The First Baptist Church of Granada Hills

The Christian faith is a complex thing with all sorts of remarkable components: theological doctrines like the Trinity and justification by faith, predictive claims like the resurrection of the dead, and ethical imperatives like turning the proverbial cheek are all part and parcel of the larger whole.  But even with all this complexity, and regardless of the direction from which one approaches it, eventually the person inquiring into Christianity will have to deal with Jesus.  Jesus stands at the center of the faith; indeed one could reasonably say that Christianity is Christ, that it is Jesus. 

Now from an evangelistic standpoint this is great.  People love Jesus; even people who hate Christianity often love Jesus!  His character, his ethic, his style—all these things are just so attractive.  I think it’s safe to say that Jesus is generally the first thing the non-Christian seeker finds appealing about the faith and the last thing that the Christian doubter finds repellant.  Even if one feels that the somewhat esoteric or supernatural elements of the faith are just so much pious superstition, that same person generally regards Jesus as a decidedly good and noble human being, as a teacher of wise and moral things. 

But there’s a trap here for such sympathetic unbelievers: the ethics of Jesus—along with his style and character and all that—seem to have utterly failed him in his own life on a non-Christian reading.  As the skeptical New Testament scholar, Dale C. Allison writes in Resurrecting Jesus:

“[T]here are reasons I should very much like to believe in the literal resurrection of Jesus and reckon it more than a symbol, more than just a way of saying that his cause continues or that he lives on in the memory of the church.

“My first reason is the conviction that the teaching of Jesus, which as a Christian I am committed to, may well hang in the air without a dramatic, postmortem endorsement… Unlike the wisdom sayings of Proverbs, Jesus’ sometimes otherworldly, sometimes ascetical, often eschatological, often counterintuitive teachings—‘Love your enemies,’ do not be ‘angry,’ do not divorce and remarry—are not self-validating.  On the contrary, they are at every turn debatable.  They further self-destruct if the humble, including Jesus himself, are never exalted.  So the crucifixion and Jesus’ cry of dereliction require a sequel.  If they do not receive one, most of Jesus’ speech loses much of its plausibility, and he becomes just another futile dreamer, a messianic pretender whose words may be dismissed as fantasy.  But if the resurrection is the sequel, then God has ‘transformed the fate of the lost Jesus by openly and finally acting out in the person of Jesus the image of God that Jesus espoused.’”

If the story of Jesus is really to be denuded of its supernatural elements (resurrection and all) then Jesus’ beautiful ethic of love and compassion is shown up as worse than useless before the harsh realities of the world as it actually is.  If Jesus’ story really does end on Good Friday, then our hope for a kindlier truth dies with him and Rome triumphs; once again Caesar prevails and the brutal logic of pragmatic violence prevails through him…  But if Christ really rose from the grave (as his disciples vigorously declared in the face of threats, beatings, and death itself) then that hope can live on.  And if Christ really did rise, then, it would seem, a great many more of Christianity’s historic claims are back on the table. 

Think about it.

            Faith is integral to Christianity.  It is, after all, often called the Christian faith.  And of course all that means is that Christians believe in certain things which they do not currently see.  The virgin conception of Jesus, His claims about His identity, His resurrection—these things (especially the last one) and many more are central to Christianity and yet they are not really open to observation in the same way that, say, the existence of the sun or the wetness of water are.  They are largely historical events, they are “in the past” and so we take them on faith. 

            Skeptics often object to this. How very irrational, they cry, to simply choose to believe something (and quite a “something” at that) merely because you wish it were so.  But this sort of objection misunderstands the nature of faith.  Faith is not blind and irrational belief but is (or at least ought to be) belief based on evidence.  In this sense almost all of history is taken on faith—even the seemingly absurd stuff—because the events can’t be observed in the here and now:  Why do we believe that Hannibal marched elephants over the Alps to attack the Romans?  Historical records.  Why do we believe that the fearsome warlord Attila the Hun ultimately died from a nosebleed?  Again, historical records. 

