Cups of Water

Fun fact of the day: the word apophenia refers to a tendency to see patterns or connections amongst otherwise random or unrelated events, ideas, or objects. Christians and other people of faith often get labeled as practicing (or suffering from) apophenia when they speak of odd connections or coincidences between spiritual and material processes. Certainly, certain branches of Christianity often seem to strain to read the fulfillment of Biblical prophecy into current events (see, for instance, Jack van Impe). Other branches are quick to draw causal relationships between natural disasters and human sin (e.g., AIDS and perceived sexual immorality, Hurricane Katrina and the debauchery of New Orleans, even a tornado in Minneapolis coinciding with a meeting of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America in which they decided to take a more inclusive stance toward gays and lesbians).

No fan am I of such distasteful sign-mongering. But I think just about every Christian has times where some coincidence between the material and the spiritual seems, well, too coincidental, too convenient. It might not be apophenia and instead be a God thing.

This morning, my devotional reading (from the Upper Room Disciplines) was Mark 9:38-42. There Jesus's apostles tell him about a man--not one of them--who is casting out demons in Jesus's name. "Should we get him to stop?" they ask. Jesus says no, don't stop him, because no one who does a miracle in his name can in the next moment turn against him. "Whoever is not against us is for us," he tells them, concluding that "if some does so much as give you a glass of water because you're my disciples, that person will surely not lose the reward."

The devotional writer, Susan Hibbins, uses this passage to pose questions that relate directly to some of the issues I've been wrestling with lately. Specifically, I've been grappling with the problem of how we Christians should handle fundamental disagreements between ourselves. How should we behave toward other Christians whose deeds, words, or professions seem utterly at odds with what we consider to be core essentials of Christianity?

Hibbins suggests that this passage features Christ addressing a similar question: "How do we react to other Christians who we feel are not 'one of us,' perhaps from another church?" Christ's answer is clear: "Our hearts have to be big enough to accept all who come to us in Jesus's name. Advancing God's kingdom and helping our neighbor is not solely our preserve." To deny those who also claim Christ, she continues, is to present ourselves as a stumbling block to others' faith (The Upper Room Disciplines 2009. Nashville: Upper Room Books, 2009. Print. 281).

It spoke so appropriately to my current questions that, while I recognize the apophenic possibilities, I choose to interpret my running into this as a God thing.

As such, this passage and Hibbins's interpretation present much to admire. Given my own history with the United Methodist Church's ongoing debate about if/how to include LGBT people in the life of the church (ordination, marriage, even membership), I can see adding this passage to an arsenal of pro-inclusion texts, unleashing it against arguments that I as a gay Christian do not belong in church.

But the better use is to turn the passage on my own prejudices. What of the faith of those who would deny me and other GLBT people a place within the church? What of those who preach that AIDS is God's judgment against the sexually immoral or that the tornado visited Minneapolis recently as a sign that God disapproved of the ELCA's more inclusive stance? What about (to return to my original rant) those who would resist the idea that the uninsured deserve access to health care? I struggle at times to see how people who espouse such beliefs can be Christians in the same sense that I am. I note that plenty of scriptures do feature God making distinctions between true and false Christians and that various epistles appeal to readers to practice spiritual discernment themselves.

But I agree with Hibbins that this passage (and others like it) sets limits on me as a Christ-follower. I may (and must) determine which beliefs and practices do and do not match my image of what Christ wishes, but I go beyond my purview when I start deciding who is and is not a Christian. God is much bigger and subtler than I am; God by definition knows lots that I don't. I do my best on an ongoing basis to figure out what I should and shouldn't do, but only God knows who God accepts as a follower.

But this qualification doesn't so much eradicate the question as complicate it: What ought I to do if someone professes a Christian faith in Jesus and behaves in a way I consider anathema to that faith?

More tomorrow,

JF