Author Phyllis Tickle faces death just as she enjoyed life: ‘The dying is my next career’

Phyllis Tickle is a Southern-born and -bred mother of seven and a doyenne of religion writers.
She is now 81, and a widow living on a small farm in Lucy, Tenn., just outside of Memphis.
On the land where her cows once roamed, stray dogs she has adopted and some family
surround her. She is being treated for Stage IV cancer.
| Religion News Service photo by Karen Pulfer Focht

Author Phyllis Tickle faces death just as she enjoyed life: ‘The dying is my next career’

http://www.religionnews.com/2015/05/22/author-phyllis-tickle-faces-death-just-enjoyed-life-dying-next-career/

by David Gibson

May 22, 2015

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LUCY, Tenn. (RNS) Over the past generation, no one has written more deeply and spoken more widely about the contours of American faith and spirituality than Phyllis Tickle.

And now, at 81, she’s working on her final chapter: her own.

On Jan. 2, the very day her husband, Sam, succumbed to a long and debilitating illness, Tickle found herself flat on her back with a high fever, “as sick as I’ve ever been” and racked by “the cough from hell.”

The fever eventually subsided, but the cough wouldn’t let go. When she finally visited the doctor last month, the diagnosis was quick, and grim: Stage IV lung cancer that had already spread to her spine. The doctors told her she has four months to live, maybe six.

“And then they added: ‘But you’re very healthy so it may take longer.’ Which I just loved!” she says with her characteristic sharp laugh.

Indeed, that’s the kind of irony that delights Tickle, even in sober moments like this, and it embodies the sort of dry humor and frank approach that leaven even her most poignant, personal reflections. It’s also central to the distinctive style, delivered in a rich Southern register, that has won her innumerable fans and friends who will be hard-hit by the news of her illness.

Phyllis Tickle and one of the stray dogs she has adopted on her farm in Lucy, Tenn.

| Religion News Service photo by Karen Pulfer Focht

Tickle has been writing almost since she can remember, with poetry the focus of her earliest efforts. At 21 she married Sam Tickle, a medical student and childhood friend from Johnson City, Tenn. He went on to become a doctor; she took a variety of teaching jobs and launched the first of what would become a series of publishing ventures.

But Tickle really began to achieve prominence when she was recruited by Publishers Weekly in the early 1990s to start its religion division. Then her first “big” book, “Re-Discovering the Sacred: Spirituality in America,” came out in 1995, followed two years later by “God-Talk in America.”

In poems and essays, homilies and memoirs, countless public talks that explored sociology and history and the next big thing, Tickle has diligently mapped the pathways of the heart and the demographics of the soul while becoming one of the nation’s leading public intellectuals on all things religious.

‘Am I grateful for this? Not exactly. But I’m not unhappy about it.’

Even after she wound down her career on the lecture circuit last year — at 80 she decided she’d rather not spend up to 40 weeks a year on the road and away from her ailing husband and their beloved farm north of Memphis — Tickle was still in good form. Her puckish humor and youthful vigor always pulled her beyond the travails of the day and kept her focused on future writing projects and a couple gigs as a visiting professor.

She’s best-known for a range of essays and books on faith and life, most notably and successfully her series on “The Divine Hours,” about the power of daily fixed-hour prayer. (Raised a Presbyterian, Tickle was drawn to the Episcopal Church and its liturgy and has called herself “the world’s worst, most devout evangelical Episcopalian.”)

In 2008, her landmark work, “The Great Emergence: How Christianity Is Changing and Why,” probed how a new and vibrant Christianity is recovering elements of the past and carrying them into a whole new future. That’s a theme she continued to develop in a 2013 book, “The Age of the Spirit: How the Ghost of an Ancient Controversy Is Shaping the Church.” She has yet more to say on that, cancer permitting.

Phyllis Tickle. | Religion News Service photo by Karen Pulfer Focht

Taken together, Tickle’s works combine the sprawling scope of historian Karen Armstrong with the fine-grained command of sociologist Robert Bellah and the rural sensibilities of poet Wendell Berry. Throw in a dash of Thomas Merton’s sense and spirituality for good measure.

“Tickle has earned her place as one of the modern spiritual masters of the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries,” her friend and occasional collaborator Jon Sweeney writes in the introduction to an upcoming selection of Tickle’s writings in Orbis’ Modern Spiritual Masters Series.

What’s just as impressive is that she did all this and raised six children — a seventh, a son, died just two weeks after he was born — mostly on a 20-acre working farm, where the family moved in 1977. It was a big change for the kids after living for years in the upscale Central Gardens neighborhood in Memphis.

“They hated it,” Tickle says in her Tennessee drawl. But they love the country life now, and the Farm in Lucy, as she calls it, has always been a backdrop, or even a character, in much of her work.

In spite of this impressive literary lineage, however, it is the cancer that is shaping the last chapter of Tickle’s life.

And yet, she displays a remarkable equanimity in the face of this final, and most merciless, deadline.

“At 81 you figure you’re going to die of something, and sooner rather than later,” she says, sitting at her kitchen table for her first interview about her diagnosis. “I could almost embrace this, that, OK, now I know what it’s probably going to be, and probably how much time there is. So you can clean up some of the mess you’ve made and tie up some of the loose ends.”

“I am no more afraid of dying than I am of, I don’t know, drinking this coffee,” she continues, pointing to her mug. (It’s actually filled with Postum since she’s had to give up caffeine. She remains, thankful, though, that she can still drink a nightly whiskey. “Jack Daniels, of course!” she says, shocked at the suggestion that a Tennessee native would drink anything else.)

During a morning-long conversation, Tickle is regularly interrupted by a nagging, sometimes racking, cough that alternates with her signature laugh. “This is part of it,” she says matter-of-factly.

Her once boundless energy starts to fail by midday. She started radiation treatment on Thursday (May 21), mainly in an effort to forestall the possible collapse of her spine, which would leave her helpless and in intractable pain. “That sounds a little formidable to me,” she says. “I was never much for suffering.”

She goes on, her words carefully chosen. “Am I grateful for this? Not exactly. But I’m not unhappy about it. And that’s very difficult for people to understand.”

Phyllis Tickle walks the farm where her cows once roamed.| Religion News Service photo by Karen Pulfer Focht

Phyllis Tickle walks the farm where her cows once roamed. Religion News Service photo by Karen Pulfer Focht

This image is available for web and print publication. For questions, contact Sally Morrow.

