Right now, I'm laying on my bed back at the house where I grew up. No more blog posts will be written from my desk at Ozark. I took the last test of my undergraduate career last Thursday afternoon, and Saturday I donned my gown and mortarboard and walked across the stage to receive my degree, and then I stood on the outdoor basketball court and took pictures with all the weeping girls who will be distraught that I never married them, and then went home, and that was that.
It's always a nice feeling to be done with something. To finish a long novel. To watch the finale of a television series. To crawl across the finish line of a 5K. Or, in my case, to turn in your chapter identification test for your Revelation class and realize that there are no more papers to write, quizzes to study for, books to read, or dioramas to construct.
And in all honesty, I'm glad to be done. I need a break. I need some rest. It feels like I've had my head down and have been running as hard as I can for a long time, and now I can finally stop and breathe. I think it's been over a year and a half since I have had a true break--a few days in which I had no real responsibilities, nothing to work on, nothing to prepare for. I've been looking forward to the next couple weeks for a long time. I'll watch TV, read books that I want to read, and take a nap and not feel guilty about it.
It all makes me wonder what it will feel like when I'm at the end of my life and I know that I'm almost done. Getting through Ozark was hard--probably the hardest thing I have ever done. But I feel like getting through life is an even more tiring process.
This is how far I was through this post before Sunday evening. This was supposed to be a fairly light post, talking about what I plan to do with my couple weeks of a break. But then I was given a startling reminder that even in periods of temporary rest, life continues to go on, and that life is so incredibly difficult.
Last night, a massive tornado tore through Joplin, Missouri, the town that I have called home for the last five years. There's no need for me to give you many details; you can turn on the news to find out as much as I know. But from the latest report that I've seen, 116 people were killed in the storm, but that number could continue to rise. One student from Ozark lost her life. I've talked to friends whose apartments have been destroyed. The pictures I've seen are unreal, and those in Joplin that I have talked to have said that the devastation is terrible. It's an absolute tragedy, and it seems like a bad nightmare that this happened in a place so close to my heart.
Life is really difficult. It is a long, treacherous road. We get knocked down and beat up on the way. So what does it feel like to know that you're near the end of it? When I know that I'm close to death, what will I be saying? I hope that I'll be able to say, as Paul did, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day--and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing" (2 Tim. 7-8). Paul had lived a tough life. He had gone through a lot. And at the end of it, I think he was ready to be done. He was anxious for some rest. He knew that he had given everything he had to Christ and his kingdom, and he was awaiting his reward.
People often postulate about what heaven will be like. I don't know exactly how it will be, other than that we'll be with Jesus. But I like to think that when I get there, God will say, "David, why don't you rest for a while. Take a break. Go enjoy a nap. You ran a good race, and now it's time for you to rest." That's what I hope for. We await that Sabbath-rest that Hebrews 4 promises us. And there won't be any more tornadoes. There won't be any more sicknesses. No more family quarrels. No more injustices. No more disasters. No more sadness. The race will be over. The fight will be finished. And we'll finally rest. We look forward to the day when we can say as C.S. Lewis does in The Last Battle, "The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning."
And until then, we continue to run as hard as we can. We serve Christ in everything. We love and care for those around us. We rush into devestated neighborhoods to help in any way we can. We share Christ with our friends and families. We push on through every obstacle and stumbling block, chasing after the example of Christ, pushing forward to that crown that Paul mentions.
Pray for Joplin. Pray for the those who have lost loved ones. Pray for the injured. Pray for those who lost their homes and possessions. Find a way to give to help in the recovery of the city. One good way would be through my old church at Carterville. And as this race of life goes on, and trials and difficulties continue to batter us, pray the words of John from the end of Revelation:
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Gozark!
When I was just a freshman in high school, I decided I wanted to go to Ozark Christian College when I graduated. For the next four years, I knew that would be where I would end up. I never even applied to any other college. I didn't visit other campuses. I was Ozark all the way. In fact, by the time I was a sophomore, I was ready to be done with high school. There were good things about high school, but I was anxious to move on to something else. Ozark was my Promised Land, and I impatiently weathered my years in the desert of the high school hallways. At long last, in August 2006, I drove my Buick onto campus, parked it in front of Williamson Hall, and started carrying my stuff to my dorm room. I wore my David Crowder t-shirt that day, and we had chicken parmesan for lunch in the cafeteria. There are some days that you just don't forget easily.
