How Old Is The Earth?

Science tells us that the earth is roughly 13.6 billion years old, I believe. The fossil record and carbon-dating techniques are fairly well-understood and reliable branches of science. There is pretty much no chance that science is dramatically in error on this point. The Vatican used carbon-dating techniques, for example, to show that Holy Shroud is a work of art and not the actual shroud of Jesus Christ.

On the other hand, the Bible tells us, by recounting the lineage of Jesus Christ in fairly precise detail, that the earth was created perhaps 6,000 years ago. If we are to believe that the Bible is the product of the direct inspiration of God, and that God never lies, then that appears to settle that question. All the science in the world can’t fully dispute the word of God.

One of the more sad consequences of this difference in viewpoints is the all-too-frequent occurrence of the debate degenerating into name-calling. One side mocks the other for believing that man lived with the dinosaurs, while in exchange there is plenty of mocking for not having faith in a straightforward account of the time and manner of the Creation.

My view, as a Christian, is that it simply doesn’t matter when the earth was created. I certainly don’t believe that man and dinosaur existed simultaneously. But I don’t find the earth being 6000 years old necessarily inconsistent with the fossil record clearly showing the earth to be billions of years old either.

Look at it this way: When God created man, He didn’t create a baby or a fetus. The Bible would have us believe that the moment Adam first drew breath, the moment he had the first spark of life, he was a fully mature adult. And not just physically. At the moment of his creation he understood language, he had self-awareness. He had imagination and named the animals. He had desires and a certain emotional maturity. In other words, he immediately behaved as if he had lived many years within a mature civilization. He was mature in every sense of the word.

I see no reason to believe the same could not also be true of the universe – that at the moment of it’s creation, it had all of the characteristics of billions of years of maturity. Did dinosaurs really exist on the earth, or were they only ever no more than fossilized bones? It doesn’t matter, I say, because the earth has every single characteristic that is consistent with the dinosaurs existing. So whether they actually lived or not is irrelevant. As humans we can still learn much of value about the earth and the larger reality around us by studying the history embedded in the planet on which we live and the characteristics of the universe that surrounds us. The long, majestic history of reality matters whether it aged as we think of aging, or whether it was created as something “old” right out of the box.

This does all lead to a deeper question, though; one which I’ll pose but am not quite ready to answer in this post. What about the 6000 years since the creation? We know, for example, that man did not multiply quite the way the Bible recounts it. The fossil record that shows us the earth is billions of years old also tells us that man didn’t simply spring up one day and radiate outward from a single geographic location. The Bible recounts stories that would leave very clear traces in the fossil record, and yet that evidence is missing. If one is to believe in the story of the creation, then the only possible explanation for these discrepancies between Biblical history and evidence of archaeology and geology is that God altered evidence to hide the creationist history he inspired to be written.

God…lied…to us?

Is Church Getting In The Way Of Ministry?

Is Church Getting In The Way Of Ministry? by Anthony Bopp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

As I write these words I’m taking the first free moments I’ve had in days. I was going to write on another subject entirely (I have 3 or 4 posts started just so I don’t lose the ideas), but I was struck by a different idea this afternoon.

I was speed reading through The Externally Focused Church by Rick Rushaw and Eric Swanson this afternoon, desperately trying to get my homework done for the healthy church seminar I’m attending tomorrow. I got through the book in an hour, which should not be considered a reflection on the quality of the book. I actually found it quite insightful.

It is full of examples of things that growing, vibrant churches are doing in order to be vibrant and growing. None of those things look inside of the walls of the church. All are the sorts of things I wish our church was doing more of.

I thought about what my life would look like if I was doing those sorts of things. The first answer that come to mind was that I wouldn’t be doing many of the things I’m doing now. That led me to evaluate what exactly I am doing now.

Photography is a big hobby for me. It’s a passion of mine (all of the photos on this site were taken by me, in case that wasn’t obvious). Also I have a second job that is pretty critical for me to take adequate care of my family. From time to time I involve myself in the local community theatre (Come see me second weekend in May in The Odd Couple: Female Version!).

But most of my time outside my normal work hours is involved with the church. I chair one of the administrative committees, I attend the healthy church seminar and read the requisite materials, I’m involved it trying to discern changes needed in our church structure. I attend service, help run the sound board, sing in the choir, attend Bible study. I was actually surprised when I added up the hours leaning what percentage of my time is spent with the church.

