In This Edition:
Three Virtues For Cultural Engagement
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Three Virtues For Cultural Engagement
(An Orthodox priest stands between protesters and the police in the center of Kiev on January 22, 2014. Photo credit: SERGEI SUPINSKY/AFP/Getty Images)
Niebuhr’s attempt to trace 5 avenues for Christian engagement with culture remain helpful at the descriptive level. But knowledge is only half the battle. Wisdom is the other. Descriptive work becomes problematic when it assumes prescriptive work. In this speech, I suggest the time is always right for Christian engagement, but the various tactics ought to play a secondary role to the larger vision. Each avenue offers merits and perils. Regardless of the avenue to which one is inclined, I call for humility that leads to deeper wisdom, theological awareness that leads to a broader perspective, and courageous action that leads to a faithful story.
“But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing.” (2 Cor 2:14-15 ESV)
In Part 1, I suggested that christians in particular and our churches at large often face the same perennial temptations that hurt our witness in any age: fear, ignorance, and pride. At least I know I do. In Part 2, I shared 4 broad options for viewing and engaging culture (welcome, withdraw, win, or witness), but concluded that each avenue has its perils, and—due to biographical and theological factors—Christians will likely disagree about which road to take in any given situation. Instead, I wish to offer three hopefully helpful principles for moving forward in not only a diverse and divided world, but a diverse and divided church on the question of how to engage the world.
HUMILITY THAT LEADS TO DEEPER WISDOM
To counter the sinful temptation of pride, the first suggestion is to pay attention to our attitude. May we cultivate a spirit of humility that leads to deeper wisdom.
In a culturally diverse environment that is quickly becoming post-Christian, we must re-evaluate our assumptions about “them.” Simply quoting a Bible verse or suggesting certain values are “obviously” right or wrong will yield precious little fruit. We must build from the ground up, showing what concepts like truth, love, justice, meaning, and peace actually are—in Christ.
And we need to take a better look in the mirror when it comes to “us.”
Like those who choose the Withdraw route, we need to recognize that sin is real, it is devastatingly sinister, and it is all over the place. The fall happened, and we fell hard. But before everyone jumps in their buggies to escape all the sin “out there,” we should also recognize the sin “in here” (my own head and heart). The gospel always calls us to look inward before ever looking outward, and it is a fairly standard counseling principle to assume this rule: you can’t change others; you can only change yourself.
But even that is incredibly hard. If we go back to the garden, we find that the first sinful temptation led to a blurred vision of God. “Did God say?” was the question on the serpent’s lips. The original position behind what has been called “the veil of ignorance” was that only God knows what is best, only God is judge of the earth, and when God points I follow. But a blurred vision of God led inevitably to a blurred vision of ourselves. The very idea that you and I could be “like God” is a sticky matter. More than anything else in creation we are “like God” because we are his image-bearers. But once we kicked God off the throne, we began to imagine ourselves in his place, though our shoulders are not big enough to handle the weight of the job. Both a blurred vision of God and a blurred vision of ourselves—the first results of sin—come from a lack of humility. I believe it was none other than C. S. Lewis who defined the first sin as pride. And this blurred vision led to an unreconciled world, which, in turn, led to our complicated place living in two worlds and having to deal with divided loyalties. This whole saga, then, is rooted in forgetting that He is God, and I am not.
I am completely dependent on God, and I understand that more and more as I come to realize just how far sin has affected and infected my life. The sin “in here” is not just in my commissions (the things I do wrong); it’s in my omissions (“the things I fail to do, or fail to do right”). And it’s not just in my actions and doings; it’s also in my thoughts and reasoning. So what if we started with this premise? “I don’t know nearly as much as I think I know. I could be more wrong than I realize.” It might temper our over-the-top responses, as well as our expectations. It might foster a desire to listen and reflect. I think a healthy biblical dose of humility would help a Christian shine the light of Christ much brighter in any of these scenarios.
Humility includes a recognition that fallen humanity will always be a factor in the equation. As Lewis points out, the problem with “us” and “them” means that our inner selves—our moral selves—will remain a crucial element regardless of which structures we have in place:
“What is the good of telling the ships how to steer so as to avoid collisions if, in fact, they are such crazy old tubs that they cannot be steered at all? What is the good of drawing up, on paper, rules for social behaviour, if we know that, in fact, our greed, cowardice, ill temper, and self-conceit are going to prevent us from keeping them? I do not mean for a moment that we ought not to think, and think hard, about improvements in our social and economic systems. What I do mean is that all that thinking will be mere moonshine unless we realize that nothing but the courage and unselfishness of individuals is ever going to make any system work properly. It is easy enough to remove the particular kinds of graft or bullying that go on under the present system: but as long as men are twisters or bullies they will find some new way of carrying on the old game under the new system. You cannot make men good by law: and without good men you cannot have a good society. That is why we must go on to think of…morality inside the individual.”
