The Slippery Slope

Conservatives like to use the slippery slope argument to point out why things they disagree with shouldn’t be allowed. If you allow x, it will eventually lead to allowing y.

“That would never happen,” cry others.

Abortion is one of those areas. We already see the horrific consequences of so called “partial-birth” abortion. And though the idea of infanticide is not new, it now has a new name: “after-birth abortion.”

The abstract of an article by Dr. Francesca Minerva and Alberto Giubilini from The Journal of Medical Ethics:

“Abortion is largely accepted even for reasons that do not have anything to do with the fetus’ health. By showing that (1) both fetuses and newborns do not have the same moral status as actual persons, (2) the fact that both are potential persons is morally irrelevant and (3) adoption is not always in the best interest of actual people, the authors argue that what we call ‘after-birth abortion’ (killing a newborn) should be permissible in all the cases where abortion is, including cases where the newborn is not disabled.”

and in the conclusion:

“First, we do not put forward any claim about the moment at which after-birth abortion would no longer be permissible, and we do not think that in fact more than a few days would be necessary for doctors to detect any abnormality in the child. In cases where the after-birth abortion were requested for non-medical reasons, we do not suggest any threshold, as it depends on the neurological development of newborns, which is something neurologists and psychologists would be able to assess.”

The whole article can be accessed here.

Right, no slippery slope exists.

Abortion and infanticide are human rights issues. The left, which never had a leg to stand on in this debate to begin with, is coming closer and closer to losing all credibility in their worship of the god of selfishness.

Are Light and Darkness Mutually Exclusive?

Daniel Siedell wrote a piece recently critiquing Thomas Kinkade’s work. He basically raked Kinkade over the coals for not being enough like Dostoyevsky. My take on the article is that Siedell thought that the absence of pain, the absence of evil, the absence of the Fall failed to allow any sign of grace to shine through all that light. I suppose he has a valid point, but does all art have to mirror Dostoyevsky or someone like Flannery O’Connor for it to be considered grace-filled?

A clue might be in a quote Siedell attributes to Kinkade: “I like to portray a world without the Fall.” This appears to come from a Christianity Today article from 2000. You can read more of what he says there.

The beef with this statement from Kinkade is that is not the world we live in. And for that to be a goal is a misrepresentation of the truth. But Kinkade also says: “The world is very dark, but in heaven there is no dark.” Unfortunately, that brings up another problem: his paintings are not about heaven. They deal squarely with the scenes of earth.

Two questions: First, should we be concerned about an artist’s theological purpose if it is contrary to the way the Bible relates the world to us? Second, is Kinkade guilty of some sort of artistic heresy that we need to stamp out?

The answer to the first is yes—if the artist is intending to speak as a believer in Jesus Christ. His purpose should match up with Scripture, and this is irrespective of what we might think of the art. So does Kinkade break any theological rules? As long as we know and are aware of his purpose: fantasy, can we not then move on to whether or not it is good art? Tolkien wrote, in my opinion, a masterful work called The Lord of the Rings. He explicitly said that it was not meant to be an allegory—many have ignored these words and gone on to show how Christian it was. It may have been, but that was not his purpose. His purpose was to create a fantasy story, complete with other gods, other creators besides the creator God of the Bible. Whatever we think about the quality of Kinkade’s work, in purpose, is it different than Tolkien’s?

The second question is not so easy to answer because it involves all the people who love his work, and there are lots of people who love his work. But why do they love it? Do they need to love it only if it reveals the biblical concept of grace? Or is it ok to love it because it makes them feel good? Ultimately, our creations should point others to God. And when fallen humanity sees God, the Bible indicates that one of two responses is typical: “Woe is me for I am undone!” and “Oh the depth and riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!” The response in various grades is either despair at our own condition or praise and adoration at our changed condition.

If Kinkade’s work draws us to heaven, and in the scenes of everyday life, we get glimpses of what life will be like: a present shadow—ironically achieved with light—of our future reality, then he is not guilty of such a vile act as Seidell accuses him of. If, however, his viewers are drawn to what might be here on earth, are made to loathe their existence here based on what they think their earthly life should be like, are left more focused on their own failures instead of God’s glory, then we should be more cautious in praising his work.

But that is an individual experience, is it not? Are we to become thought police for everyone who reads Dostoyevsky and sees only despair and never grace and then accuse Dostoyevsky of avoiding grace? I haven’t surveyed the landscape on what the Kinkade lovers see in his work.

