A Rainy Day in November

 

On Retirement (2)

 

            What will I do in retirement?  The evidence indicates that at least part of what I’ll do is forget, as in, I forgot to post anything to Story and Meaning in October.

            We had a good vacation, as Sarah and I have reported repeatedly since our return.  We visited Tim & Tia for a day, spent two nights in northern Utah, and spent most of a week with Curtis and Jessie in Aurora.  We met Keith and Tawnee Reeser for lunch.  Then, the organizing point of the trip, a “cousins’ reunion” in Lamar, Colorado.  Five cousins (Betty, Lois, Larry, Sandy, and me), plus five spouses and one nephew met in Lamar, walked some of the old family property (I brought home a foundation stone from Grandma’s house), visited the Hasty cemetery, and talked.  Lots of talk.  We shared pictures.

            On Sunday, Sarah and I worshiped at Hasty Friends Church—and stayed for the potluck dinner.  We met a man who remembered riding school bus with Uncle Don and a woman who remembered Grandma Smith as a Sunday School teacher.  After Hasty, we crossed Colorado and Utah, stopping in Pagosa Springs, Moab, and St. George.  Five nights in St. George, a base from which we visited Bryce Canyon and Zion national parks.  Two nights near Lake Tahoe, one night near Klamath Falls, and finally home.  Many memories, and no car trouble!  A very good vacation.

            Now, it’s back to work in retirement.

            Homebody tasks: I finished replacing and staining the outer portion of our deck (discovering lots of body aches along the way), installed a door lock with an electric code, had my truck tested for an equipment recall, dried and stored the summer rug for the porch, and helped Bekah pack some boxes to the attic.  

            Writing tasks: I organized and edited a book of devotions and essays, 366 of them.  Title?  I’m not sure, but maybe: A Year of One Christian’s Thought.  Today I emailed a proposal to Wipf and Stock for Castles.  W&S specializes in on-demand printing.  Their very low storage costs allow them to approve marginal projects; they will probably say yes.  I’ve added little to No Lamp, but with other projects finishing, I can concentrate on it.

            NFC elders have asked me to preach later three Sundays, suggesting I consider apologetics.  I plan to avoid the standard topics and address questions Sarah and Curtis raised when I asked them why people don’t believe, questions of “distance” (temporal distance) and “value.”

            The “Readers Group” will finish McLaughlin’s Confronting Christianity when we next meet.  We’ll break for the holidays and resume, with some new book, in January.

            It’s November already, six months since my commencement speech.  A new semester, with two classes on my docket, looms.  Logic and Virtue Theory—it should be fun.

            It turns out there’s plenty to do in retirement.

           

Fall Semester 2022

 

On Retirement (1)

 

            I retired from full-time teaching at the end of spring semester 2022.  I provided the commencement speech, “Three Myths and a Prayer,” for undergraduates on April 30.  Officially, my retirement came at the end of May.

            Several small changes came quickly: I boxed up books, emptied my office, transferred my retirement fund from TIAA to a private investment firm, signed up for social security, bought supplemental Medicare insurance, arranged for giving to GFU from my banking account rather than my monthly pay—and more. 

The more challenging changes take time.  What does a person do in retirement?

“Do” is a suggestive word here.  In Greek, poiew means “to do, or to make.”  It’s the root of “poetry”; a poet is a “maker.”  But there are many kinds of doing and making: bakers, carpenters, architects, and sculptors make objects of some kind.  Dentists, plumbers, accountants, and tour guides don’t produce objects, but their service is clearly a “doing.”  Contemporary English speech reflects the broad application of poiew, when we ask, “What do you do?”

A person’s “doing” is not just her paid work.  Sometimes, happily, a person’s career—such as my teaching career—coincides with her doing.  We may speak of a “calling,” and we thank God when our calling, our paid work, and our doing overlap.

Retirement means the end of paid work.  (In my case, it’s only partly true.  I am scheduled to teach part-time in spring 2023.  Even now, in summer 2022, I’ve been serving on a faculty task force—and been paid for it!)  Retirement does not mean the end of “doing/making.”  I’ve written more than forty devotions for Fruit of the Vine since April, and I’ve edited/rewritten Castles.  I hope/plan to write fiction (the Aladdin story) and essays for this blog.

