North India: World Mission Policy

It is my proud privilege to represent the Indian Church, the CHURCH OF NORTH INDIA at this historic International Consultation on WORLD MISSION AND THE ROLE OF KOREAN CHURCHES, and I am very grateful to the Moderator of the Presbyterian Church of Korea and all functionaries and members of the extraordinary committee responsible for the preparation, for extending an invitation to me to participate in the Consultation. The Church of North India which is celebrating its 25th year of inauguration, held its 9th Synod recently in Delhi from 5th to 10th October, 1995, where the new Moderator and the Deputy Moderator were elected for the next triennium: 1995-1998. I bring warm greetings in the precious Name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ from our new Moderator the Most Rev. D. K. Mohanty. The entire membership of the Church of North India spread over two thirds of the land area of the country, join me in greeting all of you present here representing your churches. I take this opportunity to present a CNI-SILVER JUBILEE PLAQUE AND BANERRETTE to the Honorable Moderator on behalf of my Church, CNI.

The inauguration of the Church of North India in 1970 brought together people belonging to six different denominational backgrounds into the fold of one united Church. The Church of North India stretches across two-thirds of our country and ninety-seven percent of its members live in rural areas. The majority of its membership consists of the marginalised minorities of the country such as Dalits, Tribals etc. They share divergent cultural realities, geopolitical and linguistic identities. One of the major impacts of the Church Union in 1970 was that we were able to break the foreign flower pots and readjusting to the new soil, struggling to take roots, searching for water, fertilizer and other such resources to grow, all helped the CNI to recognize the need for new insights, methodologies and paradigms. This recognition encouraged openness to fresh ideas rather than clinging on to the past, and the initiation of new types of ministry. One of the areas where CNI could enter into some new experiments was in the field of development.

EMERGING REALITIES

The global phenomena as experienced in the socio-ecological environment by the human civilization in the closing decade of the 20th century distinguishes it from all other periods in this, that while the human race in former periods had time at their disposal to reflect and recover from their mistakes and to make drastic readjustments to new conditions and also to formulate and establish alternate approaches and strategies, we have in our own day hardly any time at all. There is an urgency about our predicament today, any sense of which appears to be almost completely absent in the leadership of the nations. The overwhelming nature of the compulsions being generated by the system and its agent the media, is depriving the human race of its BASIC RIGHT TO MAKE RESPONSIBLE CHOICES.

In global terms the forces of business which are in the process of taking over the affairs of human beings have created a momentum nothing less than a pandimonic progress of the Gadarine Swine. In a blind headlong rush to gain profit by any means these forces have already begun to obliterate animal species, forest cover, fish stocks, water reserves, land and air, and have engaged upon a satanically mindless pilfering of finite resources by vandalism of Mother Earth, and have raised gigantic questions over human survival prospects. This fearful explosion of environmental wantonness takes no account of the human dimensions of the debacle. We are witness of a savage destruction of historic human values and experiences at our base-level communities in the villages, in the localities and towns. Millions of people are moved about from one end to the other to live in monster mass aggregates. This only adds to all the political problems of reconciling freedom with order, and wealth creation with justice, while eliminating any possibility of establishing peace. This has resulted in creating social mechanisms which are uncontrollable, corrupt and which give birth to criminalisation of politics, degeneration of architecture and art in all forms, and the prevailing sickness of the body, mind and spirit.

The unprecedented scale of destruction of historic social structures and marginalisation of human relationships which have always been the pride of the Indian society, has created yet another threat to human survival through the proliferation of human numbers.

The Nazareth Manifesto recorded in Luke 4:18-21 addressed itself fairly and squarely to our contemporary situation. Today the question of justice and violence confronts us with greater force than ever before, with the difference that there has emerged a single super-power which in the name of the corporate sector is in the process of imposing a global CORPORATE CAPITALISM. The income disparity between the richest 20% and poorest 20% of the world's population has doubled since 1965. 62% of the world's poorest are in the Indian subcontinent. 90 million households in India live below Rs. 15000/annual income which is US $400.00. This means 455 million people in India live below the poverty line, 52% survive on US $3.00 per month. The dangerous trend in our Indian context is that religious fundamentalist forces have wedded themselves with corporate business forces.

In this terrifying picture where are the women, children and indigenous people (dalits and tribals)? What is the state of the environment? Who in the profit-making race has plundered and robbed Mother Earth? Where is the Church? Who is the Church? Who can claim to be God's people in India? What is our theological education all about? What is the relevance of dogmatic theology inherited from our benefactors in Europe? What should be the module of our ministerial formation? Who is doing theology anyway? What are the alternate life styles of our clergies which manifest a spirituality of humility and the mind of Jesus of Nazareth? Where are our theological institutions located? What is the process and praxis of formulating Indian theology?

MISSIOLOGICAL EXPERIENCES OF THE CHURCH OF NORTH INDIA

In the emerging reality as experienced in the Indian society the Church of North India has made attempts to respond to the challenges. The manifold concerns of CNI are expressed through its various Boards, Commissioners and Committees. The CNI-SBSS, the SYNODICAL BOARD OF SOCIAL SERVICES (SBSS), was conceived as a response of the Church to the whole issue of poverty and related social justice for the poor and exploited as against the prevalent ethos of relief and charity. The main task of the Board is to coordinate and facilitate sustainable development programmes on Justice, Peace and Environmental issues in all the Dioceses of the Church of North India.

At present, the Board is reaching out to more than 600 villages through a network of about 500 people's organizations of the poor. Further, the Synodical Board of Social Services undertook the task to re-orient the Dioceses to emphasis that development is an integral component in the mission thrust of the Church. It continues to create awareness in the local congregation that authentic mission and services must originate in congregations through training and human resource development initiatives.

This process began with a Consultation in 1978 on The Churches' Role in Social Service. It marked the overt expression of the aspirations of the newly formed Church to build comprehensive human communities. This aspiration was a renewed look at the Church's mission in terms of the faith in the social thrust of Christianity. The next most important process that was experienced was the leadership development programme titled TRANSFER OF VISION.

However, much of the statements and articulations and even social action still, by and large, remain as one of the several activities of the Church and have not become integral to the mission of the Church. It was also realized that the membership of the CNI is in the grip of conservatism and fundamentalism and lacks the theological perspective of God's redemptive work in action HERE AND NOW. The preachings and teachings of the Church tend to avoid the burning concerns of the people.

This could be rectified only through a long process involving theological and sociological reaffirmation. Born out of such realization the CNI was ushered into a new era in July 1993 when the CNI Synod embarked upon a major effort to mobilize the entire CNI to be obedient to the challenges of the Gospel and to witness to our Lord as the Suffering Servant through its programme TOWARDS A HOLISTIC UNDERSTANDING OF MISSION(THUM). This process covered a period of 30 months from July 1993 to December 1995, divided into four phases.

THUM PROCESS

The first phase saw a major consultation at the national level for Synod leadership along with a few partners from abroad to raise questions about the mission of the Church and during the second phase the Diocesan leadership was trained through four Zonal Training Workshops to carry on the programme in the 23 Dioceses who during phase three within a period of one year conducted various programmes involving grassroot-level congregations. The fourth phase saw one of the milestones in the history of the Church of North India. In a historical event, ten mainline churches in India (including the Church of South India and Mar Thomas Syrian Church) participated in an Ecumenical Consultation. The purpose of the consultation was to share the experiences gained by the CNI through the above process, with other churches in India and also to learn from the churches in India their mission experiences.

We can only list some major achievements of this process:

1. The process enabled people to engage in a serious missiological debate. It was a great joy to watch the young men and women, clergy and laity and mahila mandals and simple village folks debating missiological issues hotly.

2. Slowly but surely, the thought developed that mission was neither some foreign body's, nor only Church's, but God's own enterprise.

3. Justice, Peace and Integrity of Creation came to be regarded as mission issues.

4. In the light of the discussions, debates, seminars, conferences, conventions and workshops, our institutions and organizations came to be accepted as parts of of different aspects of the holistic mission and not as aids to or ancillary things to mission.

5. The whole process also meant a time of spiritual renewal for the Church of North India.

6. The process helped bridge the gap between social service action and proclamation of the Gospel. The two came to be seen as one continuous mission activity.

7. The discussion on the issues of marginalised and exploited people and God's special gracious activity towards these, enabled our people to name these nameless groups, these faceless groups and call them DALITS, TRIBALS, WOMEN, LABORING CHILDREN, BONDED CHILDREN AND SEXUALLY ABUSED CHILDREN. It was no longer possible to include all of them under one general umbrella - as the West does.

The process may only end when the Kingdom of God has dawmed and the NEW HEAVEN and NEW EARTH are unfolded and the holistic mission has the assurance that God is at the helm of affairs and it is God's mission in which the whole creation, including the Church, participates. Equally inexhaustible and rich is the Gospel of Jesus Christ which undergirds and enlightens all our efforts to seek to understand and discern God's Holistic Mission in our own context and our own generation. That is why the MISSION MANDATE and the MISSION AGENDA call us all afresh to MISSION INVOLVEMENT.

THE PROPHET MICAH EXPRESSES A POSSIBLE HUMAN RESPONSE TO GOD'S MISSION BEAUTIFULLY WHEN HE WRITES: HE HAS SHOWED YOU, O MAN, WHAT IS GOOD AND WHAT DOES THE LORD REQUIRE OF YOU? TO ACT JUSTLY AND TO LOVE MERCY AND TO WALK HUMBLY WITH YOUR GOD (MICAH 6:8)

MICAH 6:8 ACTS 6:1-4 JOHN 2:116

TO BE INVOLVED IN GOD'S MISSION IS TO WALK WITH GOD ... JUSTLY, TENDERLY AND HUMBLY.

Having prepared the ground for our understanding and also highlighting some of the efforts made by the Church of North India in the foregoing paragraphs, I would like to place here below some concerns for the consideration of this Consultation:

Spiritual Renewal, emphasized in the 7th Synod, is to get top priority in the coming years. Spiritual revivals come when people and churches are on their knees. We are living at a time in human history where there is crisis in every walk of our lives. Individual life is at the threshold of uncertainty and unrest-there is lack of peace and joy. Family life is divided-there is lack of harmony and reconciliation. Community life is corrupt-there is lack of justice and righteousness. God's creation is on the brink of destruction. There is a vacuum of spirituality. What we need is genuine revival, fresh renewal, new commitment and self-surrender at every level beginning from the grassroot-level to the Synod level.

Such revival should lead to pastoral care and concern for the people within the church. The concern for the people in the community will strengthen our efforts to establish peace and a just society, to work in solidarity with women, to stand by the poor, exploited, marginalised and Dalits and to give a voice to the voiceless.

We are in a world today where nobody can work in isolation. In our journey together with our partners-their mission boards and the missionary societies we must now stretch our hand to establish partnership with churches in Asia and in this context of growing mistrust and uncertainties, the Asian churches need to come together and exercise mutuality, transparency and accountability in the life and work of the churches.

Efforts should be made to encourage churches to maximize the utilization of indigenous/local resources to meet their mission priorities rather than depending on external resources.

It is important to nurture mission activities which reflect the cultural realities of the churches and the hopes and aspirations of the people of the particular areas. In fact, the mission priorities need to be evolved from the local communities based on their experience and need. Care must be taken not to impose any alien ideas and concepts.

A common strategy needs to be evolved to train mission workers through a continuous human resource development programme and exchange visits. Opportunities for learning and sharing of mission experiences have to be the main thrust of these programmes.

We must encourage more dialogue among the leaders of various churches so that a common missiological agenda can be evolved and implemented collectively.

IN CONCLUSION, MISSION SHOULD BE SEEN AS MOVEMENT, A MOVEMENT OF PEOPLE WHO ACT JUSTLY, WALK HUMBLY AND LOVE TENDERLY TOGETHER WITH GOD. TOWARDS THIS DREAM LET US SEEK BLESSINGS FROM THE ALMIGHTY. AMEN


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China: World Mission Policy

Dear Chairman, friends, brothers and sisters in Christ,

I feel privileged to be invited with the Rev. Wu Ai-en to attend this meeting. First of all I would like to apologize for my late arrival due to problems in obtaining a visa . I would particularly like to thank the chairman for giving me this time to speak.

I recently came back from the southwest part of China after a visit there with an FCC (Friends of Churches in China) delegation from the United Kingdom. That was a group of 13 among whom some were descendants of the former missionaries who arrived around the early 1900s and worked for decades in those areas. We visited towns and villages which were open to foreign visitors for the first time since the departure of the missionaries in the 1950s.

The intention of our visit was of course not to reopen a mission field but to trace and evaluate the history of missionary work. We visited one of the villages named Shi Men Kan (Stone Gate) which used to be the Methodist mission centre. The first missionary called the Rev. Paulard started his work by opening dozens of hospitals and schools. In a short time the church attracted and converted over 80,000 members from the nearby minority tribes. The Rev. Paulard helped to invent the Miao minority scripts which contributed to promoting the formation of Miao culture and to developing the modern civilization for the local people. He died and was buried there. Unfortunately his grave was broken down during the Cultural Revolution and the missionary houses were long left neglected.

Something had miraculously happened shortly before our revisit. The village had renovated the old missionary residence. Not far from it a new school building was set up for educational programmes. With help from the local government, the grave was restored with a monument erected in front of it as recognition of Rev. Paulard's merits and contribution to the village. There is no church in that village now. But we were told that there are some Christians who remain meeting in homes. On the way back I could not refrain myself from thinking: If I had been a country boy there, probably I could have heard lots of missionary stories from my parents who had witnessed the changes of history. And now all of a sudden the "foreign devils" come back again! The villagers, young and old, men and women, all came out to welcome the strangers and even widened the rough way for their van. I was very much puzzled and confused to see all the changes.

The story I have illustrated here tells you two things. One is that China, as a whole, is now in a rapid transition towards the outside world, experiencing great changes in every walk of life. The other is that along with the passage of history the good deeds done by missionaries could not be forgotten and will be appreciated by the people who benefited.

After the liberation in 1949, the Chinese Church cut off all ties with the missionaries from 121 foreign missionary societies which were of 70 or so different denominations, and launched the Three-Self movement (self-administration, self-support and self-propagation) in an attempt to live down the foreign image of the Chinese Church and to achieve a Chinese selfhood which proved practical for our church survival and growth in the following years. We believe that there's a time for missionary activity and there is a time when it is no longer appropriate. In the late 1950s the Chinese Church entered a unique period of post-denominationism which strengthened the fellowship of Christians from all over China so enabling us to go through the trial of fire during the Cultural Revolution

The Church has been reviving again since 1980. As of now there are over 9,000 churches and 20-30,000 simple religious venues or homes accessible to all Christian believers throughout the country. At present, every 2 days, two to three new churches are opened. The number of Christians, estimated at 8-10 million, is about 10 times more than that of believers before 1949. For quite a number of years our church has been growing in a situation without any help from missionaries abroad.

The China Christian Council, which was formed in 1980 as the organizational expression of the emphasis for the Church to govern itself well, support itself well, and do its work of Christian propagation well, has opened 13 seminaries for the training of ministers. About 800 graduates are entering mission fields each year to serve the grassroots churches. The Council publishes and distributes over 2.5 million Bibles every year to Christians, wherever they meet. Ten different commissions have been established under the national CCC to assist and serve the ministries of the Church.

The Church is an evangelizing church. We are working hard for Christ's sake to spread the good news of God's mission. To fulfll the Lord's mission worldwide, we must understand that we live in different social, political, historical and cultural contexts in and through which God acts and speaks to us, though we live on the same globe. Each church must carefully listen to and follow up on the truth of Eternity, and the Gospel should be expressed in a very flexible way for evangelism.

Our church, as you know, observes and adheres to the three-self principle, but this in no way implies self-isolation. We understand that a self-isolated church would lack vitality because a member separating itself from the body could not survive and grow alone. Only in the context of fellowship with the Church universal can selfhood be meaningful. The same way, only based on the assumption of the independence of each member can inter- dependence among churches be discussed.

Quite a number of churches have come to recognize and respect the essence of the three-self principle. We are grateful for their understanding and support and what is more, for a new type of working relationship---true partnership which has replaced the partnerlistic concept of missiology.

During the last ten years or more we have received kind offers from many churches. The love in each offer brings us immense joy, making us feel that we are immersed in an ocean of love. In the meantime, we have to remind ourselves constantly not to be drowned.

Unfortunately we have heard from our churches in the northeast provinces complaining that in the past couple of years many conservative south Korean Christian workers, often with a large amount of foreign currency, have been trying to apply their church-development methods to the churches in Manchuria. Those workers believe that in this way they can also enhance the growth of ethnic Chinese congregations. However, they forget that those Korean Christians in China are Chinese Koreans whose identity is not entirely the same as that of those Koreans in Korea. Their differences in identity have been shaped and re shaped by different social, political, historical and cultural contexts. Some Christian workers are even heretical or to help set up a base for working behind the scenes. But because they have very little information about the Chinese churches, those Korean Christians cannot understand the mission work of Chinese Christians within their own society. Various kinds of Christian denominations and sectarian groups are looking into China openly or secretly to seek to convert the Chinese to their particular Christian faith. As a result, the Church is threatened by the revival of denomination- alism, which not only adds to the confusion of many uneducated Christians but also causes division among educated Christians.

The Chinese Church is willing to be related to any overseas church or church organization which respects our three-self principle and treats us on an equal footing for the purpose of strengthening bonds between Chinese Christians and Christians abroad. The guiding principle for cooperation offered by foreign churches and Christian organizations is that projects should be open and above board and meet the needs of the target people. They should also fit our agenda. Thus, the partnership will benefit both of us spiritually, theologically and financially.

We are seeking a true partnership--a partnership for God's mission in Christ's image to proclaim the good news of love, justice and reconciliation; not the type of partnership from the outdated pattern of mission which plagued and blinded the Chinese Church for over a century.

When Dr. George Carry, the Archbishop of Canterbury, visited last year at Nanjing seminary, he remarked that evangelism in today's world should be responsible evangelism, which assumes an understanding of the culture in which it is set. But it does not mean to go everywhere just simply repeating what one has heard elsewhere. What might work in North America may not work here, and what is authentic to Britain may not be true to China. Responsible evangelism will observe and understand what is happening in a society with the eyes and mind of Christ.

Mission to the whole world is a difficult task, but let us not be too daunted by this. Mission success is our Lord's work, and we are called and required to be faithful to His leadership. Let us enhance our true partnership in God's mission and further promote mutual sharing with Korean Christians.


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Christian Theology: Towards an Asian Reconstruction

The twenty first century! It sounds more and more real each passing day. It comes ever closer each passing month. It is almost within our reach. The countdown has already begun. The soothsayers are gazing into their crystal balls for signs of the imminent future. The self-styled doomsday prophets are issuing warnings about the end of the world. Even some Christian churches have jumped on the bandwagon of the new century as if it has the magic power to bring about "Christianizing the world in this generation," to use the celebrated motto of John R. Motto, one of the tireless pioneers of modern ecumenism. For those suddenly awakened to the imminence of the end of the twentieth century, this is an "eschatological" time.

But most likely the year 2000 will come and go, Gone will be the fever and fervor of Christian mission that has taken hold of some of us. Forgotten will be those soothsayings and doomsday predictions. The world will resume its long trek toward the twenty send century. As to us human beings, though we will go on making scientific and technological progress by leaps and bounds, we are not going to become any wiser in matters of faith and morals. What, then, about the Christian church, particularly the Christian churches in Asia? Are we going to be prepared as we find ourselves at the threshold of the century fast approaching us with its opportunities and dangers?

"Eschatological" interest in the year 2000 apart, this, for Christianity, and particularly for Christianity, is a time of soberness and excitement: soberness because it must be realized, belatedly, that the religious map of the world has to be redrawn, and excitement because the new religious map contains real surprises and new possibilities. For the Christian church this is a season of distress and adjustment: distress because the ambition of "Christianizing" the world is not fulfilled, and adjustment because its centuries-old life-view and world-view have become obsolete and new ones have to constructed. As to Christians in Asia, this is an age of expanding our ecumenical horizon that to us God's ways with the nations and peoples with which we have not seriously reckoned in our faith and theology before. It has become increasingly evident to thinking Christians that the future of christianity cannot be separated from the future of other religions, that the well-being of the Christian church is closely bound with the well-being of the larger community around it, and that Christians and their neighbors are fellow pilgrims on earth in search of the meaning of life the and the fulfillment of it.

