The River Turns: Christianity After Progress

By Brice Larson

The Christian faith is like a family that has set out on the River of what God is doing.  Most of us think that we only need to stay in the canoe and enjoy the scenery, but then someone who's never been on a river before decides to stand up and the canoe capsizes.  So, we have to drag ourselves to shore, turn our little craft over, and start out again. 

Despite the occassional interruption, our journey seems to be going relatively well until we awaken to a nasty surprise.  You see, the River of what God is doing carves its way through human history and so it gets choked up with all the shortsightedness, puffed up claims to power and importance, and foolish violence of the human story.  When this happens, the current spits us past boulders of abuses of power and the fallen trees of hatred like water shot from a firehose.  I'm afraid to say that our little canoe must navigate these unforgiving rapids. 

Larson suggests that Christianity in the third millenium can only remain faithful to Jesus if it abandons the values of power, wealth, convenience, and competition.  Instead, we must learn to recognize abuses of power and embrace our creaturely limits as we travel together along the River or what God is doing.  Along the way, Larson offers a positive vision of how postmodern concerns can point the Church deeper into the Gospel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brice Larson
• Release date: Aug 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386703754

Book preview

Foreword

This book emerges out of my own story.  I grew up in a conservative Pentecostal church dedicated to the quest for revival.  Revival meant that the demonic darkness of our secular world would melt away before the light and goodness of our church.  Revival meant that our neighbors would begin to spontaneously live holy lives.  Revival meant that the Bible would be honored in our schools and our government.  Revival meant that the miracles we read about in Scripture would happen on our streets.  Above all, revival meant that people would encounter the Living God in life-changing, soul-saving ways. 

As time went on, I found myself earning degrees in Christian history and theology.  I learned that the church had perpetrated as much evil across the centuries as any other community and so I came to dismiss the easy dichotomies of good and evil, light and dark, and Christian and secular that I inherited from my childhood church.  I began to think about epistemology (how we know what we know) and to wrestle with how abuses of power have a way of etching exploitative practices and thought patterns upon the souls of our communities.  Along the way, I began to see how the Christian Scriptures speak to topics like the abuse of power and how to build healthy, God-honoring communities in a pluralistic world. 

This book is my attempt to integrate the perspectives I have gained along this journey.  It is my witness to how the Christian faith helps me navigate today’s concerns about truth, power, and justice despite the deep injustices that continue to lurk in our churches and Christian communities.  This journey has shifted the proverbial ground beneath my feet, but one thing from that Pentecostal church of my childhood remains central to my worldview.  I still believe in encountering the Living God in life-changing, soul-saving ways. 

I have written this book with four different types of people in mind.  First, I want to speak to the many people in the church today who believe that the shift toward relativism in our culture today is undermining the truth of the gospel.  You hear slogans like, we all need to speak our truth, and The Bible’s only as trustworthy as the person reading it and your heart screams Wrong!  You know that truth is truth no matter where we find it and you can’t understand how people can claim to follow Jesus and seem to doubt this self-evident claim. 

This book is written for you and, if I’ve done my work well, by the time you finish it you’ll have a deeper appreciation for why those relativistic, anti-truth, foundationless relativists think and act as they do.  (If you have no interest in understanding relativists and only want to demonize them, you might as well put this book down . . .)  It is my hope that you might even consider the idea that relativistic thinkers that use terms like my truth have a vital place in the church today.

Second, I want to speak to self-proclaimed relativists who clearly see the abuses of the church but still desperately want to continue to follow Christ.  Many of you cannot stand to be in the same room as hypocritical, self-righteous, narrow-minded, so-called Christians who believe they and they alone have a hold upon truth.  Many of you have been deeply hurt by the church.  I am so sorry for the pain you have endured. 

This book is written for you.  If I’ve done my work well, by the time you finish you’ll have a deeper appreciation for the heritage of the church and for those who cling to it so persistently—and often so blindly.  (If you still need to rant and rail against the Christian establishment for a while, feel free to put off reading.)  It is my hope that, even if you cannot shake the trauma of your personal story, you will come to more deeply appreciate your place in the great family of Christ-followers that stretches out through history.

