By Chris Seidman. Since 2001, Chris has served as lead minister of The Branch Church, a multi-site church in Dallas with more than 100 years of rich history.  Chris is privileged to preach occasionally in churches, on college campuses, and in conferences across the country and often has his golf clubs in tow. He is also distinguished as an author who has written more books than he has sold.  So he has that going for him.

Sooner or later ministry has a way of smoking out our insecurities. The painful reality is the insecurities of servant leaders can complicate already complex situations in the life of a church, or organization, or family. One of the greatest gifts I can give the people I’m serving is to live from the blessing of God instead of for the blessing of others. I unpacked this idea with you in my previous post. (You can read it here http://www.patheos.com/blogs/jesuscreed/2018/01/10/ministry-not-blessing/)

It was at the ripe-old age of 30, that I began serving as lead minister of the church where I still am today. That was 17 years ago this month. When I began, every member of our staff was older than me. There aren’t words to convey my appreciation for their humility and patience with me in those early years and for our present staff’s humility and patience with me.

The Deep End

Since then, I’ve been in the deep end, way over my head. Here a few highlights that are not really all that unusual for a lot of us who’ve serve in churches.

There was the challenge of helping a 105 year-old church evolve from a traditional paradigm of worship to a more contemporary approach (and I know those terms “traditional” and “contemporary” can have varying definitions). And then there was the challenge of navigating those waters without blowing too big of a hole in the boat.

There was the challenge of transitioning from a church in one location into a multi-site church.

There was the time when we laid off several staff members at once due to a financial crunch shortly after expanding to two campuses.

There were challenges related to moral failures of fellow ministers.

There were challenges associated with changing the name of our church which had gone by the same name for more than a century.

There were challenges associated with our church becoming more diverse racially and socio-economically.

There were challenges that came with an evolution of our understanding of the work of the Spirit.

(By the way, in no way have we “arrived.” We still have our challenges!)

These short sentences I’ve just written can in no way sum up the kind of ambivalence, uncertainty, and varying levels of heartache wrapped up in each situation. My heart is still quite tender with many memories associated with these experiences. I made many mistakes and have learned some hard lessons.

And then there’s the reality of my own fallen nature being in the mix. As Eugene Peterson puts it, “Every congregation is a congregation of sinners. As if that weren’t bad enough, they all have sinners for pastors!” God and the church where I serve have been exceedingly gracious to me.

A Helpful Prayer

The longer I’m in ministry the more I’ve come to appreciate Paul’s prayer over a church that was facing challenges of its own. “And this is my prayer that you love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is right….” (Philippians 1:9)

It isn’t always easy to know in times of challenge or transition what the most loving thing to do is. It’s why we need this prayer in our lives. So often I’ve found myself in a fog along with others trying to discern the right thing to do in times of challenge and transition as a church.

The Snare Of Living For A Blessing From Others

One of the things I’ve learned in those times is how thick the fog gets when my sense of identity and security is not firmly rooted in what God has proclaimed over me and demonstrated for me in Christ. I confessed you in my last post about my propensity to be consumed with what others may think or say about me. Few things pollute the process of discerning what the right thing to do is in a given situation, like a preoccupation with what others will say or think about you if you do “this” or “that.”

As the writer of Proverbs noted, the fear of others will prove to be a snare (Proverbs 29:25). It can be ensnaring in so many ways – one of which is the difficulty it adds to the process of discerning the right thing to do in a given situation.

This is where learning to live from the blessing of God instead of for the blessing of others can make such an important impact. When our security is not in what God has proclaimed over us and demonstrated for us in Jesus, it all too easily gravitates toward what others say to us or about us. This isn’t just true in my particular vocation. This can infect most any arena of life. More than once I’ve heard exasperated parents who don’t know what to do with a child say, “What will people say (or think) about us?”

Without realizing it, we can make whatever challenge, drama, or transition we were in as a church, family, or organization about ourselves in my own mind. How quickly we can turn our sacred communities and callings into “personal proving grounds” where our primary objective is to prove something about ourselves to ourselves or to others.

So much is hijacked in a community of faith when its servant leaders are ensnared with a preoccupation of what others may be thinking or saying about them. Sometimes the “others” aren’t in the church. They’re in the past. Or they’re in another city. Or they’re online. (Of course, people don’t think about us near as much as we’d like to think. But that fact does little to prevent some of us from being consumed with the possibility.)

