A second look at Owl City

Almost 7 years ago, on my first blog, I wrote about why Owl City is my favorite music artist. (I won’t be providing a link, because that blog is cringy.)  One of the main reasons I gave was the relentless positivity and general happiness of nearly all Owl City songs. As an optimist, who believed that being a happy and optimistic person was more Christian than not, this sat very well with me.

I repent.

I don’t look at happiness and optimism the same way anymore. Happiness is good, and it’s a large part of what we’re after, but that doesn’t make it always the best mood in this sinful age. And optimism, well, I think it’s a bit misguided. The more biblical option, I think, is stark realism shot through with faith and hope. But this change of mind doesn’t dampen my love for Owl City.

Owl City is even better than I thought.

I made the mistake of looking at Owl City through my own rose-colored glasses and missed the realistic richness in its music. Since then, I’ve come to better appreciate what makes Owl City special. The uniqueness is not that it’s just happy and optimistic all the time, because it’s not. Several songs released since my old post prove as much. Sometimes Owl City seems downright black.

But what makes Owl City unique is the way it handles all of these moods and emotions. It surpasses most other pop music, Christian or secular, with an impossible balancing act. Christian music seems to be plagued with naivete, sentimentality, and mere optimism, and a decent chunk of secular pop tends either to play to these as well (for the PG stuff) or to do hedonism, nihilism, cynicism, or the like.

Owl City avoids both of these pitfalls. It expresses joy without platitude, hardship without nihilism, wonder without nativete, heartbreak without cynicism, and the full range of light without denying the full range of darkness. The dark songs never completely omit a glimmer of hope, and bright songs are never without a tinge of sadness or a sharp edge of reality.  Indeed, sometimes the most interesting and creative aspects of any given Owl City song is the ironic way they combine light and dark. “Hot Air Balloon” sounds like a happy memory of childhood at first listen, but then you notice the subtle negativity playing hide-and-seek in the lyrics. “Bird with a Broken Wing,” about as bleak as Owl City can get (’cause it was inspired by The Walking Dead), sets its dark lyrics to an upbeat and even bubbly tune that feels as though it carries you forward into hope even as you feel the weight of sorrow.

The brilliance of it all is that we live in a culture where the default modes are either a cynical nihilism–life sucks, then you die–or a whitewashed, hedonistic approach combining egoism, denial, and sentimentality. Owl City celebrates as much as this second mode without its vices, and it mourns more faithfully than the first approach is even capable of. Where pop culture tells us that everything is hunky dory and you just have to believe in yourself, Owl City reminds us that sometimes it’s a bitter world where we’d rather dream. Where pop culture tells us that everything is stupid and life is joke, Owl City chimes in that there is hope from above which brings courage. It is the paradox of life that I love in this music. Owl City presents us with a dark and deadly world where dreams don’t turn to dust, a life of beautiful times punctuated by cold nostalgia that chills to the bone. And most importantly, in the midst of all the howling wind and starry serenades, the Saving Grace of the galaxies is there to make us new, to smile and hear our prayers, and to take us home when death is near.

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Coffee and Communion

A week or two ago I went to a larger church than I am used to for a special event they were having. It was good and all, and the event itself took place in the lobby where they served coffee. The cafe area was pretty nice and well designed, and it (as always) got me thinking.

Churches offering a coffee bar is pretty normal these days, especially for churches started in the last few decades. Some high church people scoff, some fundamentalists scoff, and some normal people scoff, too. Some people take issue with the idea that we could just be trying to market people in with the unspiritual means of tasty coffee. But for the most part, people like it. And it seems to have some beneficial effects. It makes a place and time where people can come, share drinks, and enjoy each other’s company. It forges a little patch of unity, a small table of community.

This is very similar to what Communion does, or at least is meant to do. Paul says that Communion makes us one body: “Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, since all of us share the one bread” (1 Corinthians 10:17). The same can be applied to the cup: we all drink the same cup of the blood of Christ, and the washing of His blood makes us all one body.

Now, there are probably many layers to answering the question, “How does Communion make us one body?” But at least one part of it has to do with the fact that Communion is a meal, and meals bind people together socially. I’m sure you can imagine what I mean. People bond over shared food and drink all the time. You go out to eat on a date to get to know each other. You celebrate Thanksgiving together by sharing a turkey and some potatoes and cranberry sauce. Family memories and routines often center around a dinner or breakfast table. You could almost say that family is simply who you eat supper with.

