Jordan Peterson Rule Six Redo: Strive to Improve the World While You Work on Yourself, Too

            Sometimes, perhaps too often, the Bible is read as if it was a casting call for what it takes to be a good Christian. For example, those readers who attend church have all heard preachers say things like we need to have to have faith as strong as Abraham’s, or passion for God as wide and deep as King David’s; we ought to dare to be Daniels and have the bravado of the Apostle Peter.

            Ironically, most Biblical heroes, including Abraham and David and Daniel and Peter, were actually deeply-flawed humans we really don’t want to emulate. I mean it.

            For all his faith, Abraham and Sarah both laughed at God when he told them that they would have a son. And, far worse, they sent Abraham’s eldest son Ishmael, and his mother Hagar, into the desert to die because Sarah was jealous of them. How’s that for a house in perfect order? Would you want to emulate Sarah or Abraham?

           When King David saw Bathsheba bathing, he knew he’d have to have her, no matter the price. And the price was steep. To hide his affair and her pregnancy, David had Bathsheba’s husband Uriah murdered in battle. That dysfunction set the pattern for the rest of David’s life. His eldest son Ammon raped his sister Tamar. Another son killed Ammon, and then staged a coup against David. Not a house in order. 

            And Peter? 

           Well it is fair to say that, at best, he had a rocky relationship with Jesus. That was never more on display, of course, than on the night Jesus was arrested. Peter screwed up the courage to follow Jesus’ armed guards to the High Priest’s house. Then, just inside the courtyard, by the fire, a servant girl asks if Peter was one of Jesus’ disciples. Peter replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

            When a second woman asks Peter if he followed Jesus, Peter doesn’t merely claim ignorance, he flat out denies Jesus.  “I don’t know the man!” 

            Finally, a whole group of people standing round the fire notice that Peter is speaking with a Galilean accent. They figure he just has to be a follower of Jesus and say so. This time Peter calls down curses from heaven. “He swore,” says Matthew. And then, hearing the rooster crow, Peter goes off and weeps bitterly. Some rock. Some model for what it takes to be a good person, never mind a good Christian. 

            Now, all of these Biblical heroes, and many more: Abraham, Sarah, Daniel, Samson, Gideon, Saul, David, Bathsheba, Solomon, Rahab, Jonah, Peter and the disciples stand as a warning against the idea of treating the Bible as a book full of heroes we should emulate. 

           Perhaps even more seriously, we can pass on trying to emulate Abraham or David or Peter because, in their failures we see ourselves. We are already like them. We are deeply flawed too. 

            Now, I am not going to pull out my former Calvinist doctrine of “total depravity,” here, and argue that we are all absolutely divorced from God and good. But I don’t want to throw out the baby with the bathwater either. We need to be honest not only about our strengths, but also our weaknesses.

            All of us—every last one of us—no matter how good a dad or mom we are, no matter whether we’ve earned millions or accolades at work, no matter whether we’ve won awards from governments or boards or NGOs—each of us, like every Biblical hero, each of us is also deeply flawed. 

          We all need new beginnings. Our tempers are short. We take the easy or expedient way out sometimes, rather than stand on principle. We hold grudges. We’re addicted to cigarettes or cigars, porn or praise, alcohol or the internet. We refuse to be vulnerable with our kids when it comes to our weaknesses or emotionally available for our spouses when they need us. We fudge on our income tax. We speed. We get angry too fast and apologize far too infrequently and slowly. We engage in petty white-collar crime. Not everyone of us does all these things, not by a long shot. As it is with most Biblical heroes, none of us has our house in perfect order, either. This just is the human condition. 

            It can be very depressing. But this is where Christianity can help us. Jesus freely offered an antidote to the reality of our flaws. The antidote is grace. In the big, cosmic picture, the gospel message is this: Try to be like Jesus. But when you or I sometimes fail, as we undoubtedly will, don’t give up, don’t freeze, don’t think of yourself as worthless. God, after all, is not keeping a scorecard. God always welcomes your new beginnings. 

            Jordan Peterson, on the other hand, says, “Set your house in perfect order before you criticize the world.” And what I’d like to know is this. Who has ever set their house in perfect order? This “perfect order,” is a high bar. No one in the Bible, excepting—maybe—Jesus, has ever met it. 