A time such as ours calls for a self-understanding of the church different from the past. Is this not what the Reformation in the sixteenth century compelled the church to do ? A season such as this challenges us Christian in Asia to reexamine the faith we have inherited from our forebears. Is this not what the Reformers in the sixteenth century set out to do? And the era in which we find ourselves demands Christian theologians to be engaged in reshaping and reconstructing Christian theology open to what God is doing in the world, not of yesterday, but of today. Is this not the way reformed theologians should go about their theological task?

Some Christian theologians in Asia, particularly some of us from the reformed tradition, have taken upon ourselves the arduous task of doing Christian theology in this vast part of the world historically and culturally shaped by religions other than Christianity. We find ourselves questioning the ways in which traditional theology has gone about its business for centuries. We have no alternative but to listen to the voices from the world we share with our fellow Asians.

Some of us have discovered that critical interactions between the message of our Bible and the world of our Asia can deepen our experience of God's saving activity in the human community as well as in the Christian community.

These "theological" experiences of ours are bound to bring about some fundamental changes in the way we do Christian theology, understand the nature and task of the Christian church, and paractice our Christian faith in Asia. We have embarked on a theological journey that, though still not clearly charted, promises surprises and fresh insights. What follows is an effort to show how the course of Christian theology is taking shape in Asia.

According to the Bible?

It is no secret, I must point out at the outset, that most of us Christians in Asia "have different dreams with our fellow Asians in the same bed" (thun chhuan yi meng), to paraphrase a Chinese expression, when it comes to the matters of faith and religion. It is our belief, for example, that out God is different from their God. But if it is the same God? It is our conviction that the truth of God is revealed to us only . But if it is also revealed to others? We do not compromise on the faith that salvation is for those who believe as we do. But suppose there is also salvation for those who do not believe as we do? Suppose if what we believe as salvation is mistakenly conceived, or at least not what Jesus intended?

This last question is the most critical of all questions for us Christians. It hits the nail on the head, so to speak, We in the name of God; but is it the God of Jesus? We invoke the name of God; but is it the name of God of Jesus? We pray to our God, but is it to the God of Jesus that we pray? We pronounce blessing on those who believe as we do and judgment on those who do not by the authority of God; but is that divine authority the authority by which Jesus spoke and taught: We believe that God is always on our side and not on the side of other; but is it not possible that God of Jesus may sometimes be on the side of other rather than on our side?

Most of us Christians do not always think in this way, nor do we raise such question often. Here is a typical case from India:

Once a Gandhian leader came to Kohima and we had fellowship with him As I was sitting by him, he started conversing with me about religious matters :"There are some extreme Christians who say that human being can be saved through Christianity only and thee is no other way. What your view?" "It is what I believe," I replied. "There are millions and millions of people in other major religions of the world. What will be their fate?", he hastily asked. "According to the Bible those who do not believe in Christ will Perish," I replied. He angrily departed. My conviction is that whether we like it or not we cannot compromise the truth.

The story reminds me of a meeting I had with the faculty of the Buddhist Institute in Ho Chi minh city, Vietnam, in November, 1992. We talked about many thing, from the role Buddhism played during the Vietnam War to the translation of Buddhist texts from Pali and Sanskrit into Vietnamese to social and Political changes in Vietnam. Inevitably we touched on the relationship between Christianity and Buddhism. Quietly and without showing emotion, the head of the Institute, a venerable monk of more than eighty year old, asked: "Why are Christians so aggressive in their effort to convent Buddhists to Christian faith?" He was in fact marking a remark rather than asking a question. How could respond to him? Quietly but with pain in my heart I replied and said: "Some Christians are aggressive, but not all Christians are."

The Gandhian leader, in the story quoted above, must have thought that the Christians who received him were friendly sort. After all, they offered him a fellowship. They struck him to be open-minded and kind-hearted Christians. still he did not let down his guard. He struck up a conversation with the Christian who later told the story, and said to the latter: "There are some extreme Christians who say human being can be saved through Christ only and there is no other way." He must have said it cautiously. The tone of his voice seemed tentative. He was not seeking a confrontation, a debate, a controversy. Like that venerable monk in Ho Chi Minh City, he was just making an observation. He qualified his remark by saying "some extreme Christians." There are "extreme" believes in each and every religion, believers who refuse to see any good in what other people believe. This Gandhian leader would perhaps be the first to admit that there are "extreme Hindus." There are of course "extreme Muslims." That is why the feud and conflict between Hindus and Muslims in that sub-continent of Asia have often been bloody. But not all Hindus are extreme, just some of them. Nor are all Muslims extreme, also just some of them. It must be the same with Christianity. "There are some extreme Christians," he said, "who say that human being can be saved through Christ only and there is no other way."

Some Christians do believe that, most of us in fact. This often is the cause of Christian intolerance towards people of other faiths and religions. "What is your view?" The Gandhian leader was curious to know where his Christian conversation partner stood with regard to this matter. Perhaps he was looking for an explanation from the latter, an illumination even. Surely there is a lot to explain. For many Christians this is the heart of their faith. They owe an explanation to others whose "salvation" they hold in their hands. But the Christian in this conversation did not seem to see it that way. "this is what I believe," he declared. He seized the occasion to state his conviction, to reaffirm his faith, to "evangelize" the Gandhian leader. The conversation took a different turn. His "missionary" conscience was aroused. He forgot he was one of the hosts at the welcoming party for the Gandhian leader. It did not seem matter to him even if the party had to end in hostility. This is what happened.

The reply of the Christian did not seem to surprise the Gandhian leader. He must have heard it said more than once. This is how most Christians talked to the men and women outside the church. But is such view tenable? Is such conviction realistic? Is such faith reasonable? The Gandhian leader wanted to know. "There are millions and millions of people, "he said.,"in other major religions of the world." he could have been more precise by citing some statistics. According to one statistic taken in 1982, "there are 1.4 billion Christians, 724 million Muslims, 583 Hindus, 278 million Buddhists." If Confucianists, Shintoists, and those who practice ancestor rites, primal religions, and shamanism are counted, then more than two-thirds of the world's population are not Christian. What is going to be their fate?, asked the Gandhian leader.

This is not an insignificant question. It is a kind of question that can be described with Chinese phrase, yu chung sin ch'ang, meaning "one's words are serious and one's heart is heavy." It may be you fate to suffer in this life, but you long for a change of fate in the life to come. this is the most elementary desire of most Asians, Buddhists or confucianists, Hindus or Muslims, even Christians. If there is salvation only for those who believe in Christ, as "extreme Christians" affirm, and salvation for them means eternal life in God, then what will be the fate of the great majority of the people of Asia, or more than two-thirds of the human race? The Gandhian leader wanted to know. This is not just a matter of curiosity. Nor is the question raised to rebut the Christian. It is a reasonable question. He must have been genuinely concerned, if not alarmed.

His concern should be addressed. His anxiety must be assuaged. Is it not only right that his question be discussed charitably and with sensitivity? But the Christian in the conversation seemed only interested in getting to the point. "According to the Bible," he declared, "those who do not believe in Christ will perish." This is an ultimatum, a declaration of fait accompli, a pronouncement of a verdict. The case is closed. The decision is final. No further discussion is needed. No appeal to a higher authority is permitted. There the matter stands, not only on earth but in heaven. The Gandhian leader must have first been shocked, then furious. He "angrily departed." Who would not in that situation? At least he did the right thing to avoid further confrontation.

"According to the Bible," says Christian. But which part of the Bible? Whose interpretation of that part of the Bible? Is it "quoted out of context"(tuan chang chu yi in Chinese) or not? The fact of the matter is that the Bible is almost always quoted and interpreted out of context by those who insist that there is no salvation outside Christ, meaning outside Christianity. Christians who make such an assertion do not stop to think whether there are other passages in the same Bible that speak quite differently. "According to the Bible" is too general a phrase to have any meaning. It is very irresponsible too. How can on be so general and irresponsible when it has to do with serious matters such as salvation and eternal life? Who is this God of theirs who would condemn "those who do not believe in Christ" - billions and billions of them if those before the time of Jesus were also counted - to perish for ever? Is that God the God of Jesus? Or are we here dealing with a God who has little to do with the God of Jesus?

But the Christian in the story asked none of such questions. Seeing the Gandhian leader leave in anger, he was neither embarrassed nor grieved. He did not show any sense of remorse. On the contrary, he was convinced that he did the right thing. "My conviction," he said is that whether we like it or not we cannot compromise the truth." Yes, one should not compromise the truth. But whose truth? God's own truth? The truth Jesus proclaimed? Or the truth of a particular Christian church? The truth of a particular Christian denomination? The truth held by a particular group of Christians? That Christian's own understanding of the truth?

What we see in this Christian is "one who speaks and acts with confidence with the knowledge that one is in the right"(li ch'i chuang), again to use a Chinese expression. But who told him he was in the right? A particular tradition of Christianity told him so. A particular church to which he belongs taught him so. If that tradition, that church, were not entirely in the right? If Jesus himself would find it offensive? If God could not agree with it?

A Good Tone for Christians?

Such rigid faith and uncompromising attitude apart, it is clear to more and more Christians and theologians both in the East and in the West that Buddhists, Taoists, or Muslims are here to stay for a long time, to practice their faiths not only in the lands of their birth but also in the Western society in which they have come to live in pursuit of political freedom and personal fortune. Just as Christians they are very much members of the human community in the universe created, according to Christian faith, by the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Jesus Christ. Some Christians and theologians, open to the world of cultural and religious pluralism, fascinated by it and eager to experiment alternative ways of practicing their faith, are willing to go a second mile, a third mile, even any number of miles, with their new found friends and neighbors of other faiths. The world of gods many and lords many, instead of offending their Christian sensibility and repelling their Christian orthodoxy, invites them to experiment with different forms of worship and meditation

Here is a typical example of a Jesuit priest who directed a meditation center at the Roman Catholic Mercy Center in Burlingame near San Francisco in the United States. He tells us that his "main area of study has been Mahayana Buddhism, especially Zen." He has "also seriously investigated Vajrayana Buddhism and classical Taoism (Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu)." This multi-religious experience and background of his informs and shapes what he tries to do at his center. In his own words:

Beginning with the external and bodily, the main place of most of our meditation here at Mercy Center is the Rose Room(so called because the unfolding rose is the symbol of enlightenment in the West just as the lotus is in the East). On the walls are Japanese shikihi (fine paper squares) with Zen sayings in the Sino-Japanese ideographs, two Taoist paintings and a picture of the Miroku Bosatsu (Maitreya Bodhisattva)from Koryuji, Kyoto, These are well received by people and set a good tone to the room. However, th main shrine or centerpiece has, of course, the cross as central, It is hoped that before too long this cross will give way to a statue of Christ seated in meditation, a statue which will include clear influence from Buddhist statuary in its simplicity and feeling.

In this Christian meditation center Buddhist images and symbols provide a setting, an atmosphere. They are said to create "a good tone" for Christians who come to worship and meditate.

The cross, the main Christian symbol, is central, we are told What we are not told is how those Christians who come to the Center meditate on the cross surrounded by Buddhist images and symbols. How do the cross and the lotus, the principal religious symbols of Christianity and Buddhism, interact with each other in the theology of the Mercy Meditation Center? Do they inform each other? But what do they inform each other? Do they enrich each other? But how do they enrich one the other? Or are they critical of each other? What, is it, then, the cross is critical of the lotus, and the lotus of the cross? Do they find something lacking each in the other? What is it that each may find lacking in the other? The cross and the lotus, each represents a vast world of religious culture and a deep universe of spiritual quest for the meaning and purpose of life. A long history is behind each of them. How many hopes are raised and frustrated in its name! And how much blood is shed and lives perished all for the sake of it! For the religious mind capable of going deeply into something beyond the sense perception, these symbols - the cross and the lotus - must be telling painful stories as well edifying ones, crying out in despair as well as in hope. Does not this mean that no religious image and symbol is to be just decorative, although all religions, including Christianity, tend to reduce it to being nothing more than a decoration?

We must ask further. In the religious consciousness of the people at worship and meditation, how is the cross perceived in the midst of Buddhist images and symbols? Does the cross appear less startling and painful because of "the unfolding rose" which "is the symbol of enlightenment in the West just as the lotus is in the East"? But if this true, does not the cross become less than the cross, less than what it was to Jesus who died a painful death on it? There is in the Meditation Center also "a picture of the Miroku Bosatsu (Maitreya Bodhisattva)." How do worshipers understand the evident contrast between the Maitreya Bodhisattva with his all peaceful and compassionate complexion and the haggard Jesus of the crucifix with his contorted body undergoing death spasms? Are they not failing in both directions - failing to come to grips with the pain as well as the compassion the Bodhisattva has towards all sentient beings in the world of suffering on the one hand and, on the other, failing to perceive God's saving love contained in the suffering of Jesus dying on the cross?

In this what appears to be a well-meaning and even innocent effort towards the meeting of the East in the West at this Christian center of meditation, no fundamental theological questions such as these seem to be raised. People at the Center do want to be inclusive rather than exclusive - a fashionable trend at a time such as ours when religious pluralism has suddenly burst upon us. But if this is all that images and symbols of other religions do for Christians, it is a misuse, even abuse, of them. Uprooted from their Buddhist settings and transported to an "exotic" Christian setting, they cease to be what they must be - expressions of struggles of the human spirit for liberation in different social and historical situations. And in this particular case, they are removed from the Asian humanity that has suffered centuries of sufferings and hardships from nature and at human hands. They become disconnected with the women, men and children of Asia today who continue to seek the meaning and purpose of life in poverty or in affluence. Those religious images and symbols have become dissociated from the spiritual journey of the people of Asia, the journey that make them what they are. They are no longer part of the culture they have helped to create and shape.

"I have no image of Christ in my heart"

Religious faith must be a matter of commitment to the divine on the one hand and, on the other, a matter of human creativity inspired by that commitment. Each and every religious image and symbol comes into being out of the commitment and creativity of the believer and the believing community. No genuine religious image and symbol is conceived as a mere decoration and designed as an ornament. It is not a means that provides "a good tone" for liturgical and meditative purposes. But within Christianity this is what has been done to the cross, that supreme symbol of Jesus' suffering and death. The shining cross on the rooftop of a church building or the glittering cross on the wall of the chancel of a church takes the sting out of the cross and renders it innocuous. It may be the cross of the Christian church, but surely it is but the cross of Jesus. It cannot address the deeply troubled souls and hearts of people in fear and confusion.

Some Christian artists in Asia seems to know better. They are attracted by the awesome power of images and symbol that abound in religions of Asia. They know that "Asia remains the heart of the world's great religions. Hinduism, Islam, Buddhism, Shintoism and numerous smaller religions had their beginning on Asian soil and still exert a powerful influence on society To be Christian artist in such a setting means coming to terms with the art forms and images of other religions. Artists in Asia struggle with questions which are not even contemplated by Western artist." They set out to explore forms and images of other religions, seeking to express the message of the Christian gospel in ways very different from what is expected of them as Christian artists. In Asian Christian artists these two universes of religious forms and images have come to play one with the other.

Forms and images. Bust what about meanings these forms and images of other religions stand for, not just apparent meanings but meanings deeply embedded in the long traditions of those religions and hidden in the hearts of the believers? Looking at art works of Asian Christian artists, I sometimes wonder whether some of them have reproduced outward forms and images of other religions at the expense of the inner meanings symbolized by these forms and images. It is relatively easy to replace the forms and images of traditional Christian art with those of Asian religions. But my impression is that it is a lot more difficult to create out of the encounter of different universes of religious meanings something that is indisputably Asian and yet distinctly Christian. Is this not what those artists who strive to be creative and original have to take into serous account? Asian Christian art has just arrived at the threshold of creative and original Christian artistic expressions. They have much homework to do - seeking to penetrate that holy of holies of the human spiritual universe shaping believers' life history and culture, the universe not visible to the naked eye and not perceptible to the mind not able to penetrate the complexity of the heart and spirit.

External forms of a religious devotion may be adapted, but the internal meanings of that devotion may elude the grasp of an artist. This happens to some Asian Christian artists eager to build a bridge between the world of Christianity and the world of other religions. But there are artists outside the Christian church who seem to be aware of this by instinct and experience. Here is a story told by a Dutch missionary about his encounter with a Japanese master woodcarver during his early years in Japan:

In the east of Japan's northern island of Hokkaido between high mountains and immense primeval forests, lies the Lake Akan. Many fine Ainus and Japanese woodcarvers live and work in the small village of Akan bordering the lake. A few of us missionaries went there in the summer of 1969, hoping to do some evangelism among the woodcarvers and their families. But they were obviously too busy for us so we decided to volunteer ourselves as helpers in their shops. I swept floors, carried boxes to the post office, and so forth in the shop of a Japanese woodcarver, a master craftsman, Mr Tadao Nishiyama. I was impressed by his work and after some time asked him to carve me a head of Christ. He answered, Yes, I will, but asked me a month later, Do you have a picture of him? Finally, after another month or two he handed me a chisel and said, You carve the head of Christ; I have no image of him in my heart.

A strange, and yet a revealing, story! It has a lot to tell us, not only Christian artists but Christian theologians, intent on crossing the boundaries separating Christianity and other religions.

Why was Mr. Tadao Nishiyama not able to carve the head of Christ, a master craftsman that he was? He was not a Christian, but why did he agree to do it in the first place? He must have thought it was na easy thing to do - carving out a head of Jesus on a piece of wood. But it did not take him long to realize that he was engaged in a religious project. In the month that followed, his mind must have been very much preoccupied with it. He must have even made a few attempts at it, but was not able to come up with a head of Christ. What was the problem?

Why did it turn out to be so difficult? He must have at least a vague idea of what Jesus looked like to Christians in Japan?

If his problem had to do with his idea of Jesus being unreliable, he could ask a picture of Jesus from the missionary who had requested him to do a head of Christ. This is what he did. With the picture of Jesus given to him, he thought he could go ahead with his work. But another month had gone, and he was still without a head of Christ. All that time he must have stared at the picture, studied it from various angles, developed ways to execute his project. Finally, he must have mobilized all his artistic sensibility and creative imagination to produce a head of Christ. But still he came back to the missionary empty-handed, saying: "I have no image of Christ in my heart."

He said it all in one short sentence. "I have no image of Christ in my heart." This was not an excuse. Nor was it an explanation. It was a confession. Being a master craftsman devoted to his art, he must have known art is not just a matter of form, but a matter of the spirit, not solely a projection of what is in his brain but an embodiment of what is in his heart. For him it was not a problem of forming an image of Christ in his head and transcribing it onto a piece of wood. But since he was not a Christian, he could not image Christ in his heart, however hard he might have tried. Even the picture of Jesus was of little help to him. He was too good an artist to reproduce something that came from another religious world. It would be sacrilegious even to imitate it. He was too honest a believer in the spiritual power of creative arts to carve an image not formed in his heart. And his was too sensive a heart not to grapple with what Christ might mean to him. In the end the deep meaning of Christ eluded him He could not grasp it. Without a spiritual communion between him as an artist and Christ, the subject of Christian faith and devotion, he could not carve a head of Christ. He had to band a chisel to the Christian missionary and say to him: "You carve the head of Christ; I have no image of him in my heart."

Christian Theology in the Midst of Religions

This story of a Japanese woodcarver tells us, Christian artists and theologians in Asia, that we cannot trifle with images and symbols of religions, be they of Christianity, Buddhism, Hinduism or primal religions. They evoke in us deep respect and awe. They also remind us of the mystery enshrined in them. They let us perceive sparks of light from the depths of human being and they make us apprehensive about the darkness concealed by those sparks of light. They demonstrate human capacity to transcend the limits of life on the one hand and, on the other, remind us of the transitoriness of human existence within the confinement of space and time. They are indicative of human being at their most ecstatic, but also of human being at the most vulnerable.