Living From The Blessing Of God And The Dissipating Fog

I’ve found, though, that when my sense of identity and security is in the right place, I’m liberated from a preoccupation with what others think of me or how they’ll respond. The fog in difficult times of discernment begins to dissipate. I’m enabled to be completely given over to the integrity of the process of discerning, along with other servant-leaders, what God is calling us to do. It becomes possible for us to, as Charles Stanley put it, “Obey God and leave the consequences to him.”

If you smell the smoke of your own insecurities – or others do who you trust – own it and take heart. It is God’s will to set us free from a paralyzing preoccupation with ourselves. His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23). And speaking of morning, take C.S. Lewis’ advice to heart.

“It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day….”

This “larger, stronger, quieter life” to me is the ministry of the Holy Spirit who reminds us of who we are as sons and daughters of the Father (Romans 8:16). We’d be wise to wake up to this “larger, stronger, quieter life” before we wake up to our devices and screens, or people’s opinions and fears.

The more we live from the blessing of God, the better position we are in to discern the right thing to do and be a true blessing to others.

By Allan Bevere

By Michelle Van Loon

www.michellevanloon.com
www.theperennialgen.com

Tom and Tracy have been involved in church life throughout their long marriage, doing everything from teaching third graders in Sunday School to helping to launch their congregation’s food pantry ministry. As their nest emptied, the couple wondered if God might be calling them to full-time vocational ministry. After graduation, Tom eventually found a position in a faith-based nonprofit, and Tracy continued to volunteer with a parachurch Bible study organization. Their first priority, however, was continued service to their long-time local church.

Though the sixty-something couple served where they could, they struggled to find their fit. They ushered, and one or the other occasionally was called upon to speak in an adult Sunday School class or Bible study. Not long ago, the pair met with an assistant pastor to again remind him they were happy to serve, asking, “Is there a place for us here?”

The pastor paused. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

Certainly, there was always a need for nursery helpers and parking lot attendants at the large suburban congregation. But it seemed there wasn’t a need for Tom and Tracy’s spiritual gifts, life experience, and theological education, though the pastor quickly affirmed how glad he was for their presence and ongoing generous financial giving. Even as I recount this story, I recognize that there are at least two sides to every story, and these church leaders may have their own perfectly sane reasons for not involving Tom and Tracy beyond their current level.

However, Tom and Tracy’s story is far from unique. A focus of my writing over the last decade has been spiritual formation at midlife and beyond. I’ve talked to dozens and dozens older believers who want to serve, but have been told by church leaders there is no slot for them on the church’s organizational chart unless they want to usher or teach a children’s Sunday School class. Some stay and resign themselves to the sidelines, grateful for the fellowship and comfort of a familiar place to worship. Others untether themselves from regular attendance, finding other avenues for service where they can be seen, known, and their gifts and life experience used.

Jesus told a parable in Matthew 25:14-30 about a man who entrusted his finances to three servants, giving each an amount to steward proportionate to his ability. Two of the three doubled their money, investing the funds just as they’d seen their master do. The third man chose to bury the gold he’d been given. When he handed back to his master the money he’d been given, his explanation was that his master’s shrewd business practices sparked a fear response in him. Better, he explained, to simply hide the money so as to guarantee he’d be able to return the full amount to his master upon his return. His master wasn’t buying what the servant was selling. Instead, he told the servant he was both wicked and lazy, calling out the servant’s self-protective motivations.

If an org chart drives your church’s ministries, what happens when someone’s gifts don’t fit neatly into your open slots? Are they simply set aside – buried, so to speak – as in the case of Tom and Tracy?

Though I see this happening a lot with older members, they aren’t alone. There is a lot of buried treasure sitting in the pews of our churches, including singles who attend family-centric churches, artists and musicians whose style doesn’t always match the style of the worship team, and people with disabilities who are branded as projects instead of as contributing members to a local body.

There are a lot of ways for the eye to say to the hand, “I don’t need you”. But I suspect that one way in which this happens a lot is when our org charts and open slots drive the way in which we do ministry in the local church, instead of seeking ways to invest the treasure God has placed in our midst.

Tom McLeish focuses on the book of Job in his excursion through Faith & Wisdom in Science. This is not the whole focus – or even the conclusion – but it is the summit. ‘Nature’ plays an important role in the book. Both Job and his friends have an incomplete and/or incorrect view of God’s creation. The friends are sure that creation operates according to God’s justice and the retribution principle. God gives rain to the righteous and drought to the wicked. In this view Job’s troubles are a sure sign of his failings. Job, on the other hand, agrees that creation should be ruled by justice, but in light of his own situation suggests instead that it is ruled by uncontrolled chaos.

