The Grand, Multi-Color Story

30 01 2012

“Why is mythology everywhere the same?”  This may sound like a simplistic judgment – there are so many myths across history, from the Hindu Vedas to the Nordic tales and the Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic. But the person who raises the question is Joseph Campbell, a Columbia University expert in comparative mythology and, according to Campbell, no matter which folk traditions are surveyed, from the peoples of Congo to the legends of the Eskimos, “it will always be the one, shape-shifting yet marvellously constant story that we find…” [1]

Campbell’s major book, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, plots these common themes in the universal figure of the hero, whose adventures follows similar steps even in the most varied cultural settings: he receives a call to adventure, and after initial reluctance, he crosses the threshold to his journey. Here he faces numerous trials and meets forms of gods or goddesses, who mentor him and help he understand his mission, until he returns to reality with a message to proclaim or a mission to fulfill, and saves the community from its perils. (When George Lucas crafted the story for Star Wars and its hero Luke Skywalker, he leaned heavily on Campbell’s reconstructed hero’s journey).

So why is mythology everywhere the same? To explain our common stories, Campbell uses the theories of psychoanalysis, especially the views of Carl Jung, to explain the common source of our kaleidoscopic but similar myths and stories. Myths are reflections of our social mind, of archetypal urges deep beneath our psyches. In Campbell’s words, “They are spontaneous productions of the psyche, and each bears within it, undamaged, the germ power of its source.”[2]

Ok, these stories originate in our minds… but the question still begs itself: why? Why does the human mind keep producing these stories? Why are myths everywhere, and why are they so similar? What do these archetypes point to?

I believe a person’s journey will illuminate us here. C. S. Lewis was another expert in comparative mythology, and as he started to read the New Testament as an atheist, he was at once startled at how different and yet how similar the Gospels were to ancient myths. At first he was struck by how unlike they were to the metaphysical and fantastic shapes of myths: they smelled like real events, taking place in a specific place and a specific time, not like the pre-time, allegorical epochs of myths. “I have been reading poems, romances, vision literature, legends, myths all my life. I know what they are like. I know that none of them is like this [the New Testament record].”[3]

Yet even as Lewis noted that the Gospels smelled like real history, he could not miss the common themes it shared with the great myths. Especially, he could not miss the central plot of “the Dying and Reviving God” common to so many folk traditions. Lewis’ initial reaction was dismiss the story of Jesus as another myth, but as the historicity of the Gospels bogged him, he was further disturbed by a comment he once heard. “The real clue had been put in my hand by that hard-boiled Atheist when he said, ‘Rum thing, all that about the Dying God. Seems to have really happened once’.”[4]

I agree. That hard-boiled atheist is just right. How else would you explain variations of same stories cropping up again and again everywhere? They must be reflections, fragments of the Great Story the human psyche captures and different peoples emphasize differently. They are echoes, daydreams that emerge in fantastic forms from the unconscious, but which articulate the central themes of the human drama – our ideals, perils and longings for our Savior –, packaged with the infinite creativity of the human genius and its multiform cultural riches.

For an expert in mythology like Lewis, the multitude of human myths were not contradictions, but preparations for the true story. They were early echoes of God’s thunderous arrival on the planet in the person of Jesus Christ. “In my mind,” wrote Lewis, “the perplexing multiplicity of ‘religions’ began to sort itself out… The question was no longer to find the one simply true religion among a thousand religions simply false. It was rather, ‘Where has religion reached its true maturity? Where, if anywhere, have the hints of all Paganism been fulfilled?’” And as Lewis surveyed the ages, and found a historical event that culminated all the best of human aspirations and longings, his conclusion could not have been different. “If ever a myth had become fact, had been incarnated, it would be just like this… Here and here only in all time the myth must have become fact; the Word, flesh; God, Man.” [5]

So why are myths so similar? Because they resemble the history of the universe, the drama of our creation, fall, and God coming to rescue us. They sprout little curious buds, small insinuations in delicate poetry, that came to full bloom when eternity entered time, when God became man, and the grandiosity of the myths met the ordinariness of history, and the Dying and Reviving God really did die on a cross in a Friday afternoon in Jerusalem in the first century, and revived on the early hours of the following Sunday. The grand plot of myth took place in history, and our stories cannot help but echo the universe’s defining moment.

René Breuel

[1] Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces (Novato, Calif.: New World Library, 2008), 1-2.