Retirement brings change, change I feel this week especially.  Classes at Fox started Monday, but I am not in the classroom.  I am not seeing students in my office.  I am not organizing Senate meetings or department dinners.  I am not writing reviews of faculty colleagues.  I have not been appointed to any peer review committees.  (Of course, I did none of these things in 2007 or 2014, when I had sabbaticals.  But retirement feels much different than sabbatical.)

It's an existential shift.  What will I do?

I’ll write.  I’ll preach and teach (when invited).  I’ll repair our porch. 

Vacation: Sarah and I will drive to Colorado, seeing Tim & Tia and Curtiss and Jessica along the way.  In Lamar and Hasty, we will meet cousins and visit the Smith farm.  I plan to worship at Hasty Friends Church.  After the family reunion, Sarah and I will meander our way home, stopping at several national parks.  This vacation will be followed by others; Sarah wants to go to Hawaii next May.  But I reject the silly notion of retirement as “permanent vacation,” which some advertisers promote.

What will I do?  I will try to write a good story.  I will respond to openings (a Quaker word) for ministry.  Jesus has called me to discipleship; I will follow.

           

Al-Zawahiri is Dead

 

 

 

Reflections on the Death of a Killer

 

            President Biden announced yesterday that the U.S. had killed Ayman al-Zawahiri in a house in Afghanistan.  Apparently, no one else was with al-Zawahiri when he was killed, presumably by a drone weapon.  He was 71 years old, four years older than me.

            Zawahiri has been famous for a long time.  He was Osama bin Laden’s top lieutenant.  Reportedly, he helped plan Al Queda attacks on US embassies in Africa, the attack on the USS Cole in 1998, and the September 11 attacks in the United States.  Zawahiri was born in Egypt, but his deepest allegiance was to Islam—or at least, to a particular brand of Islam. 

            News reports and commentary focus on al-Zawahiri’s role as leader of Al Queda after bin Laden’s death.  President Biden’s announcement pointed out that al-Zawahiri had been active in coordinating and planning more terrorist activity even in recent weeks.  To what degree did the Taliban’s takeover of Afghanistan aid and abet Al Queda’s deadly work?  To what degree will al-Zawahiri’s death hinder Al Queda?  How should the US treat the Taliban?

            And so on.  These are all interesting and important questions for the president, the state department, and the US military.  I want to think about another question.  What was the moral quality of his life?

            We need to understand that Ayman al-Zawahiri almost certainly thought he was doing the right thing.  It is safe to say many Muslims regard him as a heroic leader.  (I say “many” without implying “most.”  Most Muslims worldwide and in the United States would condemn terrorism.)  His admirers would note, first, that he was faithful to the true religion, and second, he found a way to fight back against the Great Satan, the US with all its secular degeneracy and military power.   

            President Biden and virtually everyone in the West condemn al-Zawahiri.  He organized mass-murder with the goal of creating terror.  If he had been tried in a Western court, he would surely have been convicted, and if anyone deserved the death penalty, he was the one.  According to the news, he died alone, so we might liken his death to an execution.  In this rare case, it seems there were no collateral victims.

            There is real evil in the world.  On that, al-Zawahiri, President Biden, and I would agree.  The people of God ought to fight against evil.  How?  Al-Zawahiri fought against evil by striking at the Great Satan.  Biden fights evil with precision bombs.  I suppose most Christians—the vast majority of Christians—would approve of Biden’s answer.  Most secularists in the US will also support Biden’s answer; the only quibbles would be about effectiveness, or a backward-looking criticism of the US pullout from Afghanistan.

            But what would Jesus do?  In evangelicalism, WWJD has become a sappy slogan.  But it points to the real issue.  Jesus commanded us to love our enemies.  Would Jesus bomb his enemies? 

            Ayman al-Zawahiri recruited zealots, organized murderers, plotted spectacular bombings and ordered the death of innocent victims—all in the name of his God.  We can learn much about the kind of God he worshiped from these actions.