McLeish sees six themes that govern the relationship between humans and nature as revealed through the speeches of Job and his friends. (p. 139-141)

1. Simple moral pendulum – the story of nature as both anthropocentric and driven by a moral law of retribution. Job’s three friends, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar.
2. Eternal mystery – humans are kept in the dark. Job and his friends all express this at times.
3. Nature reveals God – Elihu especially gives this view, but all three friends express the sentiment at times: “nature constitutes a giant message board from its maker for those who have eyes to read it.” (p. 140)
4. Uncontrolled chaos – Job in his suffering sees nature as chaotic. “Humanity is swept up in the storm and flood, which God might have held at bay, but chooses not to.” (p. 140)
5. Nature worship – this is dismissed, but nonetheless given voice to as one alluring possibility. Certainly the surrounding cultures did worship “natural” phenomena assigning divinity to sun, moon, and stars.
6. “A sixth storyline is hinted at, but not spoken with clarity. It has something to do with the centrality of the created physical world over any claim by humanity to a pivotal place within it.” (p. 141) Given the role played by humans in the Mesopotamian creation stories – slaves to perform work for the gods – it is not a stretch to think that such a theme may lie in the background of some of the dialogue in Job. The physical world is not anthropocentric.

The message of Job, however, is not found in the speeches of Job or any of his friends. The message is found when God appears on the scene and addresses Job from the whirlwind.  This isn’t a putdown squashing Job’s questions under God’s majesty. Rather McLeish views it as an acknowledgment of the significance of Job’s questions and his right to pose them,  “for the invitation to ‘gird up your loins’ is spoken,  shockingly, to a legal adversary of equal standing, not an inferior.” (p. 141) The walk through creation, including the questions posed to Job, for example:

Have you ever given orders to the morning, or shown the dawn its place,that it might take the earth by the edges and shake the wicked out of it? (38:12-13)

(Following Clines, McLeish suggests that the words here translated wicked should instead be “Dog Stars” in light of the absence of any (other) moral reference in the speech.)

Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea or walked in the recesses of the deep? (38:16)

is designed to give Job a God’s eye view of creation.

The voice is far from simply making a point by taunting Job with his now-exposed ignorance; it is showing him other ways of thinking about creation than in relation to his human predicament. It is beginning to invite him to think about it through the eye of its creator. (p. 143)

The apparent chaos of creation certainly exists, but is channeled for God’s purpose. The fruitfulness of the earth is not solely from human benefit. ‘Anthropocentric justice’ is not at the center of creation.

Who cuts a channel for the torrents of rain, and a path for the thunderstorm, to water a land where no one lives, an uninhabited desert, to satisfy a desolate wasteland and make it sprout with grass? (38:25-27)

Rather than bypassing Job’s questions and squashing them with is majesty, the Lord is answering Job’s questions – or more accurately guiding him to the answers for the questions he should have been asking in the first place. McLeish sees five lines of argument for this view. (p. 146-148)

1. Creation is not out of control. “The axis of control and chaos is subverted by the revelation of a third path of constrained freedom in which true exploration of possibility, of life, really lies.” (p. 146)
2. The Lord’s answer reconciles Job’s complaint and brings him peace. “I have heard you with my ears, and my eyes have now seen you. So I submit, and accept consolation for my dust and ashes.”  (Clines’ translation of 42:5 as quoted p. 146)

We are not privy to Job’s inner response to the Lord’s answer, … But we do know that he has been led towards a radically new perspective, one that in one way totally decentralises humanity from any claim to primacy within creation, yet in another affirms the human possibility to perceive and know creation with an insight that is at least an image of the divine one. (p. 147)

3. The Lord’s response is participative and invitational. Job is invited into an encounter with wisdom.

The possibility of a new relationship with the physical world is laid before Job that leaves behind the irresponsibly polarised positions to which he and his friends have been clinging. It recognizes that although ignorance is always an aspect of the human predicament, and in particular of its confrontation with the physical world, it is not a static one. (p. 147)

4. The Lord’s focus on creation – the physical workings of the world – makes it clear that this is of fundamental significance.
5. “The Lord’s answer is ‘eschatological’.  There is a future to which everything points.

