Link: Tullian Tchividjian on Grace

This is an incredible article, and I highly recommend.  Tullian Tchividjian is a young(er) PCA pastor in the pulpit of one of the denomination’s flagship churches, Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church in Florida (formerly pastored by Dr. D. James Kennedy).

In this interview, Tchividjian explains why Grace makes us so angry, and how the Evangelical Church seems to have lost its grip on Grace:

it seems that the good news of God’s grace has been tragically hijacked by an oppressive religious moralism that is all about rules, rules, and more rules; doing more, trying harder, self-help, getting better, and fixing, fixing, fixing–—ourselves, our kids, our spouse, our friends, our enemies, our culture, our world. Christianity is perceived as being a vehicle for good behavior and clean living and the judgments that result from them rather than the only recourse for those who have failed over and over again.

Full article:
Billy Graham’s grandson takes Christians to task: An interview with Tullian Tchividjian

My experience in Christian education makes me agree:  nothing will piss people off like choosing Grace over Law.   Legalism is safe and fair and predictable.  Applied in a school setting, it offers rules and guidelines to follow.  Not the messy uncertainties and ambiguities of Grace.

It will always be easier to make a rule about something than to attack the heart of the issue, which is that our behavior always stems from who we are and our relationship with God.  The God-man relationship must be a relationship of Grace. And there’s the rub.


Schools and Rules: Channeling the challenge

This is another post in a series.  We’re thinking about how authority and rules (and challenges to those rules) should play out in a Grace-based classroom.  Earlier posts are right before this one if you want to catch up.

2. If you refuse to allow criticism or challenge within your classroom/school, you’re painting a huge target that says, “Faith is too fragile for everyday use.” 

One aspect of classical education pedagogy that I really appreciate is an understanding that kids go through different stages in their interaction with facts (and with the people who inform them of that information).  Your sweet, cuddly elementary school kid will go through a horrific transformation around age 12 and become… DUN DUN DUN … a teenager. (*insert terrifying music here*)  The rolled eyes, the sarcasm, the desire never to be seen within 100 feet of one’s parents, the arguing.

The arguing.

I like middle schoolers because they do like to challenge. And they challenge everything: your sock preferences, the weather, your reason for assigning the rest of a grammar exercise on a Wednesday night because that’s just how it worked out. (“But we never had Wednesday homework LAST YEAR!”)

One of the hallmarks of NCS upper school life has been a consistent practice among the faculty of treating the upper school students with the respect one gives adults, but not expecting them to live up to that standard of maturity. Kids are kids. But they’re becoming adults, and we need to move in that direction rapidly. They have questions, and most of the time at NCS, those questions reflect a legitimate desire to know and understand (rather than to rebel or undermine).

So we explain things a lot.  Nothing is off-limits in my theology, practice, rulebook, subject matter. I don’t assign work without having a specific purpose for the task. While I might not always explain why I assign what I do, I always can (and do when asked). I know what I’m teaching, why I put it in the curriculum, and why it’s beneficial.  The stuff that I couldn’t justify, I changed.

Sometimes that means my classroom rules are inconsistent with the policies of another teacher. That’s a great opportunity to teach “Not all people want the same thing, and you need to find out what’s expected of you by the person in charge” — a wonderful life skill. So I don’t particularly care for “answer in complete sentences” on my tests because I find it annoying to read a bunch of extra words that have nothing to do with the actual answer. I wrote the question; I don’t need you to remind me what I asked. Other teachers want short answers written into complete sentences. Great. Knock yourselves out.  I don’t need to change for their sake, and I certainly don’t expect them to adopt my policy. And every student I’ve ever taught has rapidly picked up on the differences among classes.

So what does this have to do with Faith?

When you aren’t willing to rise to the challenge, many people will assume you are afraid to engage their criticisms or that you do not have a valid reason for your position.  

Think about it.  You stop by the local magistrate to pay your speeding ticket and the lady behind the desk says, “I’m sorry, we don’t accept credit or debit cards. Did you bring cash or a check?” And we adults trudge back to our cars and drive down the road to find an ATM, cursing the local government using colorful adjectives. We assume the government policy makers are idiots. Who doesn’t take a credit/debit card in 2012? The traffic court. Why? I don’t know. South Carolina lawmakers have never impressed me with any sense of intelligence. There’s no reason they CAN’T change their policy…but they don’t.

Why do we expect kids to obey or believe without giving them justifiable cause?

Now, if you’ve put in the hours necessary to build a relationship with that kid; if you know them — really, truly know them — and have acted graciously toward them; if you love them in actions rather than in words alone, then a lot of teens will take your words to heart. You don’t have to offer a geometric or theological or philosophical proof for why you won’t let the kids go walking down to the gas station by themselves.  If he knows you usually have good reasons for what you ask, the boy won’t backtalk you when you yell “GET DOWN!” just before a football slams into his head on the playground.

