Is Christianity A Crutch? Part Four - Not Exactly Rocket Science

Well, here we are, still looking at crutches. We have been looking at crutches for a while now. This is Crutch Post Number Four, and I'm happy to say that this will be our last look at crutches. Next post we will look at something else. Something that isn't crutches. Maybe something that is non-weight-bearing entirely. I'm not sure what yet. It might be the Top Ten List Of Movies Where Someone Has To Talk Someone Else Into Returning To Somewhere That They Alone Have Escaped From Because They Alone Escaped From It And Can Therefore Act As A Guide For The People Who Now Need To Go There. Though that depends a bit on whether I can a) Find a more concise title and b) Find another seven films where someone has to talk someone else into returning to somewhere that they alone have escaped from because they alone escaped from it and can therefore act as a guide for the people who now need to go there.

But for now, let us push on through to the end of our crutchy series. In case you have not been following along, here is the question that prompted the crutch quadrilogy:

Is Christianity Just A Crutch For The Weak?

Is Tiny Tim's crutch just a crutch? Maybe. But does he need it?
Well, no, apparently, but that's because he's got a Kermit too.

In Part One we said that the answer is basically "Yes, but you are asking the wrong question". The right questions are: Do we need it? Does it work?

In Part Two we said "Yes, you need it". Because everyone needs it. Because we all face death, and we all face judgement.

In Part Three we said "Yes, it works". Because those who are "in Christ" will be rescued from death and rescued from judgement.

So here we are in Part Four. And if you agreed with parts one to three, then the question on your lips should now be: How do we get it? If we need this crutch, and it actually works, where do we have to sign to get ours delivered?

Having this crutch, as we saw in part three, means being "in Christ". Or "belonging to Christ". So how do we get to be "in Christ"? What does that even mean? How do we get to be in the club? Do we have to be especially nice? Do we have to renounce the evils of alcohol, dress in white robes, grow a beard, buy rainbow straps for our guitars, start helping old ladies across the road? Do we have to earn our way into Christ's good books by giving money to charity, singing Gregorian chants before breakfast every day, rescuing orphaned hedgehogs and building trampolines for underprivileged squirrels?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

This, I think, is the commonly held view of Christianity - both outside and, sadly, inside the church. Okay, maybe not the squirrel trampoline bit, but something like this: Do Nice Things To Get On God's Good Side. Or worse, Stop Doing Fun Things So As To Avoid Getting Smit*.

Just like the whole "works for some people and not for others" view of Christianity we debunked in the last post, it's hokum, bunkum, balderdash and tosh.

Let me try to explain what being "in Christ" really means, via my slightly tortured Royal College of Music analogy.**

At the Royal College of Music, I studied the violin with Professor Dona Lee Croft. Dona Lee is lovely. She rescues stray foxes. (I know this for a fact, because I met them.) She's the kind of person who probably would build trampolines for underprivileged squirrels, if she thought it would help. And she's a great teacher. Her pupils love her. Being her pupil is a Smashing Thing.

How did I become Dona Lee's pupil?

Well, it's an incredible story... but it went something like this. Ready for this?

Me: Hi Dona Lee, please would you be my teacher?

Dona Lee: Hmmmmm... why, yes dear, okay.

Not exactly rocket science.

You see, I didn't become her pupil by dazzling her with my amazing violinistic ability - in fact, I started going to her for lessons shortly after failing my end of year recital exam. There was no way I could have impressed her with my playing.

No, I became her pupil by asking, and being her pupil meant listening to her, trusting her, and trying to obey her - which made me more like her (a good violinist). The crucial point here is to distinguish correctly between cause and effect: being her pupil made me good. Being good didn't make me her pupil.

Now, Dona Lee is not the Messiah, lovely as she is***. But that white-knuckle thrill-ride adventure story of how I became her pupil is a reasonably good analogy for how we get to be in Christ.

So we don't become Christ's by dazzling him with our amazing goodness - in fact, as we know from part two, if there was an end of year exam in being "good", we'd all fail it. There is no way we can impress God with our "goodness".

No, we become Christ's by asking, and belonging to Christ means listening to him, trusting him, and trying to obey him - which should make us more like him. The crucial point here is to distinguish correctly between cause and effect: being Christian should make us good. Being good doesn't make us Christian.****

So. Let's stick the whole shebang in a nutshell:

Christianity.

Is it a crutch? Yes.

Do we need it? Yes. Everyone does. Even nice people.

Does it work? Yes.

How do we get it? By asking for it.

"Do I still get my trampoline? Do I? Do I?"

So there you go. That's the end of this series. If, by any chance, you made it through all four of these posts, please think carefully about what to do next. You could do a lot worse than hunting out a Christianity Explored course, where you'll be able to consider all this in more detail. Albeit with fewer random pictures. Or get in touch here with any questions.

