I couldn’t help but feel a sense of empathy for Hitchens’ fans. For many, he was a source of inspiration, someone who helped them navigate the murky and difficult waters of life with eloquence, reason, and that wonderful British wit I always find so fun. That’s not to say I agreed with him on much, and I am not pretending to. Regardless, he was an extraordinary thinker and writer, and he will be missed by millions.

This brings me to Paul, Jesus, the New Testament, and twitter. Social media has become (or always was?) a cesspool for virulent, violent rhetoric focused against those who are perceived as enemies. And because it is never directly to one’s face that these things are said, people can say anything they want without immediate consequence. This is dangerous, as a lack of direct accountability means that our words, in all their power, can become ruthlessly damaging as we also experience a decrease in empathy. In other words, we experience less of what makes us human.

I found myself thinking about Paul and Jesus, in what they wrote and taught (respectively). They encountered plenty of opposition, and both could be very ‘direct’ when confronting their interlocutors. But here’s the catch: These debates were internal. Paul was dealing with Christian Jews, and Jesus was dealing with fellow Palestinian Jews. Yes, Paul lands some zingers, but he was chastising people that, according to him, knew better. Jesus acted as a prophet, in this regard, seeking to alter the people’s expectations of the Kingdom of God. Both were the most direct when rebuking their own.

One striking counter-example is particularly illuminating. Paul finds himself standing in front of the Areopagus in Athens, giving an account of his “foreign divinities” to pagan (in the technical sense) leaders. His tone and manner were very, very different. He was eloquent and relevant, quoting the Greek writers Epimenides of Crete and Aratus. His graciousness in Athens stands in striking contrast to his letter to the Galatian Christians, where he sounds much angrier and meaner.

Why is that significant? The Athenians weren’t followers of Jesus, nor were they Jewish. He had no reason to be corrective or condescending, and instead explained the way he saw the world while also respecting the culture. It seems that we Christians would do well to take this to heart. Our interactions with those outside of our faith will be far more helpful when they are gracious and compassionate. And when dealing with each other, love. Be direct, but love. And maybe don’t take things quite so personally. And call your mother every once in a while.

Autumn asked: Who is Thecla in the early church? Was she a real person? Did she really travel with Paul? What about other women in the early church?

Then she asked: How did the books of the Bible get into the cannon? What were the criteria? Oddly enough, these questions are related, and we will see fairly quickly how they intertwine.

Thecla, according to legend and myth, was a woman who, upon hearing a sermon preached by Paul (the great Apostle in the first century CE) about the virtues of chastity, became enthralled by his Gospel message to the point of obsession. This obsession led to the breakup of her engagement and irritated her mother, and she sought Paul himself – that she could learn under him and join him in his travels. Through a series of events that become increasingly strange (to the point that her mother tried to get her killed because she was preaching Paul’s Gospel – there are also rainstorms, a fire, a cave, hookers, and wild animals), she eventually gains Paul’s blessing to be a traveling preacher, much like himself.

You might be asking, at this point, where in the Bible all of this takes place: it doesn’t. In the second century, there was a book called the Acts of Paul which was intended to be similar to the Acts of the Apostles (or Acts, for short). In fact, there were lots of books supposedly about (and by) the Apostles describing them do all kinds of crazy things. We read about Thecla in the “Acts of Thecla,” which appears to have been part of the Acts of Paul.

It turns out that the Acts of Paul was fiction, written by an Asian bishop who had a man-crush on him (I’m not making this up – Tertullian wrote about this). The Acts of Paul, along with the Acts of Thecla and a number of other works that were circulating around various churches, were deemed “not Scripture.” Church leaders decided that the Acts of Paul had been poorly copied (ie, lots of errors made in the copying process), was irreconcilable with the Acts of the Apostles which was well known to be accurate, and was eventually shown to have been made up. Literally. The bishop in question lost his job over this.

This is where the whole “Bible and canon” thing comes into play. Various controversies forced church leaders to actually decide what writings they were going to accept as Scripture, and the Acts of Paul and Thecla were no exception. Too many works were being read and circulated that contained very strange things (far stranger than in the Bible, believe me), whose copies were poorly maintained or overly edited by the scribes doing the copying, or simply went against those works that had been circulating for a long time: like the Gospels, Acts, Romans, etc.

It was not a power play by the church, as some suggest, but rather a more organic process where the most respected works were used as a measure for the others. There were criteria: They had to have been written by an Apostle, had to have been copied accurately, etc. But it was not a way to solidify power, as the DaVinci Code seemed to think.

So where does this leave Thecla? She might have been a real person, but that is about all we can guess. I think it would be very unlikely that she travelled around with Paul and became a great preacher. That does not mean, oddly enough, that there were no women who played important roles in the early church – some of them even being leaders. This takes us to the next question that Autumn asked.