Religious images and symbols both reveal and conceal truths about human beings in relation to God and the world. You cannot enter the world of religious images and symbols assuming that they will make themselves transparent before your very eyes. The fact of the matter is that they conceal from outside intruders much more than they care to reveal to them. For us Christians in Asia awakened to the religious reality of our part of the world, this presents us with an enormous dilemma. How are we to confess Christian faith not as Christians estranged from our own land and people but as part of them? How are we to make of Jesus, God, the Sprite, the church and its task and mission in a society shaped by religious cultures other than that of Christianity? What role, if any, could the historical, social, political, cultural and religious experiences of our fellow Asians play in our doing of Christian theology? In short, how are we, Christians in Asia, to tell stores of our faith in the world of cultures, religions and histories which though unrelated to Christianity in origin and development, cannot be separated from who we are and what we are?

To be aware of this theological dilemma is very much a part of doing Christian theology in Asia. There is no easy way out of it. The dilemma becomes unbearable when you realize that doing Christian theology is an act of confessing Christian faith, an engagement with the life outside the church as well as inside it, and interactions with the people of God not only in the Christian community but in the wider human community. And doing Christian theology is a communion with God who is creator of heaven and earth, lord of the history of nations and people, God who holds the ultimate meaning of life and the ultimate purpose of the entire creation. The theological dilemma that concerns us cannot be resolved. But it compels us to raise the horizon of our faith beyond ourselves as Christians, to expand our theological frontiers, and to engage ourselves with the life and faith of men, women and children around us who also have much to tell us about how God has been dealing with them.

Doing Christian theology is, then, to tell people's stories and to engage them with the stories of Jesus's life and mission, In the engagement of these two sets of stories, we Christians are not storytellers uninvolved in what happens in these stories. To be good storytellers we must first be good listeners. As we listen and listen, many of these stories become our stories. We find ourselves sharing the despairs and hopes of women, men and children. Their suffering become our suffering, their pain or pain, their aspiration our aspiration, and their liberation our liberation. The distance between us and people in the stories is shortened and a communion of minds and spirits is created. Is it not in the depth of such communion that we find ourselves in the presence of God? Does it not dawn on us that in the engagement of people's stories and Jesus' stories the stories of God are unfolded?

We do not, then, have to be afraid of doing Christian theology and to be apologetic about being Christian theologians. I cannot, therefore, agree with the statement that "the phrase 'Christian theology,' one stop to reflect about it, is a contradiction in terms. At the very least, it is un -Christian, in any serious meaning of the word." The view expressed here is puzzling at first, and then misleading. We Asian Christians, for example, live in the midst of the people of other faiths. We are part of Asian humanity. The awareness of this reality has shaken many of us out of ignorance and arrogance. Not only materially and culturally, but also religiously and spiritually, we have come to realize that we are "soul-mates" of our Buddhist, Hindu or Muslim neighbors. We have no choice but to rethink our Christian faith and reformulate our Christian theology in fundamental way.

But we are not Buddhists. We are not Hindus. Nor are we Muslims. We are Christians. As Christians our experience and understanding of religions other than Christianity may be very inadequate, inaccurate and even distorted. Some of us now know that we have much homework to do and have set out on an arduous task of learning from our neighbors who practice faiths different from ours. In this way we are trying to fathom the depth, breadth and height of God's creating and saving activities in the world of Asia. The result is Christian theology with all its limitations and shortcomings, yet a Christian theology deeply involved in the spiritual world of Asia. How can it be anything else when the ways of God with Asian humanity are explored from the perspective of Christian faith?

True, Christians have often insisted that "outside the Church there is and can be no knowledge of God," that faith" occurs in no other form than the Christian" How claims such as these not only fly in the face of facts and reality, but grieve the heart of God! I am quite in sympathy with those Christian theologians who want to take off the theological straight-jacket tailor-made according to the specification of traditional theology and to put on a more comfortable, one-size-fit-all, kind of theological outfit. They strive towards a "universal" theology, a theology that does not carry the trademark of Christianity. It is supposed to be made up of the best and the noblest in human religious endeavors towards the truth of God.

But not all Christians insist that "outside Church there is and can be no knowledge of God," or that "faith occurs in no other form than the the Christian." Surely Jesus himself would not insist on such things. It is not only uncharitable but wrong to make claims such as these. Such claims contradict what Jesus told us about God and about God's dealings with the world. This, however, does not lead to the conclusion that Christian theologians should abstain from Christian theology. The fact of the matter is that Buddhist theologians are engaged in Buddhist theology, Hindu scholars in Hindu theology, Muslim imams in Muslim theology. Why not, then, Christian theologians in Christian theology? Of course we cannot agree with a narrow sectarian kind of Christian theology. For that matter, nor can we be sympathetic towards narrow sectarian Buddhist theology or Muslim theology. But theological effort, be that of Buddhist, Hindu or Christian, pursued in the spirit of humility and open-mindedness, cannot be marrow and sectarian.

What this age of ours has taught us is that we must, and we can, practice our own faith and reflect about it in the spirit of charity and respect towards people of other faiths, knowing that each and every religion, including our own, carries records that make us both proud and shameful. We are aware, much more deeply now that never before, that for the survival of our Mother earth mercilessly plundered by us human beings, for the peace of the world torn with division and bigotry, for love and justice to prevail in human community, and for worship of God to bring shalom to ourselves and to the community around us, we must learn to be repentant, each one of us acknowledging we have fallen short of God's glory, But repentance alone is not enough. We must translate our repentance into action. We must inspire each other, correct each other, and together bear the responsibility of striving towards the world of hope and future.

One thing is certain: the world cannot afford a fanatical faith that treats people of other faiths as enemies to be won over to one's fold or to be eradicated from the face of the earth. There should be no room either for a sectarian theology, be it Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, or Christian, a theology that takes its own experience and tradition for nothing less than the very oracles of God. This does not mean that we must go for a "universal" theology. Theology of whatever brand has to be particular in orientation and specific in context. But if we believe in the God of creation, is it not possible from time to time for people of different faiths to meet that God at the cross-sections of our journeys of faith and theology?

The Christian theology that engages us in Asia must have must have room, yes, plenty of room, for people of different walks of life and of diverse religious traditions and cultural backgrounds. Its stage is the world of Asia - the world blessed with immense human and natural resources and tormented by endless natural disasters and human tragedies. To make sense of this world with all its good and evil, hopes and despairs, joys and anguishes, as an Asian Christian is the main theological task of the Christian church in asia.

Let us face it, The dream of "christendom" has, the demise of Western colonial domination of the Third World, vanished. The Christian church alone cannot deal with the mounting problems that threaten to tear apart the moral fabric of human community. As Christians we have to learn to work together with people of other faiths to be a spiritual force that creates a mew vision for humanity. This is a theological experiment with both promises and challenges. Asia with its diverse cultures and religions offers a most experiment with both promises and experiment. I hope our theological experiment in Asia in the coming century will be a modest contribution to the human search for the meaning of life and eternity in the world of transition and temporality.


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World Mission Today

The term 'world mission' is of rather recent origin. It is used to refer to both local and global mission, i.e., every place where the church meets the world. There are two prevalent attitudes to world mission today. Both are inadequate. One attitude is to give up on world mission altogether, saying that the era of mission has ended, and concentrate only on the life of the local church. This attitude is concerned neither with the world at the door step of the church nor with the world in the global sense. It is an attitude that is satisfied with maintenance. Theologically speaking, when a church ceases to be a missionary church it gives up on being a church. It then no longer understands itself as being sent, i.e., being in mission to the world with a message. The second attitude is to assume that nothing has changed, and so to continue with the old missionary thrust which is concerned essentially with mission abroad. By and large, this has been the response of the Korean churches. This type of missionary work has a few initial successes, and then there is a collapse. There are two principal reasons for the collapse. First, to whatever country one goes in mission today, there are already indigenous churches. These have their own understandings of what it means to be the church in a particular context. So, an aggressive missionary movement from outside is sooner or later resisted. Second, because of the impact of Western missionary movements and colonialism, other religions of the world have become not only impervious to Christian mission but have also themselves become aggressive missionising faiths. Consequently, to preserve harmony, many governments either prevent missionaries from outside entering their countries or enact stringent laws to control foreign missions to maintain religious harmony. Even those that do not have such laws tend to expel missionaries.

The inadequacy of both responses presses upon us the need to look again at the task of world mission in a changed world situation, so that we may indeed participate meaningfully in the Triune God's mission of love to the world.

There are already helpful beginnings. First, there are critical studies of the previous era of mission which help us to understand the principles or driving force of world mission, and the lessons we can learn from that period. We will concentrate on the work of British missionary societies. These being the oldest influenced other English speaking missions. English-speaking missions provided nearly 80% of all non-Roman Catholic missionaries. Furthermore, Korean Protestant churches are fruits of English-speaking missions.

Second, in the community of churches in mission called the Council for World Mission (CWM), there have been radical changes in the thinking and practice of mission. It has put into practice and tested over two decades the policy of mutuality in mission. This policy has a direct bearing on the Korean scene because the Presbyterian Church of Korea is a CWM church. As such, it is expected to uphold this policy in its missionary relationships both within and outside CWM.

Third, we will spell out a theological basis for mutuality in mission. We will do this by briefly setting out the contours of a biblically based theology of mission that goes beyond the so-called 'Great Commission' in Matthew 28. While this commission, understood as 'going out into all the world', served to enthuse an earlier generation for mission, it does not satisfy today. One of the main reasons for this is that mission is no longer one-directional, from the USA to Korea, or from Korea to Sri Lanka. One-directional mission assumes that the gospel has to be carried from a country that has it to another that does not. Today mission is multi-directional, because there are churches in almost all countries with their own understandings and practice of world mission. Hence, we need a mission theology that can take into account this fact, and undergird partnership or mutuality in mission.

Fourth, we will look at some of the implications of mutuality in mission for the churches in Korea.

I. Western missions revisited identifying some principles

When we revisit earlier missionary history, we find that our view of that history is coloured by an opinion, often justified, that Western missions were heavily identified with Western colonial aspirations and are therefore tainted. It is this opinion that is at the root of much of the political resistance to missionary work today. It is also this judgment that prompts many Christians to be shy of our missionary history, and even to argue that the words 'missionary' and 'mission' should be dropped from Christian vocabulary. But a more careful reading of mission history shows that, at the beginning, Western Protestant missions, particularly those from Britain, wanted to tread a path very different from Western mercantile and colonial interests. This is the judgment of T. V. Philip, the Indian Church Historian, in a series of lectures on Western Christian Missions in Asia.

He argues that 'the background, attitudes, methods and commitment of early Protestant missionaries were distinctly different in many ways from those who came after 1830'. He identifies several impulses that went into the beginnings of Western Protestant missions. Principal of these was the Pietistic movement and the Evangelical Awakening which pressed upon these missionaries the conviction that the whole world had to be won for Christ. Philip contends that the secular contribution to the making of a vision for world mission was the travels of Captain James Cook, especially in the Pacific. His travels, and not the expansion of European mercantile and commercial interests, opened up the possibility of traversing large expanses of sea and land to proclaim the gospel. On the one hand, this vision, with the commissions in Matthew 28:18-20 and Mark 16:15 as its biblical basis, was used to resist the church leaders of the time who argued that if God intended to convert the heathen He would do it without man's help. This resistance led to the formation, in the late eighteenth century, of several mission societies independent of ecclesiastical and church control. On the other hand, this vision also functioned to resist what were deemed to be the evils of colonial and mercantile interests. This latter position is worth following up.

As T. V. Philip observes, almost all of those who went out as missionaries in the earlier period were 'a distinctive social class in British society...of craftsmen, small traders, shoe makers, printers, ship builders, school teachers...' William Carey, for instance, plied the trade of a cobbler to supplement his meagre earnings as a village school teacher and Baptist pastor. He taught himself the classical and European languages and several subjects such as Botany and Zoology that he might be a greater witness for the Lord. But the social background influenced his attitudes and his theology.

First and foremost, Carey saw world mission, understood as foreign mission, as an obligation or duty. As T. V. Philip comments, 'It was Carey more than anyone else who gave to the modern missionary movement its geographical perspective.'

The second great contribution that Carey made was to give a strong social perspective to Christian mission. He was not alone in this matter. Instead of denying their social background, the early missionaries used their class orientation to sharpen their theological perspectives. At a time when Church of England prelates were berating the French Revolution for its subversive teaching, the spirit of democracy and its blasphemous character, Carey welcomed the new spirit of liberty, equality and fraternity. According to Carey's biographer, Pearce Carey, Carey greeted the French Revolution as 'God's answer to the recent concerted praying of his people'. He viewed it as opening doors that will continue to open wide 'for the Gospel by the spread of civil and religious liberty and by the diminution of Papal power'. He and many of his fellow missionaries viewed the French Revolution as leading people to a more complete humanity. But, he was convinced that these ideas and visions had to be grounded in Christ if they were to bear fruit.

These convictions led to a form of missionary action that was radical. Carey and his fellow missionaries were fierce in their criticism of the slave trade which had reached disgraceful proportions in their time. Carey abandoned the use of sugar as a sort of personal economic boycott of the slave trade. Others in England, especially those in the Church Missionary Society, saw Africa as a place for their special concern. They spoke of 'the miseries which had entailed on them by the slave trade' and ' the duty of making some recompense for the injuries and wrongs, which by our participation in that nefarious traffic, we had inflicted on Africa...' This position led evangelicals to argue that Britain's role in Africa should be that of guardian and protector of the people.

It was this social and critical dimension, understood as an intrinsic part of evangelical and pietistic commitment, that gave the early missionary movement its distinctive character. These missionaries were not mere evangelists. They were also social reformers who challenged what they deemed to be wrong in society, theirs as well as those to which they went. William Carey, for instance, braved personal danger to express his resistance to the Hindu practice of sati (the immolation of widows at the funeral pyres of their husbands) at the very places in which these were being carried out.

Within such an understanding of the beginnings of the Western missionary movement, it is possible to detect the revolutionary impulse of the founding vision of the London Missionary Society: 'To send the glorious gospel of the blessed God to the heathen.' While we might deplore the use of the term 'heathen' with all of its connotations, we must remember that at a time when colonialism was interested in exploiting the heathen and accumulating treasures in Britain and other European countries, these missionaries were more interested in taking to the heathen a heavenly treasure which they felt had been entrusted to them. This was an act of love. As Carey put it, 'If we Christians loved men as merchants loved money, no fierceness of people would keep us from their midst.'

The task for today is to find a similar revolutionary meaning and practice for world mission, so that we may express God's subversive compassion and love for people and the whole creation. To do this, we need to note three important principles that emerge from this examination.

First, mission arises out of a compulsion or obligation to proclaim the gospel. It is to say with St. Paul, 'For necessity is laid upon me. Woe to me if I preach not the gospel!' (I Cor. 9:16). The necessity or obligation to proclaim the good news is not based on any law or commandment. Rather, it arises out of our own joyful experience of the gospel as good news that has changed and shaped our lives. Bishop Leslie Newbigin, who was a missionary in India, puts it this way:

"It is, is it not, a striking fact that in all his letters to the churches Paul never urges on them the duty of evangelism. He can rebuke, remind, exhort his readers about faithfulness to Christ in many matters. But he is never found exhorting them to be active in evangelism...Mission, in other words, is gospel and not law; it is the overflowing of a great gift, not the carrying of a great burden".

Second, 'the overflowing of a great gift' places upon us the need to cross a frontier. In the time of the early missionaries it was a geographical frontier. What is the frontier we are called to cross today when there are churches in almost all of the countries of the world? We will return to this question later.

Third, the evangelical heritage to which we belong urges upon us the necessity to proclaim and practise the gospel as good news on earth as well as in heaven. As we saw, the early missionaries were evangelists and social reformers in one, because they believed that both functions belonged together in the message of the gospel. Unfortunately, these helpful principles which undergirded the beginnings of Western Protestant missions, to which we are heirs, are shrouded in a massive negative verdict on Western Roman Catholic and Protestant missions as a whole. These are accused of being religious clones of the colonial military and expansionist spirit of the West. The evidence is so overwhelming and so shameful that we cannot deny it. Even the missions begun by Carey and others later fell prey to this spirit, and confused the values and concerns of the Kingdom of God with the demands of Christendom.

Since this verdict still bedevils Christian mission today, we need to formulate a mission policy that takes into account two principal points.

First, whether we like it or not, every time we speak of mission, especially with unfortunate terms such as 'crusades' and 'reaching the unreached', we touch a raw nerve. This is especially so, since the power of large financial resources has replaced military and colonial power. People immediately see mission in its old guise as an attempt to conquer others. Shutters immediately come down; and mission comes to a dead end. We might try to brush aside this criticism saying that we only want 'to win souls for Christ', but this will not do. Mission which is an alliance between financial strength and evangelical zeal can easily pervert the very gospel to which it attempts to bear witness. Furthermore, such mission is also not sensitive to those churches which have worked out a legitimate and relevant form of mission in their own countries. If mission is to be meaningful today, we must not only change our language and attitude to those to whom we go in mission, especially people of other faiths, but we must also control the use of financial power in mission.

Second, because of the former collusion between colonial expansion and mission, many countries still view the church as a foreigner in their midst. The Chinese saying that one more Christian means one less Chinese is symptomatic of the opinion of many. This opinion is an outcome of missionary policy which urged on converts a discontinuity between the religion, culture and politics of the land and the Christian faith. This was done because, in return for supporting and protecting mission work, imperial powers depended on Christians in the colonies to support them against national 'hostilities'. In a way, this policy put into political and social practice the neo-Orthodox postulate of a disjunction between the gospel and all religions and by implication between the gospel and all forms of non-Western and non-Christian political and social life. This isolationist policy has created in many Asian Christians and churches a 'mission compound' or ghetto mentality. There is a challenge here. If mission is to be the outcome of the gospel as received and practised in a particular context, there should be a story to tell. Therefore, we need to look at the ways in which the Word has become flesh in our contexts. A disembodied Word expressed in creedal statements, which were constructed to defend orthodoxy against heresy rather than proclaim the faith, will not communicate the joy and redemptive power of the gospel.

These two concerns, among others, went into the formation of the Council for World Mission as a partnership of churches in mission. The formation also reached back to reclaim the heritage of the early missionaries and their policies.

II. Mutuality: identifying a new policy for world mission

As a partnership of churches in mission, the Council for World Mission (CWM) came into being in 1977. It was the old London Missionary Society transformed to tackle the tasks of World Mission today. To understand its ethos, we will look at the milieu in which it arose and the debates at a consultation in Singapore (1975) that led to its formation.

The decade of the 1970s, when CWM was formed, was a time of great expectations in mission thinking and activity. The old era of mission was said to be passing away and a new era dawning. Symptomatic of this thinking was the observation of Emilio Castro at the World Mission Conference in Bangkok on 'Salvation Today'(1973): 'We are at the end of a missionary era; we are at the very beginning of world mission.' The title of the founding document of CWM, Sharing in One World Mission, reflects this expectation.

With a sense of joy at the end of the old and the birth of the new, the Taiwanese theologian, C. S. Song, said in 1975 that we celebrate the end of foreign missions and the growing confidence of the church in the Third World which makes demands for 'entirely new relations with the church in the West':

"She lets it be known that man does not live by bread alone, that she is awakened to the truth that the freedom of spirit is far more essential than the abundance of financial aid. She refuses to be judged and evaluated by ethical, cultural, and religious standards and values prevailing in the West".

