Henri Nouwen

One thing is becoming clear to me: God became flesh for us to show us that the way to come in touch with God’s love is the human way, in which the limited and partial affection that people can give offers access to the unlimited and complete love that God has poured into the human heart. God’s love cannot be found outside this human affection, even when that human affection is tainted by the brokenness of our time.

Remembering 9/11

So here’s my take on the 9/11 and subsequent events. There has been a lot of public discussion in the last few weeks about how 9/11 changed us, which it has, and not all for the better. I read one article lamenting what we’ve lost and at this point I don’t even remember what it said but it occurred to me as a historian that what we’ve lost is direction. I think one of the best ways to characterize that loss of direction is by the images of the night when Osama bin Laden was assassinated, and we saw drunk college students celebrating in the streets of the Capitol as if we’d just won a big football game.

What I mean by loss of direction is that we no longer stand for what we once did in the world. Before the United States became involved in a big way in world events there was a predominant feeling that we had no business in world affairs. That dream of isolationism was shattered by the attack on Pearl Harbor, but to me it seems quite evident that the generation that went off to fight World War II did so with a real sense of regret, and a conviction that the world was being threatened by a real evil and that there was a need to sacrifice for the good of all. And that they did. They did sacrifice. And it was for the good of all.

What’s different today is that Americans do not so much seem to be driven anymore by this sense of conviction and sacrifice but more by a desire for revenge. I think couple that with the fact that America’s leaders (and I mean all of them, not just Democrats or Republicans)  no longer seem to be able to articulate a grand vision for America and its role in the world has made the United States appear to many in the world to be little more than a bumbling, revengeful giant.

Now I don’t want to argue that there is not a need for American engagement against its enemies. But beyond that I think we have lost that sense of purpose; we have become disillusioned, cynical, and bitter. And aside from the fact that this is obvious to others in the world, it poisons our national life internally too.

I think one of the reasons for this drift, as I mentioned, is lack of leadership. So even though I know many people remember Ronald Reagan as a conservative ideologue whom many associate with the devil, in fact Reagan was the last of that World War II generation who saw the world through starry idealistic eyes. Whether you like it or not Reagan was hugely popular, and the reason why was in spite of the fact that his actions sometimes belied his rhetoric, he was able to articulate the best of what Americans believed about themselves and about America.

So on the eve of the 9/11 commemorations, I am posting this archival speech of Reagan’s that encapsulates what once were the convictions of this nation, in hopes that at some point we will be able to remember as a nation that love finds its fullest expression in self-sacrifice for the other, even the enemy (Mt. 5:44).

Ronald Reagan Point du Hoc Speech

Father Damien of Molokai: Leper Priest

 

 

Father Damien de Veuster (1840-1889) was a Belgian born priest in the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary, a Roman Catholic Missionary religious order based in France. He spent the greater part of his life as a missionary and sixteen years in service to lepers at a colony on the Island of Molokai in the Hawaiian Islands chain, and eventually died of the disease himself. In 2005 he was venerated as Saint Damien of Molokai by the Roman Catholic Church. His vocation as a Roman Catholic missionary in an era of intense competition and outright intolerance between Catholics and Protestants might seem to be an odd selection as a “mentor” for one called to serve the evangelical Church in the twenty-first century, but I believe Father Damien’s career is characterized by attributes that are instructive for any servant of God, particularly those called to pastoral ministry. This essay is an attempt to find the heart of Fr. Damien as a pastor. I will present a brief biopic followed by an analysis of his approach to ministry as described by Fr. Damien himself and contemporaries, and finally a discussion of how this approach is relevant to my own circumstances.

How I came to choose Father Damien as a subject for further study is interesting to say the least. The history of Hawaii since its “discovery” by Captain Cook in 1778 has been an interest of mine for some time. Although Hawaii does not fall within the overall framework of my own specialty, which is Modern Latin America, nevertheless the events that occurred in Hawaii in relationship to the United States, particularly in the nineteenth century, present opportunities to consider the broader trajectory of U.S. history with undergraduate students. And, Hawaiian history is at once fascinating and tragic. So I have become something of an amateur historian of Hawaii.

