Brett Tilford

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.

Nietzche called Christians “despisers of the world” and “haters of the body”. The first time I read these words I was shocked – they seemed so harsh and unfair. Most of the Christians I know are decent people – not haters. Yet increasingly I think that there may be more truth in this critique than I care to realize.

It’s in our Left Behind view of the future that says, “Sin has irreparably broken this world. Ultimately there is no hope. Thankfully God has a plan B so a select few of us can go to heaven someday. The rest of creation (people included) will burn.” To those outside the Christian bubble it sounds callous and downright evil.

It’s in our preoccupation with sin. We are obsessed with it. Can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop talking about it. We have strange theologies that can literally see no good in people anymore. We have fallen. We are entirely wicked. Nothing of God is left. We have been cast to the trashheap. We’re sinners. Sinners to the core of our being. Wicked. Wicked to the core of our being. We’re disgusting, vile, wicked sinners. Sinners who love their sin. It’s sick. God hates it. Of course God loves “us”, just not “us” as we currently are. He loves the um… non-sin part of us? Of course a love that doesn’t embrace people as they actually are isn’t love at all.

It’s in our disdain for “physical” and “worldy” things. Pleasures of any sort are suspect because they’ll cause us to sin. Remember we are out of control sinners to the core of our being so we can’t be trusted. We can’t be trusted with alcohol and dancing and sex. Food and parties and conversations with someone of the opposite sex. Music and books and art (at least the non-Christian kind) – dangerous! These are the tools of the enemy! These pleasures of the world! Abstain. Withold. Close your mouth. Stop moving your feet. Stop up your ears. Close your eyes.

So the distancing continues.

We can’t trust our own bodies. We can’t trust other people. We can’t trust this world. It’s fallen and evil and wicked.

Granted, not all of us are so extreme but still – it’s in the back of our minds. Remnants of a 100 Sunday School classes when we were 7. Echoes of 100 sermons when we were 17.

Am I saying that sin is non-existent? No. My point is that we’ve become alienated from ourselves and the world and we’ve mis-used the Bible to back it up. A crying shame I think.

So come on over. Let’s have a drink (and a smoke?) and talk till the stars come out about how much we love the world: it’s art and music and food and dancing. The world and it’s imperfect, lovely, created-in-the-image-of-God-himself people.

Deeply committed to a theology of the weakness of God with a focus on the sufferings of Christ

Intuitively it makes sense to focus on the power of God. He is God after all. That’s why I think it’s interesting that the Gospels, with their centrality on the cross, present the somewhat paradoxical idea that the love of God isn’t best expressed in displays of awe inspiring power, but in sacrifice and weakness. Sometimes God loses. Love is fragile; easily crushed by the powers that be. In a world where power and violence is constantly on display via various media outlets (t.v., radio, internet) I think this is a timely message that resonates deeply with people.

Intent on encouraging people to read weird books (including theology) with the hope that it derails and changes them

In so many ways books saved my faith. People tend to think of books as dry and dusty things – full of cobwebs. In the same way we tend to think that “intellectualizing” the faith will make it a dry and dead thing as well – a religion confined to dusty books and scholars pens. I don’t view books like that. Books are simply a medium to convey ideas, and ideas are the absolute lifeblood of any faith. The minute we stop thinking, writing and arguing about our faith is the moment it’s no longer relevant in our lives. There was a time when I thought most everything about my faith had been figured out by pastors and theologians before me. Looking back that was the day my faith started to whither. It took writers like Nietzche, N.T. Wright, and Pete Rollins to dig fresh the spring of ideas that could give life to a vibrant faith in me again.

Focused on our actual material existence: our eating, drinking, walking around, playing, loving, laughing life (Romans 12:1)

“I sought my God, but my God eluded me. I sought my soul, but my soul I could not see. I sought my brother and I found all three.” – Anonymous

I think too often our faith get’s lost in our search for a God “out there”. He’s in “heaven” or somewhere “spiritual” – just beyond our reach. If only we’d pray a little harder, listen a little closer, or raise our hands a little higher we’d find Him. This can easily veer towards a striving for a God who remains silent despite our best efforts.

On the other hand we can lose ourselves in endless introspection. God is somewhere in our souls – the core of who we are. This ties in with the “Jesus is in my heart” type of thinking. I need only to peer inside myself and then I’ll find God. If only I could clear this sin out of my life then I’d be in touch with myself (and by extension God) again. “Oh wicked man that I am.” The worst is when Christian “small groups” catch this disease. You go around the circle and all we can talk about is our latest sin and how we can’t feel God anymore. It’s group therapy and it’s a faith that believes this is the way to God – looking inside ourselves. I tried this for a decade and eventually couldn’t take how obsessed with myself and my feelings I was.

“I sought my brother and I found all three.” This has been so true for me. I love the idea that God is love and that he’s best experienced in those magical moments when we stumble into generosity, kindness, and goodness (e.g. love – which transcends any definition). My faith has meaning only to the degree that I become the place where God manifests in the world, which is anywhere that love is springing up. The beauty of this is that suddenly my entire life can be riddled with God (in a uniquely Christian sense), whether I philosophically agree that a supreme being (G-D) is really “up there somewhere” or not. It also infuses our every day lives with beauty and meaning because suddenly God and faith is tangible. It’s seen in everything from my ethics at work, to how I interact with the bum on the street, to what motivates my politics. My actual life is no longer divorced from my faith. I don’t need to take a “time out” for God and go and meditate over my lunch break (of course if you enjoy that then by all means indulge yourself!) because my entire day is saturated with the divine – at least to the degree that I’m loving the people around me.