[2] Ibid., 330, 2.

[3]  C. S. Lewis, “Modern Theology and Biblical Criticism”, in Christian Reflections (London: Geoffrey Bles, 1967), 155.

[4]  C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of my Early Life (New York: Hancourt, 1955), 235.

[5]  Ibid.


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Categories : The Heart of Faith, Tough Questions

Social Justice

27 01 2012

I was taking a walk at a park when I saw Claudio from the distance. I walked toward him to begin a conversation. He was clearly a ragamuffin and seemed to have some level of mental disorder. I greeted him and asked his name. I remember asking: “Do you have any food to eat?” “I knock at people’s door and eat what they give me” Claudio calmly replied. His eyes seemed distant and his answers were concise. We spoke briefly and I offered help.  He refused any assistance and soon decided to walk away.

A few days later my heart sank once again. My brother told me he had given a pair of shoes he no longer wore to the man who watches over the cars parked on the streets near a university campus. The man’s reaction was one of overwhelmed joy and gratitude (perhaps the same as the one most of us would have if somebody gave us us  us a Ferrari).

You and I live in a world marked by profound social injustice.

According to a study commissioned by the United Nations food agency, about one third of all food produced for human consumption in the world today is wasted or lost. At the same time, according to the World Health Organization, hunger is the single most serious threat to the world’s public health. Around 25000 people die of hunger or hunger-related causes every day, including 6 million children every year.

How does this make you feel? I guess one of the most common reactions in people who genuinely consider or face social injustice is a sense of revolt and revulsion. We want to rightly shout: “This is not fair!” Don’t you agree?

But why is it not fair? Who are we to say this condition is unjust? Though it may seem cruel to even ask these questions, I do it for the sole purpose of reminding us that an absolute outside pattern is necessary for any situation to be considered just or unjust.

As C. S. Lewis expressed: “My argument against God was that the universe seemed so cruel and unjust. But how had I got this idea of just and unjust? A man does not call a line crooked unless he has some idea of a straight line. What was I comparing this universe with when I called it unjust?”[1]

The reality of God, therefore, is what offers humanity a criterion to live by and enables us to determine what is and what is not just. This includes social issues. If the global social injustice breaks our heart, it is because first and foremost it breaks God’s heart. When we cry: “it’s not right!” We are but echoing the cry of God.

There are literally hundreds of references in the bible to God’s concern for social justice. Among them are: “Learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow’s cause.”[2] “For I, the LORD, love justice”[3]. “This is what the LORD Almighty says: ‘Administer true justice; show mercy and compassion to one another.”[4]

God not only speaks against social injustice, he also chose to immerse himself in this reality through the incarnation of Jesus, the God-Son. And moreover, through the death and resurrection of Jesus he inaugurated an injustice-free kingdom which will be fully established after Christ’s second coming. When this happens, the bible affirms, there “…will be no more death, or mourning or crying or pain.”[5]

Undoubtedly we must do whatever we can, wherever we can and whenever we can do to eliminate any form of social injustice in the world. But we are not alone on this mission. There’s a God through whom we know what social justice should look like, who has spoken so clearly regarding it and who is establishing a fully just kingdom for those who belong to him.

Hélder Favarin

[1] C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity.

[2] Isaiah 1:17

[3] Isaiah 61:8

[4] Zechariah 7:9

[5] Rev. 21:4


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Categories : Making a Difference

Is Doubt the Enemy of Faith?

25 01 2012

Doubt gets a bad rap. We live in a world where we are not supposed to doubt, it is unhealthy—bad. Doubts, though, are like confrontations, which also have a bad rap. However, it is in confrontations that change can happen. Sometimes my wife needs to confront me, and at that point there is a back and forth until eventually one of us realizes our error (or often we both do) and we change. Today—we are so afraid of confrontations—we don’t have them. In a Facebook generation we just unfriend, ignore or avoid—but then we are depriving ourselves and others of possibly growing.

Doubts are the same way. We often are afraid of them—or we don’t deal with them—but then we never grow. In fact they may actually help. How do I know? Look at the famous, but often misunderstood biblical story of Doubting Thomas often used to illustrate how it is wrong to doubt. It can be found at the end of the Book of John.