On the Sunday before this paper was due, after already having begun preparation of a study of eighteenth century English clergyman John Newton, I heard a sermon in which Father Damien was introduced in ferefence to a consideration of how Christians ought to present the gospel to the communities in which we live. Specifically, the story that was given suggested that Fr. Damien considered himself a failure and was ready to give up his mission among the lepers, but as he was leaving he discovered he had leprosy himself and thus was not able to leave, and that his identification as a leper led to a flourishing ministry. I was drawn to this because of the notion that effective evangelization relies more on empathy and understanding than intellectual presentation. Ironically, the illustration proved to be historically inaccurate, at least in the details. But I was not to know that until I had done further research, which I was motivated to do by my historical interest in Hawaii and by the supposed miracle that was brought about by Fr. Damien’s contracting leprosy.

Damien was born Joseph de Voester in Ninde, Belgium, on January 3, 1840, the seventh child of a prosperous farmer.[1] It was his father’s hope that he would be able to carry on the family business, and because Joseph was physically robust but an unexceptional student he seemed well adapted to that calling. But Joseph himself had other aspirations.[2] Two of his older sisters and his older brother Auguste had entered the convent and the monastery respectively.[3] Although Joseph remained loyal to his father’s wishes throughout his teens, he was spiritually restless. Farm work did not satisfy him.[4] At the age of eighteen he was sent to a boarding school to learn French, which afforded him the opportunity to reflect on his calling. He was drawn to the religious life by the example of his siblings, and by 1859 he had abandoned the farm and entered the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary. Upon entering the religious life he took the name Damien. [5]

The normal progress of an applicant to this religious order was a period of postulancy followed by the solemn rite of profession, a novitiate of a year and a half, followed by studies in philosophy and theology, ordination, and finally an assignment to an overseas mission.[6] Joseph made his profession on October 7, 1860, in a ritual that resembled the funeral rite, representing the dying of the novitiate to the old life and rising in a new.[7] This ritual intrigues me. It must have been dramatic, particularly for one who was inclined toward the ceremonies of the nineteenth-century Catholic Church, and it appears to have had a dramatic effect on Damien’s life. At the end of his life he would refer to it as a dying that prefigured his dying of leprosy, in a way that shows a real sense of abandonment of self to God and his will.

Damien was entirely captivated by stories of missionary priests and their adventures in the Pacific region, and longed to devote his life to “bringing civilization to unexplored regions.”[8] In the post-colonial era this kind of thinking is generally condemned by the academic establishment, and in some cases rightly so, but at this point it is important to focus on the desire that Damien had to give his life for what he perceived at the time to be the propagation of God’s kingdom. I will briefly address the issue of paternalism and colonialism below. An opportunity came in 1862, when a number of religious were assigned to the mission in Hawaii. Damien was not among those chosen but his brother was. When Auguste contracted typhus, and was thus prevented from going, Damien seized the opportunity to take his place and was included in the mission.[9]

Because of the urgent need for workers in the mission field in Hawaii, within two months of his arrival in Honolulu Damien had risen through the ranks of the order to be ordained a priest on May 21, 1864.[10] Damien was assigned to an area on the island of Hawaii that was ninety miles long and thirty miles wide, containing as many as 3000 Catholics and one church. Damien was a tireless worker who travelled extensively through the area under his care. He wrote about carrying the church on his back – literally – as he had a portable altar that he would set up to say mass. During the eight years he was responsible for this area he built several churches with his own hands. He learned the local language and acquired the appellation “Kamiano” form his parishioners because of the peculiarities of the Kanak tongue. He lived a simple life and often accepted the hospitality of his parishioners, but only if he was certain of not being led into temptation. And, in a sign of things to come, he was accused of being “too driven.”[11]

This accusation against him suggested that he was too focused on the needs of his local congregation and did not consider the needs of the mission as a whole. I think that Damien’s response to this accusation was characteristic in that he did not recognize the reticence of his superiors as obstacles but rather as opportunities. By the end of his life this characteristic would lead to some very ugly relations between Damien and the Church hierarchy, as will be shown.

