Another weekend has come. Time for another entry into my look at Alisa Childers’ and Tim Barnett’s book, The Deconstruction of Christianity. Last week I looked at Part 1 of their book, titled “#Exvangelical.” Part 2, “#Deconstruction,” is actually six chapters in the book, so I will be taking two blog posts to get through it. All I am going to do try to give a fair “bird’s eye view” on each chapter in question, and then simply give my reaction to each chapter—a rather informal and conversational response. As before, my comments will be in bold.
Chapter 5: Crisis
In Chapter 5, Childers and Barrett cover the types of things that typically cause Evangelical Christians to “deconstruct” their faith. At the beginning of the chapter, though, they make a distinction between someone going through a “crisis of faith” and someone going through “deconstruction.” A crisis doesn’t automatically cause deconstruction. Choosing to deconstruct one’s faith often is a chosen response to a crisis of faith. In any case, some things that cause a crisis of faith are (A) suffering, (B) doubt. (C) politics, (D) purity culture, (E) shocking things in the Bible, (F) morality/toxic theology, and (G) abuse.
I’ll just highlight a few things Childers and Barnett say here. About doubt, they say at some point every doubter has to make the choice to either continue to trust God or move away from Him. They also emphasize that “Jesus can handle our doubts.” Having doubts isn’t a problem—it’s inevitable. They then highlight Jinger Duggar Vuolo, whose family were the famous “19 Kids and Counting” family who were followers of now-disgraced minister Bill Gothard. Jinger said she took a good eight years “unthreading” her faith, separating the truth of the Gospel from the errors she had been taught. The point: that doubt was constructive, in that it led to Jinger coming to a more deeply-rooted faith.
Then there is politics. Simply put, since the election of Donald Trump, a lot of Evangelicals were so appalled at Evangelicalism that their “deconstruction” ended up simply rejecting Evangelicalism and/or Christianity as a whole, and then travelling to the polar opposite end of the political spectrum. This is something I’ve seen happen numerous times. Sadly, that “progressive politicization” is an over-reaction to a conservative Evangelicalism that has tended to conflate Christianity with the GOP party. Whatever your political stances are, no matter how much they are informed by your Christian faith, those political stances are not the Christian faith. When you fail to see the distinction between the two, your faith gets bastardized by worldly politics, no matter the party. I understand those who became disillusioned by an Evangelicalism that became too affiliated with a particular political party, but a proper response is NOT to turn around and make a religious-like affiliation with the other party.
Purity culture: Childers and Barnett acknowledge how that “purity culture” in the 1990s-2000s took things too far, but then they insist that not all Evangelical churches took things too far. I’m glad I didn’t grow up at that time. I remember back in 1997 a student showing me Josh Harris’ book, I Kissed Dating Goodbye—I was not impressed. I’m pretty conservative and I believe sex is for marriage, but that stuff seemed rather juvenile. Heck, wasn’t Harris like 21 at the time? Who in their right mind listens to a 21-year-old?
Shocking things in the Bible: Childers and Barnett point out that some people have deconstructed after being shocked at some of the violent things in the Bible—like Jephthah’s murder of his own daughter, or Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice Isaac. Some are appalled that God would command Jephthah to do it; and even though Abraham doesn’t kill Isaac, they say, “But imagine the trauma Isaac went through! How can anyone worship a God who is fine with that?” Childers and Barnett correctly point out that nowhere in Judges 11 does it ever say YHWH told Jephthah to murder his own daughter—he did that on his own. And I would add, that’s the point—Jephthah is not held up as a paragon of morality. He was a ruthless and violent guy! The point is that God sometimes uses admittedly bad, ungodly people to accomplish His purposes. As for Abraham and Isaac, the point is that YHWH is not like other Canaanite gods who want child sacrifice. Besides, it comes to us in the form of a story. I’m not saying it’s not historical; but I am saying we must interpret and understand in the form it comes to us—and it isn’t a documentary.
