A Time to Laugh

Healing from intense and pervasive trauma — whether from cancer or rape or earthquake or war — comes as you learn to call yourself a “survivor.” It’s a rhetorical move away from “victim.” When a victim can describe herself as a “survivor,” she:

no longer feels possessed by her traumatic past; she is in possession of herself. She has some understanding of the person she used to be and of the damage done to that person by the traumatic event. Her task now is to become the person she used to be and of the damage done to that person she wants to be. In the process she draws upon those aspects of herself that she most values from the time before the trauma, from the experience of the trauma itself, and from the period of recovery. Integrating all of those elements, she creates a new self, both ideally and in actuality (202).

Judith Herman

“Survivor” identifies autonomy. Personhood. It fully acknowledges the past trauma as trauma. It highlights strength. Rather than things happening to you (scene/victim), you are an agent. You act. You have power. You do stuff.

And fundamentalists hate it. They would say that using “survivor” is a petulant, ungrateful response to the lousy things God has done to/for you. They would say that you shouldn’t just “survive” but “rejoice.” Which means, as usual, “shut up and get back to work.” In fundamentalism, you should only “move” in deference to the whole. You can only “be” in the group. That’s how the ideology becomes god.

Fundamentalists don’t like autonomy. When they say we must “deny the self,” they mean it. But not like Jesus meant it. They mean that we must erase the individual in lieu of the whole. There are no boundaries between persons, just recalcitrant boundaries between sects. We must deny that the self even exists. We can never put ourselves as the agent. “I” should never be the subject of the sentence.

Don’t get mixed up and think that’s the appropriate “grammar” of all Calvinism. I think that’s where this new breed of “Young, Restless, and Reformed” are just finding new duds for an old, mean fundamentalism. A hipster Kesiedispiecostalism. Even Jonathan Edwards in his “Resolutions” talks about what he does. How he acts. How we join God’s ongoing work. We work because He works.

I work because He works.

How does Steve Brown put it? “I’m a Calvinist, so I know it’s all about God. But it’s about me too.”

That’s salvation. God doesn’t save us to be nothing. We weren’t once alive and now we’re dead. We were dead in our trespasses and sins, and He lifted us up and made us His children. The Church Universal isn’t a Borg ship. It’s a city! A Kingdom. A bustling, colorful, dappled, productive, noisy community.

And for now, until the Bridegroom arrives, we persevere. We “keep on keeping on.” It’s a race. We’re running!

I’m running. So let me try this. . . . I have earned a Ph.D. from a Research 1 university with two unaccredited degrees putting a permanent black smudge on my record. I have buried four children — one I carried past term — and have birthed two screamers. I have breastfed those two children — one until he was nearly four and one until he was well past two — and yes, that means I did tandem-nursing. I co-slept, nursed, and wore my babies right through their toddlerhood. Despite ongoing disciplinary action from my employer, I chose gentle discipline for my sons. I am a published author and scholar. I have endured shunning, betrayal, threats, job loss, and emotional, mental, and spiritual abuse from people I considered my dearest friends. And I persevered. God has begun this work in me, and He will perform it until He calls me home. And I join Him.

And if you want to take out your cyber-red-pen and correct the “grammar” on the above paragraph, you’re probably a fundamentalist.

I bought myself that necklace several months ago — right around the time I took my blog “sabbath.” I am wearing it until I believe it. Until I believe that I’m a survivor.

Therefore, the man who said “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” was on the right track, even if he seemed a bit weak on the objectivity of beauty. He may well have been a solipsist who doubted the reality of everything outside himself, or one of those skeptics who thinks that no valid judgments are possible–that no knife can in reality be pronounced sharp, nor any custard done to perfection. It doesn’t matter. Like Caiaphas, he spoke better than he knew. The real world which he doubts is indeed the mother of loveliness, the womb and matrix in which it is conceived and nurtured; but the loving eye which he celebrates is the father of it. The graces of the world are the looks of a woman in love; without the woman they could not be there at all; but without her lover, they would not quicken into loveliness.

So it’s neither objectivity nor subjectivity — a wholly ridiculous dichotomy. Neither is possible and both extremes are the stuff of meaningless and endless grad-student-level “discussions.”

No, it’s intersubjectivity.

In other words, it’s not about you. And it’s not about them. It’s about us.

As Steve Brown said recently, “I know it’s about God. I’m a Calvinist. . . . But it’s about you too.”

Have you ever spent any time considering that our eternity will not be spent on a cloud somewhere strumming a harp? God’s not a Gnostic. Our eternity will be here, on this earth — all made new.

God’s stuff is very good. Not as opposed to our stuff, but including our stuff. Somehow.

It’s not God v. me. It’s God and us. Somehow. And that’s beautiful!

What a strange bunch of contrasts.