The signs of a new, emerging era for mission were evident in new theological thinking and action. In the continent of Africa, there was a call for a moratorium on foreign missions. Churches in Africa were in effect saying to Western mission boards, 'Give us the space to be obedient to God's calling in our own context in our own way.' African Christians began to speak theologically from within and in terms of the various African contexts in which the churches were witnessing to the gospel. Far more important, indigenous African churches, of which the Kimbanguist Church is the best known, received ecumenical recognition. The Three Self Movement in China gave birth to a post denominational, indigenous church. Minjung theology (Korea), theology of struggle (Philippines), biculturalism (Aoteoroa), Homeland theology and chhut thaau thi'n (Taiwan) are just a few examples of a theological ferment that swept across Asia. In Latin America, liberation theology began to speak of the hope and struggle of the poor. Regional ecumenical organizations emerged to coordinate this theological and missiological ferment. The winds of the new era of mission were also blowing in the West. Black theology in North America was a revolt from within the very citadel of white Christianity, and so too was feminist theology as a protest and correction of white male theology. More can be added to this list which heralded in the new. Equally important were the responses of Western mission societies and boards. Most of them welcomed this change not only as a time of liberation for the churches which they had founded and had come of age, but also as a liberation for themselves. They did not have to carry the burden of mission. They were equally keen to learn from the others. What was needed was a partnership.

This was the time when CWM, as a partnership of churches in mission, was born to give expression to a new missionary arrangement for a new era in mission. The various accounts of what happened at the consultation in Singapore (1975), which led to the formation of CWM, make one common admission. The change was neither planned nor expected. It just happened. It happened partly because they were together in a part of the world where churches were already thinking of partnership in mission. It happened mostly because they were open to each other and to the Holy Spirit, so that something new could emerge.

The new emerged with a challenge from the churches in the Third World, as C. S. Song predicted, 'for entirely new relationships with the church in the West'. But unlike what C. S. Song expected, the churches in the Third World argued that spiritual resources and financial resources need to be shared in a partnership that would overcome the barrier of power. They argued that "as now constituted, the Council [for World Mission] represents only a very restricted understanding of the missionary task;...that it perpetuates the relationship of donor and recipient; and that it fails to give adequate place to the talents of every church in the cooperative enterprise".

The response of the European churches was humble and appropriate:

No particular church has a private supply of truth, or wisdom or missionary skills. So within the circle of churches which we serve, we seek to encourage mutuality. This is a recognition that to share in international mission every church is both a receiver of help and a giver of its talents. At the present time we are seeing a shift in the world church's centre of gravity from Western Europe to Africa, Latin America and parts of Asia and the Pacific. We therefore long to take this opportunity for change as a moment when we who are British may welcome more fully the influence of our partner churches in the Third World.

The relationship between donor and recipient assumes that where there is a concentration of power in the form of money there too are the real resources of ideas or theology and personnel. The challenge for the churches at Singapore was not simply to reform a structure but to change it, so that this false assumption could be exploded, and the resources of all churches in all their forms (not just money) could be acknowledged. Then, there could be a genuine sharing of power. Such power sharing could not be an end in itself. On the one hand, power sharing should be designed to remove the negative, inhibiting pressure that stifles self-expression. On the other, power sharing should enable a genuine sharing of resources and a method for sharing them that would enable each church to pursue in its own place the mission that Christ has entrusted to the church in every place. It was the recognition of this dual function of power sharing that led the consultation to use 'mutuality' rather than 'moratorium' to signify the new relationship of partnership and mutual accountability.

In using mutuality as a policy to define partnership in mission, CWM did three things:

First, it brought into the equation other forms of power besides the power of money. It rightly pointed to the shift in the world church's centre of gravity from Western Europe to the so-called Third World. The power of money could not have been the indicator for perceiving this shift.

Second, it viewed power, in its various forms, as gifts and resources for enabling (empowering) all churches to engage in mission.

Third, CWM maintained that if power is to be effective it must be shared. Churches that have customarily given their resources must learn to receive; and those that have habitually received must learn to share their resources.

The emphasis on mutuality led to a fresh statement of the basis for mission:

We believe that we become participants in mission not because we hold all the answers and all the truth, but because we are part of the body of Christ. All of us are still searchers... Therefore we seek a form of missionary organization in which we may all learn from each other, for in that fellowship we believe that the Holy Spirit speaks to all through each.

This confession acknowledges three important truths. 1. Mission is not just one of several functions of the church or the task of a few individuals who may claim to have 'all the answers and all the truth'. Mission is part of the very essence or being of the church. It is implicit in being part of the body of Christ. 2. Not all members of the body are equal in strength, but all are equal in value and have a function to perform. Each has to support the other. The metaphor of the body carries the tacit understanding that partnership is not among equals. We are all equal and unequal in different ways. 3. It is not just the churches in CWM that are part of the body of Christ. Implicit in the acknowledgement of being part of the body of Christ is the recognition that the partnership goes beyond CWM.

In brief, mutuality as a policy for engaging in world mission is a challenge along two fronts: 1. All forms of power, especially financial, power must be shared so that all may be enabled and empowered for mission. Such an arrangement would bring in as major players those financially poorer churches who have greater spiritual resources to share. 2. All churches engage in mission because they belong to the body of Christ. So they need to learn from each, for it is in that sharing that the Holy Spirit speaks to all through each.

III. A biblical basis for a theology of mission for our time

This new arrangement for world mission with the policy of mutuality needs a new biblical basis. This concern was already evident in the formation of CWM. But, instead of articulating a new biblical basis, it broadened the understanding of mission using the following key terms: conversion, reconciliation, liberation, sacrificial caring, preaching and teaching. No attempt was made to relate these aspects of mission to one another or explain them any further. All these aspects of mission were said to have a grounding in the ministry and mission of Jesus Christ and New Testament teaching, and that none of these can be isolated from the others and given preeminence as the controlling motif and motivation for mission.It was also assumed that the theological basis for an understanding of holistic mission would be spelled out as the journey of CWM as a partnership of churches in mission continued.

In a mission statement written in 1983, CWM did attempt to set out a biblical basis of what it understood to be holistic mission.

Surprisingly, it left out any mention of Matthew 28:18-20, and instead used Acts 1:8 as its starting point. To better understand the new direction and import of this mission statement, we will first see why and how persons from an earlier mission era used Matthew 28:18-20 for understanding their call to mission, and why this text is inadequate for an understanding of world mission today.

The text in Matthew, which came to be known as 'the Great Commission', undergirded the mission thinking and inspired the mission action of a generation that lived at a time when there was an aggressive outward movement to conquer lands, plunder nations and build an empire. A missionary movement arose with a parallel outward movement not with the desire to exploit nations, but to take to them a divine treasure. Matthew 18:18-20 was used to justify this movement, and was interpreted in that context.

The process of interpretation itself was quite complicated. The 'nations' intended in this passage, as in the Gospel according to Matthew as a whole, were not the gentiles thousands of miles away, but the 'gentiles down the road' with whom Jewish Christians refused to associate. The commission to mission that does talk of those in distant lands is Acts 1:8: to be Christ's witnesses to the end of the earth. In the process of interpreting the so called 'great commission', the mission understanding in a part of Acts 1:8 was conflated with the commission in Matthew. It is also clear, at least in William Carey's tract, 'An Inquiry into the obligation of Christians to use means for the conversion of the heathens', which heavily influenced the missionary movement of the time, that Mark 16:15 was also drawn in and given a particular slant. Carey speaks of going 'into all the world to preach the gospel to every creature' (i.e., to every human being), rather than 'to the whole creation' as intended by the Greek. In this way, biblical texts were removed from their contexts, conflated and skewed in a particular direction to justify a particular understanding of the missionary task.

As the study of the history and science of biblical interpretation (Hermeneutics) demonstrates, the context of the reader heavily influences the interpretation of texts. So, this interpretation was inevitable and perhaps even justified. But this does not mean that what was seen as valid and relevant for one time should necessarily be seen as valid and relevant for all time, especially since this interpretation carries certain unfortunate notions prevalent at that time.

At one level, the eighteenth century missionary interpretation drew a distinction between 'home' and 'abroad' with the implication that it is those 'out there' who are in real need of the mission of the church. Today we realize that World mission includes the world at our door step (the local) as well as the world out there (the global). The world out there cannot and should not be an alibi for not engaging in mission at home, for it is only a church that is obedient to God's mission at home that can really have something to say about the efficacy of the gospel out there. In fact, as Graham Stanton observes, Matthew did not intend a distinction between home and abroad. For him 'all nations' meant not only the gentiles but also those Jews who still had not responded to the gospel.

At another level, the inadequacy, and even the danger, of using that interpretation of Matthew 28:18-20 for our time is inherent in the word 'heathens' used to translate the Greek word 'ethne'. Though the term itself has been dropped from modern translations of this text, its influence lingers. The term 'heathens' conjures up visions of unenlightened persons. These may then be seen as the objects of Christian mission, for heathens need to be saved from darkness, ignorance and sin. The term 'nation' on the other hand is a more positive word, because it denotes people with identifiable religious, social and political cultures whom God has created and loves in their ethnic particularity. However, many mission readings of Matthew 28:18 20 today still carry the influence of the term 'heathen' which clashes with modern understandings of 'ethne' as nations, and thus distorts the thrust of mission as the proclamation and practice of the good news. This was evident at a CWM meeting on mission at Seoul in 1991. When some Korean theologians spoke of 'reaching the unreached', Bishop Victor Premasagar, then Moderator of the Church of South India, retorted, 'This language of reaching the unreached sounds like God is fast asleep, and we are running around like busy bodies. God reached India centuries ago. Jesus Christ is a newcomer. How do we relate these two facts? That is the challenge for mission.'

Instead of trying to re-interpret Matthew 28:18-20, the mission statement of CWM begins with Acts 1:8. In this commission, Jesus says to his disciples, 'You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.' As a later CWM commentary on this mission statement says:

This text brings together four important emphases for setting out a biblical basis for world mission. (a) Mission is first and foremost God's mission in which the church is called to participate. The primary mover in the continuing mission of the Father through the Son is the Holy Spirit. (b) The disciples are empowered for mission. Mission requires courage. Basic to witnessing is the possibility of both suffering and rejection. A martyr is one who has accepted the cross as an inevitable part of witnessing (martureo) to Jesus. (c) The call to mission is not so much a commission as a promise: 'You will be my witnesses.' (d) The movement of mission is from Jerusalem to the end of the earth, from the local to the global.

In the statement, John 20:21-22 follows to reinforce the emphases in Acts 1:8. The Johannine commission uses the Greek cognate for 'mission', and roots mission in the work of the great missionary God rather than in a great missionary commission: 'As the Father has sent me, so send I you,' said Jesus. And he breathed on them, and said, 'Receive the Holy Spirit.' The great missionary God expresses his love for the world he has created by sending his Son, who reveals the character of that sending through his death on the cross. In the Gospel according to John, the glorification of the Son on the cross symbolizes God's self-giving love (cf. John 13:31, 17:1). To receive the Holy Spirit, and be missionaries in Christ's way, is to be caught up in the tremendous outpouring of God's love. To put it differently, it is the way of the Suffering Servant, who is the Lamb that is both slain and regnant (Revelations 5:6-10). The Lamb is the only and sufficient light in the Holy City which both attracts and illumines the nations (Revelations 21:22-27). Therefore, to be emissaries of the Lamb is to manifest that light which will come at the end of time. Such a task cannot be undertaken except in the way of the Suffering Servant, because missionaries are not soldiers. They are ambassadors who witness to God's reconciling work in Christ (2 Cor. 5:18f). In brief, we are called to be a blessing to the nations. We are not called to be a scourge to the gentiles.

This brief biblical basis for world mission, which could be developed into a full blown theology of mission, attempts to do four things. (a) It reflects the growing conviction in mission thinking that we are participants in God's mission and not in a mission of our own making. Consequently, we must not confuse the mission to which we are called with economic, mass media or even sectarian understandings of the world. We must differentiate between the values and concerns of the Kingdom of God and the modern equivalents of Christendom, such as the world market which propagates its own values based on greed and the logic of world economics. (b) It brings together the dual concerns of world mission, mission at home and mission abroad, to undergird multi-directional mission. We are both givers and receivers at the same time, and we need to learn from one another. (c) There is no place for arrogance or triumphalism in mission. The supreme model for mission is Jesus Christ himself, the Suffering Servant, the Lamb that is slain but regnant. (d) Mission is the receiving of a promise to receive the Holy Spirit who both guides and empowers us. In the words of Newbigin, 'Mission is not the carrying of a great burden but the overflowing of a great gift.'

IV. Some implications for the mission of the churches in Korea

I want to approach the matter of the implications of what has been said above to the work of Korean missions in a more personal way. As I worked through the early period of British Protestant missions, my mind went back to the time when I was involved in the thinking and writing of what later came to be known as Minjung theology. I wondered why an indigenous Korean understanding of the impact of the gospel on the lives of ordinary people, i.e., a Korean evangelical theology, had been jettisoned in favour of a second-hand Western evangelical theology. Is it that Korean Christians have suddenly lost their identity?

If Korean missions is to be authentic it must arise out of the soil of Korea. For this to happen, you must take far more seriously than you do now, Korean church history and Korean Christian reflections, especially those of the poor, the Minjung, who after all are God's chosen people. Koreans are beautiful people created by God with a culture and history. You were not originally heathens and now something different. God loved you as you were, gave you a culture and history, and has redeemed you in Jesus Christ to be Korean children of God. The gospel story to which you are called to witness is the way in which the gospel has impacted on your lives, culture and history. As I urge you to do this, I want to remind you of the sage advice of a great Asian theologian, M. M. Thomas, who spoke with special reference to India. He said, 'Indian theology must be judged in the light of the mission of the Church in India, and need not be brought to any other court of judgment.'

When you rediscover your own Korean cultural and Korean Christian roots, you will find that you have two important contributions to make to world mission. First, your heritage has its own explications of the role of the Suffering Servant in Korean history. This should be the foundation of an authentic Korean mission for which the suffering world longs. Second, Korean Christian faith, unlike the 'ghetto faiths' of many other Asians, bears witness to the ways in which Korean Christians, moved by their deep faith in Jesus Christ as the Suffering Messiah, joined other Koreans to resist historical forces of injustice that were denying Korean people of life, justice and dignity. This happened in 1896 during the Donghak Revolution and then again in 1919 in the March 1st Independence Movement, and then still again in the 1970s and 1980s to overthrow dictatorship and to bring in democracy. Today, the reunification of Korea is in your prayers and mission concerns at home. I would see these involvements on the same level as the evangelical and pietistic commitment of missionaries such as William Carey.

Clearly, the commitment to world mission of the Korean churches cannot be limited to Korea. It also needs to be expressed internationally, because the Korean church is part of the world church. It is at this point that we need to take into account the demands of mutuality in mission.

1. True world mission must be willing not only to give but also to receive. There needs to be authentic sharing and dialogue. For this to happen, we must first be willing to learn from others. A Pacific project on world mission, 'God's Pacific People', puts it this way: 'We want to cross over to the other side to learn from their culture and share the gospel with them.'

Are the Korean churches willing to receive from others and learn from others, especially the poor and less powerful, to whom you are sent in mission?

2. World mission has to do with the crossing of a frontier. Geographical frontiers today are crossed more easily and with less hazards than before. Those that pose a real challenge today are (a) the frontier of religious cultures which define a people and (b) the frontier of power. To cross these frontiers in a missiological sense is not to eradicate them or behave as if they do not exist. Rather, to cross a frontier is to go over to the other side and belong to those on the other side. Only the acceptance of the mission of the Suffering Servant, i.e., mission in Christ's way, and a theology of kenosis or self emptying, will enable us to cross a frontier.

Are the Korean churches willing to enter into partnerships which will enable the crossing of frontiers?

3. Mutuality means not only the willingness to respect and belong to those on the other side, it also is a willingness to respect all resources for mission and share all resources for mission. To do this, CWM works with a firm principle. When a church sends a missionary it is the receiving church that must pay the salary. In this way it separates personnel resources from financial resources. When a local church is unable to pay for the total upkeep of a missionary, the common resources of CWM top up the local contribution. To illustrate, should a missionary from the Presbyterian Church of Korea go as a missionary through CWM to Bangladesh, it is the Church of Bangladesh that is responsible for maintaining the missionary.

Consequently, because personnel resources are free of the burden of finding financial resources, there are many South to South movements between the churches in CWM; and many of these, like the early missionaries, are artisans and craftsmen. For instance, the Church of South India has sent carpenters with machines and technology to work and witness together with the people in Kiribati in the Pacific.

Will the Korean churches be willing to place their financial resources in a common pool to which all may have access, so that you may indeed be free to follow in the foot steps of the Suffering Servant, Jesus Christ Our Lord and Saviour? In a word, are you willing to give up you control over Korean financial power?

Only when you face and answer all these questions will you indeed be ready for real world mission.

You have the theological and spiritual resources to be a blessing to the nations. Others in the World Church are willing to enter into partnerships with you, so that you may not be outsiders, but belong to a community of churches in mission who proclaim and practise in Christ's way, through the power of the Holy Spirit, the good news of what God has done for us in Jesus Christ. 


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Modern and Postmodern Forms of Unbelief

God’s Funeral

By A. N. Wilson. Norton, 402 pp.



From the vantage point of this postmodern time, A. N. Wilson surveys the modern, or Enlightenment, era. In a long series of captivating thumbnail biographical sketches, he documents both the force of the modern mind’s attack on religion and the grief that accompanied it as people lamented losing the aesthetic and moral dimensions of faith. Wilson provides vignettes of almost 40 skeptics or atheists, most of whom were unable to exorcise religion completely from their minds and psyches.

Consider George Eliot (1819-1880), the great novelist who wrote Middlemarch and Adam Bede and who espoused both free thought and free love in Victorian London. She distanced herself from her pious family when, as a precocious teenager, she renounced the church on the grounds that its scriptures were fictitious and its doctrines "most dishonorable to God and most pernicious in their influence." Yet the impact of David Friedrich Strauss’s Life of Jesus (which she translated) sickened Eliot. her friend Cara Bray reports, "It made her ill dissecting the beautiful story of the crucifixion, and only the sight of her Christ-image and picture [a cast of Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen’s risen Christ, and an engraving] made her endure it." She went on to imbibe (and translate into English) Ludwig Feuerbach’s philosophical view that the idea of God is nothing but the projection of true humanity.

When Eliot’s life-partner, publisher George Henry Lewes, died in 1878, Eliot immersed herself in "In Memoriam," the poem by her friend Alfred Lord Tennyson. Apparently she was comforted by the poet’s testimony to a faith that was strong enough to weather the onslaughts of religious doubt and death itself. In Eliot, and in figures such as John Stuart Mill, Thomas Carlyle and Algernon Charles Swinburne, Wilson discovers something akin to what Schubert Ogden called the "strange witness of unbelief."

Wilson’s book about the Enlightenment assault on belief appears at a time when, in the world of academic theology, the Enlightenment is in eclipse. The Enlightenment is white, male, European and rationalist, and is regarded as a key agent in perpetrating imperialism, colonialism, racism and the exploitation of the natural environment, The Enlightenment view assumes that we can possess knowledge based on publicly recognized fundamental principles that enable us to engage the world as an object of investigation.

Today’s theological circles reject this viewpoint, arguing that we know ourselves to be diverse people with diverse ways of seeing. Since we are whole persons, embodied minds, we do not refer to ourselves as rationalists, and since we are clearly "socially located" persons, we cannot claim that our principles are either fundamental or universal. Furthermore, we believe that to espouse the so-called subject-object dichotomy, a hallmark of Enlightenment thinking, is to distort and pervert the quest for knowledge and truth. Because the world and its people are plural, whatever knowledge we claim is pluralistic -- some even call it relativistic. We are postmodern, post-foundational and postliberal.

Though we are often unclear about our own identities, these arguments help us to distinguish ourselves from the modernism that shaped the figures Wilson examines. And theologians are not the only ones who see things this way: humanities teachers, especially of literature and philosophy, have led the way in theorizing about our post-Enlightenment identity.

I know the theological world I’ve just described. But I also know the world of science. I edit a religion-and-science journal which brings many manuscripts and reviews across my desk. In that capacity I encounter quite different attitudes toward the Enlightenment -- ones that would be more recognizable to Wilson’s protagonists. Scholars in this arena tend to hold up the Enlightenment as a model, as the beginning of a new era of history that has changed forever our understanding of our world and of ourselves. The Enlightenment was the first episode of a movement that constitutes one of the greatest achievements of the human spirit. For many scientists there is no greater accolade than being recognized as one who stands in the Enlightenment tradition.