Ozark has been my home for the last five years. But a week from now, I will be graduating and will be leaving. As cliche as it sounds, it had not yet sunk in that graduation is finally here, possibly because I still have quite a bit of reading and studying to do for my Western Civ text for Tuesday. When I stop and actually think about it all though, it is an odd feeling to realize that I'm leaving this place. This hill means a lot to me. The people here are maybe the greatest community I've been a part of. I've grown and matured a lot here (but have also gotten less mature in some other ways, so it probably cancels out). In our culture today, we don't often think about the important of "place," but places really do mean something, and Ozark is a place that is especially significant for me.
As I walk around campus, and even go elsewhere in Joplin, I see specific places that mean something to me. I can go to the cafeteria and see where I've talked and laughed and eaten countless cheeseburgers. I can see classroom in the library where I began to realize that I love to preach. I can see spots on campus where I've had to have some really difficult conversations. I can see the round tables in the student center where I played cards for hours--where friendships were forged and I laughed more than I possibly have anywhere else. I can see the ping-pong table where I would play until I got dizzy. Right now, I'm sitting at the desk I've been sitting at for five years, writing papers and blog posts and facestalking. I can see my bed where I've laid staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the happenings of my life. I can see the chair on the other side of the room, where Charlie, then Ryan, and now Nick have sat, talking with me about all sorts of things. I can see the spot on the gym floor where I injured my knee and tumbled to the hardwood, and I can see another spot where I closed my eyes and heaved up a buzzer-beater in our intramural game. I could go to the mall's food court and see the place where I slept on the floor so I could get free Chick-fil-A for a year. I can drive out to the church at Commerce, where for the last year I have been taught wisdom and ministry, as well as being constantly told how my body will fall apart when I'm old. I can see the projector in its spot on my counter, which we have used to watch seasons of Smallville, Arrested Development, Freaks and Geeks, The Office, and who-knows how many movies.
But now, it's time to leave all of that. In times like this, I tend to become rather reflective and sentimental. I love this place. But it's a place where I can't stay. I think that a lot of the time, God uses a certain place to prepare us so that he can send us to another place. It's a pretty cruel trick, really. When we become attached to a place, that's when we're often sent out from it. Thankfully, though, we serve a God who transcends places. It's not as though I need to be at Ozark for God to be with me. He was with Joseph in Egypt, David in Jerusalem, Jonah in the fish, Daniel in Babylon, Paul in Rome, and John on Patmos. While places are important, God is bigger than all of that, and everything really boils down to him anyway.
I'm ready to leave Ozark. Not especially happy about it. But ready. I'll miss this place deeply, and I'll miss the people here even more. But I believe that God has used Ozark to do what he's wanted it to do in my life, and now he has something else for me to move on to. I'm excited to start seminary in Cincinnati in the fall, and I'm excited to continue down whatever path it is that God has set before me. But part of me will always be left at Ozark (not that I'm going to dismember myself before graduation and leave bury a piece next to the time capsule by the library).
What are some places that mean a lot to you?
Ozark has been my home for the last five years. But a week from now, I will be graduating and will be leaving. As cliche as it sounds, it had not yet sunk in that graduation is finally here, possibly because I still have quite a bit of reading and studying to do for my Western Civ text for Tuesday. When I stop and actually think about it all though, it is an odd feeling to realize that I'm leaving this place. This hill means a lot to me. The people here are maybe the greatest community I've been a part of. I've grown and matured a lot here (but have also gotten less mature in some other ways, so it probably cancels out). In our culture today, we don't often think about the important of "place," but places really do mean something, and Ozark is a place that is especially significant for me.