Morality/Toxic Theology/Abuse: Simply put, Childers and Barnett say that some “deconstruct” over what they feel is “toxic morality” or “toxic theology” that leads to harming other people—things like complementarianism, the doctrine of hell, biblical inerrancy, the doctrine of original sin, or teaching on homosexuality. Childers and Barnett say that just because some people use these teachings to abuse and hurt people, that doesn’t mean the actual doctrines themselves are wrong: “If everyone followed God’s perfect ideal for how we are to interact with one another, there would be no abuse. It’s a fallen people, not Christianity, who are abusive” (95). That reminds me of a quote from one of my favorite novels, A Prayer for Owen Meany. At one point, Owen Meany says, “Look at those weirdo TV miracle workers—they’re trying to get people to believe in magic! But the real miracles aren’t anything you can see—they’re things you have to believe without seeing. If some preacher’s an asshole, that’s not proof that God doesn’t exist!” That quote has actually helped me navigate instances where I’ve seen so-called Christians acting in a very un-Christ-like ways.
Chapter 6: Upper Story
In Chapter 6, Childers and Barnett draw upon Francis Schaeffer’s work to discuss the concept of truth, namely the difference between “objective truth” and “subjective truth.” Some things are “objectively true” (facts, like the Empire State Building is in New York City) and some things are “subjectively true” (opinions, like I think Coke tastes better than Pepsi). But then they throw out the statement, “Christianity is true.” Is it a subjective claim or objective claim? They note that most people today see that since it is a religious claim, then that must mean it is a subjective claim.
They then talk about Schaeffer’s (and Nancy Pearcy’s) views on how today’s society has split truth into two realms: the “upper story” is “personal/subjective truths,” whereas the “lower story” is basic facts like math and science. After this discussion, they conclude, “Christians should reject the idea that religious and moral truth belong in the upper story. In fact, they are just as objective as scientific truth. Christianity is not merely subjective truth; it is true truth, as Schaeffer points out. It is truth that explains reality” (108). They also directly quote Nancy Pearcy: “Religion is not considered objective truth to which we submit, but only a matter of personal taste which we choose. The deconstruction movement isn’t about submitting to the truth. Instead, it’s about people choosing their own truth” (115).
Although I get what they’re saying, I have to say their approach to what it means that “Christianity is true” is lacking. To be clear, I too reject the notion that “religious truth” is must a matter of preference. Still, Childers’ and Barnett’s presentation in this chapter is too shallow. Simply put, the entirety of Christianity does, in fact, make objective truth claims, like Jesus physically rose from the dead. Both the Old and New Testaments are primarily testimonies about real historical events and people. In that regard, yes, Christianity contains and testifies to real objective, factual reality. Therefore, when it comes to those facts, you can choose to believe they happened or not—you’d be wrong if you didn’t, but you are able to choose to believe or not believe them.
That being said, to say, “Christianity is ‘objective truth’ just like math or science” is incredibly misleading, and I would argue, denigrates and devalues Christianity. When Pearcy says, “Christianity isn’t just subjective truth, it is truth, objective truth,” I feel she has it backwards. Christianity isn’t just objective, factual truth claims; it is ultimately a challenge to enter into a relationship with the risen Jesus Christ—a person. And that means that that relationship, by definition, is subjective. Christ isn’t a “fact.” He is a person with whom we enter into a relationship and to whom we submit. As Christians, we don’t submit to factual truth claims; we submit to the risen Lord.
So, Childers and Barnett (and Pearcy) are right to point out that the current mentality that “religious truth” means “choosing whatever is good for you” is wrong. But they wrongly give the impression that Christianity amounts to little more than mental adherence to a set of factual claims. At the heart of Christianity is a salvific relationship with the Living God, and He’s not just “an objective fact.” There is a huge “subjective” element in Christianity because we are relational beings called to enter into relationship with the Lord of Life.
I think Childers and Barnett might very well agree with what I said here. The trouble is their own discussion lacks that nuance and gives the impression Christianity is just about “accepting certain facts as objectively truth.” It’s more than that.
