One of the most powerful forms of poetry/song in the Old Testament is that which we define as the “lament.” There are many different forms of this kind of speech. David uses it to express his anguish over the death of Saul and Jonathan. The author of Lamentations uses it (of course) to grapple with the intensity of the destruction of Jerusalem. Unfortunately, the depth of emotion that this form of speech utlizes is rarely matched in contemporary Christian worship.

Numerous praise songs talk about the travails of life– the trials and tribulations. But it seems to me that many of our songs lack a robust honesty. We do not often, in our Christian music, dive deep into the pool of pain. We swim in the shallow end where our feet can touch the ground in the midst of cliches and abstract problems. Other times, when we do venture a little deeper into the difficult subject matter, we immediately swim to the side of the pool and get out, wrapping ourselves in the refrain that “God is good and saves us” or “we will overcome.” Phrases in the indicative mood that do not speak to the doubt we often feel when struggling to stay afloat in deeper waters. (One of) The problem(s) with this is that it neglects a very serious aspect of the Christian faith: Doubt.

One of the most powerful and recurring issues we deal with in our faith is doubt. Doubting God’s existence; doubting scripture; doubting church; doubting the Christian community that often hurts us; doubting that God will take care of us if we would just give everything over to God. Yet, this is one of the few things we can talk openly about with other Christians. The funny thing is, this is not entirely (if at all) a “bibilical” model of faith. One of the prominent voices of scripture alerts us to just the opposite tendency. Many servants of God openly question God’s activity in the world. Nowhere is the force of this more viscerally felt than in the songs of despair (laments) to God:

“Our ancestors sinned; they are no more, and we bear their iniquities…women are raped in Zion, virgins in the town of Judah…Why have you forgotten us completely? Why have you forsaken us these many days?” (Lamentations 5:7, 11, 20)

Does it get more honest than this? Can we not resonate with such a statement? Have we not looked at the world or our own lives and wondered, “God! What the hell!? How is this possibly your ‘will’ or ‘plan’ for my existence?”

Many of us can, and do, resonate with this voice we find in scripture. Indeed, there is something of this in that heart-rending prayer at Gethsemane when the Son of Man implores the Father for a different way forward. Our art as a community should, in my opinion, reflect this emotion. We should not be afraid to immerse ourselves fully in pain and doubt. We cannot stay in the shallow end or swim to the sides when we feel our feet slipping. For it is here where our faith finds its deepest strength, in the midst of the struggle. The strongest steels are forged in the hottest fires. Our songs should reflect this, for God has broad shoulders and can certainly carry our burdens and struggles and doubts, even when it is Godself that we doubt.

Now, there are qualifiers to this. Even though the OT does embrace a tradition of doubt, it also often praises God too. There is as much (if not more) hope in the songs of Israel as there is doubt. Even the greatest songs of doubt can turn on a dime into acclamations of God’s goodness, not unlike our praise songs. Nor do we want our praise songs to all be “downers” (I should know, my drama teacher in 11th grade read us devotions from lamentations for a month; it was horribly depressing). This would equally misrepresent the Christian experience. However, we should not shy away from grappling honestly with the full spectrum of the human condition.

And it hits like one too.

If wielded with too heavy a hand, our skepticism can often break more than we originally intended, sometimes shattering some of the core identifiers that allows us to locate ourselves within the world and/or specific narratives. The damage can be great, at times irreversible. If we have brandished the hammer of doubt too violently, we find ourselves lame and without a way to mend our broken bodies. And so, we lay crumpled on the floor and can only make lame attempts at ethics, ontology, evangelism, religion, aesthetics or, frighteningly, all meaning itself.

I sometimes feel like the only tool bequeathed to us by postmodernism/poststructuralism/deconstruction is this sledge-hammer of doubt. We can easily become experts at deconstructing everything, but we are worse than novices at constructing anything new.

In a manner of speaking, postmodern skepticism can often act the part of the highway robber to our naive traveler. After a tussle or two, we are left broken and bleeding in the road. What we need is someone to gather us up and mend us, but does such a figure exist?

“Go and tell John, the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk, and the dead are raised.”

P.S. This is not a categorical rejection of all things postmodern, just how I feel about it on the bad days.

At the same time we are asking these old timers how to access the deep mysteries of the faith in our spiritual lives, there has also been a growing dissatisfaction with the “Greek” aspects of Christian theology.  The Jewishness of the Gospels is now being emphasized over against the Greek metaphysic we have so long utilized.  Essentially: Jewish Christianity= Good, Platonic Christianity= Bad.  This position is found in Mclaren’s work as he wants to abandon the Greco-Roman narrative that has plagued the church for the last 1700 years.  I think there is a lot to be said for this.  Much can be gained by trying to accurately situate Jesus and early Christainity within the streams of Judaism in the 1st century.  But, if as a movement within the church we are going to emphasize the Jewishness of the church and try to throw out the Platonic influences, if we are really going to view the deep platonizing of Christian theology as one of the worst things to happen to Christian theology, then I think we may have to throw out the Christian spirituality stuff too.