As I walk around campus, and even go elsewhere in Joplin, I see specific places that mean something to me. I can go to the cafeteria and see where I've talked and laughed and eaten countless cheeseburgers. I can see classroom in the library where I began to realize that I love to preach. I can see spots on campus where I've had to have some really difficult conversations. I can see the round tables in the student center where I played cards for hours--where friendships were forged and I laughed more than I possibly have anywhere else. I can see the ping-pong table where I would play until I got dizzy. Right now, I'm sitting at the desk I've been sitting at for five years, writing papers and blog posts and facestalking. I can see my bed where I've laid staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the happenings of my life. I can see the chair on the other side of the room, where Charlie, then Ryan, and now Nick have sat, talking with me about all sorts of things. I can see the spot on the gym floor where I injured my knee and tumbled to the hardwood, and I can see another spot where I closed my eyes and heaved up a buzzer-beater in our intramural game. I could go to the mall's food court and see the place where I slept on the floor so I could get free Chick-fil-A for a year. I can drive out to the church at Commerce, where for the last year I have been taught wisdom and ministry, as well as being constantly told how my body will fall apart when I'm old. I can see the projector in its spot on my counter, which we have used to watch seasons of Smallville, Arrested Development, Freaks and Geeks, The Office, and who-knows how many movies.
But now, it's time to leave all of that. In times like this, I tend to become rather reflective and sentimental. I love this place. But it's a place where I can't stay. I think that a lot of the time, God uses a certain place to prepare us so that he can send us to another place. It's a pretty cruel trick, really. When we become attached to a place, that's when we're often sent out from it. Thankfully, though, we serve a God who transcends places. It's not as though I need to be at Ozark for God to be with me. He was with Joseph in Egypt, David in Jerusalem, Jonah in the fish, Daniel in Babylon, Paul in Rome, and John on Patmos. While places are important, God is bigger than all of that, and everything really boils down to him anyway.
I'm ready to leave Ozark. Not especially happy about it. But ready. I'll miss this place deeply, and I'll miss the people here even more. But I believe that God has used Ozark to do what he's wanted it to do in my life, and now he has something else for me to move on to. I'm excited to start seminary in Cincinnati in the fall, and I'm excited to continue down whatever path it is that God has set before me. But part of me will always be left at Ozark (not that I'm going to dismember myself before graduation and leave bury a piece next to the time capsule by the library).
What are some places that mean a lot to you?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Write On
Today I finished reading A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis. If you haven't gathered it from others posts I have written, I'm a pretty big fan of Lewis. I think he was one of the sharpest Christian thinkers in history, and he had an incredible understanding of human nature and a special knack for putting his thoughts into words. Many of his books present clear, thought-out arguments concerning some aspect of Christian belief and behavior. He typically wrote with the precision of a heart surgeon. However, A Grief Observed is different.
A Grief Observed is composed of several journal entries that Lewis wrote after his wife, Joy Davidman, died of cancer after they had been married for four years. It does not read with the organization that Lewis' other books do. Instead, it seems scattered. While his other books demonstrate the power of Lewis' incredible mind, this book gives a glimpse of his aching heart. In it, you find Lewis struggling with his faith. You see him doubting God. You sense the agony that he feels at his loss. He writes with brutal honesty and self-disclosure. This book is not the product of months sitting in an office, revising each paragraph so that it has the right flow. This is the product of a broken man pouring himself out as he pushes his pen to paper.
It is especially interesting to read A Grief Observed in connection with another of Lewis' books, The Problem of Pain. The Problem of Pain was published in 1940 and is a theological treatment of the existence of pain and evil in the world. In it, Lewis explains how pain is a necessary by-product of human free will, and he shows how God uses pain to bring his creatures back to him. While not written in a cold manner, The Problem of Pain comes from an objective position. In contrast, A Grief Observed comes from the trenches of grief. It's raw and uncensored. And when I stop to think about it, I am so impressed that a man like C.S. Lewis, a Cambridge professor and world-renown Christian writer, would reveal the tormented working of his soul by publishing such a book. The world is better off because he did so.
All of this has reminded me of the purpose in writing. In writing, we share life with others. A person may object, "But isn't it better to converse in person? Don't we share life together by actually spending time together?" And in some ways, I think this is true. There is no substitute for a face-to-face relationship. At the same time, however, writing does have it's place. I, for one, am a better writer than I am a conversationalist. Because of this, when I want another person to know that I sincerely mean what I say, I often write it. For me, speech can too often be flippant and instinctual. Writing, on the other hand, requires actual thought and attention. When we write, we have an opportunity to share together, to learn from one another, and to grow together.
