Censoring Faith

There's a report on the BBC today about Wayne Rooney, the Manchester United striker who looks like a club bouncer but plays like most of us can only dream. Despite injury, Rooney scored 26 goals in the Premier League last season. He is the hammer upon which the England team has placed its hopes.

Recently a reporter noticed that Rooney was wearing beads during a training session - rosary beads. When he was asked about this he simply replied, "It's my religion." So, Rooney is a Catholic. It makes sense. He is from Liverpool, one of the areas settled most heavily by Irish immigrants during the Victorian era. Merseyside has more Catholics, in relation to population, than the rest of the UK. Rooney was obviously not particularly bothered by the question; his answer was almost a shrug - "I'm a Catholic. What of it?" But when the reporter made to ask a follow up question, a press officer for the Football Association stepped in. "We don't do religion," he said. And that was the end of the conversation.

How come? When did the FA gain the right to silence people? What is so awful about Wayne Rooney's religious choice that it must remain private? Given his notorious ill-temper, it's almost surprising that he didn't tell the official where he could put his censorship, but he did not. Perhaps it's time somebody did.

Looking at England from a distance, and not having lived there for almost seventeen years, it seems to me that religion (or, at least, Christianity) has become more marginalized over the years. It's not illegal to believe, but it is illegal (in some respects) to bring your faith into the public square. It is not possible to express opinions about the uniqueness of Christ, or the call to holiness of life, or the unacceptability of certain lifestyles, without incurring the wrath of the authorities. Tolerance has been elevated to the highest, some would say the only, virtue. Therefore, any statement that implies exclusivity or questions perceived standards is outlawed. Is this 1984?

Back to Wayne Rooney, the contrast with the US is shocking. US athletes sometimes talk too much about their faith. No one tries to silence them. But, earlier this year, it was deemed inappropriate for college football players to display Bible texts on the black lines they paint beneath their eyes. What is next? Will we soon be seeing a "don't ask - don't tell" policy for Christians?

Maybe it's time for the Wayne Rooneys of this world to refuse to be silenced.

Humility

There's a brief episode, described in Jerome Bettis' autobiography The Bus, that got me thinking. Bettis was playing football for Notre Dame. In the fall of 1991 he reported back for training camp, still not convinced that he could make a career out of football. He had spent the summer working at General Motors in his native Detroit, wearing a shirt and tie and helping out in the tech plant with research and performance tests. Then, in August, he returned to Notre Dame only to discover that his team captain had been moved to tailback, which meant that the fullback position belonged to Bettis. He looked forward to a break out year.

One day, during practice, Coach Holtz did something out of the ordinary. He called the players together from the three practice fields and told them to take a knee. He had something to say to them. "There's a guy on this football team, " he said, "he's going to get our a-- beat. He doesn't have a commitment. I can't trust him and, personally, I don't think his a-- cares. We're going to lose a national championship because of this guy. He doesn't want to win, thinks he's God's gift, thinks he's the next big thing."

By this time, like the other players, Bettis was looking around, wondering who this malingerer could be. Most coaches would have left it at that, leaving every player wondering if mhe could be the weak link and determined to do something about it. But Holtz was not like other coaches. He asked Bettis to stand and publicly castigated him for not being as committed to the cause as he could be. Bettis was devastated. Not only was the criticism unfair it was also deeply humiliating.

Lecture over, Coach Holtz dismissed the other players back to practice, then invited Bettis to join him for a ride on his golf cart. "Coach, why'd you do that?" asked the bewildered fullback. "I just want to get you going" came the inadequate reply.

I've heard sermons like that. I've heard leaders rip into Christians who are just trying to do their best. Usually there is no come-back, no opportunity to make a more measured analysis, no fairness and little grace. Too many Christians have been wounded because leaders are unable to distinguish between humility and humiliation. I wonder whether some of those leaders have not, secretly, revelled in their power. Dangling a poor sinner over the pit of hell may be one way to get a person's attention, but it probably won't win their love. Pointing out faults is, more often, the prerogative of the devil, not the responsibility of the Christian leader.

We do right to hold one another accountable. We do well to counter the culture of narcissism that mutes all criticism and praises the mediocre. We do the Lord's work when we encourage His people to be humble and self-effacing. But we can do untold damage when we rant against sin and do not love the sinner.

It took Jerome Bettis a long time to get over his humiliation. The dressing down did not really help to make him a better player, it merely undermined his self-confidence. For a kid from the dangerous streets of Detroit, already out of his depth intellectually, the coach's actions could have had the effect of sending him backwards instead of drawing him on. And we run the risk of damaging disciples when we fail to balance Law and Grace.

Scripture tells us to humble ourselves, not to humiliate others. And the promise linked to the command is important, too. "Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up." (James 4:10).

Full-Orbed Calvinism

I've been spending time reading some of the foundational sources of Calvinism (that, and bedding in a new laptop, which is why I've been quiet). The more I think about it, and as I read Hodges, Warfield and, of course, Calvin, the more I see that a mature faith must be prepared to accept opposites. At the very least, we must be able to acknowledge what appear to be logical opposites.

Part of me (probably the part that studied philosophy) wants everything to fit within a coherent system. I've always been careful to defend the Christian faith, certainly in its Reformed manifestation, as being logically consistent. Everything is internally connected. It's not folk religion with a multitude of disconnected, mutually exclusive superstitions. From the doctrine of Creation to the Fall to Salvation in Christ to the Consummation of all things, orthodox Christianity is fundamentally reasonable, in fact it's that very reasonableness that has appealed to so many people throughout the ages.

And yet: Calvin stresses God's sovereign choice as well as human responsibility. And that's not the only example of opposite beliefs. What about the doctrine of election, which stresses God's activity, and the covenant of grace, which stresses ours? Or what about the conflict between an idea like total depravity, which lies at the heart of the Calvinist sytem (certainly of the old acrostic T.U.L.I.P), and the elevation of humanity that demands so much of those who would be disciples of Christ? A peculiarly Reformed contrast can be seen in the twin ideals of separation from the world, and influence upon culture. Are we to escape from the world in order to avoid contamination, or are we to engage the world and claim the arts for Christ? Both emphases have had their place in our history. Finally, as Henry Meeter pointed out, are we to be understood as intellectuals or as mystics? There are elements of both in Calvinist churches. Which is it to be?

Instead of an 'either/or' answer, I think we need to answer, with Kierkegaard, 'both/and.' However, this not a postmodern fudge. Far from it. It is a simple acknowledgement that the mind of God is so much greater than ours.

It is possible for us to assert both divine sovereignty in terms of salvation, and human responsibility. God chooses us, but we also choose Him. The question of which one is prior need not worry us unduly. We do not need to make our theological system logically coherent, though we should certainly try. There are times when we simply have to say, "Well, here You are, Lord. Your Word teaches both, and I am unable to reconcile them, but I know that You can, so that's good enough for me."

In the end, it's our doctrine of revelation that enables us to hold competing beliefs in tension. At this time in history, God has chosen to reveal so much, and no more. But, if we trust Him, and take His revelation seriously, then we shall not pretend to know as much as God does. What we cannot afford to do, is to choose to emphasize one aspect of the faith at the expense of another. If we are to be mature disciples, or, as Calvin would say "full-orbed," then we must learn all that we can learn, we must use our minds to the best of our ability, but then we must accept that we are still fallen creatures and that we cannot understand everything. This is the point of faith - that we let God be who He claims to be. That is always enough.

Calvin and Hobbes...