The Spiritual Wanderings of a Famous Author

I went to see Les Misérables a few days ago. Amazing Film. And in the interest of full disclosure, I unashamedly cried like my three-year-old in several places throughout the film.

There’s a story about Victor Hugo that few people know. I stumbled across it  a few years ago and I couldn’t help thinking about it as I watched the film. Hugo grew up as the son of an atheist father and a devout Catholic mother. Initially, he found spiritual meaning in the Catholic Church but over time he found himself wandering into the “spiritual but not religious” movement of that day: Mesmerism. People who embraced Mesmerism were looking for some of the same “buzzwords” you might hear today: holism, spiritual encounter, empowerment, connection and, above all, meaning.

Steeped in political activism, Hugo was exiled to the Channel Islands in the early 1850s where he penned some of his most famous works, including Les Misérables. But also while there, he continued to grieve over the death of his only daughter, Léopoldine, some ten years earlier. Though Hugo was technically a rationalist on paper, he saw Mesmerism as a way to make contact with his own dear “Cosette.” So using a Mesmerist trance medium, he reached out to his daughter in the afterlife. There are records of Hugo’s séances.  They cite him pitifully pleading with his deceased daughter saying,

“Do you see the suffering of those who love you?”

It’s interesting to me that when Hugo reached for spiritual and emotional comfort, he did not embrace the formal religion of his youth. Rather, he sought contact with the spirit world through alternative spirituality. Someone who might be hailed as the political conscience of a entire country – like Hugo was – was really just like everyone else. He was simply a human trying to make sense of the world around him in the midst of tragedy and loss. He was simply someone willing to take risks to find a way to connect with God when more conventional means of religiosity had failed him time and again.

There’s a line in the song Red and Black that lodged in my memory as I watched the film the other day. As a political rebel fighting for a cause, Enjorlas chides the love-sick Marius, “But now there is a higher call. Who cares about your lonely soul?” But personally, Hugo was staging his own inner spiritual revolt on the Channel Islands while writing Les Misérables. And the question follows, is there really any higher call than each person’s desire to connect with God? Maybe the result of Hugo’s spiritual quest was unconventional. But we must admire someone who is willing to continue to look for something beyond what he could see.

A Nice Little Apocalyptic Bedtime Story…

So, I promised you a story in my last post – one that shows the interconnections between religious groups in history. Theology isn’t done in a vacuum and many of the groups that we assume are totally unrelated often have had a significant impact on the other. So let’s talk about how an 19th century Baptist farmer influenced a cult leader in Waco, Texas…

William Miller, upon returning from military service after the War of 1812, began to predict the end of the world. He was convinced of his findings by 1818 though he kept them private until the mid-1820s: the second coming of Christ will occur in 1844. By the 1830s, Miller’s prediction had created quite a buzz in the New England area and became a national phenomenon by 1840. March 21 was the date. It came and went and a new date was set for April 18. Nothing happened on that day either. At this point, Miller began to apologize to his followers. But just then, another Millerite came up with a new date: October 22. The thousands of Millerites rallied again for the new date only to experience the “Great Disappointment” at that time. Many became disillusioned and walked away from the church for good. Others split off into other groups while those faithful to Miller formed the Advent Christian Church.

Another group came from Miller’s followers: The Seventh Day Adventist Church. Hiram Edson, a former Methodist brought hope to thousands by explaining how Jesus could have “returned” without us seeing him – Edson spiritualized Christ’s return. Christ had come to cleanse the “Temple” by beginning the process of judgment in the heavens but had not yet come to earth. Eventually, prophetess Ellen G. White came to lead the group and placed emphasis on keep Old Testament laws, hence the name Seventh Day Adventist. The Seventh Day Adventist Church formally came into being in the 1860s.

Things rocked along for a while until the 20th century. In 1930, Victor Houteff wrote a pamphlet that criticized the SDA church. He also said that Christ was going to purge the church again by raising up another lineage of David. The number counted in this lineage? 144,000, of course. In 1942, Houteff and his followers broke away from the Seventh Day Adventist Church to form the Davidian Seventh Day Adventists. They founded a religious center named Mt. Carmel near Waco, Texas. Bored yet? Come on, you know this is interesting stuff…

In the next several decades, the Davidian Seventh Day Adventists experienced another miscalculated date for the end of the world and their leader, Benjamin Roden, was sentenced to an insane asylum. Around this same time, they changed their name to the “Branch” Davidians. Vernon

Howell showed up on the scene, changed his name to David (in honor of King David) Koresh and began to preach that Armageddon was near. It was…in the form of the ATF.

