Page 1672 – Christianity Today (2024)

When you hear that women make "77 cents for every dollar paid to their male counterparts," what comes to mind—besides anger? Probably you assume that means that, for every male salesman making $100,000, a woman doing the same job is making $77,000—a discrepancy owing to sex-based discrimination by men against women.

Believe it or not, that's not what the data show.

That 77-cent figure comes from a report on educational attainment, issued earlier this year by the U.S. Census Bureau, which shows that median monthly earnings in 2009, for those 18 and older, were $2,917 for women, $3,750 for men. Divide $2,917 by $3,750 and you get .7778—the basis of the figure. (As a statistics refresher, median means the midpoint of the data set, not the average.)

However, a separate report comparing women's to men's salaries for the same job shows the median woman earning 82 cents for the median man. Half the women in the report, whose work accounted for 61 different jobs, were making better than 82 cents on their male counterpart's dollar. More than a third made between 61 and 81 cents on the dollar. Several of the jobs with the worst pay gaps were managerial in nature or required higher education, yet the educational attainment report shows that women with advanced degrees in some fields make 90 percent of what men do. Overall, both reports show the pay gap varies significantly.

Does this mean employers in some types of work are more discriminatory than others? That's possible, but it's hard to conclude that the only factor is gender discrimination. For one thing, neither report distinguishes similar jobs in for-profit settings from those in nonprofit organizations, which almost always offer lower salaries for similar work, but may also entail less-demanding hours and better work-life balance. The reports are also limited to income, which means they don't factor in the kind of benefits offered and other factors that might make lower-paying jobs more attractive.

After poring over the numbers for a while, I was curious to see how my earnings compared, given that I hold a master's degree in religious studies and work for a nonprofit. According to the education report's chart showing average pretax earnings, based on education level (table 5, which doesn't include sex), I made less per month than both my master's degree– and bachelor's degree-holding peers. But is that because I'm a woman or a nonprofit employee? On the other hand, when compared to peers with degrees in liberal arts, I was earning more than both the median man and woman at both the bachelor's and advanced-degree levels.

How well my earnings compare to others' is therefore complicated. And as a measure of financial welfare, it's incomplete given that none of these figures account for the value of benefits received. According to my employer, salary was only 73 percent of the total value of my compensation in 2009, given that I enjoy a pretty good benefits package. So, again, a straight salary-to-salary comparison may be leaving out a lot of key information regarding the actual welfare of working men and women.

More problematic than all these gaps in the data, however, is the way we typically use figures like salary to determine a person's well-being. A college economics professor once told our class that gross domestic product—"the GDP"—is not the economic health indicator it's often made out to be. Undergo a natural disaster in January that causes billions in dollars of recovery and repairs expenses later in the year, and your country's GDP will surge. But does a catastrophe-driven larger number really translate to better welfare?

Similarly, I'm not convinced that income is always such a good measure of well-being, for those who earn above a certain threshold. (Indeed, a recent study suggests that threshold is $75,000.) On my present salary, I can see as many concerts and buy as much beer and yarn as I like, while still giving a decent amount of my money away and chipping away at the debt racked up in my 20s. If I made a lot more money, I'd have to spend more time thinking about what to do with that money. But I'd rather spend my free time writing, cooking, traveling, and hanging out with those whom I love.

With all the things I want to do outside work, it is way more valuable for me to have fairly consistent hours than to make more money. Maybe, if you look at my salary and compare it to those of comparably educated men, I look like I'm not doing as well, but I doubt I'd want to trade places with any of them. The relative autonomy I enjoy and agency over my out-of-work time is worth vastly more to me.

Nor am I entirely alone: according to a recent Wall Street Journal piece, a growing number of single women are choosing less-demanding jobs so they can have more time to lives outside work. It's not that they're doing so because of kids or a husband; they just want to be able to run their errands, see an occasional movie, and meet up with friends. Undoubtedly they've taken pay cuts, but to them it's worth it.

And that's why the unequal-pay claim is flawed. Not only is it based on data that don't entirely support the claim, but it doesn't account for women's agency in the disparity. Undoubtedly, real discrimination happens, which I don't mean to minimize. But it would be just as dishonest to say the pay gap owes completely to discrimination as it would to say there is no discrimination.

Before all we white-collar women get up in arms about the $.23 we supposedly lose compared to our male colleagues, we ought to more closely examine whether that gap exists and what our male peers might be sacrificing for higher salaries. It just might be their well-being. At the same time, we would do well to consider the real and more serious wage challenges faced by our sisters with less education, and the role we play in contributing to that.

Anna Broadway is a writer and web editor living in the San Francisco Bay area. She is the author of Sexless in the City: A Memoir of Reluctant Chastity and a regular contributor to Her.meneutics.

Brad Strait is pastor of Cherry Creek Presbyterian Church in Denver, and like many in the Mile High City, he was directly affected by the shootings at the Aurora Theater. One of the young women from his congregation was shot. The story of what happened to her is one we just had to share:

As a chaplain for several police and fire departments, I counseled parents just hours after the Columbine shootings in 1999. However, the tragic Dark Knight Rises shooting in Aurora hit closer to home. One of the victims was a 22-year-old woman from my church, Petra Anderson. Petra (pronounced pay-tra) was hit four times by a shotgun blast. Three pieces of shot hit her arm, and one entered her brain.

I spent all day Friday in the ICU with Petra and her family. Her condition was critical. A piece of buckshot had entered her face through her nose, traveled through her brain, and rested at the back of her skull.

She was admitted to surgery, but the doctors could offer little hope since so much of her brain had been traversed by the bullet. If she survived, the damage might limit her speech, thinking, and mobility.

After five hours, the surgery was finished, and a doctor brought us the news: “It went well, and she’s recovering now. There is minimal brain damage, and we removed the bullet cleanly.”