The introduction of leprosy to the Hawaiian Islands is of unknown origin; however by 1865 it had reached epidemic proportions particularly among the native population. A U.S. government study of the disease in 1936 observed that if the rate of leprosy in the mainland United States was equivalent to that in Hawaii the National Leprosarium would have 200,000 patients rather than 400. Because of the epidemic proportions of the disease the Hawaiian government – then still under the native monarchy established in 1810 – passed a law entitled “Act to Prevent the Spread of Leprosy in Hawaii” which led to forcibly segregating those affected by the disease from the general population. The government eventually purchased isolated land on the island of Molokai where the lepers could be exiled.[12]

The stated purpose of the act was to protect the Hawaiian population, but the effect was to create a squalid exile where those contracting the disease were essentially left to die.[13] In the middle of the nineteenth century it was believed by many that leprosy was highly contagious and that it was spread through touch. It was in fact thought to be a fourth stage of syphilis, and thus associated with loose sexual morals. Since the native Hawaiian view of sexuality did not correspond to the western Christian model, during this era Hawaiians were regarded by westerners as morally deficient in this regard. The false relationship between syphilis and leprosy led to an attitude on the part of many westerners that the lepers had essentially brought judgment on themselves through loose sexual practices, and thus there was not a lot of sympathy among the general population for the plight of the lepers. In fact the attitude toward leprosy in the nineteenth century was analogous to attitudes surrounding the current HIV/AIDS epidemic.[14]

In mid-April 1873 Fr. Damien learned of the wretched condition of the colony and of the need for a permanent priest for the sufferers there and responded with enthusiasm to a call for volunteers. Three other priests also volunteered to go, but for reasons unknown Damein was selected to go first and upon arrival would beg to be permanently assigned there. He would spend most of the rest of his life among the lepers.[15]

Though he possessed a zeal to be of service to the poorest of the poor Fr. Damien was shocked by the conditions he found within the leper colony and repulsed by the disease itself. The condition of the sufferers was such that they did not properly care for themselves. Many were horribly disfigured by the disease and particularly malodorous. In a number of letters Damien describe the smell of the place by referring to the story of Lazarus and observing “iam foetet” (he stinks already).[16] Along with the physical toll the disease took on the leper population, the knowledge that they had been sent to die left them hopeless and self-destructive. Drunkenness and sexual orgies were commonplace.[17] In 1873, when Damien arrived on the island, new exiles to the island were welcomed with the phrase “Aole kanawai ma keia wahi – in this place there is no law.”[18]

For the next sixteen years Fr. Damien would be a tireless worker among these lepers, turning the colony from the squalid hovel he found in 1873 into a truly Christian community (an ecumenical one – not just Roman Catholic). Along the way he would capture the admiration of the world and the suspicion and sometimes the outright hostility of his superiors. From the very beginning Damien identified himself along with those in his care by using the phrase “We lepers.”[19] By the time he had been in the colony for eleven years it became apparent that he too had contracted the disease.[20] He lived until April 15, 1889, working tirelessly for his flock until the end.[21]

Father Damien’s approach to the pastorate is characterized by a complete devotion to those he felt called to serve, in this case the poorest of the poor in the leper colony on Molokai. The representation of a two and a half decade ministry would be difficult to accurately portray in four pages, so in this case I am going to focus on just three aspects in particular: Fr. Damien’s identification with and devotion to the work of Jesus, how that devotion caused him to reach out to those he would naturally have not thought his allies, which led to a genuine ecumenical spirit, and how he had to learn to cope with the notoriety his mission brought him.

Damien left behind a prolific correspondence and there exist a number of contemporary observations of his ministry, which I will consult when drawing a thumbnail sketch of what I believe are its most relevant aspects. I should note that most of the correspondence has not been published and hence was not available for consultation in the preparation of this essay. Instead, I have been forced to consult edited sections of this correspondence contained in a recent book titled The Spirit of Father Damien by Jan de Volder, published in 2010. Although I am aware that consultation of the original sources or at least unedited transcripts is preferable for any scholarly endeavor, I am convinced after examination of a number of additional sources that Mr. de Volder accurately represents Fr. Damien’s thinking and has produced a faithful account of his life, “warts and all,” so to speak. While I have no intention of dwelling on the less than positive events of Fr. Damien’s life, I think it is important to note that the source of what follows is trustworthy.