            In the case of Christianity such belief is based upon eyewitness accounts preserved in the gospels, 1 Corinthians 15, and elsewhere that a man who was really and truly dead was seen afterwards to be really and truly alive again; his tomb was found empty, his physical living presence was subsequently observed, and a number of initial skeptics and even adversaries eventually came to believe themselves after encountering the risen Jesus.  The evidence is quite solid and it leads many thoughtful men and women to embrace the gospel every year all over the globe.

            But even so our faith can waver.  The weather turns gloomy, we hear some particularly tragic bit of news, and suddenly, even though we know of the eyewitness testimony for Jesus’ resurrection, while we understand its place in God’s larger plan of salvation, while we see its effects in people’s lives, it just seems… well… incredible.  Doubt creeps in and we find ourselves shaken: what if it’s all just a huge mistake, what if I’m wasting my time, what if there’s nothing waiting for me on the other side of death besides naked oblivion?             

            Aha, says the skeptic, that’s your reason calling out to you, begging you to be sensible and to drop all this nonsense! 

            But is that really the case?

            Just as faith and hope can be rational, doubt and fear can sometimes be irrational.  Consider the last time you watched a horror movie at night: after it was over did you find yourself perhaps the least little bit hesitant to enter a dark room?  Or think about your last ride on a roller-coaster: was there ever a moment—even a split second—when it seemed like you were in actual danger, that you doubted your safety and were frightened?  Or how about your health; the last time the news reported that some new disease was sweeping across the globe (swine-flu, bird-flu, monkey-pox,  hantavirus, etc) did you briefly doubt your good health and wonder if maybe, just maybe, that slight scratchiness in the back of your throat was the beginning of a medical nightmare?

            The fact of the mater is that just as wishfulness and baseless optimism can creep into our thoughts, so can fearfulness and groundless pessimism.  And the only safe way to avoid either is to allows one’s beliefs (including one’s religious beliefs) to be dictated by the evidence—which, again, as regards Jesus’ resurrection is quite good.

            So the next time the weather turns gloomy and you find yourself doubting your faith, think of that last horror film, think of that last rollercoaster ride, remind yourself of the firm evidence for Christ’s resurrection and leave your spiritual hypochondria alone.

              For many youth, the month of September means one thing above all else: the return of school.  After weeks upon weeks of enjoying the warmth of summer and all the freedom that goes with it, once again these students will enter the halls of learning to recommit themselves to reading, writing, and arithmetic—not to mention physics, chemistry, French, calculus, European history, graphic design, and so on.  The old cycle will begin again in which lethargy is replaced with studiousness and ignorance with knowledge.  And despite the desperate pleas of some children, parents will remain firm—after all, it’s for their own good: no matter how difficult, no matter how tedious, education is worthwhile.

            Let’s be honest, Christian morality has never been all that popular.  The idea that God wants us to live our lives in a certain way, in a way that may not necessarily be our way, is a bit irksome.  And that irksomeness, while present at virtually every point and in virtually every arena of human action, is most clearly felt and thus most vehemently expressed on those points to which  God says “no” to which our minds, our acquaintances, and, most important of all, our broader culture say “yes”.  Given this, it isn’t surprising that the bit of Christian morality most burdensome and thus most hateful to modern Westerners regards sex. 

            Our nation and those like it are awash in sexuality.  And thus the Bible’s attempted regulation of sex seems to be a scandalous and monstrous imposition on our own pursuit of happiness.  Biblical injunctions pertaining to adultery, fornication, marriage, re-marriage, homosexuality, and so on can seem quaintly outdated at best and bigoted and repressive at worst.  But as in all things, the Lord’s guidance is good and despite our short-sighted and largely acculturated hostility to it, it nevertheless deserves our obedience.

            Still, conscientious obedience is often easier than blind obedience. With this in mind let’s look at just one of the ways that the Bible attempts to regulate human sexuality: the prohibition of fornication, of premarital sex.

            The Bible’s view of premarital sex is fairly obvious.  Both Testaments, in Deuteronomy 22 and 1 Corinthians 7, make it very clear that sexuality can only lawfully be expressed within a marriage.  Deuteronomy, in its hard-line fashion, makes this apparent by demanding either death or forced marriage for those found to have fornicated in one fashion or another.  1 Corinthians 7 contains Paul’s widely dismissed advice to remain altogether celibate and his much more widely received permission to marry.  But Paul allows marriage precisely so as to prevent fornication within the early Christian community. The implication is that Paul felt that it was better for a Christian to lose his laser-like focus on the things of God in the hustle and bustle of married life than to sleep around; that’s quite a statement coming from a religious leader.