We took my youngest to the hospital for grunting-while-breathing, and within 24-hours after the IV antibiotics he was playing “Punch Out” with the Get Well balloon my parents brought him.

That hospital trip — like any other, I’m sure — moved from soul-sucking boredom to tearful panic. And during that ebb and flow, I got two emails. One explained what a rapturous “blessing” it was that God took me away from BJU since I could no longer ruin young lives like I had so clearly done for years. :/ The other email described an actual blessing — how God is using Elise’s little cherry dress to show a young, nearly-forgotten girl how much He loved her.

A lengthy conversation with a young man wrestling with his fundamentalist upbringing made me realize that fundamentalism doesn’t teach progressive justification (like Roman Catholicism). Nor does it teach progressive sanctification (which it ironically calls “perfectionism). It teaches a kind of perpetual justification. That you have to continually beg for salvation or risk certain doom.

I found last year’s Opening Evangelistic Service from BJU. Go listen to it. It’s a perfect encapsulation of everything Grant and I stood up against and were forced to resign over. It’s all right there. Nothing’s changed. I’m told that the dorm room leaders had to do damage control for months after that sermon.

And while I was still reeling over that slipshod retelling of the Prodigal Son parable, an old friend pointed me to WorldMag’s recent podcast on the same parable — “Becoming the Third Brother.” Listen to Marvin Olasky’s description of the Elder Brother in the second part. Sound familiar?

Of course, BJU got a mention in Forbes list of best colleges based on student satisfaction. #279. North Greenville is #154 and has record enrollment this year in this economy! GQ listed BJU, too, but for a more dubious honor.

I found this little chestnut — Stuff Fundies Like. Every post is brilliant and therapeutic and hilarious. I bet you can’t read just one!

I made a Facebook quiz “How Fundamentalist Are You?” I’m told it’s too feminine, and that’s probably true. It has one (pretty negative) review. Check it out too.

I’m on my second read through Steve Brown’s Scandalous Freedom. Here are the most important chapters for recovering fundamentalists. Take a look. And if listening is more your cup of tea, here are the podcasts. Just listen to the first one, if nothing else.

Yes, Steve Brown is the hero to every one of us still struggling in recovery. And then he goes and does something like this and shoves us into joyful and raucous laughter!

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Steve Brown? You rock. Really. Thank you!

If you think I’m wrong, I don’t really care. But you need to listen to this.

If you have ever called me nuts, bitter, annoying, arrogant, immature, a bad testimony, ignorant, too smart for my own good, reading too much, or reading too little, you’re probably right. But you still need to listen to this.

If you just wish I’d shut up already, I hate to disappoint you. So instead, listen to this.

If you’ve blocked me on Facebook, I understand. I really do. But you still need to listen to this.

If you’ve ever attended a Bill Gothard Seminar, you so need to listen to this.

If you’ve ever been told that as a believer that you have no “rights” and you believed that lie, please, please listen to this.

If you’ve ever attended Bob Jones University, you need to listen to this. Or any other institution that calls itself “fundamental.” Or even “Evangelical,” for that matter.

If you are currently working for Bob Jones University, you’re gearing up for another year in a few. And you really need to listen to this. Really. Especially you. I’m worried about you. Listen during In-service prep or while you’re waiting for your advisees to arrive.

If you think I’m on to something, I probably don’t have to convince you. But you need to listen to this too.

It’s a Steve Brown seminary lecture on the 12 prisons we Christians put ourselves in. You can get it on iTunes to download it to your mp3 player or you can listen online at The Gospel Coalition. Especially 8, 9, 10, and 11.

It’s startling. And you need to be startled. For the Lord’s sake, we all need to be startled.

The Reformation was a time when men went blind, staggering drunk because they had discovered, in the dusty basement of late medievalism a whole cellarful of fifteen-hundred-year-old, 200-proof grace — of bottle after bottle of pure distillate of Scripture, one sip of which would convince anyone that God saves us single-handedly.

The word of the Gospel — after all those centuries of trying to lift yourself into heaven by worrying about the perfection of your bootstraps — suddenly turned out to be a flat announcement that the saved were home before they started. . . . Grace has to be drunk straight: no water, no ice, and certainly no ginger ale; neither goodness, nor badness, nor the flowers that bloom in the spring of super spirituality could be allowed to enter into the case.

– Robert Capon

Since leaving fundamentalism, I feel like those Reformers. I feel like we’ve found a barrel full of Grace — something that was only a rumor in my previous life — and I’ve been just sipping it since, with lots of ice, from a small glass, and with buckets of fruit juice. I’ll get braver as my taste buds are cultivated to know Grace like I now know Rules.

I found this song this week from the Red Mountain Church. It’s a revision of “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus.” Listen to it. Really. I’ll wait ’til you’re done.