Third, I want to speak to those who stand outside of the Christian faith.  Many of you have also been deeply hurt by the abuses of the Christian religion.  Many of you look in fear or hate at the exploitative, racist, anti-gay, anti-science, misogynist, anti-tolerance edifice of the church and fear how it will shape our shared future.  Some of you have even taken steps to make sure that its influence is curbed.  I am deeply sorry that we Christians have not listened to your voices and unspeakably horrified at the ways my forebears endorsed colonialism and slavery.  I am deeply pained by the way some of us continue to institutionalize misogyny and homophobia. 

This book is for you.  Much of the language is directed toward Christ followers, but if I’ve done my work well, you’ll see that Christianity is not a homogenous club dedicated to backwardness and hate.  (If you want to see Christians as a homogenous whole, you are under no obligation to read any further.)  It is my hope that you might get a glimpse of how Christ-followers can be partners in the hopelessly optimistic work of global peace, justice, mutual honor, and mutual flourishing in the coming decades and centuries.

Finally, I want to speak to seekers.  Many of you have found that the religious and philosophical foundations you were given by your families and communities as a child simply cannot speak to the questions and concerns of your life today.  Some of you feel a deep sense of dislocation and an urgency to find new foundations.  Others have given up on the idea of faith or the hope that life has meaning.  You have settled down to get what you can out of life and yet, you feel that something is missing—or maybe that you’re missing something.

This book is for you.  If I have done my work well, you will get a glimpse of a vision of reality that is bigger and more filled with meaning than you could dare to hope.  (If you are of the opinion that all such visions of reality are only tools used by charlatans and powermongers to manipulate people, you need not read another word.)  It is my hope that you might bump into something or Someone along your journey who can awaken the sense of joyous meaning you now only recognize by its absence.

Whoever else this book is for, it is for the communities that have helped me along my journey.  You have given me great joy and you have caused me deep pain.  You have played your part in giving me the gift of who I’ve become and for that I am grateful to you and to the One Who holds all things together.  Thank you.

Introduction: The River

I grew up in Montana.  In this I am blessed. 

Both my parents love the outdoors, so I spent much of my childhood climbing mountains, picking huckleberries, searching for arrowheads, and stalking squirrels, deer, or elk.  All these things have enriched my life and I am grateful for them. 

Still, nothing quite compares to a beautiful day on the River.  For my family, this usually meant the lethargic Missouri, but we often made our way to the more energetic (and more dangerous!) Smith or Blackfoot.  In the end, the river you pick doesn’t matter much.  When you push off of shore and into the water, you set out into another world . . . another way of experiencing life.  The responsibility for getting yourself where you need to go no longer rests with you.  The river takes you.  The current carries you past eagles and swallows, cows and deer, water skippers, crayfish, and the watery holes that anyone who’s ever fished knows contain at least one monster trout.  It doesn’t take long to figure out that the river brings life to everything it touches. 

As children, we usually traversed rivers on a raft, but I occasionally found myself in my preferred craft—a canoe.  I prefer to pilot canoes because you can feel the rhythms of the water lapping against the small vessel and a couple purposeful paddle strokes shoot you across the current.  To my continual annoyance, my family won’t ride in a canoe with me.  They have one simple reason—over the years I’ve made a habit of canoe flipping.  Sometimes I hit a rock and the current turns us over.  Sometimes I lean a little too far over one side.  Sometimes one of my companions decides canoes are for standing in (they most definitely are not!).  One way or another, the canoe becomes unbalanced and we all get wet.  When this happens, we have to drag the vessel to the shore and get it right-side-up again before we can go any further!

The Christian faith is a lot like a family that has set out on the River of what God is doing in this world.  We’ve all jumped into the canoe of following Jesus with every intention of letting the current carry us downstream.  Most of us think that we only need to stay in the canoe and enjoy the scenery, but then someone who’s never been on a river before decides to stand up and the canoe capsizes.  So, we have to drag ourselves to shore, turn our little craft over, and start out again.  Of course, it’s never long until someone else leans too far over the edge and we have to turn ourselves rightside up again!