Unlike other theologians and philosophers, those who work in the area of religion and science regard "postmodern" studies as worthwhile only as a sign of modernity’s maturing critical spilt, not as an alternative to modernity. Most often, however, they dismiss anti-Enlightenment ideas that come out of humanities departments as erudite lunacy -- the enemy of the quest for truth.

Those on each side of the debate view themselves as participating in a movement of liberation. The postmoderns consider the Enlightenment as the progenitor of nearly every intellectual and moral defect of our time. They think of emancipation from its subject-object dualisms and the hegemonies these spawn (humans over nature, men over women, and the West over the rest of the world) as liberation indeed.

But those who take opposing views also count themselves as agents of liberation. Listen to Steven Weinberg, National Medal of Science recipient and Nobel laureate in physics, speaking to the American Association for the Advancement of Science last year: "One of the great achievements of science has been, if not to make it impossible for intelligent people to be religious, then at least to make it possible for them not to be religious. We should not retreat from this accomplishment" (New York Review of Books, October 21, 1999). Weinberg echoes almost word for word the 18th-and 19th-century views documented in Wilson’s book.

At least this much seems clear about the movement that led -- at least for some European intellectuals -- to God’s funeral: Modernity is not as dead as its foes would assert. For millions of educated people throughout the world, its basic tenets serve as the most viable philosophy for living and thinking. The agnosticism and atheism of Wilson’s key figures -- David Hume, Edward Gibbons, Algernon Swinburne, Samuel Butler and Karl Marx -- still shape our worldviews. Many people would echo Weinberg’s judgment: "V~ith or without religion, good people can behave well and bad people can do evil; but for good people to do evil -- that takes religion."

Some Christians also identify with the critical modern spilt and its intellectual trajectory. They offer no comfort to church leaders or to many of their fellow Christians. Many of them propose significant reforms and reformulations of traditional Christianity -- reforms that find few followers. They urge a radical reassessment of the authority of scripture and the submission of doctrine to the canons of scientific reason. For these theological moderns, the credibility of faith is at stake. However, their calls to render traditional faith consonant with the spirit of modernity appear to their critics as intolerable reductions of the faith.

Many of modernity’s leading postmodern critics are no less agnostic than are its supporters, nor are they necessarily any more well disposed toward religion. The essence of their analysis of religion has been set forth many times. Anthropologist Clifford Geertz termed religion a construction that "clothes" its symbols with "such an aura of factuality that they seem realistic." Marjorie Garber, in her Freudian interpretation of culture, includes religion as a dream that "encodes wishes and fears, projections and identification." Cultural critic Neal Gabler notes that religion, like every other aspect of our culture, is part of a "collectively scripted text" that has transformed itself into entertainment.

Though these commentators do not launch a diatribe against religion, they insist that religion’s truth claims must be reduced. For different reasons and with different meanings, both the postmoderns and the moderns agree with archatheist Richard Dawkins that "religion and theology are not about anything that is real." The believer is reduced to a role similar to that played by Jim Carrey in the film The Truman Show, in which all of life is transmuted into the postreality of entertainment.

Some Christians, among them some theologians, breathe this air of postreality. Like those who hold Enlightenment views, they offer proposals for reforming and reformulating the traditional faith. Most church leaders, however, do not agree that scripture and creed are collectively scripted texts that offer a "manufactured reality" (to use Daniel Boorstin’s phrase), nor are most regular churchgoers prepared to engage such a notion. The revision of church doctrine along deconstructionist lines is hardly imminent, though some academics in the field of religion might wish it.

Wilson has provided an engaging account of a major intellectual and spiritual conflict that has dominated the Western world for more than 200 years. His story throws light on our own entry into a fourth century of Enlightenment-influenced struggle -- a struggle that has changed significantly in our time. Although modernity flourishes among the intelligentsia, there now is a strong, equally secular postmodern -- or even antimodern----counterforce that was not present in the previous "enlightened" centuries. In addition, the influence of popular antimodern forces is growing, particularly in the evangelical world, whose orientation is better described as pre-rather than postmodern.

Though religion faces intellectual attack from both moderns and postmoderns, some avenues for belief remain open. Wilson himself focuses on two options that thrived during the modern period: liberal Protestantism and Catholic modernism. Protestants attempted to bring the Enlightenment into the Christian citadel. Catholic modernists, believing that religion is a greater mystery than reason can comprehend, accepted the Enlightenment’s intellectual indictments of religious dogma, traditional interpretations of scripture, and church history but held onto the church’s ritual and symbols.

Liberal Protestants are still with us as a small but solid constituency. And though Catholic modernism arose in response to the Enlightenment, it may prove to be even more appropriate for postmodern believers. Both of these responses are intellectually rigorous, both in their grappling with the spirit of our age and in their counterproposals.

Wilson himself, in a coda that may strike the reader as either poignant or sentimental, points to a third position that neither the liberal Protestants nor the Catholic modernists will find acceptable. He suggests that "the intelligent church-going population" can survive with a kind of English "muddle through" strategy. How many churchgoers really believe, as matter of historical fact, that Jesus instituted the mass?, he asks. "Or would they stop going to church if they thought He hadn’t? How many really believe in hell?"

Wilson points to the influence of contemporary religious believers: Simone Weil, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Martin Luther King Jr. and John Paul II. Such people have set the tone for a viable religious faith by simply deciding "to ignore the death of God." Wilson may be corroborating sociologist Peter Berger’s contention, made some months ago in these pages, that a vital religious life can indeed be built on modern [and post-modern?] skepticism" and characterized by intellectual uncertainty, weak institutions, and the Reformation principle of "faith alone" ("Protestantism and the quest for certainty," August 26-September 2, 1998).

I wonder. "Muddling through" is not a reasoned response to intellectual challenges. On the contrary, its abdication from the realm of the mind can make it seem another form of fideism. But these reservations apparently cannot deny the viability of such a faith -- hesitant and unsure of itself but nevertheless faith.

Perhaps a genuine, unflinching intellectual engagement between faith and its modern and postmodern alternatives is possible. If it is not, Christians may indeed simply have to follow the lead of our recent saints and decide to ignore the death of God.

Stories Science Tells: Defining the Human Quest

Near the end of PBS's recent series The Human Quest, we look over a Southwestern Chaco Canyon landscape that contains the ruins of the extinct civilization of the Anasazi while listening to Nobel physicist Murray Cell-Mann, director of the Santa Fe Institute, comment on this 12th-century culture as a failed adaptive system. As the camera moves to a long shot of the valley and the soundtrack fills with the beat of drums, the mournful music of a flute and the hum of insects, a muscular young man in shorts appears rapidly advancing toward us - a long-distance runner. The narrator speaks: "It's easy to assume that evolution has peaked with the creation of humans, as if we've broken some imaginary winner's tape. But evolution is an ongoing process, the race is never won. We're always being judged by the forces of natural selection, and we have no more guarantees than the people whose ghosts haunt the ruins of Chaco."

This scene captures the view of human being that gives coherence to The Human Quest: scientific understanding is both exciting and necessary; human cultures are vulnerable systems whose survival is threatened, in the face of which threat we seek moral values embedded within our scientific knowledge. The interweaving of the scientific quest with the search for moral resources that will help us confront threats to human survival makes this four-hour series more than just a glimpse of cuffing-edge research. The science is presented with breathtaking appeal; the moral concern is uttered with breathless earnestness. But it is the daring with which the interweaving is carried out that gives the series a sense of weight and urgency.

The gaping holes that appear in the final woven fabric remind us of how far we have yet to go in integrating knowledge and values. These holes bear even more telling witness to the absence of religious faith from our society's struggle to enlist both science and moral wisdom in efforts to resolve today's most pressing issues.

The science examined in the program occurs at the dauntingly complex intersection of the neurosciences, psychology, human behavioral ecology (sometimes called "sociobiology"), linguistics, human development, anthropology, the sciences of complexity and chaos, and the philosophy that attempts to interpret these disciplines. Roger Bingham, creator and host of the venture, is an experienced guide. One of his earlier television efforts, The Addicted Brain, was an exceptionally well-done piece that also brought together science and social commentary in a way that spurred deeper reflection.

The Quest's social commentary and moral concern are elicited by several recent developments: Cultural diversity threatens the human community with disintegration. Violence disrupts social cohesion, and cultural systems are frequently dysfunctional in their interactions with larger environments, including natural ecosystems. Beyond all these developments, though, is the challenge presented to our understanding of self and its place in the world by the cognitive sciences. This challenge impinges immediately upon our understanding of the mind and spirituality. If nothing else, The Human Quest provides a checklist of some of the most urgent questions of the day.

Let us return to the highly evolved runner amid the Anasazi ruins and the question of natural selection. The key to this view of human being lies in what Bingham calls the "second Darwinian revolution," through which we have learned that evolution shapes not only our bodies but also our minds. Important concepts are at work here that rely heavily on an emerging new interdisciplinary science that goes under the name evolutionary psychology, among whose leading thinkers are Leda Cosmides and John Tooby (they edited, along with John Barkow, The Adapted Mind, an important text for the field). Robert Wright popularized this new science in his 1994 book The Moral Animal. Combined with sociobiology, the explanatory potential of evolutionary psychology is enormous. It provides the foundation for the now widely accepted hypothesis that human development can be viewed in terms of biocultural evolution.

Adaptation is a key concept for Bingham's evolutionary scenario, and the term has a distinct meaning: adaptation is a survival strategy. It is actually a bundle of such strategies -- behavioral responses that serve the survival of culture and which are transmitted via the evolutionary process. Growing specific foods in certain ways and preparing them in certain ways are examples of adaptations that are selected for and possibly bequeathed to later generations.

These adaptations are cultural phenomena, and hence they are significant activities of the brain. The brain maps the world and makes the connections out of which adaptations emerge and take form. The most important cultural adaptations were forged in the preagricultural Stone Age, the Pleistocene (extending from 10,000 to 1.5 million years ago). Our brains were "road-tested in the Stone Age," quips the narrator.

This view, dubbed by its critics "Pleistocentrism," is the basis for two of the most important ideas advanced in the series, both of which illustrate Bingharn's skill in blending science, social commentary and moral sensitivity. The first is expressed in two hon mots: we "live in the space age with Stone-Age brains"; and we are "hunter-gatherers in pinstripe suits" Both sayings affirm that we were not designed to be alone, our brains evolved as social brains; but at the same time they indicate that this social brain still bears traces of having evolved in the context of surviving in a Stone Age world. It was in this period that our culture started developing as an evolutionary "fast track" that loosens our ties with the physical environment in the sense that we become able to shape the environment to our wishes.

Half a century ago, before others were speaking of such things, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin understood this to be a central dilemma of our existence (and he even traced it back to the Stone Age). For Teilhard the problem was not simply that technological development outstrips our philosophical understanding and moral codes. More significantly, our mind's repertoire of responses to the world consists of leftover adaptations to worlds that no longer exist. In order for humans to cope with the space age -- Stone Age gap, an inner reorientation is required. According to Bingham, scientific understandings will empower this reorientation. Science is, in his turn of phrase, "the owner's manual for the social brain in post -- Stone Age suburbia."

The series' second major idea is that the Stone Age adaptations bequeathed to us a shared human nature that is fundamental to both our scientific understanding and our sense of moral challenge. The idea of a universal, shared human nature receives more attention in The Human Quest than does any other. It is passi6nately elaborated in some of the program's most moving segments, and is also the subject of its most fervent homilies. Indeed, what might in current philosophical jargon be termed an (outdated) Enlightenment justification of universals appears in Quest as the centerpiece of a postmodern cognitive scientific understanding of the brain. According to the postmodern perspective, the brain is a congeries of computation patterns constructed by evolution; in turn the brain constructs its world in ways that require a sense of complexity and chaos if it is to be properly understood. Perhaps only a postmodern sensibility that routinely takes apparent contradictions in stride can appreciate how a thoroughly constructivist brain is grounded in the universals of human nature.

What makes the appearance of universals in a socially constructed post -- Stone Age world so notable? The short answer is human conflict, violence and our habit of dividing our worlds into the realms of"us" and "them."

In a characteristically earnest segment, Emory University anthropologist Melvin Konner articulates what is perhaps the central thesis, of the series when he speaks of the interplay of universals and particulars. Both are basic building-blocks of human nature, but it is in universals that human cooperation and solidarity are grounded. Fashioned in the adaptations of our Pleistocene forebears, these universals include the development of language, mother-infant relationships, object permanence, altruism, formations of us-versus-them coalitions, facial expressiveness, and a great deal more. Konner challenges us to recognize that this common human nature is truly "us," and that it possesses both the adaptations that can destroy us and those that can serve as the basis for cooperation. Our task is to recognize weaknesses bequeathed to us from the past and to minimize them, and conversely to maximize the strengths that are our legacy from the Stone Age. We must turn down adaptations that make for violence, while building up those that enable us to be altruistic.

Konner maintains that the traditions in U.S. society tend to focus on openness -- limitless possibilities -- so much that commonly shared constraints are largely ignored. Until now, it is true, we have been able to get by, and quite well too, without taking seriously the Darwinian truth about constraints to human nature. We have reached the time, however, when "we must deal with Darwin," according to Konner. Aggression and reciprocity are equally etched in our brains, but scientifically informed moral sensitivity can reprogram useless or harmful adaptations for cooperation rather than violence.

Science, in other words, tells stories that make sense, just as ancient myths did. These scientific stories have the potential to transform our view of ourselves and of our world, and in this transformation, Konner believes, lie the seeds of any constructive response to moral challenges that may determine whether our species survives.

A third basic idea Bingham presents is an intricate concept of consciousness and the self. He spells out the neuroscientific view of our brains as a dynamic network of 100 billion neurons capable of 100 trillion different connections -- a number larger than that of the elementary particles in the universe. The brain's neurons, in this fantastic, complex process of computation, put together representations that we call images and "real things," whether they be tastes, smells, sights, faces or whatever. Our brain is a bundle of computational patterns. Patricia Churchland, one of the leading (and most reductionistic) neurophilosophers at work today, makes an analogy to electricity -- electrons dancing along a wire. For Churchland, consciousness and our representations of the world are "patterns of activity across a population of neurons" -- the patterns being those computations carried out within our brain.

Areas that were once consigned to "metaphysics" are subsumed within activities of the brain. People of all times and places have reported states of consciousness that transcend ordinary experience, in which past and future disappear into a constant "now." These experiences constitute the "farther reaches of human nature," and have prompted us to use religious-philosophical terms like soul and immortality in an attempt to account for them. Churchland speaks of how we used ideas of demon-possession in earlier eras to account for what we now know to be infections by pathogenic germs. Just as Galileo's scientific breakthroughs displaced geocentric cosmology, so, she believes, the neurosciences will displace our traditional ways of accounting for consciousness, and these sciences will bring us "face to face with ourselves."

The ambiguity of Bingham's project is most evident when it moves into regions traditionally associated with philosophy and theology. The scientific description and interpretation are exciting and, for the most part accurate. This care and accuracy in one area goes hand in hand, however with simplism and downright sloppiness in others. The material I have just described, from transcendent states of consciousness to Galileo, appears in a continuous series of discussions lasting five minutes. Nowhere does Bingham give careful attention to how soul and immortality have actually been used by religious communities, nor does he admit explicitly that Churchland's remarks on germs versus demons and the pitting of Ptolemy against Galileo amounts to saying that religious terms are comparable to pre-Copernican astronomical theories. But viewers are certainly invited to draw such conclusions.

By invoking the memory of Galileo's struggle with the church in the same breath with the "revolutions in science" associated with Newton, Darwin and Einstein and the claim that science transforms our self-understanding, the writers fall into a stereotype about the warfare between science and religious faith and they exhibit a 19th-century common belief that science will displace religion. When Bingham intones these views in the mellow voice of a devoted father reading bedtime stories the effect is really quite pernicious, even though one suspects that the errors are born principally of naivety.

In The Quest's final segment, science and myth are introduced as alternative ways in which our brain seeks explanations. The lineage of scientific explanations discussed in the episode runs from Newton through Darwin, Einstein, chaos theory and, most recently, Murray Cell-Mann, whose Santa Fe Institute devotes itself to the sciences of complexity. The Institute's proximity to the ruins of the Anasazi civilization provides an appropriate setting for the program's serious and admiring reflection on the successes of past societies to function as complex adaptive systems within their environments.

Commentators readily admit that what were once called "primitive" societies frequently were able to adapt in ways that surpass modern technology-driven social planning. Balinese rice farmers governed crop cultivation by the wisdom of the traditional water-temple system. When innovations of modern planned agriculture threatened to ruin the rice farmers, anthropologists came to understand that at work implicitly within traditional wisdom were chaos theories and complex adaptive systems. The program's lesson is clear: unless societies prove to be adequate complex adaptive systems vis-vis their actual environments, the societies will become as extinct as the Anasan.

Laudably, and perhaps surprising to some, the makers of this documentary understand that a key factor in any society's struggle to maintain adequate complex adaptive systems, ours included, is the stories that we tell. Myth may have produced the stories of yore, but science can give us new and, according to The Human Quest, presumably better stories. Evolution may not have engineered our brains to know everything, but science has widened our knowledge through its stories -- Big Bang cosmology writes the scientific story of creation, chemistry writes the story of origins, biology writes the evolutionary epic, neuroscience provides the tales of the mind, and complexity sciences are producing still newer stories that cross traditional disciplinary lines.

In a strange cut by the editor, a conversation with philosopher Philip Kitchner is inserted in the middle of this set of reflections. He asserts that since cultural diversity is to be welcomed and each culture's gifts are to be acknowledged, our Western culture should be given credit for representing the world accurately "in a way that no other culture has ever come close to." Sometimes there are "right answers, and sometimes certain groups of people in the world achieve those right answers." To deny this quality of science is to "lapse into know-nothing relativism," Kitchner insists. This monologue is skillfully written, and even though it may have been conceived with political correctness in mind, it makes a very important and discussable point. Its context within the series, however, tends to paint it with the shades of sheer Western cultural chauvinism.

No single culture is superior to any other, Kitchner asserts, but the different cultures make different universally adequate contributions. Western culture's contribution is the right answers of science. "We have better stories now," Bingham intones against a musical background that includes "Hallelujah" chorales. "Science is not an assault on the human spirit, but an expression of the human spirit. " Science explains the world and the self better than any predecessor method, "and yet it has preserved our sense of awe and mystery."

Once again, a group of runners appears on the screen through overlays depicting awesome natural scenes. "To explain is not to explain away." Science preserves a kind of "workaday holiness" that leads some scientists to speak of God in Einstein's Spinozistic overtones. Bingham tells viewers that Einstein saw God in the order and harmony of nature. Before we turn off the lights and go to sleep, Bingham's final soothing words tell us that Einstein's insight offers the best definition of science: the "search for the order and harmony of what exists," and "perhaps that is the ultimate human quest." If we recall Kitchner's hortatory words spoken just five minutes before, we can go to our dreams knowing that this is what our very own culture does better than any other -- it defines the ultimate human quest.

This video series represents some of the best and most sensitive popular discussion of cutting-edge science available. I cannot imagine anyone who would not be enriched and challenged by this documentary. I would go further to say that this series provides a benchmark of the minimal scientific knowledge all informed persons should possess. Even more, these programs describe what I think are the single most relevant set of current scientific ideas for understanding human life and interpreting religious faith today.

Although I have underscored some of the spongier moments in The Human Quest, the series includes a number of hard-headed discussions that are unusual in broaching and taking stands on extremely controversial matters. I've already alluded to the most striking: that universals are as important as particulars; that there is a common human nature, and it is a precious treasure bequeathed to us by evolution; that peace and cooperation are grounded in this commonality; that scientific stories about human nature that appear to be reductionistic do not demean the human spirit; that science does provide nontrivial "right answers" to a number of questions, and they ought not be sacrificed on the altar of relativism and multiculturalism; that the particular cultures that contributed these scientific answers should be acknowledged within the multicultural human community. Underlying the entire presentation is the well-placed assumption that the "is" described by science coexists very snugly with the "ought" that ethics describes and morality lives by.

