Book review: The Promise of Peace

by Nathan Brown

According to Charles Scriven, the journey of “becoming Adventist” is and must be a continuing reality for both the church and each of its members. “As understanding and commitment advance, the practice of hope advances too,” he urges in The Promise of Peace. In his overview, that process and practice should always be advancing and growing as we live corporately and individually “between our dreams and disappointments.”

The Promise of Peace traces this journey of “becoming” across the spiritual and organisational history of what has become the Seventh-day Adventist Church. Beginning with a burning hope and stinging disappointment, Adventism has grown in ways that could never have been imagined by its earliest members. With an expanding understanding of its hope, Adventism has grown in its wholism and worldwide impact, offering a hope that makes a difference in the world today as well as promising a world fully restored and renewed.

But Scriven also traces this thread through the biblical narrative. From the covenant with Abraham that God would bless him “so that you will be a blessing” (see Genesis 12:1-3), The Promise of Peace follows the recurring call of God for His people to be good for the world, to enact a “covenant of peace” (see Ezekiel 34:25) and to be “peacemakers” (see Matthew 5:9). Scriven also points out the regularity with which the gospel is described as a message of peace (see Isaiah 52:7; Ephesians 6:15; and Revelation 1:4).

Through both biblical and Adventist history, Scriven urges, these themes should call us to seek how better to live out our faith and to ensure it is a faith that is a blessing to those around us. That is what we should be always “becoming,” finding real ways to contribute to “human flourishing.”

Having worked as a church pastor and college lecturer, Scriven is currently president of the Kettering College of Medical Arts, an Adventist institution in Ohio. As such, his argument is particularly fitted to explaining, exploring and extending the theology that underpins the church’s wellbeing and medical work around the world.

But The Promise of Peace should not be sidelined as a handbook for the health-focused. It provides an interesting and worthwhile contrast to George Knight’s recent The Apocalyptic Vision and the Neutering of Adventism. Knight also works to strip away the cultural layers and “compromises” of Adventism, recounting the passion of the early Adventist believers. But his brief book tries to make up for its lack of argument with an excess of passion—although a harsher critic might describe it as bluster. He calls Adventism back to its apocalyptic vision and evangelism as well as the core of Christianity, but offers little by way of practical expressions of this faith.

Scriven also calls us back to the theological roots and vision of Adventism but offers a larger, more practical and ultimately more attractive vision of the Adventist hope—“just when your hope for a new world is most intense, you engage the present world. Just then you busy yourself, the best way you can, with the healing of the here-and-now.” While not forgetting the importance and necessity of the Second Coming, Scriven describes a group of people animated by this great hope who would dare to change the world.

Scriven has a lyrical style of writing, which takes a little getting used to but soon settles into a rolling lilt. As a writer who obviously loves words, he returns to the earliest formulations of Adventist belief as first adopted in 1861. In line with his description of “becoming,” he adds to and refines this statement at key points of the book, offering the following pledge of belief as the climax of his work: “Thanks to the gift of grace, and for the purpose of blessing all, we take up the peacemaking mission and join together in keeping the commandments of God and the faith of Jesus.”

The Promise of Peace calls us to the best of Adventism. Perhaps it is a useful second volume to Knight’s robust call; perhaps it is the book that should have been heavily promoted and distributed in place of Knight’s. Whatever the case, The Promise of Peace is a significant contribution to our thinking about what it means to be Adventist and how we can better live out that hope.

Cross-posted from Adventist Today.

"Truth Led Me Out"

Dale Ratzlaff. He is no longer a Seventh-day Adventist. But he should be of significance to Adventists. At the 2005 Ellen White Summit, Jud Lake, professor of preaching and Adventist Studies at Southern Adventist University called Dale Ratzlaff "the fountain head" of all who criticize the SDA denomination.

Dale Ratzlaff is the originator, publisher, and major contributor to Proclamation! magazine which is mailed free to an alleged 10,000 former, current, inquiring, Adventists and Evangelicals. The magazine is currently edited by Colleen Tinker, herself a former Adventist.

Dale Ratzlaff is obviously a controversial figure. If we go by the letters to the editor published in Proclamation! magazine, people either love him or hate him. And he has written a number of books arguing against Adventist theology. The two most significant are The Cultic Doctrine of Seventh-Day Adventists: An Evangelical Resource and an Appeal to Adventists which provides an incisive critique of the doctrines of the Investigative Judgment and Ellen White's inspiration; and Sabbath in Christ (an earlier edition was called Sabbath in Crisis) which argues that the Sabbath is no longer a requirement for Christians. In fact, this book played a significant part in the Worldwide Church of God giving up the Sabbath and commemoration of feast days.

I have always enjoyed reading about the spiritual journeys of people. And I have often wondered how individuals move from one belief system to another. How does someone like Dale Ratzlaff, originally a conservative, fourth generation Seventh-day Adventist who studied in Adventist schools, graduated from the Seventh-day Adventist Theological Seminary, and taught Bible in an Adventist school for seven years — how does someone like this come to make such a major shift in their understanding of the Bible and leave behind a system of belief? Wouldn't it be good if someone like Dale Ratzlaff shared with us his journey from one place to another?