Chapter 7: Reformation
In Chapter 7, Childers and Barnett say that Christians shouldn’t be looking to “deconstruct” their faith, but rather engage in a “reformation” or “reconstruction” of their faith. They say that the Church isn’t always reforming “to keep up with contemporary culture, or to get rid of old, dusty orthodoxy. Rather, it’s always being reformed according to Scripture” (124). And again, “Reformation is the process of correcting mistaken beliefs to make them align with Scripture” (125).
They then give two examples that illustrate the difference between reformation/reconstruction and deconstruction. The first example is the restoration of the daVinci painting Salvator Mundi. It was bought at auction in the 1950s, and as of 2005 was in rough shape. After professionals restored it, it was realized the painting was a daVinci copy, but an actual daVinci original. Thus, what was originally in rough shape was restored to its original beauty. The second example is the “restoration” of the Ecco Homo fresco in Spain. Long story short, the woman who restored it had no training in how to restore paintings and ended up butchering it.
That, Childers and Barnett say, is the difference between reforming/reconstructing Christianity and deconstructing Christianity. To properly “reconstruct” current flaws in Christianity, they say we must use the Bible as the ultimate standard—the authoritative Word of God. This, they say, is the proper function and role of apologetics ministries.
Again, although I get what they are saying in general, and although I think their examples of the two paintings is quite good, I still think there are some key shortcomings in this chapter. Now, I’ve committed my entire life to the Bible. I am one of those scholars who have this crazy notion that the original intent of the authors is what we should concern ourselves with. And I obviously think that the Bible plays a crucial role in the life of a Christian (or at least it should). Still, the Bible isn’t “the authoritative Word of God;” Jesus Christ is. The Bible bears witness to who God is, His relationship with Israel, and the fulfillment of His covenant in Christ.
Similarly to what I said in Chapter 6, the Bible is authoritative testimony about the Living God—it isn’t the “authoritative Word of God” Himself. The problem with Childers’ and Barnett’s explanation here, as well as the problem for a lot of “deconstructionists” who end up passing judgment on the Bible, is that they end up viewing the Bible solely as an “object” that they critique and judge. It becomes solely some kind of intellectual exercise that focuses on debating certain “facts and positions,” instead of seeing the Bible as the testimony to the Living God and to Christ. When that happens, we lose sight of the personhood of God and our relationship to Him. The debating of “facts” easily ends up as an intellectual distraction to actually accepting the Gospel and living it out.
And oh, since I’m Orthodox, I have to say the Bible is the product of the Church, and we need Church Tradition to help guide us in our understanding of the Bible.
How do you understand the verses where Yeshua claims his Scripture of that time, the Tanakh, was the word of God. My understanding is that Yeshua, the Living Word of God, is aligned with Scripture, the written word of God.
Well, I’m not sure that the physical book of the Scriptures (Tanakh) is ever called the “Word of God.” It is testimony about God’s dealings with Israel, obviously, and in the prophets, when it says, “Thus says the Lord” or “The word of the Lord is spoken,” it is referencing the prophetic message that God reveals. I suppose you can say the Scriptures as “the word of God” are fulfilled in Christ, “the Word of God,” but even that testifies to the fact that the ultimate authority is in the person of Christ, to whom Scriptures bear witness.
Mat 15:4 For God commanded, ‘Honor your father and your mother,’ and, ‘Whoever reviles father or mother must surely die.’
Mat 15:5 But you say, ‘If anyone tells his father or his mother, “What you would have gained from me is given to God,”
Mat 15:6 he need not honor his father.’ So for the sake of your tradition you have made void the word of God.
Mar 7:10 For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and your mother’; and, ‘Whoever reviles father or mother must surely die.’
Mar 7:11 But you say, ‘If a man tells his father or his mother, “Whatever you would have gained from me is Corban”’ (that is, given to God)—
Mar 7:12 then you no longer permit him to do anything for his father or mother,
Mar 7:13 thus making void the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down. And many such things you do.”
The ref. to Moses is, of course, to the Torah of Moses or Pentateuch.
