N. T. Wright reserves his best wit and best arguments for when he is exasperated.  His book “Justification” is a rebuttal to a critique of his studies on Paul over the years, often called the “New Perspective on Paul.”  Although he specifically addresses John Piper’s critiques, his aim is to provide a counter argument to all his naysayers, most, apparently, coming from the reform theology camp.

These Reformers seem to be a grumpy group.  I’ve mentioned it before: a lot of reform theology is really good, foundational stuff (we're talking about Luther and Calvin for crying out loud!), and the passion behind it is commendable.  But, and it’s just my opinion, they seem to be a very angry lot, looking to pick a fight with those who seem to be a bit off kilter, away from what they believe, which, in recent years, is apparently pretty much everyone.

Presently, it would appear that they have in their sites biblical scholars who are parsing sentences, and digging up archaeological or historical tidbits, chewing on ancient languages and deciphering contexts. This is kind of ironic, in that all that hard exegetical work is something that I assume Reformers really value as important.

But it seems that when some of that digging around produces a fresh way to look at Scripture, a good exegete is not as important as long held traditional views.  Wright and others actually make this point in the book a few times:  How strange it is that it is the Reformers who are the ones holding on to tradition, even while arguing for being "people of the Book."

Piper critiques Wright’s Covenant Theology when it comes to describing what justification is all about.  Wright (and I realize it’s very dangerous trying to sum up the argument in a sentence), is suggesting that Christ—another word for Messiah—not just saves us from our sins, but reconstitutes the people of God, broadening what it means to be the people of God, and who that all includes.  Wright argues that righteousness in Paul’s passages on justification is not about our moral virtue (or Christ's), but about our new status that Christ brought about.

Piper doesn’t seem to like the direction this is going, suggesting that it is somehow removing the power or centrality of the cross and who Jesus is (aka, the Son of God, perfect, sinless, etc), and that Wright, in his emphasis on historical context and Paul's understanding of covenant, is moving beyond the biblical narrative.  (A strange critique, as I mentioned above, coming from someone who allows tradition to trump Word).

As an aside, reading about this tension between moral virtue and status reminded me of a friend who changed the lyrics of a popular song we sometimes sing in church.  For altar services, we often sing the song, "Holiness, Holiness", and one of the lines goes,  “Righteousness is what you want from me.”  My friend said, theologically speaking, we should be saying, “Righteousness is what you’ve given to me.”  It’s not about something that we earn or about our moral ethic, saying you want right living from me (as much as that statement taken by itself is true) but about our new identity as part of the family of God, evidence that God has kept the covenant that he had originally laid out in the Torah to Abraham and brought to completion in Christ.  I think he`s right, and I always make the change in my head when the song is sung.

Back to the book: Wright is just plain fun to read.  Even in the second half of the book where he slogs through verse after verse in Pauline Literature to make his case, his presentation and style is memorizing.  His chapter on Romans is particulalry fascinating, challenging, and encouraging.  He does come across a bit romper room-ish, meaning it seems like he’s trying to dumb down his concepts so that his "child-like" critics will understand him better.  This is a little patronizing, but good fun.  You get the sense that this is how the British have a debate.  The problem is, back here in North America, something may get lost in the translation.  I can feel a “harrumph!” coming when Wright’s detractors finish the book, whether they think he won the debate or not.  

Smugness isn't the only problem.  The information we gather is often very convicting and after a careful study we often declare that "we must do something about this."

But what?  All of the creativity in the world can't seem to help us get to a starting point.  What used to be a common sense "just go out and help your fellow human" thingy is now a mind-boggling, kind of blurry thingy.

That's where Tony Campolo and Gordon Aeschliman come in.  

In their book, Everybody Wants to Change the World: Practical Ideas for Social Justice, they seem to recognize that there has been a lot of talk about making a difference in our world, but the action part has been a bit stunted.  The authors' challenge then: You want to change the world?  Here are a gazillion ideas for you.  Pick one and go for it. (I can actually picture Campolo rasping out those last 3 sentences on a stage at a youth convention somewhere, with his eyes closes and his hands flayling.  Absolutely poetic).

Okay, it's not quite a gazillion, more like around 90 or so, but they do cover a lot:  Poverty, Evangelism, The Environment, Prisoners, The Oppressed, The Elderly, The Sick and Disabled, Immigrants, along with ways in which to creatively communicate the needs in these areas.

Practical stuff, and outside of the "Get in the Way of War" idea, pretty easy suggestions.  (After reading that particular section, I envisioned millions of evangelical youth taking their spring break missions trip to stand on the front-lines of a war zone with merely a bullet-proof vest.  Parents with lawyers are simultaneously gathering at the church doors...)

Campolo and Aeschliman have a great discussion part in the back where you can chat more about doing stuff... hopefully it leads to doing stuff.