For me, however, what Kinkade brings up is nostalgia: the idea that times used to be better. And that is patently untrue. Man has always been fallen. Man has always been depraved. Man has never been happy and comfortable in his cottage by the lake in static reverie. That is not to say that we consistently wallow in a joyless existence either.

So my take: if all the art you imbibe is Kinkade-like art, you are not getting a complete diet of art. It would be like eating sweets all day. And if we do that, we will enjoy the taste to our detriment and eventual death. So have some Kinkade if you like that sort of thing and it turns your eyes to heaven, but don’t forget your body’s—your soul’s—need for someone like Dostoyevsky.

Andy Stanley and What Has NOT Been Talked About

Albert Mohler, president of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary recently wrote an article on his blog about megachurches. In the article, he referenced an April 15 sermon (click on message 5: When Gracie Met Truthy) by Andy Stanley of North Point Community Church in Atlanta where Stanley seems to normalize homosexual behavior. After reading the article and listening to the sermon and then reading several other articles, what amazes me is what people weren’t upset about. Of course, many in the evangelical world would be upset about his apparent normalization and acceptance of homosexual behavior, but no one seemed to notice three bigger, underlying issues.

First, Stanley says that Jesus’ love was messy, inconsistent, unfair, and confusing. Granted, he sort of implied that these were from our perspective—but not really. Because he went on to say that when our love seems messy, inconsistent, unfair, and confusing, we must be doing it right. I would disagree. First, while things may have appeared messy, inconsistent, unfair, and confusing from the disciples’ or our point of view, they certainly were not from Jesus’ point of view. And we need to keep that in mind. Stanley says that when we try to figure it out, we are in danger of losing something. Again, I would disagree. We need to understand why Jesus was not inconsistent or unfair (from our point of view) so that we can accurately display God’s love as well. To imply that Jesus was inconsistent and unfair shows a lack of understanding about Jesus’ deity. He was not just a man who changed the rules. Certainly he related to different people in different ways, but he was perfectly consistent in his love, grace, truth, justice, and holiness.

Second, Stanley redefined two key theological terms: grace and truth. In giving a long list of things that grace means, he said, “Grace says, ‘You’re fine.'” But Grace does not say, “You’re fine.” In fact, grace is the loud and clear declaration that we are not fine. Grace is getting something we don’t deserve. If we are fine, we don’t need grace, and therefore, we don’t need God. This is a horrible representation of what grace is. He also said, in a long string of what truth means, that truth says, “You’ve got to work it out.” Truth does not say that in the Bible. Truth says, “You can’t work it out, but God can.” Stanley even pitted grace and truth against each other like two parents raising a child. While he didn’t use this analogy, I came across with the perception of good cop/bad cop sort of deal. But again, this is not correct. God is both grace and truth. They do not battle each other, and certainly grace is not untruth, as Stanley implied. Granted, Stanley did say, on more than one occasion, that Jesus was complete grace and complete truth, and he even had a nice visual to demonstrate this. But the previous long explanation about the differences between the two stayed in my mind as well, and they were what actually stuck with me more than the visual.

Finally, the issue of shepherd and sheep comes into play in the sermon. In the long story he told as his final illustration of the importance of grace and truth, a man and his male partner were allowed to be involved in some ministry team even though one of the men was still married. It took a conversation with the ex-wife of the other man with Andy Stanley and then a phone call to the satellite church for the men to be removed from the ministry team because of the adultery of the married man. How is it that two unmarried people, engaging in extra-marital sex, with both men committing adultery—one on his former wife, the other on his current wife—are allowed to be actively involved in ministry? Was there no one to ask questions? Had the church gotten so big, and desperate, for volunteers that any warm body could sign up to serve?

It appears that North Point is in danger in at least three ways. First, they have diminished the character of the Lord Jesus Christ. Second, they are teaching a false idea of two key theological terms: grace and truth. Third, they have lost control of the ability to monitor the spiritual fitness of  those who desire to serve in ministry. And if these issues aren’t dealt with, it will matter little what North Point’s view of homosexuality is.

Jesus vs. Michael Phelps

Ran across a bizarre website today thanks to Christian Striver. This triggered the following thoughts (reader discretion advised):

How can he swim in that robe? What’s up with the blood in the water every time you run the cursor over his hands and feet (I know about the crucifixion, but why is he bleeding when out for a swim)? Why does he have a chain in his hand? Could he beat Michael Phelps? I wonder what he’d look like in one of those ultra-fast-space-age swim suits? Could he beat Michael Phelps?