            Biden and his supporters, Christian and secular, would argue that justice required al-Zawahiri’s death.  Under the rubric of “justice” Christians have perpetrated great evils in the past, and I suspect Biden would admit this.  (Notice that al-Zawahiri would almost certainly have claimed his campaigns against the West were “just.”)  Is Biden’s God any different from al-Zawahiri’s God?

            What would Jesus do?  Remember, Jesus had enemies, enemies who connived to kill him.  How did he respond to Caiaphas, Pilate, and the soldiers?

            Christians must seek justice.  Of that, I am sure.  But we are commanded to love.

 

                       

 

           

             

           

 

 

Thoughts on July 4

 

Why Should We Listen to Evil People?

 

            The Virtue of Civility in the Practice of Politics (2002) was my first philosophy book (other than my dissertation, which remains unpublished).  The book’s argument depends on three stipulative definitions.  First, I defined “politics” as the art and science of making group decisions.  Any decision affecting a group of people is a political decision.  “Politics” thus includes corporate politics, family politics, and church politics, as well as civic politics. 

Second, I defined “political opponent” (or “enemy”) as anyone who opposes a political actor’s proposed policy.  On this definition, when two members of the library committee argue for competing policies, they qualify as political opponents, for as long as their disagreement lasts.  Two Democrats or two Republicans qualify as political enemies when they support different versions of a bill one has introduced in the legislature.  It’s a very broad definition, with the result that we all have “political opponents.”  If the political group is the family, and Sarah and I suggest different restaurants for dinner, we qualify as political opponents.

Third, I defined “civility” as virtue consisting in an internal motivation or desire to treat one’s political opponents well.  Sarah and I love each other; when we become political opponents, we are highly motivated to treat each other well.  But other political opponents might be moved to civility by other emotions.  Feelings of friendship, respect, and empathy could motivate a person to treat her political opponents well.  Importantly, certain beliefs can also support civility; for example, if someone believes that his political opponent is a person of great worth, more important than the outcome of the political disagreement between them, this belief will move him to treat that person well.

Now, if politics is the art or science of making group decisions, it seems obvious that the proper goal, or telos, of politics is better decisions.  It seems equally obvious that civility promotes this goal.  In the book, I offer two simple arguments:

1.     My political opponent knows stuff I don’t know.

2.     Better information tends to produce better decisions.

3.     Practicing civility tends to elicit information from the opponent.

Therefore: civility tends to aid better decision making.

Further,

4.     Civility tends to maintain communication with the opponent.

5.     Political groups will make more decisions, not just the current one.

Therefore, civility tends to sustain the opponent’s contribution to good decisions.

 

            I think these are persuasive arguments.  In public talks, I have never found anyone who denies that politics should aim at better decisions.  Nevertheless, people often fail to practice civility or attempt to develop feelings or beliefs that support civility. Why is this?

            First, we need to recognize that civility is a costly virtue.  If you treat your political opponent well, your political opponent might win.  Your office rival may get the promotion.  Mrs. Brown’s preference for speckled brown carpeting in the sanctuary might be approved.  You might end up eating at McDonalds yet again.  The Democrats’ budget (or the Republican alternative) could become law.  Given the cost of civility, it is not surprising that some people act as if the goal of politics is winning rather than better decisions.

            Second, we may fall prey to the “logic of intolerance.”  In the book, I outline an argument scheme:

1.     The value we support is of extremely high value.  (The value might be the eternal souls of our children—or the right to control our own bodies—or something else.)

2.     We are aware of the lies of the other side.

3.     The lies of the opponents threaten the great value we support.

Therefore, we have a duty to silence the lies of the other side.

 

            Imagine a proposal at an abortion rights convention to invite a pro-life Catholic priest to give a talk on the sanctity of life.  Contrariwise, imagine a pro-life convention inviting a NARAL leader to discuss the economic impact of pregnancy for poor women.  “We already know what he/she will say.  We need to fight for what’s right.”  And the unquestioned belief is we already know what is right.