Part of the “power” of the Lord’s Supper to make us into one body is just that: the power of a supper. (This is why, by the way, it should really be celebrated more like a meal whenever the group size makes it possible.) And this power is something it has in common with coffee.

Drinking coffee together is a lot like sharing a meal. And, socially, it works mostly the same way. Coffee dates are as much a thing as dinner dates. Office workers talk as much by the coffee maker as at the lunch table. People make and meet their friends at coffee shops. As we share a drink in common, we share our thoughts, our news, our loves, or even our faith.

A coffee bar in the church foyer, then, can be kind of sacramental. It can be a way that Christ works to create love and unity among the members of His body. An outsider, walking into a church for the first time, might catch a glimpse of the fellowship which we share in our Savior who brought us together in the first place. For those looking for community (and who isn’t?), the coffee bar can be a sign that God has provided just that in His Church.

God wants you filled with jam

G. K. Chesterton had a way with words, a way with humor, and a way with Christian thinking. These qualities are what make the inspiration for the title of this post. It comes from his book, What’s Wrong with the World (a book which, according to Chesterton, is what’s wrong with literature). It opens with a partial answer: what is wrong is that we don’t know, care, or agree about what it would look like for things to be right. This leads to brief discussion about how efficiency, so prized in his day, for its own sake is meaningless. Doing things efficiently is only valuable inasmuch as what you are doing itself is valuable. Almost everything you can do will be efficient toward one goal but inefficient toward another. This brings him to the following:

Maeterlinck is as efficient in filling a man with strange spiritual tremors as Messrs. Crosse and Blackwell are in filling a man with jam. But it all depends on what you want to be filled with. Lord Rosebery, being a modern skeptic, probably prefers the spiritual tremors. I, being an orthodox Christian, prefer the jam.

If this doesn’t crack you up, my condolences. But while it’s obvious what makes the quote funny, it’s less obvious what he means. Why exactly would a Christian prefer jam to spiritual tremors? To put the question a different way, what’s so Christan about being filled with jam?

The connection between Jesus and jam may not be obvious, but it’s important. It goes all the way back to creation. It goes back to God’s choice to make our world, not just a world of ghostly spirit beings, but a world of real, tangible, images of God in fatty, bloody flesh.

When we think about creation, there are a lot of ways to talk about its point. What is the point of created life? We could say that it is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever, but that’s not very specific. What does glorifying God mean and look like, anyway? Does that mean the point of life is an endless church service, praying and singing and doing sacraments? I’m sure that sounds right to someone, but why did God make such a big world if that was all that mattered? Some people accuse God of being boring because of church, but they forget that it was His idea to send us there only once a week. So what are the other six days for?

Maybe the other six days are for glorifying God, too. But again, what does that look like, if not church? It can’t simply mean reading our Bibles and praying, otherwise even (or especially?) the most spiritual people will struggle not to have a life of mostly filler.

So maybe the point of life means giving God thanks and praise in everything we do. This seems more likely, but more questions arise. Does this mean we’re missing the point whenever we do, well, anything without before and after offering a special prayer of thanksgiving and praise? I realize we’re all sinners, but… Is living life how God intended actually quite that, dare I say, tedious?

Chesterton recognized that it is not. He saw the secret to created life: God made it for living. He understood the old quote from Irenaeus, “The glory of God is man fully alive.” God is happy and glorified in all of our enjoyment of His creation, including the whole of our lives. God made this world and every part of our existence, and just like a father who builds a playground, He laughs to see His children playing. This doesn’t mean, of course, that He tolerates misbehavior or ingratitude, which unfortunately color so much of our lives. But even when we enjoy creation without gratitude, or when we live a happy life riddled with sin, the living and the enjoying are still good in themselves, just compromised and corrupted.

Right at the heart of Chesterton’s philosophy was this simple truth. God made life to be lived, lived in joy and gratitude rather than endless dour introspection or sanctimonious blessings on every last thing. We should always remember the Source of life, but the best way to honor Him to precisely to live the life He provides. So be filled with jam, do the work God has set out for you, love the people He has put in your life, and trust in Christ to sanctify the whole thing. We don’t go wrong by enjoying life too much, but by cutting our enjoyment short by poisoning pleasures with sin or ingratitude. So kill the sin, thank God, and live.

Sometimes progress isn’t progress. Here’s why.

[This is a cross-post from my other blog.]

Lately I’ve been on a reading binge of G. K. Chesterton and C. S. Lewis. I have too much to say on the treasures I’ve found in them to possibly remember to blog about it all. That’s a shame. On the bright side, there’s still lots of good stuff to mention.