‘It’s a gift’

How then, did Tickle reach such a state of grace so quickly and, seemingly, easily? Is it the wisdom of age? Years of religious practice? Or the relentless attempt, as Sweeney has written of her, “to come to terms with the essentially and elusively spiritual in the world about her”?

Tickle’s answer is as surprising as the revelation of her diagnosis: She had a near-death experience at 21, she says, thanks to an experimental drug she was given to try to prevent a miscarriage.

In the middle of the night, she stopped breathing; her husband, a medical student at the time, was able to revive her long enough to get her to the hospital.

“Mine was a classic near-death. So, not much to say,” she begins. “I was dead.

“I was like a gargoyle up in the corner of the hospital room,” she continues. “And I remember to this day looking down and watching Sam beat on me again and screaming for the nurses, and the nurses coming with the machines and the whole nine yards. And then the ceiling opened and I just went out the corner and into a tunnel, which was grass all the way around. Ceiling, sides, the whole thing.

Phyllis Tickle’s glasses rest on a large piece of paper where her creative scribbles lie
until they find their way onto real pages. | Religion News Service photo by Karen Pulfer Focht

Phyllis Tickle’s glasses rest on a large piece of paper where her creative scribbles lie until they find their way onto real pages. Religion News Service photo by Karen Pulfer Focht

This image is available for web and print publication. For questions, contact Sally Morrow.

“And I went to the end of the tunnel to this incredible — people call it ‘the light.’ I guess that’s as good a name as any. But an incredible peace, a reality, unity, whatever. The voice, which was fortunately speaking in English” — she laughs again — “said, ‘Do you want to come?’ And I heard myself saying, ‘No, I want to go back and have his baby,’ meaning Sam.”

She recalls that she turned around and went back down through the hole in the ceiling and into her body.

It’s a startling story coming from Tickle, and one her husband admonished her never to speak about, much as she wanted to. For him, a medical professional, it was simply a result of hypoxia, or lack of oxygen. “That’s not religion,” he would say.

Years later, he himself had a few uncanny spiritual experiences that softened his opposition, and in recent years she began to speak a bit about her episode, most recently and expansively to a television crew that’s making a documentary on end-of-life experiences.

“You’re never afraid of death after that,” Tickle says of her long-ago taste of mortality. “I’m sorry. You could work at it but you’d just never be afraid of it. … You don’t invite that kind of thing. It’s a gift. It’s not like you can prepare for it or anything. It’s part of the working material you’re given.”

‘Christianity isn’t going to die!’

Yet it isn’t material she has ever used — though that could change.

Tickle had been mulling a book on aging before her diagnosis, and she hopes to finish it, knowing that it will probably be informed by her new perspective. “I hope it won’t be another model, ‘this-is-how-we-die’ thing,” she says. “If it veers over to that I’ll be the first to burn the manuscript. Or pull the plug.”

She is also assembling a collection of her poems, though she is not as high on them as others are: “I would have been a poet had I had the skill or the gift. What I have is a very little skill and a very moderate gift.”

Phyllis Tickle in her bedroom, where she sleeps in a bed made by her
great-grandfather and surrounded by other family furniture and her books.
| Religion News Service photo by Karen Pulfer Focht

Phyllis Tickle in her bedroom, where she sleeps in a bed made by her great-grandfather and surrounded by other family furniture and her books. Religion News Service photo by Karen Pulfer Focht

This image is available for web and print publication. For questions, contact Sally Morrow.

She’s also chewing over another “big picture” book on what she sees as a “rapprochement between Western Judaism and ‘emergence’ Christianity,” and just musing on the idea starts her on a riff on the transformation of religion after the Reformation, which she then seamlessly links to the blockbuster Pew Forum survey earlier this month that showed Christianity quickly losing ground in the U.S. as the number of unaffiliated “nones” spikes sharply.

It’s all grist for Tickle’s mill.

“Christianity isn’t going to die!” she exclaims, almost offended at the suggestion. “It just birthed out a new tributary to the river.”

“Christianity is reconfiguring,” she says. “It’s almost going through another adolescence. And it’s going to come out a better, more mature adult. There’s no question about that.”

For Tickle, the most interesting cohort in the survey is not the usual “spiritual but not religious,” but the “neither spiritual nor religious” who get “lost in the shuffle” but are in fact the key to the future of faith.

“There is an honesty in their conversation and self-understanding that, it seems to me, makes them much more open to conversation and analysis and perhaps, ultimately, to persuasion than is true for other groups,” she writes in a follow-up email. “I may be wrong, but I am, as I say, fascinated.”

Yet, that will have to be another book for another author.

‘If that makes me a mystic, so be it’

As she reflects on her life, Tickle says she has always seen herself as a listener, something she admits may surprise those who know her literary output and her gift of gab.

It’s an inner voice, she says, that has always told her what to do, what was coming next in a life filled with so much variety. And it’s a voice she has always obeyed.

“It’s the truth. Just like I’m told to do this,” she says, referring to her terminal illness. “Which is why it doesn’t bother me. The dying is my next career.

“You can call it whatever you want to. Spooky? I hate the word ‘mystical.’ It has such a cachet now. Like an exquisite and high-priced perfume. But if that makes me a mystic, so be it.”

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For further reference ~

Emergence Christianity by Phyllis Tickle

RNS: The Politics Of Every Major U.S. Religion, In One Chart

Credit: Tobin Grant, Religious News Service.Click here to enlarge with more information.

The Politics Of Every Major U.S. Religion, In One Chart

http://thinkprogress.org/election/2014/08/29/3476349/does-your-church-dictate-your-politics/

by Jack Jenkins

August 29, 2014

For many political analysts, it’s an established truism that religion — for better or worse — is a force to be reckoned with in American politics. The religious affiliation of candidates (or lack thereof) is at least a minor point of discussion in virtually every election, and pundits regularly pour over data about the “Evangelical vote,” the “Catholic vote,” and even the “nonreligious vote.” Implicit in all of this number-crunching is the idea that when it comes to a American voter’s political opinions, religion matters.

But despite all the attention given to the voting patterns of the faithful, the question remains: does where you go to church (or temple, or mosque, or service, etc.) actually dictate your political views? A new chart, compiled by Tobin Grant of the Religion New Service and using data from Pew Research’s 2008 Religious Landscape Survey, takes a stab at answering this question by visually illustrating the general political beliefs of religious people on two policy questions. In it, an individual’s income bracket — and political opinions generally [are] reflective of one’s economic situation — looks to coincide with what “kind” of church he/she attends. Except for when it doesn’t.

