Sarahbeth Caplin's Blog, page 39

Bathsheba, justice, and the scandal of redemption

Photo credit goes to my husband, Joshua

What You Need to Know About Bathsheba was recently shared in the Progressive Christians Facebook group (of which I am a member even though I don’t consider myself a “progressive” anything). It’s a fascinating case for Bathsheba’s righteousness and heroism despite the shittiest of circumstances, and on some level it does give me hope. It also reminds me of the scandal of the Gospel that has given hope to so many: there is no past so awful that God cannot forgive and redeem. Having made my own share of mistakes, I’m grateful for that hope.

At the same time, I’m also deeply disturbed by it. It’s taken years of therapy and a few visits to AA to stop living my life in anticipation of an apology I knew all along I’d never receive. All the while, I have fought to comprehend a message that promises as much redemption to my own life as it does to my rapist. The same message that quite literally saved my life on multiple occasions also promises my ex boyfriend that he, too, can become reformed, forgiven, and start anew.

I can’t make any attempts at righteousness here. I have written in my prayer journal a handful of times, “God, I really think that’s bullshit.” Because however much a person has changed on the inside – and only he can know how genuine that is – it doesn’t eradicate the consequences of his actions. It doesn’t make the hurt his victims feel go away. I can’t lie about how much it disturbs me that God allowed a convicted rapist (morally, if not legally) be included in the lineage of Jesus.

I can’t help wondering how Bathsheba would feel if she knew that’s what would happen.

Who gives that kind of privilege to a person who has caused such pain – God, or a crazy person (or a crazy God)?

Would you let a convicted sex offender babysit your kids, after proclaiming till he’s blue in the face how sorry he is and how much he’s changed?

Would you let someone back into your life who has taken advantage of you too many times to count – stolen from you, lied to you, betrayed you – after the fifth, the tenth, the twentieth apology and promise that they’ve changed?

On some level, doing so would violate basic common sense, and cue that old saying, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

If it’s not already obvious, I want to point out that I don’t struggle with forgiveness or wanting redemption for the worst of offenders because I’m being vindictive. I struggle with all of that because I’m still hurt. My second memoir (which is in the revising stage) will expand on how this struggle to understand justice affects my faith, more than the first book did. That first memoir was how I found faith, and the next one is about the struggle to keep it, or let go of the harmful pieces and hang on to the good ones.

With barely a week left of 2015, I can only hold on to the hope that 2016 will bring new experiences that show me new wisdom and fresh chances to start over. In my heart I know the benefits of forgiveness: they are more for me than for anyone else. Forgiveness sets me free, but it’s still a big step, and I may not do it well for a very, very long time.

The holiday season is a painful time for a lot of people, many of whom have been hurt by their families or loved ones – maybe that includes you. I hope 2016 is a second chance for you as well, even if you’ve used twenty of them this year alone.

It’s funny how my career has been built upon challenging difficult doctrines, asking difficult questions, and publicly wrestling with doubt. But in spite of all that, I do want emphasize the piece that keeps me going, that I hope keeps you going: that redemption is possible no matter how much you’ve screwed up or been screwed by others. I still firmly believe that tragedy can be used for glory.

Filed under: Rape Culture, Religion, Writing & Publishing Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, Christian culture, Christianity, Confessions of a Prodigal Daughter, Controversy, Feminism, grief, rape culture, social justice, Spiritual Abuse, Writing

A year in review (of books): 2015

Reviews of 1% of the books I read this year:

The Luckiest Girl Alive by Jessica Knoll

Apparently my kind of “chick lit” is just as dark and thriller-like as the stuff I usually read. And I admit to being suckered in by the comparison to Gone Girl on the front cover, a habit I need to break. Seriously, not every book with a disturbed female character is like Gone Girl! I liked this book okay, but Gillian Flynn should be offended within every inch of her life if critics think Ani FaNelli is anything like Amy Dunne.

*end rant*

I figured the “secret past” would be disturbing, but there’s still plenty of fluff to cushion it (was the author paid by the number of fashion brands she dropped in this book?). I never quite warmed up to TifAni FaNelli, even after her secret, traumatic past was exposed. Probably because her name is TifAni FaNelli – seeing that name on the page was like a dagger in my eye.