            In the book, I claimed that political civility in the United States in the modern period (roughly, up to 1950) was partly supported by modern philosophical doctrines.  Modern philosophers, including Descartes, Kant, Hobbes, and Jefferson, gave us a picture of human nature that said we are all rational beings.  Your political opponent might differ from you in many ways: economic class, religion, race, ethnic identity, and so forth; but underneath all these differences, you and your opponent share rationality.  You can respect your political opponent (even if he is a Catholic or a Protestant—remember the many religious wars of Europe) because of his basic humanity.  You can reason with your opponent (even if he is African or Native or White) because underneath it all, reason is universal.

            Modernity has given way to a post-modern world.  The modern support for civility has disappeared for many people today.  Today, many people believe that underneath it all, their political opponents are simply evil.  Practical reason is different for different groups; there is no reason to think that “they” will ever understand our situation and needs. 

The Virtue of Civility in the Practice of Politics came out twenty years ago.  I argued that incivility would probably get worse in our culture.  It saddens me to see that prediction come true.

We live in a postmodern age.  Christians should never have bought into modern philosophy.  Christians should practice civility for explicitly Christian reasons.  1. All people are created by God, and God loves them.  Therefore, we have good reason to respect our political opponents.  2. Jesus is our lawgiver.  He told us to love our neighbors.  3. Jesus is our example.  He prayed for his enemies, even as they killed him.  4. Jesus is the light of the world, and by his Spirit he can speak to anyone.  He is the light in the political opponent, so we may learn his will by listening to the opponent.

 

 

 

 

Commencement Speech, April 30

 

Three Myths and a Prayer

 

            Imagine Aleksander.  Family and close friends call him Sasha, so we will as well.

            Sasha is a faithful Christian and has been his whole life.  He’s almost as old as me, so he has lived through enormous changes in Russia.  Did I say that Sasha—Aleksander—is Russian?  Yes.  Imagine him living in a moderate sized town a few hundred miles from Moscow.  Sasha grew up under the Soviet regime, when the schools explicitly taught atheism, but the influence of his family was strong and he has always been a believer.  Sasha thanks God that Vladimir Putin supports and has close ties with the Russian Orthodox Church.

            Imagine further that when Sasha worships tomorrow, he will pray along with others for the success of the special military operation in Ukraine.  Actually, what he prays will be, “Your kingdom come, your will be done” (in Russian, of course).  In Sasha’s mind, it is absolutely clear that victory for Russia’s army will extend the kingdom of God.

            Why does he think this way?  There’s a story, a history, behind his thought.  The Christian Church is two thousand years old.  Roughly a thousand years ago, the western part of the Church split away because they wanted to change the Nicene creed.  That’s right.  The Latin speaking Church added words to the creed.  But the eastern part of the Church—the right teaching part, the “orthodox” part—stood strong for the truth.  Among the leaders of the Orthodox Church, the Russian patriarch (the Russian archbishop) is the most important.  You can gauge how faithful the other patriarchs are by noting how close they stick to the Russian Orthodox Church.  In Sasha’s opinion it should surprise nobody that five hundred years after the split, the western church divided further when the “protestants” came into being.  Sasha wonders whether protestants should be considered Christians at all.

            Don’t imagine that Sasha keeps these ideas explicitly in his mind.  In fact, Sasha probably couldn’t “tell the story” of Russian orthodoxy as I have recounted it.  Sasha never learned the details of the 11^th century split between east and west.  He just trusts the Russian Orthodox Church.  For Sasha, this whole story is background.  It’s mostly assumed and unconscious.

            In academic language, we say that Sasha believes a “myth.”  A myth is a grand story that provides background and context for beliefs and behaviors of many sorts.  A myth may be literally true or partly true or completely fantastic.  The myth of Daedalus, who flew to close to the sun.  The myth of Galileo versus the church.  The myth of the secular founding fathers of America.  Students at university are aware of myths.  Our myths shape the way we think, often without our awareness.

            We may give a name to the myth Sasha believes: “Russian Orthodoxy.”  The myth of Russian orthodoxy says the Church of Russia, guided by the Russian Patriarch, has preserved Christian doctrine in its true form.  Please note!  Even under 70 years of explicit state atheism, the Russian Orthodox Church maintained its testimony.  And now, having triumphed over atheism, Orthodox Christianity can make use of Russia’s military strength to recapture the ancient heartland of the Russian Church.  Remember, before Moscow, the Patriarch’s seat was in Kiev.

