From Sampler to Sower

A person’s life is shaped by many things – among the most important are the questions she or he can’t help but ask.

Everything Must Change by Brian McLaren

So begins the second chapter in Brian McLaren’s book Everything Must Change. I’m returning to the book in the second installment in the series I began a little over a week ago with my post on “Hope Happens.” As I said before, I hope you’ll pick up a copy, read along with me, and join in the discussion either here, or on the Anderson Zone Nazarene Youth Pastor’s blog, where I will be reposting this.

Summary

In chapter two, McLaren introduces the two questions he claims are among the most shaping things in his life, “introduces” being the key word. If you’re looking for many answers, or even an in depth exploration of the questions, you’ll be disappointed. That’s coming later. This chapter is simply meant to get us thinking about these two core questions:

1. What are the biggest problems in the world today?
2. What do the life and teaching of Jesus Christ have to say about them?

These are questions that McLaren feels don’t get asked enough, especially by the church. At least according to him, the Jesus portrayed by most churches is concerned with either a) how I can get to heaven when I die, or b) how can I be more happy and successful as I wait for (a) to happen. Note the emphasis on “I”. The Christ of modern Christianity is too preoccupied with the fate of individuals to worry about the world. Or so says McLaren.

These questions also lead to other questions. Questions like: Given the size and resources of the Church, why haven’t we made more of a difference in these global problems? Or, what has to change before we really start making a difference.

He concludes with the beginning of the story of his trip to Burundi – an African nation which, together with Rwanda, has been torn apart by decades of civil war and tribal violence. He notes that in the fighting between the rival Hutu and Tutsi tribes, more people have been killed in Burundi than in Rwanda.

McLaren talks about visiting Burundi at the invitation of Claude Nikondeha. Upon arrival he was invited to the home of Claude’s parents. On the way, Claude explained the proper Burundian greeting. “Then kiss my mother on one cheek and then the other,” were the instructions, “and each time whisper into her ear the word amahoro.” The word, explains Nikondeha through McLaren, means “peace.”

McLaren asks “Exactly how many times should we do this?”

“We basically do it again and again, until we feel the amahoro flowing between us.”

One wonders if McLaren isn’t telling this story for more reasons than just introducing what comes next. There would seem to be the suggestion that what we need most is to keep coming back to these questions about world crises and Jesus’ response until we begin to feel the amahoro begin to flow.

Perhaps the most insightful observation in this chapter, however, comes earlier. McLaren notes that when it comes to the problem of helping the poor, most Christians don’t know how to turn good intentions into concrete action. Because when it comes to identifying the causes for poverty and prescribing remedial action, no one seems to be able to agree. McLaren then goes on to summarize the conflicting and sometimes contradictory arguments about the causes and cures.

We seemed polarized by our ideological diagnoses of the causes and cures of poverty and even worse, we were paralyzed by our polarization, and so the poor continued to suffer – trapped by their poverty and our polarizing paralyzing arguments about poverty. (p 11)

It’s easy to read right past that sentence, especially because couched in the past tense as it is, one can easily rationalize that McLaren’s describing what used to be his problem, not ours. But sadly this isn’t a past tense problem for the church. We are paralyzed by our polarization.

A few summers ago I lead a workshop on social justice at our district’s Junior High camp. We looked at the systemic nature of evil in our world, and the fact that we can take action to begin undoing the web of injustice. The workshop concluded with some small group discussions, in which I asked students to identify how some of these systemic evils are manifested in their own local communities. I realized just how poorly I had done teaching as I listened in on one group’s discussion.

“See, it all comes from the fact that all those Mexicans are coming here and stealing our jobs,” explained one middle school participant in good talk-show host diatribe.

As long as we’re debating causes of poverty and whether or not those who are trapped by it deserve our help (after all, why should they get a bailout?) we will continue to suffer from paralysis, and the Jesus of our pulpits will continue to address our congregations as individuals rather than the world as a whole, because we, his body, can’t decide what he’s trying to say to the world.