As Grant explains: “This new graph maps the ideologies of 44 different religious groups using data comes from Pew’s Religious Landscape Survey. This survey included 32,000 respondents. It asked very specific questions on religion that allow us to find out the precise denomination, church, or religion of each person.”

In other words, the dimensions of each color-coded circle reflect the relative size of the religious group it represents, and a circle’s position on the graph illustrates how the faithful feel about the government’s involvement in both the economy (bigger government with more services vs. smaller government with less services) and morality (greater protection of morality vs. less protection of morality). While the chart is revealing on its own, the policy questions in play — the economy and morality — are perhaps best analyzed alongside data detailing the average income of religious people from different faith groups. Pew Research has information on just that, which was used by GOOD magazine and Column Five in 2010 to create this beautiful infographic:

Credit: Good and Column Five. Click here to enlarge.

At first glance, one of the most notable correlations between the two charts is how closely racial and economic trends track with the demographics of religious groups — particularly on the question of government services. Since churches often serve as community hubs, pastors and congregants — and, by extension, full denominations — are usually sensitive to issues faced by people in their pews. Historically black Protestant denominations, for instance, are shown as having a high percentage of congregants (roughly 47 percent) who make less than $30,000 a year. This income bracket disproportionally benefits from crucial social programs such as the Affordable Care Act and the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (a.k.a., food stamps), so it makes sense that denominations such as National and unaffiliated Baptists show up as overwhelmingly in favor of a government that offers more services. Similarly, White Mainline Protestants such as the United Methodist Church, the Episcopal church, and the Presbyterian Church (USA) have some of the wealthiest congregants in the country (36 percent of White Mainliners make over $75,000 a year) who don’t usually come in contact with many social services. As such, it’s not entirely surprising that they skew towards the “smaller government, less services” section of Grant’s scale. Meanwhile, Catholics, whose numbers include a relatively even distribution of income brackets that closely matches the national average, are situated roughly in the center of the chart.

But while income seems to indicate the probable political positions of some faith groups on the graph, Grant’s compilation also highlights several notable — and politically perplexing — exceptions. Sixty-five percent of Hindus make over $75,000 a year, for instance, but Grant’s chart depicts this wealthy group as firmly endorsing big government. Conversely, 58 percent of evangelicals — who, in Pew’s designation, are overwhelmingly white — make less than $50,000 a year, and many benefit directly from social services: white non-Hispanics make up 42 percent of our nation’s poor and receive 69 percent of government benefits, according to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. Yet most of the evangelical denominations, marked in dark blue, are huddled near the upper right side of Grant’s graph, indicating a solid preference for a smaller government with less services.

There are also odd outliers, such as white Pentecostals — who, on average, are poorer and less educated than the average American. They, like historically black churches, show up as decidedly left-of-center on the big government question, breaking the trend set by their fellow white conservative Christians.

Interestingly, the economic divide is also arguably even more consistent on the question of whether or not the federal government should do more to protect morality. One could contend, for example, that Grant’s graph adds weight to studies positing that wealthier people tend to gravitate towards looser moral standards. As mentioned, historically black churches and conservative evangelical denominations both have high percentages of churchgoers who earn less money than the national average, and both groups sit almost entirely on the half of the graph that calls for a greater protection of morality. But groups with high income rates — Buddhists, Unitarians, non-conservative Jews, the religiously unaffiliated (listed here as “nothing in particular”), and Mainline protestants — all lean towards a hypothetical administration that does less to reinforce moral codes. But this “the rich hate morals” argument gets muddled pretty quickly: Mainline protestant denominations are relatively wealthy, but they are also decidedly more liberal than evangelicals on social issues such as homosexuality. As such, it’s possible that these progressively-minded respondents conflate the idea of “protecting morality” with harmful policies that restrict the rights of LGBT people.

The notable outlier on the morality question is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (LDS), or Mormons, who live pretty comfortably as a people yet fervently support a more morally-minded administration. There are a number of possible explanations for this, but one could be that the top-down style of the LDS church and its teachings simply have an unusually deep impact the lives of Mormons. Three scholars actually explored this phenomenon a new book about the church, highlighting how Mormons are now one of the most “politically cohesive” groups in the country. This “theological impact” argument could also explain another odd division within the Jewish community that shows up in Grant’s chart: Adherents to Judaism fair relatively well economically across the board, but Conservative and Orthodox Jews seem to prefer a government that does more to protect morality. More liberal Jews, on the other hand, deeply support leadership that does less to protect moral standards.

Grant’s graph also exposes some possible disconnects between the professed beliefs of religious institutions and the opinions of those in their pews. For example, according to the chart, virtually all Mainline protestant denominations are firmly situated in the “smaller government, less services” side of the ideological spectrum. Yet Mainline protestant denominational heads have repeatedly and passionately participated in efforts such as the “Circle of Protection,” an ecumenical effort to safeguard social services that help poorer Americans. The same is true for Catholics: Catholic leaders have lobbied fiercely for both social programs (such as food stamps) and against policies they see as morally abhorrent (such as contraception), yet Pew’s data and Grant’s chart shows the average Catholic as roughly at the center of the idealogical spectrum on these questions.

So does where you go to church dictate your politics? Well, sort of. Regarding the two issues discussed above, the data hints that a voter’s religious affiliation is a strong indicator of their political beliefs, but it’s not totally clear whether religious teachings are the main forceshaping those political beliefs. A longer analysis of history, theology, and actual voting patterns of parishioners would be required to get a more accurate picture of what’s going on here. However, it is clear that your wallet can say a lot about what kind of faith community you might attend. How you respond to the teachings of your church once you get there — and whether you’re self-selecting a religious community based off of your income bracket — is still mostly up to you.

Minister to Monsters: How an American pastor gave comfort to the Nazis

Amazon link

The definition of civility is whether a religion might reach beyond itself to do the right thing. Here is an instance of a Christian minister who reached beyond himself. Against all the revulsion within himself, to do what was right to a band of human-rights abusers and genocidal monsters of mankind.