            But why?  Why is premarital sex so maligned in the Bible?  After all, it’s one thing to forbid something and quite another to justifiably forbid it.  The answer to this question, as is so often the case with spiritual things, is multifaceted. 

            First there are practical considerations.  Unmarried sex can (and often does) lead to single motherhood which puts an incredible burden on the young lady involved both physically and emotionally.  Additionally, with the heightened sense of significance sexuality brings to a relationship, the potential for heartbreak is all the more serious.  And, of course, there is the matter of disease.  Considering that even in the U.S. today, with all our ingenious methods for rendering promiscuous sex safer than it might otherwise be, a recent CDC study found that roughly 25% of teenage girls are currently infected with a sexually transmitted disease that could potentially seriously impact their reproductive health.  God’s laws related to sex, as with those related to other, more mundane pursuits, have a protective quality to them; they protect us from the world and, in some cases, from ourselves.

            But in addition to the practical concerns, there is a more symbolic issue as well.  1 Corinthians 6 speaks of the distasteful chain of associations that can result from premarital sex.  By becoming a Christian a person is uniting himself in a somewhat mystical fashion with Jesus.  Likewise, when a person has sex with someone else he is also, though is a far crasser way, uniting himself with his partner.  To paraphrase Paul: if Jesus is connected to you and you are connected to a bunch of sluts, then Jesus…  You get the idea.  As a result, Paul encourages his readers to treat their bodies with respect and dignity knowing that they, in a sense, are a temple of God, which is to say, that they are associated with the name of the Lord.

            Finally, there is the whole matter of what God intended sex to be.  When Jesus was approached and asked about sexual ethics He referred his petitioners to the origin of human sex—that is, the origin of humanity.  In Mark 10, Jesus quoted from Genesis 2, reminding his listeners that sexuality was intended, from the very beginning, to be expressed in a lifelong committed relationship that ultimately produced children, an act by which the couple’s “becoming one” is powerfully and literally represented.  Given that this was God’s intention all along, to seek to separate these components (sexuality, marriage, childbirth) from one another in an absolute fashion (as premarital sex necessarily does) is to act contrary to the will of God.

            Thirty-nine years ago, Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin brought the Apollo 11 mission to its climax.  On July 20, 1969 two people, after traveling hundreds of thousands of miles, climbed out of a cramped multi-billion dollar box and walked on the moon.  The moon!  Roughly five hundred million people watched as this pair of Americans achieved one of the most significant propaganda victories of the Cold War, affirming the superiority of the free world over against its authoritarian enemies.

            But as amazing as the moon landing was in terms of its political value, its most enduring legacy is a more general one: Apollo 11 bears witness to the power of human ability. The achievement was so overwhelming, so mythical in scope, that it clearly indicated that mankind, given enough money, technology, and will, can do virtually anything.  As God is said to have remarked at Babel, “nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them.”

            This limitless horizon of possibility has filled many with a sense of optimism, and with cause.  Our march from the Stone Age to the modern day has been attended by meaningful advances in the human condition.  Each year it seems that new medicines are developed, new communication arrays are installed, and more efficient agricultural techniques are unveiled making disease, isolation, and starvation ever more distant realities.

            At the same time, though, the progress of human power has had a darker side as well.  The very same theoretical and technological advances that have given us more cures, communications and corn have also given us germ-warfare, online child pornography, and the Holocaust. Thus, while our advances may fill us with hope, our hopes must be tempered with realism.  

            T.S. Eliot once wrote that modern people occupy themselves “dreaming of systems so perfect that no one will need to be good.”  Sadly, these dreams must forever remain exactly that—mere dreams.  For as history has shown, advances of all sorts are ambiguous things; great power can be used both for great good and for great evil; it’s up to the actor to decide which.  Thus goodness will always be a needful thing.