            Now, we have only imagined Aleksander.  But I assure you that today there are Russian Christians who think along the lines I have attributed to Sasha.  They believe the Russian invasion of Ukraine is a just war, a “special operation” blessed by God.  They believe this not only because Putin’s dictatorship controls the media, giving them a skewed account of what is happening in Ukraine, but also because they believe the myth of Russian orthodoxy.

            I confess that I think the myth of Russian orthodoxy, in addition to being a myth in the academic sense, is also false.  What would you expect from a Quaker?  Quakers think the Spirit of Christ can speak to us directly.  We don’t repeat the creed—with or without those extra 11^th century words.  In fairness, it would be better to say that I think the myth of Russian orthodoxy is only partly true.

            I expect many of you agree with me.  That is, like me, you think the myth of Russian orthodoxy is not entirely true.  Christian truth has not been preserved best in the teaching of the Russian patriarch.

            Notice: our disbelief in the myth makes a difference.  When we pray, “your kingdom come, your will be done,” we do not imagine the triumph of Russian arms in Ukraine.  In short, we think the myth of Russian orthodoxy has distorted Sasha’s prayers.  Think about that.

            Now I want to name two other myths that can distort our prayers.

            The first is the “Myth of Inevitable Secularization.”  Again, this myth builds on a story; in particular, the history of Christianity in Europe in the modern period.  Christianity used to dominate European culture and politics.  There was a time, five hundred years ago, when it would have been mostly true to say Christianity was a European religion.  But in the last three centuries European countries became largely secular.  What happened?  Sociologists and historians give various explanations, but the biggest factors, according to the myth of inevitable secularization, were scientific progress, economic prosperity, and mass education.  Science undermines religious belief, prosperity takes away the need for divine help, and widespread public education spreads science and opportunity to the masses.  According to the myth of inevitable secularization, all this is  natural.  In the end, the myth says, Europe’s story will be replicated everywhere.  Modernization, in the form of science, prosperity and education, will eliminate religion, including Christianity.

            Unsurprisingly, many sociologists of religion believe the myth of inevitable secularization.  They have been predicting the decline of Christianity in North America for a century.  It happened in Europe, so it will happen in North America.  The myth is a background belief in much graduate education, from literature to psychology and political science.  But you don’t have to go to graduate school to believe this myth, because the ideas percolate in our culture.  Many people, including many Christians, believe the myth of inevitable secularization.  Remember, myths often serve as unconscious background to our conscious beliefs.  Sometimes Christian parents worry when they send their high school graduates off to college—even when they send them to George Fox—that their child will somehow lose her faith at university.  The parents may not explicitly and consciously believe that education destroys faith, but they have absorbed the myth as a background assumption.

            Now, the myth of inevitable secularization is indeed a myth in the academic sense.  It is a widely held, though often unstated, belief.  But like the myth of Russian orthodoxy, the myth of inevitable secularization is at best only partly true.  The history of modern Europe is evidence for the myth.  But the United States, richer than Europe and just as well educated, is much less secularized.  Believers in the myth of inevitable secularization have been waiting 100 years for the U.S. to catch up to Europe.  Polling by the Barna group over the last couple decades suggests that maybe secularization is happening in the U.S.  Maybe.  Remember, lots of people, including lots of Christians, believe in the myth of inevitable secularization.  Such people expect religious faith to fade away under the pressure of education.  We should be wary of confirmation bias.

            So: Europe? Check.  The U.S.? Maybe another check.  What about South Korea?

            In 1953 South Korea was a mostly peasant country that had suffered three years of war.  Its people were poor, rural, and largely uneducated.  Religiously they were mostly Buddhist or Shinto.  Since then, the country has become highly industrialized, urbanized, and educated.  They have a thriving export economy, which has raised their comparative wealth markedly.  And Christianity has grown from a miniscule minority to about a third of the population.  Of the approximately two million Koreans who live in the U.S., more than 60% are Christians.

            Korean Christianity is important because it directly contradicts the myth of inevitable secularization.  In the seven decades since the war, South Korea became more religious, not less; significantly more Christian, not less.  The myth of inevitable secularization is not entirely true.