            And yet. Abraham and Sarah managed—at least according to the myths—birth a nation. David made that nation an empire that eventually gave us the Law and Prophets. And Peter and his pals not only criticized their world, but went on to build a church that has now existed, for better or worse, for 2,000 years. None of these institutions or nations were or are perfect; but all have also made great contributions to human well-being through the centuries. These institutions, like the people who founded and support them, are flawed and need grace but have the capacity to do great things. 

            The thing us, we can criticize the world, and in fact (and even better), work to make the world a better place, even if we are flawed, because the grace Jesus preached, the clean slate we have with God or the cosmos or karma or whatever you want to call it—the grace Jesus preached is an invitation to keep trying to love neighbour, even when you fail; to keep striving against the injustices of the Roman Empire or the Religious Establishment, even if you are a coward. The grace Jesus preached is an invitation to new beginnings even when last year (or last night) was a bit of an embarrassment to you. Grace is your endless well of motivation to strive for better rather than worry about setbacks. Grace isn’t salvation from sin, it is rather, as John Caputo would say, God haunting our souls with the desire to do better; God whispering in our ears that our families, our churches, and our city and world—all of it deserves our best, if flawed, efforts. Grace is God’s prayer to us to give being God’s hands and feet a whirl, again and again.

            So no, Jordan Peterson, I don’t think it is “set your house in perfect order before you criticize the world.” It should be, rather, “Strive to improve the world, while you work on yourself, too.” Working on ourselves and the world together is a single project. Grace makes doing both—working on the world, and working on yourself—plausible and possible, an antidote to our flaws. 

When "The Faith" Won't Have Our Children

Normally, we expect our children both to do as they’re told and to think as we think—we parents, that is. But it doesn’t always work that way.

For example, Republican Senator Rob Portman, from Ohio, recently changed his mind about gay rights on account of his son. Portman has a strong record of voting against gay rights. But two years ago his son Will came out as gay. So this month Portman announced that he has changed his mind. He now favors same-sex marriage.

Similarly, in Toronto—well, until he was recently fired—another father in the same boat was Brian Burke, former GM of the Maple Leafs. Burke always played the gruff, dour, tough-talking macho role in his hockey career. But when his son Brendan came out as gay Burke immediately adopted a very public role in the fight against homophobia.

However, the spiritual and moral influence of children isn’t limited to the issue of gay rights. In my case, my children helped me change my mind about basic faith issues.

My two boys are crazy about social justice. They both work on behalf of the marginalized—refugees, those who have been attacked on account of xenophobia, victims of racism, and the poor. They have the idealism and energy of youth as they pursue political and social goals for the good of humanity.

But both have stopped going to church, too. At least, they don’t go very often! It isn’t that they’re against church or Christians. They have deep respect for many Christians. Both have been deeply influenced by their years in church and Christian ideals. But they see both sides of the faith coin—the idealism and the hypocrisy, the achievements and the failures. And so, overall, it doesn’t appear to them that you can count on the church, or on Christians, or on the Christian God to get the heavy social-justice lifting this world needs now, done.

Plus—this is my view, and my boys might differ with me on this—the whole Christian story lacks plausibility for them. Talk about God becoming human, immaculate conceptions, dying and rising, as well as insisting that you have to believe the right things about these stories—well, it doesn’t compute for them. Too much fairytale and not enough plausibility or coherence.

In my previous faith-community, my boys’ perspectives would have been seen as a reason for thinking that they might be out of favor with God and headed for some sort of eternal calamity. And their leaving the church would have been perceived as a shadow over my own work.

But I can’t agree with any of that—and much more—any more. Now, looking back, I see that my boys have helped me change my mind, too. They have given me a deeper and I think truer appreciation for the fairytale-like qualities of scripture, and for how Christians can’t agree about the meaning of much in scripture.

Most importantly, I love my boys and their dreams. This makes me wonder about God’s love. Surely, if God is a Father—or a divine Mother—God could not love my boys less than me! God is love, after all. And if God was going to make his love dependent on our getting ancient history, or interpretations of scripture, or doctrines right then God would surely have written a clearer explanation of that sort of stuff than what we find in the Bible.

Well, just for starters (and keeping in mind the eternal calamity that some Evangelicals are so concerned with) there is the matter of who is saved and why. Most Christians think people are saved by grace. But according to Matthew 25 the sheep and goats of the world are separated not on the basis of grace, or doctrine, or faith, but on the basis of works. Those who receive eternal rewards are those who feed the poor, give water to the thirsty, and entertain strangers. It is a passage that ought to make most Christians who have defined themselves as “saved,” and who sit in their comfortable pews week after week, squirm.