I have already mentioned that even during Damien’s first assignment on the island of Hawaii he had been looked at with suspicion by his ecclesiastical superiors because of his zeal for serving his local flock in apparent disregard for the greater needs of the mission. If anything this characteristic became more prominent as Damien assumed his duties among the lepers. It resulted not only in his constant request for more supplies and more assistance for his little community, but also in his abandonment of regard for his personal well-being in deference to what he considered his mission. The best medical advice of the day, the orders of his superiors, and even scripture (Lev. 13:45-46) proscribed touching, being touched, or eating with the lepers,[22] but Damien was convinced that he could not rightly perform his duties and follow this advice. So he followed the example of Jesus, who had walked among and touched the lepers. And this is the key to his ministry: that he saw himself as a representative of Jesus to these people. Damien wrote to his superior in Paris:

They are repugnant to look at, but they also have a soul redeemed at the price of the precious blood of our Divine Savior. He too in his divine love consoled lepers. If I cannot heal them, as he could, at least I can offer them comfort.[23]

Another secular biographer of Fr. Damien, Gavan Daws, observes:

with a priest like Damien, in whom belief was unaffectedly incarnate, faith was made physical. To mortify the body, to die to himself, to risk physical leprosy in order to cure moral leprosy – this was to be a good priest. If it meant touching the untouchable, then that was what had to be done. The touch of the priest was the indispensible connection between parishioner and church, sinner and salvation.[24]

This attitude was to lead Damien assume the role of leadership in the community. That leadership was manifest in the multiple building projects he initiated, in his organization of the community into men’s and women’s groups who would minister to each other, in his devotion to the orphan boys and girls for whom he built homes and to whom he devoted special attention. But even though he was a leader, which is normally associated with the pastoral role, I think that what made Damien so remarkable was that he identified himself with his parishioners. Years before he himself contracted leprosy he referred to the community as “We lepers.”[25] This was in marked contrast to others in the Catholic hierarchy. Among his superiors, the Bishop Hermann Koeckemann was terrified of leprosy and only visited the colony once under extreme duress,[26] the vice provincial Léonor Fouesnel never set foot on the island.[27]

In the post-colonial era there has developed a critique of Christian missionaries as agents in league with colonial exploiters. There was an undeniable Euro centrism evident in much western thinking about the peripheral areas of the world in the nineteenth century and Damien was not immune to that. Before he left and upon arrival in Hawaii he no doubt considered the natives to be “savages” and saw the introduction of western culture as one way in which he could serve the people. In the end I don’t think he ever strayed far from the idea that he ought to insist that his flock live what the West would consider a moral lifestyle and that the organization he initiated among the people was decidedly western (even though he himself learned to speak Kanak and made provision for traditional Hawaiian expression in his worship services). But having said that, I don’t think in the end he viewed himself as superior to those he was called to minister to. As shown above, Damien considered himself to be one of the people, even if fulfilling a leadership role. So in this case I do not think that the issue of colonialism is relevant. The lepers of Molokai were undeniably better off because of the organization introduced by Fr. Damien, even if it was in some ways foreign to native tradition.

Another aspect of Damien’s ministry that endeared him to his flock and as well to a number of well-meaning people around the world, particularly in England and the United States, was the fact that from the beginning of his mission on Molokai he considered himself the representative of Jesus to all who suffered, not only those who were willing to profess Roman Catholicism. Damien had been raised in an era and in a cultural milieu that would have considered his acceptance of all sufferers as equals heretical. Indeed there is evidence that at the beginning of his mission in Hawaii and even at the beginning of his role as pastor to the lepers he saw Protestants of any stripe as heretics.[28] And there is plenty of evidence that the Catholic mission was regarded with distrust by the various other Christian missionary groups in Hawaii.[29] But from the beginning of his tenure on Molokai Damien refused to act out those prejudices in regards to the suffering population. One example of this was how Fr. Damien distributed relief goods to all equally rather than favoring those who professed Catholicism over those who did not. This not only had the effect not only of increasing the attractiveness of the Catholic Church but it invited interest in his mission by Protestants and others in England and the United States. His generosity added to the success of his mission. The praises that accompanied his name throughout the West brought generous outpourings of support from Catholics, Protestants, and those who cared little for religion.[30]