The largest hole in this wholistic interpretation of the human situation is the absence of any attention to the moral and religious traditions that have emerged, died away or persisted within the very evolutionary process that the series purports to describe. Bingham is on target in arguing that culture constitutes the fast track of evolutionary development -- a track governed by basic evolutionary dynamics, including the "nature bats last" factor of natural selection. He is equally incisive in realizing that the engine of culture is driven on its evolutionary track by the stories that human beings construct. It's strange that such an insightful commentator should also be simplistic and careless. In this Bingham also represents the dilemma of many of culture's brightest intellectuals.

It is easiest to critique Bingham by chiding him for ignoring the great stories that have been told over the millennia by Socrates and Aristotle, Moses and Jesus, Muhammad and Siddhartha, the Gitas and the Tao -- all of which have nontrivial implications for the process of cultural evolution. Furthermore, religious communities and theologians, although they are often not up to Bingham's level of discourse, have not remained utterly silent on the issues he raises. The Common Creation Story offered by the sciences is an object of intense scrutiny by theologians as diverse as Gordon Kaufman, Sallie McFague, Wolfhart Pannenherg, Langdon Gilkey, Ian Barbour, Arthur Peacocke, Nancey Murphy, Robert John Russell and John Polkinghorne, to mention only the most prominent names. Symposia have been presented at the annual meetings of the American Association for the Advancement of Science for ten years running on the intersection of cultural evolution and religion. At least two academic journals, Zygon: Journal of Religion and Science and the Bulletin of the Center for Theology and the Natural Sciences at Berkeley, give regular attention to the kinds of questions that interest Bingham in this series. Bingham and his producers should know this.

One might also mention that Ralph Wendell Burhoe was awarded the 1980 Templeton Prize for Progress in Religion for his theological interpretation of precisely the concepts of culture and its consequences discussed by Bingham, including the issues of cooperation in the face of the us-versus-them tendency, even though Burhoe's work antedated the emergence of the sciences of chaos and complexity. Burhoe's point is that if cultural evolution is the subject for discussion, then the religious traditions whose wisdom has survived millennia of selective pressures can be left out of the discussion only at the cost of scientific adequacy and competency.

The Human Quest seems to rest on the slightly veiled assumption that religious traditions are among those human adaptations that, according to science, the evolutionary process has selected against. This is clearly not the case. Religious stories continue to be powerful engines of meaning for billions of persons around the world, as they have been for millennia. Those who produced The Human Quest should have been challenged to include an explanation from the cognitive and neurosciences of how and why this is so.

Is the story of the long-distance runner eternally running culture's fast track (or at least until our star reaches the end of its evolutionary run) in the quest for greater order and harmony the most adequate one available? It is indeed a noble story, reminiscent of ancient Stoicism and of Buddhism, although more optimistic than both, and it calls to mind Aristotle as well. The series, in effect, is an argument in favor of these stories, albeit on different grounds -- scientific rather than religious or philosophical -- though Bingham appears not to know this. Is science the only source of adequate stories? Others exist. Jews and Christians have just observed Passover and Good Friday and Easter -- different stories that also deserve to be tested in the discussion of evolutionary psychology and complexity. If the human quest is reduced to electrons dancing along wires and computational patterns crossing a population of neurons, does such a "story" justify even caring whether our society attains the success of a complex adaptive system? Does anything about the story of the running track and the computational machine compel us to conclude that the track and the machine should survive as long as possible? Traditional concepts of "soul" and "immortality" have more to do with these sorts of "big questions" than Bingham is willing to admit. (For Bingham the traditional concepts of religion are principally about subjective experience -- and ecstatic experience at that.)

And I suppose at this point I must point out what should be common knowledge: If secular thinkers believe they can take the measure of traditional moral and religious concepts with the callow judgment that they are comparable to geocentrism, they are simply mistaken. To be ignorant of this is as serious as being ignorant of basic neuroscience.

The flip side of such questions presents challenges to religious and theological communities. What is it about our stories that should be taken seriously by those who advance theories of moral behavior as a product of evolution, or those who regard consciousness and selfhood as congeries of computational patterns constructed by neurons? What is it about our theology or our preaching that would give Bingham the idea that religious stories count for something that is significant for a creature that aims at adaptation and survival? How often are religious stories interpreted with a view to the conceptual and moral ambience that marks The Human Quest?

Certainly the message of Christianity, as well as the world's other religions, aims to make a difference for the Stone Age people who inhabit our space-age pews and the streets beyond. Ignorance of the space-age world in which the message takes shape is not justified by the low religious-knowledge quotient of commentators such as Roger Bingham. Nor can religious communities justifiably resist the reinterpretation of basic doctrines that may be required if the power and freshness of their message is to grow in the soil of new scientific understandings.

Bingham and most religious communities do share one basic attitude toward their stories -- that they are equivalent to "right answers." How do both parties respond to a postmodern temper that may well embrace both science and traditional religion while denying that either offers us right answers? We would do well to listen to voices like that of Northwestern University anthropologist William Irons, a friendly critic of paleocentrism, who looks for a dramatic reconceptualizing of both science and religion under the impact of current ways of thinking.

Bingham and his PBS series represent the best and brightest of Western scientific intelligence today. His challenge to communities of religious faith is to acknowledge and take the measure of that intelligence, while at the same time fashioning a constructive critique that can raise the standards by which we assess what qualifies as the best and brightest.


Apology For The Hireling: A Work Ethic For the Global Marketplace

On Good Shepherd Sunday, which points our attention to John 10, my attention is usually focused on the Shepherd himself, occasionally and less piously so on the sheep and their implications for a theology of the laity. Recently, however, I was forced to consider the hireling who, when he sees the wolf coming, abandons the sheep and runs away.

Perhaps it was the new translation that caught my attention, for the explanation of the hireling's irresponsible behavior is not the customary "because he is a hireling," but the more informative and provocative "because he works for wages" (10:13). Were there any families in the parish, I wondered, whose living didn't depend on wages and salaries? Were we, wage earners and salaried employees, really any different from the hireling?

In the sermon the pastor quickly picked up on the Gospel's view of the hireling, contrasting the things we do for money with what we do for love. An edifying point, no doubt, and always timely. But on this occasion it came across as yet another sign of the clergy's inability to imagine -- let alone speak a word of comfort and challenge to -- what most Christians do from one Sunday to the next. On most days most of us are cast in the role of hirelings. We work for pay; exploiting various dimensions of our creativity and struggling to achieve the self-discipline necessary for effective interaction within an organization. Such efforts may be rewarded with personal and corporate success. They can also bring no end of frustration, as well as the temptations.

The suspicion grows that the clergy's ambivalence, if not indifference, to what we do for a living stems less from evangelical zeal than from the unacknowledged sway of aristocratic values, canonized by the classical philosophers. Aristotle, for example, was sympathetic to the landed aristocracy -- who appropriate for themselves the lion's share of nature's bounty -- and hostile to merchants, who earn a living by exploiting the "unnatural" fecundity of money in the marketplace. Such aristocratic biases may do more to illuminate the disparagement of the hireling in John's Gospel than any sayings that can be linked to Jesus of Nazareth. For if it is hard to imagine the historical Jesus referring to himself as the Good Shepherd, it is just as difficult to think of him puffing down the hireling, who -- as biblical scholar John Dominic Crossan has reminded us -- is the sort of destitute person destined to inherit the kingdom of God

The first obstacle to constructing a theology of paid employment is thus the tacit assumptions governing Christianity's traditional teachings regarding business and economics. If your pastor, like mine, seems indifferent to what you do for a living, he or she stands in good company. A number of Christian theologians and ethicists have mistaken the Bible's understandable agnosticism about modern economics for some sort of countercultural radicalism.

When was the last time you heard about the Protestant work ethic in church? Its theological affirmation of our worldly vocations these days tends to get dismissed as "old hat." Measured by the churches' utopian aspirations for global justice, the work ethic is regarded as more a part of the problem than part of the solution. The message seems clear: We have enriched ourselves by impoverishing the poor. The Protestant work ethic thus is but the most pernicious expression of the Western will toward economic domination.

The only way to counter such attitude is to draw a sharper and more accurate contrast between the economic logic of our own world and that of Jesus' day. A good place to start is by understanding, as Crossan does, Jesus' world as an agrarian or peasant society in contrast to our modem industrial society. The peasant economy presupposed in the teachings of Jesus is not a capitalist economy. Judged by modem standards, it is no economy at all.

In the peasant economy, market transactions or, if you will, economic relations are socially imbedded. By contrast, the economy of modem Western capitalism seems to function autonomously. In textbook treatments of capitalism, the perennial questions -- what to produce, how much to produce and how to produce it -- are decided in markets, regulated or unregulated, where the cumulative decisions of countless buyers and sellers, seeking an agreement on prices, determine the answers. In a peasant society these same questions come down to one, ultimately political, question: how to allocate the harvest. The answer may be reflected in the marketplace, but it is determined by one's place in the status hierarchy -- by one's social relationship to one of the patronal households.

Working for wages, in short, is the exception in a peasant society; with us, it is the rule. In the world that Jesus knew, day laborers worked for wages because, for whatever reason, they had lost their access to the patronage system that gave them a share in the harvest. A hireling worked for wages because all other means of obtaining subsistence had been denied him.

If a theology of work or paid employment cannot be directly inferred from Jesus' casual observations on the economy of a peasant society, where can we turn for assistance? The fashionably despised Protestant work ethic may still be useful. It rests upon that new and revolutionary vision that became part of our common Christian inheritance through the Reformation. The Protestant work ethic -- now more honored, ironically enough, in Catholic social teaching than it is among mainline Protestants -- developed Luther's liberating insight into the universal significance of Christian vocation within a Calvinist reading of the biblical tradition of covenant. It was encoded in an expansive and this-worldly notion of stewardship that, as Max Weber demonstrated, was indispensable to the development of modem Western capitalism.

As Weber predicted, the very success of the Protestant work ethic triggered the disruptive processes of modernization, which seem to have locked some groups into poverty while substantially improving the quality of life for many others. While the world did not have to become Protestant to gain access to the global marketplace that Western capitalism created, local cultures were placed under extreme pressure and forced to adapt themselves according to the relentless logic of comparative 'advantage. Some cultures have demonstrated a greater aptitude for this than others. American Catholicism, for example, may have developed a superior capacity for corporate success -- both in business and in other large-scale organizations -- by adapting the church's premodern and patriarchal ethic of solidarity to the disciplines of modern industrialization; but the Catholicism so created is hardly the same as that which the immigrants left behind, along with much of the rest of Europe's agrarian past. There is continuity, of course; but it has been achieved at the expense of inherited cultural identities. American Catholics, as well as Protestants, may now work for wages; but they have long since ceased being hirelings in a biblical sense

In embarrassment the churches have lapsed into silence about the Protestant work ethic. This is unfortunate for a number of reasons. Among other things, it has hidden from the laity the only theological perspective from which they can make sense of what they do from 9 to 5.

But any theological rehabilitation of the work ethic must acknowledge the new global context of paid employment. Good, steady jobs can no longer be taken for granted. Polls show that better than 40 percent of the labor force are seriously worried about the threat of unemployment. How can any sort of motivation to work -- religious, moral or otherwise -- be sustained at this level of anxiety? Can employee loyalty be anything more than a cruel hoax, if the "good corporation" is dead? Given the unraveling or downsizing of corporations -- what's happening to IBM and GM are typical recent examples -- we need to articulate a new approach to work in which we employees accept some responsibility for our own employability or professional development. The Protestant work ethic may be the most effective way to promote a renewed sense of responsibility, because it emphasizes the inner resources of faith rather than any external incentives that our employers may offer.

Before rejecting this idea as simply another example of "blaming the victim," think a moment about what it may mean concretely. Among the positive effects of global economic competition is a chastened realism about the relation between wage increases and increased productivity, and the relation between increased productivity and continuous learning. There is no way for an employee to be rewarded, let alone promoted, unless he or she is actively enhancing the firm's capacity to respond to the changing demands of the marketplace. And because intelligent response to a changing environment is the essential prerequisite for business success, management theory is now turning to the model of the firm as a learning organization.

Granted, the compensation that an employee's contribution justly deserves may still be paid out gradually through some kind of calculus weighted in favor of seniority or length of service; nevertheless, any just claim to such compensation must be based on performance, and it can be forfeited for lack of performance. No employer can run a successful business today on the assumption that the hirelings are likely to abandon their assigned tasks whenever the going gets tough; and no employees can expect to be rewarded for acting like hirelings. Conversely, employees are not likely to become fully productive, so long as their employer continues to treat them merely as hirelings.

The painful truth is that global economic competition is likely to require employers to demand more, unprecedentedly more, from their employees, and vice-versa. A sense of initiative, a willingness to be flexible and help the overall effort succeed, is absolutely necessary. Gone are the days when simply sticking to the letter of one's job description will suffice. Learning how to anticipate the needs of one's co-workers and customers or clients and to meet those needs as they emerge is critically important. Employers and employees must learn to collaborate on a new basis, beyond the usual mix of adversarialism and paternalism. We must be willing to build new working relationships of genuine reciprocity. Paid employment will have to become mutually beneficial or it will not be sustained.

Such a new covenant will require a high level of trust. For anyone who has experienced a change of work rules while the task is still under way, or had to say goodbye to a workmate who has just been fired or laid off, such trust may be very hard to come by. One will be tempted to resist efforts to negotiate a new covenant as simply an abrogation of the firm's previous commitments. While corporate re-engineering, with its attendant disruption of work routines and the lives especially of older (and hence more vulnerable) employees, may be necessary, employers must still accept their share of responsibility for an individual worker's employability. If continuous learning is the expectation, then giving employers access to opportunities for training and advancement to higher skill positions must be part of re-engineering. If reward is to be based on performance, the nature of employee compensation also needs to be re-examined to determine the appropriate mix of wages or salary, bonuses, provisions for employee stock ownership and severance packages. The reciprocity, in short, must extend to a mutually beneficial management of retirement, as well as layoffs, leaves of absence and other transitions. These become more central precisely because the virtual guarantee of lifetime employment can no longer honestly be given.

Talk of a new covenant in business, of course, can be just one more sign of the way in which religious symbols are easily coopted and emptied of meaning. The willingness to discuss such things in public does carry that risk. Nevertheless, the structural changes in the nature of paid employment now under way cry out for theological reflection. I'm suggesting that a retrieval of the Protestant work ethic might be fruitful. The churches that were the historic bearers of the work ethic should not allow their understandable commitment to the world's unfinished agenda for global economic justice blind them to its continued relevance.

Developing an adequate theology of work today means recognizing that we can no longer regard ourselves or be regarded as mere hirelings. But the hireling still has something very basic to teach us. The reason the hireling is destined for Jesus' kingdom is directly connected to the reason he is likely to abandon the sheep at the first sign of a predator. He is free to join a kingdom of nobodies (to recall Crossan's marvelously apt phrase) because he has no stake in the sheepfold. As comfortable as our previously paternalistic relationship with the firms that employ us may have been, it did carry with it a small risk of idolatry. We tend to identify economic security with God, and we will give the unconditioned loyalty that only God can justly demand to anyone or anything that will provide security.

The firms that employ us are no longer in a position to play God in our lives. May the anxieties that we are experiencing regarding our jobs and careers help purify our Christian commitment, and spur us to renewed theological inquiry about the nature of our Christian vocations.



 

 

 

Is There Such a Thing as New Testament Ethics?

The Moral Vision of the New Testament: A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethics.

By Richard B. Hays. HarperSanFrancisco, 508 pp., $25.00 paperback.

Richard B. Hays identifies our central problems in trying to use scripture for moral guidance today: With such diverse voices in the text, which voices do we take as authoritative? With such diverse readers of the text, whose perspective is more instructive? Since the same text can be read in so many different ways, how should we decide which reading makes a claim on us?

Twenty years ago the problem presented itself in different terms. The issue was not so much the diversity of the Bible as its relevance. Victor Paul Furnish in The Moral Teaching of Paul (1979) contrasted those who treated scripture as a sacred cow and those who considered it a white elephant. Literalists insisted on taking every moral directive from the text into contemporary life without any interpretation. Liberals doubted that the Bible had any lasting relevance because the biblical texts came from contexts so alien to the contemporary world. Literalists wanted timeless truths the uncontaminated by scholarship, while liberals believed that scholarship had reduced biblical moral teaching to an historical curio. Whether they venerated the biblical text or dismissed it, however, both sides presumed that the text had a fairly definite meaning.

The 1990s have presented a different set of problems. Doubts about how to use scripture have deepened into doubts about the status of the texts themselves. Increasingly we wonder whether any text has a definite meaning at all. We no longer look to historical criticism to establish the meaning of the text. Once we came to acknowledge that, like every other reader, the historian writes from a particular standpoint skewed by class, gender and race bias, historical method lost its fig leaf of scientific objectivity. The rise of hermeneutics in the past two decades has convinced us that "there is no innocent eye." If every reading is shaped by the reader's interests, why not use it to endorse our commitments? Advocacy theologians rummage through the Bible for material that supports their cause and discard the rest.

So is it any longer possible to speak of a coherent moral vision of the New Testament? This question puzzles the well-read church member, vexes the seminarian and saps the confidence of those who have to preach on the Sunday readings. Hays, professor of New Testament at Duke University Divinity School, argues that a coherent moral stance can be discerned in the range of NT witnesses. Hays seeks to pursue NT ethics as a "normative theological discipline" that can shape the life of the church in its communal identity and practical behavior. He turns the apparent cacophony of the biblical chorus into a complex but unified polyphony by carefully distinguishing four different tasks: descriptive, synthetic, hermeneutical and pragmatic.

Most scholars concentrate on either the descriptive or the hermeneutical task. Exegetical scholarship describes the different texts in increasing detail but cannot pull them into coherence. After distinguishing the Jesus of Mark from the Jesus of Luke, for example, exegetes almost always leave their readers in the dark about how to relate the two constructs. The increasing specialization of academic exegesis produces fragments but no normative vision. Hays addresses this problem by his synthetic proposal. It takes an integrative act of the imagination to grasp the central story which is retold from many perspectives in the canon.

Hermeneutical reflections often leave believers in deep confusion about how to bring these ancient writings to bear on the present life of the church. Hermeneutics remains a private, armchair exercise so long as it remains divorced from the life of a community that struggles to be faithful to that story and the One whom it reveals. Indeed, Hays doubts that one could grasp the transforming and challenging message of the NT without membership in a community of disciples struggling to be faithful. The pragmatic task asks how the life of actual communities can be transformed on the path of discipleship. To do this we have to discern what it means to be faithful to the gospel in the vexing moral issues that divide us today.

In the final section of the book, Hays ventures some "provisional discernments" on the most persistent moral questions in American churches: violence in defense of justice, divorce and remarriage, homosexuality, anti-Judaism and abortion. Many readers will be tempted to evaluate the theological argument of this book by the conclusions it reaches on these issues. That temptation probably reveals that scripture is less authoritative for us than are the opinions that we have uncritically accepted from the dominant secular culture. When the Bible supports our settled opinions, we welcome it; when it doesn't, we regard it as outdated or positively pernicious.

Until this work, no one in recent decades had successfully brought the descriptive, synthetic, hermeneutical and pragmatic tasks together. Furnish, Allan Verhey, Robin Scroggs, Thomas Ogletree, Bruce Birch, Larry Rasmussen and others have pursued one or another of these enterprises, but not within a comprehensive theological argument. Like many exegetical works, Wolfgang Schrage's The Ethics of the New Testament (1988) relies on a reconstructed historical Jesus to pull his review of European scholarship together. Every historical construct remains necessarily tentative and cannot substitute for a theological synthesis. Although Hay does not claim to have produced the definitive statement of NT ethics, his insightful distinction of the four tasks should structure the discussion in NT ethics and church life for some time to come.