Interesting story huh? There was no way that anyone could predict that the date-setting attempts of a Baptist farmer in the 1840s would play a part in the origins of  one of the most sensational religious fringe movements in American history. That’s what’s so interesting about it. We can rarely predict anything much less the end of the world. And for every religious “river” flowing through our history, there are thousands of tributaries that flow from them. And then those tributaries turn into a river…as a movement, denomination, or sect – some famous and others infamous. No one group stands alone and the marginalized group of today could easily become the mainstay of the next century.

I hope you enjoyed your apocalyptic bedtime story. Goodnight, kids…

History’s Take on the Word of Faith Movement

With the recent passing of Oral Roberts, I began to ponder the Word of Faith movement and it’s impact on our present theological landscape. I grew up on a steady diet of T.V. evangelists. And as a young Christian, I adopted much of the “prosperity gospel” or “Word of Faith” message I heard. Now, there’s much within “Word of Faith” that needs correction. A friend of mine wrote a balanced treatment of that here (give it moment to download). But there’s some good things about it as well. That may be strange for you to hear, since normally people either love the “Word of Faith” message or they think it’s heresy. Sorry, I wish it were that simple. Sure, prosperity preachers say some wacked out things. But they also believe God actually cares about the day-to-day issues of life, like finances and health. And that’s something many of their detractors have no answer for. People who say God does a greater work by “healing the soul,” and not the body are completely out of touch with real life. Of course, there’s balance – God’s not gonna give you a Mercedes because you confessed it into existence. But neither am I the least bit afraid to say that God does bless people materially and financially.

Most people see the “prosperity gospel” as a new phenomenon – something created in the last 40 years or so. An “Americanized” form of Christianity that hinges upon Western consumerism and greed. And if you merely study contemporary reflections of Christianity, you may convince yourself that you are correct. But there are countless examples throughout church history that say otherwise (you can start with historians Keith Thomas, Valerie Flint, and Stephen Wilson for this information). For example, Keith Thomas in Religion and the Decline of Magic, tells the story of a local parishioner who believed his excommunication was ineffective since he had his best crop production the following year. In other words, this guy thought that if God had been angry at him, he would not have received such blessing. Yet his material prosperity stated otherwise. Most Christians throughout history have followed this line of thinking.

Equating material and relational “prosperity” to Christianity is as old as the church itself. This most commonly involved alternative uses of consecrated items found within the church. Parishioners drank holy water as a cure for illness, sprinkled it on their homes, their fields, and on their cattle for protection. Clergy performed exorcisms to make fields fruitful, lit holy candles to protect animals, and spoke curses to drive away vermin, weeds, and crop destroying insects. During communion, parishioners would not swallow the host but hold it in their mouth until they returned to their seat. They then carried the host as an amulet for protection, to cure disease, or sometimes ground it into powder to sprinkle over crops as a charm against caterpillars. Christians also took the blessed palms from Palm Sunday back to their farms where they placed them above their beds, on religious pictures, over doors, or planted them in the fields to ensure good crops. They were also placed in the cradles of babies, used to ward off storms, or weaved into small crosses that the people used as talismans. The practice of making palm crosses was banned in the 1540s, yet people continued these practices to the end of the 1800s. At calendar festivals, animals were blessed by the priest, sprinkled with holy water, and ritually washed or dipped as part of ceremony for health and protection. There are reports of parishioners withholding their tithes from ministers who refused to perform such remedies.

Despite clergy’s efforts to state otherwise, Christians have always believed in a prosperity gospel. The examples above explain this thinking: though Jesus helped in the afterlife, a cross worn around the neck protected from peril now. Though the Eucharist represented a life of spiritual communion with God, the host could be sprinkled over crops now. Though the blood of Jesus atoned sin, communion wine could heal a sick child now. It shouldn’t surprise anyone to learn that the rise of such practices roughly coincided with the marginalization of spiritual gifts by clergy.

Belief in ”prosperity” did not stop with the Reformation or with the Enlightenment. With Catholic and Protestant clergy condemning their use, people continued to employ alternate methods for physical and financial well-being. In 1594, Lutheran inspectors in Germany reported that “the use of spells is so widespread among the people here that not a man or woman begins…or refrains from doing anything…without employing some particular blessing, incantation, spell, or other such heathenish means…” They did this because clergy gave them no Christian alternative. So, they found substitutes. Documented examples like this exist into the twentieth century.