We persevere like this in fits and starts for a while, but pretty soon some of the people who have been sitting quietly get sick of everyone else causing problems.  They try to set up rules about what we can and cannot do in the canoe.  When these rules get broken, they try to throw the rule breakers out.  Now, if you’ve ever tried to throw someone out of a canoe, you know there’s no better way to flip the whole thing over.  So, the canoe of participation in Christ gets turned over again—and we must wade ashore and get things sorted out one more time. 

By this time, we have, almost despite ourselves, made it a fair way down the River.  But we’re in for a nasty surprise.  You see, the River of what God is doing carves its way through human history and so it gets choked up with all the shortsightedness, puffed up claims to power and importance, and foolish violence of the human story.  When this happens, the River no longer meanders through flat farmland like a gleaming ribbon carelessly tossed upon the earth.  Instead, it flies past the boulders of abuses of power and the fallen trees of hatred like water shot from a firehose.  I’m afraid to say that our little canoe must navigate these unforgiving rapids. 

Just picture our canoe, packed full of sullen and soaked River-goers still bickering over who to blame for their latest dunking and how to decide on rules to avoid future accidents as they come around a bend and see the rapids they must navigate.  (Of course, they would have heard the rapids long ago if they were listening to the River instead of arguing. . .)  Some take one look at the rapids and jump overboard.  Others start wrestling over the paddles.  Still others want to go back upstream to look for a way around the rapids or head for the shore so they can carry the canoe around the rapids.  Before you can say Look out! our band of squabblers gets pulled into the rapids and dashed upon the rocks. 

Little knots of River-goers cling to small bits of the canoe and manage to ride it out until the river calms down.  Then they drag themselves to shore and discuss what to do.  Some want to use their piece of the canoe to build a house there on the shore.  Others want to try to make it further down the River by supplementing their part of the canoe with whatever they find laying around.  Still others decide they should use their part of the canoe to start building a bridge over the rapids so no one else shares their unhappy fate. 

In time, our ragtag group of River ragamuffins evolves into several smaller groups quite skilled at their chosen tasks.  The bridge builders soon make it unnecessary for travelers to step into the River at all.  The home builders quickly trade their huts in for mansions that draw approving murmurs.  The river mappers explore and chart the River and all the land it drains.  Everyone—bridge builders, home builders, and explorers alike—go about their own business for generations until they’ve all but forgotten that they used to travel the River together.

I hardly need to point out the fate of the canoe in our little story.  Only the canoe and shared commitment to traveling the River of what God is doing held our ridiculous, squabbling River-goers together.  As soon as the rocks of abuse of power and the deadfall of hatred pulled it apart, the teachings of Jesus ceased to carry our misadventurous company down the River.  As soon as our River-goers decided to use their pieces of the canoe for their own purposes instead of coming together to do the hard work of putting the canoe together, they gave up on the vision Jesus gave us.  Scripture is quite clear.  One of the most fundamental foundations of following Christ is that we must do it together! 

Luckily, our story is not yet finished. . .

One day, something unexpected happens.  Three people meet, quite by accident, at the edge of the rapids.  One is a bridge builder.  One is a home builder.  One is a river mapper.  They hail one another and fall into conversation.  As they speak, a desire begins to well up within them.  They want to rebuild the canoe and start back down the River of what God is doing.  So, each goes home and brings back their piece of the ancient, shattered canoe. 

They lay their pieces down next to one another.  What we need now is to find some way to stretch a tarp over this little boat so we can keep the weather out, says the home builder. 

Nonsense, snorts the explorer.  It will only catch on low hanging branches.  Besides, canoes really aren’t the best way to travel this River anyway.  We’d be better off building a raft instead.

The bridge builder simply cannot hold himself back.  Rafts are no good!  What we want is something nice and light that we can carry around the most dangerous bits.  No use going through the rapids when you can go around! 