But you have to build that trust.

The Christian Faith is a reasonable, justifiable, warranted belief. (Thank you, Al Plantinga.) God doesn’t strip us of our inquisitiveness and rational thought (part of the imago Dei IMHO).
Look at the Psalms. David (and the other psalmists) hit God with some rough questions. Why are the bad guys winning? Why am I suffering if I didn’t do anything wrong? Have You forgotten Your promises? Why do bad men abuse weak people? Don’t you feel ashamed for letting me look bad, God, in front of my — I mean, YOUR — enemies? 

Instead of being afraid of challenges, questions, and hard topics, embrace them.

If you don’t know, say you don’t know. Research it. Find an expert. Search the Scriptures. Get answers.

If you can’t justify your rule biblically, if it’s a rule that makes life convenient for adults, or if it’s not serving a clear, obvious purpose in your setting (one that extends from loving God or loving neighbor)– maybe the rule should go?

Up next — so, what about true rebellion?

Cross-posted to my personal blog

Schools and Rules: Authority

Yesterday I mentioned the case of the kid in Vermont who was suspended for the remainder of the year by  his Christian school because of his essay challenging the school’s rules for behavior and dress code. I used that as a jumping off point to think about how we should handle challenges to authority within a Grace-based school.

I certainly don’t have it figured out.  Kids challenge authority all the time.  Adults challenge authority all the time. We sinners hate boundaries.

But I can leverage a little experience and theology to offer a couple thoughts…. here’s the first.

1. Obedience to a human authority should not be equated with obedience to God’s Law.

I’ve heard this syllogism a lot:  God must be obeyed as our ultimate authority; His Law is absolute and without question. God delegates authority to parents and pastors and governors and teachers (etc). Therefore, human authorities can demand the same level of obedience for their rules as God expects for His.

First off, that’s a terrible syllogism (from the standpoint of logical structure).

Secondly, it’s not a biblical statement of obedience or authority. We can’t add corollaries to God’s Law and call them holy. Human rules are just….rules.

Yes, Scripture commands obedience to church elders and to parents and to our government officials, even when we don’t like them. But derived authority does not also endow us with the power to bind people’s consciences to non-biblical rules. People with authority need to be careful of the limits they choose to set for behavior when dealing with the tender consciences of kids.

I realize that the kid who wrote the essay at Trinity probably just wanted to grind his ax about the rulebook. That can grate on the nerves of adults who see a bigger picture than “I don’t like wearing khakis and a polo every day.”   Cynical skeptics are a drudge — they don’t offer any constructive solutions to a problem, they just sit back and tear apart whatever’s been built.

But if we can’t defend a rule from a biblical mandate (“modesty” doesn’t demand a “school uniform”), then authorities need to take steps to unlink “following the dress code” from “keeping the Law of God.” They’re not the same thing.  Call it a policy, give students a voice in setting their communal rules, and work toward consensus.

(Personally, I’m glad the “I-hate-the-dress-code” theme has toned down a lot at NCS during my 10 years there. The people who determined the dress code have made a lot of really good adjustments over the past several years, and I think that we’ve got a good balance of a functioning school uniform combined with dress-down Fridays — and those dress-down days exist on purpose to reinforce the idea that our dress code rules are not God’s rules for clothing. Students aren’t thrilled about it, but they mostly just don’t care. School clothes are just that — school clothes.)

My classroom rules are mine. God’s Law is far more difficult: Love God with everything you have as hard as you can all the time, and love your neighbor like yourself.  If I’m doing my job, I can tie my class “rules” back to the Great Commandments as illustrations of loving God or neighbor in a community of humans … but I also need to be honest with kids that some of my rules are just idiosyncratic, and they deserve to be changed if kids point out legitimate problems with their implementation or function.

Note that a lot of student frustration arises out of adults shutting kids out of the process. By the time a student reaches adolescence (and definitely by the time they’re in high school), he/she should be given a voice in the school structure for which s/he will be held responsible. It diffuses a lot of griping, and it’s a much more respectful way to deal with students as human beings who are about to be “adults” and legally responsible for their decisions/actions.

This approach demands patience and work by adults to involve students, downplay immature suggestions, encourage half-baked good ones, and guide the whole mess toward a coherent and useful outcome. Welcome to education.

more to come….

Cross-posted to my personal blog

Schools and Rules: An Introduction

A few weeks ago, a junior at a independent Baptist Christian high school in Vermont was suspended for the remainder of the school year because of an essay. His paper (which avoided topics on the teacher’s “banned topics” list) challenged the school’s dress code rules as ineffective and inconsistent. Citing a yearlong attitude of “rebellion,” the school board chose to suspend him because this was a ‘last straw’ moment of bad attitude.