Well... Ratzlaff has done just that in his new book Truth Led Me Out. It is a short book (only 156 pages including appendices) and yet provides a very useful insight into the process of one man courageously following where he believes the evidence leads.

In the preface, Ratzlaff explains why he wrote the book. According to Ratzlaff, he is

... continually being accused of leaving because I wanted to live in open sin. When I respond that I left because of thorough Bible study and a desire to be true to my conscience, I am often met with a blank, questioning stare. For many this is simply incomprehensible. How can one leave "the truth" and not go into error? (p. 9)

Ratzlaff offers three reasons for writing this book:

1. It is his life story.
2. He wishes to answer the many questions that he has received about the details of 'his exodus'.
3. It may motivate some to do their own study to find truth for themselves.

Truth Led Me Out uses, as its "launching pad" an email Ratzlaff received from an Adventist pastor crying out for help as he 'desperately sought God's will.' (p. 11) He shares the email with the reader and then begins his story of his upbringing within the Adventist denomination. He shares the way in which he struggled with serious theological questions from an early age, his discovery of the gospel, secret meetings that occurred as part of the theological turbulence within Adventism as fundamental doctrines were challenged, and the challenging decisions he had to make as he left the denomination and established his ministry to ex-Adventists as he believed God was calling him to do.

There are a number of reasons this book is worth the time to read:

1. It provides an insight into the real reasons that some people leave the Adventist denomination. Within Adventism, there is only one term that is used to label those who have left: apostate. The term implies some moral fall no matter what the reasons for leaving. For many Adventists, leaving the denomination is equivalent to losing salvation. Very few that I have talked to would imagine these individuals have left because they actually don't believe certain doctrines anymore. And often there is no consideration that they may still remain Christian. For many, leaving Adventism is the end of the road as far as salvation is concerned.
   
   It is important that we listen carefully to the stories of people who leave and accept their stories as their stories. It seems clear, from Ratzlaff's story, that he is deeply committed to God, believes he is following God's will. It is important to hear stories about the courage that others have to follow their conscience no matter what the cost.
   
2. This is the first book I have read related to the theological controversy within Adventism where the author names names. Often, claims are made by critics of Adventist theology that Adventist scholars, administrators, and pastors don't really believe certain doctrines but we never get to know just who they are talking about. Well, Dale Ratzlaff tells us who. He provides the names of people who had discussions with him, suggested that he minimize the truth about what he believed, or keep them to himself, and so on. Ratzlaff wants to counteract what he believes is the traditional practice of '... Adventism and how its leaders have either tarnished or rewritten the history of those who have made public its errors.' (back cover)

Despite the value of reading about Ratzlaff's journey, I am a bit disappointed that it stops at the point it does and doesn't explore in more depth some of Ratzlaff's thinking. For example, there is his experience with John Wimber and Ratzlaff's speaking in tongues; his 'Encounter with the Holy Spirit' where he claims to have received direct revelations about others. I would love to read more about how Ratzlaff has incorporated these experiences into a theology of the Holy Spirit and how these relate to his previous understanding of Ellen White's ministry.

In addition, if you read Proclamation! you will find that Ratzlaff has adopted other beliefs held by most (but not all) Christians. For example, he now believes in the traditional Christian beliefs on death and hell and fundamentalist understandings of inspiration and the nature of the biblical text. Clearly, the end of Truth Led Me Out is not the whole story. I would have liked to be able to read how these journeys into other areas inconsistent with Adventist theology occurred.

Truth Led Me Out is an adequate, informative book about Ratzlaff's journey out of Adventism. It is simply told in straightforward narrative form. Although it makes reference to the broader context of the theological and political context of Adventism and the theological crisis that correlated with his journey, the story lacks a breadth and nuance that these would have brought if considered in more depth.

In addition, the suggested resources at the back of the book are all, except for one, critical of Adventism. In my view, when providing resources for people to think through an issue, both sides of the argument should be provided. So if you are looking for both sides of the debate on Adventist ideas and theology, then you will need to explore outside the resources suggested.

If you wish to gain some insight into Dale Ratzlaff and why he is one of the most significant critics of Adventism, then you will want to read this book.

Pitcairn: Paradise Lost

Seventh-day Adventists have had a longterm interest in Pitcairn Island. It has been presented as a model case of the Adventist life. Pitcairn Island has also fascinated the wider society for over 200 years. Way out in the middle of nowhere in the South Pacific, it was discovered by the British in 1767, and populated in 1790 by a group of mutineers from HMS Bounty and a number of Tahitian men and women led by Fletcher Christian. Alcohol, murder, disease, and a range of other nasties killed off most of the population. John Adams began reading the ship's Bible and the Church of England's Prayer Book. The islanders converted to Christianity and constructed 'a new and peaceful society' that has become legendary. They later became Seventh-day Adventists. Here is what Sir Charles Lucas wrote in Pitcairn's register book in 1829:

Many notable cases of religious conversion have been recorded in the history of Christianity, but it would be difficult to find an exact parallel to that of John Adams. The facts are quite clear. There is no question as to what he was and did after all his shipmates on the island had perished. He had no human guide or counsellor to turn him into the way of righteousness and make him feel and shoulder responsibility for bringing up a group of boys and girls in the fear of God.