Then I was reminded of a conversation with a student several years ago about the Passion of the Christ. She hated the movie because it didn’t portray Jesus accurately. When I asked her what portrayal she had issues with, she said when he was shown tripping and falling as a boy. At first I thought she was joking, but she was not. She said that since he created everything, he would have known the rock was there and would not have tripped over it. The fall portrays him as imperfect, which he was not.

While an interesting theory, it misses the entire point of the incarnation. God became man, subject to the limitations of the human body. His breath stunk when he woke up in the morning. He passed gas. He got dirt in his eye (no his being God did not allow him to blink at the right time to avoid it). He tripped and skinned his knee as a boy. He had pimples. More then likely he had crooked teeth. He stubbed his toe on the corner of the bed. He might have even picked his nose now and again. And, no, he could not beat Michael Phelps in the 100 m butterfly.

Though he might part the water at the right time and drop him a few feet as a joke.

The Shack: Style and Semantics

I have finished listening to The Shack. The recording included an author’s explanation of how the book came about as well as a “friendly” interview (I have also just finished listening to an “unfriendly” interview.) Young answered my concerns about the quality of writing: basically self-published.

As stated in an earlier post, I struggle to comment on the book because I can’t remember the points I wanted to discuss, and I can’t go back and check what I thought I heard (actually, I don’t want to spend time rewinding and hunting, but I could). All that to say, I know some of Young’s theology is suspect, but I also know that he does some other things well. I have thought about commenting on other’s reviews, but you can read those yourself if you are interested.

I do want to comment on one argument in the “unfriendly” interview mentioned above. While Young did fail to answer some of the interviewer’s questions, they also wrangled over semantics. One might say, “We’ll just define your terms and move on.” The problem occurs when someone uses a term differently than how everyone else does. If the majority of Christians use a term one way, and someone else uses the same term differently, confusion can occur. 

When Bultman says he believes in the resurrection, someone might say, “So what’s the big deal?” The big deal is that Bultman does not believe in the same resurrection as most Christians. He believes in a spiritual resurrection. Bultman’s resurrection leaves Jesus in the grave. I can’t reconcile that with 1 Corinthians 15:12-19. 

So we must use care in using our terms, and if we use a term differently than it is normally used, we must define it to avoid confusion at best and accusations of heresy at worst. Young has left himself open to that charge.

Preaching Tips

I see that a few folks from theologyblogs are reading this site. Thought you might be interested in this expository preaching site: short, daily preaching tips.

Probable Impossibles

Madeleine L’Engle in Walking on Water quotes Aristotle: “That which is probable and impossible is better than that which is possible and improbable.” Fiction works this way. We buy the boy riding the dragon (an impossibility) because the author has made it a probable occurrence in his novel. However, when a normal character does something that the author has not set up his character to do, even if it is something he could do, the reader doubts. 

So what’s the point? My troubles with The Shack belong in this category. Mack keeps doing things that just seem improbable. I wish I were reading instead of listening as I can’t give you a direct quote, but Mack, racked with sorrow and depression, will hear something from God or Jesus or the Holy Spirit and all of a sudden all is well. And I don’t think God’s explanation answers Mack’s questions. In fact, God has promised a better explanation later about a couple of issues (hell and judgment), but as of yet, He (or should I say, she) hasn’t delivered. For me, Mack’s character is possible but improbable. And that makes The Shack less fun than this interesting theological treatise should be. I don’t want to be thinking, “Mack wouldn’t do that!” when I’m trying to wrestle with the theology of the book. For me, the writing distracts from the message. 

The Death of an Acronym

Now he’s gone and done it. I had lived my Christian life on the FAT motto up ’til now. You know: faithful, available, and teachable. Now, I’m just left with FA. What is that? A long, long way to run? And to think I was so pleased that by 2048, we’d all be FAT. I just knew that Jesus was coming back then. Now, he’s gone and pushed the 2^nd coming back who knows who long. First it was South Beach and Atkins, and now this logical mortar shell to my acronymistic theology. What is the world coming to?

Well, two can play at this game. I’ll just come up with another acronym. Hmmm—let’s see. 

Ok, I can’t be teachable any more. I guess that means I’m perfect. Ok, we have a P. Now, this new found perfection came about by logic. So now we have an L. Ok, we are in desperate need of a vowel. Well, following the logic from the above blog, I suppose I am both omniscient and omnipotent. Hey, there’s two vowels. Cool. Now, I’ve always been one to live by the fruit of the Spirit, so—well, let’s just use the word fruit; this is getting too hard. Now, what do we have: two O’s an L and a P. Oh, got it. Fruitloop.