Hey I saw some weak objections to the gospels could I ask you to respond to some of them I want to ask you first before I post anything
Sure
Here’s what I want you to respond to Can you respond to this I saw some week objections to the gospels by carrier By merely saying events fulfilled prophecy, Matthew doesn’t say why he is saying that; particularly given that we know he’s making it up (e.g. when he invents two donkeys for Jesus to simultaneously ride in on, an adult and a baby donkey). So is this more “parable so they will not understand and turn and be saved” stuff, or is it a reference to the cosmic truths underlying the allegory, or is Matthew actually trying to convince fellow Christians those things happened? It’s unclear. He never outright says any of that.
Similarly, Luke clearly wants someone to think he is writing a literal history. But who? Outsiders? Or insiders? Is the story he is relating “with precision” the allegorical story he is getting precisely right, or the literal story he is getting precisely right? Again we know Luke fabricates; so is he lying? And if so, to whom? Is this more Mark 4 stuff, where Luke is just doing what Jesus said to do, and tell literally false tales that conceal allegorical truths? Or is Luke breaking with that tradition and now actually trying to convince his fellow ranking Christians these things actually happened? It’s unclear. He never outright says.
Only John outright says. And he is the first author ever to do so.
Actually, Luke doesn’t quite do what historians did: he conspicuously does not name his sources or how he used them or that what they said was meant historically and not allegorically. He never engages critically with his sources (not even once do we see him ever doing so). Thus Luke wants someone to think he is writing history, but is careful to never explicitly say he is, or to explicitly do what historical writers do.
Luke is thus doing (or could be doing) what Jesus does in Mark 4: telling a story he expects outsiders to mistake as meant literally, while teaching his followers secretly that they are only meant allegorically. Which is a clue to everything Mark is doing himself (see Crossan’s The Power of Parable and my section on Mark’s mythographic technique in OHJ, Ch. 10.4).
Unlike Luke, John explicitly says what he is saying is to be taken as literally, historically true. The one thing Luke assiduously avoids ever saying. And indeed, John appears to be doing this in argument with Luke, for example taking Luke’s mere parable of Lazarus and turning it into a literally, historically true story about Lazarus, that reverses the entire argument Luke had been trying to make with it.
Luke wants to create the appearance of that. But coyly phrases things so as to make it unclear what he is doing “accurately”: preserving the history, or the allegory.
John is the first Gospel author to make clear he intends readers to take what he is saying as literal truth, and he appears to be arguing against Luke’s attempt not to make that clear.
This has been explained to you repeatedly.
You keep ignoring what we tell you. You’ve been warned about this multiple times now.
I’m done with you. You are heretofore banned from commenting on my blog.
Mark 9:1 was most likely written before 80 AD, when it could still be claimed someone somewhere was still alive, to stretch the timetable, but keep it within the immediacy of those first reading Mark.
It’s an attempt to explain why it didn’t happen in 70 (when the temple was destroyed) or immediately after (Daniel 9 would straightforwardly predict the apocalypse should thus have occurred in the year 73) but still is expected to happen “any time now.” This is how the apocalypse gets reinterpreted in every generation since, over two thousand years and going. It’s always “any time now” (in fact, most usually, “within our lifetime”). And the myth has to be reinterpreted or rewritten to keep that immediacy, despite its previous immediacy being refuted.
Yes. I think it’s pretty clear Mark is a unified whole by a single author (except for the “Long Ending” which is a late interpolation). And we know this text had to be composed after 70 and most likely after 74 (since it’s shows use of the War by Josephus).
Traditional lore held that the maximum human lifespan was 120 years, so Mark could have written (and thus incorporated 9:1) as late as the dawn of the Bar Kochba revolt (in the 130s AD), imagining his audience to understand any teen or child standing with Jesus could survive to the 130s. Although I personally think Mark is dealing with the more urgent matter of the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 and thus writing much closer to that year
Sorry forgot to tell you this was by some Jesus misses his sort of bothering me some could you responded please