So, Sam, what are you trying to say? I’m saying that most Christians (until they are taught otherwise) honestly believe that God should be willing to intervene in their daily lives bringing “prosperity” in the forms of material blessing, protection, deliverance, healing, and wealth. Telling them they shouldn’t expect such things has never deterred anyone from seeking God’s blessing. The “Word of Faith” movement is merely a modern manifestation of this. And though some may see such requests for “blessing” beneath them, the majority of Christians throughout history have thought differently. The “prosperity gospel” isn’t new. In fact, wherever you find well-meaning Christians seeking the kindness and generosity of God, you’ll find it. If God cares at all, then he must care about all aspects of our lives.

Heretics, Cults, and Crazy People: What’s All the Fuss?

As a follow up to the Interview with a Wiccan post, I thought I’d explain a little about cults, the occult, and alternative religions. I find these to be some of the most confusing topics about religion. Hopefully, I can clear up some misconceptions with this post.

Sects/cults become credible over time as new members are added and others begin to accept their existence. As sects turn into more accepted denominations, they often breed spiritual complacency among their members who begin to desire to return to the “good old days” when the movement was smaller and more radical.  In turn, this produces more sect formation by dissatisfied members. These “renewal movements” only  become independent sects when the existing church rejects their overtures for spiritual renewal. They merely want to renew the spiritual life of the church. If they are accepted, we call them “revivals” and talk about how great they are. Pejorative labels such as “cult” are given by the mainstream body after rejecting the movement’s overtures for change. Often times, sects require strict adherence to beliefs and high levels of commitment – essentially an  ”all or nothing” approach. Conversely, sectarians believe that the stress of asceticism is rewarded with spiritual power – something the group that rejected them did not possess.

And that’s when all the heresy talk starts. Our understanding of heresy now (which is applied to all types of religious “infractions”) is not the same as the early church. Initially, it only dealt with foundational truths of the Christian faith – namely the divinity of Jesus. In the fifth and sixth centuries, it became associated with other aspects of Christianity - for example Origen’s musings about universalism. But honestly the modern term most commonly derives its nastiness from the writers of church history. Hopefully everyone knows by now that only the “winners” in history write the books. And the same is true of church history. Cult critics initially only disapproved of a group’s method of worship, not the doctrines themselves. But over time, as accusations are repeated in church histories, the doctrine was often deemed heretical as well. For example, the Montanists (initially part of the church) were a rigorous and devout group of Christians – orthodox in their foundational beliefs. However, by choosing to self-appoint church leaders and hold a place for women in leadership, they came under ecclesiastical fire. Along with that came the critic’s rejection of the Montanist’s use of spiritual gifts. It’s not that the gifts were wrong – but that women were practicing them. Eusebius quotes Apollonius: “Does a prophet paint his eyelids?” The issue was not with prophecy but rather who was prophesying: someone the church had not sanctioned. Throughout church history, heresy had little to do with doctrine and much to do with issues of recognized authority.

As such, cults aren’t usually heretics in the authentic sense of the word. What cults oftentimes are is heterodox. Now that doesn’t mean “wrong.” It means outside of mainstream acceptance. Any evangelical historian worth their salt will tell you that “orthodox” simply means the “majority opinion” – it doesn’t necessarily mean that the majority opinion is “correct,” though many times it does. So, many of the “orthodox” opinions we hold today were at one time heterodox, until enough people accepted them. To step away from religion for a minute, we all hold gravity to be an “orthodox” part of science. But Newton developed the “heterodox” idea of gravity from his occult beliefs in Neoplatonism, and alchemy. That may surprise you. But that’s a perfect example of something “heterodox” evolving into an accepted mainstream and orthodox belief. If the origins of gravity embarrass you, then you’re missing the point. All things are heterodox at their inception - including religious belief systems.

So, what should you glean from all of this? First, stop throwing around the term “heresy” for every little religious belief that doesn’t match your preconceived ideas. Secondly, no matter what mainstream religious group you belong to, you can thank your original “cult” leaders for being persistent in the face of opposition from the mainstrean religion of the time. What people called “crazy” then, we call “normal” now. And, third, be kind to the people “beneath” you on the religious food chain – they will be where you are within a couple of centuries…

Sometimes I Feel Bad for Arius…

Back in the first centuries of the Christian movement, a priest from Africa named Arius stirred up some trouble. Though Arius spent the majority of his days as a religious upstart at Alexandria, he was trained at Antioch. That’s an important bit of info. There were two main “schools” of thought in Christianity then: Antioch and Alexandria. Alexandria was known for interpreting the Bible in an allegorical fashion. Much of the Alexandrian writings are first year church history for seminary students. Antiochan giants like Theodoret of Cyrus, Theodore of Mopsuestia, and Diodore of Tarsus held to a strict literal interpretation of biblical passages. These are really important theologians who receive very little attention nowadays. Yet, if you haven’t spent some time with these fellas, you’re gonna have a pretty simplistic view of early church history. Then again, you could just read Bruce Shelley.

