Yes, That’s My Head!

Saving thousands of dollars by home haircuts over the last thirteen years no longer seems worth it. Due to a terrible, unpredictable mechanical failure, the 1/4 inch attachment comb on my Andis made-in-China, no-hassle, easy-clean, do-it-yourself, haircut-in-a-box, electric clipper automatically detached. Detached!

Utter disaster ensued. Just as the soothing hum and mesmerizing buzz of the clipper began to lull me into a peaceful trance, I suddenly felt the vibrating metal blade cold against my skin. For a moment it tingled, but it was the kind of tingle that nauseates you. Before I could pull away, shout, or strike out at the maleficent machine in self-defense, it was too late. The damage was done . . . irreversible . . . irreparable.

For several minutes after I realized what happened, every cuss word imaginable ran through my mind . . . and some crossed my lips. I distinctly remember uttering “Holy Mother of God,” a phrase I’ve never used in my life and, because I’m not Roman Catholic, does not technically qualify as a sin.

My wife was comforting, but honest. Yes, she confessed instantly that it was horrible. No, it wasn’t her fault. The attachment comb failed to stay attached. It simply, silently, slid to the floor on the up-stroke. And thus the deed was done by the gentle hand of my beloved wife—innocently, without malice, but done nonetheless.

I sat in ponderous silence for several minutes, considering my options. Shave my whole head? Never, though two of my colleagues in Theological Studies would be oh so delighted if I did. Hide in my home for a week? Impossible. Shave the other side the same way and pretend it was intended? Come on, now!

As my mind raced, my wife sheepishly chimed in with a suggestion: “I could shave it all off along the back…”

I winced. “I’ll look like a monk,” I blurted, apparently concluding that looking like an idiot would be far better.

After re-attaching the easily-detachable 1/4 inch attachment, my wife carefully finished clipping my hair like she had done every month for the last thirteen years. But this time a somber, almost sacred air rudely intruded on an otherwise joyous and carefree ritual. Like an undertaker grooming a corpse for a funeral, my wife finished the job and examined the damage more carefully.

Still horrible.

After a few minutes of wrangling, we decided to try clipping the back of my head an additional 1/8 inch, hoping to blend the bald spot in with its surroundings. But we quickly learned that blending only works if both patches have something to offer. Blending baldness in with itself doesn’t work.

So now I’m stuck with what looks like a failed attempt at cutting a road through a wheat field. Or—to use an analogy more appropriate for the thinness of my hair—like digging a canal through a desert. It isn’t merely noticeable, it’s laughable! I might as well have my wife write “Look at this!” across the space with a bold Sharpie.

After emerging from a long, hot shower, I gave my dear wife an embrace that said, “Don’t worry about it,” and informed her that I would do the only thing anybody can do in a situation like this.

I’ll draw as much attention to it and make as much fun of it as possible before it grows back.

Primitivism or Progressivism?

If the average Christian were to make a movie based on his or her knowledge of church history, the first act would cover Christ and the apostles. Then, as the camera slowly zoomed in to the apostle John lifting his pen from the last word of Revelation, the scene would suddenly cut to Martin Luther nailing his Ninety-five Thesis to the door at the church in Wittenberg on the eve of the Reformation. Between the first century apostles and the sixteenth century reformers, many Christians picture a dark abyss, a meaningless span of time often dismissed as the “dark ages.”

When did these “Dark Ages” begin? To some, it was a gradual process that started shortly after the apostles. After all, didn’t Paul warn the Ephesians that “savage wolves will come in among you and will not spare the flock” (Acts 20:29)? Others believe the church continued to be rather healthy for several centuries until Constantine (that rascal!) “hijacked” the faith in AD 325 for political reasons, merging church and state and changing everything from basic doctrines to sacred Scripture. Still others believe that in the midst of general apostasy, a remnant remained—perhaps within the Catholic Church itself—but maybe hiding out in the mountains or forests, surviving through periodic witch-hunts and persecutions that tried to destroy them. Still others feel the whole of church history simply can’t be trusted to give us anything other than interesting anecdotes or a few examples of errors to avoid. But looking back when we need to be moving forward? What sense would that make?

