2017-09-16T11:34:06-05:00

blue-sky-1844758_640By Austin Fischer, teaching pastor at Vista Community Church

Defending Constantine: A Review

Peter Leithart’s Defending Constantine is a great book (For a delightful juxtaposition of thought, read Defending Constantine alongside Alan Kreider’s The Patient Ferment of the Early Church).

Constantine, the first Christian emperor of the Roman Empire, is a monumental figure—a hero in some circles and villain in others. Leithart seeks to set the record straight, or at least straighter, by providing a measured, historical analysis of his life and reign as emperor.

Constantine has come under increasing fire over the last 30 or so years, due in large to the work of John Howard Yoder and Stanley Hauerwas. And as the book unfolds, it is clear that Leithart is primarily attempting to defend Constantine against Yoder and Hauerwas.

He succeeds in many ways. In particular, he exposes some glaring inadequacies in Yoder’s historical analysis. Leithart’s basic thesis is that there was no “Constantinian shift” wherein the church wholly succumbed to the temptations of the empire:

“If ‘Constantinian’ is taken to mean a ‘merger’ of church and empire in which Christians identify some nation or empire or ruler with the movement of God in history, there was a brief, ambiguous ‘Constantinian moment’ in the early fourth century, and there have been many tragic ‘Constantinian moments’ since. There was no permanent, epochal ‘Constantinian shift.’” (287).

And Leithart certainly scores some points here. Yoder was not the careful historian that Leithart is. Yoder had a tendency to exaggerate claims for the sake of making a bigger point. And most importantly, Leithart allows us to get into the shoes of both Constantine and the 4th century church. It’s hard for us to imagine how monumental a change Rome’s “conversion” was, and some are prone to be overly critical of both Constantine and his Christian contemporaries. Leithart paints a sympathetic portrayal of Constantine. He had flaws—serious, terrible flaws—but perhaps he wasn’t the cold, calculating, blatant hypocrite some have alleged. And perhaps 4th century Christian leaders weren’t the toady, groveling stooges some have alleged. Some were, but many weren’t, and many stood toe to toe with Constantine (like Athanasius).

Leithart should be applauded for his complex, nuanced portrayal of both Constantine and the 4th century church. I benefited greatly from it. And yet, I walked away from Defending Constantine with the sense that while Leithart might be right in some particulars, he loses the larger argument.

For example, Leithart, again and again, claims that the early church was not universally non-violent or anti-imperial, hence it is not possible for the church to have “fallen” into Constantinianism. Yet he never bothers considering that the church still could have “fallen” into Constantinianism so long as the early church had a bent towards non-violence and anti-imperialism that gradually became bent toward violence and imperialism in the wake of Constantine’s conversion. Take away some of Yoder’s more grandiose and hyperbolic claims, and the basic contention that the early church was primarily non-violent and anti-imperial stands virtually untouched by Leithart’s work here.

Which leads to another interesting issue. Leithart claims that neither Jesus nor Paul was anti-imperial. And yet, Leithart never explains what he’s assuming it would mean for Jesus or Paul to be anti-imperial. For example, he states Paul wasn’t anti-imperial because he used Roman roads and boats and was clearly thankful for the goods that the empire provided. Leithart never explains why Paul could not have done all of that and still been anti-imperial. In other words, Leithart seems to be assuming that one has to be some kind of anarchist to be anti-imperial, but that is not the case. Which leads to what appears to be a contradiction in Leithart’s argument.

Toward the end of the book, Leithart makes a concession: he thinks Christianity ultimately destroyed the Roman Empire.

“In short, the conversion of the empire did not bond empire and church inseparably together. It had, as we would expect and Yoder would want, the opposite effect. It loosened the bonds that many Romans felt to the empire, even as it strengthened their bonds to another city, another kingdom, one that spilled far over the limits of the empire.” (292)

I agree with him. Christianity’s vision of a universal family of God is inherently corrosive of the relationships that hold an empire together. It relativizes all empires, and empires struggle to survive when relativized. And if the gospel is inherently corrosive of the relationships and ideologies that hold an empire together, is it not fair to say the gospel is inherently anti-imperial? Is it not fair to say that the gospel Jesus and Paul preached was inherently anti-imperial? Leithart is an honest and thorough enough historian that he paints himself into a corner he’s gone to great lengths to avoid. He does not seem to acknowledge this.

Leithart also takes Yoder to task over Yoder’s reading of Jeremiah. According to Yoder, Jeremiah, in particular Jeremiah 29, provides the definitive Christian posture toward the world: “Jeremiah’s vision for Israel in exile was neither an effort to ‘Hebraize’ Babylon nor a retreat from cultural engagement.” (294) Yoder does not shy away from criticizing the “standard” OT perspective wherein the goal of God in history is the re-establishment of a Christian empire. And Leithart does not shy away from criticizing Yoder for failing to realize this isn’t merely the standard account; it is the canonical account, seeing people like Ezra and Nehemiah and their imperialistic aspirations as the fulfillment of prophecy.

And this is all true. But miraculously, Leithart never mentions that the “canonical” account—the hope for a revived Christian empire with a literal restoration of a Davidic dynasty in the land—is precisely the accounting that Jesus categorically rejected. And Jesus’ rejection of the canonical account is one of the primary reasons Jesus himself was rejected. So if Leithart wants to criticize Yoder for rejecting the “canonical” account, he ought to at least explain how Yoder is not simply following a tradition set forth by Jesus.