Heretics by Jonathan Wright

Did you know that the majority of violence committed by Christians throughout history was against other self-professed Christians? Neither did I until I read this book, though sadly I’m not surprised. One can only imagine the struggle of living in a time when the “true” doctrine depended on who was currently sitting on the throne. This book is dark but fascinating in a can’t-peel-my-eyes-away-from-this-train-wreck kind of way, though it gave me some perspective on the current culture wars in America. Everyone, it seems, it considered a heretic according to someone’s theology. The best you can do is learn as much as you can with as much of an open and humble heart as possible. Definitely made me grateful to live in a time when my right to freedom of religion is protected.

Rare Bird: a memoir of loss and love by Anna Whiston-Donaldson

There’s been a trend of sad books this year, if you haven’t noticed: this is a memoir of a mother’s grief and struggle of faith after her twelve-year-old son died in a flood. I find solidarity in these kinds of books, especially when Donaldson recalled a conversation with a member of her church who encouraged her to “trust God’s plan” in the wake of Jack’s death. “Yeah? Well, what if I don’t like His plan?” is Anna’s deadpan response. And later she even says, “Fuck that plan.” Wow! You don’t see that kind of unbridled honesty in Christian books, and I loved it. Of course, that was the biggest complaint in most of the 1-star Amazon reviews, the author’s “unholy” language. Well, if your son was tragically killed, I think an f-bomb or two (or twenty) is perfectly acceptable. Anna’s struggle of faith in crisis is real, raw, and commendable.

Between Gods by Alison Pick

Can’t say this book doesn’t have any unsavory material, either – the author is a descendant of Holocaust survivors, and plainly describes the horror many women endured in the camps, particularly by the “angel of death” Dr. Mengele. But those scenes are critical to the book because being a descendant of holocaust survivors has a huge impact on Alison’s Jewish identity. Yet she is not considered wholly Jewish in the eyes of the beit din because she is the product of an interfaith marriage. Our stories are different, but I could still identify with the struggle of wondering what it means to be “truly Jewish.” I found it ridiculous that Alison wanted to be a Jew so badly, but was continually denied by a technicality beyond her control. The most important thing I took away from this story is the reminder that while religious community is important, other people can’t define a spiritual identity for you. That is ultimately between you and God.

Other reviews of books read this year:

Defending Christianity: advice from an atheist by John Loftus

Undivided: a Muslim daughter, her Christian mother, and their path to peace by Patricia and Alana Raybon

Filed under: Other stuff Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, grief, Judaism, memoir

Don’t call me “progressive” (or “conservative,” either)

I am a moderator on my friend Neil’s blog, Godless in Dixie. What that means is that it’s my “job” to make sure everyone is behaving themselves in the comment threads – no name-calling, no mud-slinging, no trolling – and delete people who can’t be respectful. I am the only theist moderator, which could be either a badge of honor or a mark of shame, depending on who you ask. The community I’ve gotten to know there seems to like me enough because I’m a Christian without an agenda, and I admit when I have no answers to things (which is a lot). Other Christians might say I’m doing it all wrong because I don’t preach, despite the majority of readers being former Christians who have already heard apologetic rhetoric before, and found it lacking.

But one comment directed at me made me think twice about how I’m presenting myself: “Beth, I know since you’re a moderate Christian, you probably don’t believe in this theology…”

My hang-up is on the word “moderate.” Others use “progressive” or “liberal.” I don’t identify with any of these, and tend to eschew labels in general. But I also know the moment I express doubt about any standard Christian doctrine – hell, for example – I essentially put myself in the moderate, progressive, liberal camps (whatever you want to call them). By contrast, the ones who know it all, who see everything in black and white, get placed in the conservative, Right Wing camps.

These ways of classifying people are grossly unhelpful. I understand why we do it, and I’m guilty of it myself. I admit to tensing up when someone proudly identifies as a fundamentalist or evangelical, due to previous bad experiences within those groups. But I’m trying to stop.

I don’t consider myself “progressive” or any other synonym, so much as a seeker with a ton of questions. When it comes to troubling doctrines like hell, I may not like it, but I’m not tossing it out, either. It may likely remain in the “I’ll never fully understand this” theology folder, along with why homosexuality is considered sin, whether babies and people who never heard the gospel go to heaven, and why God lets 200 children die every day for lack of clean water, but goes out of his way to reserve parking spaces for privileged Americans.