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The first time I heard that I was taken back by the changed lyrics. I thought, “Oh. I get it. That’s cute.” The third or fourth time, I thought, “Wait a second.  What was I singing before? With the old version?”

You sang it too, didn’t you?

I have decided to follow Jesus.

I have decided to follow Jesus.

I have decided to follow Jesus.

No turning back. No turning back.

What a weird song when you think about it! I hate to be too English-majory about it, but gee-whiz — I am the actor/agent/subject of every sentence! Jesus is merely the object of the action. I chose Jesus. I invited him in. I choose to slurp his tasteless smoothie. I sit in the formal dining room with Him. I eat God’s healthy food. I keep a neat house/soul. I, I, I. What an arrogant jerk I am when I sing this song!

It misses the biggest sin of all. My own temptation to make rules and make everyone else abide by them. The seduction of seeing everyone else as wrong and me and mine as right. The lure of self-righteousness. The hedge-building. The moralism. The rotten, stinking sin of perfection. After all, I have decided, so I‘m good. What’s wrong with you?

Of course I never wanted to give up my own self-righteousness and follow Jesus. But He rescued me. That’s it. That’s the whole message outside fundamentalism: He rescued me. From myself.

By not recognizing the wretched moralistic sin of self-righteousness as sin, you get Keswick theology. Or just bad theology. Or just anthropology, I guess. Or egocentrism. Or just not-God.

I sometimes fear that many of us (and I include myself) find our definition by our obedience, in our ability to persuade others to be like us, and in our ability to win the battles. There is a lot of ego involved in being good, in being right, and as part of the battle, having others know that we are good and right.

– Steve Brown

In these last two weeks of remembering how God grabbed us by the collar and dragged us out of fundamentalism two years ago today, I brooded about past conversations, wistfully remembered dear (and too often former) friends, and cried over God’s goodness and my own Pharisaical actions.

There was one conversation from November 2007 I couldn’t get out of my mind. We were told that we shouldn’t say this or that because it was sin and Christ’s work couldn’t be done if we sin. We couldn’t be blessed. We were “sitting in the seat of the scorner.” We were bitter. We need to be silent in order to prove that we weren’t bitter. So that God could use us.

Same song, thirty-second verse: “SHUT UP!” Grant actually got a similar email saying the same thing this week.

The thrust of that 2007 conversation, however, was this challenge from our old friend: “There is not one example in Scripture of what you’re doing on your blogs. All confrontation is done privately in Scripture. It is never public. I challenge you to find one example of what you’re doing in Scripture.”

I remember sitting there with this genuinely confused look on my face. I remember saying something about how there are sages (those who speak within a culture) and there are prophets (those who speak from outside a culture), and the Bible has examples of both (obviously!). He insisted that only the sage’s posture is biblical. I got an even more confused look because I know a little bit about this kind of stuff. I said, “It seems to me that everything God has taught me in my education and my experience has brought me to the point of uniquely being able to speak on this issue. Why would I be silent?” He again insisted, “I challenge you to find one example in Scripture.” The presumption being, of course, that such example didn’t exist. And when a religious professional tells you that it’s not in the Bible, you’re supposed to just believe him.

But deep down, like at the end of a tunnel, stuffed with pillows, behind a wall of cement blocks, I heard a tiny Voice screaming, “NO! He’s wrong! HE’S WRONG!! Don’t believe him!!”

I didn’t know what that Voice was yelling about until this week. And it’s not just an example from the Bible. It’s the Example Himself:

Jesus went straight to the Temple and threw out everyone who had set up shop, buying and selling. He kicked over the tables of loan sharks and the stalls of dove merchants. He quoted this text:

My house was designated a house of prayer;
You have made it a hangout for thieves.

Now there was room for the blind and crippled to get in. They came to Jesus and he healed them.

Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple was bold, loud, and raucous. It seemed obnoxious and ill-tempered to the religious elite. It was certainly unconventional and far from being “tempered with gentility.” But it was, of course, good and just and full-of-grace.

The sick and the lame couldn’t get to Him, so He destroyed the barriers. Jesus wasn’t trying to convince the religious elite of anything; He was loving, healing, breaking down doors so He could nurture people. It’s the most public and active example that we have of Christ’s actions to stop religious corruption. And it was beautiful to and necessary for everyone in need! What an amazing Example we have!

So now I just giggle at those who chide me for not being “tempered with gentility.” Of course not! Jesus wasn’t either!!!

And I never saw it until just now. Neither did my old friend. It’s hard to see Jesus in fundamentalism. He’s there, but He gets covered up. Or hedged in.

I s’pose I’ll keep hearing new things outside of fundamentalism. A couple friends have emailed me a few that they’ve noticed this week — the praying for the invisible Church, the communing with each other and with Christ over the elements as not a threat. The list will continue because . . . well, the 200-proof Grace takes forever to digest.