However tacky it might be, I want to quote one of my earlier posts: "Life is a conversation." That's why I write. That's what this blog is all about. It's about engaging in conversation with those who care to join. It's about recognizing the fact that we were not made to hack our way through life alone, but that we are meant to navigate its paths together. It's about the truth that many people are smarter and more insightful than me, and that I need to hear their corrections and additions to my thinking. It's about making my life experiences about more than just me, but allowing them to somehow speak to others.
My encouragement to you, then, is simply to write. Put your pen to paper, or your fingers to keyboards. It doesn't matter if the end product is finely polished. It doesn't matter if you're presenting some ground-breaking concept that no one has ever ideated before. We need to converse. We need to learn from one another, in the good times and the bad. In the triumphs and the tragedies. I've come to realize that many of my best posts are ones that were written in times when I was having a rough go of things. I can trace my mental and emotional state through my words from the last three years. Sometimes I need to go back and hear from my younger and wiser self. And I know for sure that I need to hear from you too.
Final note: A few of my friends at Ozark that are in a worship band called Axios have just finished putting together an EP. They're really good, and you can check out their stuff here and buy their songs. Which I highly recommend you do.
A Grief Observed is composed of several journal entries that Lewis wrote after his wife, Joy Davidman, died of cancer after they had been married for four years. It does not read with the organization that Lewis' other books do. Instead, it seems scattered. While his other books demonstrate the power of Lewis' incredible mind, this book gives a glimpse of his aching heart. In it, you find Lewis struggling with his faith. You see him doubting God. You sense the agony that he feels at his loss. He writes with brutal honesty and self-disclosure. This book is not the product of months sitting in an office, revising each paragraph so that it has the right flow. This is the product of a broken man pouring himself out as he pushes his pen to paper.
It is especially interesting to read A Grief Observed in connection with another of Lewis' books, The Problem of Pain. The Problem of Pain was published in 1940 and is a theological treatment of the existence of pain and evil in the world. In it, Lewis explains how pain is a necessary by-product of human free will, and he shows how God uses pain to bring his creatures back to him. While not written in a cold manner, The Problem of Pain comes from an objective position. In contrast, A Grief Observed comes from the trenches of grief. It's raw and uncensored. And when I stop to think about it, I am so impressed that a man like C.S. Lewis, a Cambridge professor and world-renown Christian writer, would reveal the tormented working of his soul by publishing such a book. The world is better off because he did so.
All of this has reminded me of the purpose in writing. In writing, we share life with others. A person may object, "But isn't it better to converse in person? Don't we share life together by actually spending time together?" And in some ways, I think this is true. There is no substitute for a face-to-face relationship. At the same time, however, writing does have it's place. I, for one, am a better writer than I am a conversationalist. Because of this, when I want another person to know that I sincerely mean what I say, I often write it. For me, speech can too often be flippant and instinctual. Writing, on the other hand, requires actual thought and attention. When we write, we have an opportunity to share together, to learn from one another, and to grow together.
However tacky it might be, I want to quote one of my earlier posts: "Life is a conversation." That's why I write. That's what this blog is all about. It's about engaging in conversation with those who care to join. It's about recognizing the fact that we were not made to hack our way through life alone, but that we are meant to navigate its paths together. It's about the truth that many people are smarter and more insightful than me, and that I need to hear their corrections and additions to my thinking. It's about making my life experiences about more than just me, but allowing them to somehow speak to others.
My encouragement to you, then, is simply to write. Put your pen to paper, or your fingers to keyboards. It doesn't matter if the end product is finely polished. It doesn't matter if you're presenting some ground-breaking concept that no one has ever ideated before. We need to converse. We need to learn from one another, in the good times and the bad. In the triumphs and the tragedies. I've come to realize that many of my best posts are ones that were written in times when I was having a rough go of things. I can trace my mental and emotional state through my words from the last three years. Sometimes I need to go back and hear from my younger and wiser self. And I know for sure that I need to hear from you too.
Final note: A few of my friends at Ozark that are in a worship band called Axios have just finished putting together an EP. They're really good, and you can check out their stuff here and buy their songs. Which I highly recommend you do.