He had a Bible and a Prayer Book to be the instruments of his endeavour, so far as education, or rather lack of education, served him. He may well have recalled to mind memories of his own childhood. But there can be only one straightforward explanation of what took place, that it was the handiwork of the Almighty, whereby a sailor seasoned to crime came to himself in a far country and learnt and taught others to follow Christ. (cited in Ford 2008, emphasis supplied)

Idyllic, exotic, Christian, peaceful, crime-free, away from the rest of the sinful world, 'the handiwork of the Almighty'. Wouldn't you just love to live there?

Until recently, you might very well have wanted to. The problem is that, in 2000, a police investigation began that was to uncover widespread, decades-long, multi-generational child sexual abuse that probably goes back to the beginnings of the island. Almost every man on the island is implicated and almost every girl who lived there has been a victim of this abuse. The ensuing trials have torn this small community apart and the romantic mythology around Pitcairn Island is forever gone.

Kathy Marks was one of only six journalists allowed on the island during the trials. Her book Pitcairn: Paradise Lost tells the sickening tale of the generations of abuse, the trials, and the aftermath down to its conclusion in 2007. Well — the conclusion as far as legalities go. The women who suffered at the hands of the incredible evil of men, who were allowed to perpetrate these crimes, suffer on as these pedophiles and abusers are "punished" with sentences that are minimal compared to what they would receive in Australia or New Zealand.

Marks's book is agonising to read. Her story is divided into two parts. The first part is on the island itself as she describes Pitcairn's 'surreal little universe in the middle of nowhere'; the romantic mythology that has developed around Pitcairn — now completely shattered; the courage of one girl who finally speaks out about the pervasive abuse; the wielding of power by a few men who are free of the normal legal accountability of most decent societies; the duplicitous propaganda spread by even the women on the island who try to rationalise away the perverse behaviour of even their husbands and sons; and the trials that were frustrated by women and girls often manipulated to retract statements or withdraw from being witnesses.

In Part 2 of the book, the author "steps back" from the island and views 'Pitcairn from a distance'. How did the myth of Pitcairn develop? What role did politics and power play in the events on Pitcairn? And he silence and collusion of women and visitors who worked on the island. The story is heartrending as Marks documents how these little children were abused and raped as young as 3 years old. The men (and women) on Pitcairn Island accepted that 'this is just the way it is' on Pitcairn. While the image of a Christian society, free from crime, was perpetuated by those living on Pitcairn and authorities that interacted with the islanders, men were brazenly forcing young girls into the forests of the island and destroying their innocence and scarring them for life.

For those of us looking from the outside, it is hard to believe that such perverted evil could go on for so long with noone doing anything about it. It is also difficult to believe that denominational leaders could not have known. The Adventist Church has always had a resident pastor and nurse on the island (SPD Staff/ANN 2001). How could they not know?

Kathy Marks documents a number of people who either suspected or knew of the ongoing abuse and the attitudes of the islanders. These individuals never said anything or, if they did, were dismissed by those in authority. It is reassuring that at least one of the people mentioned in the book, a friend of mine and who lived on Pitcairn for some time in a professional role, was one of only a couple of people who spoke out about what they were observing on Pitcairn.

Pitcairn: Paradise Lost reveals an incredible litany of evil on a little island we thought was paradise. That paradise has been lost as we have realised that it never was. Kathy Marks's book Pitcairn: Paradise Lost lays bare the real hell of that imaginary paradise — at least what we know. Who knows what else will be uncovered in the future (there is emerging evidence of the oppression and abuse of adult women and child-to-child sexual abuse).

Simone Weil has written that '[w]e must prefer real hell to an imaginary paradise.' Pitcairn was an imaginary paradise. We must have the courage to confront and acknowledge the real hell of Pitcairn. The 'handiwork of the Almighty'? I don't think so.

References

Ford, H 2008, Pitcairn Island & Pacific Union College, Pacific Union College, viewed 15 February 2009, <http://library.puc.edu/pitcairn/studycenter/pit_puc.shtml>.

SPD Staff/ANN 2001, Turning Point for Historic Adventist Community on Pitcairn Island news.adventist.org, viewed 15 February 2009, <http://news.adventist.org/data/2001/0991166375/index.html.en>.

Seeking beauty

by Nathan Brown

In Breath, the most recent novel by Australian writer Tim Winton, one of his characters describes his first glimpse of surfing and compares it with the seeming absence of beauty in the everyday world of Australian masculinity:

“I couldn’t have put words to it as a boy, but later I understood what seized my imagination that day. How strange it was to see men do something beautiful. Something pointless and elegant, as though nobody saw or cared. . . . We never spoke about the business of beauty . . . but for me there was still the outlaw feeling of doing something graceful, as if dancing on water was the best and bravest thing a man could do.”

