"It was wrong. Like. Duh."

You attempt to sound intelligent, but you obviously cannot grasp the basics of debate. If you think Riley is wrong, then prove it. Provide a counterexample.

I cannot fathom that you have actually researched the Inquisition. All of your arguments are the typical "People died! For Religion! OMG! That's just wrong." while dismissing anything contrary to that stance. Read a book that UNC didn't spoon feed you and maybe you'll learn something.

By the way, nice job not defending your position. You are acting like the typical liberal who just assumes that he is right because most of his opponents don't have the balls to question the establishment's position on certain topics. I can't wait until the tide turns and it's politically incorrect for liberals to open their whining mouths. Of course, then we'll have to hear you guys bitch for centuries about how we "suppressed" you.

This is where more articulate thinkers come into play– I believe that what is required is not a balance or compromise between doctrine and ethics, but a Christian theology that recognizes the essential unity of the two. After all, we don't see any conflict between Jesus' identity as a healer/“social revolutionary” and his identity as a teacher of salvation and the Kingdom of God. In fact, any attempt to ask of any of Jesus' deeds, “is this charity (prized by Claiborne) or evangelism (prized by Chris)?” will face the inevitable answer “It's both; Jesus drew no line of distinction between the two and neither should we.” Let's take a look at the core of the Great Commission– “Therefore go and MAKE DISCIPLES of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to OBEY everything I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28:19,20a) If we pursue not primarily good deeds or primarily evangelism, but rather the higher goal of obedience, we will live a life like Christ's– that is, characterized both by service and preaching the truth. But how to fuse these two seemingly-opposed callings? Should I feed my neighbor a sandwich or feed him the gospel? This is where the work of Stanley Hauerwas is illuminating– for example, his characterization of the feeding of the 5000 as an event in which Christ breaks down the division between his “spiritual ministry” and his “temporal ministry” (to use Chris's terminology). From analyses like this, we learn the paradox of Christian love: preaching salvific truth to people is best accomplished through acts of service, and acts of service are best accomplished when they are done in light of the truth of the gospel. Acts of goodwill uninformed by the truth of Christ are likely to do more harm than good (Chris rightly cites Marxism as evidence), but proclamations of the truth will never find an audience unless they are accompanied by good deeds that attest to their veracity. One is reminded of Nietzsche's reason for rejecting Christians's claims, “They don't look very redeemed.” If we are saying that the gospel transforms lives, but our lives are not transformed, then (following the book of James) we have reason to question the validity of the gospel and so do those around us. Thus Chris is right in his emphasis, witness to the truth is paramount, but the most powerful witness we can have is to live in a fully redeemed way, so Claiborne is right in his emphasis. Even on this comment board we have evidence of this– Mr. Pattishall writes, “Claiborne believes in ghost stories, but he lives in such a dramatically honest and consistent way that he makes ghost stories almost look attractive.” And what is evangelism but making the very true “ghost story” of God's redemption attractive?

The Social (or “Progressive”) Gospel movement of the early twentieth century failed not because they emphasized helping the poor but because in their attempts to distance themselves from fundamentalism they abandoned Christ's method of social change and swallowed wholesale Marx's, with its accompanying utopianism, ends-justifying-means ethic, myopic ignorance of real need, and idealistic perception of humanity. This resulted in tragedy (see the Deutsche Christen approval of Nazism and South American churches' support for Socialist regimes). The Inquisition failed not because it emphasized doctrinal purity but because in its attempts to spread the gospel it abandoned Christ's method of personal transformation and swallowed wholesale the Roman Empire's, with its accompanying cruelty, unfeeling rigidity, preferential ethic, and undignifying view of humanity. This, too, resulted in tragedy. Good theologians are like guardrails on the highway of obedient life, keeping us from deviating too far from Christ's way on both the right and the left. For this reason, I am thankful to God for the much-needed warnings of both Chris Jones and Shane Claiborne.

I believe that in attempting to write theology, Claiborne is like a four-year-old attempting to use a power lawnmower– his heart is in the right place and he might not be completely ineffective, but still dangerous. The commenter shiers writes Chris entered his reading of Claiborne predisposed to disagree with it, which is undoubtedly true but an articulate author can disavow a hostile reader of their predispositions. I laud Chris for going above and beyond the now-regnant mudslinging culture and actually reading the book, something that most of its critics and many of its supporters assuredly have not done. Indeed, the fact that Chris entered his reading experience hostile and left it hostile is telling of what in my mind is the most dangerous aspects of Claiborne's book. Like the works of Rob Bell, Brian McLaren, and Donald Miller (and the rest of the pantheon of “latte-sipping Christians” whose books are selling like hotcakes), Claiborne's use of language and writing style allows for a variety of readings ranging from the edifying to the heretical. Two people could read this book and get radically different conclusions from it, which is not in itself unusual, but Claiborne's text is indeterminate enough as to offer us no way of determining who is right. Take as representative sentence one Chris cites: “We can tell the world there is life after death, but the world really seems to be wondering if there is life before death.” Viewed one way, this is a welcome shift in emphasis away from an antinomian other-worldly formulation of the gospel. Viewed another way, this is a heretical reduction of the other-worldly to the this-worldly in the vein of Protestant liberalism. Seeing that Chris is justified in his negative reading and shiers is justified in their positive reading, it seems in the final analysis our best reaction should be neither unqualified condemnation nor praise, but rather caution. Claiborne's fluid and glib way with words makes him readable, but so open to interpretation that one wonders if he's actually making a point or just thinking on paper. Unless Claiborne defines his terms, deals with the implications of his ideas, answers possible concerns, and distinguishes his position from others, his construction is a mere sand-castle, and both living in it (supporters) and laying siege to it (detractors) seem inappropriate.

Acknowledging that the book was published without the necessary polish, like a cake served only half-baked, all we can do is guess as to whether or not we'd approve of the final product. In doing so, we move beyond Claiborne and into the broader question of the role of good deeds in Christian theology. Unsurprisingly, Claiborne is parroting ideas that have trickled down from people with many more letters after their names. Behind every dreadlocked hippie in a Himalayan drug-rug are dozens of balding professors in Oxford tweeds. Claiborne is to thinkers like Stanley Hauerwas, Walter Wink, and John Howard Yoder what Totino's instant pizza rolls are to a Chicago Deep Dish– more accessible but less substantial. Turning to these thinkers for clues, perhaps we can recover what is beneficial from Claiborne's book while heeding Chris's criticisms.