A Response To "Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus"

This video, entitled, "Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus" has risen to fame via Facebook and YouTube, almost overnight. Jefferson Bethke is the author of the poem and is also the man performing a dramatic reading of the poem in the video.

I think the beauty of Bethke's poem is that it challenges our most deeply held assumptions about God and the Church. Many of my friends, most of whom are either working for the Church or are in seminary, have wondered aloud about how to respond. Some have shouted, "Amen! Preach on!" Others have said, "not so fast." Others have not said anything at all.

Many of my friends may be able to predict this about me, but I wonder if there is not another, third, way to interpret Bethke's poem? Don't misunderstand: I think he's absolutely correct that the Church has misused its power and authority to do immense harm to God's people. The Church has the blood of scores of thousands on its hands, inciting the crusades of the Middle Ages, the Papal wars over land and property, as well as more localized atrocities, such as the Spanish Inquisitions or the Salem witch trials. The Church has also maintained a tight grip around the throats of many scientists, ethicists, and other social activists who articulated a vision that proposed something other than the Church’s worldview. From Galileo to Newton, from Darwin to Roe v. Wade, from Brown v. Board of Education to Martin Luther King, voices claiming to be aligned with the Church have spoken out in vociferous opposition to change, progress, and equality, doing enormous damage in the name of Christ and his church.

But despite all of that, I think there's still hope for the Church. The Roman Catholic Church is one of the globe's leaders in the fight to eradicate hunger. Many other churches are at work to bring about justice and peace in severely troubled regions. The United Methodist Church has partnered with The Roman Catholic Church and The Episcopal Church to sue for an injunction to stop the racially-charged and grossly dehumanizing Alabama Immigration Law. Things like this give me some glimmer of hope.

I think that Bethke's poem is also right in reminding us that we are undeserving of God's mercy. But what is troubling to me is that Bethke's poem claims that "Christianity is God searching for man," while religion is "man searching for God." After first hearing this, I wasn't quite sure what the difference was. Christianity is, after all, a religion. But then Bethke continues, linking Jesus' death on the cross to his claim about Christianity, that God is searching for humankind.

I've heard this rationale a lot. Jesus died in our place, sacrificing himself so that we do not have to die. It's classic theology. In fact, it was an Archbishop of Canterbury who devised the atonement theory--St. Anselm. But Anselm's reading of Jesus' salvific work on the cross begs other questions that I think Bethke and many others seem to miss. First, if God is all-powerful and all-loving, why did God sacrifice God's own son to save humankind? For utilitarians, this might make sense: do what is best for the greatest number of people. But is God so limited that God could conceive of no other way than to have God's own son tortured and murdered in such a public and humiliating way?

Brace yourself: this Anglican is about to quote some Karl Barth. Barth believed that Jesus could not have come as a response to the sinfulness of humankind. If that were the case, Jesus would have been God's afterthought. Moreover, Jesus could not have come solely to conquer sin and death, because once that was accomplished, Jesus would be useless. Barth contends that Jesus came to create a new way for humankind to be in fellowship with God.

To make myself feel better for resorting to Barth (for my Reformed friends, I hope you know I'm kidding...), let me suggest a second look at Peter Abelard, one of Anselm's contemporaries. Abelard believed that instead of Christ's sacrifice appeasing God, Christ saves humankind through love. Christ's life and ministry were inextricably bound up in love, reconciliation, and liberation. But then again, Abelard really doesn't do justice to the final act of Christ's life: the Passion, death, and resurrection.

So here's my working hypothesis: in order to include both the particular and the universal natures of Christ, Christ as both the human exemplar of liberation and the divine and exalted dispenser of grace and salvation, we must expand our definition of salvation. Our definition of salvation must be both universal and particular in order to be complete. Salvation cannot simply mean that we are saved by what Christ has done in history, nor can it be confined to what Christ is doing now. Salvation must also take on a future, eschatological component: salvation must also be what Christ will do. In short, we have been saved, we are being saved, and we will be saved.

Christ’s salvific actions were begun on the cross, which made way for our universal salvation. Christ is also at work presently, among the oppressed, saving them in a very real, physical sense by virtue of their liberation. But Christ will complete the salvation and redemption of the universe in a future, eschatological realm. At that time, all wrongs will be made right, all evil will be redeemed, and universal salvation for all creation will be accomplished.

Returning to Jefferson Bethke, I think he sells Jesus a little short. I think that the Church, in all of its humanness, its brokenness, and its fickleness, still has the eschatological hope of salvation that Christ promised. I think the Church still has hope of bringing the good news of God in Christ to those who are most in need.

I also think that Bethke misses an essential component of our salvation. Namely, how Christ is saving humankind right now. In feeding the hungry, loosing the bonds of economic, social, and racial injustices, and in sojourning for peace and justice, Christ is sewing salvation into the very fiber of our being, working through us to bring others to God's saving embrace.

Perhaps a more apt name for Bethke's poem would be, "Why I love Jesus, Regardless of the Church."