McLeish next turns to the New Testament narratives to delve deeper into the eschatological implications. We will dig into this in the next post on the book.

How does the book of Job shape our understanding of creation?

Is the biblical view of creation human-centered at its core?

 If you wish to contact me directly, you may do so at rjs4mail[at]att.net

If interested you can subscribe to a full text feed of my posts at Musings on Science and Theology.

By Mike Glenn

Rodney Dangerfield, the great comedian of the last generation, was famous for his line, “I don’t get no respect.” He would then describe a variety of humiliations and brutal dismissals from his wife, his children, servers in restaurants, and everyone else he has met during his day. He would then follow each insult with his trademark response, “I tell ya’, I don’t get any respect”.

When it comes to Christmas and respect, Joseph would know how Rodney Dangerfield feels. Of all the people in the Christmas story, Joseph is the one who doesn’t get any respect. This lack of proper honor begins at the beginning of the story.

Joseph is engaged to Mary, but now, Mary is pregnant…and it’s not Joseph’s child. Mary is pregnant with God’s Son (more on this later), but the whole point of the incarnation is a Savior who is fully God and fully man. This ends up the creating a very uncomfortable situation for Mary and Joseph. Mary is Jesus’ real mother but Joseph is NOT Jesus’ real dad. Some of the early insults thrown at Jesus accuse Him of being the son of Mary. Even then, Joseph was left out of the story. The New Testament writers pick up on this lack of respect and drop Joseph from the story completely after the visit to the Temple when Jesus was twelve.

This lack of respect continues to this very day as each of us struggles as to where we place Joseph in the nativity scene. We want him close to Jesus, but not too close. Joseph needs to be a little close to Jesus because it’s through Joseph Jesus is brought into the lineage of King David and that’s important. But we don’t want him too close because don’t want people to think he’s the real father of Jesus.

God is the real Father of Jesus. Joseph is just His adopted father, step-father, stand-in guy…well, you get the picture. No respect.

Such is the plight of Joseph. We need him in the story, but we don’t really want him there. If we’re not careful, having Joseph stand around ends up confusing things.

But before we ask Joseph to go stand outside with the shepherds, let’s remember a few things about him. To be sure, we aren’t told a lot about Joseph. He’s significantly involved in the life of Jesus at least until Jesus is twelve years old. We have the story of Jesus in the Temple when Mary and Joseph finally find Jesus who’s stayed behind there. Even in that intense moment, it’s Mary, not Joseph, who speaks.

In fact, we have no record of Joseph ever speaking. We’re simply told about what he does. In the end, it’s the same for Joseph as it is for any other man. The only thing that matters is what you do.

And what is it that he does? First, we’re told Joseph is a righteous man. To most of us, righteous meant Joseph knew a lot of the right answers. Righteousness is more than just being right. Righteousness means you do the right things the right way. Not only did Joseph do what God wanted done, he did it the way God wanted it done. This is the kind of man God wanted to raise Jesus.

And Joseph was compassionate. When he found out Mary was pregnant, he decided not to punish her publicly. Under the laws of the day, he had every right to have her put to death, but he didn’t. I guess he loved Mary that much.

Does this curious mix of righteousness and compassion remind you of anyone you know?

Joseph was a man of deep faith. After all, what kind of man would risk everything to marry a woman who had seemingly betrayed him because of what an angel said in a dream? Well, a man like Joseph. A man who knew the Bible stories well enough to know that God talked to His people a lot in dreams.

So, Joseph believed and married Mary. Not only married her, but took the child as his own and protected them from Herod’s threats.

We also know something else about Joseph, although indirectly. We know it through the ministry and life of Jesus. Whenever Jesus was pressed, exhausted or even dying, Jesus would quote Scripture. He quoted the Psalms, the prayer book of the Bible and He quoted Deuteronomy, the everyday Bible of the Jewish people. As a father, Joseph would have been responsible for the religious instruction of Jesus.

Joseph would have taught Jesus how to pray.

Joseph would have taught Jesus to memorize Scripture.

Joseph, compassionate and righteous, was the man God trusted with Jesus. “Hold my Son,” God says to Joseph, “until I call for Him.”

Can you imagine how hard it was to be Joseph? For nine months, Joseph had only two things: a baby that he knew wasn’t his and a dream this was the way God was working.

Have you ever tried to remember a dream? How about trying to hold on to it for nine months?