One of my favorite paragraphs I’ve come across (maybe, it’s hard to narrow down favorites from such writers) is one in which Chesterton discusses the notion of progress, specifically in relation to the modern world. Everyone likes to talk about progress, though the fever was undoubtedly higher in his day. We still have progressives in politics (of many kinds: economic progressives, cultural progressives, environmental progressives, etc.), and we probably have far more now in theology. In fact, these so-called “progressive” theologians are my chief targets here, whereas Chesterton was more concerned with a political temperament. But much of what he had to say is relevant to either.

A chief characteristic of progressive Christianity is questioning. They like to ask questions regarding what the Bible says about homosexuality, what the Bible says about gender, what the Bible says about salvation, and of course just how seriously we need to take what the Bible says at all. The framing assumption is that we must ask these questions afresh because the classical answers are, we now see, in some way broken, obsolete, or unrealistic. For many of these issues, a sufficient Chestertonian response might be that the classical answers have not been tried and found wanting; they have been found difficult and left untried. But I disgress. My point here isn’t about whether the progressive’s questioning process will lead us to better answers than the traditional ones or not. My point, or rather Chesterton’s, is that you can’t really call yourself “progressive” in such a state of uncertainty. If you are stuck in questioning phase, you can’t genuinely say whether you’ve been making progress towards anything or not, since you don’t know where you’re going. And in Chesterton’s day, it didn’t matter how efficiently and skillfully you could run the the government. If you don’t know where you’re running it to, you can’t say that “progress” is underway. I’ll let Chesterton himself elaborate and leave it at that. The quote is from his excellent, excellent book What’s Wrong with the World:

As enunciated today, “progress” is simply a comparative of which we have not settled the superlative. We meet every ideal of religion, patriotism, beauty, or brute pleasure with the alternative ideal of progress—that is to say, we meet every proposal of getting something that we know about, with an alternative proposal of getting a great deal more of nobody knows what. Progress, properly understood, has, indeed, a most dignified and legitimate meaning. But as used in opposition to precise moral ideals, it is ludicrous. So far from it being the truth that the ideal of progress is to be set against that of ethical or religious finality, the reverse is the truth. Nobody has any business to use the word “progress” unless he has a definite creed and a cast-iron code of morals. Nobody can be progressive without being doctrinal; I might almost say that nobody can be progressive without being infallible—at any rate, without believing in some infallibility. For progress by its very name indicates a direction; and the moment we are in the least doubtful about the direction, we become in the same degree doubtful about the progress. Never perhaps since the beginning of the world has there been an age that had less right to use the word “progress” than we. In the Catholic twelfth century, in the philosophic eighteenth century, the direction may have been a good or a bad one, men may have differed more or less about how far they went, and in what direction, but about the direction they did in the main agree, and consequently they had the genuine sensation of progress. But it is precisely about the direction that we disagree. Whether the future excellence lies in more law or less law, in more liberty or less liberty; whether property will be finally concentrated or finally cut up; whether sexual passion will reach its sanest in an almost virgin intellectualism or in a full animal freedom; whether we should love everybody with Tolstoy, or spare nobody with Nietzsche;—these are the things about which we are actually fighting most. It is not merely true that the age which has settled least what is progress is this “progressive” age. It is, moreover, true that the people who have settled least what is progress are the most “progressive” people in it. The ordinary mass, the men who have never troubled about progress, might be trusted perhaps to progress. The particular individuals who talk about progress would certainly fly to the four winds of heaven when the pistol-shot started the race. I do not, therefore, say that the word “progress” is unmeaning; I say it is unmeaning without the previous definition of a moral doctrine, and that it can only be applied to groups of persons who hold that doctrine in common. Progress is not an illegitimate word, but it is logically evident that it is illegitimate for us. It is a sacred word, a word which could only rightly be used by rigid believers and in the ages of faith.

Biblical terms we usually misunderstand

Does “saving justice” sound right to you? How about “holy love”? What about “gracious judgment” or “avenging mercy”? They should, but I suspect that for many, or most, of us at least some of these don’t really make sense.