Consider the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ death and Resurrection. For the most part, especially after Jesus dies, his disciples (all male) hide, and John mentions that this was done out of fear. As it turns out, they were smart in being afraid. Their leader had just been executed because those in power decided that he was a threat, and as Jesus’ followers, they would be considered suspect. Peter and John run to the burial spot, but for the most part, the important men who were clearly part of Jesus’ inner circle are out of the picture. The big question here is: why?

In times of conflict (for the most part), women were generally safe to walk about in public. The men involved, and especially those identified as leaders, were not. They could be killed if they were found because they were specifically part of the conflict. Women were never leaders in the various insurrections, rebellions, and other bits of violence that took place in that time period. This is why we read about the disciples hiding in a locked room while the women come and go as they please.

But what happens in the book of Acts, when Saul is on his way to Damascus in chapter 9? Saul specifically goes to seek out the “men and women” who belong to this troublesome group. Within the ancient Middle Eastern context (and I suspect this would be largely true today, as well), the only way the women would be included as targets would be if they were also identified as leaders in the movement. While I don’t pretend that this is a conclusive proof of female leaders of early Christianity, it is a trend that ought not be overlooked.

Combine this with the subversive move by John, who describes women as being the first witnesses of the Resurrected Jesus – who then charges them to take the news to the disciples. In the cultural context, it would be stupid to do this. Everyone knew, and various pagan writers end up making fun of Christians for this, that if you want your story to be believable and valid, you have an upstanding man be the bearer of news. Women were considered unreliable witnesses. This, of course, gets turned upside down by John, and I think there is a very subtle message being made about gender roles here.

So much more can be said about this, and it gets complicated quickly, but Romans 16 is also wildly important for this discussion. Paul describes Phoebe as a deacon, and he mentions several other men and women that are important to the church – many in leadership roles. The big name, however, occurs in verse 7: Junia. While some have tried to argue (or just plain assumed) that Junia should be spelled Junias (which is a male name), there is simply no textual evidence. This is important because Paul makes a statement about her in relation to the Apostles.

Scholars argue over this one, but the phrase is often translated incorrectly: “They are well known to the Apostles,” as the ESV translates it, doesn’t adequately capture the meaning of the phrase. It should read (I will spare you the geeky details): “They are well known among the Apostles.” It is a phrase that is inclusive, indicating that Junia was an important leader in the early church.

The way I see it, we can’t defeat the Reaper because it has long been defeated. When Jesus was resurrected from the dead, it was not some hyper-spiritual type of resurrection I think I had inherited from an evangelical heritage. If Jesus’ resurrection was physical, which is the thrust of Wright’s book, then so will mine. After all, Baptismal theology says that I will get what Christ got – resurrection from the dead and a glorified body.

All that to say, the reaper is already defeated. Yeah, I’ll die. So will you. But it will be only temporary. I’m not sure I understand why, but that makes it somewhat easier to live a full life, and live it well.

I found myself not particularly enjoying the work, however, and like some profound movie, it stuck with me (and bothered me) for several days. But I could not figure out why. It wasn’t that there were pictures of dead people – Leukemia cured me of any acute fear inherent in death. Nor was it the fact that most of the subjects of the piece died of cancer – I found that kind of amusing because “it’s always cancer.” And no, you aren’t allowed to find that funny unless you have dealt with it – think of it like a club. An exclusive club. Expensive, too – even with insurance.

Anyway, After a few days of mulling it over, I finally came to understand why the exhibit unnerved me to such a degree. The artist sought to celebrate both life and death, especially the latter. I am all for celebrating and cherishing life, but I will never do the same for death.

Things were not supposed to be this way. We weren’t meant to die.

Regardless of how readers of the Biblical Narrative interpret the beginning of Genesis, the anthropology is universal: our own mortality is a profound corruption. Life was given as a gift, death is the curse of our own doing.

Culture seems to be moving in a way that idolizes death, using descriptions like “a sweet release,” “a turning to peace,” and “rest.” There are even religious cliches that move in the same direction: “going to be with the Lord.”

But we weren’t meant to experience this separation from those close to us; they weren’t meant to die, and neither are we. Death is not a natural part of the human life cycle, but rather it is decidedly un-natural. Treating death as anything else robs our ability to mourn, feel the pain inherent in death and separation, AND experience life to the fullest.

Life is all we have right now, and death is an abrupt end. Seek to live a full life. Don’t fear death, but hate it – because it is a curse.

I do not intend to prove you wrong. But there are other points of view – not particularly antagonistic to science – that are rarely heard.

I don’t think we have to split faith and science dualistically. When splitting like this takes place, the result is immediate polarization, and any attempt at communication breaks down into shaking fingers furiously at one another. Then, all anyone can do is shake harder…or make a fist and shake it, because that’ll show ‘em.