How long before the child you know isn’t yours become yours? How long did it take Joseph to love Jesus? To really believe?

As I sit here typing these words a week before Christmas, I find myself feeling a lot more in common in Joseph. Like him, I really don’t have much of a place in the story. I don’t know exactly where to stand. And like him, the only thing I have this Christmas is a child who isn’t mine and a crazy dream that this might be the way God is working after all.

How long will it take me before the child becomes mine? How long will it take me to believe?

I think I’ll move Joseph in a little closer to Jesus in my nativity scene. He needs a little more respect. He’s earned it.

How do Christians relate to their cultures, their communities, their states and their nations? There was a time when many Western nations — northern and southern hemispheres — were “Christian nations” in that they had institutionalized a state church. Think England, think Scotland, think the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, think Denmark, think Italy, think South Africa, think Brazil, think Mexico.

Today’s world is not the same. We need to think again.

Which is what Craig Bartholomew is doing in his new book, Contours of the Kuyperian Tradition.

American Christianity, especially the evangelical sort, operates on some kind of spectrum between between Kuyperian and Niebuhrian thinking, and perhaps the Niebuhrian model of “transformation” or “influentialism” (Niebuhr: Christ the transformer of culture) are the simplest ways of expressing this approach. The Christian is to be the “salt and light” in society, influencing the society toward the ways of God (often called the kingdom of God) and even transforming society into a far more Christian society (which quickly starts to veer toward Constantinianism at some level).

At two different periods in my life I decided to read more on the Kuyperian tradition, mostly because those around me were so Kuyperian (or something like it). The first time I simply read Lectures on Calvinism, Kuyper’s famous book. The second time I read Bratt’s Abraham Kuyper and then I read his collection of essays by Kuyper, and then to get a solid Kuyperian reading of Kuyper, I read some essays by Rich Mouw (in which he engaged Yoder) and then read his little book Abraham Kuyper. I have considered my guide to Kuyper, and I have used his summaries even when I would like to express them in different ways. Kuyper studies are flourishing today with some reprints and new prints of Kuyper’s works.

Kuyperianism is a tempting totalism when it comes to Christian and society. Parts of it are undeniably the best thinking we have; terms are used that irritate this Bible professor; the activism advocated by Kuyper is noble. But I have my differences, some of them so major I can’t call myself Kuyperian.

But I’m willing to listen, and so to Bartholomew I’m listening (and getting a little irritated already).

Bartholomew is a South African, so he begins with the church (Reformed Christianity) in South Africa, and he notes the ever present temptation to Constantinian alignments (he doesn’t use this expression) to align with a party:

Ethically, a political party is simply inadequate as the final authority, and yet when under pressure it is appeal to the party that we hear again and again.

This describes too much of Christianity in the USA and in some nations with church-state relations. His point is important from a South African.

The issue is how. How does the church relate to the society when the church is losing credibility? I like what Bartholomew argues:

Numbers alone will not avail in developing countries if Christians do not attend to (1) plausibility structures and (2) worldviews.

Plausibility is an embodied reality so close to the ground it creates believability.

Plausibility refers to the personal, communal, and social embodiment of the life of the kingdom so that when Christians do speak they are listened to.

Here is where I get nervous about Bartholomew.

Mission is easily reduced to evangelism and church activities, and indispensable as these indeed are, mission is much broader. As David Bosch points out, “Mission is more than and different from recruitment to our brand of religion; it is alerting people to the universal reign of God.”

I like David Bosh though I think his “missio Dei” theory has a whole lot more pizzazz in name that in reality, and it has less in Bible and theology than it admits, but it’s everybody’s lingo or buzz term. (As with the word “missional” or “incarnation.”) More importantly, when we speak of church activities as too narrow and is not “recruitment to our brand of religion” who will agree with pejorative language like that? Who doesn’t want to “alert” people to the “universal” vision called the “reign of God”? Well, I do because what do we mean by “alert”? Is it different than what the Bible teaches about “evangelism”? And what does “universal” mean here? Sounds good but could wind its way into universalism or water itself down to “common grace.” And “reign” of God starts to sound like late 19th Century Germany’s decision to move kingdom away from its Jewish and territorial context and start sound like common grace, cultural Christianity, or even like 20th Century evangelicalism’s decision to turn “reign” into “personal decision for Jesus.”

I know Bartholomew’s a sophisticated thinker so I’ll be reading him in front of you for awhile and see where he takes us!