Arius began devoting his sermons to investigating the question: “Was Jesus really God or was he just a human?”Arius had trouble believing God and Jesus existed together prior to the incarnation. This really isn’t that surprising. Antiochian theology focused on the “humanness” of Jesus – it was only a slight misstep that would lead Arius toward a form of adoptionism. So, for roughly the next three centuries, Alexandrian-heavy councils dragged Arius and company through the mud in their writings using nasty words like “heretic.” And for most Christians, that’s all we know about him. Was Arius wrong? Sure. Jesus is God. But there’s more to the story.

People rarely ask why Arius struggled with the divinity of Jesus. His reasoning is not much different from many struggling Christians today. Most of us were taught growing up that God the Father was a sovereign despot concerned with protecting his image of magisterial omnipotence. Liberal Protestant preacher Lyman Abbot put it this way: God is a “kind of awful omnipotent police justice” and each of us is a “scared culprit who knows he is liable to punishment but does not clearly know why.”  And that keeps many Christians in line. Afraid of God…but in line.

There’s only one problem. Jesus looks very different than that…and in John 14, Jesus had the gall to say he was just like the Father. And that’s what bugged Arius so long ago. He had been taught that God was unfeeling (impassible) and Jesus seemed so different. And because God did not seem to possess the qualities associated with Jesus, Arius assumed they weren’t the same at all. He was protecting the Father’s impassibility over against the “human” suffering in Jesus. If God did not feel our pain, how could he become one of us? Arius’ answer was simple: he didn’t. Arius’ responded when asked if Jesus and God are the same: “No! I would never insult the majesty of God that way!” This thought pattern also affects how many view the cross today: good Jesus protecting us from bad God.

There’s a good lesson here. People’s actions make it in the textbook. But their intentions rarely do. And what’s important to note here is that a struggling priest was attempting to think outside the box when reconciling his ministerial training with what he actually read in the Bible. He’d been taught that God was a “police justice” and wasn’t sure what to do with the compassionate Jesus he read about in the gospels. No one else had a good answer either so he courageously took a stab at it and was branded a heretic for the ages. But really, he was just a man attempting to understand God a little better. We should be careful when reading our history books. While it’s important to oppose false doctrine, we need to be careful not to disdain the struggles, fears, and mistakes of people in the process. Arius was doing the best he could. May we have grace to do the same.

Reconciling Faith and Science: The “Humanness” of Science, Part 3

More examples of the “humanness” of scientific inquiry…

When Albert Einstein created the General Theory of Relativity, he didn’t like what he discovered. His theory predicted that the universe was slowly expanding or contracting – the universe was moving, one way or the other. At the time, that was a completely unconventional idea. So much so, that Einstein did something very human: the thought that the universe may not be uniform or constant was so repulsive to him that he inserted a “fudge factor”  – a variable constant, retrofitted to keep the universe in a state of eternal equilibrium. Einstein’s theory told him what he didn’t want to accept…so he changed the formula to adapt to his beliefs.

In the 1920s, Edwin Hubble (Hubble telescope) further confirmed that the universe was in fact expanding. So, Einstein actually took a trip to see Hubble’s data with his own eyes. Both men believed in a static universe – but eventually conceded the point. The universe came into existence sometime in the past. Into the thirties and forties, scientists continued to rail against the implications of Hubble’s discovery. In 1938, when asked about the issue, chemist Walter Nerst angrily stated: “We cannot form a scientific hypothesis which contradicts the very foundations of science.”

The dissention continued through the forties, fifties, and sixties. Astrophysicist Arthur Eddington stated: “Philosophically, the notion of a beginning to the present order of nature is repugnant.” Rather than accepting the expanding universe and the beginning of existence, scientists spent their time coming up with alternate theories to contradict it. In 1948, Scientists Gold, Bondi, and Hoyle came up with the Steady State model while other scientists adhered to the “oscillating-universe” model. Both models stated that the universe had no starting point and remained in a state of equilibrium – Newtonian physics was safe. But eventually in 1965, two scientists in the Bell Telephone Lab provided data to support the “big bang”: cosmic microwave background radiation – a left over relic from the origins of the universe. 

