A New Kind of Christianity - Brian McLaren [60]
So, in successfully rejecting an insipid “hippie, diaper, halo Christ,” we may unintentionally protect and uphold the white supremacist Jesus, the colonial Jesus, the Eurocentric Jesus, the Republican or Democrat Jesus, the capitalist or communist Jesus, the slave-owning Jesus, the nuclear bomb–dropping America-first Jesus, the organ-music stained-glass nostalgic-sentimental Jesus, the antiscience know-nothing simpleton Jesus, the prosperity-gospel get-rich-quick Jesus, the institutional white-shirt-and-tie Jesus, the Native American–slaying genocidal Jesus, the cuddly omnipotent Christmas Jesus, the male-chauvinist Jesus, the homophobic “God-hates-fags” Jesus, the South African pro-apartheid Jesus, the Joe-Six-Pack Jesus, the anti-Semitic Nazi Jesus, the anti-Muslim Crusader Jesus, and so on. Those who think they stand had better take heed lest they fall, and those who think they know may have some more learning to do.
As we noted earlier, the slippery-slope argument—that we’d better not budge on or rethink anything for fear we’ll slip down into liberalism, apostasy, or some other hell—proves itself dangerous and naive even as it tries to protect us from danger and naiveté. First, it assumes we’re already at the top of the slope, when it’s just as likely that we’re already at the bottom or somewhere in the middle. Second, it assumes that, even if we were at the peak, there’s only one side we might be in danger of sliding down, as if the mountain had only a northern liberal slope without an equally dangerous southern conservative slope, or an Eastern “new age” slope without an equally dangerous Western “old age” slope. You can back away from one danger smack over the cliff of another.
My loyal critic sincerely and passionately believes in the tattooed, sword-wielding prize-fighter Jesus because of his reading of Revelation 19:11–16:
Then I saw heaven opened, and there was a white horse! Its rider is called Faithful and True, and in righteous ness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems; and he has a name inscribed that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is called The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, wearing fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron; he will tread the wine press of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name inscribed, “King of kings and Lord of lords.”
Now, if we read this passage not as a constitutional document decreeing future events, but as a crucial document in the biblical library, we need to place it in its historical context and genre. Clearly, this is a work of Jewish apocalyptic literature, which in turn is part of a larger genre known as the literature of the oppressed.3 These kinds of literature worked in the first century in ways similar to the way some science fiction works for us today. For example, when we read or watch Planet of the Apes, Star Trek, The Matrix, or Wall-E, we don’t think the writers and filmmakers are trying to predict the future. No, we understand they are really talking about the present, and they are doing so in hopes of changing the future.
So Planet of the Apes turns out to be a way of talking about how nuclear war—a hot topic in the Cold War era in which Planet of the Apes was written—could destroy humanity. And it shines a light on prejudice and racism among contemporary humans by showing them at work in a future civilization run by evolved great apes. Star Trek, over its various incarnations (the original with Captain Kirk, then Next Generation with Captain Picard, then Generations with Captain Janeway, then Deep Space Nine and Enterprise—with more, some of us hope, to come), similarly reflected contemporary themes