz? The oldest book in the Bible is probably Hosea, which is where we will begin.

Jesus' Resurrection wasn't unique, but it was exceptional: An excerpt from "Excavating Jesus"

I want to share the following excerpt from the book I just finished, Excavating Jesus by John Dominic Crossan and Jonathan Reed. This is pulled from a larger discussion of the historical meaning of the Resurrection, and really highlights the shallow nature of much of today's Christianity.

(Note: all Italicized portions below are preserved from the original. Bolded lines are my own emphasis.)

****

It is sometimes claimed in contemporary Christian thought that only the stupendous miracles of empty tomb and risen apparition(s) can explain historically, first, how the companions of Jesus recovered their faith in him lost at the crucifixion, and, second, how others came to faith in him despite his crucifixion. There are two problems, one minor and one major, with that oversimplified understanding.

First, it was the male and not the female companions of Jesus who fled, since they were much more likely to be arrested along with Jesus. But to lose your nerve is not to lose your faith. Even Mark's story of Peter's triple denial so formulates it that he loses not his faith but, as it were, his memory. It might have been braver to stay and confess, but it was cowardice and not disbelief to deny and run.

Second, we are retrojecting our own post-Enlightenment rationalism into a pre-Enlightenment world. Imagine a contemporary debate along these lines. Nonbeliever: "All those stories about virginal conceptions, divine births, miraculous events, wondrous deeds, risen apparitions, and heavenly ascensions never did and never could have happened. They are myth at best and lie at worst." Believer: It is true that such events do not happen regularly, but they all happened to our Jesus once and for all, long ago." In that post-Enlightenment contradiction, impossibility battles with uniqueness.

Both those positions, however, are equally irrelevant for a pre-Enlightenment world, equally unusable in such a cultural milieu. In a world where anything from divine birth to divine ascension was a possible part of the transcendental landscape, impossibility was not an available argument for polemical attackers, but neither was uniqueness an available argument for apologetical defenders. In the free market of religious ideas that was the Greco-Roman world, one had to enter the spiritual free-trade area and argue for one's God or one's Son of God without using either of those post-Enlightenment moves.

For example, in the middle of the second century Justin is arguing for Jesus in his First Apology directed toward pagan readers. He never suggests uniqueness. "When we say also that the Word," he begins, "who is the first-birth of God, was produced without sexual union, an that He, Jesus Christ, our Teacher, was crucified and died, and rose again, and ascended into heaven, we propound nothing different from what you believe regarding those whom you esteem sons of Jupiter." He then lists many examples and concludes by referring to divine emperors and especially Julius Caesar. "What of the emperors who die among yourselves, whom you deem worthy of deification, and in whose behalf you produce someone who swears he has seen the burning Caesar rise to heaven from the funeral pyre?" Finally, however, Justin is certainly not ready to say that all such claims are equal. But notice that his criterion of discrimination is not uniqueness in event, but superiority in action. "As we promised in the preceding part of this discourse, we will now prove Him superior-or rather have proved Him to be so-for the superior is revealed by His actions" (21-22). That is an utterly appropriate pre-Enlightenment argument. Of course there have been many sons of God around, but Jesus is best of all because of certain specific arguments.

Similarly, about a quarter of a century later, when a pagan polemicist named Celsus is attacking Christianity, he uses exactly the same pre-Enlighenment type of argument. He never mentions impossibility, but counters, that Jesus has never done anything for anyone. The argument for superiority is met by one for inferiority. "After all, the old myths of the Greeks that attribute a divine birth to Perseus, Amphion, Aeacus and Minos are equally good evidence of their wondrous works on behalf of mankind-and are certainly no less lacking in plausibility that the stories of your followers. What have you done (Jesus) by word or deed that is quite so wonderful as those heroes of old?" (On the True Doctrine). Both pro-Christian apologist and anti-Christian polemicist use the same argument, but in opposite directions. Impossibility and uniqueness are not imaginable as absolute claims (maybe, of course, as hyperbolic overclaims), but superiority in action is where the debate occurs. Justin: "Jesus has done more than all those others like him." Celsus: "Jesus has done less than all those others like him."