No, I really never, ever wanted to follow Jesus. I didn’t. But He grabbed me and showed me the Way. And there’s no turning back. I was home before I started!

So I do know this — that the grace that justifies is the same grace that sanctifies. I know that much in my head.

But understanding what that really means takes me a lot longer. I need to hear it over and over and over. In different ways. Lots of different ways.

And it still surprises me.

So that’s what our pastor brought to a fine point when he said:

We didn’t merit salvation at the beginning, so we can’t keep it through our merit either.

Oooooh! Yeah!! You’re right!!!! Then what’s with the guilt trip I’ve been on for a couple of decades?

What they say in fundamentalism is that if they don’t preach “standards” or “rules” or “responsibilities” or “duty,” there’ll be chaos. That we’re all bent toward lawlessness, right? It’s the natural course of events. So we must fight lawlessness! We need rules! We need authority!!

But in the spectrum between hypernomianism (legalism) and antinomianism (lawlessness), true Christianity lies closer to the antinomian side than its opposite (because we have a natural bent toward legalism too!!). We’re supposed to be more Anne Hutchinson than John Winthrop. More hippie than Hitler. More play-at-home-mommy than prison matron.

But don’t take my word for it. Take Martyn Lloyd-Jones‘:

There is a sense in which the doctrine of justification by faith only is a very dangerous doctrine; dangerous, I mean, in the sense that it can be misunderstood. It exposes a man to this particular charge. People listening to it may say, “Ah, there is a man who does not encourage us to live a good life, he seems to say that there is no value in our works, he says that ‘all our righteousness are as filthy rags.’ Therefore what he is saying is that it does not matter what you do, sin as much as you like.” . . . There is thus clearly a sense in which the message of “justification by faith only” can be dangerous, and likewise with the message that salvation is entirely of grace. . . . I say therefore that if our preaching does not expose us to that charge and to that misunderstanding, it is because we are not really preaching the gospel.

Steve Brown teases us toward understanding the same sanctifying grace by giving away “3 free sins” and by talking about our scandalous freedom in Christ. He states it like this:

Now hear something very important: while the apostle Paul was not antinomian, he was very close to it. Just so, while the Reformation leaders were not antinomian, they were very close to it. Also, while the Christian faith is by no means antinomian, it is very close to it.

What’s the point? Paul would never have had to write a defense of his teaching on freedom if he had not been very close to heresy. Martin Luther would never have had to come back from Wartburg (where he was in hiding) to straighten out the libertarians in Wittenberg if his teaching had not at least implied something close to what they were doing. The Christian faith would not have had to deal with the heresy of antinomianism unless there was something in it which seemed to imply that particular heresy.

That brings me to a syllogism with two premises and a conclusion. Premise: The real Christian faith is close to antinomianism. Premise: A lot of modern day Christianity is not at all close to antinomianism. Conclusion: A lot of modern day Christianity is not real Christianity.

And I never heard that in fundamentalism. Not anywhere. Not ever.

From the moment we stepped into other-than-fundamental churches, we’ve heard about grace. Not just grace at justification that saves us from hell fire, but grace at sanctification that keeps us close to God and growing in Him. A grace that is not earned — like a boss who passes out merit badges for my meeting quotas — but is lavishly and consistently given. It’s part of the all-things-new atmosphere — life-sustaining, nurturing, and satisfying. It’s that God-as-Loving-Father metaphor that dominates a grace-focused soteriology. But I’ve talked about all that before.

So it was in that spirit that our pastor quoted Steve Brown:

The greatest cause for our not getting better is our obsession with not getting better. There is a better way of getting better than trying harder. Sanctification becomes a reality in those believers who don’t obsess over their own sanctification. Holiness hardly ever becomes a reality until we care more about Jesus than about holiness (53).

Brown channels Luther when he defines sanctification as “getting used to being forgiven” since “people who are forgiven, generally get better . . . but they never get better enough to earn God’s love and grace.”

There’s more, of course. Lots more. And it’s so different. Before I heard sermons on “How to Get God’s Grace:”

Stubborn people have no grace. . . . God says, “if you wanna go down My path, I will give you all the grace you need. But if you wanna go down your path, I’ll let you go down that path. I will take away all the desire to do My will. I will take away all the power to do my will. And furthermore, while you’re going down that path, I’m gonna shoot at you! I will give grace only to the humble.”

Which, I’m discovering, is a page taken right out of Bill Gothard’s playbook (i.e. “The Umbrella of Protection,” “Circle of Blessing.”). Almost word-for-word. And from other moralistic legalists throughout the centuries. It’s our natural bent to think we can do this on our own and that God’s evil and tyrannical and vicious and limited by some arbitrary “umbrella” or “circle.”

But God’s not shooting at us. He’s carrying us. He’s not a mob boss or a prison guard. He’s our Daddy.