            As a philosopher I should also say, as an aside, that the myth of inevitable secularization is bad philosophy.  It’s a version of historicism, which Karl Popper effectively criticized back in 1945, in The Open Society and Its Enemies.  Never fear!  I’m not going to give you a lecture on historicism at this time.  Read Popper for yourself.

            The second myth I must mention is more specific to Christians.  To invent a name for it, I will call it the “myth of the VERY soon Parousia.”  Parousia is a Greek word that means “presence” or “coming.”  The New Testament uses this word to speak of the return of Jesus at the last day.  Paul wrote about the parousia of our Lord Jesus, and in the Revelation Jesus told John “I am coming soon.”  From the first century on, Christians have believed in the return of Jesus, and that he would return soon.  That is not exactly what I mean when I speak of the myth of the VERY soon Parousia.

            Occasionally Christians have gone beyond the teaching of the New Testament.  They have said that Jesus is coming VERY soon.  Christians expected the return of Christ in 1000.  They predicted the return of Christ in 1666.  Those are attractive numbers.  Some of you as old as me may remember the popular pamphlet, “88 Reasons Christ Will Return in 1988.”

            The purveyors of the myth of the VERY soon Parousia don’t often go that far.  Without explicitly saying it, they imply that Jesus will return VERY soon—in this generation.  They preach about the “signs” of the end times and say there is no longer any prophecy that must be fulfilled.  Jesus could return any day.

            Now I believe that Jesus could return any day.  We are living in the end times.  But get this: Christians have been living in the end times for two thousand years.  The resurrection of Jesus initiated the end times; his return will bring an end to the end times.

            The myth of the VERY soon Parousia causes trouble because the purveyors of the myth often also include other predictions.  For instance: just before the Parousia, there will be a falling away from the faith.  Wars and injustices will get worse.  Christians will be persecuted everywhere.

            I suspect that many of you are familiar with such preaching.  The myth of the VERY soon return of Christ is popular in some of our churches.  I became familiar with it in high school when I read Hal Lindsey’s best seller, The Late Great Planet Earth, but the ideas go back to the writings of J.N. Darby in the 1800s.  Never fear!  I am not going to lecture on Darbyism at this time.

            Interestingly, for some Christians, the myth of inevitable secularization links up with the myth of the VERY soon Parousia.  They believe that the future of Christianity is bleak.  The forces of modernism will increase secularism.  Disasters are coming.  But that doesn’t matter, because prophecy says the world will end VERY soon.

            My point is this.  The myth of inevitable secularization combines with the myth of the VERY soon Parousia to lead us to expect certain things.  And those expectations can distort our prayers.

            We pray for God’s will to be done, but do we pray for peace with freedom for Ukraine?  We pray for God’s kingdom to come, but do we pray for the Holy Spirit to change the minds of political leaders?  We look forward to a new heaven and a renewed earth.  Until that day comes, we are stewards of this earth; we ought to pray God’s blessing on worldwide cooperation to defeat climate change.  We ought to pray for these things, and we ought to believe that God can do them.

            The myth of inevitable secularization says that science overthrows faith.  Well, that is just bad philosophy.  When we pray we should believe that truth can overcome error.

            The myth of inevitable secularization says that prosperity removes the need for God.  That’s just not true.  Our material culture is fabulously prosperous, and that has only left people hungry for meaning.  When we pray we should believe that when people understand Jesus’ way, they will want it.

            The myth of the VERY soon Parousia implies that the world is going to the dogs and there’s nothing to be done about it.  That’s not true either.  When we pray we should believe God will do good things in and through us.  In some cases, God will do great things.  God will do good, even great, things through you, the graduates of 2022.

            Final word.  Beware of myths that distort your prayers.  When you pray for God’s kingdom to come, believe it can happen.

School of Theology Chapel, April 7

 

On “the Way”

 

            Several times in Acts, Luke (traditionally identified as the author of Luke/Acts) describes the new Christian movement as “the way.”  For example, in Acts 9:2, Saul “went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues in Damascus, so that if he found any there who belonged to the Way, whether men or women, he might take them as prisoners to Jerusalem.”  And Acts 19:9 refers to certain synagogue leaders in Ephesus, “But some of them became obstinate; they refused to believe and publicly maligned the Way.  So Paul left them.  He took the disciple with him and had discussions daily in the lecture hall of Tyrannus.”