So, regardless of which avenue you tend to choose (or which avenue you tend to eschew), you and I might take a healthy dose of humility, recognizing these really are complex issues, people will continue to be part of the problem as well as the solution, and sometimes we are doing the best we can with what we have. We are called to be servants and called to be salt and light.
AWARENESS THAT LEADS TO A BROADER PERSPECTIVE
To counter the painful consequences of ignorance, the second suggestion is to pay attention to our aims. May we cultivate theological awareness that might lead us to a broader perspective.
What do I mean by “awareness”? We could start by seeing and naming the theological strengths and pitfalls in our favorite approach.
Seeing culture as something to welcome can be refreshing, calling us to look for the good that God has placed in every one and every thing. It would certainly strengthen and widen our sense of community. “Look for the good” and “live as community” are certainly theological goals. We might point to Matthew 11:19, where Jesus says to the leaders of the day,
“John came in the strictest austerity and people say, ‘He’s crazy!’ Then the Son of Man came, enjoying life, and people say, ‘Look, a drunkard and a glutton—the bosom-friend of the tax-collector and the sinner.’”
In other words, “He seems to enjoy this world and seems comfortable with people in the world.” There is something to the “welcome” motif. But there is also a cross. The cross means there are things worth dying for (not to mention things that can kill us), and our hope for new creation might challenge us if we are all-too-cozy in this present world.
Seeing culture as something from which to withdraw—even forgoing paths to power and comforts of this life to protect from entrapment—certainly takes sin seriously and it displays the cross as a way of life. In that way, this approach can be a powerful witness of what it looks like to be a suffering community (that follows a suffering Lord). It reminds us to emphasize the “not yet” nature of the kingdom. But to what end? Jesus certainly did not participate in worldliness, and he often removed himself in the world (Matt 12:13; 14:13), but he was not removed from the world. Prostitutes and tax collectors flocked to his lunch table and enjoyed being around him (Luke 15:1-2). Paul did not advocate living a depraved or debauched life, but he called for us to be a sweet-smelling aroma as he lived among tent makers and stagehands, reading their works, citing their poets, rubbing shoulders and eating at tables with them. It was he who said, “if we are not to associate with such people, we’d have to go out of the world” (1 Cor 5:10). It is useless to be sweet-smelling if there is no one to smell it; just as salt is meant to be tasted, and light is meant to be shown in the darkness. That, then, is a challenge for us to, shall we say, “have skin in the game?”
The language of winning the culture, taking over or taking back culture for Christ, offers a helpful reminder that God doesn’t want to settle for less than every square inch of land and every ounce of space which He declares rightfully His. It keeps before our minds the demand that something must be changed, and it invites us to seek the power of the Spirit to change it. Jesus certainly wished to rid the world of demons, and once the leaders declared, “There is nothing we can do! Everyone in the world is following Jesus!” (John 12:19). Isn’t that what we would all love to hear? But consider the double-edged swords of democracy and freedom. We might rejoice at how the story of God can be shared in a free culture, but also be wary of the destructive idolatry that freedom and power can wield. These seemingly good things can be idolatrous traps. The left and the right offer you a package deal. And pretty soon, you not only start to sound just like everybody else on your side of the political or cultural aisle, you start to let them do your thinking for you. For gospel-led people, these packages and the social structures tied to them can never be spiritual anchor points and must never be the center of our lives. We also must be careful not to repeat the mistake of Babel, sacrificing the challenge of diversity for the ease of conformity, and seeing difficult times not as an opportunity to suffer and sacrifice as a witness to the world, but as an unpleasant circumstance that must be eradicated by power, coercion, and control. And we have to watch our flank. As it has suggested, we can become critics of culture all the while we are consumers of culture, and lose our credibility when we then try to conquer culture.
As one philosopher put it, the “withdraw” approach “too often turns into brittle condemnation, a stance of haughty (presumed) moral superiority, wagons circled.” Both the “welcome” and the “win” approach on their own “may degenerate into naïve idealism, even utopianism.” Instead, she writes, “Avoiding these extremes, we must see Christ against and for, agonistic and affirmative, arguing and embracing. This is complex but, then, Christianity is no stranger to complexity.” Well that leaves witness, right? Surely that must be the right answer. But is it?
