Brett Tilford

I’ve come to value action over the last few years. It’s easy to talk about how things should be and bemoan the shortcomings of the world around us, but that’s not courageous. What takes courage is standing up and doing something about it.

I’ve come to value goodness and kindness. For a long time they were out of fashion for me – reserved for old ladies and dying churches. I didn’t want to be merely good. Kindness was a sort of Christian give-up. I wanted to be the best, the strongest, the most powerful of Christians – not a kind one. Now I realize how priceless goodness is in this world. So I’ve given up trying to be the most kick-ass Christian in the world (hours of prayer in solitude and demanding miracles of the almighty) and now I’m just trying to be a decent one.

I’ve come to value generosity. I was taught to give from a very early age – in our house at least 10% of our income went to God. This normally meant “church” but it was normal for us to give above and beyond that to other orgs and causes. As an adult, I now realize that not everyone views the world this way so I’m especially grateful to my parents and churches for this value. I think my checkbook speaks so much more accurately to the things I value than what I write on my blog or what I’d tell you over coffee. In other words, this isn’t who I really am. Who I really am is hiding in plain sight – check my bank statement.

Most recently these values are the motivation behind the event 1 House 1 Night that my brother and I are putting on for the organization Ten Thousand Homes. Ten Thousand Homes is a grassroots organization based out of South Africa that is bringing hope and homes to HIV/Aids orphans. Our goal is to raise $5,000 (enough to build one home for an orphan or two) for them in one night – thus the name – 1 House 1 Night. It’s a goal that stretches me. I realize that most of my friends are starting families, paying off school loans and credit card debt (the sins of their youth) and simply don’t have a ton of disposable income. But I also know that they’re amazing people who share many of the values I mentioned above – which is why I’m holding out hope that we can do it.

You can checkout our website here and follow us on twitter here (@1house1night).

“Patience with others is called love, patience with self is called hope, and patience with God is called faith.”

This is taken from a book I recently finished called Patience with God: The Story of Zacchaeus Continuing In Us by Tomas Halik. In it he argues that the primary difference between theists and atheists is simply patience.

In other words, both Atheists and Theists have experienced the absence of God: the feeling that we are alone. We both wrestle with the questions that arise when we see the pain and suffering in the world. We both shake our heads in disbelief at times. The primary difference is that Atheists have experienced this absence of God and concluded that there isn’t one. Thoughtful theists, Halik argues, experience this absence, absorb that reality into their bones and let it do it’s work: maturing and deepening their faith.

Sure, this type of Theist is a bit more feeble, less sure of themselves and their grasp of “truth”, but at the end of the day they’re left with a refined faith.

One the one hand, it’s not a week faith destroyed by doubt. On the other, it’s not a muscular faith that has doubt in it’s cross hairs. It’s something in between – a faith that simply bears doubt and unknowing as part of the human condition.

Christan leaders tend to make alot of “we believe” statements.

Here’s what we believe about the bible, here’s what we believe about women in ministry, here’s what we believe about who will go to hell. Who is this we, I find myself wondering?

1,500 years ago the we was probably all of orthodox Christendom.1,000 years ago it likely referred to the Roman Catholic Church. 500 years ago the we may have been all Protestants. 100 years ago it was likely denominational. 50 years ago the we was your church. Now I’m inclined to think the we refers to the leadership team or simply, me.

There was a time when people never ventured further than 25 miles from home. They listened to one or two preachers their entire lives and had two books on the shelf: the Bible and Pilgrim’s Progress. Their thinking was informed largely by geography. They believed mostly what their parents and community believed. In that context it was always clear who the we was referring to – us, the community, all the clear thinking people in the world – a world that extended about 25 miles in every direction.

Of course this isn’t the world we live in anymore. Now, no one person or organization controls what their constituency believes. This is the simple reality of a living in a globalized, pluralized, technocized (not a word) society. Now we travel all over the world and interact with people from dozens of countries for business. We can listen to almost any pastor in the U.S. via radio, t.v., or podcasts. Our adult education took place at a school that’s probably not in the community we grew up in, and we have access to thousands of books and online resources articulating all sorts of ideas.

Which is why it makes sense now for Christian leaders to speak with a bit more nuance. Instead of, “this is what we all think about such and such topic” we should assume the intelligence and diversity of our audience and say, “From my perspective…” or “In my interpretation…” My hope is that this will encourage Christians to embrace the world we live in and give them permission them to think for themselves, instead of trying to strong arm them with the false pretense of unity on issues where it simply doesn’t exist.