Sadly, I’ve gotten the impression that over time our theological technicalities have led us to miss the actual meanings of many biblical terms. But these are important terms, and when we misunderstand them we misread the Bible and end up with confused theology. So without further ado, I want to list a few terms we tend to misunderstand:

Justice
Often, we think of justice as “punishment for wrongdoing,” but this is overly narrow. In Scripture, especially in the Psalms and the prophets, God’s justice is also connected with salvation, love, and faithfulness to the covenant (see Psalm 98, for example). Biblically, God’s justice is better described as His commitment to “rightness,” to putting things right in creation. This includes both salvation for His people and judgment for the wicked, healing for the hurting and destruction for the evildoers. This also connects with God’s righteousness and faithfulness. In Scripture, God’s justice includes a strong note of faithfully exercising His covenant responsibilities.
Mercy
The most common definition I’ve heard of biblical “mercy” is “not getting the bad you deserve.” Again, this isn’t necessarily wrong to say what it says, but Scripture treats mercy as a larger topic. Mercy in the broader sense is simply to alleviate suffering. If someone is suffering and you help them, it is mercy. This can, and in Scripture often does, apply to people who don’t deserve the suffering they are experiencing, like the exploited poor. But it does apply especially to us who are suffering deservedly under our sin, when God freely rescues us anyone.
Grace
In parallel to the definition of “mercy,” people tend to define grace as “getting the good you don’t deserve.” Again, though, this seems slightly off, although closer to the biblical usage. It seems closer to the biblical use to say that grace essentially means “gift.” The point of the gift isn’t specifically that someone doesn’t deserve what they’re getting, but that dessert has nothing to do with it at all. Gifts are regardless of merit or demerit, and are not specifically about what you don’t deserve (or what you do deserve).

I thought of trying to add some other ones, but these are the bigguns I’ve been thinking about lately, so I’ll leave it at that. Try these alternative definitions out for a test drive in your Bible reading.

No, you are not a soul

You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.

C. S. Lewis

Amen, right?

By no means!

The above quote was supposedly said by C. S. Lewis, one of our favorite theological writers of the modern age. The sentiment is echoed all over the place in Christianity. People complain about their bodies and long for the day that they will be free of them in heaven. When people sin, they excuse their sin by saying they didn’t mean to do it, but their passions or instincts got the best of them. People who struggle with body image are always reassured that the body doesn’t matter; only what’s inside counts. The underlying dogma is clear: your body is not really you. It’s just a temporary shell. Your soul is the real you, and you may even be better off without a body.

This is antichrist.

I could go on for a long time on why this is so wrong, but I’ll focus on the problems with Gnosticism and resurrection. So, Gnosticism:

A strict separation of body/soul doesn’t resemble the Bible at all, but is closer to the ancient heresy of Gnosticism. The Gnostics were a heretical cult in the early church. They believed many problematic and even ridiculous doctrines, but a core distinctive was their view of the physical and the spiritual, or the material and the immaterial. Matter and flesh came from an inferior, perhaps evil, creator, whereas spirit and soul came from the true and good God. So they saw the body as at best irrelevant and at worst an evil obstacle to salvation. But the spirit was the true and good self which could reach salvation through enlightenment. Unfortunately, while not guilty of all of the heretical ideas in Gnostic thought, the whole “you are a soul, not a body” thing really does get its shape from this kind of thinking.

The problems with this approach go on and on. For one, this reasoning is what led to the heresy that Jesus was not completely human, or only had the appearance of a body (called Docetism). Yet John calls them deceivers who “do not acknowledge Jesus Christ as coming in the flesh” or (as the NLT puts it) “deny that Jesus Christ came in a real body” (2 John 1:7). Jesus was God made flesh. This flesh is essential to the Incarnation which saves us.

This view also leads to some of the moral problems of Gnosticism, which continue even today. If your body isn’t really you, only the soul, then perhaps you should practice extreme asceticism, denying yourself every bodily pleasure to instead live hungry, cold, and alone. Then your soul can focus on God. On the other hand, if the body isn’t really you, it might make sense to brush off moral responsibility in your body. What does it matter what you do if it’s just your body? Many Gnostics used this to justify sexual immorality, but even today in evangelical Christianity it can lead us to blame our bodies for our sins and insist that our souls are actually pure. (And in a less direct way, this leads to the unrealistic and extremely dangerous thought, “He seems harsh and jerkish on the outside, but he’s actually a good person once you get to know him.”)

Besides the Gnostic connections, another problem with this soul-centered view is resurrection. Jesus’ bodily resurrection is at the heart of the Gospel, and ours follows from it. The Apostles’ Creed literally says it as, “I believe in the resurrection of the flesh.” Paul made this point powerfully in 1 Corinthians 15. Some people in Corinth, probably influenced by Greek philosophy, were saying that there wouldn’t be a physical resurrection. Paul rebuked them and pointed to Jesus, saying the Gospel was at stake.