The incident rapidly hit the blogosphere, especially among ex-Fundamentalists, and later caught the attention of the local FOX News affiliate in the school’s town. Outraged supporters of the student founded a Facebook page calling for the school to “do right” and apologize. A few days ago, the church leadership surprised the school community by announcing that the school would close its high school at the end of the school year, naming low enrollment as the cause.

Having taught for a decade, I can sympathize with beleaguered educators like the people at Trinity. I’ve encountered plenty of folks who don’t comprehend the mission of NCS, leading them to badly misunderstand what we do or misrepresent us to others (sometimes with the best of intentions). To teach is to invite criticism and often condemnation.

On the other hand, the student raises a major question for school life. What about the rules? Should schools arbitrarily set policies without input from students? Is is disrespectful to question or reject those rules? Can questioning become “rebellion”?

I started thinking about how I’d handle a challenging student in my classroom at NCS. This is a good test case for Grace-based education. Our theology reveals itself most clearly when someone has the nerve to challenge it.

I’ve become a lot less defensive as I’ve grown in personal maturity Definseiveness i amark of insecurity, which ought to be a trait of immaturity. Scripture doesn’t present Yahweh as a defensive authority figure. God doesn’t “earn” credibility or respect from us; He deserves it by default. His dealings with humans are incomprehensibly gracious (the overwhelming theme of the Old Testament stories).  I’d like to suggest that godly authority is patient enough to allow for critique and challenge, even when the challenger cops a nasty attitude.

Truth is a Person — Jesus Christ (Jn 14:6).  I’m not responsible to save people or convince them on an intellectual level of biblical truth. The Holy Spirit illuminates minds and the Father draws people to the salvation won by the Son through his vicarious sacrifice. That’s a freeing set of principles, believe me.

In Milton’s great treatise against ineffectual censorship, the Areopagitica, he famously writes that Truth, on an open field, will always win the battle. I tell my students, “Never be afraid to ask hard questions. If what you believe is actually the Truth, it can handle any challenge you throw at it.”

(And a corollary for parents: Calm down. Smart kids question a lot of beliefs. Trust the Covenant promises and believe that God is at work in your kids, especially when they are skeptical.)

Why do so many adults react badly to being challenged?

Is it because we have blindly bought into a system of thought without doing the intellectual or spiritual heavy-lifting to make it our own?

Are we secretly afraid that our own faith, authority, or level of integrity is too weak to be challenged?
Are we too proud to appear ignorant in front of people younger than we are?

Have we found ourselves stuck in a system of rules that we can’t agree with either, so we try to keep the subject from arising?

Grace-based education seeks to apply Gospel norms to the structure and methods of education. (IOW: you can talk about the Gospel all you want, but if your structure and rulebook and attitude toward your students undercuts the Gospel message at every turn, you’re going to impress hypocrisy onto their minds more than anything else.) How can a committed Christian community of learners approach skepticism, questioning, and intellectual freedom with both strength and grace?

…. I’ll take up that question tomorrow.

Cross-posted to my personal blog


This post was written a couple years ago but is indicative of the type of instruction that happens at NCS.

So, today. I was teaching my Bible class. We’re going through the gospels. Once again, I found a space to relate pop-culture and education.

So, Jesus performed miracles. This we know. This we laud. We read them as flippantly as if they were bread in a toaster. Those “miracle stories” and “parable fairy tales” pass under our eyes as quickly as the toothbrush on our teeth or the shampoo through our hair. I think those of us reared in evangelical circles let the mystery and enchantment of Christ and his works pass by us.

Today’s objective in my lesson plans: Allow students to understand how much of a bad-ass Christ was. Now some are probably shocked at the fact that I put “Christ” and “bad-ass” in the same sentence. Others are immediately “navigating away from this page” because the word “ass” appeared in it at ALL! Others will read on for either a good laugh, a chance for a more critical comment, or a furled brow trying to figure out what I mean.

We began class with a BASIC discussion of philosophy and it’s reactions. We started with classicism (straight-laced/symmetrical

l). We brisked over the architectural principles mostly, as today’s students demand visuals. Then we ran to the Gothic (bright, crazy). We talked about how the children of the Gothic age cursed its ornamentation. They ran for Neo-classicism. They wanted that symmetry and order again. Then came Romanticism. It screamed of emotional vomit. Countless poems expressed some gushy emotion or another. Quaint, Victorian cottages were filled with knickknacks, overstuffed chairs, tacky wallpaper and towering spires. The reaction? Modernism. We discussed the Great War and its follower. We talked of architecture, art, philosophy, science, etc.

Then we tried to figure out how a philosophy, whose whole design rested on the pinacle of absolutes could have spun the pot of Christianity. What effect did it have? How was Christianity different because society was begging for absolutes, scientific measurement, empericism, and precision?