Of the wickedness, evil, and oppression the Nazis on trial had committed upon small children, mothers, fathers, aunts, and uncles, grandparents, families, and friends, was uncontested. Even for Henry Gerecke, a Lutheran minister, who witnessed their sinful deeds and held them accountable before the Judge of all mankind, was a fact he too could not deny. But of the grace and mercy that is made known in Christ Jesus the Savior and Forgiver of men, this truth was a truth that Henry had also to acknowledge as a minister of the grace of God in the gospel of Christ.

It was also a truth that had to be faced by those who were to to be executed for their heinous crimes against humanity. Of the truth that what they did was evil. And that what Jesus had done in His atonement was for all evils - not just those select sins a humane society might deems more evil (and unforgiveable) than others. As difficult as it was for Henry Gerecke to minister to these cruel men even so he knew the truths of the gospel were explicitly written for "such a one as these."

It is a truth that the Christian faith acknowledges there is evil in this world. Even now, this past month's events have shown to the world the brutal evils of ISIS' inhumanity to unfortunates caught in their web of terror and horror. But cruelty exists on many levels - from the injustice done to children in the home by unloving moms and dads, to the sins that exists on so many levels of our human existence. However unfortunate the act of sin, the truth is that in Christ has God made propitiation for the sin of the world through the atonement of His Son Jesus.

This is a spiritual truth that goes beyond human understanding. That is wiser than we can many times allow. That is the harder to admit when seeing the crime of the criminal. The Christian faith has been tested and in its wings rests the terrible truths that all are sinners. That all are held accountable. That all stand guilty before the God of creation.

But it is also true that in Jesus - and by His atonement - men may find salvation through repentance from sin to the One who has borne all the sin of the world. It is what is described as salvation. That upon the cross of Calvary hung One who died at the hands of unjust men that for those unjust men might God's holy salvation be effected for all time.

Christianity admits to the evilness of mankind but it also admits to the redemption of God that can justly remove evil's sentence of spiritual death. Its faith is most appropriately fulfilled by humanity when observed in this life and lived to its fullness. But it is also a faith that can reach past the fallenness of mankind to disturb its evils and hold all accountable before the holy One of Israel.

Justice is defined in a God who not only judged mankind as fallen but has also saved mankind from its fallenness. Who not only commanded judgment upon sin but did something about the judgment to be rightfully executed. For it was in Himself - the God of creation - that sin might be bourne upon His holy Person in Christ, the Son of God, who was very God of very God, and is now seated at the right hand of the Father. Who was obedient even unto death that He might bear the sin of mankind and be raised as Redeemer to the penitents of this wicked world. Who, like ourselves, was deeply repulsed by evil's cruelty and wanton affects. But unlike our sinful hearts demanding cruelty in return, had given His very self for its necessary judgment and payment.

This is a God-act that the redeemed heart of the Christian finds so hard to acknowledge or enact. It was an act of confession that Henry Gerecke undertook against the vileness to his own sense of injustice and condemnation. It was what marked his crucified faith against the sensitivities he rightfully held for the land of the living. He wished to condemn and execute upon the witness of the Nazi camps of the Holocaust, but his very hand was stayed by the all merciful hand of His Redeemer God who commanded justice in forgiveness. And forgiveness in judgment. Amen.

R.E. Slater

August 30, 2014

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God at Nuremberg: How an American pastor came to comfort Nazis

http://www.religionnews.com/2014/08/22/god-nazis-jews-holocaust-nuremberg/

by Kimberly Winston

August 22, 2014

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(RNS) He was a minister to monsters.

That’s what Tim Townsend writes of Henry Gerecke, the unassuming Lutheran pastor from Missouri who shepherded six of the most notorious Nazis to the gallows in “Mission at Nuremberg: An American Army Chaplain and the Trial of the Nazis.”

The book is one of a string of new titles that dust off a remote corner of World War II history — the role religion played both in and beyond the conflict.

“That’s why I wanted to write this book,” Townsend said from Washington, D.C. where he is a senior writer and editor for The Pew Research Center.

“A large part was trying to figure out why did the Allies provide spiritual comfort for men who were on trial for what was ultimately called the Holocaust,” he said. “They clearly did not have anyone’s spiritual welfare in mind when they were murdering Jews, so why did we feel it was necessary and humane to provide them with chaplains to see to their spiritual comfort?”

Townsend combed the National Archives for some piece of paper, some order that explained more deeply why the Allies felt those charged with the most horrendous crimes of the century needed — even deserved — a chaplain of their own, beyond the fact that the Geneva Conventions required it.

Beyond the rules of international law, American culture has long accepted the idea chaplains ministering to criminals from the common thief to the death row murderer.

Townsend finds his answer in Gerecke, a Lutheran Church Missouri Synod pastor charged with caring for men such as Hermann Goering, Albert Speer and Wilhelm Keitel — men responsible for the mass-extermination of six million European Jews. How, he asks, did he understand his role in leading the condemned Nazis to their deaths?

Tim Townsend’s 400-page “Mission at Nuremberg” details an American Army chaplain’s mission to save the souls of Nazis imprisoned following the end of World War II. RNS photo courtesy Heidi Richter, HarperCollins.

Gerecke volunteered in 1943, when the Army was desperate for chaplains. His unit was sent from England to Germany after the Germans surrendered in 1945.

There, he visited Dachau, where hundreds of thousands of Jews were gassed and cremated in ovens.

As the Nuremberg Trials began, higher-ups heard there was a German-speaking Army chaplain and asked Gerecke to take on the role of ministering to 21 high-ranking Nazis on trial for their lives.

In saying yes, Gerecke played one of the most puzzling and under-examined roles in what Townsend calls “the judicial improvisation we now call the Nuremberg trials.”

“Gerecke was the perfect choice,” Townsend said. “He was able to go in with his mind and his eyes wide open. He had seen Dachau, he knew what these people were responsible for but he was able to move past that in terms of his ability to relate to them.”

Townsend thinks Gerecke looked beyond the terrible men imprisoned in front of him to the children they had once been. One of the most lovely — and chilling — pieces in the book comes when Gerecke accompanies Keitel up the 13 steps of the gallows and prays aloud with him a German prayer both were taught by their mothers.

“He knew that he needed to save the souls of as many of these men as he could before they were executed,” Townsend said. “I think for him he thought it was a great gift he had been given.”

And not one he took lightly. Gerecke did not give communion to any of the Nazis unless he believed they were truly penitent and made a profession of faith in Jesus. Only four of the 11 sentenced to hang met Gerecke’s standard.

One who did not was Goering, who many historians credit with helping to create “the Final Solution,” the genocide of the Jews. When he and Gerecke discussed the divinity of Jesus, Goering disparaged the idea.