Each doctor wore a warrior’s smile, but they remained professional and reserved: “Something might still go wrong. We need to wait and see if she makes it for the next 48 hours.”

Tears of joy and appreciation flowed. Hugs were passed around, and we prayed. Some people tried to sleep on the floor, and others were shuttled to a room donated by the Holiday Inn across the street.

I visited Petra the next day, and she looked surprisingly wonderful. The only signs of injury were a small hole in her nose and the medical wrap on her arm. I sat with her mother, Kim (who is in the final stages of terminal cancer), amid the darkened room lit by glowing medical screens.

One of the surgeons came to check on Petra. As Petra lay asleep, he told us more about the surgery. What happened was amazing.

The shot traveled through Petra’s brain without causing significant brain damage. He explained that Petra’s brain has a small defect—a tiny channel of fluid running through her brain, winding from her nose to the back of her brain. Only a CAT scan would detect it, and Petra would never have noticed it.

The buckshot entered her brain at the exact point of defect. Like a marble rolling through a small tube, the shot followed the exact route of the defect, and came to rest at the rear of her brain without hitting any of the vital areas. If the shot had entered at a millimeter in any other direction, the channel would have been missed, her brain would have been destroyed, and evil would have won a round.

It is rare for a surgeon to express wonder. Surgeons own the professional world, and they take everything in stride. This was obviously a gifted doctor, and he was kind in his manner. “It couldn’t have gone better. If it were my daughter,” he said quietly, glancing around to see if any of his colleagues were watching him, “I’d be ecstatic. I’d be dancing a jig.”

I couldn’t hide my tears of joy. As a pastor, I would call it a miracle.

In Christianity, we call this prevenient grace: God’s work precedes a future event to ensure a particular outcome. Twenty-two years before the Dark Knight rose, God formed Petra’s brain in such a way that a bullet could travel through it without causing serious damage.

There is much ahead for Petra—more surgeries and perhaps facial reconstruction. Kim will continue to receive chemo therapy. But life remains. The ending has yet to be written for this family.

Read the entirety of the story, and see photos of Petra, on Brad’s blog.

Richard J. Mouw startled many in the Christian world with a seven-minute speech in November 2004 that detailed how evangelicals had “sinned against Mormons.” By that, the president of Fuller Theological Seminary meant evangelicals had misrepresented what Mormons believed in order to critique them. Mouw, a longtime participant in Mormon interfaith dialogues, has spent endless hours defending his statements to evangelical friends and colleagues. He continues this outreach in Talking with Mormons: An Invitation to Evangelicals (Eerdmans). Salt Lake Tribune religion reporter Peggy Fletcher Stack spoke with Mouw on the evolving nature of Latter-day Saint (LDS) theology, where it touches and where it diverges from historic Christianity, and how believers can systematically consider faiths outside the Christian fold.

Why do you think understanding LDS beliefs is more than just being nice but about being obedient to God?

One thing that really upsets me is when evangelicals say, “We don’t have time for dialogue with Mormons and all the niceties. We have to stand up for the truth and denounce error.” They fail to recognize that if we are to be people of the truth, we need to be sure we are criticizing Mormons for what they really believe, lest we commit the serious sin of bearing false witness against our neighbors. To be concerned about the truth means we ourselves better be sure we are being truthful, to listen to others and really understand before we tell them that they’re wrong.

What are your chief theological differences with Mormons? Have those changed over years of discussions with Mormons?

Mormons deny the Trinity, but they talk about “the three Persons of the Godhead.” They say that God has a humanlike form, but they sing “How Great Thou Art” (which is in the Mormon hymn-book). Other basic differences include issues like baptism, temple worship, and authority. Evangelicals emphasize the Bible alone, while Mormonism not only adds scriptures, but also sees the scriptures themselves as an expression of a prophetic office restored in the early 19th century.

We have to make a distinction, though, between the “working theology” of Mormonism today and its previous declarations. In the past, they put much more emphasis on good works. The most important development in recent decades has been an increasingly strong emphasis on the substitutionary atonement of Christ on the cross.

Why do you not classify Mormonism as a cult?

Cult often connotes secrecy, duplicity, and a rigid “one true church” mentality. None of that really fits present-day Mormonism, which scholars instead call a “new religious movement.” Ordinary Mormons love Billy Graham. They read Christianity Today as a helpful resource for their own growth in faith. Many Mormon scholars enjoy attending evangelical-sponsored theology conferences. None of this is true of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Scientology, or Hare Krishna, which are typically described as “cults.”

How have you come to understand Mormon founder Joseph Smith?

The Joseph Smith topic is the most difficult one for evangelicals. Many see him as Satan-inspired, or—with equal hostility—as a deceiver or a deluded person. I obviously do not see him as an inspired prophet delivering messages from God. To focus on the character of Smith and his claims about himself diverts us from talking about the central issue of what Mormons have taught about sin, redemption, and the person and work of Jesus Christ. I find those teachings to contain some elements of biblical orthodoxy—along with other teachings that I find off the charts.

What do you say to those who believe that understanding Mormonism is tantamount to legitimizing or even endorsing a heretical faith?

Mormonism is not historic orthodox Christianity—that is true by its own admission. I like the assessment of Jan Shipps, a Methodist who has written much about Mormonism. Mormon thought, she says, is to Christianity what Christian thought is to Judaism—some continuity and much discontinuity. To engage in probing dialogue with Mormons about matters of eternal importance is not “endorsing” or “legitimizing” their system of thought. But it is to take it seriously as a movement that we need to understand better—and to be more truthful about.

How would you craft a better theology of interfaith engagement?

I have two rules for interfaith dialogue: First, don’t tell people what they believe; ask them and listen carefully to what they say. Second, don’t pit the best things in your perspective against the worst things in their perspective. For me, that has meant acknowledging to Mormons some of our evangelical defects, as well as admitting to some good things in Mormonism. We need to account for the many wonderful people in other religious traditions. Instead of just criticizing religious movements and their founders, we need to understand their teachings and the communities built around them.

