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There are other questions I could raise about Dever's judgments and assumptions. But far more interesting are the ways in which I found his critique somewhat helpful. In particular, it helped me define more clearly the audience for whom I wrote the book. I never expected the book to change the minds of happy campers. Rather, I wrote the book for those who find themselves increasingly dissatisfied with the status quo of modern American Christianity (including both sides of its liberal/conservative polarization/paralysis/preoccupation). At the same time, as I react to Dever's criticism, I'm forced to look inward: I regret any places in my book (or this response) where my tone is needlessly harsh.
Dever is dead right on this: the book admits on occasion to "gross simplification," and it is guilty thereof. I wish I could have simultaneously achieved conversational simplicity, brevity, and readability along with a scholarly level of complexity, nuance, and thoroughness. I did not do so to Dever's satisfaction—or now, thanks to him, to my own.
More substantively, Dever's Reformed perspective offers a helpful way to define the project that I and others in the same boat are pursuing. John Calvin's lifework, as I understand it, involved a creative attempt to construct a bold new framework for theological thinking and faithful living for those who (on biblical and experiential grounds) were dissatisfied with and moving beyond existing late-medieval Roman Catholic frameworks.
There are two ways to honor the work of Calvin and the Reformers more generally, I suppose: 1) to faithfully defend and promote their post-medieval formulations through all time, or 2) to follow their example in seeking to construct formulations of faith that are as fitting to our postmodern times as theirs were to their post-medieval times. Dever and I apparently agree on honoring the Reformers, but perhaps not on which is the best way of doing so. Here is my hope: that Christians wiser and better than I am will successfully undertake a creative project as suitable to our day as the Reformers' was to theirs.
Perhaps the most evocative phrase in Dever's review came near the beginning, when he said forthrightly that he found the book "less helpful than I would have hoped, and more dangerous than I would have thought." That was well put, and actually quite helpful and perhaps even dangerous in its own right.
I agree: the kind of deconstruction/rearticulation attempted in my book is dangerous. Like marriage, it is not to be entered into lightly. That's why I value Mark's critique. Meanwhile, I would hope that he and all who are temperamentally and conceptually of his tribe will consider another danger, one which Tony Jones's piece makes very clear. There are thousands of sincere and gifted Christian men and women, many of them under 35, bright and creative and passionately dedicated to Christian mission, who seem to resonate with a longing my book seeks to convey, in spite of its imperfections. Pointing out my book's dangers, as Dever sought to do, is a valid enterprise. But doing so without also listening, without also seeking to understand (with compassion) the dissatisfaction, longing, and hope that resonate in the hearts of thousands of younger readers (and even some older ones, like me)—that could be dangerous too, don't you think?
If the doorkeepers of evangelicalism want people afflicted with these dissatisfactions and longings to either leave the premises or stay and argue, it won't be hard to be rid of us, because we find no pleasure in the harsh, grinding polemics that too often characterize religious dialogue. Practicing stridency, we are certain, will turn us into exactly the kind of Christian we don't want to be. We'd prefer to reinvest that time and energy doing the kinds of things A New Kind of Christian sought to highlight: presenting the gospel in deed and word, making disciples (of a new kind), building community, serving the poor, creating art, playing with our kids, loving neighbors whatever their religion, all in Christ's name. Of course, we hope for a third option: with a humble, respectful, and irenic spirit, to continue to enjoy the good company of our more traditional evangelical brothers and sisters while we quietly continue our work.
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