The image of faithful witness, living within the tension, walking faithfully with one foot in two worlds, seems the best of both worlds. It calls for a balanced appreciation of how ‘kingdom’ is used in Scripture, appreciating both the “already” and the “not yet.” But there is a tremendous danger in this approach toward rationalization, in which any moment that might call for making a bold move of resistance or the use of transformative power can be swept under the rug for a meaningless mediocrity. It could be the place the cowardly hide.
Theological awareness is both the great need of the church (in every age) and the great Achilles heel in much of our discussion of culture. When we hear a siren call (by a famous leader on TV, or the preacher in my congregation, or just our gut instinct) to any of the approaches laid out here today, it is worth asking “what is the theology behind the call? When I do what this person is asking me to do, what story will I be telling the world?”
Consider three questions on which Christians (who agree in ethics) may disagree in response.
Should we put our kids in public school? A strong case can be made for “yes;” if this is the school in our neighborhood, what a powerfully present way to be salt and light. I went to a public middle school and public high school for a couple of years, so I know firsthand how valuable this can be—both for learning and for leading. But saying “yes” probably sounds easier if the shepherd of your church is also the superintendent. It might be harder for some parents when threats of violence and extreme danger are prevalent in the schools. We may rightly respond, “why must my second grader be salt and light in the midst of their formative years, and in such difficult circumstances?”
For many reasons, I think a strong case can be made for “no,” where pulling your kids out of the public school system may be the best option in your sub-culture. Imagine the closeness your family could feel through homeschool, or how faith might be strengthened in a Christian school environment, providing the safety, security, and faithful friend circle that could encourage your child to learn how to be salt and light for the rest of their lives. I spent my elementary years in a Christian school environment, and graduated high school from a private Christian academy. In fact, I served as president of that same academy for three years, telling parents many good reasons why this might be the right option for you. Whatever you decide—public, private, or homeschool, you still have to ask not only “how do I avoid the evil I see,” but “in what way am I living out the gospel with these decisions?”
Should conservative Christians boycott Disney over sexual ethics? I recently read someone advocating just that. I can understand the yes. And you can understand why you will probably hear more and more calls for that in a pulpit near you. I get it. The line is obvious: Christians ought to stand against behavior considered improper, and against God’s design for sexuality, in every dispensation. But consider this: for decades Disney has been the epitome of commercialism and materialism. How many of those calling for boycotts now were frantically trying to buy tickets then to get the full package experience for their kiddos? If boycotting (withdraw) is your chosen avenue, and then you draw the line here, now…what exactly are you telling the culture that we Christians really care about? Or, to put it another way, what is the story that our culture will hear and tell?
Should I support bombing a terrorist country? We can all certainly understand the “yes.” Aggression against the innocent should not go unpunished. “Protect the vulnerable” is a Godly principle. I feel that. Perhaps yes is the right answer. But I also consider this. For a few years I lived in England and went to school with people from all over the world. I was in the dining hall one afternoon and struck up a conversation with a bright classmate from Pakistan. He was not a Christian, and I asked him if he had much familiarity with American Christians. He said, “sure—you are the ones bombing my country.” What story has developed in his mind about Christianity and American culture? That is something I believe is worth thinking about.
I’m not giving any answers on these. Fortunately for me, my assigned title simply asks that I help you “recognize the problem.” Answers are difficult. Sometimes these questions are like a chess board with a hundred possible moves. I’m simply asking Christians to see the whole board.
COURAGE TO LIVE A FAITHFUL STORY
And that brings me to the idea of “story.” To counter the paralyzing effects of fear, the final suggestion is to pay attention to our character. May we cultivate the virtue of courage that will lead us to live out a faithful story.
David Martin offers up this thoughtful line:
“We need a good story, a moral landscape of admonition and promise, for people who have sustained a bad Fall, but nevertheless seek a better city; and en route that story should tell them who is their neighbour, how to find a way home after prodigal expenditure in a waste land, and how to recognize a pearl of great price when they see it.”
My actions are not just piecemeal. Every interaction we have becomes an element in the story they tell about how people treat one another, about what church people are like, about what Christians care about, and who you remind them of. So it’s worth asking, what story do my actions tell?
Even if the final answer in any given situation is neither withdraw nor win, I think the impulse in these two approaches is to show courage and take action. Sometimes we might need courage to withdraw. Sometimes we might need courage to try to win. But it also takes courage to neither withdraw nor seek to win as you stand to witness. We could imagine engaging the culture in winsome ways. But being salt and light in a dark and tasteless culture calls for courage and action—but only if it is bathed in humility and coupled with deep awareness.
We all want to emulate the light of the world. But to tell the right story, in this situation, or that one, should I be a street light or a flood light? Context matters, and discernment is required to know what is good, honorable, and praiseworthy in each new circumstance.