The God Problem / Pictures of Hope / Deep Time

Sometime after midnight, the Army airborne platoon met for the pre-mission briefing. In moments they would board aircraft in Kandahar for action against insurgents. This particular mission involved working in coordination with an elite commando unit.

At this time in Afghanistan, such missions were carried out every night that there was (1) good weather and (2) good intelligence. This night, they had both.

The paratroopers were to leave first, land a few kilometers from the target, and walk in without being detected to take up strategic positions around the target. Then, when the airborne troopers were in position, the commandos would land right on top of the target to try to capture a certain insurgent leader alive. But they had to be ready for anything.

As was customary for the airborne unit, after the briefing and just before their departure, their chaplain stood before them to read a Bible verse and offer prayer.

He quoted Joshua 1:9—"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go"—and commented briefly on God's continuous presence in all situations, whether acknowledged or not, and then he prayed for the troopers, the mission, and the safety of any civilians that might be in harm's way.

"While soldiers may not be openly religious at other times, they listen intently at moments like this," the chaplain, who asked that his name not be used, would later tell me. "They're at their most spiritually calibrated because they are probably going to be shot at. They did not want to skip this ritual."

After the paratroopers left, the chaplain noticed the elite commando unit boarding vehicles to head to their helicopters for the mission. While he prayed regularly with the paratroopers, he'd not met these guys before.

"They were in full 'battle rattle' and were checking their equipment, body armor, weapons, night vision goggles, and all the rest," said the chaplain. "I asked the master chief if I could have a word of prayer with the team, and he said, 'Sure, just make it quick.' Then he turned to get the latest intel report."

"Chaplain, You deserve a medal! We hadn't prayed before a mission til last night. Sure glad we did!"

"Men, let's gather for prayer," the chaplain said. No one responded. Everyone just continued checking weapons and adjusting communications gear. "Guys, let me pray for you," the chaplain repeated. Again, no response.

"I didn't know anyone in this unit, and they didn't come to any of our Bible studies or services," the chaplain said, but he had not expected this kind of total non-response. He looked over at the master chief, who noticed what was happening and unleashed a profanity-laced tirade: "You @*#%s! Get the @*#% over here so we can have a @*#% prayer so we can get going on this @*#% mission!"

Not a standard call to worship, but it worked. The team quickly gathered, and the chaplain said: "Men, you guys are tough, and you are well-trained. You are as fit as any professional athlete, and as prepared as you can be. You may not think you need God, but you do. So I'm going to pray for you tonight." Then he prayed for the team, for the helicopter pilots, for safety, for the success of the mission, and that no innocent civilians would be hurt.

Then the team loaded up and took off.

The chaplain made his way to the operations center, where he could see the mission unfold on video screens showing thermal image feeds from cameras mounted on a reconnaissance drone.

Fire and Faith

Even before the helicopters reached the target, they came under intense fire. At least 17 rocket propelled grenades (RPG) were fired, and one of them hit a chopper.

"We could see from the video that they were in trouble," the chaplain said. The pilot desperately tried to maintain control as the helicopter was swinging erratically. Amazingly, the RPG had not exploded. If it had, everyone on board would have died instantly. But even a dud penetrating that part of the chopper caused it to lose power. Unable to maintain lift, the chopper was falling.

Those in the operations center saw the helicopter was going down, sideways. Then, at the last second, the pilot managed to right the craft, just in time for a "hard landing." It crashed, but the landing gear, designed to absorb much of the impact, did its job. The chopper bounced and rolled over, coming to rest on its side.

Those in the operations center saw images of personnel crawling out of the wreckage, several of them lying still just a few steps from the wreckage. Incredibly, the team reported that everyone managed to escape the helicopter without serious injury.

The mission was aborted, and a rescue helicopter was ordered to retrieve the team.

As was his custom, the chaplain was there when the teams returned, shortly after sunrise. He offered a word of blessing and a welcome back. The airborne unit, as usual, shook his hand. The commando team, however, was uncharacteristically enthusiastic, hugging him and slapping him on the back. "Chaplain, you deserve a medal!" one said.

"We hadn't prayed prior to a mission before last night," said another, "but I'm sure glad we did!"

Later that day the commando team left for another location.

The next night, shortly after sundown, the chaplain was in the physical fitness room, working out, when a soldier came to tell him he was wanted in the VTC (video teleconferencing center) right away.

"I was in sweaty clothes but hustled over there," the chaplain said. "I assumed someone had been wounded or killed, and my services were needed." But when he got to the VTC, the situation was not what he expected.

On the teleconference screen was the same commando team from the night before, but now they were in a different part of Afghanistan about to head off on a different mission. "They were all kitted up, with weapons and ready to go," said the chaplain, "but before they took off, they wanted me to pray for them by video."

For the rest of that team's tour of duty, a moment of Scripture and prayer became part of their rhythm, and they came to expect the chaplain to be available each night before a mission. In the months that followed, the chaplain ministered to members of that team in a variety of settings, including when there were wounds and deaths. He even officiated months later at a wedding.

Such is the power of presence. In one sense the chaplain didn't do much. But because one person was physically present, available to represent Christ during a dark night in Afghanistan, these military personnel became aware of God's presence then and thereafter.

Presence Done Poorly

Being present to "provide for the free exercise of religion" is the job description of a military chaplain. But even for a chaplain stationed with military personnel, it's possible to avoid the ministry of presence or to do it poorly.

"It's easy to spend all your time preparing Bible studies for the handful of soldiers who show up on their own, but not to be out with the soldiers—whether doing PT (physical training) or carrying a rucksack with them on a march, or just hanging out," said Chaplain (MAJ) David Curlin, who has served in both Afghanistan and Iraq and now serves with Special Forces at Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

Even if a chaplain is physically present, the wrong behavior or attitude can do more harm than good.

