Consuming Jesus

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Emma Lazarus’s “The New Colossus,” which Metzger refers to in his introduction (p. 2), paints a hopeful picture of a young, eager nation, ready to open her doors and give relief, freedom, and hope to the “homeless” and “wretched refuse.”

But something happened along the way, which affected these bright, optimistic ideals.

Greed happened. And along with it oppression, vicious cycles, barriers, and injustice.

Fallen human nature happened. Sin happened.

I realize that this is our country I’m discussing, not the church. But our church is in many ways a by-product of the nation to which she belongs. I can’t deny the parallels: both in the optimistic, passionate foundation and the broken reality which we experience daily, even though we still long deep down inside for those foundational ideals to be realized. That is where grace comes in, thank the good Lord, but that’s also where a careful, honest response and reform need to come in to play as well.

And now I see us, the church, trying to put the pieces back together—frantically, hurriedly, and ashamedly. When I talk with fellow Christians, I sense a weariness, a mutual acknowledgment that yes, something is deeply broken, but that we’re not quite sure what the remedy is, or what exactly is broken. That, to me, is discouraging, but also, in light of that, it is reassuring and irresistibly motivating. I am confident that this is where our sovereign creator has called us to be: discouraged so that we can respond. Upset so we can redeem. Disrupted so we can reconcile. But it will take time.

We all want quick fixes: quick meals, quick results, quick answers. But there’s no slow cooking oatmeal on this American stove. And if there is, the entire camp has left to find the closest McDonald’s. Can you blame us? With all of the opportunities, ideas, and limitless boundaries we have acquired with technology, mass communication, and globalization, we now have that much more at our fingertips. That much more to respond to, that much more to fit into our Blackberries. And with all the pollution in the air these days, who knows how long we’re going to be able to breathe to get it all done?

That’s the sense I get with the American culture at large as well as with the church. Don’t get me wrong. I believe that the church is full of authentic, genuine people who love God. I don’t think that’s the issue. And just that fact gives me hope. I believe the issue is how we—myself included—view this thing called the church. How we view this faith we profess. How we view the Biblical concepts of redemption, reconciliation, restoration (reminiscent of John M. Perkins’ vision of relocation, reconciliation, and redistribution for the church, which is discussed in the Afterword, p.176).

In Metzger’s introduction, he makes the connection between the disillusionment with the immigration clerks he and his wife experienced, and the church we find ourselves in today. “I have been sensitized by these and other similar encounters with structural coldness and insensitivity to the issues before us: race and class divisions in the consumer church. For we are also speaking here about those who are in and those who are out” (p. 2).

I often cringe when I watch church scenes in movies. A movie I watched last night portrayed the typical stereotype: an uptight, all-white, stuffy congregation, afraid to cough, laugh, or sing off-key. It paints the picture of a religion where people go to hide, to pretend to be un-human, or perhaps super-human. It breaks my heart, because that is not reality. That is not what the brokenhearted crave, that’s not what the poor need: a place to pretend, a place to deceive themselves and others. A place where you must look, dress, and think like those sitting on each side of you.

I believe this is partly what perpetuates the “culture wars” and “consumer culture” that Metzger refers to, which stifle our ability to communicate a truly loving, all-inclusive, compassionate Jesus (p.2). That is not what our culture sees in the church. I saw something entirely different when I was not a Christian. I saw ignorant, closed minded, oblivious, rich people who knew no true cares—and if they did have any, their problems were shallow and quickly resolved. Judgmental on my part? Yes. But that is what the church and her messages portrayed to me on a consistent basis.

