As a friendly commenter noted, my last article needed some serious editing. It is never good for me to find myself writing too close to a deadline; the result is always technically correct but dense, jargon-heavy prose that obscures what it seeks to clarify.  My apologies to all.

To restate succinctly what I was driving at in my last installment, in contrast to what any group might claim, we can tell what that group truly holds sacred on the one hand by what things, actions, and speech they extol and prescribe, and on the other, those at which they take offense.  Sacredness is defined for a group by what they revere and what they revile.  That which is prescribed constitutes the group’s dogmas or orthodoxy.  That which is proscribed or treated as blasphemous is like a photographic negative of the same thing, defining the sacred by contrasting it to its inverse, the profane.  This is a sociological and functional, not theological, definition of the sacred.

I ended my last article by saying, “Progressive Christianity quickly ceases to be formally Christian precisely because it holds different things to be sacred than does the Biblical, Apostolic faith … it represents a different religion, not a different way to be Christian.”

Though I differ with his work on many points, one thing that the enormously popular psychologist Jordan Peterson has helped me understand is that human thought is intrinsically and inescapably hierarchical.  Believing that we can actually think in a truly egalitarian manner is not merely logically, but neurologically incorrect; our brains could literally not handle the amount of incoming sensory data presented to it by the rest of our nervous system if it did not prioritize some information over others.  Thinking hierarchically is identical to thinking at all.

In a hierarchy, whatever occupies a higher position determines the relative value of everything beneath it.  Why in CPR training do they use the acronym “ABC”—airway, breathing, circulation—to anchor the care provider in the moment of crisis?  Because while the heart is needed to pump oxygen to the rest of the body, the lungs must be filled with oxygen before it can get to the heart, and the lungs can only be filled by artificial respiration if the airway is in turn clear.  The operation of that which is lower in the hierarchy is contingent upon the proper function of that which is higher.

What is true in an operational hierarchy is equally true in a conceptual hierarchy.  In fact, you can determine an idea’s place in a conceptual hierarchy precisely by identifying whether another idea is dependent upon or foundational to it.  Within a religious schema, this translates to what is holy, holier, or holiest.

While in seminary, one of my professors quoted one of his own graduate school mentors, lauding to us the sage wisdom that “your theology can never be any better than your anthropology.”  I made a phone call that afternoon to a mentor of my own, a double Ph.D. whose own generous but well-defined orthodoxy had catapulted him to a position of great responsibility in his own Christian tradition as an ecumenical theologian, to check whether my response was too reactionary.  “That,” he said, confirming my intuition in the carefully measured tone of voice I had come to associate with him at his scholarly best, “seems to me to be precisely backward.”

The sentiment commended by my professor placed humanity (or humanity’s assertions about God) above God’s revelatory self-disclosure.  In fact, its effect was to negate any possibility of the latter by placing humanity above God epistemologically.  This professor’s spouse, when presiding at the Eucharist during the final worship service I attended at that school, began the Lord’s Prayer with the unbiblical and self-congratulatory phrase, “Our father and mother in heaven.”  I refused to receive Communion that day not because her ego was out of control (the sins of the presider do not invalidate the grace of God) but because I was no longer sure it actually was the Eucharist, and that was because I was no longer sure the Christian God, the God that commanded His people to “have no other gods before Him,” was in fact being worshiped in that space.

If Christ is not “the image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15), if it is not true that “if we have seen [Jesus], we have seen the Father” (John 14:9), and the Bible is not in fact a revelatory portrait of that Christ to us, something—in this case humanity—must replace the Triune God in the highest position within the religious hierarchy, whether historically Christian vocabulary is used to describe it or not.

By definition, that is some other religion than Christianity.

Although the appellation “woke”—used by Ricky Gervais to the Hollywood establishment at the Oscars as “insider” language just a few years ago—is eschewed by progressives now that cultural conservatives have fastened onto it and redeployed it as a demeaning epithet, its inception in progressive circles originally indicated a true stance of religious conversion that Christians should recognize.  As the Church year winds to its eschatologically focused close and begins the new year in Advent, both Jesus and John the Baptist exhort us to “wake” up to the reality of our spiritual situation. Such an awakening is at once a combination of intellectual recognition and a posture of preparation for incipient action. “Woke” originally meant to the true believer in progressive ideals much the same thing that “newly illumined” meant to the just baptized in the early Church; it signaled the passing of a liminal threshold and the adoption of such a substantially new interpretation of age-old data points and orientation to the challenges of life as to be only capturable in the proclamation of a new identity.