That’s heavy stuff that deserves serious study. But none of that comes close to the point of Christianity as I see it. There’s a reason I’ve stuck around despite growing discomfort with right-wing rhetoric and “God says it, I believe it, that settles it” type thinking.

As much as I loved being Jewish, the message of the cross haunted me for years. I could not get this idea of a human god willing to suffer betrayal and pain and undeserved death out of my mind, nor the shedding of divine privileges to serve poor people and dignify prostitutes and point out glaring hypocrisy among those who only prayed in public to be admired for their faithfulness.

It takes a lot of effort sometimes to look beyond the ugliness of what has become a very American, very privileged picture of Christianity: a Christianity that blesses the rich and blames the poor for being poor; a Christianity with a persecution complex that looks for conspiracies everywhere. I abhor that kind of Christianity.

The kind that draws me in, that still occasionally fills my heart with wonder is the kind that is realistic enough to admit all people, in some form or another, will suffer – no one is immune from it, regardless of how faithful they appear to be. It doesn’t promise safety or protection, but does promise to redeem suffering somehow, which has helped me persevere in ways that words can’t do justice explaining.

It’s the kind that warns would-be disciples that the road of servanthood is anything but pretty, anything but comfortable. A Christianity that “saves” people from drunk drivers, suicide bombers, and incurable cancer is not compatible with Pick up your cross and follow me. It is my staunch, un-humble opinion that those who choose Christianity to be protected from those things are pursuing the wrong Jesus.

It took many years for me to understand this, after having lost a friend to suicide, suffered abuse, and watched my father die. It was not lack of faith that “caused” those things, but rather a consequence of living in a fallen world. Life is not fair, and life is not just. I can’t explain the ultimate purpose of suffering, of course. But it’s a lot easier to accept that it happens and try to make something of it, rather than pray to avoid it, only to get angry with God when the miscarriage happens anyway, when the car slides on black ice and hits a telephone pole – or something of the sort.

I don’t know whether all that falls under “progressive” or “conservative” or what – that’s for other people to decide. But that’s my 7-year-long journey in a nutshell, and by this time next year, I might have radically different conclusions.

*Edit: I just took this quiz that someone posted on Facebook, and apparently I’m supposed to be Anglican or Episcopalian. Make of that what you will:

“You should really be an Episcopalian! You’re a laid back Christian with a love for tradition and an especially open mind. You value the hierarchy of the Church and respect its authority but you want it to reflect the modern world. You appreciate ritual and respect a traditional atmosphere, as long as there’s room for everyone!

The Episcopal or Anglican Church started in the 16th Century with King Henry VIII’s reformation of the Catholic Church in England. Once he broke with the Pope in Rome, the Church became independent. While keeping many pre-Reformation traditions, the Anglican Church was deeply affected by the Protestant reformation. Most Anglican/Episcopal churches tend to look and feel traditional, but they’re known for being open communities.”

Filed under: Religion Tagged: atheism, cancer, Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, First World Problems, grief, hell, Judaism, social justice

I used to think abused women were stupid

Today’s post is featured on Feminine Collective.

Photo credit Katie Tegtmeyer

I have a small degree of sympathy for people who judge women in abusive relationships. That’s because I used to be one.

I recall a Dear Abby column I read over my morning cereal about ten years ago, which I later vented to my mother about. A woman wrote to Abby for advice about her husband: a man who hit her, demeaned her, and used their savings to buy drugs. But she loved him; she wanted advice on how to still make their relationship work. Abby’s advice, I thought, was way too soft. She encouraged the woman to reach out to someone, to call a domestic violence hotline, and formulate a plan to leave this man who clearly did not have her best interests at heart.

Honestly, if I were Abby, I’d have responded with something like, “Lady, wake the fuck up. How dumb are you to still love this man? Just leave already! There’s plenty of men out there who will treat you far better!”

Now, of course, I realize it’s not that simple. Actually, it’s anything but simple.

I may not know what it’s like to be financially dependent on an abuser, or blackmailed and threatened with further violence if I contemplated leaving. My abusive relationship was nothing like that. But I do understand the emotional dependency, and the deep residing belief that you are not worthy of anything better.