At any rate, do come back again for my top ten list of films where someone has to talk someone else into returning to somewhere that they alone have escaped from because they alone escaped from it and can therefore act as a guide for the people who now need to go there. It will be the best top ten list of films where someone has to talk someone else into returning to somewhere that they alone have escaped from because they alone escaped from it and can therefore act as a guide for the people who now need to go there that you will read this year.

* Past participle of "smite", and my new favourite word.

** Well, I did write this as a talk for the Royal College of Music Christian Union, so what do you expect?

*** Though there are shrines to her in some of the fox burrows of West London.

**** Some of the nicest people I know aren't Christian. They are, very nicely, hobbling crutchless towards disaster. 

Is Christianity A Crutch? Part One - The Foolish Plight Of Enigmatic Jim

A few months ago I was asked to do a talk at a couple of the London music colleges. The subject of the talk was this: "Christianity: Is it just a crutch for the weak?"
Some of you, dear readers, were there.
But most of you weren't.
So guess what?
Here it is.
With added pictures and more words.
You lucky, lucky people.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, a picture of 25,000 crutches must
be worth 25 million words about crutches. It's going to be a long post.

Let me start with a story.
As most of you know, I was at the Royal College of Music a little while ago. And in my year was a violinist called Jim.
Jim was an enigma. Everywhere he went he was greeted by furtive glances and nervous whispering. Conversations would cease whenever he strolled past. Legend has it even the rats in the attic would stop eating the organs in order to scrutinise his movements. Why? This is why: no one had ever seen him play. Ever. No one even knew what instrument he was supposed to be studying. He didn't go to lessons. He didn't go to masterclasses. He didn't go to orchestra. One of the first years thought they'd spotted him in a practice room playing the tuba, but it turned out to have been a drug-induced hallucination. Jim was inscrutable.

Until, that is, the end of the year came, bringing with it the menace of The Final Recitals, where terrified musicians are given the chance to publicly humiliate themselves whilst destroying all hope they had of graduating, in a ritualistic concert-cum-exam designed to eliminate any trace of enjoyment the student might once have derived from the public performance of their chosen instrument.

And Jim was on the list. Along with everyone else, Jim had to give a recital exam.

And so, when his turn came, pretty much the whole year crowded into the hall to hear him play. The air crackled with expectation. People began taking bets on what instrument he'd unveil. Some of the more excitable woodwind girls had made him a banner. After five minutes of breathless hush, he walked out onto that stage, holding a violin that I swear was trailing a foot of cobwebs behind it. He stalked confidently and purposefully up to the music stand, confidently and purposefully slapped a pile of music onto it, confidently and purposefully raised his violin to his shoulder, fixed the examiners and the audience with a confident and purposeful stare, and slowly, confidently, and purposefully, brought his bow scything in a graceful arc towards the strings. It was one of those moments that seems to last forever. A hundred pairs of ears were straining in delighted anticipation.


This was going to be amazing.

Of course, the spell was broken the instant the bow made contact and filled the hall with a sound not unlike that of a pair of obese foxes in chain mail mating on a sloping blackboard. It grated. It jarred. It hurt. In fact, it was exactly the sort of tortured screech that a violinist who hasn't practised for a year always makes. I don't know why we expected anything else.

Well, people tiptoed out in dribs and drabs, and the sorry affair was eventually ended by one of the examiners setting off the fire alarm in a bid to drown Jim out. But from that first note the panel knew all they needed to know. Jim got a mark so low they had to invent a new branch of mathematics in order to write it down.

Some time later, I found myself having a drink with Jim, in the college bar. And I asked him the question we'd all been longing to ask. "Jim," I ventured, tentatively, "Umm... why the hell didn't you practise?"
Jim fixed me with a bright, quick eye, lowered his bottle, cleared his throat, and uttered these sage words:


"Practise? Real players don't need to practise. Practice is just a crutch for the weak, man."

This is Perlman, not Jim. I couldn't find a picture of Jim
because I made him up. But note the topical crutches.

Okay, I made Jim up. Obviously no one is that stupid. Not many, anyway. I made Jim up to demonstrate a point, and the point I wish to demonstrate is this: that asking whether something is a crutch or not is the wrong question. Maybe Fictional Jim is right, and practice is a crutch. But in that case the questions he should have been asking were "Do I need this crutch?" and "Does this crutch work?"

Do I need it?
Does it work?

Clearly he did need it, and it might well have worked. Nice one Fictional Jim, you idiot.

So much for Jim. What about Christianity? Is Christianity just a crutch? Wrong question. Let's just say yes. It's a crutch. There, didn't really need a blog post (or four) for that. Could have fitted it into one of those tweet things. So now let's move on and ask the right questions:

Do I need it?
Does it work?

And that's where we shall leave it for now, because I need to have a shower and leg it to Angel to buy a birthday present for my ex-housemate. Hopefully we'll find him something that he needs, which works, but more likely he'll end up with a whoopee cushion or a squirrel trampoline.

Come back soon for part two, which will start to answer these questions, and might have a picture of Britney in it.