What does Jesus do when he approaches Thomas here? Two things: First, he calls him out for doubting clear evidence—the other apostles eyewitness accounts. Most people highlight this aspect of the story. However, the second thing Jesus does is actually gives into the demands of Thomas! Thomas demands to see Jesus, his pierced hands and side, and then Jesus—after rebuking Thomas, actually gives him exactly what he demands. Why would he do that?

Jesus is trying to keep Thomas, as well as the listener from falling into one of two camps prevalent in ancient and modern culture. The first camp can be called the blind faith camp.  This group of people thinks doubts are the enemy of faith. That blind faith camp never questions their faith, never ask hard questions, and never seeks answers for when doubts rise up. They say that the definition of faith, is you don’t know, so stop trying to ask questions and just believe. There is almost a fear if that if you do ask questions then you will lose your faith.

The second camp out there is what I call the persistent cynicism camp.  These are individuals who try to poke holes in everything and mock all truth statements, and undermine all claims of purpose. I know these people exist because I was one of them. Whose to say what is true? What is true for you is true for you, but what is true for me is true for me. In some respects these people are committed to the belief that there is no belief—there is nothing else out there.

Through his actions, Jesus wants to avoid both extremes. Notice he rebukes Thomas not for doubting in general—but for doubting clear evidence from his friends. In other words, he was in the
persistent cynicism camp. He was not seeking or trying to find answers, he made a blanket statement and he was not going to budge. However, on the other hand—Jesus actually gives into his demands, and validates and even answers Thomas’ demands. So it seems, from a fresh reading of the passage, doubts are not necessarily the enemy of faith, only if they stay in a persistent state of cynicism.

In fact, they may actually boost a faith/trust paradigm. How does Thomas respond after Jesus shows him the evidence? All the gospels have Jesus trying to show others who he really is, but the one person who confesses Jesus’ full nature is Thomas!  No other human being had a higher view of Jesus than Thomas. In verse 28 he says, “My Lord and My God.” This is a personal expression of intimate relationship that is accomplished through processing doubts. So use them, search them, and build off them.

Michael Keller


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Categories : Spirituality for the Rest of Us

Man Seeks (Straightforward) God

23 01 2012

Over the last decade or so, the conversation about God and religion in the public square has been dominated by the extremes.  Whether angry atheists convinced that religion “poisons everything” or defensive and dogmatic believers who condemn atheists in equally strong language, the impression often given is that there are two groups of fundamentally different people out there who can do little besides shout at each other across the huge and unbridgeable chasm between them.

But the picture sketched above does not tell the whole story.  In between these extremes exist more moderate atheists and believers, as well as a growing demographic of people referred to as the “nones”—a name derived from checking the “None” box on surveys asking for one’s religious preference.  Simply put, Nones aren’t sure about God and religion.  They’re not, by in large, atheists (93% claim to believe in God or a higher power), nor are they adherents of any particular religious tradition.  They’re searching, seeking, inquiring.  They’re open to God, but not in traditional forms and expressions.

Former NPR correspondent Eric Weiner speaks for the Nones in his new book Man Seeks God: My Flirtations with the Divine.  In a recent article, Weiner expresses his exasperation with the “true believers” and the “angry atheists” that have dominated (North) American religious discourse over the last decade or so.  Like many of us, Weiner sees the world as just a bit more grey than the black and whites offered by these two groups, and is open to a much wider range of questions and answers than they are.

According to Weiner, Nones

don’t get hung up on whether a religion is “true” or not, and instead subscribe to William James’s maxim that “truth is what works.” If a certain spiritual practice makes us better people—more loving, less angry—then it is necessarily good, and by extension “true.”

Nones are, apparently, characterized by an extremely pragmatic approach to issues of God and religion.  The fundamental question, according to Weiner, is not, “What is the good, the true, and the beautiful?” but “what works for me?”  Of course, there are numerous unstated assumptions about the nature of the good and beautiful embedded in Weiner’s assertion that if a spiritual practice makes us better people it is “true,” but this is, nonetheless, an undeniably human-centred approach to questions of God and religion.

A little later, Weiner makes this even clearer:

We need a Steve Jobs of religion. Someone (or ones) who can invent not a new religion but, rather, a new way of being religious. Like Mr. Jobs’s creations, this new way would be straightforward and unencumbered and absolutely intuitive. Most important, it would be highly interactive. I imagine a religious space that celebrates doubt, encourages experimentation and allows one to utter the word God without embarrassment. A religious operating system for the Nones among us. And for all of us.