Yet I’m not entirely satisfied. I feel like I’m treading down a distinct path, but toward a dark or unknown destination. On the one hand, the things I’m doing are necessary for the church. On the other hand, I don’t necessarily feel like I’m doing any real ministry in the sense of externally focused, outside-the-walls, making disciples. To a point this isn’t necessarily a personally bad thing, as I don’t necessarily think that evangelism is where my strength lies.

But it does beg the question of what my answer would be if someone did ask me to become involved in the type of externally-focused ministry discussed in this book. The answer isn’t hard to imagine. “I don’t have the time.” And it’s a perfectly accurate statement. I have many things going on in my life, and a large percentage of it is church.

In our church we have around 15 committees and nearly 100 committee members. This is about two-thirds of our average Sunday attendance. If I was to set myself to the task of finding an area of ministry in this community that there might be a particular need for, the first step I might take is to find people in the church who are well-connected to the community, and ask them to do the research and ask the questions of the movers and shakers in town to help answer the question.

But those church members are almost certainly already on a committee, and already have an area of focus. They would almost certainly decline my invitation. We are already busy with “church stuff.” So where’s the time for “ministry stuff?”

Have we structured the church so heavily that we no longer have time for ministry?

Am I Going To Heaven? – Part 2

Am I Going To Heaven? – Part 2 by Anthony Bopp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Simple is hard.

Having more or less accepted that salvation was a certainty, I lived my next few years trying to live up to it. But questions remained. Important questions for which there were no good answers.

Just as in the Catholic faith it didn’t make sense to me to require a priest and a formal sacrament to ask for and received forgiveness for sins, so also did it not seem reasonable that sins were irrelevant to salvation. The circle I was with at the time were steadfast in their belief that we are all sinners, that all sin is of equal importance to God (another concept I question to this day), and therefore it is unreasonable to expect that salvation is limited to those whose sins have all been forgiven. That would not demonstrate God’s love for us, and it would be counter to Christ’s sacrifice for us.

I metaphorically nodded my head at such teaching, but left these encounters shaking my head. There was a point being missed, both by me and by them. I was certain of it.

“Once saved, always saved” was a phrase that used repeatedly, but I sensed that it simply couldn’t be true. God certainly knows that, being the sinful creatures we are, a certainty of salvation leaves no incentive to live a good and holy life, even if the perfection of a good and holy life cannot be achieved. Indeed, knowing with certainty that one cannot be damned makes it far more likely to be tempted into a life of wine, women and song, so to speak. Those, then, who are not saved look at the lifestyle of the ones who claim they are, and rightly see hypocrisy. It all becomes very confusing and makes the command of creating disciples unnecessarily complex.

Many years later, reading Matthew 25:31-46, I put it all together. My friend all those years ago (nearly 30, by this time) and those who believe as he did, were guilty of cherry picking verses that supported their beliefs, and ignoring those which did not lend support. In Matthew Jesus makes it clear that salvation is possible, for lack of a better term, just by being nice to people. He talks about separating the righteous from the unrighteous, and defines them by how they treat one another. In this passage Jesus makes no reference to one’s relationship with God at all, suggesting even atheists have a chance to live with God in glory.

To be sure, in many other passages Jesus makes the case very strongly about one’s relationship to God – and himself – as paths to salvation. But looking at the New Testament, and particularly the Gospels, as a whole, it is clear there is no one, perfect way to eternal life, and no guaranteed way either. It’s called Judgement Day for a reason, I believe.

It turns out that I was right all those years ago at 16, from my Catholic upbringing. I don’t believe it’s possible to know the answer to that question.

Am I Going To Heaven? Part 1

Rising by Anthony Bopp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

One evening, when I was perhaps 16 years old, I had just been beaten badly at a tennis match with a friend of mine. This was hardly unexpected – I’ve always been notoriously bad at physical activity, particularly when reflexes and coordination are required. But what happened as we met at the net to cool down and chat certainly was unexpected. My friend looked down to his feet and said, “Do you know if you’re going to Heaven?”

Ah. Hm. At that point in my life Catholicism was the only religion I knew. And so I answered as the Catholic faith taught me to answer.

“I don’t believe it is possible to know the answer to that question.”

His reply was quick and direct as he pulled out a handy pocket copy of the New Testament. “What if I could show you in the Bible that you can know?”

I had no ready reply to this, but my feeling was that this was only possible through a misreading of the text. But he proceeded to quote several passages. I’ve forgotten specifically which ones in all the decades since then but I would suppose they included some of the more well-known verses on the subject.

Romans 10:9: That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. 

Romans 10:13: For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.

John 3:16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

Acts 16:30-31 And brought them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved? And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.

