Why Paris Matters

Yet again the world is in mourning for the City of Lights. First, there was the assault on the Charlie Hebdo offices by radical Islamists who killed 12 in Paris this past January. Now, on Friday the thirteenth no less, over a hundred men and women were slaughtered by those claimed by ISIS, a Muslim terrorist state with dreams of global outreach. Once again social media has erupted in support, even out in the normally Franco-phobic US and UK.

Nobody says that we should not mourn this day. How could they? People attending a concert and going to the café were gunned down or blown up for the offense of being free. Image bearers of God were butchered, all in the name of serving an imaginary God.

There have been, however, those who have offered quiet criticism of the outpouring of grief for France. Not unreasonably they ask why the world is so distraught about this tragedy when the other places are filled with many other events of equal or greater horror? Every other Facebook photo is emblazoned with the Tricolor of France within hours of this Parisian massacre when few in the West made similar symbolic tokens when terrorists attacked African or Near Eastern targets. Though not always explicit, there is the tacit accusation that the West cares less about the dark-skinned victims of Islamic terror than the fair-skinned denizens of Paris. While this is in many ways an understandable reaction, there is good reason for us all to cry, “Vive la France!”

We care more about France for the same reason we are more shaken by a loved one’s death than we are by the loss of a complete stranger. Crying over a friend’s death doesn’t mean that we think the stranger’s life didn’t matter. The stranger was just as much made in God’s image as our friend. It does means that the personal connection we have with our friend leaves a gaping hole in our hearts while the stranger’s tragedy brings us only a sympathetic sigh.

Despite our familial squabbles, France stood shoulder to shoulder with the United States and Britain against German Fascists and Russian Communists throughout the 1900s. We don’t always agree with those “cheese eating surrender monkeys,” but they have been a beacon and inspiration for human dignity and liberty since the end of the 1700s. Like anyone else their witness for freedom has been flickering at times, but French writers and thinkers have been the source of many great movements around the world for the general welfare of humanity as a whole. An attack on France is symbolically an attack on the liberty, equality, and fraternity of us all.

For Americans and those in the West in general, France is no stranger. We cannot keep their pains at an arm’s length the way we do with others. We are forced to see that in them the horror which could just as easily be ours. We share a culture heritage and mythic imagination with France in a way that we do not with others around the world. When we see terrorism in Paris or London, we are forced to see the reality of this war in the same way that a death of a loved shocks us the way a stranger’s death does not.

We are personal beings who have emotional attachments to everything our lives touch. To ask people to mourn for everyone’s death the same does not increase our humanity. It demeans it. If I were to tell you that I do not care for my own children any more than I care for a complete stranger, you would hardly compliment me on my great love for all humanity. In fact, you would wonder what kind of person could say such a thing.

Should we remember that death and destruction are unwelcome and all too common visitors to those outside the Shire of the West? By all means! We should all work to make ourselves more aware of the indignities which are tragically ordinary in our supposedly progressive age. The world is still with darkness filled, and the pain of God’s image bearers does not change by its association with us. Their deaths mattered. But, please, let us have no shaming of others for their pain for this shadow of darkness in the City of Lights. We take this attack personally because the people attacked matter to us personally. Our love of loved ones is not hatred of others.

The Loyal Rebels

When faced with accusations of civil disorder and state corruption, Christians can be tempted to despair over our response. The cry for justice and the call to obey the state present a seeming contradiction for believers. Some want to revolt against the powers that be while others want to support the lawful authorities. It's a tricky thing, for sure, but we have reason to hope that the testimony of the Bible has not failed us here.

The beauty and the difficulty of the classical Christian view of the state is its complex realism. The endemic corruptness of humanity demands an agent of force to curtail the worst of our natures. Without security we cannot have even the limited human flourishing possible in a post-Fall world. However, as the state, like Soylent Green, is made of people, this same corrupted human nature adheres to those humans comprising the state.

We hear that we are not to put our trust in princes, yet we also hear that we are to pray for the peace of a Babylon, a state which was hardly the acme of enlightened rule. Paul can describe the state as the minister of God and Peter can call on Christians to submit to the government, all in the context of a Roman system that makes American cops look like a bunch of fuzzy kittens. Yet, that's kind of hard to say, isn't it? Saying, "You don't have it so bad as others," works about as well in this context as it does telling someone that their physical pain or loss of their liberty isn't as bad as so and so over there has it.

Christianity offers contingent support to the state because it recognizes what the state truly is, a stopgap measure for the post-Fall, pre-glorification world that was never intended as the final guarantor of justice. In this way Augustine of Hippo was able to offer robust support of state authority even as he railed against all governments as nothing more than bandits whose territory increased enough to be called a kingdom. Christianity offers neither an absolute support for the state nor suggests that our support for the state is conditioned on our political preferences.

Both the "Back the Badge" and the "No Justice, No Peace" crowds fail in the same way as they each assume there can be such a thing as an non-corrupt state. The first assumes that God's ordination of the state entails the inevitability of justice from such a pure source while the second believes that any sign of injustice means God has not ordained this state. Both underestimate the extensiveness of the Fall. Both absolutize the state in a way not found in the Bible.

While many think this is a problem, I don't think this is Christianity's great weak point but one of its great strengths. The Bible offers example after example of the need for a corrupted people to have a state to hem them in. Yet, it offers example after example of corrupted rulers making a mess of things. It offers, in the Fall, an explanation for the presence of injustice yet also, in the reality of a personal God who has created a good world and who is redeeming that world, it provides a hope for an expansion of justice in this world.