“Straightforward,” “unencumbered,” and “absolutely intuitive.”  These are interesting adjectives to place alongside of the quest of faith, to be sure.  Historically, the pursuit of God has been one of great joy, self-discovery, and peace, to be sure, but also one of self-denial, struggle, and even periods of great doubt and suffering, as countless people of faith down through the ages would attest.  A prominent image of the path to God is one of ascent—an image evoking the long and arduous process of climbing a mountain.  There is exertion and pain and struggle on the path to the top.  Indeed, Jesus himself said that “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23).  Evidently, faith isn’t supposed to always be easy.

We have just made our way through the Christmas season.  If the Christian story is to be believed, the light of the world entered the human predicament in a most unusual, unexpected, uncomfortable, and possibly even embarrassing manner.  Jesus’ arrival on the human scene did not nicely align itself with what human beings thought ought to be the case, with how they thought divinity ought to look, with the way in which they imagined a rescue operation ought to be undertaken. It still doesn’t, for many of us.  We have all quite likely imagined other, more “straightforward” ways for God to save than the way represented by the birth and career of Jesus.

But perhaps the truth isn’t always comfortable or unencumbered or straightforward or intuitive. Perhaps, in addition to our capacity to interrogate reality, the truth asks questions of us.  Perhaps it is we who must conform to what is real and true and good and beautiful, rather than adapting and adjusting these concepts and behaviours to fit our preferences.  Indeed, if truth really is something that exists outside and independent of human minds and hearts, then perhaps the first question to ask—for Nones and for all the rest of us—is not, “what works?” or “what seems to make the most sense to me?” or “what do I prefer?” but “what is true and how do I align myself with it?”

The Christian conviction is that the struggle of faith—with all of the wrestling and sorting through our embarrassment and confusion and discomfort as we align ourselves with what is true—is worth it.  And that the view from the summit of the mountain is spectacular.

Ryan Dueck


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Categories : Spirituality for the Rest of Us

Hope for the Marathon Life

20 01 2012

At a recent dinner party there was, unfortunately, far too much testosterone in the air when several ladies collectively expressed doubts as to whether the men present could run a 42km marathon. One man retorted “Well, of course, we could run a marathon, isn’t that right fellas?” The bro-code demanded our quick affirmation. The fallout: three men standing ill-prepared at a marathon starting line two months later.

The beginning of the marathon felt great! Onlookers lined up to cheer, free drinks were passed to us along the way, and every runner felt strong and cheerful! I felt like the boxer Rocky Balboa running up the stairs to sound of the “Eye of the Tiger” song. Yet it wasn’t long before the good cheer and humor ran short. My facial expression exposed my struggle as I raced past my wife three times on our circuit: First pass: happy face. Second pass: sad face. Third pass: “Call an ambulance” face. As the kilometers clicked by old Rocky Balboa (me) had taken a few hits. At the finish line I had run out of steam, my spastic legs worked independently though in a forward motion…some reported it looked like a really bad break dancer generally moving in one direction. Limping across the finish line I was embraced into the arms of my proud wife!

Upon completion of the race it occurred to me how many of our lives are similar to a marathon. We begin with strength and hope, loved ones cheering us forward. Yet as we go along we start taking a few hits. We slow down, burn up, tire out, and life can feel burdensome. By the end we may even look like Rocky after a long fight. Our eyes are red, bodies tired. Those around us shout demands to expedite their expectations. So many begin strong but the struggles in life add up and we find ourselves limping over the finish line hopeful for rest and peace.

Like a marathon story, the birth of Jesus began with hopeful promise and support of many around him. Many cheered, others jeered, but everyone seemed eager to see him meet their expectations. By the end Jesus, too, had taken a “few hits” in life. Jesus was abandoned by his closest friends, stripped of his clothes, beaten, mocked, and finally crucified. Upon the cross Jesus cried out lamenting his struggle while people spectated on the validity of Jesus’ claims of hope[1]. He then crossed the finish line of His mission with the words “it is finished”. [2]

Is there hope within our struggles today? The promise that Jesus made to his listeners is that there is hope. Limping across the finish line Jesus was embraced by God the Father, as the resurrection account concludes. The promise offered to all those who follow Jesus is that no matter what struggles add up in life we can run with hope. When we cross the finish line with we too will be embraced by the Father with the affirmation “well done”. That’s the Christian hope for our marathon life.