This leads to the third aspect of Damien’s ministry that I find of interest: how he dealt with the reaction to his work. By the 1880s Fr. Damien’s work was known and admired throughout the West. This brought physical support for his mission as well as a number of accolades from near and far, including the Cross of the Royal Order of Kalakaua, a kind of a knighthood in the Hawaiian Monarchy. There is no evidence that his fame ever “went to his head.” His own correspondence and observers’ reports up until the end of his life portray a man of extreme and genuine humility. However, his notoriety was certainly noticed and resented by government officials in Hawaii and by his superiors in the Catholic hierarchy. Both saw his and his admirers’ portrayals of the conditions on Molokai and of his own situation as bad PR. Damien never flinched in the face of criticism from the government and in fact through his life he maintained a fruitful working relationship with the Department of Public Health. They saw the necessity of his services and were willing to work with him to accomplish things they could not without him. But he was forced to endure what can only be described as pettiness on the part of his superiors. In response to this he remained obedient and non-critical. He endured undeserved reproach with humility and grace.

How is the life of Father Damien relevant to me personally? That relevance arises in large part out of the aspects of Damien’s ministry that I highlighted in the previous section. I identify with Damien’s zeal, with his fervor to do the work of God whatever the consequence was to be to him personally. Going further, it was not just a desire to do God’s work, but a desire to do the work of Jesus with complete abandon. Although as far as I can tell Damien was not driven by this scripture, I think his life exemplifies Paul’s exhortation to be like Jesus:

Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant.[31]

Like Jesus, Damien left behind a safe and comfortable existence (though I doubt nineteenth-century Belgium can compare with heaven in glory) in order to live among those who needed his help. Damien could not physically heal like Jesus could, but he could bring spiritual healing, the greater aspect of Jesus’ work. He did so by identifying with the poorest of the poor, even taking on their burden of leprosy.

I have no desire nor calling to go into the foreign mission field (although I wouldn’t mind going to Hawaii), and I certainly do not hope to catch leprosy, but I think on a spiritual level I am called to do the same as Fr. Damien with those I am given to minister to. They are not lepers but they are broken, and I see myself called to identify with that brokenness and to show the power of God in overcoming it. Although I do not see myself as only a pastor to substance abusers, I see my experience with that kind of brokenness as something God can use for the benefit of his people and the glory of his Kingdom. And beyond that my own experience of brokenness provides the basis for identification with those who are lost in sin and seeking comfort and “good news.” So in this way I see myself as ministering to many who are cast aside by society and even the Church.

I see Damien’s response to the reaction of others to his work as instructive. I do not seriously imagine that I will ever garner any kind of mass appeal, and if I did I would hope to be able to handle it with equanimity as Damien did. I think that as Christian evangelists we are more likely to encounter public criticism and condemnation than be overwhelmed by accolades. I take more from Damien’s response to his critics, so much like Jesus’ own response before the Sanhedrin and the political authorities of his day, to remain silent and obedient to the mission – to Jesus.

Finally I see Damien’s spiritual generosity, so unusual in his own day and to a great extent still in ours, as a model. Again, this fits very nicely with the concept of hospitality that has been a theme of this course. As a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ I cannot abandon orthodoxy in order to make it more palatable to those who might never believe anyway. But as an ambassador of Jesus Christ, whose ministry was to the poor, the abandoned, the outsiders, I have a responsibility to make sure that his gospel is presented as astonishingly “good news,” and not some Pharisaic exclusionary doctrine. That good news is preached, but it is also lived. It is welcoming hospitality to the “other,” with no expectation of return. So I will be Jesus to my brother, even if my brother despises me and my news. In that way I will follow in the footsteps of Fr. Damien of Molokai, and I will follow in the footsteps of Jesus.

