"Jesus said, 'The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on
that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock.'"
(Matthew 7.25, from the Gospel for Sunday)
----------
I am driving home on a warm late-spring day, shifting my thoughts from work to golf.
Our classical station is playing one of those lifeless pieces whose composer must have had a commission to fill, even though he was between inspirations. I switch to the Bible station.
I tune in this station from time to time, mainly hoping to catch favorite hymns, but also out of curiosity about the world of Christian fundamentalism.
A hymn is under way. I don't recognize it, but the affect is familiar: soothing, earnest, unlike anything else on the radio. I know the next hymn well, but not in this adaptation.
A soothing preacher offers religious advice on a listener's question concerning the poor. If they are members of the congregation, he counsels,then Matthew 25 compels the congregation to help. If they are not, then
refer them to public welfare.
After fifteen minutes of preaching and music, I realize something. And I say this without disparagement. This is a separate world. Its questions are not the questions I normally encounter. Its tone is different, its rhythm is
different, its affect is different. It feels like walking off a busy street into, say, an ethnic food store, where the smells, sights, sounds and language are unrelated to what exists outside.
I am reminded of the day I ventured across the highway to an African-American neighborhood for a meeting and found a parallel culture: bank, funeral parlor, newspaper, real estate firm, insurance company, shopping center, physicians - a parallel economy - plus black churches and a
complete class structure, rich to poor.
The parallel black culture made sense to me. For I knew the racial prejudice on my side of the highway. I am confused, however, by separatism within the Christian world. For it goes deeper than Bible translations, worship styles or the inevitable "branding" of seminaries and hymnals. And again, I don't want to belittle or criticize, but to understand.
The Christian world I know is oriented outward - never as fully as its stated ethic would require, but generally reflecting a belief that God loves all of humanity and would use Christians to spread that love. That Christian
world seems part of the culture. The language and affect outside the walls and inside the walls seem identical - not because faith is flaccid, but because God is all in all, faith and culture feed each other, and Godly
self-denial breaks down all barriers.
The fundamentalist world, as I encounter it, takes the opposite course. It is oriented inward - inside the narrow gate, in a sheepfold where one finds safety, purity and like-mindedness. It believes God's love and blessings are
selective. It stands apart from the culture - disdaining the tawdry elements of the world, hoping to cleanse the culture but meanwhile avoiding its tarnish.
These differences explain to me why our parallel Christian cultures find it increasingly difficult to share space. We don't think alike, believe alike, sound alike, worship alike, or view the world alike.
We all want houses built on a foundation of rock. I don't buy the assertion that so-called "liberal" Christians are simply wishy-washy, or that "conservative" Christians are hateful. Both sides have leaders who use our differences to build their careers and sell their CDs. But such cynicism aside, at the level where we live, worship and try to make sense of life, we have little in common.
I don't know where to take this. But I sense that our separatism is unsustainable. It is hurting us - making our faith too small - and it is hurting God's creation. Maybe we need to start by knowing that these parallel cultures exist, and that our separation is not of God.
--written by Tom Ehrich from "On a Journey."
that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock.'"
(Matthew 7.25, from the Gospel for Sunday)
----------
I am driving home on a warm late-spring day, shifting my thoughts from work to golf.
Our classical station is playing one of those lifeless pieces whose composer must have had a commission to fill, even though he was between inspirations. I switch to the Bible station.
I tune in this station from time to time, mainly hoping to catch favorite hymns, but also out of curiosity about the world of Christian fundamentalism.
A hymn is under way. I don't recognize it, but the affect is familiar: soothing, earnest, unlike anything else on the radio. I know the next hymn well, but not in this adaptation.
A soothing preacher offers religious advice on a listener's question concerning the poor. If they are members of the congregation, he counsels,then Matthew 25 compels the congregation to help. If they are not, then
refer them to public welfare.
After fifteen minutes of preaching and music, I realize something. And I say this without disparagement. This is a separate world. Its questions are not the questions I normally encounter. Its tone is different, its rhythm is
different, its affect is different. It feels like walking off a busy street into, say, an ethnic food store, where the smells, sights, sounds and language are unrelated to what exists outside.
I am reminded of the day I ventured across the highway to an African-American neighborhood for a meeting and found a parallel culture: bank, funeral parlor, newspaper, real estate firm, insurance company, shopping center, physicians - a parallel economy - plus black churches and a
complete class structure, rich to poor.
The parallel black culture made sense to me. For I knew the racial prejudice on my side of the highway. I am confused, however, by separatism within the Christian world. For it goes deeper than Bible translations, worship styles or the inevitable "branding" of seminaries and hymnals. And again, I don't want to belittle or criticize, but to understand.
The Christian world I know is oriented outward - never as fully as its stated ethic would require, but generally reflecting a belief that God loves all of humanity and would use Christians to spread that love. That Christian
world seems part of the culture. The language and affect outside the walls and inside the walls seem identical - not because faith is flaccid, but because God is all in all, faith and culture feed each other, and Godly
self-denial breaks down all barriers.
The fundamentalist world, as I encounter it, takes the opposite course. It is oriented inward - inside the narrow gate, in a sheepfold where one finds safety, purity and like-mindedness. It believes God's love and blessings are
selective. It stands apart from the culture - disdaining the tawdry elements of the world, hoping to cleanse the culture but meanwhile avoiding its tarnish.
These differences explain to me why our parallel Christian cultures find it increasingly difficult to share space. We don't think alike, believe alike, sound alike, worship alike, or view the world alike.
We all want houses built on a foundation of rock. I don't buy the assertion that so-called "liberal" Christians are simply wishy-washy, or that "conservative" Christians are hateful. Both sides have leaders who use our differences to build their careers and sell their CDs. But such cynicism aside, at the level where we live, worship and try to make sense of life, we have little in common.
I don't know where to take this. But I sense that our separatism is unsustainable. It is hurting us - making our faith too small - and it is hurting God's creation. Maybe we need to start by knowing that these parallel cultures exist, and that our separation is not of God.
--written by Tom Ehrich from "On a Journey."