Ryan Vallee

[1] Luke 23.

[2] John 19:30.


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Categories : Bar Conversations and Cheap Advice

An Insult to Aspire to

18 01 2012

When was the last time someone threw an insult at you? Was it deserved? Not a possibility one would wish to encourage! How about putting the shoe on the other foot: have you ever insulted someone else, deliberately or otherwise?

I’m sure that most of us try to steer clear of insulting others, and hopefully also of earning insults for ourselves. However, one doesn’t have to look too far to see that some people seem driven towards confrontation. My skin creeps when I see demonstrators at the Oscars waving placards that read ‘God hates fags’ or ‘You’re going to Hell.’ These statements aren’t just insulting, the first is untrue, the second uncertain. They’re the kinds of words practically guaranteed to start arguments. And they’re the kinds of words practically guaranteed to incur a whole slew of inventive and destructive combinations of words by way of response. Is this kind of communication ‘Christian’?

Scanning the Bible, I find no ethical grounds whatsoever for the verbal abuse of others, though there are certainly places where people were sharp with their words. The prophet Elijah used sarcasm to taunt the prophets of Baal (1 Kings 18:27) and Jesus almost certainly offended two groups of religious leaders by describing them collectively as a “brood of vipers” (Matt. 3:7). Elijah was falsely labelled a ‘troubler of Israel’ (1 Kings 18:17) but I am most interested in the sorts of insults thrown at Jesus. What did people who didn’t like him say about him?

There is at least one insult Jesus received which he actually earned, prefaced though it is by lies. It is this: “friend of sinners.” In Luke 7:34, Jesus himself reports some of the insults in circulation concerning him: ‘The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and you say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ Jesus was not a glutton or a drunkard but he was a friend of tax collectors and sinners.

I don’t know about you, but that’s an insult to aspire to. To be blameless with regard to things that harm others and guilty with regard to things that bless is a rule to live your life by. If it were true for all of us, the world would be a different place.

Madi Simpson


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Categories : Making a Difference

The Christian Conspiracy

16 01 2012

In the mood for a conspiracy theory? The menu is vast: Obama’s birth certificate, Putin’s election, the landing on the moon, Area 51,  Michael Jackson’s mysterious death. But I have a biggie: the rise of Christianity. The growth of the world’s largest faith seems obvious now, with the benefit of hindsight and churches dotting every other corner (almost literally, here in Rome at least.) But if you look closer, the historic rise of the Christian faith seems more enigmatic than Swiss bank accounts: how could such a faith grow after the death of its leader? How do you explain Christian success after Christ’s failure?

If you look at it realistically, Jesus was a very unattractive messiah to believe in. He was a peasant who lived in an obscure corner of the Roman Empire. He offered eternal life but died tragically, executed like the worst criminals, like someone on an electric chair today. So why didn’t Christianity die with the death of its leader? What relaunched the Christian movement and drove its growth? What moved people to believe in Jesus after he was crucified?

The Christian response is that Jesus came back to life, showed himself to people, and so faith in him was reignited: “on the third day he rose from the dead.” Oh right! Here comes the fairy tale!

Yet, can you think of any other explanation? How do you account for this massive relaunch of faith after Jesus’ violent and public death? Let’s look at the theories have been put forth to explain belief in Jesus after his death:

1. Wrong tomb: some people explain that the disciples went to the wrong tomb and, not finding the body of Jesus, concluded he was risen. Clean and simple explanation, eh? But if that was the case, the authorities should just show the right tomb with Jesus’ corpse, and the mistake would be cleared out.

2. Jesus didn’t really die: others say that Jesus did not really die, and after regaining strength, he exited the tomb and people thought he was risen. But that could be the case say, if Jesus had been poisoned in a hidden room and not many people had inspected his body. Jesus’ death was visible and public, however, and people for and against his message buried him. Besides, when a solder struck his side, blood and water came out: the separation of coagulated blood is a medical evidence of death.

3. Disciple’s conspiracy: others say that the disciples wanted to promote faith in Jesus so much that they secretly stole the body, and started preaching that he was risen. But the problem here is that the disciples gave their lives for this conviction, and were tortured and killed for preaching that Jesus was God and was alive. Trick-or-treat every now and then is fun, but nobody would have suffered so much and so long for a lie. They were absolutely convinced that Jesus was indeed risen.