My abusive relationship was a constant power struggle in which my boyfriend Jason always had the upper hand. I could never call him; only he could initiate the contact. I learned this when I called him just to talk, and he was annoyed to be pulled away from his friends. We couldn’t go out in public together because he didn’t want people to know about me (which I suspect was because he was a respected leader in his Catholic church, and I was Jewish). The few times we did venture out of either of our homes, he insisted I walk several steps behind him; he’d get angry if I asked him to slow down. When I ran into him downtown and tried to introduce him to a friend of mine, he spit out his gum, handed it to me, and said “Could you throw this away for me?” before walking away. When I called him later that night to reprimand him for being an asshole, he played the “I’m sorry I’ll never be good enough for you” card, and it was me who ended up apologizing profusely.

I honestly think that was worse than the sexual abuse, which happened later. I had no idea that acquiescing to repeated demands of “Come on, you owe me after I bought you dinner”; “You’ll change your mind when you see how good it feels”; “You’re just so hot, I can’t help but get carried away around you” and more was not enthusiastic consent, and therefore, rape. The thing was, he rarely pinned me down and physically forced me to do anything; that only happened twice over a span of five years. His ways were more emotionally manipulative, particularly his sneering reminder that no one would ever love me like he did.

It sounds ludicrous now, but he was my first love, my first serious relationship: I was eighteen years old and already wondering if something was wrong with me because I’d never dated before. Finally, I believed that our physical involvement outside of marriage meant that I was tainted, and ruined for any good man. I felt I had an obligation to stay and make it work. I thought marrying him one day would be the only way to rectify our sin, which I felt culpable for since I did lead him on with my tight jeans, after all.

When writing about a topic that many people misunderstand, there’s always something that gets left out, because I can’t anticipate every ignorant reaction from trolls who want to prove I’m just being vindictive. When it comes to rape and abuse stories, there’s just no satisfying everyone. Even if I were attacked at random in a park, someone will want to know the hour in which I was jogging (is it early morning or late evening that is considered The Raping Hour?) and whether I was wearing spandex. If my ex were an acquaintance at a party, people would want to know how much I flirted and how much I drank. Just when you think you’ve come up with a scenario in which abuse is indisputably the assailant’s fault, someone who wasn’t there and doesn’t know you will fight you on it.

“Innocent until proven guilty” applies to the accuser as well as the accused, yet domestic abuse is the only crime in which the victim is asked to prove she or he is actually a victim before the situation is taken seriously. Unfortunately, I had to experience it for myself to learn how wrong I was about abused women. For many people, that is the only way to be set straight, and that absolutely needs to change. No one deserves to live in such a way that undermines his or her basic human dignity.

If I ever met the woman who wrote the Dear Abby letter (and I’ve probably bumped into women in her situation more times than I want to consider), I’d tell her she is worthy of respect. I’d ask if there’s anything I could do to help her. And then I’d respect whatever amount of agency she has by allowing her to make her own decision about what’s best for her life.

Filed under: Feminism, Rape Culture Tagged: Feminism, rape culture, self-care, social justice

Advent, refugees, and restoration

Christmas, as Christians know, is a time for thinking about restoration – not just in the form of God meeting us as a squalling baby, but in our own lives, as well. I really liked this question-and-answer sheet in my weekly small group last week:

Clearly it’s not finished yet. I don’t know if it will ever be finished. Part of the problem is that I’m extremely hesitant to see “restoration” in a tangible way. I know many people do: answers to this question at my table varied from new jobs or opportunities, meeting future spouses. While it’s true that some of the worst experiences in my life have given me my best writing material, and that material has benefitted me financially, I hesitate to say that’s from God when I’m already quite comfortable in that regard. I prefer to think of “restoration” in terms of inside work. My restorative goals are learning to forgive people who will never be sorry and learning to move forward despite never receiving apologies for past wrongs.

But that’s not how many Christians I know use that word, and that troubles me.

I’ve vented about this before, but Christmas, especially, is a time to really consider what we mean when we praise God for gifts that more likely come through hard work or simply being born into a state of privilege. I keep seeing Facebook posts from people praising God for new cars, new homes, or finding a $20 bill in the pocket of old jeans, and it’s becoming really difficult not to judge.

I personally feel that the Syrian refugee crisis coinciding with Advent is no coincidence, but a motion to get us Western Christians thinking about what it truly is to be poor in possessions but rich in spirit. I cannot reconcile an infant savior born in a filthy stable to parents who would be on food stamps if they lived in 21st-century America with this borderline prosperity-oriented thinking. I know part of being a Christian is finding a community to grow with, but it honestly hurts my relationship with God when so many people see him as a gift-giver doling out more blessings to people who, as it appears on the outside, already have enough.