            This sobering truth—power’s inherent ambiguity—ought to cause us to examine our own lives then.  Is the world a better place because of us?  Are we using our ever-increasing wealth, talents, and influence to improve our communities?  Or are we just using our fellow men and women as so much “raw material” for the satisfaction of our own selfish and destructive desires?  Put simply, are we good? 

            A prophet once said, “the eyes of the LORD range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.” (2 Chronicles 16:9)  Now, commitment to the Lord involves a number of things, but a commitment to righteousness, to goodness, is among them.  Thus, just as power needs righteousness so righteousness, it would seem, may lead to power.  Let’s then keep this relationship between goodness and greatness in mind—both when we advance personally in some fashion and, perhaps, when we want to.

          In America, the third Sunday of June is set aside as a day to honor fathers.  Father’s Day, despite its relatively recent origin, has nonetheless come to be one of the great affirmations of life.  On this day millions of sons and daughters will take their fathers to lunch, give sentimental cards, and even little gifts to remind their dads that they’re appreciated.

          While some may balk at all this, the big to-do is wholly appropriate considering that fatherhood stands as one of the twin pillars of that most fundamental of all human institutions: the family.  Each successive generation of fathers thus bears the impressive and intimidating responsibility to work alongside its wives to raise up the next generation of mankind.  With this in mind it seems that, if anything, the fuss people make over Father’s Day, being only one day out of the year, is rather more inadequate than over-blown.

          But fathers can take heart; the blessings and difficulties of fatherhood are not something that God leads us into unaided.  Instead, the Lord equips each man called to this high estate with at least three points of reference to guide him: the example of his own father, the potentially much surer example of God Himself, and the teachings of the Bible.  As Jesus said, “From everyone who has been given much, much will be required.”  Or, to invert the statement, “To everyone from whom much will be required, much has been given.”

          In the example of our own fathers we see that ordinary men, men with strengths and also weaknesses, virtues and also vices, can, if they work at it, do a fairly good job of raising children; that is to say, fatherhood doesn’t require perfection, only commitment.  At the same time, the example furnished to us by God, the Father Almighty, in His dealings with both Israel and the early Church shows us that fatherhood requires love, but also discipline; high expectations, but also a willingness to forgive.  And in Scripture we see how these two examples can be related to our own attempts at fatherhood, both in how to treat one’s children and (of equal importance) how to treat their mothers–specifically in the Book of Proverbs, St. Paul’s letters to the Ephesians and Colossians, and St. Peter’s first letter.

          So this Father’s Day, thank dear ol’ dad for everything that he’s done, but also take a moment to consider Who else might be entitled to a bit of your time and a few words of gratitude.

          March has past us by and, this year, that means that Easter has come and gone as well.  But while Easter Sunday may be just a memory brought to mind by the now drastically discounted chocolate bunnies and swiftly disappearing Cadbury Crème Eggs, the reality at which that day hinted still lingers.  Thus, for centuries, the Church has recognized Easter not just as a single day which points back to a singular historical event (the first Easter) but as the beginning of a new season that mirrors the new era into which the first Easter ushered our world. 

          The Easter season, also called Eastertide by those with an antiquarian bent, is a time in which Christians focus on those painfully few weeks between the resurrection of Jesus and His subsequent ascension into heaven.  For the first disciples this was no doubt a time of joy mixed with confusion: What exactly does the empty tomb imply?  What are we to make of the fact that Jesus, a man we saw die, has appeared to us, even eaten with us?  How does this change things—our faith, the way we see the world, our very lives?  We might imagine that all of these questions buzzed through the minds of the Apostles between their fleeting encounters with the risen Jesus.  And as such the Easter season is an opportunity for us to ask ourselves the very same questions:  essentially, what does Easter mean for us?

           For starters it means hope, confident hope.  The Hebrew scriptures contain a number of brief and oblique references to some kind of life after death, even some kind of resurrection.  But in the experiences of Jesus these glimmering sparks were fanned into full flame; the abstract and plausibly deniable promises of the prophets and others were represented and enacted in a physical example.  And thus our hopes, as people living in the great Eastertide of history, that the grave need not conquer and that death need not be the end are nourished and strengthened.