4. Collective hallucination: a last theory suggests that the disciples were so psychologically shocked with Jesus’ death that they had hallucinations and thought they had encountered Jesus after he died. However, Jesus appeared to hundreds of people, sometimes to a few individuals, once to more than 500 people, and appeared to people in numerous occasions and repeated times. It is highly unlike that all of them had the same hallucination at once, and that all agreed on the details. Moreover, Jesus appeared after he died also to people who opposed him, like Paul on the road to Damascus, and who did not expect to meet him at all.

The best explanation for the change of mind in the disciples was that Jesus was truly raised from the dead. Can you think of any other explanation? No other theory but a historic resurrection explains adequately the rebirth of Christianity after Jesus’ death.

René Breuel


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Categories : Tough Questions

Joy? Which joy?

13 01 2012

These days, we often fail to appreciate lyrics. A catchy tune may follow us around, but who remembers the words? Or worse yet – we memorize traditional songs but fail to make a grasp at their deeper meaning. Given that last Friday is the Feast of the Epiphany, I thought I’d celebrate the revelation of the magi by dwelling on some lyrics that may be quite familiar to our Christmases, but carry some remarkable suggestions and offer potent reminders of the meaning of Christmas.

In the early years of the 1700s, English hymn-writer Isaac Watts wrote “Joy to the World” a reflection on the 98th Psalm. It begins like this:

Joy to the world! the Lord is come;
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare him room,
And heaven and nature sing,
And heaven and nature sing,
And heaven, and heaven, and nature sing.

The placement of this song in many Christmas services (which celebrate the nativity of Jesus, or his first coming) may obscure Watts’ original intention to proclaim the second coming of Christ, as Psalm 98 more overtly suggests. Verse 4 provides the obvious basis for our “joyful noise”: ”Make a joyful noise to the LORD, all the earth; break forth into joyous song and sing praises!” The next verse of our carol affirms the resounding noise that shall be heard in this corporate celebration:

Joy to the world! the Saviour reigns;
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat the sounding joy.

The final verse reaffirms what has already been noted in each verse before – this is a return to ‘rule the world’ and this rulership conforms to the pattern already set by Christ’s humble birth. On epiphany we celebrate the majestic implications of God coming to dwell among us – that dysfunctional rulers will be put under new management:

He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, wonders, of His love.

Christmas is a celebration of the strangely humble beginnings that God-among-us chose to begin with, but Epiphany  is a day to note the implications of God’s intimate presence among God’s creation: the return which is promised is not one from a distance, but back into an order of human life which is intimately known by the saviour who returns. Joy to the world indeed!

Jeremy Kidwell


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Categories : The Heart of Faith

Rules… or Ruler…

11 01 2012

Rules. Rules. Rules.

One of the most common complaints about Christianity is that it is merely a pile of rules. These rules are sometimes ones about what you should do (ie, “read your Bible”), but more often are about what you shouldn’t do (“do not have sex… well, maybe a little after you get married… but don’t enjoy it…”). This criticism – which emerges out of many people’s experience – upsets us because these rules seem to be primarily there to exert power over people, and to steal away some of their fun.

Now, I could rail against this in a whole host of ways. Or I could also suggest that many of the rules that Christians live by are there to protect people from the un-fun consequences of a false kind of fun. And that would be true, at least for some of them. But I think there’s a better answer:

Christians don’t follow rules. They follow the One Who Rules.

Of course, I recognise that there are some – if not many – people claiming to be Christian, who most certainly do seem to follow rules. One option from that, then, is that those people are not really Christians. And, sometimes, I suggest they are not. But, sometimes (and I’d like to think most of the time) Christians are actually keeping the rules, not following them. That might seem like semantics, but it makes all the difference.

Following is a walking metaphor. It is about letting something determine where you go, letting it rule and direct you. That “something” that you’re following can be a person, or perhaps a goal. If you’re following a person – perhaps a king, or a master, or a teacher – they tell you (or show you) where you need to be going in order to follow them, and out of that emerge your “rules”. You then have two potential pitfalls: you could potentially forget about following the person, and just follow the rules in-and-of-themselves; or you could ignore the rules, as an expression of not being committed to following the person any more. But in either of these options, whether you follow the rules or you stop following them, the result is the same: you stop following the person.