In fact, I think the popularity of this deviant view is why so many Christians underemphasize, or even don’t realize at all, the saving importance of Jesus’ resurrection. According to the Bible, Jesus’ resurrection is the source of our regeneration (1 Jn. 1:3), justification (Rom. 4:25), sanctification (Rom. 8:11-13), and glorification (Rom. 8:23). In a certain sense, resurrection is salvation, and we will not be “fully” saved until our bodies are raised for eternal life with Christ in renewed creation. If we miss this, we miss a major element to the Gospel. For the Bible, the body is not an addon, a shell, or an obstacle. It is saved, redeemed, and glorified in Christ.

Now I realize there are some who would object on the basis of the war between the spirit and the flesh. After all, Paul says this: “For if you live according to the flesh, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live” (Rom. 8:13). Doesn’t this mean that your physical body is corrupt and that your spirit/soul is pure? Not really. For the acts of the flesh are “sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like” (Gal. 5:19-21). While many of these are body with the body, they are all rooted in the heart, and some of these only take place within. Thus the flesh as Paul speaks of it against the Spirit is not the human body. What the flesh actually means is debatable (I favor the view that it refers to natural humanity living without relation to God but only to humanity), but it doesn’t mean human body by itself.

To conclude, let’s drop the dualist silliness. You are a body and a soul. Your body without your soul is dead, and your soul without your body is naked. God made us to be both. We cannot ignore the body, but must let our body and soul serve as instruments with which to glorify God. For we will be raised forever, to live bodily with Christ.

Oh, by the way, it is a most likely a myth that C. S. Lewis said the above quote. Thankfully. (Though to be honest, I’m unsure whether he might have agreed.)

2016 Reading…With a Chainsaw

I’m sure if you’re a reader, or have friends who are, you’ve seen this meme on Facebook by now: 

Well, for a little fun, I’ve decided to post my results for every book I read in 2016. Enjoy: 

  • On the Christian Life with a Chainsaw — John Calvin 
  • Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc with a Chainsaw — Mark Twain 
  • Alice in Wonderland with a Chainsaw — Lewis Carol 
  • The Trinity with a Chainsaw — Loraine Boettner
  • The Epistles of John through New Eyes with a Chainsaw — Peter Leithart
  • Onward with a Chainsaw — Russell Moore
  • On Christian Liberty with a Chainsaw — Martin Luther 
  • The Innocence of Father Brown with a Chainsaw — G. K. Chesterton 
  • Water Walker with a Chainsaw — Ted Dekker
  • Red with a Chainsaw — Ted Dekker
  • The Bride Collector with a Chainsaw — Ted Dekker 
  • Showdown with a Chainsaw — Ted Dekker
  • Saint with a Chainsaw — Ted Dekker 
  • Sinner with a Chainsaw — Ted Dekker 
  • A Personalist Doctrine of Providence with a Chainsaw — Darren Kennedy
  • Evangelical Calvinism: Essays Resourcing the Continuing Reformation of the Church with a Chainsaw — Myk Habets and Bobby Grow
  • Family Worship with a Chainsaw — Donald Whitney
  • The Pawn with a Chainsaw — Steven James 
  • The Rook with a Chainsaw — Steven James 
  • The Knight with a Chainsaw — Steven James 
  • The Bishop with a Chainsaw — Steven James 
  • The Queen with a Chainsaw — Steven James 
  • The King with a Chainsaw — Steven James 
  • Checkmate with a Chainsaw — Steven James 
  • The Unlikely Disciple with a Chainsaw — Kevin Roose 
  • Transformation with a Chainsaw: The Heart of Paul’s Gospel — David deSilva
  • Orthodoxy with a Chainsaw — G. K. Chesterton
  • Revelation for Everyone with a Chainsaw — N. T. Wright
  • Justification with a Chainsaw: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision — N. T. Wright
  • Holy Scripture: Revelation, Inspiration & Interpretation with a Chainsaw — Donald Bloesch
  • Christian Dogmatics with a Chainsaw — Michael Allen and Scott Swain
  • The High House with a Chainsaw — James Stoddard
  • One Sacred Effort with a Chainsaw: The Cooperative Program of Southern Baptists — Chad Brand

    I’m sure I forgot a book or two, but in any case this should provide enough amusement. Oh, and here’s what I’m working on right now: The Christian Doctrine of God: One Being, Three Persons with a Chainsaw by T. F. Torrance.