“This Jesus you always speak of,” he said to Gerecke, “to me he is just another smart Jew.”

Gerecke held that unless he accepted Jesus as his savior, Goering could not receive communion.

“You are not a Christian,” Gerecke told Goering, “and as a Christian pastor I cannot commune you.”

Within hours, Goering was dead, robbing the hangman by swallowing cyanide he had secreted in his cell.

In the end, Gerecke walked five men to the gallows. After the war, he was criticized by some of his fellow pastors for not granting Goering communion. And he was criticized for ministering to such monsters in the first place.

During the trials, a rumor spread among the Nazis that Gerecke would go home before the end. They wrote a letter to his wife, Alma, asking her to please let him stay. That letter, which Townsend first saw in a St. Louis exhibit, led him to the story.

“Our dear Chaplain Gerecke is necessary not only for us as a minister but also as the thoroughly good man that he is,” the letter reads above the signatures of Goering, Keitel, Speer and others. Then it includes a word Townsend writes is not often associated with Nazis: “We simply have come to love him.”

YS END WINSTON

Ten Essential Skills The Next Generation Of Religious Leaders Will Need

Ten Essential Skills The Next Generation Of Religious Leaders Will Need
http://religioninsights.org/articles/ten-essential-skills-next-generation-religious-leaders-will-need

Some skills are time-tested, such as listening and collaborating, but tomorrow’s religious leaders will also need to be entrepreneurial and communicate in new ways.

The U.S. religious landscape is changing and so too the old ways of doing church. Today’s seminary students will likely need to be far more creative and imaginative than older generations in connecting with members and creating community. Four experts weigh in on the 10 most essential skills the next generation of religious leaders will need. (Surprise: technological skills didn’t make the list!)

The 10 most essential skills:

1. Be entrepreneurial: In the old days, visitors were invited to attend worship services with the hope they would join. Today, clergy have to deploy a whole host of methods — from finding people through online groups to giving talks at local libraries or coffee shops. Being entrepreneurial means taking risks. Some pastors try one new approach and when it doesn’t work they label it a failure and go back to business as usual, says Lawrence Peers, director of learning for the Pastoral Excellence Network. What if they defined the new approach as an experiment and tried to learn from it?

2. Communicate theology effectively: Clergy have to speak to many people with widely diverging needs. Some don’t have a faith background and never attended church. Some are well versed in the popular distillations of recent theological trends. And some are in interfaith marriages and have gained a deep appreciation for other traditions. Speaking to all of these groups requires developing a rich vocabulary, while at the same time communicating core shared values. “The theological framework will have to be deeper and broader,” says Cynthia Woolever, a sociologist and research director of the U.S. Congregational Life Survey.

3. Have the courage of your convictions: New pastors are often afraid of speaking up for fear they may lose standing within their congregation or denomination, says Martha Simmons, president and publisher of The African American Pulpit Journal and the creator of The African American Lectionary. Simmons often sees clergy shirk controversial issues, whether it’s the treatment of women clergy or homosexuality. Her advice? “Say what you believe.” Equally important are strong core convictions rooted in beliefs. Convictions inspire, adds the Rev. Kathy Smith, associate director of theCalvin Institute of Christian Worship.

4. Collaborate: Effective clergy know how to engage their congregants if they want to move forward toward a common vision. Peers, of the Pastoral Excellence Network, quotes a colleague who says, “Clergy need the ability to play jazz, while their seminary teaches them to play from sheet music.”

5. Find mentors: No clergyperson should lead alone. Simmons says pastors often tell her they can’t find the right mentors. Her response? “Take it where you can get it.” Everyone needs a mentor, even older, experienced clergy. She adds: “We’re all going to make mistakes. But there are some mistakes we can’t afford to make. Mentors can help you not fall into ditches and lose time you can’t get back.” The Pastoral Excellence Network exists to support clergy mentoring communities across many denominations.

6. Learn to listen: It may seem obvious, but clergy spend a lot of time learning to speak. They also need to listen. Listening is even more important at a time when society has lost the art of civil conversation, says Smith. Listening well will help clergy avoid pitfalls that come when clergy don’t know the culture of the congregation and fail to honor local traditions, adds Peers.

7. Try humility: Society once accorded clergy a high social standing. That’s not necessarily the case anymore. “Authority is earned over time,” says Peers, referring to clergy. “It takes patience and diligence. Leading is a dance —sometimes you lead, sometimes you follow the leading of others in the congregation.”

8. Develop a spiritual discipline: Simmons says she often gets silent stares when she asks clergy about their spiritual discipline. Everyone says they pray, she says, but Simmons encourages clergy to develop a structured discipline that’s built into their daily lives, whether its meditation, Bible-reading or quiet time.

9. Speak to doubt as well as to faith: Ironically, talking about doubt will help faith seem more relevant, says Peers, who advises clergy to honor honest questioning. “Clergy can create an atmosphere of searching so that people don’t have to leave a congregation necessarily when they experience doubt,” he says.

10. Love the people you serve: Some clergy are so enamored by the vision they have for the congregation, they lose sight of the people. “We sometimes love the dream more than the people,” says Smith, who advises: “Spend the time to get to know and appreciate the people you’re attempting to lead.”

http://religioninsights.org/

My Journey Out of Inerrancy to a Broader Hermeneutic

Seeing the Son in a new Light

Relevancy22 was purposely created three years ago to debate the idea of Calvinism as the most sufficient explanation of God's free-willed universe. It does also debate the idea of inerrantism as the most proper foundation for biblical study. The following paragraphs will be hard to read - especially as it was for this author here when coming from his own inerrantist-informed Christian faith. However, as hard as it is to read these following paragraphs it must be said with as much grace and candor for those, like myself, who find themselves driven to discover a greater enlightenment of God's Word and divine will than the one provided by this line of biblical interpretation.

As such, an inerrant theology, or a hermeneutic of inerrantism, is a type of theology that occurs upon  an "inerrant" foundation where the Bible is literally read and believed. One subjected to ideas and beliefs about God, sin, man, and the bible, that are already pre-formed and classically bound, but are not coherent with contemporary science nor philosophy except to debate, criticise, and ostracize.

