Reflections on Life and Faith,
by David Keating

Black and White

The comments on the passing of Jerry Falwell, founder of the organization "the Moral Majority", were, to say the least, interesting. Certainly he had many supporters. One does not build a church that seats six thousand if one is not saying what at least a few folks want to hear.

But in the larger faith community, at least in later years, Falwell became best known for the statements that he had to apologize for, including comments on 9/11 and Israel's ongoing confrontations with its neighbours. Even other prominent evangelical leaders began to skip his garden party invitations.

While, as a progressive Christian, I do not share Falwell's particular set of beliefs, I do appreciate his commitment to them.

It's customary to consider the legacy of prominent figures who've passed away. It seems to me that Falwell's greatest legacy is as a cautionary tale. He's an excellent example of what can happen when we make the mistake of thinking that we can define the mind of God. By allowing himself to think that his opinions were in fact the only possible explanation of God's presence in the world, Falwell repeatedly placed himself in positions that he was forced to apologize for.

We should not have to apologize for our faith.

I've always been a little amazed at those who have a need to turn faith into some sort of black and white process. For folks like Jerry Falwell, one thing is absolutely right while another thing is absolutely wrong. There is nothing in between.

There's probably no other aspect of our lives where we are so tempted to think this way. Take a simple example, the highway speed limit. If the sign says that the limit is one hundred kilometers an hour (think of it as sixty miles an hour if you're an American reader) then one hundred and one is breaking the law. So is one hundred and ten. Or one twenty. There's no "approximately" printed beside the speed.

Yet the number of drivers who rigorously follow the posted limit are, well, in the minority. Are all of the other drivers crazed lunatics, destined for the damnation of becoming part of a twisted metal mass in the median? Of course not.

They've evaluated the road, the traffic, the weather. They've decided that it's not necessary to adhere to the number on the sign exactly. There's some leeway.

Now, it may very well be that the police who patrol those highways may decide that a driver has been a little over optimistic in that evaluation. They'll write a recommendation on how to evaluate better on a little piece of paper that also has a number on it. One that is generally preceded by a dollar sign. But seldom do they consider a black and white interpretation of the speed limit to be the best choice.

If we can accept that it's normal to adapt how fast we drive based on the conditions around us, why do some find it so difficult to apply the same level of evaluation to faith?

When we understand that we're called first and foremost to be in community with each other we'll understand that we cannot live as if faith is just some numbers painted on the side of the road.

Rather, we'll see that it's agapé, the relationship that's unconditional and unlimited, that's painted there. Agapé doesn't allow us to create arbitrary limits to God's Presence.

It calls us to evaluate each situation and to act accordingly. Out of love and compassion.

We won't always get it right. We may even get a ticket or two. But in the end, doesn't that make us better drivers, whether in our car, or in our faith?

David Keating