Despite its pretensions to the contrary, atheism offers no hope in the face of injustice and oppression. In a purely materialist universe human rights devolve into social conventions on the level saying "Excuse me," after belching, pleasantries with no enduring value. Christianity, on the other hand, offers someone to complain to. In his book, The Rebel, my favorite non-Christian writer, Albert Camus, said this, "The only thing that gives meaning to human protest is the idea of a personal god who has created, and is therefore responsible for, everything. And so we can say, without being paradoxical, that in the Western World the history of rebellion is inseparable from the history of Christianity."

Christianity provides the rationale for a state and the basis for strong opposition to that state.

An Evangelical by Any Other Name

I recently told my students that if they could manage to come up with a definition of “Evangelicalism” that everybody could agree on, they could make a lot of money. It is one of those terms that everyone uses but few have a handle on what it really means. Unlike its related but equally ephemeral cousin, “fundamentalism,” evangelicalism still retains an occasional positive connotation. Sadly, the once proud term fundamentalist has been largely reduced to a second and third person invective. “You” or “they” might be fundamentalist, but “we” or “I” hardly ever are. In much the say way, these definitions of evangelicalism say more about the speakers than they do about actual evangelicals. Pundits use it to describe Koran burners and televangelists, politicians use it to analyze a special interest group, and others ponder whether “Ee-vangelical” means something different than “Eh-vangelical.”

In the past it was fairly straightforward to the point that it was often quipped that an evangelical is simply someone who likes Billy Graham. Today it has become increasingly complex as no definition seems complete without an attendant hyphen, leaving us with “evangelical-feminist,” “the evangelical-left,” and even “evangelical-Catholic.” If Al Mohler and Jim Wallis, Joel Osteen and Tim Keller can all be evangelical despite mutually exclusive ideas, what on earth does it mean in the first place? We may soon find ourselves with a definition so diluted of content that we borrow from Francis Schaeffer’s “true truth” and say that an evangelical-evangelical is someone who actually believes in evangelicalism.

Well, desperate times call for desperate measures. We find now that we can turn to a paragon of subtly for a solution to our problem. Responding to the recent hullabaloo over religious liberty laws in Indiana, Steve “Stone Cold” Austin forwarded his two cents in a commentary heavy with the dew of profanity. Although you may enjoy a more full exposition of his thought here http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/04/24/steve-austin-gay-marriage_n_5205212.html his terminology is somewhat more . . . colorful . . . than would be appropriate in this venue. We can paraphrase him to say that he objects to the idea that Christians think they have spoken to God and that Christians believe that the worst of criminals can go to heaven. Whether meaning to do so or not, the erstwhile wrestles pins on Christians two complaints which go to the heart of evangelical identity: revelation and redemption.

Evangelicals hold to a radical view of revelation. This is not, as Mr. Austin characterizes it, a matter of Christians going up and speaking to God, but, rather, that he has come down and spoken to us. Were Austin’s description accurate, this would be objectionable, as it would leave us dependent on the recollections of the few who made the trip to heaven rather than on the sure report of the self-revealing God who came down to us. But this is not so. The evangelical identity is built upon the idea that we have in the Bible God’s message to humanity and not merely the theological musings of people long gone. The evangelical identity is built on the principle that, as it is his message to us, we are not in the position of deciding which parts to believe or to obey, as though theological study were a middle school Bible study where we ask, “What does this mean to you?” It is to the pattern set by him that we are to conform our preferences and not the other way around. The word of God to humanity is not subject to the whims of a postmodern literary theory any more than it was limited by the preconceptions of a Medieval Magisterium.

Evangelicals also hold to a radical view of redemption. Mr. Austin objects that a murderer and molester should not be able to go to heaven after the life he has led. Implicit in Mr. Stone Cold’s complaint is the idea that heaven should be for those who deserve it, for those who have lived a life on earth worthy of a reward in heaven. It also implies that those of us who are not murderers and rapists can have the confidence that we belong to this latter group. We can know that our own merits will pave our road into the New Jerusalem. The cross of Christ becomes only an example to follow and not a necessity of life. It is the radical claim of evangelicalism that a sinner such as Mr. Austin described can indeed be saved. This view of redemption defining evangelicalism is that the sins of the best of us are so great that it required the death of God to save us, and, yet, the work of Christ is so overwhelming that it overcomes the vilest soul imaginable. There is no saint so pure or sinner so foul that the work of Christ is not the sole and sure hope of each.

Evangelicals are those who hope in the evangel of God. The message of God has come down to humanity, and the presence of God has come down to Earth. Evangelicals are those who base their lives on the hope that God has spoken and that God has acted. This good news of God both transcends and transforms our cultural moment and personal predilections. Our old traditions and new innovations cannot stand in between the word God speaks of himself and the people he saves for himself. We are able to speak into the controversies of life, not because we have access to God but because he has accessed the world through his word. We are able to hope for a changed world where all is made new, not because we have kept off contemporary society’s naughty list but because Christ died for the ungodly.

Presumably Mr. “Cold” did not intend on getting to the crux of the issue so pointedly as he did. Nonetheless, we find in his analysis an important reminder of the reality of God’s word and the centrality of the cross. We may, and undoubtedly will, continue to quibble over just what or who constitutes an evangelical. But, if we lose either of these points, that God’s word is not subject to our transitory impressions and that the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth is the solitary and unmediated path to God, we can throw around any definitions we want to. If we lose the evangel of God, our evangelicalism becomes a meaningless anyhow.