Now, here’s what I’m not saying. I don’t think pastors need to preface literally every statement with “in my opinion…” or that we need to pretend the people in our congregations are on wildly different pages on every issue we address.  My point is simply that we need to realize the shift that has occurred in the world and come to grips with the fact that there’s more diversity of thought in our churches than we realize.

Most everyone I know is really big on not judging people. I guess this is important in a pluralistic society where there are so many different cultures and values all trying to coexist peacefully. It’s in our DNA, we children of the last 30 years, “Don’t be judgers”, they told us, “Be tolerant.” It also has some biblical precedence, as Jesus said, “don’t judge lest you too be judged.” Only the worst, most rigid Christians are judgmental.

When I talk to friends about my faith now – a faith that’s very hands-on and works focused (read more here) – this topic inevitably comes up. I’ll say something like, “At it’s core, I feel like Christianity is more a way of life than a system of beliefs, it’s less about a personal relationship with God, than obedience to the way of Jesus. Instead of looking at how high someone’s hands are raised during worship or how many hours a day they pray, to determine their “closeness” to God, I’m more likely to look at how they treat the people around them.” Then, as if on cue, my friend responds: “Aren’t you being judgmental? How could you ever say, who is and isn’t close to God? Why are you even asking questions like these? Being a Christian is about the heart, and no one can ever know anyone else’s heart, so we can’t say anything about that. Only God knows, stop playing God.”

Apparently, I’m a judger and I’m never quite sure how to respond to this. I could defend myself by explaining that this isn’t a conclusion I reach within 5 minutes of meeting someone, or that I tend to do this more in the affirmative (e.g. I think that person really loves God because they’re so kind, forgiving, patient, etc.) as opposed to the negative (that person definitely doesn’t love God because they’re so angry, bitter, unkind, etc.) but I don’t think that quite get’s to the root of my discomfort. What knaws at me is that in our “progressive Christianity” we think it’s very Christlike to withhold judgment on things, forever. We’d never say that someone doesn’t love God. Never rise up and call someone out for their shitty behavior. Never question a faith that had no fruit. Instead we’d mutter something about not knowing “their heart” and stay quiet.

I guess what I’m left wondering is this, doesn’t justice require that at some point we “pass judgment” on people? That we take a stand and say, “Stop it. This is absolutely unacceptable.” That could happen on a micro level: individual to individual basis, or a macro level: individual to a group, basis. Martin Luther King Junior didn’t say, “I hope my children grow up in a world where they’re never judged.” He said, “I want my children to grow up in a world where they’re judged, not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” It seems like in our embrace of tolerance (which I happen to think is a very good thing) we’ve overstated our case, promised never to judge anyone, and unwittingly put justice on the sidelines. I’m not a fan of a culture, or a religion, that does that. The reality is that for us to take love and justice seriously we will have to become more judgmental – not less.

As a teen I remember getting quite excited over crisis in people’s personal lives. Not because I liked to see them suffer, but because this meant they would be more likely to turn to God. I didn’t necessarily read this in the Bible, it just came after many years of observing people in the church. Folks would be perfectly fine without God for quite some time and then crisis would strike: death in the family, raging alcoholism, crushing financial losses, or some other incredibly trying circumstance. Then they would turn to God. My unspoken assumption was that people needed a crisis to find faith.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer had the insight that pastors had become the worst kind of gutter journalists – always peering into peoples private lives for their dirt and smut – because they felt that it was only by appealing to people’s weaknesses that they could be saved. In other words, he was suspicious of a faith that felt the need to go around convincing people who were perfectly happy with their lives, that they were in fact miserable.

I have a few friends who are really struggling right now but I feel it would be almost sin to push them towards God. Instead, I want to be there for them: listening, crying, and helping them as they go through a difficult time. Maybe later, when they’re back to some semblance of sanity and health, it will be time to re-engage the God talks. Not now though, not now.

Jesus said that where your money is, there will your heart be also. In other words, don’t listen to what someone says is important to them – check out their bank statement – that says it all.

I think people intuitively sense this and so a huge step for churches trying to rebuild trust with our culture is to become more transparent and generous financially. Churches should open their books and let people know where their money is going. Long gone are the days where we demand 10% of people’s income “because God said so.” Nope, you have to earn it now, otherwise it’s going to Charity Water or some other organization that we actually trust.