But, in describing surfing as “pointless and beautiful,” perhaps Winton misses the point of beauty—that in a world created and loved by God, beauty is never pointless. Beginning with a creation that was “excellent in every way” (Genesis 1:31) to the Old Testament poetry that exults in the wonders of the Creator to Jesus’ pointing to the flowers on the hillside (see Matthew 6:28-30), beauty is always a glimpse of the power, goodness and love of God, and an awakened appreciation of beauty a step toward connecting with that reality.

The pointedness of beauty is why theologian N T Wright insists on beauty as a key component of what the church should be pursuing in the world:

“the church should reawaken its hunger for beauty at every level. This is essential and urgent. It is essential to Christian living that we should celebrate the goodness of creation, ponder its present brokenness, and, insofar as we can, celebrate in advance the healing of the world, the new creation itself. . . . The arts are not the pretty but irrelevant bits around the border of reality. They are highways into the centre of a reality which cannot be glimpsed, let alone grasped any other way” (Simply Christian).

In our churches and communities, we need to find ways to encourage art in its many forms. Our church foyers can be exhibition spaces; our worship can be more than just singing and speaking; our artists need our prayers and practical support; our engagement with the community can include shared projects of creativity and beautification.

We need to make space for our painters and photographers, sculptors and poets, novelists and filmmakers, musicians and storytellers, dancers and actors, scrap-bookers and knitters, designers and animators. In turn, our artists must be serious and joyous, honest but redemptive and hopeful.

But our understanding of beauty also needs to expand beyond the arts to encompass so many others things we easily take for granted. Beauty is also created by our gardeners and cooks, our builders and homemakers, our tree-planters and professionals, our carers and counselors, our surfers and explorers, our mothers and friends.

And we are all part of it: there is engagement with beauty—and a contribution to it—in any moment of recognising and appreciating something beautiful. Then, in pointing out or sharing beauty with another, we become evangelists of beauty and thus agents of the kingdom of God.

As human beings, we create in these and so many other ways because God created, continues to create and will re-create a world in which beauty is never pointless:

“He has surrounded you with beauty to teach you that you are not placed on earth merely to delve for self, to dig and build, to toil and spin, but to make life bright and joyous and beautiful with the love of Christ—like the flowers, to gladden other lives by the ministry of love” (Ellen White, Thoughts from the Mount of Blessing).

Because of the reality of Jesus and His resurrection, and the promises of God and the hope they give us, we are part of a new kind of life in the world and “nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless” (1 Corinthians 15:58).

This includes the creation or appreciation of beauty that we might otherwise be tempted to consider pointless. Amid the pain, fears and sorrows of life, perhaps dancing on water—or whatever is your creative gift or passion—is among the best and bravest things a Christian can do.

More than right

by Nathan Brown

Marcel posted about this back in February and a couple of paragraphs below are drawn from my comments then. But now having read Wright's book, this is an expanded reflection.


Theologian N T Wright made headlines—at least on the website of Time magazine, among others—in February this year with comments associated with the launch of his book, Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church.

Described by Time as “one of the most formidable figures in the world of Christian thought,” Wright is Bishop of Durham (UK) and, as such, the fourth most senior clergyman in the Anglican Church. Writing from his Anglican tradition, some of the assumptions around the edges of Wright’s book may challenge us but his core thesis is something to catch our collective Adventist attention.

According to Wright, most Christians have misunderstood and misrepresented the Bible’s portrayals of resurrection, the afterlife and heaven. Building on his previous strident arguments for the actual, physical resurrection of Christ, Wright urges that the focus of the New Testament is on our physical, bodily resurrection to live in a our recreated, restored and renewed world. He describes this as contrasting starkly with the traditional Christian imagination of disembodied souls floating off to “be with God,” to live eternally in some dreamy, cloud-like existence.

Reflecting on the post-resurrection physicality of Jesus, Wright urges a wholistic understanding of human being. And working with the exuberant descriptions in Paul’s writings, he argues for a larger understanding of the Christian hope of redemption and re-creation—a more hopeful and joyful kind of hope: “How we thank God, who gives us victory over sin and death through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (1 Corinthians 15:57, NLT).

It’s always nice to have others recognise our doctrinal treasures. Despite his vagueness on the intermediate state after death but before resurrection and the nature of the Second Coming, there is much in Surprised by Hope to gladden an Adventist heart. But rather than an excuse for “I told you so,” perhaps books such as this should be cause for a moment of reflection and humility. When “non-Adventists” do “Adventist” theology better than Adventists, we need to ask ourselves some questions.

It seems that for years Adventist have argued the doctrine of the “state of the dead” but without doing much thinking on what this means for how we understand life, hope and salvation, and how we care for others and our world. Instead we have borrowed the same shallow view of salvation assumed by most of Christianity —that it's all about “getting to heaven when we die” or at the “end.”