More to come on this…

I used to seek “God’s will” for my life. I believed he had a plan, a roadmap of sorts, that I needed to follow very closely. When I came to a fork in the road I’d pray fervently for guidance – nearly give myself an aneurism – straining to hear a voice from heaven. I’d read into every circumstance and chance interaction – like some old mystic deciphering tea leaves. Naturally, after weeks or months of indecision, I’d grow weary of the guessing game and confidently announce that God had spoken: I would go to such and such school or take such and such job because of course, God had told me to. I would never be so presumptuous to “walk in my own strength” or make a decision “in the flesh”. I wasn’t like people from the world who made decisions based only on what they wanted to do or what they felt was right. I was above all of that – God whispered in my ears – I was confident in my steps.

The problem is that looking back, I think my claims of otherworldly guidance were rooted in insecurity and a fear of what others thought about me. I viewed my ability to divine God’s will as essential to people believing in me; to keeping the aura going that I was a spiritual person who “heard from the Lord”; essential to my own confidence in my decisions; to keep going when times got tough. God was a security blanket of sorts.

Now I get a bit nervous when I hear people announcing that they’ve heard from God about their future – it’s like spiritual shock and awe; no one can speak into it, critique, or question it. God has whispered in their ears: conversation over.

All I see is someone trying too hard.

I respect people honest enough to admit they’re making it all up as they go. People with the confidence to take responsibility for their actions. People who refuse to blame God for their failures. People who can say, “Look God hasn’t whispered in my ear, I just think this is the right thing to do – you’re free to join me.” No coercing or cajoling. No big promises of quick success – like some slick salesmen.

I’m not sure if God has a wonderful plan for my life – at least in any specific way. For awhile I was terribly disappointed by this, but now I find it incredibly liberating. I’m free to do what I want to do. There are no “thou shalts” hanging over my head. No excuses like, “Well I really wanted to do ‘X’ but God called me to do ‘Y’.” That’s b.s. I’m a human being and I’m free to make my own decisions.

As Christians, the paragraph above sends up red flags for us. This is selfish talk. This is someone refusing to bow the knee to Christ. This is what we fear. We fear people thinking for themselves and making their own decisions. We’re afraid that without the shackles of “God’s will” they’ll leave God out of their lives all together. But what if the opposite is true. What if it takes leaving the idea of “God’s will” behind for people to begin to take responsibility for their lives and the state of our world. We need to empower people with the idea of God’s will – not hold them back.

Millions of Christian teens are about to graduate from high school in the next few weeks – if I could tell them anything I’d tell them that God’s will for their life is that they would be the most loving and Christlike people imaginable. How they become those people is up to them. They’re 100% responsible for their lives and actions. They’ll bring either heaven to earth or hell – the choice is there’s. I’d beg them never to be weighed down with thou shalts. I’d beg them to be fully immersed in the world – pressing their hands to the bloody pulse and not letting go. I’d encourage them to build orphanages and become school teachers and adopt kids – even if it doesn’t make much financial sense. I’d tell them it’s beautiful that they can do whatever they want, but it’s also a profound responsibility so they need to take it damn seriously. This isn’t kid stuff. Kids need maps. Kids need to be told what to do. Kids need their hands held. They’re not kids anymore. God trusts them and so do I.

I’ve come to love melancholy music. For Emma, Forever by Bon Iver, Hospice by The Antlers and anything by Sigur Ros. My friend said that if he listens to Sigur Ros for more than two hours he wants to kill himself. Not me though. I like the wail of the falsetto and the screams of the guitar. The resonance of the base drum – like a buddhist monk chanting in a temple where even footsteps echo; the sounds these albums have stolen from every day life – a train rumbling over dusty tracks or the simple clapping of hands. It’s all very earthy, mournful and beautiful.

You probably know someone who cuts. You’ve seen the scars – like a thousand paper cuts scattered on forearms and legs. When I first encountered this as a youth pastor working with teens, I thought it stemmed from self hatred – they hate their bodies so they hurt it. After a bit of research though I learned this wasn’t the case. It turns out people cut for therapy. The process of opening up their bodies and watching the wounds heal is like good medicine. Sure it hurts, but at least they can feel again. Oh God, anything to feel again.

Turns out the worst thing isn’t that we feel pain – it’s that we don’t feel at all. I think the same is true of our music, the worst thing isn’t that it makes us feel sad, it’s that it doesn’t make us feel at all.

Benjamin Zander has a brilliant quote in this TED talk that I’ve found myself coming back to repeatedly. He says that every parent  should ask themselves, “Who am I being, that my children’s eyes are not shining?” I think that applies not only to parents and children but all sorts of relationships. Aas a husband who am I being that my wife’s eyes are not shining? As a boss who am I being that my employees eyes are not shining? As a friend who am I being that those I love eyes are not shining? The beautiful thing about this question is that it requires us to be 100% accountable for the impact we have on those around us. Normally when people act out we wonder what their problem is – how genius to flip it around and ask, “Who am I being that they feel the need to act this way?”