Christians believe that Jesus is the King, the Master, the Teacher – and I might suggest they believe that for good reasons. And Jesus said, “Follow Me”, quite a lot. When asked what following Him would look like, Jesus boiled it down to two directions: “Love God. Love other people.” He also showed what following Him would look like, by loving God passionately, and loving people sacrificially. And then He said again, “Follow Me.” The specific examples that He either taught (ie, “don’t lie”) or did (ie, healing somebody), emerge out of loving God, and loving other people.

Jesus also emphatically criticised any people who claimed to be following God, but who were only interested in following the rules. That’s because most of the time, they were so busy following the rules that they had forgotten Who they were really meant to be following. They had forgotten Who so badly, that when He walked right up to them, and said, “Follow Me”, they didn’t even recognise Him.

Practically, what difference does this make today? Well, a good example is from World War II Germany. Those who just kept the rules and forgot Who they were following, said, “Jesus said not to lie, so when the Nazis ask us where the Jews are hiding, we have to tell them the truth.” The real followers said, “Jesus said following Him was about loving God and loving other people. So when a bunch of guys want to kill some people, we’ll lie to keep those people alive. Because letting them be killed is not loving them.” Most of the time, lying would not have been loving to God or others, and so they had kept that rule. But when it wasn’t loving to God or others, they saw the higher priority, which was following Jesus.

So Jesus isn’t asking you to follow a system, a belief, a mantra, or a set of rules. He’s saying the same thing He’s always said:

“Follow Me.”

Are you?

Matt Gray


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Categories : Making a Difference

Liberating Freedom

9 01 2012

Hey, gotta’ solution: why choose? To anyone surveying our current cultural scene, and its splintered breadth of options political, artistic, religious and social, an easy attitude rises from the pack: why choose a worldview to commit to – and all those hurdles called dedication and loyalty and sacrifice – when we can choose nothing, and live free of care? In societies as complex and fragmented as ours, it is a lot of work to survey every point of view out there. Why bother then? Why should I commit to a faith that will reduce my personal freedom, by telling me to live a certain way, and reduce my intellectual autonomy, by telling me to believe certain things?

Freedom from constraints. Sounds like a simple concept, right? Avoid serious commitments, and soar like an eagle, detached from the frenzied discussion below. This commitment-phobia is something many young folks today are committed to (!), according to leading sociologists. In a major survey of young adults today, for example, Notre Dame sociologist Christian Smith describes this as one of the major tenets of young lifestyles:

Numerous dimensions of the  culture of emerging adulthood – uncertainty about purpose, delaying settling down, the individual as authority, amorphous relationships, strategic management of risk, the tentativeness of cohabitation, aversion to moral judgments, reluctance to commit to social and political involvements and investments – reflect and reinforce their interest in maintaining as many live and promising options as is feasible. [i]

Yet, if I may beg to differ, I don’t think this kind of absolute freedom exists, or can ever exist. It is a myth. Every lifestyle will bind us and every conviction will restrain us, no exception. If one chooses to live his sexuality openly, for example, and change sexual partners as often as he pleases, he will enjoy the freedom to choose a new girl when the current one is not as appealing. But this very act will also constrain his freedom: this person will close itself to the pleasures of being committed to someone, and all the trust, serenity and shared memories of a lifelong relationship. In a similar way, someone may want to maximize her intellectual autonomy and believe that all truth is relative. But then her freedom will be restricted, because she won’t be able to believe in an infinite number of specific truths – be it evolution, Jesus’ resurrection, or karma – and won’t believe in something with all her heart.

Any choice, personal or intellectual, binds us. And not to choose binds us too, without giving us any real benefit. Absolute freedom is a myth; it does not exist. We will never be free from everything. The fish cannot swim outside of the water, or he dies. But inside the ocean, obeying the parameters he was created for, he is free to swim everywhere.

But what if we framed personal freedom differently? What if the question were, instead, not freedom from something, but freedom for something? What can truly capture my heart? What can I live for? What is the true life I can commit to? What is the most compelling worldview I can believe in?

And here comes the twist. Paradoxically, if we find the best choice, and believe the real truth, and really commit to it, we will find the freedom for which we were created. “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free,” said Jesus.[ii] We will be free for life. Truth will bind us and therefore free us evermore. We will be free to be the persons we were created to be.

What do you live for then?

René Breuel

[i]     Christian Smith with Patricia Snell, Souls in Transition: The Religious & Spiritual Lives of Emerging Adults (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 80.

[ii]    John 8:32


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