We need to do better, to think deeper, to imagine and re-imagine—and theologians like N T Wright challenge us to do that. As the subtitle of his book suggests, Wright is not content to merely correct an error of doctrinal understanding:

“The promise of new creation—the promise we have been studying throughout this book—is not and cannot be simply about straightening out ideas about life and death.”

Instead, his focus is on what that better understanding means for the mission of the church in the world today: “Once we get the resurrection straight, we can and must get mission straight.”

As we move in our understanding of salvation from “going to heaven” to “being raised to life in God’s new heaven and new earth,” we begin to work with a significantly different picture of what salvation is. With the realisation that in the resurrection of Jesus a new kind of life has broken into our world, we begin to see this as a reality in which we can participate—and even contribute to—today.

Wright suggests three areas of focus for the church working in this world in the light of the hope of resurrection: justice, beauty and evangelism. Indeed, he argues that

“if [a church] is actively involved in seeking justice in the world, both globally and locally, and if it’s cheerfully celebrating God’s good creation and its rescue from corruption in art and music, and if, in addition, its own internal life gives every sign that new creation is indeed happening, generating a new type of community—then suddenly the announcement [evangelism] makes a lot of sense.”

Of course, resurrection and the ultimate redemption of creation is the work of God but Paul assures us that somehow acts of goodness, justice, beauty and evangelism done in this life matter and even somehow contribute to building God’s kingdom in our world now and in God’s future: “So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and steady, always enthusiastic about the Lord’s work, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless” (1 Corinthians 15:58, NLT).

Rap Session: Brian McLaren on Useful Perhaps

Christianity Today recently published a semi-negative review of Brian McLaren's most recent title, Everything Must Change. Brian is an author, speaker, networker and much appreciated voice in the Emergent conversation. Here was his response to the CT article...


A statement like "this changes everything" or "everything must change" is what one might call idiomatic hyperbole: rhetorical exaggeration for the effect of conveying an overall meaning that is larger than the sum of its parts. Thus, when I came to the book Everything Must Change, I didn't expect it to be a literal "theory of everything." That would be too much expectation for any treatise to bear. However, I was hoping for a way forward out of the gridlock of integrity that occurs when people of faith no longer expect of themselves that "words of wisdom would be ways of wisdom" (Arrested Development, 1992).

However, I do understand why some might take exception to Brian McLaren's most recent book , released October 2007. One major reason for consternation may be that Everything Must Change offers a hearing of the Jesus message that takes the gospel out of the battle for primacy in the global theater of self-aggrandizement. McLaren deconstructs the age-old debate of whose religion deserves top billing by conspicuously not participating in it. As opposed to hearing in the message of Jesus an exclusive call for Christians and the Christian church to be central in world affairs, he implores any (Christian or otherwise) who finds the way of Jesus inspiring to become integral in seeking justice, truth, peace and beauty in dealing with the biggest problems facing the world. Such a subtle yet profound shift undoubtedly unsettles many.

John Wilson, Editor of Books and Culture for Christianity Today, was certainly among those unsettled by Everything Must Change—in ways that he apparently did not appreciate.

I attended the launch of McLaren's Deep Shift Tour in Charlotte, NC. We gathered in a most beautiful urban arts commune, Area 15, embedded in the reconstituted NoDa neighborhood of Charlotte. The artists' home is an old warehouse that has been converted into gallery, gathering and prayer space and has had such an affect on the community that the City of Charlotte has asked the creatives of Area 15 to open a second studio in another distressed portion of the city. While there, I took the opportunity to invite McLaren's clarification of any of the issues raised by Wilson's article.

You may ask who am I to seek to challenge the collective wisdom of the Evangelical world's foremost public marketplace of ideas. To be honest, no one of much significance. Publicly, I am a simple storyteller, writer, activist and friend. Nonetheless, in a brave new wiki world, post-modernity, we are finally coming to recognize everyone's stake and the value of everyone's voice. And it just didn't seem right for Wilson's review to be the final word in Christian circles for what I and many others have found to be a most unsettling yet also inspiring declaration of revolt.

Q: Were you surprised to hear about the Christianity Today review?

A: In early or mid-January, a friend called me to express his condolences about a negative review in CT and to tell me not to let it get me down. I said, “What review?” It was a couple weeks before I actually saw the review, so over those weeks I imagined the worst. The review ended up being less negative than I had imagined it would be. John Wilson is arguably the best-read Evangelical in America and editor of a premier Evangelical publication in America, so I’m pleasantly surprised that someone of John’s stature would take the book seriously enough to engage with it.

CONTINUE READING This Changes Everything>>>

A Reality Check For Progressive Adventists

by Alex Bryan

Dan Kimball could not laugh.

And yet he was laughing so violently that his body was heaving in ripples and waves, tears pouring out of his red, swelling eyes, saltwater cascading down his cheeks. How much longer could his tightly closed mouth, reinforced by both hands, which were attached to elbows braced in his lap, hold off the impending outburst … that would send us all into ill-timed delirium?