[Science is] a method, a way of finding this knowledge. Observe, hypothesize, predict, observe, revise. (emphasis mine)

Defining science as a method is well put. It amazes me how rarely people understand that concept, and in an ideal situation, anyone trumpeting under the banner of science would first have to submit to this method. Granted, I do not like talking about science totally in this way, merely because “submitting to the method” reminds me of some freaky cult – which isn’t science. Engineering, maybe, but not science.

Baseless insults to engineers aside, there stand at least two huge barriers in the way of finally putting an issue like this to rest. From the way I see things, the first problem is in the fact that both sides’ uppity-ness has little to do with the conclusions made and more so in the assumptions about the other party’s assumptions. (what an obnoxious sentence)

If a person has grown up in a spiritual culture that makes a big deal about the Earth being flat, and then a scientist comes along and points out that it is, indeed, round, that person’s entire life becomes shattered. So when Chuck Darwin started spending too much time looking at finches and comes to some astonishing ideas that result in even more astonishing conclusions, does that force any implications on others in a non-scientific realm?

Maybe – or maybe not – but the immediate knee-jerk by everyone opposing C-Dawg might indicate that they merely assumed an imposed-conclusion about their spirituality. Plus, if those who aren’t scientists feel threatened and want to respond to science-based claims with their own science, do they violate their existential integrity in doing so? I say yes. Scientists can say that humanity descended from purple boogers shot from the nose of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, but to what degree would that effect the notions of spiritual revelation? And if I decide that it does effect my religion, am I still religious by attacking back with more science?

There’s the rub.

The second of the huge barriers I mentioned is the strange polarization that has come to plague our intellectual realm. The one point on which scientists and creationists seem to agree is that we must choose one or the other.

Why?

Why not both/and?

Scientists might say that using both/and violates the methods on which their work rests. Theologians (conservative Christian, typically) often say that without a literal 6-day creation, then systematic theology states that “faith in Jesus” suddenly reduces to vanity.

I think the problem is that I can at least understand what both sides are saying. Spiritually, I have gained more out of life than I would have thought possible (though that is not necessarily the goal), and yet my fingers tap-tap-tap on the keyboard of my MacBook Pro – a pinnacle of science (fan-boyism aside).

Westerners love the comfort of either/or.

Tension that comes from both/and can be unsettling.

But somehow I think that the both/and tension might be the best way to go…

“No one can understand Virgil’s Georgics unless he has been a farmer
for five years. No one can understand Cicero’s letters unless he has
busied himself in the affairs of a great empire for twenty-five years.
No one can presume to have indulged in Holy Scriptures sufficiently
unless he were in charge of all the churches for one hundred years
with the prophets Elijah and Elisha, John the Baptist, Christ, and the
Apostles. Do not seize hold of this divine aeneid, but adore its
tracks with humility. We are beggars, this is true.”

He wrote it in Latin, except for “we are beggars.” This he wrote in
German, to give it emphasis.

1. This nation was never a “Christian” nation.
    Thomas Jefferson was a deist who was interested in the ethics taught by Jesus and preferred to dismiss spiritual claims. John Locke and others from whom the Founding Fathers developed their ideas for the United States held similar religious understandings. They had no intention of founding a religious nation, especially considering the fact that they kicked their former ruler out who made that claim.

2. Jesus and the early church leaders had little to do with politics.
    Well, that’s only half true. When they did interact with politics, it usually ended with their execution. This is Rome, after all. What really chaps my ass is that not only did they distance themselves from the government (most of the time, anyway), when Emperor Constantine made Christianity the state religion, many scholars would say that this was, in fact, a highly destructive move for the Christians (see Hauerwas/Willimon specifically).
    Once political power (and therefore money) entered the game, corruption spread through the church faster than the plague. Granted, the plague was usually right behind.

3. The Christian Scriptures are highly critical of wealth and power.
    The writers understood very well that it is easy to corrupt people. Here I would like to point out that it has corrupted many self-proclaimed evangelicals in government offices, but that implies they weren’t corrupt before taking office. I’m not entirely sure that is an accurate statement, and thus I will refrain.

4. Notable Christians in history are usually notable BECAUSE they rebelled against authority.
    After all, Jesus pissed a lot of people off which got him killed. Martin Luther should have been executed but escaped the wrath of the Holy Roman Empire and the Roman Catholic church a few times.
    Martin Luther King, Jr. challenged an authority that OVERTLY CLAIMED TO BE CHRISTIAN. He was assassinated. Soren Kierkegaard fought against the established church his entire life. Honestly, the list goes on.

My point: Many of the most highly regarded Christians throughout history have their status because they opposed corrupted power. Rarely do heroes stand on the side of power. Why? Be cause power always corrupts.

Huckabee, Bush, Cheney, Rice, Robertson, etc – you have all missed the point, and your corruption is bringing the demise and death of many, many people.

Oh, yeah, and you’re pissing off the rest of the world. That’s a bit more serious than some idiot blogger.

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