The Simple Way of Shane Claiborne

It was quite the sight to see Shane Claiborne speak at my church Tuesday night. Here’s a guy wearing a homemade monk’s robe, bandana and dreadlocks (his everywhere outfit), standing on the stage of Bel Air Presbyterian Church. That’s Bel Air… as in Fresh Prince. We are a wealthy, comfortable church, looking majestically over the Valley from our pristine perch atop the Hollywood Hills. It’s not a church Shane Claiborne probably feels that comfortable in… but that’s exactly why he needed to be there—to ruffle our feathers.

As Claiborne likes to say, his message (i.e. the message of Jesus) is meant to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable. And it certainly did that Tuesday night.

Speaking to a crowd of about five or six hundred young people (the combined junior high, high school, college, and young adult ministries at the church), Claiborne recounted his conversion from the Christianity of his youth (alter calls, chubby bunny youth group games, televangelists) to the “simple way” that he now follows. He’s been written up in Christianity Today under the headline “The New Monasticism," portrayed as the leading edge of a new movement of younger evangelicals committed to re-visioning the gospel through the eyes of the poor. Another one of his quips falls along these lines: “Christianity is not about gaining better vision” (i.e. faith healers/prosperity gospel), “but seeing with new eyes.”

Claiborne is a radical guy, and if he wasn’t so earnest and joyful and rhetorically sincere, his radical ideas might be easily written off. Obviously not everyone can (or should) sell everything and start a commune on the north side of Philadelphia (as Claiborne did). Not everyone can take off ten weeks to work alongside Mother Theresa in Calcutta (as Claiborne did). And few have the guts to live and work with maimed children in Baghdad while a war is going on outside (as Claiborne did). But as unthinkable as it all sounds on paper for us practical-minded suburbanites, Claiborne makes it sound not only doable, but desirable.

Claiborne is fashioning a new kind of Christian—in the lineage of Dorothy Day and Mother Theresa—that is radically different than the sort of deep-pockets, high-powered political machine that gets all the headlines these days. This is a Christianity uninterested in all forms of power except that of love… and community in Christ. Though it’s maybe not perfect as an all-encompassing rhetoric of new-school Christianity, it’s definitely provocative, inspiring, and quietly revolutionary.

Christianity 101: Exclusivity

I have had several conversations and encounters in recent months that have made me worried about the extent to which the world—including Christians—does not understand what Christianity really means. In June I attended a panel discussion on the film A Mighty Heart, which featured representatives from Christian, Jewish, and Muslim backgrounds. The major theme throughout the discussion was the increasingly popular sentiment of collective goodwill/hope: that all major religions—regardless of who is being worshipped—are chiefly about love and peace. We must stop viewing each other as different or wrong... just diverse paths to a similar end.

More recently (this weekend), I attended a screening of a new documentary produced by Morgan Spurlock (Super Size Me). The film, entitled What Would Jesus Buy?, uses the forms and traditions of Christianity to mount an argument against out-of-control consumerism, though it never really offers Christianity or Christ as an alternative or solution. The film (which I will write about in more depth soon) follows “Reverend Billy and the Church of Stop Shopping”—a performance art/activist group that looks like a gospel choir but makes no claims of believing in the gospel. Following the screening of the film, I interviewed Spurlock and asked him about how Christianity fits into the message of the film. He said that the film's theme reflects the true meaning of Christmas—the arrival of a man who would revolutionize the world and shake things up through his radical message of peace, love, and equality.

But Christians, as I pointed out to Spurlock, would argue that Christmas represents more than peace and goodwill and love. It represents the Answer to our dissatisfaction in the arrival of a person who becomes a savior. True satisfaction, the Christian argues, comes not simply from the message of Jesus Christ (which if it is only peace/love/equality is not unique to him), but through his person. The sacrificial death and resurrection of Jesus—and through that alone—provides our redemption and ultimate happiness. Spurlock (who was incredibly nice and easy to talk to) responded by saying that yes, happiness can be found in Jesus Christ, but also in Allah or Buddha or whoever it might be. All of us are essentially about the same business: which is to try to make a change in the world.

It seems that the Christianity being invoked in What Would Jesus Buy?—and which is cooperating ecumenically for social justice and political causes (a good thing)—is increasingly being stripped of its claims of exclusivity. It is pretty clear in the scriptures that Jesus Christ was not of the mind that his way was just “one of many.” Rather, he said “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). C.S. Lewis articulates the vital importance of Christ’s claims of exclusivity also in his famous “Lord, liar, or lunatic” reasoning in Mere Christianity:

A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic – on the level with a man who says he is a poached egg – or he would be the devil of hell. You must take your choice. Either this was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us.

