There’s no getting around it. We live in a culture that includes beliefs and practices from every major world religion, and a whole bunch of minor ones. And we need to know what our neighbors, co-workers, and sometimes even our family members believe. That’s why I wrote Faith to Faith: A Conversation About Christianity and World Religions. This isn’t your typical “us vs. them” book about Christianity and other beliefs. I wrote Faith to Faith to give my fellow Christians as accurate a picture as possible of the beliefs and practices of the various world religions, not because I want to prove them wrong, but because we need to know how to relate to them.

The folks at Conversantlife.com thought it would be helpful to know a little more about my new book. So over the next few weeks I will be responding to some questions about Faith to Faith and why I wrote it. Even though I’m the one answering the questions, this isn’t intended to be a one-way conversation. I’d love to hear your responses to my thoughts. Even more, if you have a question you’d like to ask, please post it in the comments section at the end of this post.

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This was my text from Palm Sunday; I thought it would be appropriate still, given the season.

                All over the world today, preachers will be speaking about the paradox of Palm Sunday. On the first day of this week, the people of ancient Jerusalem cheered and wept as Jesus came into town, riding on a donkey. By the end of the week, the same people were calling for his death. This is of course, an example of the fickle nature of crowds and of political opinion. But surely there is more to it than that! Unless some things happened in that week that we do not know about, the crowd’s rapid move from exaltation to rage seems jarringly disjointed. Perhaps that’s why the story continues to intrigue us.

                I was thinking about all of that this week as I began to prepare for this message. I reflected on the social conditions of that era, trying to gain some new understanding of the context within which the events of Palm Sunday and Holy week occurred. As I did, I began to realize that Jesus had become an intolerable threat to many powerful people. His existence had become the source of considerable anxiety for those at the top.

                Of course, the human beings who were so disturbed at Jesus had no idea that they were really small-time players in a cosmic drama. The real powers behind the events of Holy Week, the real source of the anxiety that gripped the kings, priests and finally the mob, were invisible to human beings. The invisible powers were, however, the ones really calling the shots. I want to talk about them in a moment. First though, let’s talk about the human side of this story. Let’s ask ourselves why the leaders of first century Judea wanted to kill Jesus Christ.          

Jesus Was a Political Threat

                Jesus was not a political threat because he cared about politics. Actually, he had become threatening because he viewed the political system under which he lived as irrelevant. He preached that the kingdom of God was coming; that the joys and fortunes of the masses would no longer be dependent upon states and kings. Because of this message, Jesus is often depicted as a revolutionary by those who want to make our Lord look like Che Guevara, plotting against governments out in the jungle somewhere.

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The first time I saw her, she was standing by the vending machine outside the classroom. When I got closer, I noticed that she smelled of sandalwood and rose. She had a string of beads woven into her hair and around her neck hung a thin rope on which was a picture of a brown man sitting in a half-lotus position. Glancing at the picture, I saw that there was a splash of color on the man’s forehead. His hand was raised in blessing and I wondering who he was praying for and why.

   When I realized that I was staring at the picture, I forced myself to look into her eyes. I needed to find out why she had asked to speak to me after class.

“What did you think of the lecture?” She asked.

“Well,” I replied with some caution, “the professor was certainly interesting. He convinced me that I need to know more about Bowley and attachment theory.”

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I began my book, Naked and Not Ashamed, reflecting on the Lord's first miracle. It has always amazed me that Jesus would begin his ministry by turning water into wine. It seems like a poor use of miraculous power. I mean, there were people to heal, poverty to banish, demons to expel. Why this?
               Well, the only conclusion I can draw is that Jesus wanted to make a statement about life and joy. The couple in the hut needed space and privacy to make love and enjoy one another; the hard-working people of the village needed a break. Without wine, the special treat for the party, none of this could happen.
               Of course, people didn't know how to make fortified beverages yet. The naturally fortified drinks they made could get one drunk, of course, but getting drunk was a much more intentional act then. One had to drink a lot more liquid. Also, no one was driving home and putting their own lives and the lives of others in danger.

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     Even as a child, I didn't believed we had the whole story about what happened up on that wall before Humpty-Dumpty had his famous fall! All we know is that a poor guy sat on the wall and that he had a great fall. We don't even know if anyone pushed him. We know that after he fell, all the kings' horses and all the kings' men couldn't put him back together again. (Of course, I have always wondered what anyone expected of the horses to begin with!) 