 By the 1990s, based on mathematical computation and computer-generated models, most astrophysicists confidently stated that all solar systems in the universe behave in the same way as ours. In 1995, Michel Mayor and Didier Queloz discovered a planet with similar characteristics to Jupiter orbiting a star in the constellation Pegasus. Everyone assumed this planet with similar physical properties would behave just like Jupiter does in relation to our Sun. They were very surprised to learn that the planet behaved nothing like Jupiter. It hurries around its host star every 4.2 days. It takes the earth 365 days. The planet only measured 1/8 the distance from its star that Mercury is from our Sun. So, it was closer and faster. About these differences, Mayor said, “It was very strange to consider the attitude of people facing something completely in disagreement with theory…some astronomers said things like ‘Oh, this is not a planet because you cannot form Jupiter-like planets close to their stars.’” But obviously, you can. 

Once again, like last week – am I making a case against science? No. I like science. I’m making a case for the very real “humanness” of any academic discipline. Every discipline has stories like these in its history. Yet, though religious ones are paraded for a wide audience, you have probably never heard about these. Next post, I’ll explain why we feel that “humanness” in science is unacceptable.

Reconciling Faith and Science: The “Humanness” of Science, Part 1

Here are some historical examples of the “humanness” of science: where human beliefs and paradigms directly affected scientific inquiry:

Copernicus, in support of his proof for the heliocentric theory, cited Hermes Trismegistus (an occultist from ancient times whose writings found popular appeal in the Rennaisance occult revival) who worshipped the Sun as the essence of God. Copernicus derived his initial understanding of the Sun as the center of the universe from occult writings of his time. He then moved forward to test that hypothesis on the assumption that his occult/religious beliefs were correct.

Johannes Kepler, one of the heroes of the scientific revolution, believed the universe was modeled on the Trinity: “For in the act of making, God…arranged the adorable image of the Trinity. The Sun represents the Father. The outer ring of the cosmos represents Christ. The space between planetary bodies is the Holy Spirit.” Though it’s no longer portrayed that way, Kepler’s scientific reasoning was founded on his theology. He also made horoscopes to predict the future and believed that all the planets made musical harmonies.

Isaac Newton was a devout alchemist – he wrote over a million words on alchemy (most only exist in manuscript form). Part of this writing involved corresponding with John Locke (the political philosopher and British empiricist) and Robert Boyle (the father of modern Chemistry). Newton adapted his alchemical beliefs in an all-pervasive force connecting the universe to his scientific work. This “universal fluid” acted upon all things on earth as well. He named the spiritual force “gravity.” He was also a chronic date setter for the return of Christ, using the Book of Revelation. Before gravity became a scientific mainstay, it was a religious belief.

The English term “electricity” was introduced by an alchemist, Jean-Baptiste von Helmont, in 1650. Helmont believed that electricity was the fluid of the universe that connected his alchemical studies to theology and science. “Electrical theologians” began to appear on the scene. Pietist Friedrich Oetinger believed electricity was the “world spirit” that energized life.

Even the beginning of evolutionary theory was not immune from religious foundations. G.F. Meier proposed that animals ascend the scale of evolutionary progress over several lives: “It is possible that animals representing the lowest class should be promoted through death into a second, from there into a third…” Charles Fourier adopted a similar “scientific” view of life: he believed that the evolution of species occurred through the Pythagorean doctrine of the transmigration of souls. In other words, the religious belief of reincarnation informed Fourier’s pre-Darwinian views of evolution.

Franz Anton Mesmer in the 1800s described an occult fluid he called “animal magnetism” that flowed through everything we see and connected our bodies, the earth, and the planets together. Obstruction of the flow of animal magnetism is the cause of human disease. From this concept, the secular disciplines of hypnotism, reflexology, massage, and chiropractic medicine are derived.

Modern medicine is not immune to religious foundations either. A Renaissance occultist and alchemist named Paracelsus played a vital role in the development of modern medicine and anatomy. He developed the first modern theory of metabolism and provided medicine with its first functional conception of physiology. Paracelsus believed that we are spiritually connected the cosmos. Our bodies are merely a smaller version of the universe. So, by studying the zodiac, we can learn about human anatomy. Paracelsus also taught (similar to those before him) that a spiritual fluid resided in each human and that it was transferable to others. He also believed that “there are two kinds of disease, one material affecting the body, the other immaterial in the spirit…When the spirit suffers so does the body, for it manifests itself in the body.” Here, Paracelsus is accurately describing the medical profession’s dealings with psychosomatic or psychophysiological disorders. Psychotropic drugs to combat anxiety, depression, and stress-related illness are top sellers in the U.S. today. Paracelsus was describing it in the 1500s…using a religious perspective.