In other words, Jesus Christ cannot merely be a teacher, or prophet, or rhetorical genius (all of which he is). His message of love/peace/equality is great, yes, but part of his message is also that “my way is the only way.” Thus, to accept him as a peace advocate or political revolutionary but reject his claims of divinity is to undermine his whole legacy and legitimacy.

Christians today are struggling with the exclusive nature of our faith. It’s the hardest thing for people to get past, for sure. We don’t want to come across as condemnatory of every other religion. We hate having to tell others that our faith necessarily excludes other faiths as valid alternatives. We want to work together with Jews, Muslims, Hindus, etc without judgment or tension. And we can.

It is possible to live and work amongst other faiths, because we do have some common ground and shared concerns for peace and justice and a better world. But ultimately we cannot equate ourselves, because the final solution, in Christianity’s view, is none other than Jesus Christ himself. Not just the general, social reform causes he championed, but Jesus Christ the man: God incarnate. He offers himself to all—no matter where you were born or what you have done—and in that way he is the most inclusive.

Christian (Fill in the Blank)

Two summers ago, I heard Rick Warren speak at a conference. Pastor Warren (God bless him) uttered a line in his speech that gave me particular pause: “There is no such thing as Christian music, only Christian lyrics.” It’s a significant line in his theology, and it also appears throughout the Purpose-Driven book empire.

It’s a line that goes to the heart of the crisis in Christian identity.

Essentially, Warren is suggesting that something is made Christian when it is clearly labeled as such. Song lyrics (words) are easy to recognize as Christian: do they contain the words God, Jesus, praise? If so, wham! They’re Christian! Instrumental music cannot be “Christian,” in Warren’s view, because how could we ever tell what it is about? If the song itself doesn’t proclaim itself verbally as such, it is not Christian (even if its composer is Christian).

This way of thinking turns the essence of Christianity into a cheap adjective. Slap it onto anything, and voila! You have redeemed the regular and made it holy! But wait—isn’t Christianity more complicated than that?

Christians are way too slaphappy with the name “Christian.” We cavalierly attach it to the most trivial of things. Let’s consider just some of the “Christian” things that populate our culture: Christian bookstores, Christian music, movies, videogames, radio, magazines, publishing houses, Christian Youtube (“Godtube”), Christian MySpace (“MyPraize”), Christian clothes, shoes, socks, paintings, mousepads, cooking utensils, crockpots, you name it….

But what makes any of this “Christian”? What makes one crockpot more suitable for Christians than another? Do we really need “Christian” alternatives in cutlery?

Long ago, Christians decided that rather than trying to influence mass culture from within, they’d take the more passive route and define themselves as a “subculture.” One more subculture among many. There are many reasons why they did this: 1) it’s easier, 2) niche markets make more money faster, and 3) modernity gave rise to the combative, defensive posture of “us vs. them”—an attitude that has defined pop-Christianity ever since.

As a result, “Christian” seemed to become a word best defined by what it wasn’t (i.e. liberal, gay, postmodern, pro-choice, etc…). Somewhere in there we lost our sense of history and tradition and identity—we lost our idea of what “Christian” really means. And if we don’t know what it means, how will anyone else?

The problem is that our society has convinced us that “Christian” is merely an adjective—a descriptive word that usually connotes a conservative, prudish, bigoted fundamentalist diametrically opposed to everything fun under the sun.

But the truth is that “Christian” is much better fit as a noun, or even better—a verb. To be a Christian it to live in pursuit of Christ—to not be satisfied with who you are, but to strive for who you might be. It’s an action-oriented life; it’s a process.

We need to stop demeaning Christianity by treating it like a just another attribute. “Christian” is not like “red” or “tall.” It’s not just a word to describe. It’s a living, breathing way of being.

Billy G and the Pride of Evangelicals

The other day I saw this 20/20 special called “Pastor to Power: Billy Graham and the Presidents.” The hour-long special coincided with the release of the new book, The Preacher and the Presidents, authored by Time magazine reporters Nancy Gibbs and Michael Duffy. Both the book and the special take an in-depth look at Rev. Billy Graham’s unprecedented connection to every U.S. president since Harry Truman. No one else in American history could claim the confidence and intimate friendship of over ten U.S. presidents.