---

[1] Jan de Volder, The Spirit of Father Damien: The Leper Priest – A Saint for Our Times, (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2010), Kindle Electronic Edition: Chapter 1, Location 198-215.

[2] Ibid., Location 230-42, 270-84.

[3] Ibid., Location 285-98.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid., Location 326-52.

[6] Ibid., Chapter 2, Location 382-93.

[7] Ibid., Location 402-16.

[8] Ibid., Location 431-44.

[9] Ibid., Location 459-72.

[10] Ibid., Location 487-99.

[11] Ibid., Location 514-27.

[12] C.H. Binford, “The History and Study of Leprosy in Hawaii,” Public Health Reports (1876-1970), Vol. 51 No. 15 (Apr. 10, 1936), 415-423.

[13] Penny Moblo, “Leprosy, Politics, and the Rise of Hawaii’s Reform Party,” The Journal of Pacific History, Vol. 34, No. 1, June 1999, 75-89.; de Volder, The Spirit of Father Damien, Chapter 3, Location 741-54.

[14] de Volder, The Spirit of Father Damien, Introduction, Location 79-92.

[15] Ibid., Chapter 2, Location 608-21.

[16] Ibid., Chapter 3, Location 718-26.

[17] Ibid., Chapter 4, Location 977-85.

[18] Ibid., Location 968-76.

[19] Ibid., Chapter 3, Location 757-66.

[20] Ibid., Chapter 6, Location 1800-8.

[21] Ibid., Chapter 8, Location 2709-18.

[22] Ibid., Chapter 3, Location 745-52.

[23] Damien to Father Marcellin Bousquet, Superior General, August 1873, quoted in Ibid., Chapter 4, Location 881-88.

[24] Gavan Daws, ­Holy Man: Father Damien of Molokai, (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1989), 152.

[25] de Voster, The Spirit of Father Damien, Chapter 3, Location 757-66.

[26] Ibid., Chapter 5, Location 1298-305.

[27] Ibid., Chapter 6, Location 1742-50.

[28] Ibid., Chapter 5, Location 1245-53.

[29] Ibid., 1236-44.

[30] Ibid., 1245-53.

[31] Philippians 2:4-7 ESV

Jesus Talks About His Church in John 17

[In John 17:11] Jesus shows the kind of profound unity that should be the norm among genuine believers. As the following verses indicate (through John 17:26), this is to be a reflection of the unity that has existed eternally between the Father and the Son (v. 11), namely, the unity of a common mind and purpose, an unqualified mutual love, and a sustained comprehensive togetherness in mission, as revealed in the Father-Son relationship characterized by Jesus' own ministry. Such unity is the result of Jesus' active work of “keeping” (vv. 12, 15) and “guarding” (v. 12); it results in believers being filled with joy (v. 13; see also 3:29; 15:11; 16:24; 1 John 1:4); it is rooted in the truth of God's word (John 17:14, 17, 20); it involves “sanctification,” that is, in the sense of consecration to serve (vv. 17, 19); it becomes a witness to the world so that “the world may believe” (v. 21); it is for the revelation of God's glory (v. 24); and it results in the experience of the indwelling love of God and the presence of Christ (v. 26). The kind of unity that is central to Jesus' high priestly prayer is not organizational but is an all-encompassing relational reality that binds believers together with each other and with their Lord—a unity that can be achieved only through the regenerating and sanctifying work of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Although individual Christians, and the church in general, tend to fall short of the fullness of unity that the Lord intends, whenever such unity is even partially realized (never at the expense of truth or holiness; v. 17) the result will always be deep joy (v. 13), a persuasive witness to the world (vv. 21, 23), and a display of God's glory (v. 22). – ESV Study Bible Note on John 17:11

Book Review: King’s Cross

Keller, Timothy. King’s Cross: The Story of the World in the Life of Jesus, New York: Dutton, 2011.