Weathering storms of uncertainty

Moreover, the term "intellectual" when used of the inerrant position has become a specious term used only by inerrantists of their own internally driven scholarship. More rather, the term "intellectual" outside of these conservatively dominated circles connotates the idea of a "religiously pre-informed church body" that has established its own hermeneutical rules (that is, rules of "knowing and epistemology") by conservative religious standards, preference, and prejudice. Rules based upon a set of closed systems, a closed bible, and a closed constituency unopen to contemporary theological construction. This has been spoken of in the sectional sidebar entitled "An Open Faith and Open Theology." I have also written a similar article earlier this month entitled, "The Problem of Faith and Religion in Christianity," and another a year ago entitled, "Voices of Dissent - Unfolding God's Love Within the Heart and Conscience of Humanity."

Accordingly, an inerrant study of past church history and theology, such as is done using "biblical word study" methods, or in a compendium study of systematic theology, will be arranged to support an inerrantist foundation with in-vogue subject matters. Appeal to the "outside world" of science, archaeology, church history, etc, is selective, uses nuanced circular reasoning, and is driven by systematic logicism, dogma, church folklores, and traditions. (And yes, all this has been discussed ad naseum in the past to help give  definition to what is meant by being Christianly orthodox without being inerrantly orthodox.)

Sailing the tradewinds of God's grace

As such, the inerrantist worldview construction is difficult to break from and usually cannot be accomplished by mere insiders alone. And when doing so, those wishing to break free may feel as if their God has become "unreal," while at the same time causing all church doctrine-and-theology to become similarly "untrue" as they each strained against their inerrant moorings. At once, great doubt and skepticism can arise to personally destabilize (or scandalize) the erstwhile believer burdened to move beyond time-honored Sunday School lessons and sincere biblical rhetoric by pastor or prof, family or friend, teacher or synod. This was mine own experience and it required the persistent presence of the Holy Spirit to get past so many of these fundamental barriers that had theologically-tethered my soul to its hard-fastened reef. Like a ship at anchor in safe harbor I did not expect to depart from my conditioned past to the siren shores of an unknown land. Nor to navigate across unfamiliar sea lanes on my own without a proper captain and provisions. Or to weather the storms of  fear and uncertainty so loathsome to my Christian faith but so necessary to its renewal. Especially because I would then become my own navigator which is never a very good idea to start an exploration upon when facing wreck, ruin, and foreordained apostasy.

However, the Lord continued to burden me without respite or relief. Who caused me to set sail and explore the oft neglected (or is it oft forgotten?), but very orthodox church doctrine, of Arminianism (think, basic Wesleyanism)... which is the polar opposite to the Calvinism I grew up within (note: Jacob Arminius was a contemporary of John Calvin). At once, when prayerfully coming across this doctrine, I could feel the inner release of the epistemological anchors that cabled mind-and-soul straining to break free of their more comfortable shore-bound moorings. And then, with the unlooked for help of science and process theology, the all-knowing (and much revered) philosophical notion of inerrantism had begun to be released from within to put me underway through newly discovered non-inerrantist philosophies (I will tell of these in a moment). One of the first was the approach of continental philosophy that proved most helpful in providing the foundational elements necessary for a theology known as process-relational thought. A philosophy that was opposed to the analytic thought that I grew up with in my Reformed tradition (think formulaic creeds and confessions). One that stressed existential thought and questioned all personal, social, and institutional motives, values, and beliefs. Even those of the authors of the sacred biblical text and leaders of the church.

But there were other epistemological drivers that helped to continue my journey across the turbulent seas of doubt and fear. One was the idea of  postmodernism that helped to "deconstruct" 19th century church enlightenment while providing a much needed antipathy for 20th century secular modernism which gripped my evangelical past. Though this idea of postmodernism had been much maligned within my fellowship for the past decade or two, I found the elements within postmodernism especially helpful in breaking free of the dogmatic certainty an inerrantist would feel to his or her's unquestioning (dogmatic) beliefs. Specifically, it helped to externalize my personal sense of self-awareness, group-awareness, and basic belief structures. And when once done, could re-position all within a post-modern, post-structural, post-foundational, framework. This was not an insignificant task especially as each area relates to specific personal beliefs and descriptors of one's confidences, assurances, values, and philosophies.

Discovering new Streams of Living Water

To these many areas I next approached the subject of God and man relationally through God's love as a theologically sufficient basis in which to throw off the last mooring lines of inerrantism. The idea of an open future (rather than a closed future of wrath and judgement) as a sufficient eschatological teleology found its home in open theism (while not denying the former, but simply altering its emphasis upon all of theology). And all the while I labored to constructively criticise inerrantism's self-contained system by  pointing out its basic weaknesses and deficiencies that would hold its faithful participants back by fear and uncertainty, divine wrath and condemnation, self-doubt and distrust, including a withering sense of personal retribution to any who may hold to a wider, broader, more relative world of post-foundational theology.

Hence, my seafaring journey over these past three years has been done sympathetically in knowledge of other similarly burdened wayfarers struggling with their own personal inerrantist positions. Who, perhaps, may not knowing which sea lanes to navigate upon to break free of its chaining bonds, nor may be able to find a more adequate sense of self-release (or personal respite) against past theological positions. Thus it is that I write of mine own discoveries by journaling of its theologic progress. In place of a inerrantist hermeneutic I now hold both an anthropologic - and relational - hermeneutic. One that must be Jesus-centered in all things. The one uses existential thought to interpret both the Bible and the would-be interpreters of the Bible of any era or time period. While the other focuses on God's grace and love as the primary passion and reason for His divine relationship with creation (remember the slogan, "Love Wins!?" Eh, verily!). It took many years to accomplish this task with any kind of sufficient theological argument or authentic biblical support against the austere religious background I was immersed in. And was done with great personal difficulty and struggle as core centers and foundations moved. But at the last, when the torrent broke I found myself writing feverishly (not perfectly, nor with full knowledge) by "journaling" of my steady progress out of the lands of conservative fundamentalism and evangelicalism, unto the broader planes of freedom's lands which held more promising - and theologically relevant - Jesus-centeredness. Jesus missional witness. And, Jesus-based pathos and service. One that was not centered upon its own theologies but upon a theology that could appropriately question itself as to its motives, values, and basic social drivers. For a theology that cannot question itself is a theology not worth knowing.