Paul and his audience lived in a first-century pre-Enlightenment world. That precluded those two arguments of uniqueness versus impossibility that present-day believers and nonbelievers use against one another. To assert empty tomb and/or risen apparition(s) is not enough to explain anything, let alone everything in that ancient world. But that full content of Jesus' resurrection just outlined above would make for debate in that world. It was the content and implications of your miracle that mattered there. "Wow" was not enough, because there were too many "wows" around. Ancients might declare Jesus' resurrection unbelievable, but never impossible. What that audience would say to Paul is not an impolite "We do not believe you," but a polite "How nice for Jesus, but why exactly should we care about that?" Or, more bluntly, "What's in it for us?" And that is exactly when Paul would have explained willingly and in great detail, for example, the sociocosmic and religio-political difference between Julius Caesar's ascension and Jesus Christ's resurrection, and how it was time to choose one or the other.

Recall the discussion of Jewish and Christian-Jewish "resurrection" above. Those who claimed Jesus had begun the terminal movement of apocalyptic climax would have to present some public evidence of a world transformed from injustice and evil to justice and peace. It would not and could not suffice to claim one or many empty tombs and one or many risen apparitions. That might be all well and good, but where was the evidence, any evidence, of a transformed world? For that they had only their own communal lives as evidence. This is how we live with God and on this basis we seek to persuade others to do likewise. This is our new creation, our transformed world. We in God, God in us, and both together here below upon this earth. 

*****

What Crossan and Reed are saying here is so foundational to understanding the differences between the Christianity of those who lived with and experienced Jesus, and the way so many people do it today. Going on and on about a Virgin Birth, healing miracles, a bodily resurrection, is all well and good, but it isn't sufficient to compel new followers of Christ. The "wow" factor is not enough to win souls. 

Those things are but a marker of the special nature of Christ, but the thing that really brings people on board is unique way of life His followers exhibit. Whether we want to hear it or not, the draw of Christianity is not a self-apparent thing triggered by seeing a crucifix; instead, Christianity becomes a draw through us, the church, and actions we engage in, towards ourselves, towards others, and towards all Creation. We have to stand for more than the supernatural occurrences of two millenia ago; we have to follow his example and bring the Kingdom on Earth, today, now.

Musing on a Year Without God

I keep seeing a story popping up on my Facebook feed, generally from liberal friends and pages who specialize in religion-bashing. Have you seen it? It's the story of the pastor who decided to live like an atheist for a year, and on the other side, he has decided to be an atheist indefinitely. Two types of responses pop up: from my atheist friends, it's a confirmation that God is a bunch of baloney, and if everyone would just step away from the pew for a minute, they'd see that; from my religious friends, it's that this proves the insidiousness of the devil and the magic he works on those who stray from the straight-and-narrow, and so we all must buckle down and quit allowing so much questioning of dogma.

I've been habitually annoyed by the presence of this in my newsfeed, and so have consequently avoided it like the plague. So, when it appeared in my RSS feed yesterday, yet another inward groan appeared. I have a hard and fast policy of refusing the skip over any articles that come through the feed, so I knew at last I was going to have to confront this story.

It turned out to be different from what I imagined, and from what the hype made it to be. If I had to caption it for Facebook, I would say "Pastor lives as atheist for a year, then decides to be a seeker." I know, not as catchy or click-bait-worthy. But much more in line with what Ryan Bell, the former Seventh Day Adventist who the story is about, experienced. As the article noted, even before this project, Bell was already wrestling with doubt, something perfectly healthy and normal for a Christian. His church, however, didn't agree, forcing him to resign as a punishment for his public struggle with God (a struggle, I'm sure, that resonated much too closely with his parishioners, hence their hurry to chase him from town.)

So as I began to read this article, I also began to plan the blog post I was going to write in response: "Conservative Christian gives up fundamentalist God for a year, realizes how freeing it is to leave that stifling atmosphere." I would go on: "Ryan Bell's experience with atheism, contrasted with the hateful, confusing, unrelenting God of Fundamentalism he had lived his entire life with, showed him a contrast that made that God unappealing, even compared to atheism. This goes to show the problem with fundamentalism, namely, it's not a very appealing or happy form of faith."