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign: The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel. Isaiah 7:14

Taken up again in the Gospel of Matthew

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”). (1:22-23)

Most Christians have a deep appreciation for the scriptures, both the Old Testament and the New Testament. For those who were not raised in the church however, or who have for any one of a number of reasons become distrustful of the reliability of the scriptures, the questions are quite different. Scripture relates some pretty incredible events and stories – from Exodus with the story of parting of the Red Sea to the Gospels with the virgin birth and the resurrection – to name just a few. Why should intelligent educated person in secular, modern or postmodern, enlightened, Western society take these seriously on any level?

Dr. John Polkinghorne’s book Testing Scripture: A Scientist Explores the Bible can provide some useful insights here – whether one agrees with him across the board or disagrees with some of his conclusions. Dr. Polkinghorne was a very successful scientist, an expert and creative theoretical physicist involved in the discovery of quarks. He was Professor of Mathematical Physics at Cambridge University before he resigned to study for the Anglican priesthood. He has since been a parish priest, Dean of the Chapel at Trinity Hall Cambridge and President of Queen’s College, Cambridge. After retirement he continues to write, think, and lecture about the interface between science and faith.

In Testing Scripture Polkinghorne isn’t dogmatic or defensive about about scripture, rather he is explaining why he, as a scientist, scholar, and Christian, takes scripture seriously. Both faith and reason play a role in his approach to scripture.

Chapters five and six of Testing Scripture look at Israel’s Bible and at the Gospels. Israel’s Bible consists of many forms of literature. Dr. Polkinghorne mentions myth telling deep truth in the form of symbolic story, history, law, wisdom writings, apocalypse, and more. Most of the text was edited and shaped in post-exilic Israel. But this does not mean that it was fabricated with no roots or history. In fact Dr. Polkinghorne finds it difficult to believe that most of the material is not rooted in sources that date far earlier. He sees this in Genesis 14 with Melchizedek of Salem (not a text that would be constructed in a post-exilic history) and in the book of Judges to give just two examples. The origins of these passages must lie in very ancient texts. Within the historical conventions of the time Israel’s Bible records the history of God’s revelation of himself through his particular relationship with his chosen nation.

Even the Exodus, dismissed by many scholars as impossible, Dr. Polkinghorne sees as rooted in history. The text has been elaborated and shaped for theological and national impact for sure. In particular Dr. Polkinghorne feels that numbers have been exaggerated as is common in ancient texts. But this reshaping does not undercut the historical roots of the incident or the importance of this event as God’s revelation of his divine nature through his relationship with his people.

The Gospels likewise record a reliable history. Within the historical conventions of their time they tell the gospel; the story of the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus as the good news of God’s work in the world. Dr. Polkinghorne works through a number of different episodes and events as he describes his reasons for taking the Gospels seriously. One of the most interesting, though, is the one he leaves for last.

I have left till last what are among the best-known and best-loved narratives in the Gospels: the stories of the birth of Jesus. We find them only in Matthew 1.18-2.12 and Luke 2.1-20. John, after his timeless Prologue, and Mark, without any preliminaries, both start with the encounters between John the Baptist and Jesus at the beginning of the public ministry. We are so used to conflating the two gospel accounts that it is only when we read them carefully and separately that we become aware of how different they are. Luke seems to tell the story very much from the point of view of Mary, and the visitors to the newborn Jesus are the humble shepherds. Matthew seems to see things much more from Joseph’s perspective, and his visitors are the magi. … Luke gives us a very specific dating of the birth in relation to a Roman census, but there are severe scholarly difficulties in reconciling this with Matthew’s (plausible) statement that it took place during the reign of Herod the Great. A principle concern of both narratives is to explain why, if Mary’s home was at Nazareth, Jesus was born in Bethlehem, as Messianic prophecy required. I do not doubt that there is historical truth preserved in the birth stories, but establishing its exact content is not an easy task. (p. 67-68)

As with some of the other stories in the gospels and in other parts of scripture there are discrepancies that can be difficult to reconcile and harmonize. There is no strong reason, however, to doubt a historical root, down to and including the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem.

A Virgin Gave Birth. The conception of Jesus is a different issue. Matthew 1:18 relates the claim:

This is how the birth of Jesus the Messiah came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be pregnant through the Holy Spirit.