Judaism teaches about tzedakah, or charity, and tikkun olam (“mending the world”) as obligations that are just as mandatory as Christ’s command to “Give up everything and follow me.” Those teachings influence my faith more than anything else.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, Christmas, evangelicals, Facebook, First World Problems, Judaism, Syrian refugees

#SolidarityWithStoya: What the church can learn from porn about consent

How much can you change the world with 55 words?

On the 28 th of November, in two tweets, Stoya—who is in no particular order a famous porn actress, an activist, a writer and a friend of mine—unambiguously accused her ex-boyfriend, fellow porn actor James Deen, of rape. “James Deen held me down and f–ked me while I said no, stop, used my safeword,” she wrote. “I just can’t nod and smile when people bring him up anymore.”

Within days, the porn industry had turned against its golden boy. In so doing, it became the first professional community to respond to allegations of serial sexual violence by actually believing women from the start (Read the full article here )

It’s probably not a surprise to know that I am no fan of the porn industry. I’m one of those feminists who thinks porn reduces women and men into nothing more than objects for pleasure, stripping them of their humanity.

That being said, there are plenty of porn actors who view porn as empowering, and genuinely love what they do. It’s those actors and those industries that respect its employees (by having a clean work environment and allowing contraceptives, for starters) that I want to talk about – not the ones in which abuse happens on set and employees are treated like chattel. Those exist, but that’s not the kind in the spotlight here.

With that in mind, I have to say that I’m surprised and yet not surprised to see so many people supporting Stoya. I’m surprised because, as we all know, the world is not always fair to rape victims. But I’m not surprised to see other people in the adult film industry supporting her because I really think such people might have a better understanding of consent than the average person does.

Think about it. As a job that requires all kinds of sex with strangers, porn demands consent. It requires a trust that all parties can be professional and courteous to one another in order to, well, “perform well,” just as all employees should in all other professions. But the nature of the job is so personal. Bodies, no matter your political or religious beliefs, are personal by definition.

Fundamentalists of the Christian Right, on the other hand, claim to revere sex as holy, which I agree with. Yet the notion of consent is almost entirely absent from their sexual rhetoric. We’ve heard of the appalling accusations against notable figures such as Josh Duggar, Bill Gothard, and Mark Driscoll. But the internet is full of people defending what they did because “none of us are perfect” and “everyone falls short of the glory of God.” For a religious practice that is supposed to revere bodies as temples, that’s a mighty callous response when someone desecrates that temple, don’t you think?

We also have theologians like John Piper claiming that marital rape and domestic violence don’t exist, as it is the wife’s responsibility to submit to her husband no matter what. Frankly, it is ironic that the porn industry places more emphasis on defending women than the church has! Christians, who (almost) universally condemn abuse and mistreatment, should be outraged by this.

I never thought I’d say that the porn industry could have anything positive to teach people, but in this case, it absolutely does. In this case, the porn industry (or at least the one Stoya works for) has a more comprehensive understanding of how consent is supposed to work, and frankly, churches ought to take note.

Filed under: Feminism, Rape Culture, Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, Feminism, rape culture

Wake me up when December ends

The struggles of living in rural Farmville: if the one Target doesn’t have what you’re looking for, then chances are you won’t find it anywhere except online. I was in search of an electric menorah, since a regular one didn’t seem feasible with two curious kitties in the apartment. Hanukkah had little significance in my family, but I’m used to seeing a menorah on display in December.

My quest took me 40 minutes out of the way to a store called Jerusalem Gold. On the outside, it looked like a typical Judaica store. Inside, it was difficult to find merchandise that wasn’t engraved or otherwise decorated with crosses and Jesus fish. The display of necklaces in the front glass case featured Star of David necklaces with tiny gold crosses inside – something I desperately wanted in college, though once I did acquire one, it turned out I wasn’t brave enough to wear it. It’s a bold statement to make, and not everyone who sees it will assume it’s a nod to honoring Jewish heritage while holding Christian beliefs.