The long and short of it, though, is that whatever the theological particulars, my children’s perspectives on faith taught me much, even though I had the PhD. Their experience and questions, their searching and convictions, and their hypocrisy barometer all led me to revisit my own spiritual roots. And so I changed my mind. I left my old faith community and found a new one that better fit my new, evolving convictions.

And so I have learned that my love for my boys should not be directed just outwardly, at them. No, my love for my children also needs to be open to their insight and wisdom. Otherwise I might not ever change my mind or heart.

Fear, Yo-Yo Dieting, and Gratitude

            Weight is my enemy. I’m always on the verge of seeing my weight balloon uncontrollably. I can barely remember when it wasn’t so, when I didn’t have to stretch over to see my toes in the shower or feel self-conscious about the spare tire I lug around.

            I’ve tried a lot of different diets. They all work for a while. I lose weight. I celebrate my discipline. I buy new clothes.

            But then it slowly creeps back. I rue my dietary lapses. I buy new clothes yet again. I feel bad. Irene, my wife, worries about my yo-yo dieting. “It isn’t healthy,” she says. But without this dietary tapping of my metabolic brakes, once or twice a year, I’m afraid I’m in for run away freight-train weight gain.

            So I struggle. This month I’m starting a Herbalife diet. I make tasty milkshakes twice a day. They are loaded with supplements. I take vitamin pills. I try to remember to drink more water. And, of course, I try to eat less of everything else. I hardly dare visit the Tim Horton’s drive through anymore for fear that a momentary lapse of discipline might led to gobbling down a donut. In fact, yesterday, pathetically, while ordering my “medium black,” I broke down and also ordered a single Timbit. I felt guilty about it.

            The Herbalife diet is only the start. At church I’ve joined an exercise class for over-fifties. So far, I’ve discovered that I’m not limber. I can do the jumping jacks and lunges but am amazed at how hard the planks and stretches are.

            This is in addition to my three-times weekly (well, at least twice weekly) visits to my gym, where I put in 45 minutes of elliptical training. It all seems like wasted time. I could be reading or daydreaming, instead. That would be living.

            So why do I go through all this trouble? Fear. I want to be healthy. I want to see my grandchildren grow up. I don't want to die young. So, no matter how hard, no matter how inconvenient I try and I try again to keep this whole weight and health thing on track.

            But it also got me to thinking. Ultimately, this fear isn’t working for me. My weight remains a problem.  I always feel bad about it.

And this is exactly what authentic Christian life should not be like.

            The Christian life—including all of its good deeds such as loving neighbor or turning the other cheek—is not properly motivated by fear of hell, fear of being wrong, or fear of community rejection or judgment. Even when it is, you’ll just feel bad about it.

No, the healthy Christian life and every good work we do is properly rooted in gratitude.

            The bottom line is that in a cold and dark universe God has blessed each of us with the spark of life and a sun that rises and sets. Many of us are beloved by parents, children, and friends. We have skills to hone and days to spend. Life is a beautiful gift.

            The best response to such life is gratitude, gratitude that permeates every living moment and shapes our every act.

            And perhaps one day, I’ll even be able fit my dieting and exercise into that picture!

Self-Help Faith

In one of my favorite Jay Leno Jaywalking sketches he asks random people if they can recite one of the Ten Commandments. A particularly popular answer seems to be, "God helps those who help themselves." In fact, according to pollster George Barna, 75% of Amercans (Canadians seem graciously exempted) believe the Bible teaches something like this.

Of course, that's nonsense. The Bible teaches that God helps those who can't help themselves. This is called "grace," and it is the scandal of Christianity. "God helps those who help themselves," on the other hand, is actually a bit of Greek self-help advice popularized by that agnostic saint, Benjamin Franklin.

Ironically, majoring in good advice about all sorts of problems and challenges on the path to success seems to be one of the most popular goals of Evangelicalism of late.

            You will see what I mean, I think, if you visit the Christian section of your local bookstore. A lot of it looks like the self-help section of the bookstore, baptized. If you go, you may find books like, Every Day a Friday: How to Be Happier 7 Days a Week, by Joel Osteen: or God Wants You to Be Rich—The Christian Guide to Financial Freedom & Unlimited Health (12 Steps to Bring More Money Into Your Life While Still Serving the Lord), by Alex Landon; or perenial favorite, Nine Promises of a Promise Keeper, which explains how to be a real Christian man. Then there is The Dieter's Prayer Book: Spiritual Power and Daily Encouragement by Helen Kopp, for those of us who need a bit of spiritual rigor to loose some pounds; and my favorite--if a bit outdated example--Robert Schuller's The Be Happy Attitudes, which he is probably rereading himself now that he’s gone bankrupt and lost his Chrystal Cathedral.