The loud, dominant messages that carry the voice of evangelicals seem to be those of or similar to Rev. Jerry Falwell (p.3 ). Although he did apologize for ostracizing and blaming homosexuals, secularists, and materialists for 9/11, the damage is loud, clear, and pervasive. And once spoken, it’s out there for all to cling on to, reject, or accept as “the voice” of evangelicals. I look forward to a day when the strong, pervasive message among Christians is justice, compassion, and equality (similar to what the prophet Amos anticipates in Amos 5:24). Not polarization, homogeneous units or seeker-sensitive messages. The message of our Messiah is uncomfortable. It is scary. It’s risky. And I can’t help but get the feeling that so often when I am in a room of Christians singing worship songs that ask our creator to use us, and to help us “die” to ourselves for him, that we are failing to truly seek that. I can’t help but get the eerie feeling that we are begging, begging, begging with our mouths, but resisting, resisting, resisting with our hearts. That we are crying out with our words, but shutting down in our souls. I can’t help but get the feeling that the words we sing are empty. That we know the right things to say, but we don’t really want to be captured and led into the depths of reality and an abandoned pilgrimage, because maybe it won’t be pet friendly, or low-fat, or non-smoking. Our preferences will neglect us, our options will betray us, and suddenly, we will be going into unknown, uncharted territory. The control we are addicted to will no longer be in our hands. We would have to surrender all control to the Lord—the sovereign, almighty, compassionate Lord. But as scary as surrendering control and comfort to our creator can be, desiring the all-sovereign Lord is liberating and life-giving, and truly comforting. We can trust him with our lives.

If I don’t trust someone fully, I won’t follow that person into a forest. So the question that haunts me is, do I even trust my creator to lead me into his territory? Or do I simply want him to walk beside me and guide me in my own charted, plotted, temperature-controlled island and give me comforting words of affirmation? What does that do for his kingdom? If I truly believe that Yahweh acts out of love, then what do I have to fear? What do I truly believe, not just say I believe? I want to break free from my self-absorbed, homogeneous island and take off for distant lands right next door and down the street and across the track in search of peace and reconciliation. The flight and journey will be awkward, uncomfortable, and humiliating. But I want there to be unity in God’s creation, not millions of lonely, segregated islands. Just as America is supposed to be that land where those from distant lands and islands come in search of hope, longing to be free, so too is the church to be a haven of rest for all God’s children so often “tempest-tost,” longing to find home, longing to be free. But unlike the statue of liberty of which Lazarus’s poem speaks, the church is a people, not a stationary statue, waiting for the masses to come. The church must go to them.

Are we willing to go? Are we willing to move outside our comfort zones? The thing that breaks my heart is that Christ’s soul was “overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Mark 14:34 NIV) and yet still he earnestly prayed that not his will, but his father’s will be done—knowing full well that meant intense humiliation, suffering, and death. And not only did he accept the cup, but he drank it. He didn’t politely decline the offer.

Metzger argues that “all forms of disunity in the church can be traced, in the end, to an absence of practical love, an absence that hinders our outreach to the world” (p. 4). The thing that strikes me is that Metzger hopes that the all-consuming Jesus and his John 17 prayer will not only change the reader’s life, but more importantly, that it will change the church, so that “the world may come to know that the Father has sent the Son—not just for some, but for all” (p. 4). I believe this is an appropriate admonishment. I have been convicted that, like Hugh Grant’s character in the movie “About a Boy,” we live and view our existence as isolated islands, occasionally coming into contact with one another, but really, our existence is autonomous from everyone around us: millions of islands with our own appliances, gadgets, dreams, and hopes. This entirely undermines our social responsibility and our influence on structures and systems which make this country and world function as a whole. If the change stops with each of us, what good is that? We can sleep more soundly? Maybe, but it must go further than that for change. It must go further than our family or our social network. Jehovah is bigger than individuals in isolation. Jehovah is bigger than a neighborhood, a school, a city, a country, a nation. And he’s bigger than the powerful structures and oppressive systems which have deceived us, controlled us, and exploited his children.

My heart yearns for a day when I can stand in church as equals with others from different ethnic, economic, and equally diverse backgrounds, with our hands wide open and our hearts truly daring to enter into the “good, but not safe” narrative (referencing the beaver in C.S. Lewis’ Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe). Our hearts deceive us, pretending they don’t really hear his gentle pleading for us to go so much further than this. I pray we dare to enter into our creator’s story with fear and trembling, faith and reverence, awe and joy.