Now, growing up Catholic, this sort of strict literal interpretation was unknown to me. I remember being taught in catechism by imposing nuns who warned us that when we sinned, God put a black mark on our soul that he would clear when we went to confession and did penance. Even in my youth I tended to think of such concepts in pragmatic terms, and I remember clearly that my first thought on hearing this was, “What if you have so many black marks on your soul there isn’t room for another one?” I did not, of course, dare to say this aloud. This was still an age when nuns might very well chastise a child for being left-handed, let alone suggest disrespect at their teaching.

Looking back on this conversation over the tennis net, I realize now that this was one of, if not the first time that my friend had “witnessed.” He was at least as uncomfortable as I was. But I must admit that I liked such an unambiguous, literal interpretation of the nature of salvation. It made things much simpler, more straightforward. It was easier. There weren’t so many questions to answer, so many uncertainties to worry about. You could just know. He gave me the pocket Bible to keep, and encouraged me to read it.

But as I continued my faith journey, as I continued to read the New Testament, the disquiet remained. My heart was still unsettled. And it was a much longer time before I could articulate my discomfort again.

To be continued…

How Not To Pray

A few days ago I had an email come across my inbox offering a free webinar on the subject of learning how to pray. My first reaction to this was, admittedly, an eye roll. How in the world does someone not know how to pray? All you have to do is just…just…well you…and then…

It wasn’t as easy to articulate as I thought. I imagined describing it as a sort of phone call, only the conversation is kind of one-sided, you never ask how the other party is, and you ask for stuff a lot. Hm, no that doesn’t seem right.

Describing prayer accurately and succinctly is pretty hard, and the more I struggled with it the more this webinar intrigued me. I returned to the email and clicked on the link, only to discover it had happened two days earlier. I’m certain somewhere it’s available for download, but I haven’t found it yet.

In the meantime, I continued to examine the question, trying to discern a way to describe it to someone who doesn’t pray, perhaps doesn’t believe there’s anyone to pray to. As often happens when I can’t answer a question, I begin to look for alternative ways to ask the question. Often I look for the opposite question, in fact.

And so I began to dwell instead on what does it mean not to pray? What exactly is that experience like? I quickly found myself running down a similar path of answers that never sounded quite quite.

Not praying is any time you don’t start a conversation with “Dear God” and end it with “Amen.” No, that’s silly. Prayers are not like software code where statements have to begin and end with curly braces.

Not praying is any time your thoughts aren’t directed toward God. That feels closer, but on the other hand God knows our needs and desires before we do, the scriptures tell us, so it doesn’t seem that straightforward either. It suggests to me that praying is a more intimate thing, a close relationship like we have with someone who understands us without having to speak with us. They just know.

Not praying is whenever we aren’t in communion with God. Closer still, I think. It suggests that praying is as much an experience of closeness, a loving relationship, as direct communication.

And as I worked my way along this train of thought, I became more convinced that the experience of not praying is impossible. Everything we say, do, think, and feel is a prayer. Sometimes the prayers are helpful, uplifting, and righteous. Oftentimes they are not. We are always in the presence of God, because He is always with us. He knows our hearts and our thoughts. He knows what we want and what we should have.

Praying is an ever-present activity, and God is always listening to us. We should be more mindful of that, making sure that what we say, do, think, and feel are things that we want Him to experience about us.

Contemplating the Lord’s Prayer

Occasionally when reading the Bible I wish that understood the original Hebrew or Greek or whatever language certain passages were written in. I am vaguely aware that various translations imply different meanings than the original text would seem to intend. For instance, I’ve heard since I was a teenager that the commandment “Thou shalt not kill” is more accurately translated as “Thou shalt not murder.” Not being able to read to the original language, however, I do not feel I have an independent way to verify this, though it makes intuitive sense to me.

Nowhere, however, have I felt this desire to be able to read and understand the original text more keenly than with the Lord’s Prayer. One part in particular has left me scratching my head for decades as I try to understand the original intended meaning of the author (and the Speaker, for that matter):

Forgive us our trespasses
As we forgive those who trespass against us

This is from Matthew 6:12 or Luke 11:4, and is from the translation that the Methodists use. Various translations use other words in place of “trespasses.” King James uses the words “debts” I believe, while other translations use the word “sins.”

However, my desire to better understanding the original text doesn’t come from a desire to know which of these three words the author intended if indeed he intended any of them). I don’t have a difficulty interchanging the words and coming way with essentially the same intended meaning.