The problem, so far as I can tell, is that many of the folks we are looking to for guidance in Christian spirituality approach mysticism from a Platonic standpoint.  Much of medieval mysticism was influenced by Pseudo-Dionysius, a Christian writer from the 6th century who was a thoroughgoing neo-Platonist.  Mecthild of Magdeburg, Theresa of Avila, Meister Eckhart, John of the cross– all of these mystical folks are heavily influenced by Platonic thought.  These are the people whose writings have been distilled and disseminated by popular writers such as Richard Foster and Dallas Willard.  And these two writers have done much to influence our understanding of spirituality in recent years.

So, if we want to have our cake and eat it too, we should dial down some of the Plato hating.  I’m not saying there are no problems with the influence of Platonism on Christian theology, but it has yielded a deep and vibrant spirituality within the church that continues to nurture and sustain many church goers.

So, here is a quick review of Rob Bell’s newest book Love Wins for those that might want a point of reference on the issue but haven’t been able to read the book yet.

Full disclosure: I read this book more quickly than I would others, so my conclusions can certainly be argued, though I think I’m not too far off the mark.

Things the book is NOT:

An exhaustive argument for a particular theological position.

Things the book IS:

An intentionally provocative series of questions designed to reexamine a story a number of Christians hold.

If you are looking for a sustained argument for a particular theological issue, this book isn’t really the book for you. It is not a monograph on the subject of hell or universalism. Rather, the point of Bell’s argument seems to be that Scripture presents a less than monolithic view concerning the nature of things like heaven(?), hell, and salvation. Bell asks a lot of questions that cut to the heart of the way contemporary evangelicalism speaks about these subjects. Is heaven really a place located in the sky? Is hell really fire and brimstones and hot pokers for all eternity? Is salvation accomplished through a “relationship with Jesus” or is there more to it than that?

While Bell raises these questions, he doesn’t, within the pages of Love Wins, stray far from the Christian narrative. He doesn’t seek a redefinition of heaven, hell, and salvation from other religions or philosophers. He rummages around within Scripture to see if there are other ways of approaching these questions central to Christian tradition.

His conclusions?

Heaven is described, in rather N. T. Wrightesque language, as a renewed creation HERE rather than an ethereal realm where disembodied spirits float around forever. This is not really a controversial point, at least theologically.

Hell…hell…well, Bell is not as clear on this issue. After some cursory examination of the word and concept in Scripture, he affirms the idea with some modification. I guess, for Bell, Hell begins now, with our acceptance or rejection of God’s plan for our lives, and will continue after we die, but not forever. Eventually, at some point in our post-mortem rejection of God, everyone will be won by the love of God and come to the other side, to heaven/paradise/new creation. So, maybe more like a purgatory? I may have been reading too quickly to fully get this part of Bell’s book.

Regarding salvation, Bell wants to push the discussion from something that only happens when we die to a reality that is present with us in this life. Heaven and hell begin now, depending on whether we choose God or reject God. Also, how a person realizes salvation is more complicated than just “having a relationship with Jesus.” For Bell, I think, this is an oversimplification that does injustice to the life-long process of following God and living within God’s will. Moreover, as humans we cannot really say who is “in” and who is “out” regarding heaven and hell. Our knowledge and perspective are too limited to make such judgments and, really, we should be more worried about ourselves anyway.

So, that is the impression I got from Bell’s book. Overall, Bell seeks to rattle some cages. He does so by drawing on Scripture and attempting to root himself within a broader stream of thought within Christian orthodoxy (e.g. Origen, Gregory of Nyssa, Clement of Alexandria).

My personal thoughts on the book? For what it is worth, I thought the book was “okay.” I appreciate his definition of heaven, his emphasis on salvation as a present reality, and his courage to ask the questions he does. However, I found some of his interpretations of scripture puzzling and many of his arguments not compelling. Also, if you are not a fan of proof-texting (just citing a ton of scriptures, taking them at face value) this book could drive you crazy. Furthermore, there was a one-sidedness to the book that was, I feel, to its detriment (lots of love; not too much judgment, his focus on “hell” as a present issue notwithstanding).

Will this book make you twice a son or daughter of hell as Bell? It shouldn’t. Should you walk away from this book thinking you have all the knowledge on hell and universalism you need? Nope. Take it for what it is: a semi-controversial skepticism, moderately argued, aimed at starting a conversation.

I have attempted here a faithful representation of Rob Bell’s work; we don’t need more obfuscation concerning his beliefs

A tension. Attention.

I do the things i don’t want to do; i fail to do what i truly want.

Paul’s articulation of his personal condition living in the time between Christ’s initial coming and his ultimate arrival is profound. We are people still held under the sway of sin, yet we know what is right and we long to do the good. We yearn to be the people we know we can and should be.

Too often we don’t properly handle the tension. We may give up altogether because it is too hard to keep up the fight. Perhaps we throw a pity party for ourselves and wallow in self-deprecation at the fact that we can never be perfect. Often we respond with legalism and try to fulfill all God’s commands in order to alleviate the tension.

These are inadequate responses. We must learn to live with the tension, holding onto the hope and promise that the power and grace granted to us is greater than that which binds us to our destructive appetites. For it is in this tension that we understand sin, we understand grace, we understand dependency on our creator. We n e e d the tension.

“Who will rescue me from this body of death?”

“thanks be to God– through our Lord Jesus Christ!”