It is by now not particularly provocative or insightful to interpret the constellation of ideological commitments that goes variously by the names woke, postmodern, poststructuralism, or social justice as a religion, but it is helpful to explore why this is formally rather than merely experientially the case. If religion is defined sociologically as a set of communal behaviors rather than as a set of metaphysical beliefs or commitments (a hopelessly Western definition in any case), this progressive set of beliefs above-labeled clearly functions as a religion for its adherents.

Channeling the work of Émile Durkheim, Jonathan Haidt helpfully identifies the sociological characteristics of a religion. By designating something as “sacred” a group of disparate people can have a sense of unified identity. You know you are in the presence of a thing (or value system) that has been designated by a group as “sacred” when that thing must be defended at all costs from even ridiculous or accidental insults. “Jokes, insults, and utilitarian trade-offs” cannot be tolerated if they impugn the honor of the thing held sacred because they threaten the fundamental social cohesion of the group’s acolytes. When what is at stake is the sacred, blasphemy codes dictate the range of acceptable expression, and such cannot be challenged by rational objections.

In a lecture at Duke University,[1] Haidt identified six groups that are now identified as sacred in the social justice milieu: the “big three” of blacks, women, and LGBTQIA+ along with a secondary group deemed slightly less sacred consisting of Latinos, Native Americans, people with disabilities, and more recently, Muslims.  Comments or ideas that are deemed less than laudatory of people in these groups or their behavior are met not only with outrage but disgust, an emotional response whose purpose is to get us to avoid things that are potentially poisonous to us—contagions and pathogens.

I spoke in last issue’s article of not permitting the pain of a student in my care—very real pain for which I had genuine empathy and wanted to see healed—to colonize my theology, coming to exercise a controlling influence over it. Viruses colonize their host by hijacking the cell’s DNA reproduction system, turning its very system of replication and renewal to its own purposes. The reason why progressive Christianity quickly ceases to be Christianity at all is that the Church’s ministries of renewal and replication—catechesis and evangelism—are necessarily reemployed in service of the new objects that are, in fact, now deemed sacred.

In the case of progressive Christianity, the aforementioned victim groups replace the orthodox objects of worship (the Triune God, revealed by the life, teaching, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ) as the center around which the group’s identity revolves.  In the same way, the holy tasks of pursuing an amorphously defined and ever-mutating sense of justice for these sacred victims replaces the orthodox tasks of preaching the stories of Scripture and celebrating the Sacraments commanded by God’s Sacred Victim, as well as the repentance, conversion, and amendment of life according to the revealed will of God to which these lead. Progressive Christianity quickly ceases to be formally Christian precisely because it holds different things to be sacred than does the Biblical, Apostolic faith. I will have more to say on this in the next issue, but for now it is enough to note that it represents a different religion, not a different way to be Christian.

[1] https://youtu.be/Gatn5ameRr8?si=5elvFmZJAPTJyapK

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“Therefore encourage one another with these words.” (1 Thess. 4:18)

St. Paul didn’t act as though he had more than he really had.  He had words, and they were good words.  Words can open minds, console hearts, and change futures.  Words from God, founded on the acts of God, can do even greater things: they can raise the dead.

Here in central Wisconsin, we can know how words work just by looking at the great hunting season that unfolds this month.  Consider how much talk accompanies hunting; think of the photos that people post of their kill to illustrate the stories that they tell.  That conversation encourages hunters in their hope and accompanies them into the woods.

It’s a reflection of the greater glory of Jesus Christ.  His life has authored a deathless word, the Holy Gospel that not only speaks of forgiveness now but also of the world to come.  This holy Word we must steadily proclaim, more and more, to encourage one another and reveal to this present world that there is a happy future to be had.  In the end, that sacred conversation of the Church is the hope that will accompany souls into the woods, however dark the woods may be.

LET US PRAY: Speak, O Lord, we will hear You, for Your Word alone is life.  Amen

Pastor Steven K. Gjerde

Zion, Wausau