A friend of mine used to always say, “Without him we can’t. Without us he won’t.” It’s his story, and we are those whom he chose to be the messy characters. Let us be those characters, and dare to break past the barriers, systems, and structures that keep his children segregated, detached, and oppressed.

Van Deren addresses the possible negative aspects of Christian benevolence ministries and proposes a path toward more a more relational, biblical, Trinitarian approach to these ministries. He states that, “when divorced from genuine personal engagement, efforts by Christians to provide one-time or short-term financial assistance to those of lower socio-economic status—though well-intentioned—can rob the recipients of their dignity and can become little more than a form of religious imperialism.” He asserts that, “these benevolence efforts fail to capture the true nature of covenantal love for neighbor, which derives from the eternal relationship of love within the Trinity between and among Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” He discusses the negative nature of these benevolence ministries using personal examples, followed by a discussion of how a relational Trinitarian perspective should shape our future ministry efforts.

White-Man’s Burden Revisited: The Oppressiveness of Certain Forms of Christian Benevolence Ministry

Welcome to the essay section of the Consuming Jesus blog. This part of the blog is intended to be a space for posting and discussing essays addressing the issues of race, class, and consumerism in the church. Essays posted in this section approach issues raised by Consuming Jesus through the unique lenses of individuals and their own interests and experiences. The essays are meant to be formal presentations of specific issues facing particular Christian communities and impacting the larger body of Christ as a whole. In the various essays, authors have attempted to identify areas of concern to them personally and to the church corporately, seeking to mark a path forward through a biblical and Trinitarian framework of engagement. We welcome critical thinking, interaction, and dialogue with these papers. Readers are encouraged to engage these issues and comment on the essays. We hope that the individual authors will choose to take part in this ongoing dialogue as well. We plan to continue to expand the number of essays, and the breadth of subject matter they address, over the coming weeks. Thoughtful and compelling essay submissions from the wider community are very welcome. Those interested in submitting essays for consideration may do so by sending them to: wthompson@multnomah.edu. They will be evaluated based on the goals and criteria stated above and, if selected for publication, may be edited for content/readability prior to being posted.

An interview on Trans World Radio with Dr. Paul Louis Metzger on Consuming Jesus.

“…so that they may be one as we are one.” John 17:11b

Sometimes I feel like the entire community of Christians has the wool pulled over its eyes. Then I remember that I am part of that community, and I get nervous. My initial response is to become bitter, and detach myself from “those” Christians. My next response is guilt. I shouldn’t be sitting back, criticizing the church, and only adding to the stench. I should be redemptively, humbly, and prayerfully striving to alleviate the malady to the best of my ability in order to build wholeness and unity.

How easy it is to criticize, how easy to spot flaws, and how difficult and laborious it is to partake in the long—but joyful—process of mending what’s broken: the brokenness that defames Christ, the brokenness that we as Christ followers have a responsibility to remedy in search of wholeness.

In Donald Miller’s foreword to Paul Louis Metzger’s Consuming Jesus: Beyond Race and Class Divisions in a Consumer Church, he discusses how difficult it is to truly be unified. What does that even mean anymore? And should we even bother? Or better yet, are we bothering? Although Metzger poses serious and grave concerns about consumerism driving the church toward disunity rather than a love for Christ that spurs unity and reconciliation, Miller points out that Metzger does this in a refreshingly redemptive way. “Perhaps the most enjoyable aspect of this book lies in the hope the author forecasts for the contemporary church,” and one “senses Dr. Metzger’s grace for all parties” (p. x).

When I think of the Christian church, smiles come to mind: nurseries, little blonde munchkins running around, the awkward greet-your-neighbor time after the business-as-usual church announcements, flowery, well-groomed young couples, and polite, reserved old couples. I think of nursery numbers flashing across the giant screen mastering the front of the congregation, notifying young parents of their problem child. I think of the hot coffee and its array of creamer options: vanilla, crème brulee, sugar-free hazelnut, and of course, the pumpkin spice or eggnog creamer during the holidays provided by the truly accommodating church. Starbucks does it, so the church should too, right? I think of a happy little message, or even a tear-jerking message, and then of course the typical post-church festivities: lunch out with my sister, coffee with friends, or maybe just a nice little nap.