During the television special, Charles Gibson interviews all the living ex-presidents (Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton, the two Bushes), as well as their wives (most prominently—and tellingly—Hillary Clinton). They all tell the same story: Graham had unprecedented access to the most powerful office in the world, but he was never there for any other reason but to pastor, comfort, love, and minister. He had no interest in wielding political power or using his unique position for personal gain, and even when he brushed up against corruption (Nixon and Watergate), he managed to take the high road and escape largely unscathed.

I often think about Billy Graham, and about how he embodied all the best things about the evangelical boom in the twentieth century. He graduated from the college I went to (Wheaton), and immediately jumped into a life fully driven by Wheaton’s motto: Christo et Regno Ejus (For Christ and His Kingdom). He packed out stadiums all over the world because he was someone people would listen to—not because he was a stellar speaker or mind-blowing theologian (he was a lanky backwoods hillbilly), but because he had authority. He spoke the truth and people knew it. Something about him was indescribably sincere.

When Billy Graham dies, I think a phase of evangelical Christianity will die with him. Not that Christianity will no longer evangelize, but perhaps it will just not ever do so in the way that Graham did. And perhaps this a good thing. Billy Graham has led countless thousands (millions?) of people to Christ throughout his 60+ year career of preaching, but what is he being honored for (and gushed over) on primetime news specials? His personal, one-on-one ministry. It is telling that this, more than anything we might praise Graham for, seems the most remarkable. He loved people, unconditionally. This was his authority. It was both the end and the means of his ministry.

I was talking to someone the other day about evangelism today, and this person suggested that “evangelical” as a word was so prohibitive to the actual process (because of all the baggage it carries in culture) that perhaps it’d be best to just rid ourselves of the label. I’m not sure if this is necessary or even possible, but I understand the reasoning. Whatever “evangelical” was when Graham started his amazing ministry has since become a four-letter word in culture—commonly associated with bigotry, political conservatism, anti-intellectualism, narrow-mindedness, and other rather negative “isms.” People like Ted Haggard, Jim Bakker, and Pat Robertson have brought “evangelical” down into the dirt of corruption, scandal, and hate, and it’s time to draw a line in the sand.

From no fault of his own, Graham’s way of spreading the gospel has become a casualty to the overriding suspicion now held against mass-scale proselytizing. And it’s a shame. Though the culture (and the media, surprisingly) still treat Graham with the utmost deference, it feels as though they are simply waiting for his death—and the subsequent death-knell for old school, evangelical Christianity. As the “old guard” is dying off in rapid fashion (Jerry Falwell, Tammy Faye, Ruth Graham), it seems the secular world waits with bated breath to see if evangelicalism survives in its present state. And I, for one, certainly hope not. That’s right, you heard correct: evangelicalism has got to change.

The 20/20 special, while ostensibly an ode to Billy Graham (and a PR piece for the Clintons: “yes, we are Christians too!”), contained a pervasive unease about the pastor’s brushes with political power. Images of him in the White House no doubt sent shivers up liberal spines: the pictures represent the power of evangelicals in politics. And even though they have no reason to fear (because Graham was never a Ted Haggard, power-seeking opportunist), these liberal reactionaries are the reason Billy Graham will soon be a relic. They are the reason evangelicalism must change.

As long as evangelicals are feared, we will be ineffective. Evangelicals became a massive political force in the twentieth century, and as a result, we became known less for being followers of Christ and more for being a political interest group. THE political interest group. The demographic of all demographics.

Our authority is tarnished, because “evangelical” no longer has anything to do with love, goodness, joy, peace, humility, or Jesus (at least in the minds of most people you try to evangelize). It has to do with power and provincial thinking—trying to convert the neighbor, the nation, and eventually the world, to a monolithic, cult-like exclusivist religion. Sounds very Nazi-esque. Sounds like 1984.

We must change this. We must lose any pretense of power-seeking or political posturing and get back to the heart of following Jesus: denying ourselves and loving others. This was Billy Graham. God used him for great things because above all, he was a man of love. He was self-effacing when most people in his position would be self-congratulatory. He was rigorously bent on remaining marginal in Washington, even though he could have easily been a major player. He was a simple man with a singular purpose: spread the Gospel to every nation.

His life has been purposefully the opposite of what the world expects of a talented young man. And that is how we should live. We must purge all the baggage, drop the ambition, lose the ulterior motives, and just live out Christ’s love.