1) The descriptive task considers the individual NT writings in their distinctiveness without forcing them into an artificial harmony. Hays briefly analyzes a representative sample of major NT works (Paul, the Gospels, Acts and Revelation). More comprehensive descriptive treatments can be found in Schrage or in Frank Matera's New Testament Ethics: The Legacies of Jesus and Paul (1996). Verhey in The Great Reversal: Ethics and the New Testament (1984) traces the moral emphases in the various stages of textual development of the canonical writings. Hays prefers their final canonical form because that is what shapes the identity of the community of faith.

If we pay attention to the full range of voices in the canon, particularly where they are in tension, we will be less likely to remake Jesus in our own image. Historical critics are not immune to this danger, as Luke T. Johnson observes about John Dominic Crossan's 1991 work, The Historical Jesus: The Life of a Mediterranean Jewish Peasant: "Does not Crossan's picture of a peasant cynic preaching inclusiveness and equality fit perfectly the idealized ethos of the late 20th-century academic?" Hays shares Johnson's serious reservations about the much-publicized Jesus Seminar, which aims to find the real Jesus behind the texts rather than in the risen Lord witnessed in the life of faithful communities.

Before the four Gospels were formed, Paul articulated the symbol that would become the theological center of NT ethics. "For Paul, Jesus' death on the cross is an act of loving, self-sacrificial obedience that becomes paradigmatic for the obedience of all who are in Christ." The obedience of faith does not mean obedience to immediate divine commands, as in Karl Barth; it means actively shaping a life along the lines of the story of Jesus. The community seeks to respond to its world in ways that are analogous to the ways in which Jesus dealt with his own times. The fundamental norm of Paul's ethics, namely the shape of Jesus' life most clearly manifest in the cross, will be echoed in the other NT witnesses.

Each of the evangelists closely correlates his portrayal of Jesus with his portrayal of the ethical shape the community of disciples should have. Matthew, Luke and John anchor the moral message in the story of Jesus, who remains present to the community through the power of the Spirit. Hays does not endorse the efforts of Elisabeth Schussler-Fiorenza to picture Jesus as the spokesperson of divine Sophia or Wisdom, a connection which is supported by only a single NT verse (Luke 7:35). Even though the image of the cross has been misused to subordinate women and other Christians, the NT'S understanding of faithful obedience to God is impossible without it.

2) The synthetic task addresses the pressing problem of textual and interpretive diversity in the NT. Unless we can discern a coherent unity in the NT, it cannot provide a normative theological ethics. Many pastors are tempted to average out the tensions in the text, as when they appeal to Matthew to spiritualize Luke's radical words, "Woe to you who are rich" (6:24). Or they select biblical texts in an eclectic, ad hoc fashion to address contemporary problems. This prooftexting inevitably runs the risk of arbitrariness.

The unity of the NT lies in the basic story of God's graciousness. It can be captured not in a single principle but only in a sequence of images that are embedded in that story, focus our reading of it and provide a framework within which individual texts can make sense. Images and patterns are the stuff of the imagination, which is the capacity that unifies data into wholes; it does so by means of patterns rather than abstract concepts.

Hays relies on an inductive approach at this crucial juncture. What basic patterns or "root metaphors" emerge out of the descriptive task? They should be found in the full range of canonical witnesses, not just in some "canon within the canon." These focal images are tested by a process of trial and error to see whether they illuminate the whole NT and are pragmatically effective in the life of the community. Hays proposes three basic images:

a) Community. God calls forth a "countercultural community of discipleship" which is "called to embody an alternative order that stands as a sign of God's redemptive purposes in the world." Hays agrees with Stanley Hauerwas that the revelatory word is addressed to communities rather than individuals. The shape of their character is derived from the patterns of faithful obedience in the community. The NT witnesses aimed primarily to offer an alternative to the world rather than to transform it.

b) Cross. Jesus' death on the cross is the center of the story of salvation and the theological fulcrum of NT ethics. Since it is the paradigm for being faithful to God in this world, the cross sets the standard for Christian obedience. Hays is persuaded by John Howard Yoder that Christians are called to be faithful rather than effective. Their actions will be judged by their conformity to the faithfulness of Jesus. The cross was not a recipe for resurrection: that was in God's hands. Certainly this symbol presents a major sign of contradiction to America's pragmatic culture. Since Christ conquered as the "Lamb who was slain," paradoxically surrendering power, Christians are called to renounce coercion and violence without qualification.

c) New Creation. The community of believers "embodies the power of the resurrection in the midst of a not-yet-redeemed world." Hoping for the redemption of all creation, Christians maintain a certain eschatological reserve about the way things are. The Spirit of Jesus continues to transform the church so that it can wisely discern how to journey on the way of discipleship.

This synthetic proposal is the most creative and controversial aspect of the whole argument. Although Hays concedes that it is possible to choose alternative basic images, he finds the usual candidates wanting. Love is not central to many NT authors. In any case, it needs to be anchored in the historical image of the cross of Jesus, as in 1 John 3:16, a favorite passage of Dietrich Bonhoeffer's. When love gets translated as liberal "inclusiveness," it ignores repentance, sacrifice and transformation. Liberation is a theme historically rooted but not extensively endorsed in the canon. In addition, it risks being identified with specific programs of political change.

Jon Sobrino's Jesus the Liberator (1993) endorses the same images but interprets them quite differently from Hays. (Liberation theologians are scarcely mentioned in his otherwise comprehensive bibliography.) In the synoptic Gospels Sobrino finds that the theme of "the kingdom of God" is central to the proclamation of Jesus. Jesus' ministry to the poor and his opposition to oppression give content to the image of the reign of God. Jesus empties himself by choosing to identify with the lot of the poor, whose fate is to be crucified by the powerful. The image of the cross remains central, but gets defined more as an act of mercy done for the sake of the oppressed than as an act of obedience to God's will.

When interpreted in this way, the paradigm of the cross becomes more result-oriented. It yields a different moral imperative: take the crucified people down from the cross. Faithful obedience takes its cues more from the plight of the oppressed and seeks to serve the God of life by rescuing them from the deadly grip of systemic injustice. The cry of the poor in history continues to reveal God's call, even though the strategies of merciful response must correspond to the way of Jesus witnessed in the NT.

3) The hermeneutical task asks how we are to bridge the gap of time and culture between ourselves and the world of the NT. The issue for Christian communities is not whether scripture should be authoritative but how. Hays explains the move from text to life by appealing to metaphor, which is the creative coupling of unrelated terms that provokes new insight. Literary imagination spots a link between unfamiliar items that shocks and delights us and so generates new ways of seeing the world. The structure of metaphor depicts the operation of NT ethics. It must be "metaphor-making" by "placing our community's life imaginatively within the world articulated by the texts." Note that metaphor juxtaposes one particular image with another, pattern to pattern. It does not try to relate one concept to another by logical argument.

Most good preaching involves just such an act of creative imagination. It spots the analogy between, for example, ourselves and the Good Samaritan, then asks for an analogous response to our contemporaries "in the ditch." The familiar line at the end of that parable mandates similar action: "Go and do likewise." The parable is not a quarry from which moral principles can be mined and the remainder left for the slag heap. In fact, the attempt to locate separable timeless truths in the culturally conditioned aspects of the NT is "wrongheaded and impossible."

The most successful interpreters of the moral teaching of the NT have focused on the text's paradigms and "symbolic world" rather than on its rules and principles. Reinhold Niebuhr failed to root his definitions of justice and equality in the story and symbols of scripture, Hays thinks. But if Niebuhr relied too much on reason and experience, Karl Barth's theology of the command of God denigrated them excessively. Reason, experience and tradition are not "independent, counterbalancing sources of authority" which can ground the church's identity. Only scripture does that.

4) The pragmatic task makes normative judgments by locating today's issues in the symbolic world of the NT. The churches' discussions are confused on these issues because they are framed in secular terms. Hays provides the churches with the tools to discuss moral questions in a more flexible way by moving analogously and imaginatively from text to life and back again.

The weight of evidence on the five sample issues ranges on a sliding scale from the "univocal and pervasive" rejection of violence by the canonical authors to an absence of any explicit mention of abortion. Where textual evidence is scant, there is more room to appeal to tradition, reason and experience. Nevertheless, for Hays, scripture "portrays a world in which abortion would be not so much immoral as unthinkable or unintelligible." Instead of lobbying for abortion funding for poor women, therefore, churches should make it financially and socially possible for them to raise their children.

Nonviolence and peacemaking are so "integrally related to the central moral vision" of the NT that no compromise on these issues should be possible. Christians are called to treat their enemies in the same way that God did in Christ, not to distort that example by appealing to reason or prudence. The just war theory and the American churches' endorsement of the military represent a faithless capitulation. The communities that produced the NT were marginal to the power of the Roman empire and harbored no illusions about transforming it.

One wonders whether contemporary Christian communities must be confined to a similar marginal role. Do they have greater social responsibilities beyond witnessing to an alternative way of life? Communities that have moved to the center of society may need to take social consequences more seriously than did the original NT communities. Perhaps obedience to God now calls for greater concern about being effective.

Hays questions the pervasive tolerance of divorce in mainstream churches, which erodes any requirement to stay in a difficult marriage. Although the canon shows various ways of adapting Jesus' prohibition of divorce to different situations, it gives unified testimony that divorce should be avoided "in every way possible, for it is incongruous with the gospel of God's reconciling love."

Likely to be the most controversial is Hays's treatment of homosexuality. The canon makes only a few references to this topic, but they are "unremittingly negative in their judgment." The NT does not make sexuality a primary focus of personal identity or a means of finding personal meaning. Even though there are no explicit NT prohibitions on homosexual behavior, Hays judges it to be inconsistent with the symbolic world revealed in the text. If scripture and tradition weigh in on the negative, what about positive arguments from reasonable science and contemporary experience? Hays defines reason more narrowly than most moral philosophers do. He would allow experience to contravene NT teaching "only after sustained and agonizing scrutiny by a consensus of the faithful."

Some critics will undoubtedly reject Hays's approach to NT ethics because they disagree with some of these pragmatic analyses. Others will regret that space did not permit Hays to fully address other pressing issues, such as the biblical mandates to share possessions and to treat men and women equally.

What stands out most, however, is the sophistication of Hays's method in moving from text to world. We are a long way from the Social Gospel thinkers who believed they could intuitively apply the ethics of Jesus to the conduct of national affairs. If readers heed Hays's invitation to further dialogue and deeper immersion in the texts themselves, the churches will be well served.

Homosexuality: Challenging the Church to Grow

It has been more than ten years since I wrote The Church and the Homosexual (Sheed Andrews & McMeel, 1976). I wrote the book out of love for and loyalty to the Christian tradition in general and the Roman Catholic Church in particular, and out of a desire to support the church's moral authority. I felt what I had to do as a trained professional moral theologian was to play the role of a critical lover and loving critic and try to help the church realize a viable ethic concerning homosexuality. I also wrote it out of love for and loyalty to the homosexual community.

Certainly one of the major motivating factors behind my work for the past 20 years -- in research, writing and psychotherapy, and in the pastoral activities of preaching, leading retreats and giving lectures and workshops to gay people -- is the fact that I myself am a homosexual. It was with great struggle and pain that I gradually learned to accept that essential aspect of myself and learned to live with it with a certain degree of peace, joy and even pride. I have wanted to share that grace with as many people as possible. I agree with Meister Eckardt: "The fruitfulness of a gift is the only true way to show gratitude for the gift."

Most importantly, I wrote The Church and the Homosexual because of my increasing awareness of the enormous amount of unjust suffering in the Christian gay community. I observed that many, if not most, lesbian women and homosexual men felt caught in a dilemma: to accept themselves and to affirm their sexuality, they believed that they must leave the church and even give up their faith; and to affirm their Christian faith, they felt that they had to repress and deny their sexuality and lead a life devoid of any sexual intimacy. The evidence was clear to me that both solutions led to an unhappy and unhealthy life. I was convinced that what is bad psychologically has to be bad theologically and that, conversely, whatever is good theologically is certainly good psychologically. For as St. Irenaeus claimed, "The glory of God are humans fully alive."

In The Church and the Homosexual I sought to overturn three traditional stances taken by the Christian community regarding lesbian and homosexual relationships. I opposed, first of all, the view that God intends all human beings to be heterosexual, and that therefore a failure to be heterosexual represents a deviation from God's creative plan --a deviation that demands an explanation, usually given in terms of sin, or more recently, in terms of sickness. According to this view, those who find themselves to be homosexual must change their orientation through prayer and counseling or, failing that, live totally chaste and sexually loveless lives. This is the position held in the Vatican letter "On the Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons" issued last October to all the bishops of the world. This letter was deemed necessary to offset "deceitful propaganda" coming from gay Christian groups challenging the church's tradition and its interpretation of Scripture. According to this position, sexual fulfillment is exclusively the right of the heterosexual.

I proposed instead that God so created humans that they develop with a great variety of both gender identities and sexual-object choices. Consequently, the attempt to force humans into narrow heterosexist categories of what it means to be a man or a woman can destroy the great richness and variety of God's creation. Always and everywhere a certain percentage of men and women develop as homosexuals or lesbians. They should be considered as part of God's creative plan. Their sexual orientation has no necessary connection with sin, sickness or failure; rather, it is a gift from God to be accepted and lived out with gratitude. God does not despise anything that God has created.

It should be stressed here, in opposition to certain current views, that human beings do not choose their sexual orientation; they discover it as something given. To pray for a change in sexual orientation is about as meaningful as to pray for a change from blue eyes to brown. Furthermore, there is no healthy way to reverse or change sexual orientation once it is established. The claim of certain groups to be able to change homosexuals into heterosexuals has been shown to be spurious and frequently based on homophobia (cf. Ralph Blair's pamphlet "Ex-Gay" [HCCC Inc., 1982]). The usual technique used to bring about this pseudo-change involves helping gay persons internalize self-hatred, an approach that frequently causes great psychological harm and suffering. The Christian communities that make use of this sort of ministry usually do so to avoid any challenge to their traditional attitude and to avoid any dialogue with self-accepting gays and truly professional psychotherapists. (The psychotherapists whom these churches frequently cite are generally very conservative and homophobic in their orientation.) The real choice that faces lesbians and homosexuals is not between heterosexuality and homosexuality but between a homosexual relationship or no relational intimacy whatsoever.

Other churches have confined their official ministries to helping gay people live out celibate lives. According to Christian tradition, celibacy is a special gift of God given to a certain few for the sake of the kingdom. The occasional homosexual who receives this gift is, indeed, blessed. Clergy choose a celibate lifestyle voluntarily, but laypeople are given no choice; they are told they must live celibate lives. But there is no reason to believe that God grants this gift to everyone who is lesbian or homosexual. On the contrary, empirical studies have shown that the vast majority of gay people who have attempted a celibate lifestyle end up acting out their sexual needs in promiscuous and self-destructive ways. Every human being has a God-given right to sexual love and intimacy. Anyone who would deny this right to any individual must prove without a doubt the grounds for this denial. The only healthy and holy Christian response to a homosexual orientation is to learn to accept it and live it out in a way that is consonant with Christian values

The second thesis of my book was that homosexuals, rather than being somehow a menace to the values of society and the family, as Christians have tended to assume, have, as a part of God's creative plan, special gifts and qualities and a very positive contribution to make to the development of society (cf. also my article "Homosexuality, Lesbianism, and the Future: The Creative Role of the Gay Community in Building a More Humane Society," in A Challenge to Love: Gay and Lesbian Catholics in the Church, edited by Robert Nugent [Crossroad, 1984]). Indeed, if lesbians and homosexuals were to disappear, the further development of society toward greater humanness could be seriously endangered. Consequently, I am convinced that there is a special providence in the emergence of visible gay communities within the Christian churches at this point in history.

The third thesis of my book was perhaps the most controversial. The traditional position has been that since every homosexual act is sinful and contrary to God's plan, the love that exists between gay people is a sinful love which alienates the lovers from God. I argued that the love between two lesbians or two homosexuals, assuming that it is a constructive human love, is not sinful nor does it alienate the lovers from God's plan, but can be a holy love, mediating God's presence in the human community as effectively as heterosexual love.

I fully appreciated how controversial my arguments were. But I pointed out that there was new evidence -- from biblical studies and from various empirical studies in the human sciences, especially psychology and sociology -- that completely undermined the traditional understanding of homosexuality as a chosen and changeable state. Examples of recent psychological data come from new insights into psychosexual development, e.g., (a) one has no choice about sexual orientation; (b) the only healthy reaction to being homosexual is to accept it. And, above all else, there was new evidence coming from the collective experience of lesbians and homosexuals who as committed Christians were seeking to live their lives in conformity with Christian faith and Christian values. All this evidence should give every Christian community serious reason to reconsider its understanding of homosexuality.

I hoped that my book would open up a serious moral debate in the churches concerning homosexuality. But in ten years no such debate has taken place. My own church's response was to try to silence the messenger rather then debate the message. One year after my book's publication, the Vatican Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith ordered me to be silent on the issue of homosexuality and sexual ethics, forbidding me to publish anything further in the field. For nine years I obeyed that order to be silent. However, the recent letter on pastoral care of homosexuals (already referred to), as well as the demand by the Vatican that ethicist Charles Curran retract his position on homosexuality and other sexual moral issues, or relinquish his position as a Catholic theologian, and its more recent order to me that I give up all ministry to homosexual persons, have convinced me that I can no longer in conscience remain silent.

It is the AIDS crisis that above all else makes it clear that churches do not have the luxury of time in dealing with homosexuality. In the U.S. alone as of February 9, there had already been 30,632 recorded cases of AIDS and 17,542 recorded fatalities, a majority of them gay men. It is predicted that in the next decade there may be as many as 200,000 victims. I am convinced that the churches will not respond properly to this crisis until they resolve the underlying moral issues. The Catholic Church in its recent pastoral letter has taken a dogmatic stance, allowing no room for debate or dialogue. But my ultimate religious obedience must be to truth, justice and the will of God as revealed in the sufferings of the Christian gay community. Therefore, with the publication of this article, I am making my first detailed public statement in ten years on the issue of homosexuality.

I find the absence of a serious moral debate within American churches on homosexuality truly puzzling. Robert Bellah and his associates throw some general light on this absence in their recent sociological study of American culture, Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life (Harper & Row, 1985). They point out that the liberal middle class has a therapeutic mentality which is uncomfortable with moral argument. Those who share the therapeutic attitude embrace pluralism and the uniqueness of the individual, and conclude that there is no common moral ground and no publicly relevant morality. They tend to see moral debate as leading inevitably to irresolvable conflict or coercion.

Bellah and his co-authors acknowledge that the therapeutic critique of traditional morality is frequently legitimate. "Where standards of right and wrong are asserted with dogmatic certainty and are not open to discussion, and, even worse, where these standards merely express the interests of the stronger party in a relationship while clothing those interests in moralistic language, then that criticism is indeed justified" (p. 140). Most gay people share this distrust of morality. Having been the victims of moralistic condemnation and control, they eagerly adopt the therapeutic live-and-let-live stance.

The mainline Protestant churches, too, share the therapeutic mentality. In place of the moral question, Is this right or wrong? they pose the therapeutic question, Is this going to work? The liberal churches tend to assert individual autonomy and freedom, and the right to do your own thing. However, this therapeutic attitude is usually accompanied by an institutional search for compromise on moral issues. For example, some churches, in the face of psychological evidence that sexual orientation is not freely chosen, have begun to distinguish between homosexual orientation-which, they agree, is not morally culpable-and homosexual activity, which is always morally wrong insofar as it is freely chosen. This compromise is intrinsically unstable. It reminds me of the nursery ditty: "Mother may I go out to swim?" "Yes, my darling daughter. Hang your clothes on the hickory bush, but don't go near the water!"

Only a sadistic God would create hundreds of thousands of humans to be inherently homosexual and then deny them the right to sexual intimacy. I, for one, would prefer to believe that the church is wrong about homosexual activity than that this sadistic, superego God has any true relation to the God of love revealed by Jesus.

Conservative and fundamentalist churches, for their part, also do not engage in moral debate. They feel that they have a clear and direct revelation of God's will concerning homosexuality, and they vigorously condemn it on the basis of biblical fundamentalism and a conservative acceptance of certain cultural mores, especially in the sexual realm (such as the dominance of men over women).