Discussion Questions

1. How do you respond to the author’s two preoccupying questions? Have you ever asked them? Have you heard others ask them?

I read McLaren’s description of the Jesus we preach as one who is concerned largely with individuals rather than the redemption of the world and its systems with a little bit of skepticism. I wonder if sometimes we’re not painting the church with too broad of brush strokes. There certainly is a lot of preaching and singing that focuses on the individual’s relationship with God. And the affable pastors who preach in the big churches do at times seem more interested in telling us how we (read “I”) can be happy and successful than about how Christ wants to change the world through us.

But I don’t think theirs are the only voices out there, especially these days.

Yes, I have asked these questions. (I wouldn’t be reading this book if I hadn’t.) And yes I’ve heard others ask them. And I am optimistic that the revolution of hope that McLaren mentioned in the introductory chapter is gradually gaining momentum.

2. Have you heard the debates about the causes of poverty? In your current understanding, what are the primary causes of poverty?

Ask many tough questions, Mr. McLaren? Seriously, to distinguish between cause and effect in something as cyclical as poverty is really tough. Obviously, Imperialism is a core problem. Powerful empires have, from the beginning of civilization, removed resources – natural, financial and human – to fund and fuel their own endeavors. It was true of Herod the Great, over-taxing the Judeans to fund Roman building projects. It was true of the Spanish, using new world gold to fund their old world empire. It was true of the slave traders, exporting human resources from Africa to build the Americas. And it is true of us. We still go about foreign policy with an eye to what is in our immediate self-interest.

Similarly, lack of access to the basic necessities of life also contributes to global poverty. It’s hard to build a business when you have to devote such a significant amount of time each day simply making sure you have enough water for the day. Likewise, lack of access to education contributes to systemic poverty.

Add to these the challenges created by war, weather and the wickedness of humanity (crime and corruption) and you really do begin to have a suicide machine.

However, when it comes to the causes of poverty, one of the things in which I’m most interested is how often our efforts to help actually contribute to the cycle of poverty. I was first sensitized to the issue when I began studying the causes of the famine in Malawi and the way in which structural adjustments recommended by and at times even required by the International Monetary Fund contributed to the food shortage. Or consider the unintended effects of U.S. food aid on local markets. The web site Global Issues has an excellent analysis of this problem. Our government, in the interest of maintaining profitability for American farmers, buys up surplus crops. In an attempt to provide food aid, we send our surplus to third world markets, which causes the price to fall out from under local farmers. Non-emergency food aid actually impoverishes the very countries it was intended to aid and undermines their ability for self-sustenance.

Of course the theologian in me wonders if there isn’t a deeper cause. Perhaps, like the man born blind, “This happened so that the work of God might be displayed in [their] life. (John 9:3, NIV)” That’s not to suggest that somehow God actively wills poverty and any attempt on our part to mitigate poverty is an act of rebellion against his will. But perhaps the reason God allows poverty to continue in our world is so that we who are wealthy might have someone to serve.

And somehow I think if we could get our heads wrapped around that understanding, some of the paralysis by polarization will begin to fade. No longer will the question be “Are they worthy our help?” but rather “Will I prove myself worthy by helping them?”

3. How do you think most Christians today respond to the issue of poverty? Does their faith make them care about it more or less than the average person? What has been your experience with the issue of poverty as it relates to your faith?

I always hesitate to try to characterize (or caricaturize) how “most” of anyone does anything. Like a caricature, it’s too easy to focus on the idiosyncrasies and exaggerate them until the picture that remains no longer realistically represents the “average person.” That said, in my experience, it seems like most Christians care about poverty, but are relatively uninformed about the real issues, ignorant about what can be done to help, and too preoccupied with their own struggles to persistently mourn with those who mourn. And that is for the most part indistinguishable from the “average person” in our culture.

I think I’ll stop there. The final questions are about trips abroad (which in my case have had very limited contact with the poor in those places) and about watching a movie as a group. I’m interested in hearing what you have to say about these issues. Sound off in the comments below!