Friday, May 6, 2011
An Amateur Critique of Love Wins
There has been a lot of talk the past couple months about a new book by Rob Bell called Love Wins: A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived (quite an undertaking for 200 pages). Bell is a well-known pastor from Michigan who has written a few other books and produced a video series called "Nooma" that many churches use for Sunday Schools or Bible studies. The reason that many Christians have been up in arms over Bell's new book is that some say it advocates universalism, which is the belief that, in the end, all people will be be saved and go to heaven. However, one problem is that many of those who have vehemently been criticizing the book have not actually read it, so I thought it would be a good idea to grab a copy and check it out. These are some of my thoughts on the book, though my treatment is by no means exhaustive. After all, it is after midnight right now, and I need by beauty sleep.
The concern that instigates the writing of Bell's book is a valid one, I think. Near the beginning of the book, he tells of an art show that his church hosted, and one exhibit includes a quote from Ghandi. During the show, someone attached a note to the exhibit that said, "Reality check: He's in hell." Bell comments, "Really? Gandhi's in hell? He is? We have confirmation of this? Somebody knows this? Without a doubt? And that somebody decided to take on the responsibility of letting the rest of the world know?" (1-2). The judgment demonstrated in this incident causes Bell to reexamine the doctrine of heaven and hell. As I understand it, Bell seems to propose that even after death, people will have continued opportunities to surrender to God's love, and that "God will ultimately restore everything and everybody" (107). However, in other places, Bell seems to contradict himself, and he uses enough enigmatic language in his book to make it difficult to pin down what he actually advocates. Nevertheless, there are several significant problems with his approach that deserve to be addressed.
Most importantly, I think, Bell tends to play a little fast and loose with Scripture throughout the book, either by taking verses out of context or by inserting concepts that don't seem to really be addressed by the passage. A few examples: In one section, he is writing about Sodom and Gomorrah, two cities that were destroyed because of rampant sinfulness. Bell then references Matthew 10:15, where Jesus says that it will be more bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah at judgment than for cities that reject those Jesus sends out. Bell then writes, "More bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah? He tells highly committed, pious, religious people that it will be better for Sodom and Gomorrah than them on judgment day? There's still hope? And if there's still hope for Sodom and Gomorrah, what does that say about all of the other Sodoms and Gomorrahs?" (84-85). I think it is a bit of a jump, however, to say that Jesus' intent in his statement was to explain the eternal destinies of Sodom and Gomorrah. Bell may need to pay more attention to Jesus' use of hyperbole throughout the gospels.
There are other instances of similar problems. In one place, in trying to show that all people will accept God's love, Bell cites the common statement in Ezekiel: "The nations will know that I am the Lord" (99). He doesn't provide a specific verse reference for times that this phrase is used in the context of people accepting God's love, and he fails to mention that often, it is used in the context of judgment against wicked nations (e.g., 25:7, 11, 17). In another place, Bell discusses the parable of the prodigal son and goes into depth concerning the fate of the older brother in the story (Lk. 15). After retelling the story, Bell writes, "There is much for us here, about heaven, hell, and the news that is good" (170). At this point, I had to stop and ask, "What? Is the parable of these two brothers talking about heaven and hell? Is that the point of the story? Can we build a doctrine of the afterlife on this story?" It seems that Bell is inserting a topic into the story where it does not exist. These are just a few examples of how Bell uses Scripture in Love Wins, and some of his exegetical methods are questionable at best, I think.
In other places, Bell seems to ignore important passages that might contradict his position. In discussing how God is represented in Jesus' parables, he writes, "Is God like the characters in a story Jesus would tell, old ladies who keep searching for the lost coin until they find it, shepherds who don't rest until that one sheep is back in the fold, fathers who rush out to greet and embrace their returning son, or, in the end, will God give up?" (102). In the margin here, I wrote, "Or like the master of a wedding banquet who throws people outside?" Bell tends to focus on the images of God in which he welcomes all and searches for them, but then he ignores those images where God seems to draw a line in the sand, those images of judgment.
A little later, Bell writes, "Could God say to someone truly humbled, broken, and desperate for reconciliation, 'Sorry, too late'? Many have refused to accept the scenario in which somebody is pounding on the door, apologizing, repenting, and asking God to be let in, only to hear God say through the keyhole: 'Door's locked. Sorry. If you had been here earlier, I could have done something. But now, it's too late'" (108). At this, my mind goes to another parable Jesus tells in Matthew 25:1-13, where five foolish virgins show up late to a wedding banquet, so they bang on the door and beg the bridegroom to let them in, but he replies, "I tell you the truth, I don't know you."