And so, in order to save himself, Dan left the classroom, leaving behind a half-dozen similarly infected victims (including myself) either to get it together or else. Our in-class, time-passing game of sending silly pictures from laptop to laptop (WiFi is dangerous) was out of hand. The professor couldn’t find out.

Dan Kimball is more than my very funny classmate at George Fox University. He is warm, insightful, deeply spiritual, well-traveled, a key thinker in the emerging church movement, and his newest book They Like Jesus But Not The Church is prophetic. It’s a book for pastors, church leaders, and anyone who thinks seriously and deeply about the challenge of church in our contemporary culture.

His major point is chilling: non-Christians have very negative views of the church (while holding rather positive views of Jesus). Dan’s interviews with non-Christians reveal that these unfortunate perceptions are often based upon non-Christians interaction with (a) highly vocal (often highly weird) Christians who do not represent Christ or the majority of Christians and (b) media portrayals of Christians based upon the worst the church has to offer. They don’t like the church because the “church” they have been exposed to is pretty disgusting!

What’s worse, these non-Christians have had no interaction with the majority of the church: people who are loving, kind, faithful, generous. Why? Because most Christians only relate at a very superficial level (work together) with non-Christians … or they have no relations at all. Christians tend only to make Christian friends.

From personal experience, I am stunned how many pastors, for example, answer “I don’t have any” when I ask them how many non-Christian friends they have. Of those I’ve asked, I can name maybe one Seventh-day Adventist pastor who has a single significant friendship with a non-Christian (or even a non-Adventist).

Last week I asked the inter-denominational pastors’ group I am part of: “What do you think of Seventh-day Adventists?” One response was powerful. “Well, Alex, I had a negative impression until I started interacting with an individual at a hospital in Florida. He is a really great person. We became friends.”

Here’s the point (and a prophetic word for so-called progressive Adventists):

If we allow stereotypes of Adventism to be the face of our faith—images and information defined by the most anti-grace and anti-Christ(like) handbills, billboards, televangelism, and by revisionist and reductionist Adventist history (many today are far less progressive than the founders of this little movement)—then we have abdicated our responsibility to help explain the real Jesus in Adventism.

If we aren’t forming relations(hips) of love with people outside the church, the public relations(hips) will determined by … who?

Progressive (or at least open) Adventists (which, I’m beginning to believe, are the emerging majority in North America), cannot sit back and mourn the negative image of Adventism held by many in the larger culture. We must get out of our homogenized havens, our carefully constructed cocoons, and “be where the people be.” If we aren’t in relationship to people outside the church, we should sit down and shut up. Our progressive musing won’t amount to anything.

As my Australian buddy David would say, “Who are your non-Christian mates?”

This is no laughing matter.

Us and Hillsong

by Nathan Brown


Even before its release this week (in Australia), Tanya Levin’s People in Glass Houses had received significant attention. Slated for publication earlier this year, her then-publisher withdrew from the project, prompted by fears of legal repercussions. But, known around the world for their music and seen by many as the smiling face of contemporary Christianity and Australia’s only real megachurch, an alternative perspective on Hillsong was always going to be of significant interest to religion-watchers of all kinds, so it is hardly surprising Levin’s book soon found another publisher willing to take it on.

What is surprising is that Levin’s book—billed as an exposé of Hillsong—is more a personal story of faith, questions and doubt, set against the backdrop of the rapidly growing suburban Sydney congregation. Levin began attending Hills Christian Life Centre—as it was then known—with her family and grew up as a member of the church. But at key points in her life, the faith she had been taught seemed to let her down and as the questions grew so did her reservations about the organisation of which she was a part.

What is also surprising is how much I identified with Levin’s experiences and questions. Having also grown up in a conservative Australian church community in the 1980s and 90s, I could at least understand some of her perspectives, even if not agreeing with all her conclusions. While taking little comfort that others also experience our challenges, it can be helpful in understanding ourselves.

Of course, Hillsong has its own idiosyncrasies—which are the selling points of Levin’s book—including the scandal of prosperity theology and those leaders who benefit most from organizations dedicated to putting it into multi-million dollar practice, as well as the potential for growing political influence through close association with both Family First and the current Australian government. But because our “worldly successes” are less obvious or known does not mean we should be immune from at least self-examination.

Indeed, Levin’s only mention of Seventh-day Adventists comes with the curious description of us as those “who sit on the Pentecostal periphery as honorary citizens” and is used in contrast with gracious and accepting social work of the Salvation Army, with whom Levin has worked as a social worker. Given a choice, it seems obvious which model of Christianity we would do better to be identified with. Jesus urged the answer in Matthew 5:16: “Let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.”*

Perhaps we need to come up with new ways and new models of thinking about what it means to be a church. On her closing page, Levin quotes one of her (still Hillsong-going) friends, telling her about “an Emerging Church, a new Christian movement who are very cross with the prosperity family and while not yet gaining the airtime, want to take Christianity’s future back to where it was supposed to be, saving the world.”

I confess to some less-than-positive motivations for leaping into Levin’s book with such interest. But was a little unnerved and challenged to learn more about my own faith and church in this roundabout way.

