The Mockingcast

According to the Pew Research Center (see here and here), over half of American adults who were sampled (59%) believe that, in general, science is often in conflict with religion. But “conflict” is only one way of seeing how science and religion might relate. Other possibilities include “independent”, “competition”, “dialogue”, “discussion”, “engagement”, “partnership”, “collaboration”, among others. Some, like scientist and theologian Alister McGrath, take a more nuanced approach, and describe the relationship as complementary, while historian John Hedley Brooke (writing before Facebook was a thing) simply described the relationship as: “It’s complicated”. How about you? How do you view the relationship between science and religion? We (Bonnie and Bethany) have spent a great deal of our professional and personal lives thinking about how science and religion might relate. We’ve heard people tell us that Christians can’t be scientists, on the one hand, and that theology is the queen of the sciences, on the other – and everything in between. One of us is a scientist (Bonnie) and one is a theologian (Bethany) and we’d like to invite you on a brief journey on the history of how we’ve gotten into this complicated relationship through our disciplines of psychology and theology– and more importantly, hear your thoughts on –the unanswered questions about how science and theology speak to the suffering in the world and in personal lives.

Nietzsche said that he would only believe in a “God who dances.” As Mockingbird devotees, and survivors of three marriages, Debbie and I have come to believe in a dancing God. Yet, this view of God only came after years, many years, in which we didn’t. A romantic courtship, with breathless excitement and anticipation of an American-dream marriage, quickly turned into a marriage of unmet expectations from both sides. Indeed, each of us hurt the other (albeit unintentionally) in the very fashion that would cause the most pain. We unknowingly tread upon the past hurts and expectations that each of us brought into the marriage. Our marriage devolved into separate lives with no hope of reconciliation–none. We certainly didn’t believe in a dancing God–in one who could bring dance into our marriage. We believed in a God who rewarded effort and wise decisions. We thought we had married the wrong person. In fact, we each wished that the other was dead or that we were dead. But then, the dancing God, the God we talk about at Mockingbird, stepped in. By God’s limitless grace, we both began learning of a God who knew the depths of our dark hearts–the true extent of our sinful flaws–but loved us nonetheless with His limitless, eternal love. Over the years, as we became more convinced of God’s unfathomable, eternal love for us, we began to love each other. My favorite parable is the one concerning the “treasure in the field.” Virtually always, the “treasure in the field” is construed as the Kingdom of God. Yet, when you review the parables surrounding it (the lost coin, the lost sheep), it becomes abundantly clear (as I first learned from CI Scofield) that we are the “treasure in the field,” that Christ sold everything (gave His life) to purchase. The character of a Kingdom is determined by the character of the King. This King is the savior and redeemer of individuals, of marriages, and of all creation. As Sally Lloyd Jones writes in Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing: “God made everything in his world and in his universe and in his children’s hearts to center around him–in a wonderful Dance of Joy! It’s the dance you were born for.”