Again, there are other examples in the book of times that Bell seems to ignore certain passages. The bulk of Revelation is pretty absent, and I don't remember seeing passages like 2 Thessalonians 8-9 ("[Jesus] will punish those who do not know God and do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. They will be punished with everlasting destruction and shut out from the presence of the Lord and from the majesty of his power"). In short, Bell creates too sharp a contrast between God's love and his justice/judgment (for which he uses such words as "vicious" [174] or "cruel" [175]). To get to this point, he is forced to do some exegetical gymnastics.
I have heard a lot of people ask, "So is Rob Bell a universalist?" It's a little hard to say. Again, it can be difficult to track with what he is trying to communicate. In some places, it sounds like he might be, but in other places (especially his last chapter, as well as pgs. 154-155), he seems to deny universalism. So it might be a fruitless task to try to put Rob Bell in a doctrinal box, and we should probably just listen carefully to what he is actually saying.
So what should be the answer to the problem Bell is addressing? Because it truly is a problem. Writing a note at an art fair declaring the eternal punishment of Ghandi is certainly not the way Christ calls his church to act, and it is commendable for Rob Bell to bring such problems to our attention. But is the answer to this problem a reworking of the doctrine of heaven and hell? Or, should I response simply be to stop judging others? The greatest problem isn't our doctrine (though some people definitely have incorrect doctrines). The problem is our practice.
I like the way that Bill, a man in my church, has put it. He said that when people ask, "Will so-and-so be in heaven?", the best way to answer is to simply say, "Not without Jesus." Will Ghandi be in heaven? Not without Jesus. Will Mother Teresa be in heaven? Not without Jesus. Will Osama bin Laden be in heaven? Not without Jesus. Will I be in heaven? Not without Jesus. Our responsibility, then, is to constantly thank God for his amazing grace and to make sure as many people have the opportunity to know Jesus. We don't have to judge. I think Jesus is more than fit for that task.
This post is in no way an adequate treatment of Love Wins. I have not really talked about the really good points that Bell does make in the book, and there are still other problems in his arguments that should be addressed. But I only have so much time, and even less brainpower, so this will have to do it for me. Let me know what you think, especially if you've read the book. Also, you may want to check out Kevin DeYoung's review of Love Wins. It's pretty long, and I honestly haven't read it yet, but I've heard it's pretty good.
The concern that instigates the writing of Bell's book is a valid one, I think. Near the beginning of the book, he tells of an art show that his church hosted, and one exhibit includes a quote from Ghandi. During the show, someone attached a note to the exhibit that said, "Reality check: He's in hell." Bell comments, "Really? Gandhi's in hell? He is? We have confirmation of this? Somebody knows this? Without a doubt? And that somebody decided to take on the responsibility of letting the rest of the world know?" (1-2). The judgment demonstrated in this incident causes Bell to reexamine the doctrine of heaven and hell. As I understand it, Bell seems to propose that even after death, people will have continued opportunities to surrender to God's love, and that "God will ultimately restore everything and everybody" (107). However, in other places, Bell seems to contradict himself, and he uses enough enigmatic language in his book to make it difficult to pin down what he actually advocates. Nevertheless, there are several significant problems with his approach that deserve to be addressed.
Most importantly, I think, Bell tends to play a little fast and loose with Scripture throughout the book, either by taking verses out of context or by inserting concepts that don't seem to really be addressed by the passage. A few examples: In one section, he is writing about Sodom and Gomorrah, two cities that were destroyed because of rampant sinfulness. Bell then references Matthew 10:15, where Jesus says that it will be more bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah at judgment than for cities that reject those Jesus sends out. Bell then writes, "More bearable for Sodom and Gomorrah? He tells highly committed, pious, religious people that it will be better for Sodom and Gomorrah than them on judgment day? There's still hope? And if there's still hope for Sodom and Gomorrah, what does that say about all of the other Sodoms and Gomorrahs?" (84-85). I think it is a bit of a jump, however, to say that Jesus' intent in his statement was to explain the eternal destinies of Sodom and Gomorrah. Bell may need to pay more attention to Jesus' use of hyperbole throughout the gospels.