Arriving at the end of the book, I prayed for Tanya Levin—and for all those who have been abused and messed up by religion in so many ways, who have rejected a faith that is more about fear than about hope, more fundamentalism than freedom, more about power, money, programs, buildings and appearances than it is about people, and more about us than about God. They are right to reject religion, because what they have seen and experienced of it—even in our churches—is wrong.

So how do we do it better? In our culture, it isn’t easy to be a successful church. And if a church is successful, it is likely to be criticized, sometimes excessively or unduly. Neither is it easy to be a faithful church. But we do have some more solid guidelines on faithfulness:

“So be careful how you live, not as fools but as those who are wise. Make the most of every opportunity for doing good in these evil days. Don’t act thoughtlessly, but try to understand what the Lord wants you to do” (Ephesians 5:15-17).

Thoughts from a Harry Potter agnostic

by Nathan Brown

[***Spoiler alert***]


For the past 10 years, I have been a Harry Potter agnostic.
While enjoying the stories as just that—stories—with each installment, I have been aware of their questionable literary merit and frustrated, with the increasing size of the successive volumes, about the seeming absence of a hard-nosed editor from J K Rowling’s literary life. Even about the 400-page mark of The Deathly Hallows, it was more determination to see how it would end than my engagement in the story that kept me reading.

But the greater cause of my Potter agnosticism was the continuing ambiguity about the nature of the story and characters themselves. Having read opinions on the Harry Potter series from across the spectrum, I was unable to settle the question in my mind. Of course, there were the hardline, angry Christian perspectives, who were askance at any mention of wizards and magic in anything less than a completely negative way and—ignoring the use such motifs as literary devices—were ready to declare Harry the illegitimate son of the antichrist himself.

On the other hand have been those educators and parents just happy to see kids put down the Playstation controller for a moment and pick up a book, like we did in the “good, old days.” And of course there were also Harry Potter’s grown-up fans, drawn in by a remarkably readable story.

And then there was one more school of though of which I had read a little—those Christian voices who were keen to point out the goodness embedded in the Potter stories. Some even went so far as to suggest Rowling—who has always been reticent in taking about issues of faith—was a Christian, using her writing to get “past watchful dragons” (as C S Lewis put it) in a post-Christian society, particularly in her native England.

So my anticipation of the seventh and concluding book of the series was heightened more by this underlying ideological tension than by my mere curiosity as to how the story was to end, whether Harry was going to make it out alive and how neatly Rowling was going to wrap up the loose ends. Without denying my enjoyment of a rollicking narrative, it was more as an observer of a cultural phenomenon that I made the pilgrimage to a suburban bookstore on the Saturday evening of its release and purchased one of the record 12 million copies sold on the day.

So am I a believer? As I have mentioned, two-thirds of the way through Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, I was still to be convinced. And, in our cynical age, it is remarkably difficult to write an ending that is both credible and satisfying.

But J K Rowling pulled it off—and in ways that few of the many speculators were able to predict. As a modern-day fairy tale, the series works, while still giving the literary purists things to grumble about.

And, ideologically, my agnosticism has also faded. A few years back, I was a volunteer at a church teen camp at which the speaker used the early books of the Harry Potter series to explore the themes of the Great Controversy and book 7 brings the battle between good and evil to its climax. This motif has been an important part of the ongoing story—as it is in many of our culture’s great stories—and the distinction between good and evil becomes clearer as the characters are forced to choose their response to the growing conflict. While the dark side employ whatever means possible to achieve their ends, the Harry Potter heroes choose to make space for compassion and maintain self-imposed limits on their use of power.

But Rowling also portrays the choice between good and evil as not so black-and-white as one-dimensional stereotypes might be. The good guys have their flaws, doubts and struggles, while some of the worst characters are not beyond moments of ambiguity and even the possibility of redemption, if they choose.

And the central choices are those Harry must make. Does he have faith in Dumbledore’s instructions, despite the questions raised about his mentor after Dumbledore’s death? And ultimately is Harry prepared to face his own death, trusting that somehow his sacrifice will destroy the evil of Lord Voldemort and put an end to the reign of terror?

In a scene that wakes strong echoes of Aslan’s self-sacrifice, his walk to the stone table and his death in Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Potter dons the cloak of invisibility for a final trip into the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort and his minions. And then the “deeper magic”—as Lewis describes it—does its thing. In both Narnia and Harry Potter, love, goodness and humility are stronger than evil, even when evil appears triumphant.

A believer? No, I don’t believe in Harry Potter, I have not rushed out to join a HP fan club and I have not sent any money (after my initial “donation” of about $A30 for the book itself). But at the end of our 10-year adventure with Harry Potter’s fantasy world and J K Rowling’s roller-coaster of a story, I have been reminded of the importance of choosing goodness and trusting that goodness to overcome evil, whatever it might cost and however doubtful it might appear.

As a result of reading Harry Potter, I am encouraged as a believer in God and in His purposes and plan for goodness in a world that often doesn’t look like it. And I am hopeful that others who may not yet be as familiar with the realities of the kingdom of God might recognize something of this same self-sacrificing goodness when they hear the story of Jesus and what He has done to overcome the evil in our world.