If you feel that I am attacking science, you have misunderstood my point. I’m not. I like science. I am merely conveying the very real subjectivity that exists in the midst of all human activity. Some people see the “humanness” of science as a point of weakness. But science is a human endeavor and all humans bring their personal beliefs to bear on their work. Until we see that religion and science are both human enterprises, then we are incapable of determining if they fit together or not. Obviously these examples are not modern ones – I wanted to show that our separation of faith and science is a post-Enlightenment phenomenon. I’ll share some modern stories and quotes with you next post.

Spiritual Gifts and Reformed Theology: Can They Co-exist?, Part 2

3) Confining spiritual gifts to conversion: By the time of the Reformation, Christian mysticism had developed into several different strands. The mystical treatises previous to Luther’s time always emphasized the availability of God’s presence in a post-conversion state, similar to the doctrines of sanctification and the baptism in the Holy Spirit of the Holiness and Pentecostal traditions. But Luther consciously rejected these mystics and chose to draw from the work of John Tauler and the anonymous Theologia Germanica instead. Both of these works (and subsequently Luther) taught that all the gifts you need you receive at conversion alone. There is no post-conversion experience and the gifts these works cite are the Isaiah list passed down through Scholasticism. This is really the first place that the idea of “one baptism, many fillings” shows up in Christian history. Any experience a believer can have originates strictly at the salvation moment. There is no baptism in the Holy Spirit other than what the Holy Spirit does to enforce the saving work of Christ.

Because of all of this, Luther’s commentaries pass over most passages that describe Jesus’ healings in the gospels. Miracles have passed away and “no new and special revelation or miracle is necessary” since an “immeasurably greater and more glorious work and miracle” is found in salvation. Tongues is no longer given since the church speaks all languages and only “fanatical spirits and sectarians” would seek such a gift. Luther, like Gregory before him,  attaches merit to not seeking spiritual gifts since “nobody should presume to exercise it if it is not necessary or required.” The inference here is that since God determines all detailed events in life by his sovereignty, the need for signs and wonders should never arise. A miracle would contradict the natural order and ultimately contradict God’s predetermined will.

Calvin towed the line, stating that healing “had its beginning from the Apostles, which afterwards, however, was turned into superstition, as the world almost always degenerates into corruptions.” His cessation sentiments are similar to those before him: “[The possibility of spiritual gifts] either does not exist today or is less commonly seen.” Counterfeit miracles are determined by their association with wrong doctrine rather than their supernatural nature. For Calvin, the more charismatic gifts of 1 Corinthians have mutated into more permanent gifts of the intellect – tongues is seen as the ability to preach in a foreign language and the gift of discernment is the ability to rationally determine false doctrine. That sounds alot like the Reformed tendencies of today to me.

4) Modern expressions of these issues: Charismatics maintained a distinct post-conversion experience until the rise of the the Third Wave movement in Pentecostalism. Beginning in the 1980s with its influence continuing well into the 1990s, the basic premise of Third Wave groups is to embrace the move of the Holy Spirit, particularly the aspects of healing, deliverance, intimacy of worship, and spiritual warfare without disrupting the general church structures or denominations of which they are apart. The phrase was coined by C. Peter Wagner, who spearheaded the doctrinal emphasis of the movement. On a practical level, however, John Wimber and the Vineyard Movement were the driving force behind the Third Wave phenomenon. Wimber, once an associate of Chuck Smith, would eventually separate from Calvary Chapel due to his emphasis on spiritual gifts while choosing to retain a Reformed approach to doctrinal issues. Similarly, Wagner cites a Reformed-based approach to spiritual gifts in describing Third Wave doctrine. This is particularly evident in the Third Wave belief that the baptism in the Holy Spirit only occurs at conversion with multiple fillings that may resemble what Pentecostals would normally consider a second experience. Once again, “one baptism, many fillings” is directly imported from the Reformed tradition. Also, common the Third Wavers is the absence of the gift of tongues. Though the Third Wave movement made some charismatic manifestations acceptable in mainline denominations, it aggressively minimized the distinctive phenomena that had characterized the Pentecostal movement since its inception. Following its Reformed roots, the Third Wave essentially made Pentecostalism non-Pentecostal.