There are other instances of similar problems. In one place, in trying to show that all people will accept God's love, Bell cites the common statement in Ezekiel: "The nations will know that I am the Lord" (99). He doesn't provide a specific verse reference for times that this phrase is used in the context of people accepting God's love, and he fails to mention that often, it is used in the context of judgment against wicked nations (e.g., 25:7, 11, 17). In another place, Bell discusses the parable of the prodigal son and goes into depth concerning the fate of the older brother in the story (Lk. 15). After retelling the story, Bell writes, "There is much for us here, about heaven, hell, and the news that is good" (170). At this point, I had to stop and ask, "What? Is the parable of these two brothers talking about heaven and hell? Is that the point of the story? Can we build a doctrine of the afterlife on this story?" It seems that Bell is inserting a topic into the story where it does not exist. These are just a few examples of how Bell uses Scripture in Love Wins, and some of his exegetical methods are questionable at best, I think.
In other places, Bell seems to ignore important passages that might contradict his position. In discussing how God is represented in Jesus' parables, he writes, "Is God like the characters in a story Jesus would tell, old ladies who keep searching for the lost coin until they find it, shepherds who don't rest until that one sheep is back in the fold, fathers who rush out to greet and embrace their returning son, or, in the end, will God give up?" (102). In the margin here, I wrote, "Or like the master of a wedding banquet who throws people outside?" Bell tends to focus on the images of God in which he welcomes all and searches for them, but then he ignores those images where God seems to draw a line in the sand, those images of judgment.
A little later, Bell writes, "Could God say to someone truly humbled, broken, and desperate for reconciliation, 'Sorry, too late'? Many have refused to accept the scenario in which somebody is pounding on the door, apologizing, repenting, and asking God to be let in, only to hear God say through the keyhole: 'Door's locked. Sorry. If you had been here earlier, I could have done something. But now, it's too late'" (108). At this, my mind goes to another parable Jesus tells in Matthew 25:1-13, where five foolish virgins show up late to a wedding banquet, so they bang on the door and beg the bridegroom to let them in, but he replies, "I tell you the truth, I don't know you."
Again, there are other examples in the book of times that Bell seems to ignore certain passages. The bulk of Revelation is pretty absent, and I don't remember seeing passages like 2 Thessalonians 8-9 ("[Jesus] will punish those who do not know God and do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. They will be punished with everlasting destruction and shut out from the presence of the Lord and from the majesty of his power"). In short, Bell creates too sharp a contrast between God's love and his justice/judgment (for which he uses such words as "vicious" [174] or "cruel" [175]). To get to this point, he is forced to do some exegetical gymnastics.
I have heard a lot of people ask, "So is Rob Bell a universalist?" It's a little hard to say. Again, it can be difficult to track with what he is trying to communicate. In some places, it sounds like he might be, but in other places (especially his last chapter, as well as pgs. 154-155), he seems to deny universalism. So it might be a fruitless task to try to put Rob Bell in a doctrinal box, and we should probably just listen carefully to what he is actually saying.
So what should be the answer to the problem Bell is addressing? Because it truly is a problem. Writing a note at an art fair declaring the eternal punishment of Ghandi is certainly not the way Christ calls his church to act, and it is commendable for Rob Bell to bring such problems to our attention. But is the answer to this problem a reworking of the doctrine of heaven and hell? Or, should I response simply be to stop judging others? The greatest problem isn't our doctrine (though some people definitely have incorrect doctrines). The problem is our practice.
I like the way that Bill, a man in my church, has put it. He said that when people ask, "Will so-and-so be in heaven?", the best way to answer is to simply say, "Not without Jesus." Will Ghandi be in heaven? Not without Jesus. Will Mother Teresa be in heaven? Not without Jesus. Will Osama bin Laden be in heaven? Not without Jesus. Will I be in heaven? Not without Jesus. Our responsibility, then, is to constantly thank God for his amazing grace and to make sure as many people have the opportunity to know Jesus. We don't have to judge. I think Jesus is more than fit for that task.
This post is in no way an adequate treatment of Love Wins. I have not really talked about the really good points that Bell does make in the book, and there are still other problems in his arguments that should be addressed. But I only have so much time, and even less brainpower, so this will have to do it for me. Let me know what you think, especially if you've read the book. Also, you may want to check out Kevin DeYoung's review of Love Wins. It's pretty long, and I honestly haven't read it yet, but I've heard it's pretty good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)