"When I was an enlisted man," said Curlin, "we had a chaplain who had the least character I could imagine. He stole food and was the first to jump on the truck to grab a seat, and I thought, Please don't tell me about your faith because you're doing damage to those of us who identify ourselves as Christian."

Chaplain (LTC) Paul Lasley, also with Special Forces at Fort Bragg, remembers an unfortunate incident with a chaplain when he was a company commander in the 101st Airborne.

"Many of the chaplains I met early in my career were friendly enough, but they seemed to be bothered by things that I considered irrelevant. One morning our company was out for a run and calling a cadence that had a swear word or two. A chaplain was running with us, and he came running up to me in front of the whole formation and told me I needed to watch what the cadences were because this was offensive. I said, 'Thank you' and 'sorry' and told the company to resume the march, and they continued with the same cadence as before.

"Perhaps it was offensive, but as a company commander, preventing colorful language wasn't in my top 39 or 40 priorities. And it sure didn't warrant a public scolding."

Fortunately, there are better examples of the ministry of presence.

Presence Done Well

Having a Christ-centered ministry in a pluralistic context, as one chaplain put it, often involves "character, respect, and good manners." That means living the kind of life that serves others, places their interests above your own, and exhibits faith and hope and joy, even in stressful situations.

Chaplain Curlin describes one transformational experience early in his chaplaincy when he was stationed in southern Iraq. A soldier walked into the office, didn't see where he was going, and smacked his shin on a bench.

"He took the Lord's name in vain at full volume," said Curlin. "I'll admit I felt scorn for him, and apparently it showed on my face, because one of his buddies said, 'Oooooh, you swore in front of the chaplain!'

"Almost immediately I realized something was wrong with that picture. I wondered why my reaction had elicited the response it did." So Curlin asked a more experienced chaplain about it, who said, "How much more powerful would it have been if you'd been the first one to speak and said something like, 'Hey, are you okay? That's gotta hurt. Can I help you?'

"I knew immediately that he was right. I didn't want to be known more as a language cop than for my compassion. My job as a chaplain isn't to be the enforcer of righteousness—there may be times to address what comes out of the mouth, but it's probably not the first thing to address. My first job is to care for people. The Holy Spirit told me then, 'You aren't even praying for these people. Love them first, then point them to the One who loves them more than they know.'"

That's where the ministry of presence leads.

Chaplain Lasley points out that the ministry of presence is the means, not the end.

"If they don't want you around, it might be a reflection on you or on your beliefs, but your ministry is limited. If you can be present in a way that's welcome, it leads to opportunities when people want you to speak the gospel and invite them to Christ."

By doing presence well, those representing Christ find themselves in situations when they are welcome to speak the words of eternal life.

Marshall Shelley is editor in chief of Leadership Journal.

Copyright © 2012 Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Bachelorette Emily Maynard chose her man in last night’s finale of the popular reality television show. Millions of viewers wanting a beautiful love story watched the season in which 25 eligible men wined, dined, and romanced Maynard who, interestingly, seemed religious.

Though she never referred to herself as a Christian on the show, she wore a cross bracelet, bought a crucifix off the street on a date, frequently claimed to be “blessed,” and is planning a missions trip to Africa. Though she was not married when she conceived her daughter, she has said she won’t live with anyone before getting married, won’t have steamy hot tub scenes, and prayed before agreeing to be The Bachelorette.

Maynard is not the first Christian to appear on the show. In 2010, Methodist Jake Pavelka was nominated by his fellow church members sick of the drinking and sex of previous seasons.

On the first night, contestants were asked, “Do you believe in premarital sex?” and, “What is the most important thing in your life?” Jake answered, “God,” and when asked for his definition of love, he quoted Scripture.

But even if contestants indicate faith on the show, it seems to get lost amid all the hair extensions, plastic surgery, and candlelight. Or, perhaps the show itself subtly reveals an alternative faith altogether.

[spoiler alert after the jump]

In 2005, sociologists Christian Smith and Melinda Lundquist Denton coined the term “moralistic therapeutic deism” to describe the faith of many young people—including professing Christians—in the 21st-century West. MTD adherents believe God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other, that the central goals of life are to be happy and feel good about oneself, that God doesn’t need to be involved in life unless there’s a problem, and that good people go to heaven. In other words, they have vague, fuzzy feelings about God that are at odds with the historic teachings of the faith they profess.

This is also how religion on reality television is portrayed: There’s vague talk of “blessings,” “destiny,” and “following your heart” in between hot tub sessions, with little mention of a biblical worldview from the contestants.

Though there were more virtuous options, Jake, “the moral bachelor,” chose Vienna Girardi, who had previously been divorced twice at age 23. At the end of the season, host Chris Harrison said, “Rest assured, Jake’s choice came from his heart.” Jake agreed. “You have to listen to your heart.” In other words, Jake took less instruction from the church (which could’ve warned him about the deception of man’s heart and the temporary nature of charm) than the last scene of every romantic film ever made. Their combustible relationship finally ended after way too many arguments on subsequent episodes of The Bachelor Pad.

Maynard, however, has taken her maternal role very seriously, has sent home people not ready for fatherhood, and has a strong sense of what it means to be a Southern lady. But has her Christianity affected the way she conducted herself on the show?

Yes and no.

On every season of The Bachelorette, producers give an opportunity to spend the night with the remaining options on “The Overnight Date” (or, more accurately, “The Put Out or Get Out Date”). For the first time in Bachelorette history, Emily refused the romantic suite, explaining to viewers, “It doesn’t line up with what I believe in and the example I want to set for my daughter.”