Dynamite does one thing well: it blows stuff up. Dynamite is no more than an absorbent material, such as sawdust, soaked in a highly combustible chemical called nitroglycerin. The absorbent material makes the nitroglycerin much more stable. Attached to the nitroglycerin infused sawdust is either a fuse of a blasting cap. Once lit, the fuse or cap creates a small explosion that triggers the larger explosion in the dynamite itself. Once ignited, the dynamite burns extremely rapidly and produces a large amount of hot gas in the process. The hot gas expands very quickly and applies pressure, and thus blows up or explodes. The Greek word dynamis (δύναμις) is commonly translated as “power of God.” A college professor of mine once smacked his hands down loudly on the podium and said: “the Gospel is dynamite, exploding faith into the heart of the believer by the power of the Holy Spirit.” The Gospel, to me, from that day on, has been dynamite. It blows up the Old Adam and creates from the rubble the New Man who by faith stands in Christ alone. The idea that it was the Gospel of Christ––either through the stand-alone proclaimed Word, or the Word as it is connected to water in Holy Baptism or the bread and wine, body and blood, in Holy Communion––as the Means of Grace (media gratiae) through which God brings sinners to Himself was an idea unique to the Reformation. The idea itself is simple but carries with it immense implications. If God blows up my Old-Adam with the dynamite of the Gospel, then it is His work that saves from beginning to end. I do nothing to save myself; He does everything. This has always vexed Christians, especially new Christians. If God has saved me of His accord and His work on account of Christ, what can I do now for God? How can I serve Him? How can I say thank you? Often, the answer to this question leaves the questioner disappointed. The answer is, God doesn’t need your service. He is the almighty creator of heaven and earth. By His Word, all things were made that have been made. By His Word, He performs great miracles. By His Word, your Old Adam is constantly blown up with the dynamite of the Gospel. You need Him; He doesn’t need you. The Reformers had an answer for this one too. The Reformers realized that it was not the monks and priests of the church that were doing “super works” to please God. They saw that the everyday person served God, but did so in a way that had not previously been recognized. The Reformers called this the doctrine of vocation. We are all called to freely love and serve those whom God has called into our lives. We don’t always recognize the form that this service will take. And we certainly serve them imperfectly; often badly. Sometimes this service will look like changing a diaper. Sometimes it will be getting a cup of coffee for your spouse. (Thus, some of the most common and important vocation are being a dad or mom, husband or wife.) Sometimes it’s telling someone that you love them. Sometimes it’s standing next to a friend as they bury a loved one. The one thing we know is that it will probably look very standard, and will likely be difficult to recognize as “unique.” To quote Gerhard Forde as he tries to explain Luther’s ideas on this topic: “Whatever call there might be for more extreme action, it must be remembered that Luther’s idea is that first and foremost one serves God by taking care of his creation.” (Gerhard Forde, A More Radical Gospel) So then, the Gospel is the dynamite that constantly blows up the Old Adam in us, and then God uses the rubble to, by the work of the Holy Spirit, build up saving faith, trust, in our hearts saving us on account of Christ alone. He then calls people into our lives, inviting us to love them and be loved in return, serve them and be served in return, all through the ordinary everyday motions of our daily, often boring lives. This is the Christian vocation. When we fail––and we do––he forgives once more through the dynamite of salvation, the Gospel of Christ.

I don’t “read much” and I don’t “look the part” I’m not “seminary trained” or even “theologically inclined.” I don’t “know what ‘Pelagian’ means” and I “don’t look comfortable in front of an audience” I “sleep in my make-up” and “also with stuffed animals” I guess I “talk too much” and I “sweat when I’m nervous” and I “can’t remember names” because I’m “too concerned with myself” even though I “don’t bathe regularly” and I’ve “let myself go.” I haven’t “learned my lesson” my “coffee hasn’t kicked in yet” I haven’t “kept calm” or “found my bliss” but I’m “talking at this conference anyway.” On the surface of things, Moana (Disney) tells the story of a model-gorgeous Polynesian girl who saves her people through sheer grit and perseverance. Bennett Brauer would say: She “has what it takes” she “does her part” she “takes the bull by the horns” and “pulls herself up by her sandal-straps.” In our culture today – so driven and exhausted by the lie that our success (our salvation) is in our own hands – this is an incredibly seductive notion. (Don’t all of us, even we gospel-warriors at Mockingbird, operate under this impulse every day?) As we take a closer look at this beautiful film, what we will discover is a character riddled with self-doubt. She is neither capable nor equipped to offer life and rescue to her village (which is slowly being consumed by a “terrible darkness”). Moana, like me, like you, has only one credential: she is chosen. In this breakout session, we will explore how aspects of this remarkable narrative offer us – lowly, incapable, and weak – grace, hope, and a way forward in the grind of our everyday lives as Christians. We possess neither the ability, free will, power, nor the righteousness to repair ourselves and escape the wrath of God. It must all be God’s work, Christ’s work, or there is no salvation.” — Michael Horton.