The truth is, the Bible gave birth to a new Spirit-filled community of Christ . . . a growing and learning depository of truth once for all delivered to the saints . . . a legacy of pastors and teachers gifted to the church for the equipping of the saints (Ephesians 4:11ff.). Of course, the history of Christianity—even the church we see in the New Testament period itself—is characterized by good, bad, and, yes, even ugly people and events. Evangelicals who dive into the deep waters of church history often make one of two mistakes. They either embrace certain periods as ideal, believing the modern church ought to return to the “good ol’ days” of the ancient church, the Reformation church, or their own local church. Or they regard the past negatively, believing today’s churches ought to keep up with the times, stay culturally relevant, and forget the worn out traditions of the past. The first view is primitivism and might resonate with the words of the Judds’s country ballad, “Grandpa, Tell Me ’Bout the Good Old Days”—

Grandpa, everything is changing fast
We call it progress, but I just don't know
And grandpa, let’s wander back into the past
And paint me the picture of long ago.

The opposite of primitivism is progressivism, a view that finds a kindred spirit in Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are A-Changin’”—

Come mothers and fathers throughout the land
And don’t criticize what you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin’.
Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’.

Primitivism seeks to adopt the forms, methods, and practices of the ancient church, transforming our current forms to match—as closely as possible—the way the first Christians did things. Or, if the ancient church seems just too, well, ancient to be workable, some want to at least return to the Reformation, seeking refuge in the writings of the Reformers like Luther and Calvin. But if late medieval doesn’t do it for you, some primitivists seek to go back to the golden age of their own denomination or church—back to the good old days when everything seemed to be better than it is now. However, such an approach fails to realize the unique historical and cultural situation every generation faces. Our twenty-first century church doesn’t exist in the same world as the first century . . . or the sixteenth . . . or even the twentieth. To some degree, we all need to come to grips with the basic truth behind Dylan’s song: the times they are a-changin’. Going back is not merely undesirable . . . it’s impossible.

In contrast, progressivism seeks to reinvent Christian forms and structures for each new generation. A radical form of progressivism questions everything—theology . . . worship . . . authority . . . morality. Radicals have led many branches of Christianity into liberalism and ultimately out of Christianity itself. But a more moderate progressivism has tried to hold on to the essential core of Christianity’s ideals while re-dressing a stripped-down faith in a modern garb. Moderate progressivists contend that the message must remain timeless, but the medium must be timely. They insist that the methods of communicating the “old, old story” must be new, fresh, and innovative. But progressivists sometimes forget that the message is never understood apart from its method of communication. And certain methods of communication could severely undercut Christian values like real authenticity or true community. And an obsession with keeping up with the times can become an endless and exhausting rat race that costs more time and money than it’s really worth. The Judds make an important observation we shouldn’t soon forget: everything is changing fast; we call it progress, but I just don’t know.

A middle way, progress through perspective, seeks to adapt the methods of the past for our unique twenty-first century context. Rather than retreating into the past, we look back for inspiration and insight. We learn from past mistakes . . . but we also find forgotten truths that can help correct present errors. We can glean priceless wisdom for today’s postmodern world from the ancient, pre-modern world. We can make future course corrections as we glance back at the original Reformation trajectory. And we can learn from our own local church tradition as we seek to remain faithful to our past while we become fruitful in our present. We must acknowledge that some things from the past simply don’t fit our current culture. But like old hats or ties that suddenly come back in style, sometimes forsaken forms of ministry can feel fresh and innovative, addressing neglected needs. Moving forward by looking backward can be a difficult process requiring time, study, deliberation, and constant re-evaluation, but it can avoid the extremes of wide-eyed primitivism and wild-eyed progressivism.

No doubt about it, the times they are a-changin’. But instead of getting crushed by the rising tide of radical change, let’s face the future equipped with the wisdom of countless generations that have gone before.