The key word here is trust. Churches need to rebuild trust with their communities and the culture at large. This is where generosity comes in. We’re looking for churches that exist for those in need, and who give till it hurts. Churches that we trust aren’t interested in a new BMW for the pastor or iMac computers for their lobby as much as feeding the hungry and clothing the naked. Consumerism is a sickness we’re trying to escape and it’s incredibly disheartening to find churches aligning themselves more with the practices of Wall Street then a Jesus who spent his life on behalf of the poor and the needy. The church at it’s best is a community that gives the finger to Mammon.

Read part 1 of this post here.

If there was a place on Facebook to select what my relationship with the Bible is, it would be marked “complicated”. On the one hand, it informs so much of how I conduct my life. On the other hand it infuriates and baffles me. That’s why I’m through defending a view of the Bible that sees within it only the divine, because when I crack it open I see humanity bleeding through on every page. God so often looks like us – our petty jealousies, our hatred, our vengeance.

I think alot about the kind of a faith I’ll pass down to my kids and specifically what I’ll teach them about the Bible. Will I shield them from the items above for fear that they’ll reject the whole thing? Will I demand that they approach the Bible with unthinking obedience and devotion? I hope not. I hope that when the time is right, I’ll explain to them that the Bible isn’t a children’s book. It takes a grounded and secure individual to pick it up and begin to sort through it’s views of God and the Christian faith. Not necessarily someone who’s studied extensive theology – just someone ready to think for themselves.

When it comes to the Bible here’s what I believe. I believe what it claims to be according to 2 Timothy 3:16 . It’s “God breathed” and “useful”. The useful part is more straightforward. I think it is useful for teaching, correcting, rebuking, and training people in the ways of God. By God breathed I don’t mean inerrant or perfect in every way, but simply that in some mysterious way – God is behind this beautiful mess. Yes man is certainly to be found within it’s pages, but I think wherever you find love, selflessness, charity, and kindness within it’s pages – you’re bumping up against the divine. Of course the trick is to find where those beautiful things are and what they mean for us today. That’s where I think the church comes in. We struggle together to understand who God is, who Jesus was, and how we might live in light of those things. It’s not cut and dry. It’s not as easy as simply memorizing scripture or reading through the Bible each year and then “doing what is says.” That’s part of my point – no one is exactly sure what the “truth” of the Bible is because of it’s fractured nature. Of course, that’s what you’d expect from a book that’s trying to grasp the mystery that is God. That’s why I try not to get angry when I read the unsavory parts of the Bible – they’re reminders that we’re all struggling to grasp the infinite. Sometimes we get it right. Sometimes we get it horrifically wrong.

At the end of the day though I wish evangelical churches would be more honest about the Bible – not side stepping the unsavory parts but jumping right into them. Not from a place of defense or justification, but from a place of weakness, sorrow, contrition, and the realization that in the same way our forefathers in the faith got it wrong – so will we. An honesty that admits that a foundation “built on the Word of God” has more cracks in it than we’d like to admit.

Truth be told, I think we’ve been a bit dis-honest about the Bible.

We’ve said it’s easy to understand, but this simply isn’t true. It’s history, narrative, poetry, prophetic literature, wisdom literature, and apocryphal literature written over thousands of years by multiple authors with differing viewpoints on various issues. Is it any wonder that when people pick up their Bibles for their morning quiet time they usually flip to Psalms or Proverbs? Psalms is easy to read poetry that resonates with our unfiltered emotion and passion when it comes to the divine. Proverbs is straight forward, practical prose that concerns itself with day to day life. On the other hand, no one is quite sure what the hell is happening in the book of Revelation.

Second, we’ve said that every word is inspired by God. So what are people to make of Yahweh encouraging child sacrifice in Exodus (2:29-30), His divine approval of the slaughter of entire cities (except the virgins which they were free to kidnap and rape) in Judges 21; or wayward church-goers murdered for minor issues in Acts 5. How are we supposed to reconcile these things with our view of a loving God who has a wonderful plan for everyone’s life?

Third, we’ve said it’s without contradiction and error. Yet, this turns a blind eye to dozens of discrepancies – below are a few examples. Was Jehoiachin 18 or 8 years old when he began his reign as King (2 Kings 24:8 vs. 2 Chronicles 36:9)? Was Jesus first sermon on a plain or a mountain (Matt. 5:1-2 vs. Luke 6:17,20)? Did Judas die by hanging himself or did he fall – with the unfortunate consequence that his bowls spilled out (Matt 27:5 vs. Acts 1:18)? What exactly happened at the resurrection of Jesus: did two or three women first encounter the empty tomb – and which women exactly? Did the male disciples believe the women’s account or disbelieve them? Were there two angels at the tomb, one angel or zero angels?).