Many theologians, although accepting limited roles of experience, reject a secondary post conversion event. James Dunn, Max Turner, and Veli-Matti Kärkkäinen restrict forms of Spirit baptism to the conversion experience. Unfortunately, even some Pentecostal theologians have gone along with the crowd. Assemblies of God theologian Gordon Fee followed the Reformed tendency to see sanctification as merely a “metaphor for conversion.” So even though charismatic manifestations are now acceptable, all historical attempts to integrate spiritual gifts into Reformed theology have consistently resulted in the diluting of spiritual gifts. Reformed attempts to integrate spiritual gifts have generally left charismatic Christianity a mile wide and an inch deep. History proves this to be true. And though it’s not the popular opinion, I just can’t accept that. I can’t help but feel that Christian spirituality is meant to be deep and event-laden. To minimize the charismata is remove one of the main points of intimacy between us and God. Though others see the gifts as expendable, I’ll take them every time. Can spiritual gifts and Reformed theology co-exist? If historical precedent is any indication, the answer is no.

Spiritual Gifts and Reformed Theology: Can They Co-exist?, Part 1

A little while back, I told some fellow bloggers here that I didn’ t think charismatic gifts (the traditional 1 Corinthians list) and traditional Reformed theology were compatible. Though you could write a book on this topic, I do want to address some the issues I believe make them difficult to reconcile. As always, you’re free to disagree and comment. Please know that I am writing this assuming a basic understanding of both topics at hand. I won’t be stopping for definitions and the like. I’ll handle the issues in this order: 1) allegorization of miracles, 2) the Isaiah gift list, 3) confining spiritual gifts to conversion, and 4) modern expressions of these issues.

1) Allegorization of miracles: Even though the gifts of the Spirit were still common during the postbiblical period (even by “scaffolding model” timelines), clergy began to substitute allegorical interpretations for actual miraculous events and charismata. The need for miracles and spiritual gifts began to be seen as an elementary approach to Christianity, similar to the way the Alexandrian school taught that literal interpretation of scripture was beneath a mature believer. Rather, God’s acts of creation and the ”healing” of the soul (conversion) became the true miracles of the church. Augustine, in his Homilies on the Gospel of John, stated, “The Samaritans had waited for no sign, they believed simply His word.” Emphasizing faith that does not require miracles, he stated that mature Christians have “believed on Christ through the gospel; we have seen no signs, none do we demand.” Earlier, disgusted with commoners’ use of amulets to cure disease, Augustine stated that we should “rejoice” when someone is sick “tossed about with fever and pains” in hopes that the gospel “placed at the heart” will “heal it from sin.” Sin was the most urgent “disease” facing humanity. The Reformers picked this line of reasoning up.

2) Substitution of the Christological gifts of Isaiah 11 for the 1 Corinthians 12 list: Around the same time, clergy began to teach regularly on the gifts in Isaiah 11:2-3. The Isaiah list (wisdom, understanding, counsel, might, knowledge, piety, and the fear of the Lord) became the standard gift “list” associated with the Christian walk. Though it is difficult to speculate exactly why these gifts were chosen over the 1 Corinthians list, some reasons do come to mind. For one, the Isaiah list prophetically describes the giftings of Christ. The church at this time was highly involved in defining Christology against heretical movements and the Isaiah gifts reflected that concern. Secondly, the gifts in Isaiah had less of a supernatural element to them. Wisdom, for example, has a more natural element to it than say, tongues. Counsel could be gained through interaction with creation – the Augustinian vehicle for God’s self-revelation – as opposed to prophecy which required direct revelation and inner experience. Third, the 1 Corinthians gifts appealed to the direct experience of the individual believer – something most ecclesiastical authorities believed was dangerous, particularly after the Montanism “scare.”

The Isaiah list didn’t replace the 1 Corinthians list overnight. Beginning with the Alexandrian school, spiritual gifts were adapted to accommodate theological beliefs. Origen cited language, wisdom, and knowledge as gifts only available to “worthy receivers.” Ambrose, describing the sacrament of confirmation, emphasized the reception of the “sevenfold gift” – listing the traits of Christ in Isaiah 11. Augustine followed suit. Gregory the Great made this substitution permanent. In his famous Pastoral Rule, Gregory wrote a tremendous amount about love and self-control but steered away from any recognition of the power gifts listed in 1 Corinthians. In his commentary on Job, Gregory explained that the seven gifts act as armor against spiritual attack and other evils. In a homily on Pentecost, Gregory specifically addressed the gifts in 1 Corinthians, but in the postbiblical age, he stated they are considered the gift of the clergy alone. Parishioners would do better to focus on the seven gifts that promote fruitful Christian living rather than power gifts that could possibly lead to pride.

