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Building off of yesterday’s post – I want to suggest that there is biblical precedent for the prophetic and subversive use of storytelling to challenge the powers that be.

In II Samuel we find David, secure in power and victorious over his neighbors. He has sent his army off to war against the Ammonites, but stays behind in his palace.

As the well-known story goes, David sees from his rooftop a beautiful woman bathing, has her brought to him, and then  – after finding out that she became pregnant that night – he conspires to deceive and eventually murder her husband.

No doubt David felt he had gotten away with his actions, the only people who knew were some close aids and of course Bathsheba who would be publicly shamed if the truth came out, and may have become aware of just how far David was willing to go to protect his power.

You are that regime!

Into this situation of injustice and exploitation walks the prophet Nathan. He tells the king a brilliant little story about a rich man who robs a poor man of his only beloved lamb. David is incensed by the story, drawn into it to the extent that he has unintentionally identified with his victim and against himself, and demands that the man be brought to justice.

To this Nathan famously responds, “You are the man!”

He then proceeds to share the words of God’s judgment against David. And David, who had testified against himself, breaks down in repentance.

Like the audience of V for Vendetta, David’s worldview was intentionally subverted by a story told from the underside of power, a story that subtly placed him in opposition to his own exploitation and abuse of authority.

Though we often think of prophesy as primarily a predictive act, most of the work of the Old Testament prophets is more like Nathan’s confrontation with David – performance art, poetry, and storytelling that challenges the powers to see things the way the truly are, and that then offers hope on the other side of repentance.

It is this sort of prophetic witness that I think the Church needs to reclaim in its art, its singing, and its storytelling.

“Jesus rescued you from falling into the hands of Someone larger than your mind can conceive, stronger than the combined strength of a trillion nuclear explosions, a holy God destined to unload the complete, unrestrained force of His wrath on you for offending His holy nature. That’s what you were really saved from…

Apocalyptic urgency is not about saving your friend from hell. It’s about saving your friend from God. Hell isn’t your friend’s biggest problem; God is. Hell is simply the end result of God’s justified wrath. It’s the final permanent expression of his anger towards those who have purposely chosen to reject His lordship over their lives.

That’s why until you understand how violent and inhumane God really is, how utterly wrathful the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ can become, you’ll never feel the urgency to help your non-Christian friends escape his detestable clutches.”

- from Hell Is Real (But I Hate to Admit It) pages 119 and 132.

I came across this passage yesterday while browsing through some books, and admittedly my first thought was this is why people make (and resonate with) videos like this.

After getting some distance from those words – words that speak of a god I do not recognize, a god who seems to embody all the very worst traits of humanity – I am reminded how important the stories we tell can be.

While I believe hell exists, I also believe it’s not the point of the story. But this picture of God makes hell, and wrath, and anger, what the Bible is all about at its very core.

The story stops being about a loving God creating a good world that tragically falls, and then beginning the long process of setting things to rights through Abraham, Israel, and ultimately Jesus.

Instead the story is about a God defined almost exclusively by wrath and hatred.

A God who can inspire fear but not praise or love.

A God who we must be saved from by Jesus.

It changes the entire plot, the nature of the characters, and the story goes from a beautiful tale of love and redemption to an ominous tale of a wrathful deity, and a savior who delivers us from God.

None of this is to deny the Bible speaks of hell, and wrath, and judgment – but we ought to be very careful what place we give them as we tell the Gospel story. Otherwise we might end up telling a story that looks little like the Gospel narrative, and worshiping a God who looks more like a member of the Greek pantheon than the God of the Exodus, of Golgotha, and of the Resurrection.

Last night we met with our faith community for a unique evening.

We had a guest, Kevin from Mars Hill Café in Australia, and participated in a lo-fi video project he is working on. The project is meant to catalog people’s experience with traditional church, the joys and pains, victories and sorrows, and to spark discussion about alternative ways of being the church in our time and place.

As we took turns sharing our stories for the camera, a conversation began to develop. People shared their hearts, their dreams, their frustrations, and the ways they have come to find their place in our community.

It turned out to be one of the most exhilarating, thought provoking, life-giving, honest, and challenging spiritual experiences I’ve had in a long time.

And in the course of the conversation I realized something – this community has been church for me for three years, but whatever reason I’ve not allowed myself to fully acknowledge that.

Not because I don’t value it, I do, but because I’ve told myself it isn’t really “church”.

I wonder why.

Yes, it’s technically a ministry of a local church (which I respect but don’t attend), and yes it meets on Thursday night not Sunday morning. But so what?

Why do I tell myself “this doesn’t count”?

This community has been their for me through some of the best and worst times of my journey, it’s the place I find life and the people I do life with, and even when I worked for another church it was this community that fueled my growth, pastored me, and shaped my walk with God.

So why don’t I just acknowledge it?

This is church, and it counts.

Peter Rollins was recently interviewed by Whitworth University about some of the themes in Insurrection.

I find myself especially interested in his push back on the idolatry inherent in the way we use God-talk as a talisman in our quest for a narrative that tells us why we are right/ good and they are wrong/ evil.

Not because right and wrong, or good and evil, don’t exist. But because we all too easily assume that we are “on God’s side,” that we are playing the role of the good and the right in the story being told. And we then craft a narrative about faith, or love, or politics that uses God-talk to reinforce that assumption without ever really allowing the living God to challenge our actions and our beliefs.

The issue of celebrity pastors has seemed to be front and center over the past couple years, but it has always been something the Church has struggled with. In her post When Jesus Meets TMZ at Relevant today, Rachel Held Evans discusses the difference between honoring and idolizing pastors and teachers.

“Everyone has Christian friends who speak about their favorite pastors with the same reverence and awe generally reserved for Jesus or Apple products. These folks hang on every word the pastor writes, preaches or tweets, and can seem incapable of forming opinions of their own without first consulting the person behind the pulpit. This reveals an unhealthy dependency that elevates celebrity pastors to near idols.

On the other hand, there are cynical Christians who like to find one or two outspoken pastors on whom to continually focus their anger. I really struggle with this in my own life, as I tend to vilify those celebrity pastors with whom I disagree. This may seem like an entirely different problem than the idolization of celebrity pastors, but these attitudes actually represent two sides of the same coin. Both flatten and objectify the pastors in question. While one group sees a pastor as wholly good, the other sees the pastor as wholly evil. But neither sees the leader for who he or she actually is—a person: fallen yet redeemed, imperfect and in need of our grace.”

At Christianity Today Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove  writes about the wisdom of stability in the article The Spiritual Discipline of Staying Put: Planting Roots in a Placeless Culture.

“The trouble for most of us isn’t so much that we cannot afford stability as it is that we don’t value it. We idealize and aspire to a life on the move, spending what resources we have on acquiring skills that make us more marketable (that is, more mobile). We want to “move up in the world,” which almost always means closer to a highway, an airport, or a shopping mall.”

Finally, at Baker’s $1 used book sale I came across Imagination: Embracing a Theology of Wonder. I’ve only just started flipping through it, but it seems like it has potential – expect more on this one if it proves to be a good read. From what I can tell it touches on themes of creativity and story which I am quite interested in right now.

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