      The group Counting Crows once sang about how Humpty-Dumpty was beyond help no matter what we do but I don't buy that. (Anyway, I don't have much patience with a group that can sing about Albert Einstein and Humpty-Dumpty in the same song!) So, I have consulted children, the real authorities about Humpty-Dumpty. 

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A few years ago, one of the respected elders of our church asked me to see a movie called, Fatal Attraction. I was surprised. It was an "R" rated movie with strong sexual content. However, he told me that it was spiritually important for me to go. 

      Trish and I went to see it together. For the first few minutes, we asked ourselves why this spiritual man thought we should see such a movie. Then the film turned dark. Titillation turned to horror as a weekend affair turned into something that was not a causal thing at all. Before it was all over, blood, death and destruction had invaded the peaceful home life of an accidental adulterer. 

      Some Christians might disagree with the elder's ideas on what is spiritually important. Nonetheless, I believe he did the right thing. Since watching that movie, I have faced some temptations. Perhaps, even had I not seen the horror of Fatal Attraction, I would have had the good sense to resist them, but I'm not sure. Oh, I realize that every affair does not end in murder or the kind of outrageous horror depicted in that movie. However, the movie is right to emphasize that we pay a price every time we cross a sexual boundary. Sexual sin is something we usually commit in private but its affects are almost always public. 

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I have a Vietnamese friend who converted to Christianity as a young adult. She talks about when she was a young girl in her native village; she was frightened of the crucifix outside the church in her little town. It seemed terrible to her that the people who went into that building could have done such a terrible thing to the poor man. For years, she refused to watch the Jesus movie because, as she put it, "I don't like horror flicks!"
            That statement amazed me – to think that someone could view the crucifixion as a horror movie was beyond me. Then it struck me – why wouldn't I view the crucifixion as a horror movie? After all, the story of the crucifixion is horrible and gory beyond description. What is really strange are the sweet songs we sing about the crucifixion. It's sort of like playing a score from Mozart to scenes from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

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When Father Joe’s world fell apart, he was 35 years old. He had served at St. Ambrose for five years and had come to love its people. He was thinking about that very thing on that sunny spring day he first violated his vows and began his journey of deceit.  

      Billy was thirteen. He had had been a prize pupil in Father Joe’s catechism class the year before. Since then, he had been coming early for mass and to help his pastor prepare for the service. He had even begun to wonder if God might be calling him into holy orders.  

      The boy was unprepared for what happened that morning and, I suppose it should be said, so was Father Joe. Billy had helped lay out the vestments – the season called for purple -- and was about to leave the room where Father Joe was vesting. Then, as he was about to open the door, Billy turned and bumped into Father Joe, who had turned to pick up a church bulletin from the floor. As they looked at one another in amused surprise, the priest suddenly grabbed Billy’s face, kissed him and pushed his tongue between Billy’s lips.  

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      Jesus was a teacher. That’s what the word “master” means in the older versions of the Bible. Jesus was also called “rabbi”, which is another word that means “teacher.”

           However, there is a theological danger in viewing “teacher” as the Lord’s primary role. The path that liberal theology took in the nineteenth century began with viewing Jesus as primarily a great teacher, even as the greatest teacher of all times. The problem is this: what Jesus taught was not essentially different than what great teachers had taught before. Moses, the Buddha, Socrates, Solomon, Lao Tse and other great men taught people how to live, think and act in ways that turned their hearts toward others.

“Where did I come from?” is often our children’s first serious question. We usually think that the child wants to know what we call “the facts of life.”
I just spent the best part of a year writing a book about sex. I called it, Naked and Not Ashamed. So I should know “the facts of life” by now. I read hundreds of books, interviewed people and thought a lot about sex.

So do I know where I came from?

Well, as it turns out, knowing a lot about sex does not tell us where we came from. Besides, sexual information, as important as it is, is hardly “the facts of life.”

Ancient people thought that this question of origins was the most important piece of information they could have about someone. Appalachian people think so too. We were all poor up in the mountains but we “knew who our folks were.” That’s why I can tell you the names of all my ancestors since the sixteen hundreds. But does that tell you anything about me?

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