It is time to ask the most obvious question: what exactly is it that we are trying to do? Are we trying to live and share the gospel? The gospel is good news that brings joy to the entire world. The gospel is an announcement that addresses our deepest longings and confronts the idols we have in our pockets. So what would it look like to have a theory of culture that leads with the gospel? What would it look like to see with gospel eyes?
Are we trying to reach a post-Christian culture? If so, how we approach things might be just as important as the ends we seek. For this generation, we must allow authentic, loving behavior to take the lead over verbal critique. How we live—shining like lights in the world, drawing people to Christ’s beauty and goodness—may be the catalyst for further invitation to consider questions of truth. This may, at times, mean retreating from the encroaching darkness; but other times, it means finding creative and attractive ways to fill darkness with light.
In his book Vanishing Grace, Philip Yancey asks what if we viewed others—even our “enemies” perhaps, or even just people on the other side of the aisle—as thirsty people who are unaware that we hold in our hands the water of life? What if our engagement with culture was first to climb the walls and not welcome culture but welcome people rather than storming the castle or fleeing to the hills?
He tells the story of a Christian filmmaker who teaches at a Christian university and, one year, takes his students to a popular film festival. There, they attend a film making fun of church experience and the Christian faith. The people in the room for deeply enjoying and identifying with it. You could tell that these people had been wounded. During the audience feedback time, the professor stood up, and said this: “Hello, I’m an Evangelical Christian.” Everyone got quiet. You could hear a pin drop. “I just want to apologize for the way the church has wounded some of you. I don’t agree with everything in the film but some of its true, because I know it’s true, and we are wrong. And I just wanted to say I am sorry.” Then he sat down. And the most remarkable thing happened. All these people came up and said “I’ve never heard a Christian apologize. Thank you so much for that. Let me tell you my story.” He’s been going back every year since, and he takes students with him every year. And for the first time, Christians have a voice in that room.
Yancey shared this story while being interviewed by Focus on the Family podcast. The interviewer himself said that reminded him of a story from one of his own encounters. Coming to a community that he sensed would be upset about their presence, he had reached out to someone in the LGBTQ community and asked them to meet with him in a coffee shop. While in conversation, the interviewer said “I think the only reason that I wanted to meet today is to let you know something—and that is that God loves you.” The man began to cry and, looking him in the eye, said this: “I never expected someone from Focus on the Family to tell a gay man that God loves him.”
There’s a principle there, responded Yancey. And it goes back to the gospel. Here’s the principle. Every religion says God loves “good” people. That’s not new. But look through the gospels and you’ll find that Jesus says God loves bad people. And that story will resonate so much stronger the day we realize that “bad people” includes me.
Issue-oriented glasses focused on culture lead us in one direction; but “grace eyes” for people are often powerful shifters. Grace eyes see Jesus taking sides, but he’s hardly ever standing where you would have assumed. Jesus took a stand on adultery; its clear. There is no one in the New Testament who takes a stronger stand. But when the dust cleared, he was standing with the adulterer, not the Moses-quoting insiders with stones in their hand. And that stance allowed him to share with her the twin message of gift (no condemnation), and demand (no more sin).
What Jesus offered, and what Paul did well in a pre-Christian culture, was a fantastic mixture of genuine interest in people, persuasive speech that spoke their language, and a consistently holy and attractive life that matched their words. Could that not be helpful in our context as well?
Yancey points out that in the first 300 years of it’s existence (before it was the dominant culture of the Empire), Christianity grew phenomenally. But most Christians were not preachers or missionaries. They were just different! And people said “I want to be like that!” We tend to think that engaging “culture” is about big moves, with massive amounts, for big gains. But most of our cultural engagement involves how we treat the people next door. Instead of thinking in terms of success or achievement, let our main focus simply be on serving where the Lord has placed us, doing the best with what we have, and leave the results to God.
Christianity is often painted as an anti-intellectual, fear-led mob that seeks only to banish those who disagree. Let us be different. Let us re-engage our culture through knowing, loving, and serving those around us. Instead of being known for what we are against, let us recapture a thirst for knowledge, relearn the art of Christian persuasion, and reaffirm a commitment to consistently live what we say we believe.
This is the third and final article of a 3-part series, taken from a lecture given at the Freed Hardeman University Annual Bible Lectureship on Monday, February 6, 2023 (Henderson, TN). Part 1 (“The great news, the good news, and the bad news”) and Part 2 (“Four way to play”) are also available.
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My name is Nathan Guy, and I serve as the preaching minister for the West Side Church of Christ in Searcy, Arkansas. I am happily married to Katie and am the proud father of little Grace. You can find more resources on my website over at nathanguy.com. Follow me: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube.