And yet it seems completely normal when it is a cross — a horrible, bloody, barbaric instrument of death. Richard Dawkins makes note of this in The God Delusion:

It is, when you think about it, remarkable that a religion should adopt an instrument of torture and execution as its sacred symbol, often worn around the neck. Lenny Bruce rightly quipped that “If Jesus had been killed twenty years ago, Catholic school children would be wearing little electric chairs around their necks instead of crosses.” (p. 285)

It might actually be worse if Christians focused on the resurrection as their symbol, though — being harder to represent, they might be wearing a large golden stone around their necks.

(again, from That Mitchell and Webb Look)

John Shelby Spong once joked that talking to moderate Christians is like watching someone play rummy: they know they have to discard something, but what? “I’ll get rid of the virgin birth, but I have to keep the resurrection. I’ll give up on the divinity of Jesus, but I need some way to hold on to substitutionary atonement.”

The joke, for Spong, was that he’s willing to lay down everything. He’s willing to toss any card that he finds unacceptable, even if that leaves him empty handed. But this raises the question: is he still playing the same game? And if you’re no longer playing the same game, why are you still at the table?

Reluctance

Pullquote: What right does anyone have to define Christianity? I certainly don’t own the copyright, but neither does anyone else.

I am hesitant to bring up the matter of definition. Firstly, because this is the kind of stick that the fundamentalists have used to beat the liberal Christians for a century. The whole point of the original “fundamentals” was to lay out the set of beliefs required to be a real Christian. That’s not an act I want to follow.

Further, what right have I to try and define Christianity? But by the same token, what right does anyone have? I certainly don’t own the copyright, but neither does anyone else. This is probably not a question that’s ever going to be fully answered.

Definition

Pullquote: There seems to be nothing — no biblical passage, no creedal statement, no traditional belief — that all Christians agree on.

The only reason I bring this up at all is that atheist blogs are frequently beset by commenters who are eager to explain the real Christianity. The more even-handed just want to be clear that there are many different interpretations, and that fundamentalism isn’t the only form of Christianity. The latter group is right, of course, but when pressed to provide a criteria for their interpretation, things get vague.

There seems to be nothing — no biblical passage, no creedal statement, no traditional belief — that all Christians agree on. I would think that substitutionary atonement — “Jesus died for your sins” — would be non-negotiable. After all, this is probably the most basic Christian belief, and possibly the original impulse that led to the formation of the first Jewish-Christian sects. And yet I frequently come across self-professed Christians who tell me they reject this basic idea.

To sever yourself from 2,000 years of Christian thought takes brass, and I respect that. But to do so and still say you’re engaged with the tradition seems almost delusional.

Communication

I want to talk about religion. I want to talk about Islam, Buddhism and Hinduism. I particularly want to talk about Christianity, since I live in a culture that’s saturated in it. But this gets increasingly difficult as the word itself seems to grow increasingly nebulous.

Is the only thing that unites Christians the fact that they all call themselves Christians? Is anyone who finds the golden rule a good idea a Christian? Are we all Christians now? Are none of us?

“I’ll always be there for you. Just not, you know, helping.” (Tyro)

“Yes my son, you did just step in dog poo.” (Slurms)

“He was gathering firewood on the Sabbath, you had no choice but to kill him.” (Mark D)

Thankfully, Larry Van Pelt has taken it upon himself to show what the world looks like with JesusGlasses™ on. For instance, he’s right next to you when you are in the dentist chair, wincing in pain:

He could take the pain away with a touch of his hand, but that wouldn’t build character, would it?

Jesus is also right next to the mother who is snogging a baby — as you see, he gets quite excited about it:

While you are knocked out in surgery, Jesus stands by watching the doctor work his magic. Jesus could also work his magic, but then you wouldn’t need faith, so he just watches and prays to himself that the doctor doesn’t screw up. Notice the concerned look on his face:

When you are working hard on the job, Jesus is behind you, giving you an fabulous backrub:

And that’s just a taste. Bless his creative Christian heart, there’s more where that came from.

Next in the series, I’m sure, is “Jesus With You When You Lose Your Virginity,” “Jesus With You In the Bathroom,” and “Jesus With You In The Shower.”