            Do you get the picture from this tiny but typical sampling? Judging by such titles, evangelicals seem more concerned with what to do and how to do it to succeed than in what has been done--what we call the gospel.

The truth is, Christianity, and the Evangelical branch in particular, is in danger of trading the good news for a kind of works-righteous bondage to good advice. These books remind me of the kind of sermon that turns every Old Testament hero into an object lesson for how to live the Christian life--rather than a lesson in how God accomplishes his will no matter how crooked his humans on the ground are. This self-help spirituality, rooted in American pragmatism and a kind of "pull yourself up by your own bootstraps" faith focuses on numbered lists of "to do's," on strategies, steps, bulleted principles, and programs. It cares more for how to get things done than on what has been done for us; focuses more on success than on sacrifice; more on the cash value of religion than on humble service that asks for nothing but opportunity to love God and neighbor.

In the end it is a matter of balance. The good news of the gospel is that Jesus died and rose for sinners. That’s all of us. The practical result of his sacrificial love should probably be that I try to pick up my own cross and follow him. I don’t doubt that along the way some of us might find worldly success carrying our crosses. But what Jesus really wants us to discover is the sort of divine gratitude that inspires us spend our lives loving God and neighbor.

Not By Careful Observation of the Law

This past Sunday I preached on how we need less rules, tradition, and law in our churches, and more flexibility when it comes to embracing people who have different views than the majority on such things.

I got started by noticing that the thing that kept the nine lepers in Luke 17 from showing their gratitude to Jesus was their observance of the law. Jesus may have sent them to the priest, but he wasn't that impressed that they didn't turn back, like the Samaritan leper did. I also noticed that in the next passage, Luke 17:20, Jesus says (my translation) "The coming of the kingdom of God is not something that comes through careful observation of the law." Most (all?) translations usually have only "observation," but given the context and the specialized meaning of the Greek word there, I think my translation is better. It is certainly a lesson that the nine lepers would have benefited from.

Unfortunately churches have a long history of demanding of people that they do things that the church in its wisdom later decided it shouldn't have ever demanded. We've been told not to play cards, dance, go to movies, ride bikes on Sundays, or marry Canadians or Catholics or even Baptists. The church has insisted that women not preach, that communion not be served to divorced people or children, and that we should not welcome (at various stages in our history) Catholics, or those who live together outside of traditional marriage, alchoholics, or people of different races.

The truth is, the more churches demand that people obey the rules, written or not, the more likely that those churches are missing the main point of their existence--putting gratitude to Jesus first so that we can love our neighbors better. Even more ironically, the more churches demand that people obey rules, the more likely they are to suffer loss, or even schism, too. I'm reminded of what Kenneth Burke once said, " . . . nothing can more effectively set people at odds than the demand that they think alike.”

Of course, churches need rules. But healthy church communities also need lots of loving flexibility. Will this flexibility undermine Christian self-discipline? The apostle Paul is aware of this danger in Romans 6, when he asks, "Shall we sin because we are not under the law but under grace?" His answer is "by no means." So, instead of making the fine print of the law our guide, Paul suggests Christians should instead "obey from your heart the pattern of teaching that has now claimed your allegiance." And that pattern is a life of deep gratitude for our redemption, gratitude made evident in love of God and neighbor.

How such freedom in Christ works in particular situations can be a great mystery and even a difficult responsibility. All this freedom from the law--even some of the laws we get from Paul, later in the New Testament--can make some of us feel insecure and uncertain when it comes to rules and traditions. But the Holy Spirit, our counselor and comforter who helps us understand scripture was sent to us by Jesus for just that reason--and to help us make decisions that are truly in line with the pattern of teaching that has now claimed our allegiance. Following that internal heart pattern is what Jesus is referring to, in verse 20 and 21, when he says that kingdom of God comes not by careful observation of the law, but rather, it is already in our midst.

Besides being a mystery, this freedom in Christ is also our great adventure, our way of living large and joyously. This freedom in Christ is not a guarantee that we'll always get it right; but it is freedom rooted in the assurance that when we do mess up, we are forgiven. This freedom in Christ and from the law always lands us at his feet in gratitude rather than in fear for having misunderstood some tradition or Bible passage.