My only complaint is that the book is pulling off the modern day superstore strategy:  When I go and buy mustard, the amount of choices available disables my efficiency.  I stand in front of a particular aisle for far too long, looking at far too much mustard, and doubt creeps in to what should be a confident decision.  I need mustard for goodness sake! Similarly, after walking down the aisles of the book, you may find yourselve staring with glazed eyes at the products available to you, thinking that all you really wanted to do was change the world.  

Why couldn't that be more simple? 

My problem is that I'm a collector of books, meaning, I get more books than I read.  I made the resolution because I found myself using time wastefully, particularly in the evenings, time that could be used for reading.  If I could convert an hour or so a day of wasted time into reading time, I was convinced I could read a book a week--maybe more!  For my own sanity, I'm going to keep tallying my reads until I hit 52.  At my pace, I could be done by July some time...

The last 3 books I've read I'll just give a quick thought to:

I met Marva Dawn at Regent College.  I took a course of hers on worship.  She is a phenomenal woman; her many disabilities have not got in the way of her using her brilliant mind to teach, preach, and write.  Her book, "Joy in Your Weakness" was written to encourage all those who suffer.  The neat thing about the book was that she used the book of Revelation as her text.  More than a devotional, a bit less than a commentary, the book was a joy to read, and a fascinating look at Revelation.  Her theology is sharp, and her Christology is persuasive and appealing.  A great resource for discovering a fine theology on suffering as well as a clear approach to the last book of the Bible.

I've always appreciated books by Paul Stevens.  In his "The Equipper's Guide to Every-Member Ministry:  Eight Ways Ordinary People can do the Work of the Church," Stevens is again at his best, making room in our church culture for a theology that is accessible to the "people in the pew."  I find Stevens refreshingly clear, challenging, and sane.  His writings are always deeply theological, yet simple in their practicality.

Jim Belcher is someone who has been with both the emergent church crowd (he used to smoke cigars with Rob Bell -how emergent is that?) and with the traditional crowd.  In his book "Deep church" he attempts to deal with the tension between the two camps by suggesting an alternative.  Rather than the status quo and then a reaction to the status quo, why not develop a church culture that is deep, meaning, thoughtful in its approach in doing, well, pretty much everything?  It was actually one of the better reads for me in the whole dialogue on the emergent church.  This was a thoughtful book that wasn't casually written, and Belcher appears to be the right person to present an alternative.  (Books 29-31/52)

When we do hear an alternative perspective, it seems to me that most of us resort to one of two tactics: (1) we instantly back-track from our dogmatism, revealing that we’ve more bark than bite or (2) we get our back up against the wall and begin to fight.  And we fight, not through bringing in further, more compelling arguments, but bringing louder voices, re-stating our position with indignation, or better yet, resorting to name calling.

This tension doesn’t sit very well with most of us, so public discourse becomes a sort of elementary school sock hop: the music is playing, but all the participants have glued their backs to the security of the gym wall.  Chat with your neighbour about the song, or the cute girl on the other side of the room, but heaven forbid any kind of embrace.

Sure, there are always a few participants that ignore the shy crowd and find a partner, and there are some songs that, when played, the whole room starts hopping.  We do like to talk, and talking with others is less awkward than talking to ourselves, and inevitably, disagreements do take place—who is the best hockey player, how many people were actually at the party, etc.,--but the banter is warm and friendly (usually) and disagreements are done often with humour and a knowing look to put people at ease.

But there are some topics where, even amongst friends, the guard goes up, or the eyes glaze over, or the language gets tense, or dismissive, or disruptive.  I have found that the topic that creates these kinds of symptoms more than most is religion.

That’s where Paul Chamberlain comes in.  He argues that talking about religion doesn’t have to be the equivalent of talking about haemorrhoids over Christmas dinner.  In his book, “Talking about Good and Bad without getting Ugly: The Art of Moral Persuasion,” Chamberlain argues for a method of moral persuasion, suggesting not only a need for moral discussions and debates in our culture, but a need to have some ground rules for discussing and debating well.

Chamberlain reminds us that our culture is one in which technology evolves faster than ethics, and multiple messaging creates conflicting moral views and a dismissal of anything called truth.  But this doesn’t mean that we have to just sit back and allow these obstacles  to beat rationality into submission. 

He suggests that we have every right to question the invasion of technology, bring to light illogical opinions on important issues, and stand up for a tolerance that allows room for even dissenting voices. 

Specifically, Chamberlain suggests that we can argue that moral relativism is not as prevalent (or even as possible) as we may think.  When it comes down to it, everyone draws a moral line in the sand at some point. 

Further, he states that moral confusion “can’t go on forever.” Chamberlain uses the example of abortion rights coming in conflict with women’s rights when gender-selective abortion takes place.  How can one support abortion in full, he asks, yet fight for women’s rights at the same time?  The logic eventually reveals the inconsistencies. 

