A New Kind of Christianity - Brian McLaren [18]
In recent years, hundreds of writers, pastors, and thinkers—probably thousands—have dared to tweak various elements or lines in this story, I among them. We might question conventional theories of atonement or the nature and population of hell or whether concepts like original sin or total depravity need to be modified. In other words, we suggest that this line should be a little longer, that one a little shorter. But seldom do we question whether this shape as a whole is morally believable and whether it can be found in the Bible itself. Did Abraham hold it, or Moses, or Jeremiah, or Jesus, Paul, or James? Is it ever explicitly taught in Scripture? Was it held in the first three centuries of Christian history? Does it help make sense of the Bible—revealing more than it conceals? Does it contribute to a higher vision of God, a deeper engagement with Christ, a more profound experience of the Holy Spirit? Does it motivate us to love God, neighbor, stranger, and enemy more wholeheartedly?
It dawned on me only gradually that the answer to each of the above questions was no. Up until that point, this narrative shape had been like my glasses, through which I saw everything, but of which I was largely unconscious nearly all the time. That no answer appeared like a deep scratch on my glasses, and it annoyed me to no end. Increasing numbers of us share the feeling that our theological lens is scratched. That’s why this quest begins not by tweaking details of the conventional six-line narrative, but by calling the entire narrative scheme into question. We do not for a second say, “These six lines present the true shape of the biblical narrative, but we reject it.” Rather, we stare at this narrative, scratch our heads, and with a bewildered look ask, “How in the world, how in God’s name, could anyone ever think this is the narrative of the Bible?”
One day a few years ago, during a Q & R session after a lecture, someone asked me a question that related to the shape of the biblical narrative. As I answered, it dawned on me that there are two ways to read the Bible, frontwards and backwards. Quite spontaneously, I invited seven people to come forward to help me illustrate. I stood them in a line, facing left, and then assigned each of them a name, Jesus, Paul, Augustine, and so on:
Then I said, “When we look backwards to Jesus in this way, we aren’t directly seeing Jesus. We’re seeing Paul’s view of Jesus, and then Augustine’s view of Paul’s view of Jesus, and then Aquinas’s view of Augustine’s view of Paul’s view of Jesus, and so on.” Then I took Jesus, moved him to the right side of the room, faced him toward the right, and renamed the group Adam, Abraham, Moses, and so on:
For a minute or so, I didn’t say anything. Gradually, those present began to see what I had just seen. If we locate Jesus primarily in light of the story that has unfolded since his time on earth, we will understand him in one way. But if we see him emerging from within a story that had been unfolding through his ancestors, and if we primarily locate him in that story, we might understand him in a very different way.
Once I had acknowledged (albeit roughly and crudely) these two very different ways of understanding Jesus, and once I acknowledged that nobody in the Hebrew Scriptures ever talked about original sin, total depravity,