In short, that store brought back all kinds of memories of struggling to fit two sides of me together like puzzle pieces in the fist of an impatient toddler. I was trying to shove pieces where they didn’t fit. It’s not that my faith was ever explicitly Jewish in the first place; it was the heritage and tradition, the thought of betraying my family, that plagued me with guilt. At the same time, denying a faith I was slowly believing to be true would produce a different kind of guilt. I was literally damned if I converted, damned if I didn’t.

The funny thing is, if I did want to Judaize my Christian faith, this store (with a chapel attached) proved there was a community for that. In my early Christian days, my new friends at Cru tried to push me into this community, believing it was a perfect compromise. Much of my early Christian experience involved being pushed and goaded in different directions, as if my friends had a better handle on God’s will for my life than I did.

Truth be told, I am just as uncomfortable in a Judeo-Christian environment like Jerusalem Gold as I am in mainstream Evangelical churches. What I long for is a community of like-minded believers who share a cultural appreciation for Judaism, and treat it as an ethnic identity over a spiritual one. That is the compromise I have come to: no one can force me to disavow my upbringing because of what I believe now. Yet there is nothing I can do about studying Christianity through Jewish lenses, because that’s all I know how to do.

And despite learning new vocabulary and new prayers, being baptized and joining a bible study, there is no other point in the calendar year that I feel most Jewish than during December. To this day, I have no Christmas traditions (unless Chinese food and a movie count). December 25th still means nothing to me – in my mind it’s separate from the season of Advent, which is far more significant. I still can’t stand Christmas movies, which I never watched as a kid but just couldn’t get into as an adult, and contemporary Christmas music drives me insane (the hymns, on the other hand, are my favorite Christian songs ever produced). And it still tweaks my nerves that some people don’t make any effort to be inclusive when they say “Merry Christmas” over “Happy Holidays” to strangers, even though their intentions are good.

Once Thanksgiving is over, I start singing a rendition of the Green Day song: Wake me up when December ends.

In the end, I did find a generic electric menorah, which cost quite a bit more than I thought it was worth, but I bought it anyway. The cashier, who wore a yarmulke and a cross, wrapped it up for me and wished me a blessed holiday season. I reciprocated those wishes and left, struck once again by the diverse ways people find truth. I’m glad it’s not my job to determine whose way is the “correct” one.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Campus Crusade for Christ, Christian culture, Christianity, Christmas, evangelicals, Hanukkah, Judaism

#GodIsntFixingThis: Why do we pray?

My first reaction when I saw the following headline on the cover of New York Daily wasn’t outrage (though admittedly, I was surprised) or indignation. The first thought that popped into my head was, Well, maybe this is because many of us have an inaccurate understanding of prayer.

Which isn’t to say that my view is the correct one. But I have a few theories. So far, no Christian I’ve spoken to has been able to answer these questions for me:

If God already has a will, is prayer supposed to change his mind?

Why are we praying for God’s Will to happen if God’s Will will happen regardless?

If God waits on prayer before allowing (or not allowing) certain events to happen, wouldn’t that mean he doesn’t know the future?

My lived experience has taught me (and other notable theologians like CS Lewis and Soren Kieerkegard) that prayer is more about becoming like God and communing with him as opposed to changing our circumstances. I can’t imagine an Almighty God bending time and space (and occasionally laws of nature) to ensure someone gets an up-close parking spot or healing from the flu while scores of people all over the world are suffering inexplicable violence and depravation, but I can imagine God providing the tools with which to make change happen.

Naturally, not all of us agree on the same tools with which to do this, which is why we find ourselves stuck when it comes to gun control. Of course, my biggest question is why God couldn’t answer prayers to prevent shootings from happening in the first place, rather than answering the prayers asking for comfort to the families of the dead. But what would mere humans know about that?

Do you agree or disagree? Why do you pray?

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, First World Problems, prayer

Does Jesus really make people “better”?

I remember being a new Christian and looking down on classmates who also claimed to share my faith, but lived “alternative lifestyles”: ie, drank a lot, had premarital sex, etc. True faith, per the teachings of Campus Crusade for Christ, began in someone’s heart and flowed outward in their actions. You’d know Christians by the way they stood out, especially on a wild, liberal campus like Kent State.

Then you have people like Robert Lewis Dear who shoot up Planned Parenthood clinics and claim they’re doing the work of God. And once again social media blows up (er, pun unintended) with #NotAllChristians posts before you can finish saying the word “hypocrisy.”