Christians opposed to gay rights frequently cite Genesis 19, the story of Sodom. The history of the interpretation of this passage displays how prejudice and homophobia have distorted the message of Scripture. Throughout the Old and New Testaments, the sin of Sodom was never understood as homosexuality. Rather, that sin was understood as selfishness, pride, neglect of the poor and inhospitality to strangers. (In the desert context of these passages, inhospitality to a stranger meant certain death.) For example, Ezekiel writes, "Behold, this was the sin of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters lived in pride, plenty and thoughtless ease; they supported not the poor and the needy; they grew haughty and committed abominations [sexual orgies to bring fertility] before me. So I swept them away . . . " (16: 49-50). And every time Jesus refers to Sodom he identifies the sin of that city as inhospitality to strangers. For example, in Luke, Jesus says of those towns that were inhospitable to his disciples: "I tell you on that day Sodom will fare better than that town" (10: 12).

In The Church and the Homosexual I traced the interesting historical process by which the biblical condemnation of inhospitality was transformed into a condemnation of homosexuality. Here is one of the supreme ironies of history: for thousands of years in the Christian West, homosexuals have been the victims of inhospitable treatment -- the true crime of Sodom-in the name of a mistaken understanding of Sodom's crime. Inhospitality, the crime that cries out to God for vengeance, has been and continues to be repeated every day. Who in our midst lives in pride and plenty and thoughtless ease, neglecting the poor, being inhospitable to refugees and persecuting those who, like Lot, offer them sanctuary ? They indeed are the sodomites!

The absence of serious moral debate leaves conservative and even reactionary moral forces as the only voice on the subject of homosexuality. When a crisis comes, such as when gays fall ill with AIDS, they can easily be victimized by traditional homophobia disguised as moral judgment and, as a result, fall back into self-condemnation and self-hatred. As noted, self-hatred and internalized homophobia undermine gay relationships and tempt gay people to act out sexual needs in self-destructive ways. In the age of AIDS, only two choices are really open to Christian gay people in conformity with Christian values: abstaining from all sexual activity -- a response which the majority find impossible-or entering a monogamous relationship. However, to have a stable, healthy relationship, one needs to have a healthy self-love and self-acceptance, which is psychologically possible only when one can accept one's sexuality as morally good and, in a Christian context, compatible with God's love.

A striking example of the negative result of the absence of an open debate on the moral meaning of homosexuality is the recent U.S. Supreme Court decision upholding the rights of states to outlaw sodomy. In the majority opinion, Justice Byron White argued that the right to privacy does not extend to same-gender sexual activity, even when confined to the home. He accepted the state of Georgia's argument that sodomy laws can be justified by the need to protect morality. Chief Justice Warren Burger concurred with Justice White that "to establish a fundamental right to homosexual sodomy would be to cast aside millennia of moral teaching."

Here is an example of traditional homophobia disguised as moral judgment and the will of God. Even the court's dissenting opinion, expressed by Justice Harry Blackmun, entirely avoids the moral issue. "That certain, but by no means all, religious groups condemn the behavior at issue," wrote Blackmun, "gives the state no license to impose [its] judgments on the entire citizenry. The legitimacy of legislation depends instead on whether the state can advance some justification for its law beyond its conformity to religious doctrine." Blackmun's opposition to the law is based on the right to privacy, "the most comprehensive of rights and the most valued by civilized men, [namely] the right to be left alone. "

Both gay people and the liberal churches are wrong to steer clear of moral debate, or to think that moral standards are, as described in Habits of the Heart, "inherently authoritarian and in the service of domination. " On the contrary, there are standards of right and wrong within Christian tradition concerning human sexuality, based in human nature and biblical revelation, which are acceptable to homosexual and heterosexual alike, and which can form the moral basis of public policy.

In light of the gay Christian experience, however, two fundamental issues of sexual morality must be reexamined. The first issue is what makes a sexual act fully human; the second is the biblical understanding of homosexual acts.

Christian tradition has always emphasized that human sexuality has two primary functions -- it provides an experience of loving intimacy ("It is not good that a human be alone. Every human has need of a companion" [Gen. 2:18]); and it is the means of procreation. What is unique to human sexuality is the fusion that God has made of biological sexuality with the uniquely human vocation to, and capacity for, love.

The debate over birth control some years ago led liberal churches to conclude that the relational aspect of sexuality has primacy and, when appropriate, can be separated from the procreational aspect. Even the Catholic Church acknowledged the value of heterosexual activity exclusively as an expression of love when it approved the rhythm method of birth control. At that moment, if the church had been logical and free of homophobia, it would have re-examined the value of homosexual activity as an expression of human love and companionship.

What does Scripture have to say about homosexuality? The Christian community now possesses for the first time some excellent scholarly works on the treatment of homosexuality in Scripture, such as Robin Scroggs's The New Testament and Homosexuality (Fortress, 1984) and George Edwards's Gay/Lesbian Liberation: A Biblical Perspective (Pilgrim, 1984). We also have an excellent study of the development of Christian tradition regarding homosexuality: John Boswell's Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality: Gay People in Western Europe from the Beginning of the Christian Era to the Fourteenth Century (University of Chicago Press, 1980). And there are some very good theological reflections on human sexuality in the light of Christian revelation; see James Nelson's, Embodiment: An Approach to Sexuality, and Christian Theology (Pilgrim, 1978) and Between Two Gardens: Reflections on Sexuality and Religious Experience. (Pilgrim, 1983).

These scholars conclude that nowhere in Scripture is there a clear condemnation of a loving sexual relationship between two gay persons. Homosexuality is never mentioned in the Four Gospels' accounts of the ministry of Jesus -- a silence that would be inexplicable if this were the "most heinous crime," as tradition claims. Scriptural authors never deal with homosexual orientation, and when they do treat homosexual activity, they never do so in the context of a loving relationship. They presuppose that they are dealing with lustful activity freely chosen by heterosexuals (as in Romans 1), or they deal with a humanly destructive activity in the context of idolatry, prostitution, promiscuity, violent rape, seduction of children or violation of guests' rights.

There can be no valid moral debate on these issues that does not include lesbian and gay people as full participants. The Holy Spirit has something to say to the churches in and through the experience of lesbian and homosexual Christians. A truly extraordinary witness to the kind of full human love that can exist between two gay persons is being manifested daily by AIDS victims and their lovers and friends. The exceptional fidelity, self-sacrifice and affection, as well as the pain, grief and sorrow and the deep spiritual response to the suffering and bereavement that is being expressed, is a sign to the churches of the presence of the Spirit of love in these relationships. "See how they love one another!"

The recent paper produced by Lutherans Concerned, "A Call for Dialogue: Gay and Lesbian Christians and the Ministry of the Lutheran Church," is an example of the eloquent theological reflections that are coming from gay Christians. Similar statements have been made by the Catholic gay group, Dignity; the Episcopal group, Integrity; the Methodist group, Affirmation; the Metropolitan Community Church; Evangelicals Concerned and others.

Lutherans Concerned summarizes its theological reflection with the following observation: "Indeed, gay and lesbian Christians, like any other Christians who have had deep encounters with the word of the Gospel, are able to see the word speaking directly and profoundly to their own experience. Lesbians and gay men will be bold enough to offer new insight into the Gospel to the whole community of Christ. They will claim the biblical word for themselves, in the experience of hoping and believing in the Gospel, of trusting in one's own conscience, even in the face of opposition.... Ultimately, lesbian and gay people within the church will make a great contribution to construction of relational ethics and to evangelical outreach, which we pray will draw many others who are estranged, alienated or unloved, to Jesus Christ, to the household of faith, and into the reconciliation which has begun."

All in all, this is a great moment to be gay and Christian. This is the age when the Holy Spirit is fulfilling the promise made in Isaiah (56: 2-8) that after the Messiah comes and the new covenant is established, those who are sexually different, who were formerly excluded from the community of God, will have a special place in the house of the Lord and "an everlasting name which shall not be cut off." The fulfillment of this prophecy was foreshadowed when the Holy Spirit led the apostle Philip to encounter the eunuch, who was reading Isaiah (Acts 8:26-40). The author of Acts intended to show how under the new covenant the church, led by the Holy Spirit, would reach out to include all those who were excluded by the Old Testament's procreational covenant. The eunuch symbolizes all those excluded from the Old Testament community because they were sexually different. The eunuch believed in Christ as the Messiah, was baptized, received the Spirit and went off "full of joy."

"My house," God says through Isaiah, "shall be called a house of prayer for all people." The gay Christian movement is continuing this initiative of the Holy Spirit, offering the Christian churches a challenge and an opportunity to grow to the full stature of the human family.

White Lies, Hard Truths

Verna claims that I said her baby was ugly. I can't imagine being that insensitive, but it was a long time ago and my memory isn't exact in these matters. I do recall Verna holding up her new-born and saying, "Isn't she cute?" And I, seeing a splotchy, scrunched little face and being committed to complete honesty, must have said something like, "Well, she really is ... a baby". Or maybe, "It takes an infant a few months before she can really be considered cute" Or I suppose there is a teensy-weensy possibility I said, "Strictly speaking, she's kind of ugly at the moment but will undoubtedly become a ravishing beauty."

Nearly 30 years have passed, but whenever I run into Verna she reminds me that I called her baby ugly. I don't know her daughter; for all I know she became Miss Universe, or perhaps my words lodged in her tiny subconscious and she has spent the last 15 years in psychoanalysis working to overcome low self-esteem. In any event, I now wish I had lied. It would have saved all of us a lot of grief.

Occasionally, courtesy calls for a lie. Let me stress that I'm talking about white lies, not black or gray or even off-white lies. Snow-white lies. Even so, I realize I've launched into very dangerous waters, with rocks and rip tides of tough ethical questions all around.

It's difficult to talk about the importance of lying when lying is so endemic in our society. Politicians lie to get elected, doctors lie on Medicare reports, universities lie about athletes, advertisers lie to sell products, ordinary citizens lie on income tax returns, and yes, even preachers lie. In the words of a Time magazine essay, ours is "a huckstering, show-bizzy world, jangling with hype, hullabaloo, hooey, bull, baloney, and bamboozlement." We live in a market-driven society, and to make the sale--whether it be of a car or a candidate or a can of beer--the truth gets pulled and stretched past anything resembling reality.

And yet, strangely, we also live in a tell-all culture. We have elevated the personal confession to an art form: supermodels confess insecurity about their bodies, movie stars confess shyness, politicians confess frustration, and preachers confess sexual indiscretions. It's the Alcoholics Anonymous approach run amok: "Hi, my name is Bill, and I'm a recovering alcoholic/gambler/overeater/sex addict/couch potato." I have nothing against AA, mind you. The Twelve-Step program provides an excellent way to overcome a variety of addictions. But there is a time and place for psychological stripping; call me uptight and closed-down, but I don't think it should be in front of just anyone who will listen, not to mention on national television or in supermarket magazines.

This sharing, unfortunately, has a way of spreading outward toward others, as if my openness gives me the right to pull you out of whatever closet you are in. It's the aren't-you-glad-we're-so-psychologically-mature-that-we-can-be-completely-honest manner of relating to others: "Theresa, really, you have too much of an inferiority complex about your figure; it's not as bad as you think." We did the same thing in junior high school, but now that we're more mature we practice psychobabble hit-and-run as we sit in the hot tub and sip chardonnay. Frankly, I would just as soon go back to the good old days when a put-down was a put-down.

How can we speak truthfully about lying in a schizoid environment torn between deceitful hype and compulsive confession? The ancient philosopher Aristotle may be of help. He said that honesty was more than unloading everything to everyone. Rather, it is speaking the right truth to the right person at the right time in the right way for the right reason.

Not every truth is mine to tell: a truth shared in confidence or a truth that would needlessly hurt another is not mine to tell. Not every person has a right to know the truth: some willfully distort what they hear; some use facts to bludgeon the life out of larger, more important truths; some have unrelenting and undiscriminating tongues. Not every time is appropriate for the truth: some seasons call for tactful silence. The day your friend's daughter dropped out of school is not the day to tell her that your daughter made the Honor Roll. Not every way of communication honors the truth: sometimes the manner in which something gets conveyed subverts reality, as when a preacher says all the right words about God's love but in a tone of voice and with a concluding string of "oughts" (therefore we ought to do this and we ought to do that) that makes you feel guiltier than ever. Some motives for telling the truth are simply too destructive to deserve to be clothed in respectability; some expressions of "honesty" are really attempts to demean and belittle another person.

When it's the wrong truth, or the wrong person or the wrong time or the wrong way or the wrong reason for telling the truth, a white lie may have more integrity than a facile, insensitive "honesty." But when does a white lie begin to turn a slight shade of gray? When does it cross over and become immoral?

Perhaps a good test would be to ask, "Does this lie protect the other person or does it protect me?" Let's admit that it's not easy to tell the difference. On the surface, a lie may appear to protect someone else from unnecessary pain; on closer examination, however, it may actually serve to save me from uncomfortable exposure. In Graham Greene's The Heart of the Matter, a police officer in a West African colony has an affair, and in an effort to "protect" his wife from the pain of knowing the truth, walks down a road of falsehood that leads to disaster. Greene's story expresses a profound truth reenacted every day. It's easy to convince ourselves we're guarding the feelings of others when we're only trying to protect our own hides--and this sort of deception often ends in more complication, lying and pain than we ever imagined.

But just because it's difficult to tell the difference between an appropriate and a morally unacceptable lie does not mean we should give up the attempt to make the distinction. Life, after all, is difficult. So we press on, doing our best, knowing we're not God and counting on the grace of God when we blow it. Though committed to honesty, we know that sometimes courtesy calls for creatively stretching the truth.

The telephone rings and when you answer it, you hear the voice of your wife's best friend. She speaks in the perky, over-friendly way that's a dead giveaway she thinks you're a first-class horse's heinie. And the feelings are mutual. But your wife likes her a lot, and so you return the banter. She asks to speak to your wife, of course, but she's out for the evening. "Well, I guess I can mention it to you," your wife's friend says. "I'm calling to invite you two to dinner Friday evening. Yesterday your wife said she thought you were free, and I told her I'd get back to her. What do you think?"

What you really think is that you've already seen more than enough of that woman and her boring husband, and that even if next Friday weren't the opening game of the NBA championship series you still wouldn't want to be with them--not for any reason, not under any circumstances, not if they were the last people on earth, not in a million years. So you say, "Well, I suppose that would be just fine. We'll look forward to being with you. Thanks for the invitation."You lie! Yes, but it's not a bad lie, as lies go. It's the sort of white lie that helps lubricate the inevitable friction in social relationships. And though it hides some of your true feelings, it also protects a larger truth--the truth that your wife, at least, will look forward to the evening and really does love her friend, who happens to be going through a difficult time, and that you love your wife and want to make her happy. In the interests of this larger truth you told a white lie, and it was the courteous thing to do.

Still, while the occasional white lie is necessary, we ought to cringe at telling it, knowing that this makes sense only as an occasional practice. For unless we tell the truth to one another we'll be nothing but isolated islands, left to fend for ourselves in an untrustworthy and scary world. Only by speaking the truth can we build bridges to others--bridges that we ourselves will most certainly need someday.

In the middle of a conversation with a medical missionary from Africa, I complimented him on his facility with languages. "You're really amazing," I said to him. "I'm in awe of you. I really don't have a gift for languages." To which he responded, "That's nonsense. Out in the bush where I work the uneducated people speak three or four languages. Actually, Don, you're just lazy. You and your American friends just don't want to be bothered with learning other languages."

Ouch. That was painful. I didn't like him slashing away at my self-justifications, which are among my most treasured possessions. As the late Carlyle Marney said, "You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you flinch before it makes you free."

Yes, the truth might make you flinch, but it will also make you free--free enough, maybe, to find your way on the terrain of life. Without commitment to the truth, the underbrush of falsehood quickly grows up and you become lost, unable to know where you are, let alone where you're going. M. Scott Peck has written that for psychological and spiritual health, we must be dedicated to reality, and he offers a helpful image: "The less clearly we see the reality of the world--the more our minds are befuddled by falsehood, misperceptions, and illusions--the less able we will be to determine correct courses of action and make wise decisions. Our view of reality is like a map with which to negotiate the terrain of life. If the map is true and accurate, we will generally know where we are, and if we have decided where we want to go, we will generally know how to get there. If the map is false and inaccurate, we generally will be lost." By speaking the truth, we enable one another to chart accurate maps and thus get from here to wherever we're going with integrity and greater wholeness.

Our relationships, for example, depend on truth. Unless others speak truthfully to us, we never engage real people but only phony images; unless we speak truthfully to others, we never experience the exquisite joy of being known and accepted for who we really are. Any friendship worth cultivating demands honesty.

Tony Campolo told of a time his mother made him go to a funeral to show his respect for the deceased, Mr. Kilpatrick. He drove to the funeral home, entered the chapel, and bowed his head. When he looked around, he noticed he was the only one there, and when he peered into the casket, he did not see Mr. Kilpatrick. He had gone to the wrong funeral. Campolo was about to leave when an elderly woman clutched his arm and pleaded, "You were his friend, weren't you?" Not knowing what to do, he lied and said, "Yeah, he was a good man. Everybody loved him." After the funeral, Campolo and the elderly woman went to the cemetery in a limousine. The casket was lowered into the grave, and both tossed a flower on it.

On the way back to the funeral home, Campolo confessed the truth: "Mrs. King, there's something I've got to tell you. I want to be your friend, and we can't have a friendship unless I tell you the truth. I'm afraid I have to tell you that I didn't really know your husband. I came to his funeral by accident." She squeezed his hand and said, "You'll never, ever, ever know how much your being here with me today meant."

I don't know whether Campolo and Mrs. King became friends; I only know they could not have become genuine friends without Campolo's honesty.

Does this mean we always blurt out the truth, no matter what? No, I don't think so. Let me suggest two guidelines. First, the truth must be pertinent to the situation. Lewis Smedes has beautifully summarized what this means: "A politician ought to speak the truth about public matters as he sees them; he does not need to tell us how he feels about his wife. A doctor ought to tell me the truth, as he understands it, about my health; he does not need to tell me his views on universal health insurance. A minister ought to preach the truth, as he sees it, about the gospel; he does not need to tell the congregation what he feels about the choir director. [Telling the truth] does not call us to be garrulous blabbermouths. Truthfulness is demanded from us about the things that we ought to speak about at all." It is neither ethical nor courteous to dump all our feelings at all times on all people. When it is appropriate, though, we have an obligation to speak with honesty.

Second, the truth must be used to build up and not tear down. The truth can be used to ream out, beat up and put down; it can be used to force someone into submission or to flatten into nonexistence another person's feelings of self-worth. But those who respect others will speak it with sensitivity, in ways that help others grow toward greater responsibility and maturity. This is part of what St. Paul had in mind, I think, when he wrote about "speaking the truth in love."

So Tom, after investing a lot of capital in his friendship with Mike--after much laughter and tears and Monday Night Football and jogging together--takes the risk over beer and pizza to say, "Mike, by now you know how much I care about you. Because of my love, I need to level with you. I'm worried you're spending far too much time at work. To put it to you straight, buddy, you're neglecting your wife and kids, and I think you're headed for serious trouble. Now that I've spoken my piece, I won't keep bugging you (at least about this). But know that I want to help in anyway I can."

Or Susan says to Andrea, "Well, my friend, before we get back to work, I want to share with you something I've been thinking about for a while. You know how much you've meant to me, not only as a friend but as my pastor. You know you're my spiritual mentor. I'm not a trained theologian or preacher, but I want to give you some feedback on a mannerism you have in the pulpit that's pretty annoying."

If you're blessed to have a friend like Tom or Susan, a friend who cares enough to speak the truth, even when it hurts, immediately get on your knees and thank God for this blessing. And if you want to be a courteous person, dedicate yourself to speaking the truth, when it's pertinent and with love, even when it's difficult. If we would all do this, we'd help one another chart maps that correspond to reality, and we just might have an easier time finding our way in life.