Joseph responds to Mary’s pregnancy by planning to divorce her and an angel in a dream reiterates the claim “what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.” Luke 1:34-35 records Mary’s response when told she would conceive and give birth to a son, the Messiah.

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?” The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God.

The very idea that a virgin conceived and bore a son raises an eyebrow or two in our secular Western society – both modern and postmodern. At the risk of being a little too earthy – conception in humans requires input from two sources. After all, we all know that an egg from the woman requires the DNA from the sperm provided by a man to make it whole, capable of producing a new individual. One might, perhaps conceive of a clone of some sort using only Mary’s DNA – but this could only make a female, not a male. No Y Chromosome in Mary. If a virgin gave birth to a son it was a truly miraculous conception. The DNA had to come from somewhere. Did God just produce a a unique set of chromosomes to join with Mary’s? Was it Joseph’s DNA? Some other descendant of David? Was this a divine artificial insemination?

How and can an intelligent, educated, experienced person believe in a virgin birth?

Dr. Polkinghorne gives his reasoning:

Luke, very explicitly in his story of the Annunciation (1.34-35), and Matthew, more obliquely (1.18), both assert the virginal conception of Jesus. Christian tradition has attached great significance to this, often rather inaccurately calling it the ‘virgin birth’. Yet in the New Testament it seems nowhere as widely significant as the Resurrection. Paul is content to simply lay stress on Jesus’ solidarity with humanity: ‘God sent his Son, born of woman, born under the law’ (Galatians 4.4). The theological importance of the virginal conception lies in its lending emphasis to the presence of a total divine initiative in the coming of Jesus, even if this truth is much more frequently expressed by the New Testament writers simply in the language of his having been sent. Jesus was not opportunistically co-opted for God’s purpose when he was found to be suitable, but he was part of that purpose from the start. The virginal conception is a powerful myth, and I believe that in the religion of the Incarnation the power of story fuses with the power of a true story, so that the great Christian myths are enacted myths. On this basis, I find myself able to believe in the virgin birth, even if the motivating evidence is less extensive than for the belief in the Resurrection. (p. 68-69, emphasis added)

Interaction not Intervention. One of the most important criteria for thinking through the incredible claims in scripture is God’s interaction with his creatures rather than his intervention in his creation. The miracles ring true when they enhance our understanding of the interaction of God with his people in divine self-revelation. The virginal conception is part of the Incarnation, “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us”. The magnificent early Christian hymns quoted by Paul in Col 1.15-20 and Phil 2.6-11 catch the essence of this enacted myth as well.

It makes no sense to try to defend the virginal conception, the resurrection, or any of the other signs or miracles related in the New Testament, separate from the story of the Gospel, the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus as God’s Messiah. In the context of God’s mission within his creation the miracles make sense and are truly miracles. Separate from this they will never make sense.

This is also a place where it is wise to avoid asking too many questions. Especially as there is no way these questions will ever find answers. I rather expect that the conception (insemination) was miraculous – but that a modern DNA test would have confirmed descent from the house and lineage of David in some manner. But this is really beside the point and unimportant. The point is the one that Dr. Polkinghorne emphasizes … Jesus was not opportunistically co-opted for God’s purpose but he was part of that purpose from the start. This was God’s plan and God’s doing.

What do you think? Do Dr. Polkinghorne’s reasons for believing in the virgin birth make sense?

What arguments are persuasive on this, or any other “difficult to believe” event?

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(This is a lightly edited repost still appropriate this time of year.)

By Michelle Van Loon

I’d long heard the salvation narrative presented in the Bible framed something like this: “…and then there was 400 years of silence from God between the conclusion of the Old Testament prophet Malachi’s ministry until the birth of Jesus.”

These words may be technically correct if we explain that what we mean by this is that in the canon of the Protestant Bible, there are no divinely-inspired books covering the four centuries between Malachi and the events of the New Testament.

Most often, I’ve heard the intertestamental period discussed like this in Protestant/Evangelical churches:

You see, at the end of the Old Testament, God spoke through the prophet Malachi – and then nothing. God goes silent. 400 years of silence. It’s hard to imagine such a long time, but for the people who had seen God’s miracles first-hand, 400 years must have felt like an eternity. And the longer God was silent the worse things got. It certainly seemed as though God had forgotten both His people and His promises.

While I’ve heard some teachers and preachers asterisk their comments about this period with the reminder that God continued his redeeming work among his people, I suspect that the language of “four centuries of God’s silence” paint an image to hearers of a complete radio blackout similar to what happens when a spaceship re-enters earth’s atmosphere.