The conversation goes on and on, each prospective River-goer talking past the other.  You see, over the years, bridge builders have forgotten how to think like anything but bridge builders.  Explorers have taken to making fun of the ideas of the home builders.  And the home builders?  Well, they have gotten so comfortable indoors that they no longer even have words for wind, sky, sun, and stars.  This sad state of affairs makes communication quite difficult all around.  Yet, they talk on, called together by the River and their shared desire to follow Christ. 

I wonder if they will ever manage to put their pieces of the canoe back together and push out down the River again . . .

Chapter 1—Wait . . . Where are We?

"There is nothing more tragic in the modern world than the misuse

of power."

-Thomas Merton[1]

We stand at the mouth of narrow canyon.  Here, the River quickly plunges downhill as canyon walls rise like foreboding sentries on either side.  Going downriver means navigating this land of shadows.  With curiosity more than a little tinged by trepidation, you shout into the dark.  What do we do now?  Heartbeat.  Heartbeat.  What do we do now? What do we do now?  What do we do now?  The imposing canyon walls throw your question back in your face.

Our history can be like those canyon walls.  Foreboding.  Fearful.  It can leave us feeling claustrophobic as the weight of our forebears’ failures and expectations threaten to smother us.  Yet, we cannot understand the present without the perspective of the past.  So, let’s gather our courage together and push off into the shadowy lands of history. 

____________________________________________________

Tonight, the darkness presses in.  Wind whistles through the garden as though it whips through the valley of the shadow of death itself.  Jesus prays.  He prays for deliverance and He submits to the Creator’s will.  Then Judas comes.  The darkness deepens and a kiss betrays.  They lead the Prince of Peace away, prodding Him with the instruments of war.  There will be no deliverance tonight.  At least, not for Jesus.

They bring Him before Caiaphas the High Priest and his father-in-law Annas.  Together with some other important Jewish leaders, they interview Jesus.  He proves as intransigent as ever and they agree to move forward with their plan.  They will seek His death.  Since they lack the authority to impose this ultimate penalty, they drag Jesus to Pilate’s palace, the seat of Roman power over Israel. 

The next part of the story absolutely drips with irony.  The Jewish leaders cannot enter Pilate’s palace without becoming ritually unclean.  Since the Passover approaches and unclean Jews cannot participate in this remembrance of God’s deliverance, they wait outside while Pilate examines Jesus.  Pilate is even obliged to step outside his palace just to address the Jewish leaders!  Their commitment to celebrating a ritual designed to help them remember God’s redemptive work long ago and inspire hope that God might rescue again lends a sanctimonious air to their unjust condemnation of Jesus.[2]

Of course, the reader knows that the chief priests defile themselves far more seriously by seeking to kill Jesus than they would be stepping foot in a Roman palace.  They hold to the fine points of the Jewish ritual law, but strike against the commitment to justice found at its heart.  They preserve their ability to celebrate Passover even as they condemn the Deliverer and they abuse their power as interpreters of the law to legitimize themselves in the sight of the people while failing to understand how their actions strike against the God they seek to honor.  As Jesus says, they are like cups that have been carefully washed on the outside, but crawl with filth on the inside.  The chief priests remind us neither religious standing nor a deep commitment to personal holiness can guarantee justice or purity.  Instead, when coupled with an inability to see what God desires, religious standing and a commitment to holiness can give birth to tragic abuses of power. 

The Jewish leaders’ religious concerns about ritual purity and the Jewish religion matter little to Pilate the politician.  He knows only one god: pragmatism.  The chief priests’ request for Jesus’ death puts him in a tough place.  He knows all about Jesus’ popularity—only a week before, He had entered Jerusalem to Hosannas! and the waving of palm branches.  Pilate also knows that he needs the support of the chief priests.  Without them, he will lack the local connections and resources to effectively rule.  So, Pilate must choose between offending the palm waving crowds and offending the leaders of the Jewish world.  He responds to this quandary with an efficiency born of experience and cynicism. 