Points like these and the dozens of others all add up to a view of the Bible that I simply can’t justify anymore.

Read part 2 of this post here.

Politics and Christianity has so often ended in disaster.

Turn back the clock 1,700 years and there was a time when Christians were the persecuted ones, the minority – estranged from popular culture and blamed for the bad luck of the Roman Empire. That changed when Constantine came to power and suddenly Christianity was the official religion of the empire. This had some upside. Confiscated church property was returned and Christians were no longer murdered for their beliefs. Of course the downside was that the emperor now weighed in on theological questions and the church was pressured to sign off on wars and atrocities of the state. Strange bedfellows indeed.

In the U.S. in the past 30 years we’ve witnessed the rise of the Religious Right. It’s been fueled by the following: 1. A misguided theology that saw a connection between ancient Israel and modern America. 2. Clever revisionist history that views the U.S. as a “Christian Nation” (instead of a nation where people have a freedom of religion). 3. Shrewd political maneuvering by the Republican party to brand a few issues as central to the moral slippage in our nation, e.g. Abortion and Gay Marriage, at the expense of other biblical issues like care for the environment or the plight of poor and working class people – with the result that Christianity has been largely co-opted by the Republican party. It’s one thing to say, “I’m a Christian who happens to be a Republican.” – it’s another thing entirely to think “Anyone who calls themselves a Christian should be a Republican” or “The Republican Party is God’s hope for America” or “Republicans are the only politicians with any sense of morality.” Of course the same would be true of similar statements about Democrats or any other political party. My point isn’t to pick on Republicans per se, but simply to show how tricky mixing faith and politics can be.

With examples like these in mind, it makes sense why many Christians have retreated from the political arena altogether. Most pastors I know basically refuses to address political issues from the pulpit. They know that there are people in their congregation on both sides of every issue and they don’t want to take sides. They stick to issues like parenting, leadership, finding success both personally and professionally, and a gospel focused on the individual (not society) – while at the same time steering a wide path around hot button political issues.

I think the challenge to this line of thinking is that love inevitably has political dimensions because a love that stays silent in the face of injustice is no love at all. Love demands that we stand up for the downtrodden, demands that we speak up for those whose tongues have been ripped out; requires that we not simply shake our heads at oppression, but join hands to do something about it. It demands that we work for change on a societal level.

Think of Martin Luther King Jr. Armed with a steadfast commitment to racial equality, rhetoric steeped in the tradition of the Old Testament prophets, and an understanding of Christian faith that embraced non violent resistance – he took a stand, not a personal or private stand in the quietness of his own heart, but a public and political stand.

A less well known example is Dietrich Boenhoffer. He was one of the few church leaders who publicly refused to support the Nazi takeover of Germany. Even going so far that he participated in a failed plot to assassinate Hitler – which led to his imprisonment and death. In his book “Letters and Papers From Prison” you see hints that he was struggling with the Protestant Liberalism of his countryman, not because they held different views of the Bible than he did, but because they had capitulated in the face of evil.

My hope is that the Church can continue to find ways to be political (because that’s what love requires) while at the same time refusing to be co-opted by any party. That we can seek to empower the poor and working class people of our nation, instead of befriending the well-to-do in attempts to bolster our own position. That we would encourage vigorous theological and political conversations among our members, instead of spouting the ideological party line or remaining silent. The church is at it’s best not as a political insider – wielding power, wining and dining, kissing ass, etc. – but as the outsider, the critique, the question mark, the prophetic voice of dissent.

If we acknowledge that G-D is beyond comprehension – literally “other” from us and shrouded in mystery then doesn’t it make sense that our approach to the divine would be a bit indirect and tentative. In other words, our churches should be more likely to approach God through symbol, story, poetry, music, and conversation rather than more literal/wooden approaches like preaching from a pulpit or organizing Bible classes. In the latter God and Truth are viewed as something to be experienced – something one “grows into”, while in the former they are something mostly understood if only people would read their Bibles and listen to more Christian teaching on the radio.  This is something we’re currently experimenting with in my little church, but it’s slow going. People are so accustomed to truth being simply revealed to them that it’s quite a shock when the “leader” simply invites them into a conversation, we’re accustomed to songs with lyrics that plainly “speak the truth” rather than beautiful music or poetry that invites questions, symbolism and art draws mostly blank stares because we’re so used to being told “what the point” of everything is.