I’m going to cut past the suspense and say outright that this is a good book. I’ll tell you why at the end but I wanted to get that out of the way. In King’s Cross author Timothy Keller sets himself the rather imposing goal of telling the story of the world in 230 pages. And remarkably, this book does succeed in effectively communicating the only story about the world ultimately worth telling. It does so by offering a selective journey through the gospel of Mark. According to the introduction the raw material for the volume consists of a number of sermons on the gospel Pastor Keller has delivered over the years. Thus the book has a pastoral rather than a scholarly appeal, and I think that is a good thing.

The book is divided into two sections corresponding to the narrative of Mark’s gospel: the first part dealing with the first eight chapters of Mark wherein Jesus is revealed as King, the second part addressing the last eight chapters of the gospel focusing on the work of the Cross. There are a number of threads that weave their way through the narrative including three I’m going to focus on in this review. The three are a comparison of Christianity with other belief systems, the importance of the historical accuracy of the gospel story, and underlying everything the constant and consistent focus on the importance of the cross.

Keller states in the beginning of the book that he hopes to write for believers, seekers, and non-believers all at once. This in itself is tricky but I think it succeeds. I say I think because I am happy to find myself in the ranks of the fortunate who count themselves in the first category; I don’t know what this book might say to me if I was not a believer already. I suspect there are many who would scoff at the arguments presented but I doubt if someone who was very hostile would even bother. That being said, I think any who are truly curious about Christianity will find an accurate apologetic that appeals to reason but doesn’t downplay what some might consider the harder truths.

The first distinction Keller makes is not with any other religion but with religion itself, making the claim that the difference between religion and Christianity is the difference between advice and news. Religion, he says, advises individuals on the proper actions they must take to achieve the aim of religion, presumably a good life on earth and perhaps eternal life after. This lays the burden of salvation, or whatever the burden is, on the individual because it is based on proper adherence to the given advice. On the other hand, Keller points out that the gospel is ευ-αγγελιον (eu-angelion, from whence comes the English evangelize) – which literally means good news. It’s more than good news actually; it’s news of a major victory or some other great joyful event. And what is this news? Men are no longer responsible for their own salvation. Jesus has completely accomplished the impossible by satisfying all that is required for men to enjoy intimacy with God; hence there is no need for advice. Jesus already did what needs to be done. The purpose of the gospel, then, is to invite people to the fullness of life available as the consequence of Jesus’ mission.

This theme is carried throughout the book, accompanied by an occasional comparison of Christianity with other world belief systems including no belief system, showing how Christianity is not only unique among all of them but can as well lay a unique claim to truth. If the reader finds this offensive I would suggest reading Keller’s arguments and then considering whether he has made the case. From my point of view he has done so more than adequately, but I already admitted I’m biased. Concurrently, as Keller weaves his way through Mark’s narrative he points out reasons why the account can and must be considered an accurate chronicle rather than a fairy tale. Again I’m not going to detail the arguments but I believe they deserve serious consideration by anyone who is honestly curious.

I have the good fortune of being exposed to gospel-centered preaching on a consistent basis so I found Keller’s constant and consistent focus on the sacrificial nature of Jesus’ mission to be almost redundant. I was tempted to say (not out loud of course) “I already know that, let’s move on already.” But of course that’s just pride and I don’t think Keller can be faulted for reminding the reader on nearly every page (if not on every page) that Jesus died for the reader’s sins; that without that sacrifice nothing else would matter because without the work of the cross there is no life for anyone. That is, in fact, the story of the world that Keller set out to tell at the beginning.

I found the book to be enlightening enjoyable. The story is accurately and intelligently related and the arguments worthy of serious consideration. I believe it is a book that is accessible by the full range of the target audience Keller set out to address. I found myself marking a number of pages containing insights I had not previously thought of. And when I got to the end, where Keller was explaining the significance and the magnitude of the cross and the resurrection, I wept. That’s why I think it’s a good book. Because any book that can make a hardened old cynic weep must truly be special.

Rob Bell a Heretic?

What do you guys think? Is Rob Bell a heretic?

Rob Bell punches back against claims of heresy

Is This True of Me?

I like this part:

Never consider whether or not you are of use— but always consider that “you are not your own” (1 Corinthians 6:19). You are His.

Is This True of Me?