But then I read this passage from the article at Religion Dispatches:

Generally speaking, the response to this decline takes the form of some sort of repackaging. That is, it is assumed that the problem is not with the substance of Christianity. At its core, the thinking goes, the gospel or “good news”—that we are “sinners” who can find “salvation” through the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, the Son of God—remains a vital truth, one which all need and ultimately seek, whether we consciously know it or not. That basic assumption remains the case even in more liberal Christian circles, I would suggest, although it often takes the form of respect for other religions and/or an emphasis on the importance of spirituality, broadly defined.
In this way of thinking, people are not leaving the church because of its central message but because of the way that message is or is not presented. Hence the calls among some in more evangelical circles, for instance, for the abandonment of the skin-deep flashiness and alienating culture war rhetoric for a kinder, more authentic—and ultimately more attractive—faith.
There is something to that line of thinking. More than a few have left churches from a lack of authenticity—and feel a great sense of loss in doing so. Such emigrants would, perhaps, gladly return if offered something better. But that way of understanding the situation can not account for what Ryan Bell experienced.
What’s striking to me is the matter-of-fact way in which Bell describes that experience. In the interviews he’s given, there’s hardly any pathos, any handwringing over the faith he can no longer identify with. Rather than rehearsing a litany of loss and pining over something more authentic, he sees his shift away from religion as an opportunity, a window into what, for him, really matters.
Christianity is something that, ultimately, he no longer needs.

Can you say, "convicted?"

So, yeah, so much for that blog post. But, this raises another interesting thought experiment. How does the faith address those who no longer need it? How do we, as Christians, come to grips with what I believe is a very real mindset, that of the person who comes to a place where they do not find a connection to the Divine through religion and thus has no use for us, even if they sympathize? How do we continue to connect to these people, our brothers and sisters?

Bell is quoted with this answer:

“I think what is far more important to know about me is the way I choose to live my life. Once people have come to terms with the weaknesses or falsehoods in their belief system, the work has just begun. How we reshape or build the narratives by which to live our lives is the most interesting part of our work as human beings. My work to end homelessness, my interest in the crises facing our democracy and our ecosystem—these are the interesting aspects of my life and work. At least, I’d like to think so.”

Did you catch that second sentence? "Once people have come to terms with the weakness or falsehoods in their belief system, the work has just begun." For so many people, the weakness and falsehoods they find in faith are what shake the foundations they operate on. To discover that this belief system, this relationship one has invested so much into has some gaps of reasoning or logic is quite devastating many, many people.

And the church just doesn't help. Instead of facilitating this journey of discovery and questioning, so many faith communities shun question-asking and doubt. They instead demand certainty and adherence to the absolute beliefs they claim to represent, and anything outside of that is not permitted. And so these questioning and doubting people feel repelled and pushed away by this faith they grew up in, and find no purpose in it going forward.

This all-to-common occurrence has facilitated the much-heralded rise of the "Nones," that group of spiritual-but-not-religious people who no longer find the big answers they crave in organized Christianity. For Ryan Bell, and many others, the church doesn't have any answers. Nor does it even have a space to try to find answers. Instead, it is standing in the way of answering them, telling them their questions are unimportant, and they are wrong for asking in the first place.

If the church wants to be a relevant institution going forward, we have got to figure out how to talk to the doubters and the questioners. Instead of acting like Ryan Bell's church and forcing them out because their questions make us uneasy, we have to grapple with the questions as a community, find answers grounded in Scripture and reason and tradition, and allow our faith to grow and evolve. Not one of us has a fully worked-out faith. Not one of us is done growing. Whether it be questions about the acceptance of LGBT people, or the divinity of Christ, or any number of the countless things we can debate, we have to be willing to listen and cultivate questions and be okay with not having all the answers. Otherwise, we will have many, many more Ryan Bell's on our hands, and a lot more empty pews.