First, he assesses how threatening Jesus might become.  We can assume that Pilate already had an inkling that Jesus might not be as dangerous to Rome as the chief priests made Him out to be—after all, he had attacked the heart of religious power in Jerusalem by cleansing the Temple, but at no point had Jesus shown any aggression toward the Roman occupying force.  He had even quite publicly admonished the Jewish people to pay their taxes! 

Pilate also observes that the religious leaders seemed to have little difficulty capturing Jesus.  Despite the popular support shown for Him at the triumphal entry, His followers had not put up a fight at His arrest.  Nor can anyone find evidence that He might be organizing any sort of rebellion.  The religious establishment does not even present a proper charge.  They simply insist that they would never deliver an innocent man to the governor.  They know that Pilate needs them and they trust that his need for their support will outweigh his distaste of punishing an innocent man.  All this confirms Pilate’s suspicions.  Jesus will not lead an armed rebellion against Rome but, given the opportunity, He will continue to be a thorn in the side of Pilate’s necessary allies in the religious establishment.

In light of this conclusion, Pilate has two choices.  He can convict Jesus, sacrificing justice and risking the wrath of the crowds who welcomed Jesus into the city for the political benefit of maintaining his relationship with the chief priests.  Alternatively, he can proclaim Jesus’ innocence, forbid His execution, and make enemies any Roman Governor of Judaea cannot afford.  The first would be unpalatable.  The second would be political suicide.  Seeking a solution to his Jesus-problem, Pilate calls the ragged Prophet inside to talk.  He will never conduct a more bizarre interview. 

Pilate presses Jesus about his authority.  He asks Jesus why people call Him a king.  Jesus hints that He is indeed a King, but His Kingdom of not of this world.  His followers do not oppose force with force.  Instead, He’s the sort of King Whose followers are of the truth.  How surreal.  Here, Pilate holds the power to determine the truth of this man’s guilt or innocence and He pontificates about witnessing to truth.  Pilate’s response reveals his cynical nature.  What is truth? he sighs.  We might add a closely related question.  Where is justice?

As an experienced politician Pilate knew that the complexity of ruling quickly soils even the noblest intentions.  He saw through the false piety of the chief priests primly waiting outside the palace for a bloody solution to their Jesus problem.  He could hear the filth crawling beneath their pious, shimmering masks as surely as Jesus could.  When the power of the religious elite lay at risk, they did not concern themselves with pretty words like truth and justice.

As a governor in a province notorious for political uprisings, he also knew that people would die for their conviction to the Jewish God as surely as those who served under him would die for Rome.  The only real difference between the two was power.  Lofty speeches about the shining example of Rome or God’s decision to set the Jews apart as His people might excite the masses, but beautiful rhetoric and lofty ideas disappear once the political backstabbing begins and the battle lines close.  Then, only the raw, naked struggle for power remains.  What is truth?  Pilate knew the answer.  Truth is nothing more than whatever story you chose to tell your underlings to inspire them to sweat, bleed, and die for you.  Truth is made by those with power and Pilate would dictate the truth about Jesus.  With a single word Pilate would make Him a criminal or a free man.

Pilate the Post-modern?

The Vietnam War baptized America into Pilate’s perspective.  Signs on every street corner and speeches from politicians and neighbors alike could assure us we had to stop the evil of Communism, but once the bullets began to fly and the napalm filled the air, all our pretty words about freedom, democracy, and overcoming evil withered in the jungle heat.  It soon became clear that Vietnam was a raw, naked struggle for power and a bloody outlet for our fear and hatred.  Two thousand years ago, Pilate understood what America learned—if you live long enough, your ideals of truth and justice will eventually fail you. 

Of course, these ideas have taken up residence in far more places than Pilate’s home in early 1st century Judaea and the jungles of Southeast Asia in the late 20th century.  They show their faces every time abusers of power appropriate the ideas of truth and justice for their own ends.  These unpleasant realities of the abuse of power force themselves upon us today.  Advertisers, political candidates, and users of social media routinely seek to shape our perception by focusing on events and topics that make them