It was if my Pauline-driven doctrines had to be completely reset and re-orientated around Jesus and not simply God's Word (curious as that may sound!). And when once done, would find their Lord and Savior in greater proportion to the Pauline theology I had learned to apply and believe. Not one orientated around the church, but very God Himself. Not one orientated around man's preferences, but around the dissettling missional witness and pathos of Jesus. Nor one centered around my own enculturated values, but one having a shared sense of appreciation for other social values and mores beyond mine own culture. And it was wonderful. For there were the new lands of discovery thriving with freedom, living, and joy. Which were full of new hope and bright promise. For myself, this surprised discovery made under so difficult a process helped soften the blow I had experienced for so many long years by my inerrantist position - especially my previously tightened construction of the world. It opened everything up and I was glad to do it with great thanksgiving and praise to the Lord, our Saviour and Redeemer. Thus Relevancy22 was born as an online resource and reference site to help move similarly estranged wayfarers from a world of inerrant evangelicalism to a post-evangelical view of God, man, and the world, with an openness to our future and missional responsibility. One that might be known as post-Reformed (or postmodern) orthodoxy but not neo-Calvinistic nor neo-Reformed (see the next article below for further explanation). One that hearkens to the age-old rhythms of the Reformation itself that deeply understood the pathos of the church to be always reforming: "Ecclesia reformata, semper reformanda" ("the church reformed and always reforming"). Amen!

Peace,

R.E. Slater

May 22, 2014
updated May 27, 2014

"Yes, Virginia, newer is better."

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* * * * * * * * * *

John Calvin

The Troubling Trends in America's 'Calvinist Revival'

http://jonathanmerritt.religionnews.com/2014/05/20/troubling-trends-americas-calvinist-revival/

by Jonathan Merrit
[select additional comments by R.E. Slater]

May 20, 2014

Comments

When Mark Oppenheimer declared that “evangelicalism is in the midst of a Calvinist revival” in The New York Times earlier this year, he was only partially correct.

According to a 2010 Barna poll, roughly three out of 10 Protestant leaders describe their church as “Calvinist or Reformed,” a proportion statistically unchanged from a decade earlier. According to the research group, “there is no discernible evidence from this research that there is a Reformed shift among U.S. congregation leaders over the last decade.”

And yet, Oppenheimer is correct that something is stirring among American Calvinists (those who adhere to a theological system centering on human sinfulness and God’s sovereignty that stems from 16th century reformer John Calvin). While Calvinist Protestants—including Presbyterians, some Baptists, and the Dutch Reformed—have been a part of the American religious fabric since the beginning, Oppenheimer points to a more vocal and visible strain that has risen to prominence in recent years.

They’ve been called the “young, restless, and reformed” or neo-Calvinists, and they are highly mobilized and increasingly influential. Their books perform well in the marketplace (see John Piper or Paul David Tripp), their leaders pepper the lists of the most popular Christian bloggers (see The Gospel Coalition and Resurgence), and they’ve created vibrant training grounds for raising new recruits (see Reformed Theological Seminary, Westminster Theological Seminary, and The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary).

This brand of Calvinists are a force with which to reckon. But as with any movement, America’s Calvinist revival is a mixed bag. None can deny that many have come to faith as a result of these churches and leaders. The movement is rigorously theological* [think, inerrant theology, or a hermenuetic of inerrantism here - res] which is surely one of its greatest contributions. Just as Quakers teach us much about silence, Mennonites teach us much about peace, and Anglicans teach us much about liturgy, so Calvinists spur us on with their intellectual rigor* [as debated at this website here, "intellectual" has become a specious term used only by inerrantists of their own scholarship - res]. And yet, from where I sit, there are several troubling trends that must be addressed if this faithful faction hopes to move from a niche Christian cadre to a sustainable and more mainstream movement. (*See my opening comments above - res)

ISOLATIONISM

One of the markers of the neo-Calvinist movement is isolationism. My Reformed friends consume Calvinist blogs and Calvinist books, attend Calvinist conferences, and join Calvinist churches with Calvinist preachers. They rarely learn from, or engage, with those outside their tradition. (My feeling is that this trend is less prevalent among leaders than the average followers.)

The most sustainable religious movements, however, are those which are willing to ask hard, full-blooded questions while interacting with more than caricatures of other traditions. When neo-Calvinists insulate and isolate, they hyper-focus on those doctrines their tradition emphasizes and relegate other aspects to the status of afterthought. The Christian faith is meant to be lived and not merely intellectually appropriated. This requires mingling with others who follow Jesus, are rooted in Scripture, and are working toward a restored creation.

Gregory Alan Thornbury is a Calvinist Christian and president
of The King’s College in New York City. He encourages his
students to “read promiscuously.”
– Photo credit: New Southern Photography

Gregory Thornbury, a Calvinist and president of The King’s College in New York City, told me, “I think the ‘young, restless, and reformed” are different than the Dutch stream in that they tend to stay with authors and leaders that they know. It does run the risk of being provincial, but I don’t think it is intentional. There are universes where people stay, and they read the things they know.” [I tend to agree with this observation. I came from this same tradition and it takes some doing to read "outside" of one's comfort zone. - res]

To guard against this, Thornbury says he encourages King’s College’s students to be “intellectually gregarious” and to “read promiscuously.”

“People need to read outside of the tradition,” Thornbury says. “We say we want to have contact with people outside of our culture, but we ghettoize so easily.”

His words remind me of Yale theologian Miroslav Volf, who speaks of “thin” and “thick” expressions of religion:

“[Thin religion is] religiosity reduced to a single symbolic gesture. And once you reduce religion to that . . . you can project everything that you want onto that . . . [Thin religion] isn’t textured. It doesn’t have depth. It doesn’t have relief. It doesn’t rely on a long history of that religion with all the varieties of reflections that have gone on in the religion.”

Co-inhabitation with other Christians guards a movement against “thin” expressions of religion.

TRIBALISM

Another troubling trend I see in the movement is tribalism. This is the kinship tendency within a group to protect insiders while combating outsiders.

Several prominent Calvinists, for example, declined the opportunity to comment on this story due to fear that their words might be used to disparage the movement. Said one well-known leader via email, “I don’t want to be a brick in a wall that’s used against the tradition/movement I identify with.”

To be sure, neo-calvinists don’t shy away from controversy and aren’t reticent to critique those outside of the movement. (One might refer to some Calvinist’s blistering responses to Donald Miller’s announcement that he doesn’t attend church.) Yet these same leaders are often resistant, delayed, and then tempered with their critiques of other Calvinists who seem to stray.