So, score one for Maynard’s Christianity, right? Well, that very night, she sent home the last remaining evangelical, Sean Lowe, in the “limo of shame.” This left her with two options in the end:

Jef Holm, who was raised as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints but says he is no longer a “practicing Mormon”; and Arie Luyendyk Jr., who hasn’t mentioned his faith but lived with his last girlfriend and became a temporary “father figure” to her children before the horrible break-up.

Normally strong Christians might consider ambiguous religious affiliation and premarital cohabitation as deal breakers. They also consider being “equally yoked” to another person of the same faith as a necessary biblical goal. But the moralistic therapeutic deism of reality TV – and America – isn’t restrictive.

As Albert Mohler has observed the God of moralistic therapeutic deism “does not challenge the most basic self-centered assumptions of our postmodern age. Particularly when it comes to so-called ‘lifestyle’ issues, this God is exceedingly tolerant and this religion is radically undemanding.”

He is also very popular. Social scientists have said moralistic therapeutic deism is akin to a civil religion followed by mainstream culture. Perhaps this is why reality television is full of religious themes (for example, Brad Womack’s second season called The Bachelor: Redemption) yet almost always empty of religious principles (for example, when Ben Flajnik’s so-called traditional values included cohabitation before marriage). In fact, most of the contestants on these shows end up living together before their heavily televised wedding ceremonies.

Reality TV’s moralistic therapeutic deism is easy, comfortable, and expendable. Though it might make for better TV, it is not traditional Christianity. I wouldn’t mind seeing MTD being told “you’re fired,” be voted off the island, or be given the “limo ride of shame.”

After all, true redemption comes at a cost and is, actually, the most beautiful love story ever told.

Update post-finale: Last night, Emily revealed that she and Jef had a serious conversation about faith, a conversation the producers chose not to air. (Read about it here.) Did that conversation solve their religious differences? When Jef says he’s no longer a practicing Mormon but attends church, does that mean he attends an evangelical church, consequently eliminating any possible religious conflict? Honestly, we don’t know. However, the finale was the best finale of the entire history of the Bachelor/Bachelorette. The happy couple again stated they would not live together before marriage, expected a spring wedding, and would start out their public relationship with an African missions trip.

Nancy French is a New York Times best-selling author of many books, including collaborations with Bristol Palin and Olympic gold medalist Shawn Johnson. Visit her blog here.

I recently read a report in USA Today that more churches are shifting their worship gatherings from Sunday morning to Wednesday night. For some it’s a matter of convenience, and other churches are simply trying to reach those who can’t/won’t come on Sunday morning.

I’m not sure this can really be called “news.” Churches have been providing alternative worship times for as long as I can remember, and I’m certainly not against that. I’ve spoken with many church leaders, including at my own congregation, about alternative worship times. But what bothers me is the lack of biblical or theological understanding around this topic. Most evangelicals seem to believe Sunday morning worship is merely historical tradition, and therefore carries no great importance. They conclude that we can or should abandon Sunday if a more convenient or missionally effective time can be found.

Occasionally I may hear someone make the connection between Christ’s resurrection and Sunday morning worship. As Keith Green sang many years ago, on Sunday “Jesus rose from the grave and you, you can’t even get out of bed.” You may hear about the resurrection as the reason Christians now observe the Sabbath on Sunday rather than the Old Testament’s command to rest on Saturday, but that’s usually as far as the theology of Sunday worship goes. In the end, most church leaders are so thrilled if anyone comes to church, they’re not about to fight about which day people come.

Still, we need to remember that there is a deeper reason why the church has worshiped on Sunday mornings–one that is still relevant today.

When Jesus rose from the grave, he was doing more that conquering death. He was doing more than displaying the vindication of God. He was doing more than giving us hope for our own resurrections in the age to come. Jesus’ resurrection is the first fruit of the New Creation. His raised and transformed body, as Paul lays out in 1 Corinthians 15 and Romans 8, is indicative of the transformation that awaits all the saints and the creation itself. As N.T. Wright says:

Jesus’s resurrection is to be seen as the beginning of the new world, the first day of the new week, the unveiling of the prototype of what God is now going to accomplish in the rest of the world. –Surprised by Hope, page 238.

Following the creation account in Genesis 1, Sunday is the first day of creation. So Jesus is raised on a Sunday to mark the beginning of God’s new creation. This fact was not lost on the early Christians. They did not worship on Sunday because it was convenient. They gathered on Sundays because they were people of the new creation, people of the resurrection, and people of the in-breaking Kingdom of God. Wright goes on:

Many Christians will find, for all kinds of reasons, that Sunday is a difficult day to attend church services. But we should remind ourselves that the earliest Christians lived in a world where Sunday was the first day of the working week, much like our Monday, and that they valued its symbolism so highly that they were prepared to get up extra early both to celebrate Easter once again and to anticipate the final Eighth Day of Creation, the start of the new week, the day when God will renew all things. –Surprised by Hope, page 262.

The move away from Sunday worship can have many motivations, and some of them are honorable and even Spirit-guided. But I sense some congregations opt for non-Sunday worship without considering these deeper realities. In other words, the merely utilitarian reasons on which which we abandon Sunday may be another sign of how theologically, historically, and biblically ignorant we have become. We view our gatherings as a time of self-improvement, therapeutic enrichment, social connection, or artistic expression–and it can be these things. So we make human-centered, self-centered decisions about when these functions can happen most conveniently during the week.

But we often fail to see our gatherings as a spiritual and embodied display of our participation in a new cosmic reality. We fail to see how Sunday morning is when and where the church displays the wisdom of God before the powers and authorities in the heavenly realms by aligning ourselves with Christ’s resurrection and the work of God’s new creation.