And finally, he reminds us that no one is unbiased; we all come from a particular worldview.

This “arguing”, of course, needs to be done with a great deal of common courtesy.  Chamberlain suggests this begins with being informed.  In public debates, make sure you have more than an opinion; back your argument up with data and facts.  Be willing to have information reciprocated.  Also, be prepared to have an answer when someone asks a question about what you believe.  Can you back up your perspective with a clear argument?  Any viewpoint can hold its own if it isn’t contested.  Know the opposing arguments to your viewpoint well.  Know your opponents too, where they are coming from, and what their worldview might be.

Chamberlain suggests that we can’t underestimate the power of humour in the discussion.  Laughter can ease many tensions, and winning an argument while losing a friend is no victory.  Realize that arguments have their limits, and that people are persuaded often slowly, over a long period of time.  That’s why I like the idea of a slow, simmering discussion over a weekly cup of coffee, allowing time to slowly work its way into disagreements.  This takes place all the time with such topics as sports and the weather, where two friends can agree to disagree while finding the journey of getting there something that grows their relationship.  A discussion on religion should be no different.  At the end of the day, a healthy debate where two willing participants respect the dignity of their unique voices is an act of preserving our humanity as it flourishes in community. 

(28 of 52)

I had started reading The Hobbit out loud to one of kids, but by the time we reached Beorn`s house, he found the book a little sleepy, and our pace slowed.  Since I had read the book half a million times, I was anxious to get to the wonderful conclusion, so I decided to just read ahead and finish it off.

Two things that always surprise me after reading The Hobbit:  (1) how very un-serious all the characters are in comparison to the very serious Lord of the Rings (and how bizarrely infantile the elves are) and (2) how, even though he`s a bit of a pompous jerk, my favorite character always ends up being good old Thorin Oakenshield.  I fancy him winning out in the end and am always a little disappointed to know that he gets knocked off before he can rule his mountain properly.

Sorry for the late spoiler alert.  I`ve probably messed it up for when you go and watch the movie.  Maybe Peter Jackson will be like me and will want to manipulate the book in order to keep that Thorin guy around.  Some how I doubt it.  (If he does anything, he`ll make the battle scenes ridiculously long, gory, peopled with countless millions of CGI characters with a backdrop consisting of a really, really, really dark sky).

Oh, and looking at the first posters of the movie, I am surprised at how young Thorin looks, when he`s supposed to be one of the oldest of all the dwarves.  And where are all the long beards....

Since movies were considered with suspicion during my childhood, books were the entertainment of choice, as a way to expand our imagination, and, I imagine, to keep a rowdy household of kids a bit more sane.  My parents bought me my first Stephen R. Lawhead books for Christmas.  I remember getting Dream Thief , a strange science fiction work that was a bit over my head at the time, and The Sword and the Flame, book three of a triology that I hadn't started yet.  Fortunately, my brother had the first book, In the Hall of the Dragon King, and my neighbourhood friend, Kevin, had book two, The Warlords of Nin.  I read the trilogy in reverse, and then read them back again in the right order.

I was hooked.  It was the first bit of fantasy I had read outside of The Lord of the Rings and enjoyed sinking myself into Lawhead's fantastical worlds.

Over the years, Lawhead's writings really started to reflect his interest in Celtic legends and history.  His Pendragon series took on the Arthurian legend from a celtic perspective and won international acclaim.  He continued in this vein, writing about the crusades, or pilgrimmages, or famous saints, but always with a bent towards characters immerging from the Isle of Man.

One of his most recent series was a reimagining of Robin Hood as being a hero coming out from amongst the Welsh.  I had read the first book a few years ago, Hood, and purchased the other two books, Scarlet, and Tuck, when they came out, but never had a chance to read them.  Seeing as I've got a bit of a reading thing on the go, I decided to read all three this past week.  It was a delight to escape back into Lawhead's books, and although I was reading some of his latest works, I found it easy to imagine myself as a young lad, ripping off the Christmas wrappings of an earlier book, and ripping into the pages of another realm.

A bit of an epilogue (and Lawhead loves epilogues).  When I first went to Regent College, I was very surprised to see that Lawhead was visiting as a guest author.  There was a small crowd that met him in the school chapel to hear him read some of his writings and take questions.  It was there that I heard that he was going to start writing about Robin Hood.  It was also here where I gushed a bit: I asked question after question, and when no one else seemed to want to join in the fray, I asked some more.  I was like one of those annoying students who pretends that any discussion taking place in the classroom is simply between the professor and himself.  But I didn't care, and the oppportunity to chat with one of my favorite authors solidified, in a strange way, my desire to stick it out in furthering my schooling.  (24-26 of 52)

Over the summer I read a book that had sat on my shelf for years, Wendell Berry’s “The Unsettling of America.: (20 of 52)  The book was written back in the 70’s, but I had seen it quoted or recommended by countless authors, so it made my reading list.