            Obviously, there were other names for the Christian movement, from the earliest times.  In the verse just quoted Luke speaks of “disciples.”  In Acts 11:25-26, Luke explains that the disciples were first called “Christians” in Antioch, presumably because the church there consisted mostly of Gentiles.  And—of course—many parts of the New Testament refer to the “Church” and to Christians as “saints.”  Paul says the Church is “the body of Christ” in 1 Corinthians and other places.  We have no shortage of New Testament labels/names for Christians and the Christian movement.

            Taking cues from NT usage, Christian churches today use a variety of names: the Friends Church (or Society of Friends—both names refer a saying of Jesus), the Church of God, Disciples of Christ, the Christian Church, the Believers Church, Orthodox Church (“orthodox” means “right teaching,” so there are multiple Orthodox churches), Church of God in Christ, and so on and on.  Unsurprisingly, there are churches that identify as “the Way”: the Way Church, the Way Christian Fellowship, Followers of the Way Church, and probably lots of others.

            I think this is all quite natural.  It’s right and proper for Christian groups today to use NT labels as names; doing so, we acknowledge that our movement is 2000 years old and that our beliefs rest on the doctrines of the first Christians.  “The Way” has the advantage of being one of the very earliest names for the movement.  (Notice “the Christian movement” is not a NT phrase.)

            In addition to drawing on first century Christian vocabulary, “the Way” confers another advantage.  It reminds us that Christians are called to pursue something they haven’t yet attained.  Paul admitted in Philippians 3:12 that he had not yet been made perfect.  For the apostle, and for all of us, following Christ means we are “on the way.”  We describe the Christian life with metaphors of change: we are learning, we are maturing, we are growing, and so forth.

            Living “on the way” is a dynamic thing, which makes for difficulties.  Sometimes we are tempted to cheap grace.  In cheap grace we presume on God’s favor and we neglect hard tasks of discipleship.  Other times we go to the opposite extreme.  Knowing that God calls us to a holy life, we might assert that we have achieved holiness.  Or we can make a list of righteous and unrighteous behaviors with which we judge ourselves and others; in other words, we become legalists.

            The difficulties are real.  Life “on the way” is dynamic.  We need to be wary and we need to ask the Spirit to guide us away from laxity on one side and legalism on the other.  We must simultaneously rejoice in God’s overwhelming grace and yield to Christ as he takes us deeper into the life of the Spirit.  And the dynamism of “the way” applies to fellow believers as well as to me.  It is difficult indeed to preach costly discipleship and grace to other Christians.  But we must try.

            That brings me to a third meaning of “the way.”  Here I want to speak of “getting in the way.”  Caveat: I am no longer interpreting the New Testament, so do not take what I say as gospel.  When I speak of “getting in the way,” I am talking about the Christian minister when he or she stands to teach or preach.  As I say, I am speaking from experience, not from scriptural authority.

            Based on my experience, I urge Christian ministers—and this includes undergraduate students engaged in ministries of many sorts, from counseling at summer camps to teaching Bible studies to preaching to congregations—to put yourself “in the way.”  When you are “in the way” you stand between God on one side and human beings on the other, human beings whom God loves more than we can imagine.  God wants to channel the grace and truth of Jesus through you to this congregation, this study group, this cabin of campers.

            The whole notion is scary because we don’t want to foul it up.  Nevertheless, I urge you to put yourself “in the way.”

            Since the time of Paul, God has used the “foolishness of preaching” to draw people to himself.  Comforting thought, that.  Of course, you should prepare for your teaching and preaching assignment diligently.  Preparing for public ministry is work, and you need to do the work.  But you should never believe that success depends on you.  It is God’s grace and the interior work of the Spirit that brings faith and hope and love into human lives.

            Based on my experience, you will find great satisfaction—to use an Aristotelian word, you will find eudaimonia—when you put yourself “in the way.”  So: get in the way.  Position yourself between God who wants to bless and the people he wants to bless.  It may be scary, but it will be full of wonder.