If you are considering abandoning Sunday morning worship for another time, I’m not saying you shouldn’t. Leaders ought to prayerfully seek God’s guidance on the matter, and do what is right for your flock and mission. Obey the Lord. But as part of the discernment process, at least study the richer reason behind the church’s historical commitment to Sunday morning worship, and teach this facet of worship to your congregation. I think many would be surprised by the real value of Sunday.

Earlier this year the automaker recalled my 12-year-old pickup truck. There was concern, the recall notice said, about possible rusting at a critical point in the vehicle's frame. About the same time, I heard a rumor that, if the rusting was bad enough, I'd be given a generous discount on the purchase of a new vehicle. My imagination lit up. On inspection day at the auto dealership, I hoped for lots of rust.

But when my truck was inspected, alas, no rust was found … on the frame anyway. This meant that my pickup is likely to remain with me for another 12 years.

When I told a friend about my experience, he commiserated and then asked if I had ever preached a sermon that needed to be recalled. He thought his idea was kind of funny, and I chuckled with him.

But later, I reflected on his idea more seriously. What might a sermon-recall sound like? I wondered.

"Dear Church. There were critical flaws in last Sunday's sermon. Please delete it from your memory. The sermon will be repaired this week and re-preached this coming Sunday."

This led to asking myself if I'd ever preached sermons that should've been recalled. And the answer was, sadly, yes. How many? Only heaven knows.

I've enjoyed telling the story of the preacher whose sermon cried for recall in every way. When he realized that he'd lost the congregation, he said, most piously, "There's more to be said on this subject, but Jesus is leading me to wait until another time." The congregation stood and sang, "What a friend we have in Jesus."

I think the first sermon of mine that deserved a recall was on the biblical view of sex. I preached it at age 24, which hints at the possibility of a lack of wisdom and experience. A few minutes into the sermon I already knew I was "dying"—from lack of content, depth, and delivery. When I finally put the sermon out of its misery, I turned to the worship leader and whispered, "You end things." He nodded, and I exited the sanctuary, slipped through a side door, and sprinted to our home a block away. There I laid down on the couch, put a pillow over my head, and tried to pretend that the day had never happened.

A year or two after that disaster, I preached another recallable sermon, this time about parenting children. I was not yet myself a father, but I self-righteously pounded those who were inadequate mothers and fathers. I simply bombed. On Monday morning a father of four who had been present stormed into my office and said, "You need to go into the Army; they'd make a man out of you." Our dialogue went downhill from there.

Then there were occasional sermons where I tried to parse complicated doctrinal issues, sermons where I offered overly-simple pronouncements on sticky moral and ethical matters, and sermons where I passionately tried and failed to trigger revival in America in 29 minutes.

I'm guessing (wildly so) that over the last 45 years, I have preached 3,500 sermons. How many of them qualified for recall, I do not know, but those that did probably fit some of these categories.

• Sermons where I did all the intellectual homework but neglected the necessary spiritual preparation. In other words I brought my mind into the pulpit but left my soul at home. Or, to put it another way, I failed to first run the sermon through my own soul to see what I had to learn, where I needed to repent, how I could change. If the sermon didn't fit me, how could I be sure that it could fit anyone else?

Thanks to J.I. Packer I have these words by Puritan John Owen (17th century): "A man preacheth that sermon only well unto others which preacheth itself in his own soul. And he that doth not feed on and thrive in the digestion of the food which he provides for others will scarce make it savoury unto them; yea, he knows not but that the food he hath provided may be poison, unless he have really tasted of it himself. If the word do not dwell with power in us, it will not pass with power from us."

Rather blunt, that John Owen.

• Sermons where I succumbed to the temptation to charm the audience with my ability to tell a story, spin a joke, arouse strong emotion that smelled like spiritual conviction but wasn't.

This temptation explains why a comment by English theologian James Denney (19th century) can be found in the cover leaf of my Bible: "No man is able to show himself to be clever and, at the same time, demonstrate that Jesus is mighty to save."

• Sermons where I forgot that many of the people in the congregation had just finished a week in the larger world where they had experienced broken hearts, humiliating failures, terrible physical pain, fear and more fear, sin and more sin.

One man—a reporter for our city's newspaper—once told me, "When I enter worship, I come from a week in which I have slogged through the sludge of the city's evil in search of stories. Often my moral and spiritual compass seems frozen. What I desperately need is a word of hope, a reminder that God is still on his throne, a spiritual bath, if you please. If you can't help make that happen in your sermon, I'd rather spend the time walking the woods."

• Sermons where I pulled my punches and, because I didn't want to offend, I denied the Bible its full authority. Origen once likened preachers to "arrows of God."

"But what is rather sad is that I see very few arrows of God," he wrote. "There are few who so speak that they inflame the heart of the hearer, drag him away from his sin, and convert him to repentance. There are few who unveil the light of the future hope, the wonder of heaven, and the glory of God's kingdom to such effect that by their earnest preaching they succeed in persuading men to despise the visible and seek the invisible."

• But of those sermons which might have deserved recall, the ones that concern me most are the ones where I may have failed to call people to Jesus, where they could experience the redeeming power of his love.

Some years ago I visited with one of the most acclaimed pastor/preachers in American during the 20th century. He was an old man at the time, soon to die. At one point in our conversation he said, "In my years of preaching, I offered a lot of advice, but my greatest regret is that I didn't appreciate the importance of directing people to the feet of Jesus."

This comment can be contrasted with one made by Quaker-founder, George Fox, who said of his own preaching, "I took men to Jesus Christ and left them there."

Throughout my life I have been a distant disciple of the Rev. Dr. Charles Simeon (for 53 years the Anglican vicar at Holy Trinity Church in Cambridge, 1783-1836). Scarcely any sermon of his (and he preached thousands of them) could ever been subject to recall. Perhaps it was because he measured each presentation by these simple criteria:

"Does (this sermon) uniformly tend

TO HUMBLE THE SINNER

TO EXALT THE SAVIOR

TO PROMOTE HOLINESS"

Over the years I have tried harder and harder to regard Simeon's criteria as the ultimate measure of what I might bring to a small or large collection of worshippers. And to the extent that I have been faithful to this three-point metric, I have found it less and less necessary to concern myself with recalls.

Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership Journal and chancellor of Denver Seminary.

Copyright © 2012 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Yet another shooting tragedy has befallen us in the United States. Starting with Columbine in 1999, it has become a regular feature of American life in the 21st century. Fast forward to Friday, and we are now mourning the absurd slaughter of 12 people trapped in a theater in Aurora, Colorado. Our reactions cultural and personal are interesting to behold.

Take mine: my first thought as a devout follower of the Prince of Peace was to think, Maybe I should start packing a gun. We live in a broken society in which the police can no longer protect me and my family. It's probably up to me to do that now.

My sarcasm does not signal that I'm for or against gun control. We may be at a cultural moment when more self-defense is called for. Or maybe such a solution would just lead to more useless violence. I'll let political and social scientists sort that out. I'm more interested at this point in my reaction as a disciple of Jesus: it began with fear and self-protection.

It then moved on to vainglory, as I imagined how I would want to act in such a horrific situation. I had images of myself tackling the shooter or throwing my body over helpless victims, taking the bullet for others. This is adolescent, I know, but it's actually what went through my mind. For all I know, at such a moment, I may just as easily pee in my pants. But my pride says I'd play the hero.

At some point, my thoughts finally got around to thinking about others, to those who actually took a bullet, the wounded and dead, and the loved ones left grieving. But then another uncharitable thought immediately rose to the surface: I'd happily kill the s.o.b. who did the shooting.

I suspect my selfish, prideful, and revengeful reactions are not unusual, and that for most of us, they are checked by higher ideals. But there they are, mixed in with compassion, reason, and hope.

Lord, have mercy.

***

The national reaction of shock and outrage is understandable and at one level a continuing sign of our humanity. God forbid that we would react to these tragedies as we do to daily murder in big cities. The day after the latest Colorado shootings, The Chicago Tribune email newsletter began with this: "One dead, seventeen wounded in attacks across city." It sounded like a coordinated effort, so I opened the link. I discovered it was just another 17 shootings, the sort of thing that happens in Chicago with routine monotony. This no longer shocks us; it's part of the daily grist of news which is no longer news. So far in July alone, 27 people have been murdered in Chicago—over twice as many as were killed in the Aurora shooting. Last year in Chicago in July alone, 55 were murdered.

Why are we not shocked and outraged at this daily violence? If we were, would it do any good? What would it do to our psyches to be aware and outraged every day? Maybe we have no psychological choice but to move the violence to the subliminal regions. But then along comes a mass shooting, and we are aware, if only briefly, how much violence and fear of violence we live with daily.

To put it another way: it's best we not think too deeply about our key rings, the symbol of dark principalities and powers that seem to rule our world. I have keys to my front door, back door, garage, two cars, overhead luggage rack, just to begin the list. And dozens of keys for rental property I own. And so many online passwords, especially for financial matters, that I have to have a separate program, with its own password, to store them. Dozens of times a day I lock and unlock things physical and electronic, because we live in a world where people will do violence to me and the things I own if I don’t lock things down. Not necessarily killing, but anyone who has had their home broken into knows the feeling of being violated by a mere act of theft. And yes, sometimes theft involves real killing.

And then there is the constant and abiding presence of security guards and police at places we visit every day—banks, malls, schools, grocery stores, and so forth. And the regular announcements at the airport to watch for abandoned packages and suspicious behavior. They are a steady reminder that we live in a broken, violent world.

We put a veneer of civility over all this, so that it is attended to with decorum and, well, fun! How many sentimental trinkets are available for our key rings, the very symbol of violence we are trying to keep at bay? But these shootings remind us that we very much live in a world as "red in tooth and claw" as ever.

***

Our fear is difficult to put into words. But we try, and when we do, the theological gets mixed with the political, and compassion with hate. Note this one comment to a news story about a prayer vigil that was going to take place as a result of the shootings:

"It's time people put the blame and responsibility for such Actions where it belongs, instead of blaming "Original Sin" or that "The devil made them do it". This Monster CHOSE to commit these senseless acts of Violence, he CHOSE to do Harm. He isn't Crazy or Demon Possessed. He simply is an awful person who made horrible choices with disastrous Consequences. Had The GOP/TEA not demanded that Battlefield weapons be easier to obtain than renting DVDs, these kinds of tragedies would be occurring MUCH less. Home Protection, but NO ONE needs Automatic Weapons or Assault rifles. Life is't a Chuck Norris Movie; it's HIGH time We demand accountability from The "Right" for allowing their side to continually spew hate, incite Violence, demanding Genocidal weapons be easily accessible to anyone for The Misery and loss of Life it causes. Enough is ENOUGH!"

So the murderer becomes a "monster," and those who supposedly "spew hate, incite violence" are condemned with venom. This, unfortunately, is where shock and outrage take us.

We lack the imagination to conceive that people who do these sorts of things are human beings, so we talk about them as "monsters" or mentally ill or whatever—we label them to suggest they are not like us, for we could never do such a thing. But of course we could; the routinization of murder under Stalin and Hitler, among other regimes, suggests that any of us can be enlisted to wipe out fellow human beings, doing so with routine efficiency. Death camps are run by everyday people like us just doing their jobs.

National pop-psychology is one of our favorite pastimes, as we try to find a reason for the shooter's actions. He's already being labeled a "loner," for example, as if the gregarious and outgoing are incapable of such violence. We'll come up with some theory that comforts us in the dark of night, that if only we as a nation did X, Y, or Z, we could prevent people from going over the deep end like this. Some of those things may indeed help in some ways. But we are kidding ourselves if we think we have within our national grasp an educational or psychological or political solution to evil.