           Further, this season means clarity of purpose.  Just as Jesus’ empty tomb confirms that life extends beyond death, indeed triumphs over death through Him, so that triumph stands arrayed like an invincible army against the despair and nihilistic dissolution that characterizes so many modern lives. Far from a trivial and absurd respite before “the inevitable”, life takes on a vastly more significant character.  For if death is merely a temporary imposition prior to the beginning of a far fuller and longer-lasting existence then those elements of our life that insinuate their importance to our spirits—our relationships with God, our families, our duties, and so on—acquire a significance they would not otherwise have.

            Easter comes early this year.  It’s only March and already I’m considering the themes of the Easter sunrise sermon.  In a few short weeks Christians around the world will gather together in their cathedrals and churches, on hilltops, and in local parks to celebrate Jesus’ glorious victory over death and hell.  Preachers will lift up the memory of Christ and His first disciples; they will proclaim the miracle and invite their hearers to live in the glorious light of this all-informing event.  God will be honored, believers will be uplifted, and sinners will be saved.

            But in addition to the overtly religious elements of Easter, many of us will also participate in other events which are less inherently spiritual: the giving of baskets filled with candy and stuffed bunnies, feverish hunts for colorful eggs (both real and plastic) hidden among bushes and lawn chairs, and so on.  And in the midst of this pastel-hued fun the overwhelming majority of revelers will sally forth completely lost in the moment, both unconcerned and unaware of the history of the less Christocentric elements of the holiday.  But for a number of families the bliss of ignorance will be impossible.  For these informed and unfortunate few (think Ecclesiastes 1:18) the dubious realities of the past will intrude in on the merriment and cast an uncomfortable shadow over the day.

            Just as we inherit of our ancestors’ genes, so too have we inherited elements of our ancestors’ culture and this unavoidable principle can be seen quite clearly in Easter. The very word “Easter” comes from “Eostre”, a pagan fertility goddess worshipped by the pre-Christian Anglo-Saxons.  What’s more, eggs and rabbits (symbols of fertility for obvious reasons) were associated with the goddess in ancient times.  It is precisely this history which makes some Christians uncomfortable with the marginalia of Easter Sunday.

            Here at First Baptist, we’re currently working through a study on the Book of Judges and we recently focused on a passage which seems apropos here.  In the story of Gideon one finds that the Lord called His servant to a particularly provocative task: “Take your father’s bull and a second bull seven years old, and pull down the altar of Baal which belongs to your father, and cut down the Asherah that is beside it; and build an altar to the LORD your God on the top of this stronghold in an orderly manner, and take a second bull and offer a burnt offering with the wood of the Asherah which you shall cut down” (Judges 6:25-26).  God essentially told Gideon to utterly destroy the sacred site of Baalism in his community and then to use the rubble to facilitate the worship the one true God.  Think of that, Gideon, at God’s command, used stones and wood once consecrated to spiritual error in the construction of an altar dedicated to the Lord.  The wood and the stones were not contaminated by their former use, they weren’t made somehow “unclean”; they were simply raw material, raw material which was recycled and used to glorify God.

            Now if God can be glorified with rocks and wood once associated with a false god, why not eggs and rabbits?  For while Eostre may have had a lock on these things in the first few centuries of the Christian era in the English speaking world, the same simply cannot be said today.  When Westerners see the Cadbury Bunny on TV hocking its delicious cream-filled chocolate eggs we think of Easter, and when we think of Easter we think of Jesus’ triumphant rise from the grave.  And thus, these potent symbols of fertility and life have come, in a sense, to be symbols of the resurrection and the new life that we can receive through that event.  For however much a sham goddess may have represented vitality to the ancient English, her claims were as nothing compared against the Savior that St. Augustine and his companions preached—that One who came that we may have life, and have it abundantly.

            January is a time of renewed commitment and resolutions.  Each year millions of people promise themselves that they will lose weight, travel more, quit smoking, fix the shed, learn French or pursue some other equally noble goal.  In the weeks following New Year’s Day we often ask one another, “What’s your resolution for the new year?” And all too often the question is met with something like the following: “Well, I made a resolution, but…”  Firm commitments made at the beginning of January have a disappointing way of fizzling out by the month’s end.  And thus our waistlines continue to bulge, cigarettes still appear on our shopping lists, and those French tapes will have to wait until next year.

