Dr Paul Allen

The last Judgment - an icon 17th cent. from Lipie, Historic Museum in Sanok, Poland (Photo credit: Wikipedia ) John Lennon's 1971 song "Imagine" encouraged a generation to imagine there is no heaven or hell, and to instead embrace "living for today." Over 40 years later, many evangelicals are following Lennon's advice. It's commonly said that the gospel is not really about the afterlife. The gospel answers much bigger questions than a person's eternal state. It's about life today—not so much about tomorrow. And slowly but surely, we have begun to let the promise of divine judgment that appears in the Apostles' Creed —"He will come again to judge the living and the dead"—slip by unnoticed. Many Christians talk a lot about justice and very little about judgment. Justice here and now is a popular subject. Judgment there and then? Not so much. But justice and judgment are two sides of the same coin. You cannot have perfect justic

The Scutum Fidei, a diagram frequently used by Christian apologists to explain the Trinity. (Photo credit: Wikipedia ) Religious syms (Photo credit: Wikipedia ) John Lennon and Yoko Ono (Photo credit: Wikipedia ) George Harrison (Image via RottenTomatoes.com) Just the other day I heard the song by George Harrison called "My Sweet Lord" on the radio. Beyond the simple delightfulness of the tune typical of a Beatle, there is something about this particular song that always makes me pause to focus and reflect. I think it has something to do with its honesty, and its almost desperate longing and desire. This is a song of worship, even as it identifies the object of worship as transcending the traditional expressions of praise in the religions of both East and West.  In a general sense, the song is an invitation for us to see our particular religious traditions not as ends in themselves, but as serving the higher end of knowing a God who stands equally "behind" them al

Cover of The Doors [Blu-ray] John Densmore , longtime drummer for the Doors , took up tithing after John Lennon praised it in a  Playboy  interview.  Years later, Densmore mentioned in an essay for  The Nation  that tithing helped him resist greed. He wrote, "During the Oliver Stone film on our band, the record royalties tripled, and as I wrote those 10 percent checks, my hand was shaking." My left hand did not shake in 2008 when I tithed on an advance check for my book about tithing, but my soul quaked a bit.  I was going through one of the most barren periods of my life as a journalist. I was filled with shame about not bringing more money into our household. I was unsure I could deliver the book. Who was I to continue tithing? What, apart from a distaste for brazen hypocrisy in myself, moved me past this hesitation? Mostly this: I could not see in the voluntary discipline of tithing the same escape clauses that I would expect in a prenuptial agreement. There are some