There is no solution or explanation for evil. Evil is fundamentally irrational; it simply cannot be grasped by means of our intellectual categories. Evil is the very denial of rationality, because it is a rebellion against the Logos, the very principle of the good, the true, and the beautiful who created and sustains the universe.

And who has redeemed the universe. The Christian hope in the face of evil is not to explain it or cure it. Our hope is absurd in its own way, turning absurdity on its head. We proclaim that evil has already been dealt the decisive blow. And that blow was delivered, paradoxically enough, at a moment when evil seems to have won—on the cross on which Jesus Christ died.

Christians "make sense" of tragedies by acknowledging that they are in fact senseless, and that their absurdity is little different than the absurdity of the Cross. And that's precisely why, when we talk about the gospel, we begin with the absurd. As Paul notes, our preaching is

foolish to the Jews, who ask for signs from heaven. And it is foolish to the Greeks, who seek human wisdom. So when we preach that Christ was crucified, the Jews are offended and the Gentiles say it’s all nonsense. (1 Cor. 1:22-23 , NLT)

And the content of the preaching is this: absurdity has been defeated by absurdity, death has been defeated by death. The Resurrection, especially in the preaching in Acts, is mostly about the vindication of Jesus ("Jesus, whom you crucified, has been exalted by God, so ha!"—see Peter's speech in Acts 2). The apparent failure of the Cross was, in fact, a victory—a victory over the irrational principalities that currently wreak havoc in the world, represented by those little key chains we carry around. (So maybe it's a sign of good theology to carry something silly on our key chains—it shows we're not taking evil as seriously as it takes itself!)

***

The commenter quoted above also waxed theological, something a lot of people, believers and not, are doing:

Why weren't those who were Mercilessly Slaughtered Prayers to Live heard I wonder. Evidently God was too busy planning with Tebow for Touchdowns this Fall to check his Voicemail. It just makes NO sense to me to Pray to a God that can't stop such things from happening in The 1st Place.What kind of God who is truly all powerful,Just or Loving just sits back&let's innocent People die&then has them believing it's THEIR Fault? Certainly not one I'd Pray to,or even bother with. That's like saying they deserved their Fate because someone else they never met did something Bad. It's a slap in the face when they say such things.

It does make even the faithful wonder "what kind of God" we have put our faith in. Apparently he is a God who does not intervene to prevent such horrors, for reasons we, as much as this commenter, find unfathomable. It is indeed a slap in the face to people when we use a thin veneer of pop theology to "explain" the tragedy. Better just to confess, as did David, time and again in the Psalms,

Lord, . . . you hid your face;

I was dismayed. (Ps. 30:7)

This Psalm, coincidently enough, was the reading for the day after the shooting. But actually, that's not such a coincidence, because lots of Bible passages note this reality, the feeling that God is hiding himself. Many a saint, like their Lord, has felt utterly forsaken. The Bible is pretty frank about this reality.

But in the very same Bible, and in that very same Psalm, we read other startling confessions, like,

Weeping may tarry for the night,

but joy comes with the morning. (v. 5)

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;

you have loosed my sackcloth

and clothed me with gladness,

that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.

O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever! (vv. 11-12)

The online commenter expresses well the sentiment that even the believer experiences. The difference is this: For the Christian, the Object of dismay and anger happens to be the Source of healing and hope. The life, death, and resurrection of Christ has shown that this is not a fanciful wish, some utopian dream, but one grounded in history—a history that itself seems to be grounded in deathly absurdity, when, in fact, it is alive with hope.

Mark Galli is senior managing editor of Christianity Today, and author of Chaos and Grace: Discovering the Liberating Power of the Holy Spirit (Baker).

The drowning death of a 1-year-old boy in a church baptismal at an unlicensed Indianapolis daycare has fueled debate over whether state governments should license faith-based childcare facilities.

In February, workers at Fellowship Assembly of God found Juan Cardenas in a baptismal filled with two feet of water. The church daycare was cited for 18 violations when inspected in November 2011.

Childcare ministries outnumber licensed centers 730 to 601 in Indiana; only about 5 percent meet state licensing requirements. Indiana is one of 13 states that exempt faith-based childcare providers from licensing.

Daycares and government officials have debated state licensing for years. In Missouri, 41 children died in unlicensed daycares between 2007 and 2010. Lawmakers focused on improving safety but rolled back rules for religious daycares in 2009 because of church-state concerns. In Pennsylvania, an appeals court recently settled a 50-year legal battle over the state’s authority to regulate religious daycares when it affirmed the 1997 forced closure of a Catholic daycare in Allentown.

Some say states should avoid licensing religious daycares. Clashes of belief are inevitable whenever government insists on supervising religion, said William Cox Jr., a professor of education at Regent University. “[And] to think the state is going to prevent all accidents is making the state out to be a god.”

Others say state licensing is necessary for safety. “Safety is non-negotiable,” said Milton Uecker, associate dean of education at Columbia International University. “As soon as you have too many children and not enough adults, it is not even good education.”

Indiana’s childcare ministries vary in the quality of services they provide, said Ted Maple, director of the United Way of Central Indiana’s Success by Six program. Some are hosted by churches as a way to generate revenue from unused space. Others are for-profit ventures housed in strip malls or residential homes.

“Church buildings are not typically designed [with] childcare in mind,” said Maple. So his program has provided local childcare ministries with funding for staff mentoring and improvements to facilities. “The faith-based community should be setting the example,” he said.

Licensing has not been an issue in other states, advocates say. For example, California requires it; yet Michael Stewart, director of the Central Coast Baptist Association, says this has not affected the religious identity of his association’s daycares. “Accountability is a good thing [when] dealing with kids who can’t talk or defend themselves,” he said. “Safety is not a religious issue.”