All in all, the church experience is very pleasant. But what occurs outside of church is where it gets complicated for me. I see all these nasty problems in the world. And the strange thing is, they’re not getting better—they seem to be getting worse. Odd, because when I sit in church and look around me, it seems as if all is right with the world. But a simple look around will tell you this is not the case. I find myself becoming disillusioned with the church because it seems so disconnected from the surrounding world. As a result, I feel internally disconnected, going through a seemingly unending cycle of frustration, guilt, good coffee, smiles, frustration, guilt, good coffee, smiles…

Now, I don’t necessarily have a problem with having six different creamer options. I don’t even see anything wrong with flashing nursery numbers. In and of themselves, these do not pose any real threat to the health of the church. But I do have a problem with what all the consumer-driven messages, in the big picture, communicate to both Christians and non-Christians.

I often feel as if an imposter has taken my faith captive, raped it, abused it, and hung it up for all to see. See, my conversion experience was not pretty. Nor flowery. Nor smiley. I was a wretched, miserable sinner, completely jaded toward God, religion, the church, Christianity and all the irrelevant, ignorant, oblivious people who joined that destructive force. That was my first-hand experience with the church. So now, being a Christ-follower and personally experiencing His un-explainable grace, joy and redemption, I am sensitive to, and concerned about the image that evangelical Christians present to those outside. I know what it’s like to be “on the other side”, to view the church as some sort of freaky justification to be sheltered and fake.

The thing is though, that voice, that message, is worlds and worlds apart from the story and heart of Christ. So, how do we overcome this—on both an individual and corporate level? I personally believe change starts individually, but the church institution as a whole gives these changes momentum and lasting power. Spiritual discernment and understanding will certainly help. But these are hard to come by when, for as Miller says in the foreword to Consuming Jesus, church leaders today tend to communicate more competencies in movie-clip allusions than in New Testament Greek.

For Miller, “…we understand the church better not by simply studying it, but studying what it has eaten to become it” (p. x). The sneaky thing about being inundated with consumer-driven messages is that because they are so constant, we don’t even recognize them anymore. As a result, it is natural to acquire a pop-culture vernacular, while it is uncomfortable and unpopular to step back and objectively examine how the consumer in each of us can exacerbate division, oppression, and a misconstruing of the Christian message. But according to Miller, Metzger’s book provides such objectivity. Consuming Jesus helps us step back and assess the situation objectively. As a result, Miller writes, “we finally realize that we are rats in a maze, where before we simply searched for cheese” (p. x).

If, as Metzger says in his conclusion to the book, the church is ideally like a patchwork quilt where those from different races, classes, backgrounds, and ages all come cohesively together to warm a cold universe, then I would say right now that it’s a giant, holey, cream polyester blanket full of fuzz balls.

Cohesive messages and lively worship bands the church gets, but intentionally striving for true unity among believers from diverse backgrounds it tends to forget, in the name of homogenous units and consumer comfort.

Miller ends the foreword to Metzger’s book by admonishing Christians to “lock arms at our differences to display for the world one Christ manifesting himself through the church for one purpose” (p. x). I believe that this is the sort of vision that the Lord Jesus had in mind when he prayed to His Father that we may “be one.” Not “them” out there, but “us” in here, and all the others scratching their heads over what creamer to use and forgetting why they’re even there in the first place.

Christianity is about unity. It’s about love. It’s about demolishing walls and accepting people through the compassionate eyes of Christ. It’s not convenient, it’s not dainty, and it’s not supposed to come in a shiny package for us to rip open, only to be disappointed. But man, to sit in church amongst all my neighbors of this world, not just the select few like me (those I like), would feel a bit like this unity thing Christ is talking about.

I want us to get there. And as Metzger always says in our theology class (and which John M. Perkins says in the afterword to Consuming Jesus), “we settle for so little when Jesus calls us to so much more!” The all-consuming Jesus is a patient one, but He’s still calling us to be consumed by so much more than base consumerism and consumer preference Christianity. So what’s holding us back from the all-consuming Jesus?