We find the consummation of the allegorical and sevenfold gift traditions in the Reformed tradition. Luther’s German translation of the hymn, Veni Creator Spiritus, while referencing the seven gifts, allegorically interprets the gift of tongues as preaching: “You are with sevenfold gifts/The finger of God’s right hand/You deliver the Father’s Word speedily/With tongues into all the lands.”  These ideas are still reflected in Reformed theology today.

I’ll discuss issues 3 and 4 tomorrow…

“Healing the Desperate”, Part 1

I preached this sermon on March 29th to mixed reviews. There’s nothing like the topic of physical healing to polarize a congregation. I’ll split it up into several posts on the blog but if you are interested in hearing or reading it in its entirety before then, visit www.tfumc.com and go to the sermon section. Unfortunately, the emotional reserve needed to absorb this sermon was immediately swept away afterwards due to a single announcement. Our conference has requested that my senior minister take an appointment in Albany, GA. As part of the “Methodist way” (as I like to call it), she has agreed. Needless to say, people were completely shocked. Who’s coming in? That hasn’t been finalized yet…and that’s part of the adventure I suppose. But I certainly will miss Leigh Ann. I have a learned a tremendous amount from her. Anyway, on the the sermon…

 

Healing the Desperate

Text: Mark 10:46-52 

Today we are continuing our series on the healings of Jesus. Specifically today, we are going to talk about Jesus healing people who were desperate.

I love to read church history. Not for the councils and creeds and such (though that’s certainly important), but for the people you meet along the way. One of my favorite stories from medieval history is the story of Tanchelm. In 1112, local clergy begged for help from Frederick, the archbishop of Cologne, concerning a wandering preacher they called “our Antichrist.” Tanchelm, who was probably a monk, started his ministry calling for stronger Gregorian reform – he then forbade his followers to take the sacraments and urged them not to tithe to the local church. As his popularity grew, he proclaimed his own divinity and thousands flocked to his side. And thisis the pertinent part for today’s message. According to the local clergy, Tanchelm’s followers began to distribute his bath water in small doses and drink it as a sacrament to heal their bodies of disease. Finally, the local clergy had endured all they could stand and devised a plan. They selected a priest who took Tanchelm on a boat ride. At just the right moment, the priest took the oar, smacked Tanchelm upside the head, and pushed him into the water. And that was the end of that. Slightly horrifying…but still a great story from church history. You can’t make that stuff up, people! Personally, stories like this one make me cringe with embarrassment and wonder exactly how Christians can make such “undignified” decisions. It’s like watching a theological train wreck! I think God is up in heaven shaking his head in disbelief. Then, I begin to look beyond their “legacy” to the people behind the actions. That’s when drinking the bathwater of a medieval “David Koresh” begins to make sense. I like how Paul Tillich explains it. He said that fringe groups like Tanchelm’s are “the criticism of the church for the gap between its claim and its reality.”

 Tanchelm’s followers were desperate. “Desperation” is a word that makes us uneasy, specifically when you associate it with something mysterious like our present topic – healing. We like things to be ordered, calm, reserved, dignified, and predictable. We don’t really like “desperate.” It conjures up images of recklessness and threatens our respectability with the possibility that someone might make a scene. What’s worse, they may even make a scene for Jesus! But the gospels are full of examples of people being undignified. Two weeks ago, Leigh Ann talked about a hemorrhaging woman who was willing to risk the ritual impurity of everyone around her to touch Jesus’s clothing. And that story is couched within the frame of Jairus – the biblical version of a modern day city council member or mayor – falling down in the dirt and crying for Jesus to heal his little girl. And the story of Bartimaeus is also great example.

 Talking about healing is really difficult. It makes ministers shake in their boots. And that’s mostly because of the theology involved. When it comes down to it, we must admit that we don’t have a good “theology” of healing. Questions like “Can God heal?” or “Will God heal?” have complex answers. Oftentimes, it’s beyond our grasp. And when we discuss them, we go around and around in circles like a dryer full of clothes at the local Laundromat. That reminds me a lot of my youngest daughter, Annagale. Annagale is a free spirit. We use words like “expressive,” “energetic” and “inspired” to describe her, if you catch my drift. She is always entertaining to be sure. We’ve been working on understanding the Trinity at our house lately, though I don’t think it’s going as well as I hoped. At preschool the other day, the teachers informed me that they were also discussing the Trinity with Annagale’s class. The teacher said, “So, the Trinity is the Father, the Son, and the Holy….” Annagale jumped up and said, “Holy Cow!” So, I suppose everyone’s theology could use a little “tweaking” now and then.