Tag: theology

wretched theology

~ Jason Kanz ~ 2 Comments

Earlier, today, I posted the following thought experiment on my Facebook page.

Do you believe it is a good parenting technique to tell your children they are wretched and that it is a damned lucky thing that we are such loving parents that we accept them anyway? Or that everything they do is bad, and the only good thing about them is that we love and accept them?

Some of the first comments suggested that people may be questioning my sanity, or at least my psychological stability. Regardless, let me be crystal clear–I do not believe these ideas represents good parenting, nor do I say them to my children. I proposed the scenarios as a reflection on how a theology grounded in depravity understands God’s parenthood, what some have referred to as “worm theology.” Briefly, according to this theological understanding, what is truest about us after the fall (see Genesis 3) is our sinfulness. According to the doctrine of total depravity, everything we do, think, feel, or say is tainted by sin (though to be clear, it does not say that we are as bad as we can possibly be). Unfortunately, this theological understanding often skips past the deeper truths of Genesis 1 that say that all people were created in God’s image and that God called his creation very good.

The dialog on my thought experiment was rich (Really, you should go check it out here) and overwhelmingly, people thought that the scenarios I described were unhealthy and even abusive. Even when people acknowledged helping children to understand that they are sinners, or that their behaviors or character need correction, no one agreed with the questions as I presented them. And yet…and yet, many of have no trouble with assigning this language to God, whom we allegedly believe is infinitely loving. As Christians speak or sing about God’s love, it is common to refer to themselves as “wretched sinners.” When we use that language for ourselves, at what point does it begin to negatively affect our understanding of who we are as God’s beloved children? How does it affect how we begin to treat others?

How might things be different if we started from an earlier place? What if we believed that the truest, most essential thing about us is that we are God’s beloved children, regardless of anything else? What if, in light of a more compassionate self-understanding, we were comfortable acknowledging the brokenness in our lives, but realize that it is not our sin that defines us? What if God is absolutely, relentlessly wild about us? What if God’s anger is about those things that damage and disintegrate God’s image bearers and not about people themselves?

seeking clarity

~ Jason Kanz ~ 1 Comment

2020 was supposed to be the year of clarity. Many of us began the year with the hope of “twenty-twenty vision,” right? Yet, 2020 has proven disorienting and depressing for many of us. We have become lost in the dense fog of COVID-19, social distancing, Black Lives Matter, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, MAGA, impeachment, the election, and murder hornets. These events are just the tip of the iceberg.

This morning, I was thinking about clarity. I asked, “Are there things that, despite this year’s sufferings, are clearer than ever? In confusion and uncertainty, what has emerged as essential?”

It is more obvious to me that I relish time alone. For most of my life, I thought of myself as a strong extravert and yet this year, I have rarely found myself longing for large social gatherings. At the same time, I miss the deep relational connections that I have fostered with a few people over the years. I haven’t really gotten together with anyone in the past several months, which has been hard sometimes. I have especially realized that little boys can still miss their moms something terrible, even when they are 48 years old.

It is more clear to me now than ever that I feel politically and theologically homeless. I have considered myself to be a Republican since I could vote. In 2016, I was a never-Trump conservative. In 2016, when the field of GOP primary candidates remained relatively large, most of my conservative friends agreed, though as Trump became the presumptive nominee, it seemed to me that principled conservativism was a myth and I was shocked that I was in the 19% of white evangelicals who did not vote for Trump. Watching 2020’s election and post-election antics have made it clear that I am not only never-Trump, but that I cannot imagine voting GOP again unless there is some cataclysmic change.

Unfortunately, partly due to the enmeshment of Trumpism and evangelicalism (81% in 2016 and similar numbers this year), I also no longer describe myself as an evangelical. I have good friends who are not ready to throw out the evangelical baby with the nationalistic bathwater, but I have been unable to disentangle these two things in my own mind. I have doubts about beliefs that once felt immovable.

Furthermore, I have long surmised that there is a link between the outcome of the 2016 election and the increased awareness of religious abuse. I will not take the time to share my reasoning here, but if you are interested, ask me sometime. Over the past five years or so, it seems that hardly a month passes before another high profile Christian leader is credibly accused of abuse. Unfortunately, Christians generally do not wield power well…perhaps because Jesus never encouraged us to pursue power or status.

My doubts have sometimes found their way into my writings and I am certain that many people have wondered about my faith. One beloved friend asked me directly if I still believe in Jesus. However, it is also clear that I am not the only one who is feeling unsettled. Many people have reached out to share their own confusion and I have been grateful for a fellowship of strugglers. Many of us are asking questions important questions about what it means to be a Christian in 2020. Sometimes, I fear they want me to give them satisfactory answers when all I can muster is helping them ask good questions, so we commiserate (from co-misery = suffer together).

Still, in confusion, we find clarity. In darkness, we look for light. In fragmentation, we desire wholeness. This year has taught me that faith and hope matter, but that if St. Paul was correct, it is clear that love matters most of all.