It doesn’t take long at Mockingbird before one hears about… yes, here it comes… Law and Gospel. It is the name of the book after all. And while most of the fun is to be had in observing this versatile skeleton key to the human condition illustrated in everything from Finding Dory to David Bowie, or from Black Mirror to Axl Rose, the original Law/Gospel illustration, of course, came from Martin Luther’s BFF, Lucas Cranach the Elder, as evidenced below. On the left, expectation and obligation – with help from sin and death – send a helpless streaker toward an unwelcome barbeque (that’s Law). On the right, expectation is met by fulfillment. As the good news sinks in, a super-soaker of imputing blood jet streams from a side-wound, while sin and death get busted by a deputized sheep (that’s Gospel). It would be perfectly serviceable to offer an extended talk on such wonderful illustrations, one of which bedazzles the front of Paul Zahl’s Short Systematic Theology. Cranach, after all, painted several variations, each of which convey different nuances to Law/Gospel dynamic. Nevertheless, addled as I am by the oppressive law of academia, with its merciless demand for originality, I am incapable of delivering something so straightforward, which, at any rate, has been done well in several top-notch publications. Instead, I thought I’d look to artists from whom one would not expect such a message. Indeed, at the tenth anniversary conference I shall contend the Law/Gospel message can be found concealed in artists a long way from Wittenberg. The thrilling truth of grace emerges in art history just where you’d expect to hear something different (hence my title, “Hearing Law, Seeing Gospel”). What if the dynamic famously painted by Cranach could be found incognito in Orthodox icons, peeking from the unsurpassable achievements of Michelangelo and Pontormo, concealed in Catholic kitsch, even shining through the cult of creativity in contemporary art? It’s all succinctly conveyed in the witty title, “camouflage Cranach,” really, but my wife said that sounded terrible.

We’re living in an age of “subjective sovereignty,” where life is “all the feels” and emotional offense is king. It is a time less describable by policy discord and differences of opinion, but instead by vindictive joy and holy rage. Arguments are couched in first-person noise—disagreements have the sting of personal attacks—which means the arguments are, on the whole, harder to argue or critique. As we’ve become “touchier” about the things we care about, the logic behind those sensitivities has also faded. This trend goes hand in hand with another trend that’s been provoked, namely, that America is only becoming more spiritually bankrupt/unmoored. David Brooks recently wrote along these lines, that Religious frameworks no longer organize public debate. Secular philosophies that grew out of the Enlightenment have fallen apart. We have words and emotional instincts about what feels right and wrong, but no settled criteria to help us think, argue and decide. You’d think this would lead to the age of great moral relativism, where all the objective strictures are let go and the only mantra remaining is “You Do You.” But this hasn’t happened. Instead, Brooks writes, “society has become a free-form demolition derby of moral confrontation.” It seems we feel so much, but we can’t seem to agree on why we feel it and who’s to blame. So the answer, of course, is to get some Truth, right? Get to church! Fall on the Rock! God provides the mooring—the why behind your hurt—and the cross gives you your scapegoat. The Good News gives you your needed justification. But what do you do with all that rage? Therapy? I don’t know about you, but the term “therapeutic” has always bristled—it sounds like the hippy-dippy opposite of “grounded” or “objective.” It sounds a lot more like “You Do You”—do what feels good to you. But this is largely a misunderstanding, mostly because of counseling that truly hasn't helped. Just as God gives us the Good News, God also administers his healing in the gracious counsel of another. With the help of some of our favorites, let's look into the relationship between the objective News of the Gospel, and very subjective (though no-less-real) needs we carry around with us every day, and how those needs are addressed within the realm of pastoral care and counseling.

Closing Saturday morning talk at our 2017 Conference in New York City, given by David Zahl. Delivered April 29th, 2017 at St George's Episcopal Church.

Saturday morning talk at our 2017 Conference in New York City, given by Nicole Cliffe (The Toast). Delivered April 29th, 2017 at St George's Episcopal Church.

Saturday morning talk at our 2017 Conference in New York City, given by Duo Dickinson. Delivered April 29th, 2017 at St George's Episcopal Church.

Friday evening talk at our 2017 Conference in NYC, given by The Rev. Fleming Rutledge. Delivered April 28th, 2017 at St George's Episcopal Church.