No, what puzzles me is the phrase “As we forgive those.” Even as I child I struggled to understand the Lord’s intent behind those four words.

Over the years, I’ve come away with the possible – and to me, equally plausible – interpretations.

A Bargain With God: Forgive us our trespasses and we forgive those who trespass against us. The implication being a kind of plea and bargain with God. “I’ll forgive people who wrong me, but I want you to forgive my wrongs to You and others in exchange.” The unspoken part of this interpretation being “If you don’t, all bets are off.”

This seems like a presumptuous interpretation to me, as I never felt it was a particularly good idea to attempt to bargain with God (though there are Old Testament precedents for it). But there’s a more reasonable view of this interpretation also. It could be viewed as a promise to God to always do your best to offer forgiveness and a plea to Him to forgive you.

A Promise To God: Forgive us our trespasses in the same manner as we forgive those who trespass against us. Viewed in this way, the prayer suggests a promise to hold ourselves accountable to God, an understanding that we deserve to receive no more than we give. We proclaim to God that we always will do our best to forgive those who sin against us, and ask that he forgive us likewise. When we fail to forgive, we have no cause to ask forgiveness ourselves.
Are there other interpretations possible? Almost certainly, but these are the ones that I’ve arrived at over the years. I think I would have better insight into the original intent if I understood more completely the original language it was written in.An Understanding With God: Forgive us our trespasses while we forgive those who trespass against us. There’s an underlying assumption in this interpretation that we promise to do our best to forgive others regardless of whether God forgives us, because we know that two seemingly-contradictory things are true: Forgiveness is the right thing for us to do, yet we ourselves do not deserve God’s forgiveness.

But meantime, I’ll just continue to roll these around in my head. It never hurts to contemplate on The Lord’s Prayer.

Questions All Around

I’ve been challenged by my pastor to participate in a workshop called the “healthy church initiative.” The workshop extends over 8 or 9 months in a series of monthly meetings designed to teach the participants, I suspect, how to cope with recent headlines about the “rise of the nones.”

You’ve all heard of it, I suppose; how people who have no religious affiliation now number a “church” as large as the Catholic church worldwide. Or how 75% of Americans between 18 and 29 identify no religious affiliation.

This has, understandably, got the church’s attention, although the trend is nothing new. Most denominations in America, despite the rise of regional “mega-churches,” have seen declining membership (and revenue) for quite some time now.

In my own case, I was an atheist until about 2004 or so. Another pastor quietly guided me to the church, a path I’d previous taken but had abandoned decades earlier. Since then my involvement with my local congregation has evolved and grown, my desire to help and to minister has grown stronger, and my thoughts about religious experience have continued to grow more complex.

I suppose this is why I started this blog. I have so many thoughts right now about my own experience and how I view the community around me, that I wanted to return to another of my roots and start writing it down. I haven’t seriously written in decades either, though I used to be quite fond of it.

I have no specific direction in mind for this blog, it’s just an opportunity for me to ask the questions I am asking myself, and to contemplate the answers I develop. Sometimes there are no answers, or no clear ones at least.

For instance, I haven’t seen the polls directly that reported this “rise of the nones” as if it was some startling new phenomenon, and I find myself wondering what “no religious affiliation” means. As I understand it, there is a growing segment that feels spiritual, but not religious. I interpret that to mean people who believe in God (or a higher power, as I suspect many would prefer to characterize it) but are disenchanted with what they see of organized religion.

I see a lot of that in my own small community, in the rural heartland, where the broader impression across the country is that a sense of deep religious affiliation reigns supreme here. But people here are not that much different, really. There is a great segment of our small town that is “unchurched,” and much of what we wrestle with as a church is how to address the situation.

In our healthy church initiative workshop, which is now three months old, I find myself increasingly frustrated by the materials we are given to read. The short version of these books is “do things differently because the old ways don’t work.” I have found so far that books like Direct Hit by Paul Borden or Shaped By God’s Heart by Milfred Minatrea offer little in the way of guidance about how the church – or its members – should change, or how they should go about discovering what they should change into. Instead they offer vague platitudes about how healthy, growing churches are dynamic and mission-oriented. But they offer little guidance about what these concepts mean in any practical, daily-living sense. 

I see a need in our community. I see an opportunity for our church. But after months of contemplation, I am no further in understanding what the actual characteristics of the need are, or how the church can best address it.

Perhaps here, over time, I’ll develop some answers. I’m old enough to be certain, however, that the answers will always lead to more questions, like some loathsome hydra. But it’s an exercise worth taking.