An illuminating example of this might be the recent glut of Mark Driscoll controversies—from sexist comments to charges of plagiarism to proof that he bought his way onto the New York Times bestsellers list using ministry monies. Leaders in the movement were effectively mum until a select few broke the silence of late. The first accusations of Driscoll plagiarizing were revealed on November 21st, but the first truly critical response posted by neo-Calvinist mega-blog, The Gospel Coalition, trickles out on December 18th. One might compare this with the response to Rob Bell’s book “Love Wins” that was in full bloom before the YouTube trailer finished buffering.

Even those who were brave enough to critique Driscoll were mostly moderate. And several Calvinists told me off-the-record that many who offered full-throated criticisms of Driscoll—like Carl Trueman of Westminster Theological Seminary—have been relegated to the margins as a result.

Tullian Tchividjian is pastor and blogger at The Gospel Coalition who has been challenging neo-Calvinists from within the ranks. He announced just this morning that what he calls “the powers that be” were forcing him to take his blog elsewhere. The decision was less than ideal, he said, and is a result of having “some differences with some of the other contributors.” Tchividjian said the decision was “probably over due” since “the messaging of The Gospel Coalition has morphed over the last seven years.”

Tim Keller is a leading Calvinist pastor
and New York Times bestselling author.

We might also make mention of Tim Keller, a paragon among neo-Calvinists if there ever was one. Keller is a part of Francis Collins’ Biologos and a theistic evolutionist. He holds many of the same views that triggered the forced resignation of Old Testament professor Bruce Waltke from Reformed Theological Seminary. Another Calvinist leader, Southern Baptist Seminary president Albert Mohler, has called theistic evolution “a biblical and theological disaster” and said that Biologos leaders were “throwing the Bible under the bus” with “ridiculous” logic.

Because Tim Keller has become something of a prize hen for Calvinists—New York Magazine called him “the most successful Christian evangelist in the city”—you won’t likely hear other neo-Calvinists mention Keller’s views. Tribalists attempt to “clean house” when it comes to outsiders but “sweep under the rug” when it comes to insiders.

As Roger Olson, Baylor University professor and author of “Against Calvinism“, told me, “[Neo-Calvinist's are] a tribe, and they’ve closed ranks. Somehow they’ve formed a mentality that they have to support each other because they are a minority on a crusade. Any criticism hurts the cause. I’ve seen the same thing among feminists and black theologians.”

Olson says that when he speaks to Calvinist leaders, they will often critique the movement and its other leaders in private, but never in public. My experience has been identical.

“There is a fundamentalist ethos in [neo-Calvinism],” Olson says. “You get pats on the back and merits for criticizing outsiders, but not for criticizing insiders. There is a system where if you are young coming up in the ranks, you get points for criticizing or exposing those outside the movement but it’s not your place to criticize those who are above you in the movement itself.”

This tendency is more curious given that neo-Calvinists claim to be rooted in the ancient rallying cry, “Ecclesia reformata, semper reformanda” or “The church is always to be reformed.” You can’t maintain a constant state of reformation when you refuse to self-reflect, when you preserve for preservation’s sake, [when] your modus operandi is both “circle the wagons” and “fire the canons.”

Let me be clear: I’m not arguing that Calvinists should criticize themselves more harshly. Rather, I wish they might extend the same grace to others that they give to themselves.

EGOTISM

A final troubling trend I believe plagues America’s “Calvinist revival” is egotism. This one may sound like ad hominem at first blush, but I mean it more as an observation of the movement’s predominant tone. Talking so much of sovereignty and salvation and atonement can inflate the ego. It is the type of thing described in Helmut Thielicke’s book, “A Little Lesson for Young Theologians.” Attaining theological knowledge often leads to the idea that one is in a better place to understand God or more in tune with God.

As the ego inflates, the body rises and one begins to speak from above rather than from across. This is often seen in the way neo-Calvinists speak as if they are the arbiters of the term “gospel.” Search the term “gospel” on the web site of the Reformed publisher Crossway and you’ll see what I mean. Or listen to the way some neo-Calvinist leaders frame every ethical issue of the day, not as a difference of opinion among Christians of mutual goodwill, but rather an affront to the gospel itself.

“The perspective of many today is that if you aren’t a Calvinist, you don’t really have a grasp of the gospel,” Olson says.

Sometimes it seems as if Calvinists view themselves as judge, jury, and executioner of the Christian movement at large—determining who is faithful and not, who believes the gospel and who doesn’t, who is in and who is out. (One might call to mind John Piper’s iconic and infamous “Farewell, Rob Bell” tweet.) Some within the movement talk of God’s sovereignty while seeking to control the destinies of other Christians and often speak of man’s depravity with a haughtiness that undermines it.

As Scot McKnight, professor at Northern Seminary told me, “Calvinists can give really strong impressions that those who disagree with them are both unfaithful and that they theologically and intellectually lack courage. And that trend is relatively new.”

A large ego often precedes a harsh tone—an surefire influence limiter. Scholar Martin Marty says the religious world isn’t divided into liberal and conservative, but rather “mean and non-mean.” Those who opt for a mean or arrogant tenor—whether real or perceived—have a short-shelf life in the span of history.

Bethany Jenkins, director of The Gospel Coalition’s faith and work initiative, thinks some of her fellow Calvinists’ tonal problems may be unintentional: “I think some Calvinists have come to think that in order to be faithful you have to be strident, but you don’t need to be. As Tim Keller has said, ‘We are a chosen people, but we are not a choice people.’”

I reflect on the Apostle Paul’s observation that “Knowledge puffs up.” Which is to say, egotism is a human problem rather than a Calvinist one. Yet, the vice seems to afflict this movement with consistency. If neo-Calvinists don’t get a rapid infusion of humility—and quickly—then perceptions of egotism will be an albatross around their necks.

Though these problems are serious, I am for any movement that lifts up Jesus and proclaims the Christian good news. I have many friends within the neo-Calvinist movement that challenge me with their commitment to scriptural fidelity and the supremacy of Christ. If America’s “Calvinist revival” turns out to be a resurgence, I hope they abound in grace–both inside and out.

Ah yes, grace. Another cherished Reformed virtue.

---

Jonathan Merritt is senior columnist for Religion News Service and has published more than 1000 articles in outlets like USA Today, The Atlantic, and National Journal. He is author of "Jesus is Better Than You Imagined" and "A Faith of Our Own: Following Jesus Beyond the Culture Wars." He resides in Brooklyn.

"The Calvinist," by John Piper

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