Students were brave enough and even smart enough to come up with ideas – of course not using the jargon, of:
higher criticism
doctrinal “boxing in” of God and Truth
eliminating the mystical nature of God
belittling the Holy Spirit

Okay – here’s where it got good and my objective was coming into play.
We headed BACK to the classical world. We took a journey in time that led us to cheating tax-collectors, as if that aspect of history were much different than our present situation, self-righteous and reputable pedagogues called the Pharisees, and an emperor with as much a self-aggrandizing mentality as the “redneck agenda.”

Was Christ a subtle, robed gentleman that would have knocked judges’ socks off at a Fabio look-alike contest? Was He a well-groomed Swede with soft hands? With minimal direction students began to see that Christ was not the model on the center insert of our “first Bible” holding dozens of children under a tree in a grassy knoll. He was a go-getter. He was doing things NOBODY had ever done before. He was loving like NOBODY ever assumed one could love. He was befriending everyone BUT the Pharisees. His “band of merry men” weren’t the cream of the crop. They were scrappy fisherman with five o’clock shadows and a trail of fish-gut stench happy to be invited by a Rabbi. Christ didn’t clamor for title, beg for crown, or shmooze for respect. In fact, in Luke 20:8, Christ wouldn’t even give the chief priests a decent answer as to the source of His authority. He didn’t flaunt; He did.

In this postmodern age live dozens of Christians. The intentional use of litotes in the last sentence is no doubt a term of agreement for many of my provincial evangelical friends. Nonetheless, this postmodern age has gotten a bum rap. Those of us trapped in the transition between modernism and postmodernism are feeling screwed out of all we held near and dear. Some of us are looking for the hopefulness of what postmodernism holds. Christianity is JUST now being forced into a transition. Denominations that thrived and were even born from modernism are unsure. The confusion is resounding.

Modernism gave us black and white. We know ALL the truth of Christian practice from it. We know how to act socially in light of what Scriptures tell us. Social norms and folkways derived from biblical precepts have been canonized. The mold of order has wrapped us like a Boa. Postmodernism deletes absolutes, negates order, and fosters chaos. God is not the author of confusion so SURELY postmodernism is of Satan.

To argue such is to stab ad hominem at the whole of a generation. That’s to say that God must not be on His throne because there were ages in which bad judges ruled the land. Job suffered. Where was God?

Well, He was up on His throne doing just what He knew best. Letting His mercy flow from His justice. He’s not unaware that this age, this generation is reacting. He’s not trying to find a hole to burrow in. Neither should we. More like the Master, we should DELVE in, face first, and delight in what our progeny has to teach us. My teenage pedagogues have taught me much about loving everyone regardless of creed, race, or philosophy. They’ve alerted me that this “generation of vipers” might have botched some of God’s truth in the attempt at a trade off. True, we cannot afford to sacrifice the veracity of redemption on the altar of communal love, but is it so easy to do the other way around? Shouldn’t we strive to KEEP truth and grab the love, mystery, and healing that come with this present philosophy?

We are image bearers of Christ, whether we are Japanese or lesbian, murderer or black, male or cashier. Sin, profession, creed doesn’t change our human condition. As Christians, we are called to fix . . . to reform. If we can find the truth or reform music, literature, and art, how much more should we do so of a philosophy that’s not pacing at the door to leave. Perhaps postmodernism could be what shakes up this church of Laodicea.

Needless to say, my eighth graders see themselves trapped in a world were sins like “saying bad-ass” have trumped sins like “not loving your neighbor.” They’re willing to be Republican bigots as long as they’re Republican.

We discussed some modern-day bigots. We listened to tracks from “American Idiot” by Green Day. We heard some of the old stuff by Sinead O’Connor and even Bob Marley and the Indigo Girls. Students grappled with the messages. Even though we don’t agree with all of them, they saw the artists’ desires and push for change. They were willing to speak for what they believe and not trap themselves in a comfortable “God-box.”

Later, I asked them to close their eyes. They were guided to “Imagine it. Atlanta, 2007” (it really wasn’t a flashback to Sophia from the Golden Girls). I told them to picture a man. He’s a nice man, a good man. He’s got his head on straight. He’s walking all around Atlanta stirring up local politics. He’s working grass roots. He has a run-in while walking, with some local hookers. He gives them lots of money, not for services, just for them to be able to eat. He meets up with some drug dealers and does dinner with them. Afterward, He invites a homeless guy over to spend the night. The hookers come over later that night and have pizza and they watch a movie and go home.

I asked students what they’d think of that man. I assumed they’d get my drift. I was shocked with answers like “He’s not good because he’s condoning their actions.” Others claimed, “He might fall into sin because he’s spending time with bad people.” I asked who they thought this man was. “A bad man,” replied one. With a tear on the brim of my lid I realized my pupils had passed right over their Savior, just like the Pharisees, just like the modernists, just like me all because He was unrecognizable as a bona fide bad-ass.