            Perhaps one of the reasons that our New Year’s resolutions so commonly fail is because they tend to focus on relatively trivial matters.  Sure, finally visiting the Grand Canyon is a great goal, but is it the greatest goal?  Perhaps our dedication to change would benefit from a desire to change not merely our appearances or even our lifestyles but our very selves, that indivisible core of our personal identity: our souls.  Perhaps this year we ought to resolve to reconnect with our God through prayer.  Maybe it’s time to give that dusty Bible hidden away on the book shelf another look.  Maybe it’s time to get reacquainted with a pew at your local church.

            Of course, the benefits of a robust connection with the Lord, greater Biblical literacy, and meaningful involvement in a community of faith don’t lend themselves to bragging quite as easily as a newly painted shed (though, sadly, some have tried).  But while immaculate lawns and healthy lungs eventually surrender to the inevitability of time, the rewards of a genuine relationship with God are a bit longer lasting.

            Every year at around this time one hears of churches sponsoring “Halloween alternatives”.  I’ve had the pleasure of both attending these events as a patron in my childhood and of sponsoring them later on as a youth pastor.  Generally the events take the form of a small carnival with games and snacks and they often center on a harvest theme.  In keeping with the expectations of children candy is everywhere, pumpkins are plentiful and costumes may even be worn.  But even so, regardless of all these tell-tale signs, the actual word “Halloween” is rarely spoken.  In fact, in some contexts it’s avoided like the plague. 

The thinking behind this behavior is rather straight-forward: Halloween has pagan roots and so it would be inappropriate for a believer to participate in it… well, at least to name it.

            In many ways, modern Christians who avoid Halloween are much like ancient Christians who avoided meat that had been sacrificed to idols.  In both instances the thing in view has been associated at some time with dark spiritual forces and the believer is all too aware of its dubious history. 

Halloween does indeed have pagan background, developing out of Celtic festivals such as Samhain in the British Isles in which the spirits of the dead figured prominently.  But while October 31^st may have a rather dubious lineage, like other formerly pagan holidays (including Christmas and Easter) this day has undergone a process of Christianization.  As the gospel moved into the British Isles the Church recognized both the danger and the opportunity that Samhain and its equivalents presented.  As such, the early Christians took the day and reinterpreted it, instituting the feast of All Saints on November 1^st: a day on which believers looked back to the heroes of the faith whom had left a good example for us to follow.  All Saints, sometimes called “All Hallows” (as in “hallowed ground”, meaning holy) was preceded by a vigil of prayer and sometimes fasting which began on the evening before All Hallows—All Hallows Eve (as in “Christmas Eve”), the day from which we get our Halloween.

As such, Halloween is an excellent example of what Jesus spoke of when commenting on the kingdom of Satan in Luke 11.  After parrying criticism that He was merely casting out devils by the authority of the prince of devils (the Devil) Jesus said, “When a strong man, fully armed, guards his own house, his possessions are safe. But when someone stronger attacks and overpowers him, he takes away the armor in which the man trusted and divides up the spoils.”  In the parable Satan is the strong man, the “God of this world” (2 Cor. 4:4) guarding his own territory, who is overpowered by the Spirit of God, the “someone stronger” (1 John 4:4).  Christ tells us that not only are the strong man’s possessions (lost souls) taken from him, but that he is stripped of even the armor he trusted in, even those things which he had hoped would allow him to retain control over his domain.

The church has seen the power of God accomplish this impressive feat over and over again, taking the very institutions that perpetuated the spiritual darkness of the world and redeeming them to aid in its salvation.  The pagan festivals of Yule and Saturnalia with their feasting and evergreen trees were transformed into Christmas; the springtime worship of the pagan goddess Eostre with its colored eggs and so on was transformed into Easter; and Samhain was transformed into Halloween.

Of course, Halloween has lost most of its religious significance and I don’t imagine that many at First Baptist would jump at the chance to pray and fast for days, but that doesn’t mean that it is any more immoral to gather candy from the neighbors on October 31^st than it is to give them gifts on December 25^th.