If you consider that the lower Christology focuses not so much on divinity and more on humanity, it begins to make sense how someone could adhere to the moral teachings of Jesus, and even try to pattern their lives after how he taught and lived, without actually having to believe in God….

Some will feel the need to assert absolute authority in answering this question, and that’s all right. Personally, I think I could spend the rest of my life trying to understand the essence of what I think it means to be a Christian, and still only have a dimly lit view of the whole picture. Other people, atheists included, help me understand a little bit more about my own spiritual reality every day.

He’s right that it really depends on how you define Christian. If it is that you believe and follow Jesus’ teachings as recorded in the gospels, then I really don’t think it’s possible to be a Christian atheist — after all, Jesus taught there was a God and he was his son. I don’t know any atheists who could swallow that one.

But of course there are many positive moral teachings that are attributed to Jesus. To forgive others, to turn the other cheek, to love and serve others, to do unto others as we want done to ourselves, etc, are all exemplary teachings and in most situations I agree with them. But other moral teachers taught such things, and we rarely label ourselves after a teacher where we only follow 30% of what he said and disagree with the rest.

So I find myself in disagreement with Piatt. If you’re a Christian who doesn’t believe in God or what Jesus taught about himself and “his Father,” then I have a hard time seeing what makes you a Christian. Is it because you think other people should be forgiven? So do I, and I do not follow Jesus. Is it because you think you should love and serve others? Or follow the Golden Rule? Because I also think those things, and am not a Christian.

On the other hand, if there are atheist Christians, then perhaps I’m an atheist Jew because I agree that we shouldn’t kill other people and shouldn’t steal, just like Moses taught. I would also be an atheist Muslim because I think people should be kind to their parents in their old age (17:23-24) and should make sure they are facing towards Mecca when praying (okay, maybe not that last one).

But I’m not an atheist Christian or atheist Jew or atheist Muslim, even though I agree with parts of all their morality.

I’m just an atheist with common sense.

How ’bout you?

Only 80,000 fans in 15 days? I thought Jesus could do better, especially if he’s paying for sidebar ads.

(You can also become a fan of Unreasonable Faith on facebook, which scores you big points with white curly-haired Jesus.)

A fine story, I guess, for a son of a god dying on a cross, as long as you don’t nitpick the details. Which is exactly what I propose to do about the timing of the torn veil.

Mark: After

The only “early” sources in history that claim the curtain was ripped are the synoptic gospels. Mark, the earliest gospel (written around 70AD), says it takes place after the death of Jesus:

Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. (Mark 15:37-38, NRSV)

That seems pretty straightforward. Jesus dies, and then after the curtain was torn. But what do the other gospels say?

Matthew: During or After

Matthew is based on Mark, and thus we can expect it to agree. And we would be almost right:

Then Jesus cried again with a loud voice and breathed his last. At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. (Matthew 27:50-51)

The author of Matthew is a little more specific as to when the curtain was torn — the exact moment Jesus took his last breath. It’s a nice touch of drama, only slightly different from the first source in emphasis.

Luke: Before

Pullquote: According to the Bible, the curtain ripped before, during, and after Jesus’ death, depending on which writer you read.

Now let’s look at Luke. Luke is a compilation, and so it occasionally disagrees with Matthew and Mark. Here is Luke’s version:

It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last. (Luke 23:44-46)

According to the Bible, the curtain ripped before, during, and after Jesus’ death, depending on which writer you read. So which is it?

How Would They Know?

Here’s question to consider: Assuming the veil did rip, how would the writers know when it ripped? They didn’t have watches. There wasn’t a video. Jesus didn’t die near the veil, so it would be very difficult if not impossible to know the sequence of events.

Who is their source (if they had one)? How do they know their source is reliable? Why didn’t any of the Jews or Romans write about it? How did they know it was ripped from the top to the bottom, instead of the bottom to the top? We are left with many questions, and no answers except “take it on faith!”

But It Didn’t Happen

Pullquote: The temple veil didn’t rip. It’s a storytelling device — it adds drama and makes the story more interesting, with the added benefit of heavy Jewish symbolism.

The temple veil didn’t rip. It’s a storytelling device — it adds drama and makes the story more interesting, with the added benefit of heavy Jewish symbolism.

But surely this event would not have gone unnoticed until 70 AD! It would have been a scandalous event in the Jewish world. A 4 inch thick veil, covering the Holy of Holies, supernaturally rips in two around the same time as the death of Jesus — don’t you think that would have been worth mentioning?

The first mention of it is by an anonymous Christian biographer penning the life of Jesus — someone who has incentive to make an interesting story that centers on the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

There is no reason to believe this event happened. The only source is the Bible, written a decades after the event happened, by a writer who had reason to embellish the story. It is not mentioned by any Jewish or Roman sources. And the Bible contradicts itself as to when it happened.

Why should anyone believe it?

Believe it or not, the Florida legislature has approved this license plate. This is what Governor Crist (no, not Christ) said when asked about it:

So you don’t have a problem with Jesus on a license plate?

Crist: “I don’t. No.”

What about separation of church and state?

Crist: “If they don’t want one they don’t have to buy one.”

Is that state endorsement of religion?

“I think it … What’s it say? ‘In God We Trust’ on every single piece of monetary, coins and paper we have? I think it’s fine.”

Gee, and all this time I thought it said “In Mammon We Trust”!

(via)

Let’s start with a simple fact: the Bible did not fall from the sky in 1611. The book — or rather, books — were created over a period of time by different people with differing beliefs.

One of the goals of biblical scholarship is to figure out what these beliefs were.

Bart Ehrman’s new book, Jesus, Interrupted: Revealing the Hidden Contradictions in the Bible, is a crash course in New Testament scholarship. It’s “NT101″ in six short chapters. In a rush, Ehrman is giving us all the information he wished his students had coming into his class — or all that he wished he’d had before going to Princeton.

The Low-Down on Higher Criticism

Pullquote: “The Bible is the most widely purchased, extensively read, and deeply revered book in the history of Western Civilization. Arguable, it is also the most thoroughly misunderstood…”

As the subtitle suggests, Ehrman starts off by examining the differences between the gospels, Acts and the letters of Paul. He doesn’t do this with the intention of discrediting the Bible. Instead, he uses these discrepancies as a way to understand the authors and the differences between them. He calls this the “historical-critical” method and contrasts it with the “devotional” method, trying to explain how these differences slip past the readers’ notice.

This takes up the first two chapters. Then he follows with a discussion of the historical Jesus, a discussion of the formation of the canon, a brief study of some of the heresies, a snippet about textual criticism and a discussion of early Christian theology.

Fans of Ehrman (Ehrmanians? Ehrmaniacs?) will recognize a lot of this material. Since it is a broad overview of New Testament scholarship, Ehrman brings in some of the content of his other works. He starts with a similar autobiography he’s used in several books. You’ll see lots of Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet, bits of Lost Christianities and a chunk of Misquoting Jesus — and fans of this work will be interested in Ehrman’s defense of the book in chapter six. There’s also a section on the historicity of miracles which seems to expand on some of his comments from the Ehrman/Craig debate. The book can stand on its own, but some portions feel recycled.

Pullquote: Ehrman has opened the door for his guests, but left them stranded in the foyer.

Ehrman summarizes a tremendous amount of material, and this means he has no time for a sustained defense of any of his topics. If you’re looking for detailed arguments, look elsewhere. Unfortunately, Ehrman’s endnotes are weak and he frequently references his own works, so you’ll have to look elsewhere on your own.

This is my greatest problem with the book. Introductory texts are both useful and important, but you need to point the reader to more substantial works in the process. Ehrman has opened the door for his guests, but left them stranded in the foyer.

Keeping the Faith

Pullquote: “Faith is not a matter of smarts.”

The last chapter is the most interesting, but also the most uncomfortable. Titled, “Is Faith Possible?”, it is Ehrman’s argument that giving up biblical literalism doesn’t automatically lead to giving up on Christianity. It’s clear that Ehrman doesn’t want you to think that he’s trying to deconvert the reader, and so he makes a case for liberal Christianity.