Jesus is supposed to sanctify people and enable them to become more like him. So how do you explain, then, the justification of violence by people like Dear? Is he not a real Christian? He thinks he is…and Twitter is full of posts from other self-professed Christians supporting his homicidal religious rhetoric.

The following passage by Gregory Boyd from Across the Spectrum summarizes what I was taught in ministry about sanctification:

Who, exactly, are the real Christians here? Is it really the same Jesus telling people like Mother Theresa to live among the poor while telling others to wage war against people who don’t adhere to their principles? One of these groups has to be wrong, but which one? They all use Scripture to justify their actions, and that’s the biggest problem with the No True Christian line of thinking.

What’s a believer to do when real-world experience doesn’t line up with what Scripture says to expect?

I’ve watched this madness unfold from behind my computer screen, resisting every temptation to share my opinion (which wouldn’t be that original anyway). The more angry tweets I read, the more comfortable I become in the knowledge that no one – not John Piper, not Pat Robertson, not Ken Ham, or any other prominent icon in the theological realm – knows for certain if they’re “doing faith” correctly. Mind you, it’s taken me years to arrive at this still-uncertain place of humility, because I’m just as likely as anyone to get defensive if someone tells me I’m wrong. But I could be – and so could you. With two thousand years distancing us from the early Christians and 40,000 Protestant denominations since, the odds that any of us in the 21st century has it “right” are likely not in our favor.

Some would say that this is the beauty of the body of Christ, that we all have different things to teach and learn from each other. That’s optimistic; I wish I could agree. In my experience, Christianity is not a monolithic thing no matter how much I wish it were, and the “brand” that I practice is the one that speaks the most truth to me. And the Robert Dears of the world will continue to embrace the brand that makes sense to them, even if I and many others believe they’re batnuts crazy.

That is why I no longer feel threatened when “one of my own” does something horrible like this. I no longer feel like I have to apologize for his actions and worry about him making me look bad because I don’t think Robert Dear and I follow the same Jesus, even though it’s his right to call himself Christian. If the Holy Spirit’s job is to sanctify, then I’d say Dear has been thoroughly sanctified in the denomination he embraces: the kind that measures holiness in acts of extremism. And thankfully, it’s not my job to judge if that kind of Christianity is the “true” kind.

Filed under: Religion Tagged: Campus Crusade for Christ, Christian culture, Christianity, Controversy, evangelicals, Ken Ham

Wil Wheaton: “You can’t pay rent with unique platform and reach”

I want to discuss an article I read a few weeks ago, in which actor Wil Wheaton writes about the indignity of compensating writers for their work with exposure over money. On the whole, I agree with him. Unless you have the good fortune of being related to someone who already has a platform – imagine being JK Rowling’s kid! – then you will be starting your career from the ground up, having little to no choice but to accept offers of free publicity, because you haven’t built enough of a name for yourself to guarantee media traffic with your name alone.

For many of us, myself included, free publicity in the form of a guest post on a well-known blog IS the payment. With luck, that “payment” will become monetary if the traffic leads back to my own site, where new readers eventually purchase my books. But writers have bills to pay like everyone else, and we can’t keep giving our work away for free forever. There’s just one teensy problem I have with Wheaton’s article.

Wil Wheaton can afford to complain about being paid in publicity over money. Because he’s Wil Wheaton (at least he acknowledges this). When he writes a book, all the Big Box stores are begging to sell it, because the stores know they’ll make enough in sales to compensate him (or rather, his publisher, which trickles royalties down to him). But if I want stores to sell my book, I have to approach them myself. And I have paid for the chance to have prominent shelf space for my books, because otherwise they’d never get noticed. I consider that a worthy sacrifice.

It’s not always a bad thing to be paid in exposure. The real question is when we stop accepting this form of payment and demand that we deserve more. It’s the same logic of a college graduate with several resume pages of unpaid internships that were accepted under the pretense of “earning experience” to impress future employers. At what point do you start turning them down? You don’t want to miss potential opportunities, but you also need to, you know, live.

The Huffington Post can damn well afford to pay guest writers. As Wheaton said, if you’re worthy of being published, you deserve to be paid, no matter how successful you are already. It’s not about making a rich person richer, but respecting the hard work of the artist.

Filed under: Writing & Publishing Tagged: Author Sarahbeth Caplin, Indie Author Life, self-publishing, Wil Wheaton, Writing