The book is a scathing critique of the industrialization of agriculture in America.  Wendell Berry is a farmer who put anger to pen, and produced a relentless, coherent, and satisfying logical argument against our society’s technological rape of agriculture.

The book is a defence of all cultures (it is, after all, agri-culture), with Berry surmising that the unsettling of America is the unsettling of our very souls.  As goes the farm, so goes the culture, and so goes the person.  For instance, in contrast to the American dream of healthy competition, Berry asks the question: if competition is the value of our culture, why isn’t anyone happier?  If urban living has trumped rural living through sophistication, making the farmers produce for an urban standard of living, etc., why aren’t cities a clear cut winner over the countryside?  Why do cities and the farmers both lose?  In a competitive environment where bigger and faster ways of removing product from the land trump reason, no one can win.

As a pastor, I find it very easy to insert the word “church” wherever I read the word “farm”.  (I think I read somewhere that Eugene Peterson recommended doing the same with the book).   Berry suggests, for example, that the way to have healthy farming is to embrace the wilderness, the forest and the diversity that is always on the outskirts of the cultivated crop.  Success in farming (aka, making disciples), is equated with the quality of the nurturing that takes place, the value of place, and the provision of space for things that are on the margins of our industry/spiritual agenda—the stuff that is on the peripheral of the values of the modern world.

One point in this paralleling of church and farm is when Berry suggests that a health farm has the right proportion of people, not too few (where the machinery takes over) and not too many (where there is just a conveyor-belt of individuals doing the same thing over and over).  It made me think of what the right proportion of people a church should have to be healthy.  I haven’t come to any conclusions yet.

“The Unsettling of America” is fantastically written.  I have read many books that have been published more recently that critique the way we are wreaking havoc on our resources and our culture,  but none so elegantly written.  This critique will stay with me a long, long time.

 The second book I read in August was “Good to Great in God’s Eyes” (21 of 52) by Chip Ingram.  It was a bit of a letdown after Wendell Berry.  The book wasn’t good or great.  It was basically written as a Christian perspective on a popular leadership book that had come out earlier called simply, “Good to Great.”  Unlike that book, the Christian version didn’t reveal surprise results from studies of great businesses or business people.  It basically took a bunch of observations of different leaders of the faith over the centuries and turned it into a bunch of pithy principles a la John Maxwell.  (example:  “Great Christians read great books.” Or “Great Christians pray great prayers.”).  Similar to Maxwell, each principle is all fine and dandy in its own fashion—we all want to pray great prayers—but it’s a little bit obvious; shouldn’t we already assume that praying great prayers will help us be better Christians?

I guess I was a little put off from the beginning of the book because I was hoping for something that had been researched and, if I was to be disappointed with this assumption, to have a book that followed some kind of analysis of Scripture.  The book started off with the verse, “If you want to be great in God’s Kingdom...” but then didn’t finish it off: “learn to be the servant of all.”  Rather, Ingram asked the question, “what makes a Christian great?” and then proceeded to come up with all these subjective observations.  Certainly the idea of servanthood was alluded to in some of the chapters, such as, “Great Christians Take Great Risks,” and “Make Great Sacrifices.”  But the book could have been so much different if the answer to “How to be great in God’s eyes” was simply learning to be a servant of all.  But maybe I missed the boat on this one.

I was rescued from my disenchantment by my third book of August, as I went back to a familiar author and took on Peterson’s, “Like Dew Your Youth:  Growing Up with your Teenager.”  This was one of Peterson’s first books and had a different feel to it than many of his other books on spiritual and pastoral theology; you could still see his playful sentences on display, but the writing was pointed and practical. He wrote the book as a way to help parents see common problems that arise in raising teenagers as opportunities of discipleship.  He argues that parenting is a gift that enables our own discipleship, our own understanding of who God is and how he relates to us.  I found it a very encouraging book, and still relevant, even though written a few decades ago.  In fact, I can’t think of too many parenting books that offer this kind of perspective of parenting-as-spiritual discipline.  The book can even be used as a small group study guide for parents who want to work on this perspective together.  An enjoyable and easy read.

Last of all, I read my first John Grisham book in August, “The Confession.” (22 of 52).  This was an engaging page-turner that dealt with the issue of the death penalty in the southern states.  The question that Grisham chewed on throughout the book: what happens if the real murderer steps forward days before the accused (who had always claimed innocence) is to be put to death?  Would anyone believe him? 

Grisham is more than just a paper-back novelist.  Yes, there was the typical snap dialogue, and under-described minions of characters, but there were some chapters that were simply beautiful prose and that painted a picture that lasts in the mind long after the book is finished.  I’m sure I’ll pick up another Grisham in the near future.