There are two problems with this. First, Ehrman has acknowledged that he left liberal Christianity due to the Problem of Evil, and he wants to be honest about that. But he also wants the reader to recognize that liberal Christianity is a viable option. The result is like watching a man try to sell a shirt that he’s already described as unfashionable: “Sure, I said I’d never wear it again, but maybe it would look good on you.” You can see how it might work, but Ehrman doesn’t really develop the argument.

Pullquote: At one point Ehrman describes two dear Christian friends that he’s vacationing with; it’s a pity he didn’t ask one of them to write this chapter.

Which leads to the second problem. Ehrman is better at tearing down simplistic Christianity than he is at building up a more mature faith. He explains why you shouldn’t use the Bible as the literal word of God, but he doesn’t explain how you should use it. He offers no guidelines for interpretation or discernment. He mentions that plenty of people are liberal Christians, but he never directs the reader towards any particular writer or theologian. At one point he describes two dear Christian friends that he’s vacationing with; it’s a pity he didn’t ask one of them to write this chapter.

The mention of the vacation is telling. The whole book reads like it was written over a two week spring break. It’s accessible and enjoyable to read, but arguments pass without support or citation.

It will serve wonderfully as an introduction to the historical study of the New Testament. It would make an excellent book to press into the hands of that friend or family member who thinks the KJV descended from heaven. However, those with a biblical studies background will want to look for something more substantial.

Vorjack is a librarian/archivist and a public historian, living with his wife in history-soaked Albany, New York.

Parishioners at a church in Sweden celebrated Easter on Sunday by unveiling a 6-foot-tall (1.8-meter-tall) statue of Jesus that they had built out of 30,000 Lego blocks.

It took the 40 volunteers about 18 months to put all the tiny plastic blocks together, and their creation shows a standing Jesus facing forward with his arms outstretched.

I wonder if any of the parishioners took the time to ask, “Why in the world are we building a statue of Jesus out of legos?”

(To which the proper reply, of course, is “So we can be featured on Unreasonable Faith!”)

I have a confession to make. I went Catholic Mass on Palm Sunday. Lest anyone think the spirit has moved me, I went because I lost a bet with one of my non-believing brethren.

I took my medicine like a man, and dutifully sat through the service. Truthfully, I spent most of the service wondering things like: “How can this huge building not be taxed?” and “Some of the greatest classical music was written for the Catholic mass, why don’t American Catholics use it?”

“The Poor You Will Always Have With You”

Then through the fog of my own reason I heard the priest read the following from the Gospel of Mark:

While he was in Bethany, reclining at the table in the home of a man known as Simon the Leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, made of pure nard. She broke the jar and poured the perfume on his head.

Some of those present were saying indignantly to one another, “Why this waste of perfume? It could have been sold for more than a year’s wages and the money given to the poor.” And they rebuked her harshly.

“Leave her alone,” said Jesus. “Why are you bothering her? She has done a beautiful thing to me.

The poor you will always have with you, and you can help them any time you want. But you will not always have me.

She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. Tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”

Now this caught my attention: the “people” wanted to sell expensive perfume in order to feed the poor, and Jesus thought it was a better idea to anoint his body with it?!

What Would Jesus Do?

When asking WWJD, aren’t we all suppose to believe that he loves the poor and wants to help them? Yet here he is basically telling the poor to take a hike because his body needs to be properly anointed. Did Jesus really need that perfume?

Doesn’t seem like Jesus acted very Jesusy here.

But what about this “the poor you will always have with you” stuff? Isn’t Jesus part of the three in one all powerful creator God? Doesn’t that mean he can “poof” the poor away in an instant if he wants to? Why doesn’t he?

If Jesus is all powerful, the poor exist because he wants them to exist. Doesn’t seem very worthy of worship.

If Jesus is incapable of raising the poor from poverty, he isn’t all powerful. Doesn’t seem very God-like.

Either way, I’m not putting on my “Sunday best” to go worship him.

Bill Noorlander is a lawyer in Milwaukee, where he live with his wife and four kids. He blogs at Bill Post.