For other useful perspectives on Harry Potter VII, check out Gary Swanson writing on Adventist Review’s web site and Trudy Morgan-Cole at her “Compulsive Overreader” blog .

Dershowitz, The Trial of Jesus and Biblical Exegesis.

Harvard Law professor Alan Dershowitz has some arguably controversial views on the use of torture and the state of Israel. He has nonetheless written an interesting comment on the trial of Jesus in his book America on Trial, Inside the Legal Battles That Transformed Our Nation (New York, Warner Books, 2004).

In the first chapter Dershowitz describes how the Bible was used as a source of inspiration in the development of American law. Particularly references to the trial of Jesus have abounded in American legal history. Commenting on Jesus’ trial Dershowitz states that “[t]he relationship between the Jewish and Roman authorities, and their relative responsibility for the conviction and crucifixion of Jesus, is among the least trustworthy and most conflicting aspects of the Gospels.”

Dershowitz emphasizes that although the substantive laws of the Bible made certain kinds of religious heresy punishable by death, it also had a variety of safeguards that made it nearly impossible to execute anyone. Roman law, however, had looser standards of proof, especially towards non-Romans, and it is therefore not surprising that Jews wanting to get rid of a religious troublemaker would turn him in to the Roman authorities. Dershowitz then argues that the Gospel accounts are more favourable to the Romans than to the Jews, due to Christian expansion into the Roman world.

In his analysis Dershowitz is aligning himself with a long line of critical biblical scholars who see aspects of the Gospels, in particular the Gospel of John, as a result of anti-Jewish sentiment by 1st and 2nd century Christians.

While the critique from Dershowitz and critical scholars is valuable in forcing Christians to re-evaluating their understanding of Bible, their analysis seems to make the mistake of imposing later religious thinking onto the Gospels. Although Christians have used the Gospels to fan anti-Jewish sentiment, critics should be careful not to attribute such sentiment to the Gospel writers.

The critical approach should also serve as a reminder for Christians not to impose supervening exegesis onto the Biblical texts. The classic example of how such exegesis gets it wrong, is the interpretation of the statement in Matthew 1:22 that Jesus' birth fulfills Isaiah 7:14. Christianity has traditionally understood this text as a prophetic foretelling of the nature of Jesus birth, i.e. birth by a virgin. The writer of Matthew, however, is not emphasizing Mary’s unmarried status, but is making the point that just as the birth of a boy by a young woman was a sign of deliverance to King Ahaz, the birth of Jesus is the ultimate sign of deliverance. Jesus, Matthew writes, will therefore be called Immanuel by his people because he will save them from their sins (see Math. 1.21-23).

Look up

Five a.m. isn’t my best time of day. But from time to time, such an unearthly hour finds me wandering dazedly through airport halls, awaiting a flight to somewhere and thinking I could have spent just a few more minutes asleep.
Recently, I was traveling with a colleague and we had made our way to our departure gate. There had been some delays with boarding and the line of would-be passengers stretched back into the concourse and we had kept our seats, waiting for the line to subside, when a new group of passengers caught our attention.

We had been scanning the day’s newspaper, which—the morning after the Australian Open tennis final in our Melbourne hometown—featured winner and world number one, Roger Federer, on the front page and runner-up, Fernando Gonzalez, on the back. And as we looked up and noticed this new group, we realised that standing next to us was Gonzalez himself—now the world’s fifth-ranked tennis player—complete with the Australian Open runners-up plate in a bag slung over his shoulder.

A couple of fellow passengers shyly commended Gonzalez on his valiant effort against Federer the previous evening. But as we eventually made our way toward our seats—behind team Gonzalez—we were surprised at how little recognition came from the bulk of the now almost-full plane. As so many of the passengers looked over their complimentary newspapers, read the reports of the final and saw the emotions of the match portrayed in the full-page photographs, one of the chief actors in this drama stepped past them, almost unobserved.

In her memoir Leaving Church, Barbara Brown Taylor urges that the original followers of Jesus were focused more on beholding than believing, in fact their faith “seemed to depend on beholding things that were clearly beyond belief.” The risk is we become so focused on sorting out our belief—getting the details nailed down, comparing theories and philosophies, reading the right books, posting and commenting our bright ideas, agreeing and disagreeing—we forget to look up and behold. And the Chief Actor in the story steps past us almost unobserved.

Taylor reflects,

“If I am not careful, I begin to mistake the words on the page for the realities they describe. I can begin to love the dried ink marks on the page more than I love the encounters that give rise to them. If I am not careful, I can decide that I am really much happier reading my Bible than I am entering into what God is doing in my own time and place. . . . The whole purpose of the Bible, it seems to me, is to convince people to set the written word down in order to become living words in the world for God’s sake.”

The first step is to stop once in a while and look up to see He whom we have been reading about, writing about, thinking about, blogging about, perhaps arguing about. “He is not far from any one of us” (Acts 17:27).