A Little Mammon Ruins the Whole Loaf

It only takes the slightest change to make a very, very large difference.

For example, there's the human genome.  My genetic material, the basic information written into our DNA?  It's what makes us human, and what makes each human being different from every other human being.  The tiniest tweak, and we're a different person.

Larger variances make us not human at all.

Eighty percent of our fundamental genetic makeup is identical to that of cattle.  Eighty five percent, we share with mice.  So only a fifteen percent variance, and we're scuttering around beneath the floorboards and leaving little rice-sized poop pellets on the kitchen counter.

We become something categorically different.  A cow is not a human is not a mouse, eh?

I've been meditating on difference and Christian faith lately, as I lead the adult ed class of my little church through reflections on race, difference, and what binds us together as Jesus folk.  One of the great strengths of Christian faith, as I see it, is its ability to exist polyculturally.  The Gospel speaks in every language, and can adapt to the forms and norms of every human culture.

Not that we haven't squabbled over everything and anything, including a single vowel in a single Greek word in one statement of faith.  But Christian unity is formed and shaped by the grace of the Spirit, and our willingness to care for one another despite our manifold differences.  I see Jesus in Methodist and Mennonite, in Catholic and Charismatic, in Orthodoxies both Slavic and Amhara.  We're progressive and conservative, plain and erudite, and all of it can be truly Christian.

Still, there are areas where I'll admit I have always struggled, particularly where the Gospel becomes focused on wealth and prosperity.  

That's kind of a problem right now.

The Prosperity Gospel is ascendant in our culture, the dominant form of the faith, to the point where it's really the closest thing America has to a state religion.  As acolytes of Kenneth Copeland's Word of Faith movement now sit at the heart of power, there's never been a moment when this movement has been as prominent as a form of Christian expression. 

The language of Prosperity Preachin', as I've noted numerous times over the years, about 80 percent comprised of recognizable Christian theology.  Read through the writings of Creflo A. Dollar, or endure one of Paula White's surprisingly listless sermons, and you'll find most of it almost kinda sorta works.  

But that twenty percent variance makes a difference, enough so that it is no longer reflective of the teachings of Jesus.

Money money money, gain gain gain, ever bigger ever more?  There's no version of Jesus who pointed us towards material wealth and social influence. There's no version of the Jesus we know from the Gospels that tolerated venality and indulgence as a marker of spiritual blessing.   You can bowlderize him into a shambling FrankenChrist golem that makes that case, sure, but a plain reading of the Nazarene's intent just won't get you there.  It's uncanny valley Jesus, Jesus shifted and warped to serve the demands of our endless capitalist avarices.

Wealth, as Jesus taught about it, is a dangerous thing for the soul.  The wealthier you are, the more likely it is that you're in some serious spiritual mess.  You have built your house on the sand of human imaginings.  Our material gain is, at best, a dishonorable thing that must be bent to the use of grace with cunning and intention.  

You cannot, said my Lord and Savior in a very declarative way, serve God and wealth. 

The Truth about Your Enemies

I am not Kenneth Copeland's biggest fan.

He is and has been representative of a form of faith that betrays, to the best of my discernment, the essence of the Gospel.  It's brassy and loud and materialistic, celebrating and centering wealth and power in a way that is utterly alien to Christ's teachings.  It puts pastors on gilded pedestals to be adored and showered with lucre, and as such is indistinguishable from hucksterism.  It's an Elmer Gantry cosplay, far as I can see it.

But in pitching out a post noting Copeland's newly found political focus, I bumped into an oddity.

Right after the mess of the last election, videos circulated of Copeland laughing maniacally at the notion that Biden had actually won.  It was, as presented, more than a little insane, as he and his congregants howled and hooted.  I mean, here.  Watch this:

It's...well...demonic.  Like the cacophony of the possessed, creepy as hell in the most literal of ways.  

As I dug about for a version to pitch into my last post, though, I came across this, from the Independent, a British news outlet.  It's from the same event, only with a tiny and important snippet of context added.  Copeland leads in to the cacophony by noting a Johns Hopkins study that suggests laughter alleviates pain.  Watch this:

It's still politics from the pulpit.  It's still validating a false narrative.  It still gets...weird.  

But it makes what we're looking at seem less like demonic possession or insanity.  It's more like a masterful act of rhetorical manipulation.  First, there's a clear on-ramp for his right-wing listeners, something to gain rational assent.  It's a Hopkins Study!  Laughter, even faked laughter, alleviates pain!  He's set the stage, offering an appeal to authority, and any reservations or rational objections are lessened.

Then he's faking laughter, being intentionally obvious about it, so that it's clear to his audience what he's doing.  He's not possessed.  He's clearly in control, and being silly.  They laugh at that, of course, both in on the joke and caught up in the joke.  He's got them.  The endorphins and the crowd dynamics kick in, and they're utterly, willingly, in the palm of his hand.

Is Kenneth Copeland a charlatan?  Of course.  But he's good at it.  Smart about it, even.  It's a talent, a craft, a skill, one shared by hucksters and demagogues alike.

One must give credit where credit is due, eh?