The truth is, there was no silence. I grew up celebrating Chanukah, commemorating the events that took place smack dab in the midst of this four-century period. Catholic and Orthodox Bibles include apocryphal books written during that period, including the books of 1 and 2 Maccabees, which details the story of Chanukah. Though Jewish Bibles don’t include these books in their canon, the Jewish festal calendar includes this minor feast in its cycle of observance, and has since before Jesus was born.

In my book Moments & Days: How Our Holy Celebrations Shape Our Faith, I wrote:

The story of Chanukah opens with the actions of a Jewish priest named Matthias. He took refuge in the Judean hills west of Jerusalem after a wave of persecution by the Seleucid (Greek) king Antiochus IV Epiphanes in 175 BC. Matthias gathered a band of holy warriors around him to reclaim and cleanse the temple from Seleucid control. These warriors came to be known as the Maccabees, a name likely derived from the nickname given to Matthias’ ferocious son Judah, “the Hammer.”

In 164 BC, the Maccabees regained control of the temple in Jerusalem. The priests who entered the defiled space immediately set to work re-consecrating it for worship to God. They were glad to find enough pure oil to relight the temple’s lampstand (described in detail in Exodus 25:31-40). However, oral history from the period recounts that though there was only enough fuel for one day, the lamp’s flame burned for eight miraculous days, which gave the Maccabees enough time to prepare a fresh supply. Seeing the light burn once again in the holy place after years of darkness and idol worship must have been pure joy for Judah and company. The celebration of this victory became Chanukah, also known as “the Festival of Lights.”

The temple remained in worshipping Jewish hands for the next two centuries. Because of this, when Jesus was born, Joseph and Mary were able to consecrate their newly circumcised infant son in the temple, (see Exodus 13:2, 12). The miracle of Chanukah made this possible.

Not long ago I posted this:

It’s time to bury the word “evangelical.” It’s both past time to bury it but it’s also time yet again to bury it.

I stand by that more today than even when I posted it. The term is now useless. Roy Moore lost but the vote in Alabama proved that evangelicalism as a movement has lost its moorings.

The Political Turn of Evangelicalism is undeniable, and I spoke about and against this in both The King Jesus Gospel and Kingdom Conspiracy.

George Marsden wants to hang on to the term and so concludes in his essay on the diversity of evangelicalism, including the usefulness of the term outside North America, and he notes well the intellectual resources now available among evangelicals. But he wants to hang on to the term:

It may well be prudent for the time being for non-Trump American Christians, including most Christian scholars, to distance themselves from any identification as “evangelical” in public. The term has never been that widely used as a primary self-identification. Yet the term may still be useful intra nos, as in “the Evangelical Theological Society or for Americans who are relating to their British “evangelical” counterparts or in connecting with those involved with the Lausanne Conferences on World Evangelization.

Certainly the word “evangelical” is still useful historically to help describe a huge set of historical phenomena and the remarkable fact that they can be so diverse yet hold certain features in common. At least it seems safe to predict that long after Trump is gone, if the human species survives, many varieties of what are now called “evangelical” Christians will still be flourishing. And some of these will be flourishing even more–especially I would hope by being kept closer to the mainstreams of the Christian heritage and all that implies in practice–if the faithful scholars among them do not lose heart.

And Ken Stewart’s attempt to contend that evangelicalism’s history has been one that has embraced both Bible and the deep traditions of church history. That’s not the problem.

The problem is now. [The image is from Tom Oord and it illustrates The Political Turn.]

The problem is that in the 1980s evangelicalism’s leaders — James Kennedy, James Dobson, Jerry Falwell — aligned evangelicals with the Republican Party and we have people today like Franklin Graham uttering asinine and inane defenses of President Donald Trump, we have pastors standing behind the President in the posture of blessing, and far too many evangelical leaders who are afraid to speak against the political posturing of evangelicalism.

Don’t blame the meaning of the term “evangelical” simply on the media’s use of the term. 24-7 news — TV or social media — has simply turned the Political Turn of Evangelicalism in the 80s into a harder firmer turn.

The problem is that America’s evangelicalism doesn’t know the difference between America and Jesus.

Progressive evangelicals are no different. All they want to talk about is Trump.

We live today in the wake of politicization of evangelicalism and that’s how the term is understood today.