Leithart clearly senses that while he is a more careful historian than Yoder, Yoder’s theology is powerful, and the power of Yoder’s theology isn’t careful historical work but ruthless Christology. Yoder’s theology is powerful because it takes Jesus so seriously. Thus Leithart says:

“It may seem that Yoder has finally won the day. Perhaps he lost the historical argument but wins the theological one. If Jesus and the Sermon on the Mount are central to Christian political theology, does that not mean Yoder is correct that the only Christian politics is the politics of the church?…Does that not mean Constantine did in fact betray Jesus when he welcomed the church and set down his sacrificial knife but refused to sheath his sword?” (333)

He recognizes that Yoder’s core argument is that faithfulness to Christ requires nonviolence. Everything else Yoder says flows from this conviction. And though Leithart has done much to set the historical record straight on Constantine, none of that has really touched Yoder’s foundational conviction. Realizing he must lest his historical rehabilitation of Constantine crumble before the theological strength of biblical nonviolence, he attempts to rebut Yoder theologically, albeit briefly.

I don’t mean to be too hard on Leithart here. Defending Constantine is primarily a historical book. But it is a historical book with a theological agenda, and the theological justification Leithart offers for Christian violence is as sorely lacking in depth and nuance as Yoder’s historical criticism of Constantine was. He offers a telling of the biblical meta-narrative wherein he suggests it is a story of God’s holy war. God is a holy warrior. God desires we become holy warriors like him. God’s goal is to bring us to a place of maturity wherein we can be trusted to use the sword righteously. For one who I assume believes in total depravity, Leithart is remarkably optimistic about our ability to be righteously violent. Which leads to perhaps the most troubling thing of all.

Leithart isn’t merely arguing that Christians are not called to nonviolence. Rather, he’s further suggesting that violence and killing are an essential part of the Christian calling. I really don’t know how else to interpret his holy warrior narration of the biblical story on pages 333-336.

He then treads out the lazy Marcionite comparison, suggesting those who allow the NT teaching on nonviolence to trump the OT are following in the footsteps of Marcion, the vicious anti-Semite who rejected the OT and parts of the NT because of its Jewishness. He accuses those who reject violence as not letting the OT be “normative.” He glosses what it means to read the OT “normatively” in light of the fact that Scripture is an unfolding story wherein God is progressively revealed. He tends toward reading the Bible as a “flat book”, wherein all parts are equally authoritative. It’s dubious whether such a reading is theologically coherent, much less biblical. Thus Richard Hays, in his landmark work, The Moral Vision of the New Testament, says, “The New Testament’s witness is finally normative. If irreconcilable tensions exist between the moral vision of the New Testament and that of particular Old Testament texts, the New Testament vision trumps the Old Testament.”

Leithart doesn’t touch the firm NT teachings opposing violence (Matthew 5:43-48, Romans 12), with the exception of the vague suggestion that turning the other cheek wasn’t about self-defense because it was about honor and shame. For such a wonderful book (and I mean that—Defending Constantine is a wonderful book), it is a weak closing.

In the end, Leithart defends Constantine and does it well, but his attempt to defend righteous violence is far less successful. And we’re left with the perennial question of whether we think the Jesus who hung on a cross, forgave his enemies, and told us to do the same also told Constantine to kill his enemies to establish a Christian empire.

 

2017-09-17T13:10:27-05:00

Screen Shot 2017-09-17 at 12.42.26 PMWhen Richard Bauckham, Murray Rae, and Michael Gorman lend their name to a book on atonement, I’m all ears. They’ve done so to Thomas Andrew Bennett’s elegantly written new (and not long) study, Labor of God: The Agony of the Cross as the Birth of the Church. This is not one of those “the church got it all wrong” books but instead a book that suggests one theme — childbirth, becoming children of God, or in the big theme “God in labor” — can be a fresh entry point for understanding the complex set of ideas at work in any understanding of the atonement. The book is beyond refreshing.

The biggest problem I see in atonement discussions is the incompleteness of framework: that is, atonement isn’t located in the bigger story of the Bible of both creation and ultimate new-heavens-new-earth kingdom story. Thus, it falls for a minor motif (theodicy, etc) in the larger story and abstracts theology from the living reality of what God is accomplishing.

Bennett has the potential to connect atonement to the big story.

Here is a taste both of Bennett’s prose and the big ideas of the book.

Among these tendrils and roots, there is one image in particular that has cropped up from time to time, in the thoughts and writings of mystics and anchoresses, church fathers and mothers. It is an image of the cross that burst forth in visions and was then abruptly dropped, left by the wayside in systematic, doctrinal work. Perhaps the implications of this way of framing cross-thought were simply too radical—if such a thing is even possible—for theology to comprehend. Like classical Pauline images of the cross, it is strange and unruly, picturing the cross—surely the paradigmatic expression of despair—as surprisingly hopeful. Like the image of sacrifice it does not shrink from crucifixion’s physical horror, but unlike sacrifice it does not trade in the conceptual economy of victims and perpetrators. It eschews, in fact, notions of economy entirely, radically opposing the cross to the language of exchange, of this for that, him for us. And yet it does so without losing the concept of cost, of the truth that whatever Jesus’ crucifixion accomplished, it did so only at great physical, emotional, and psychological cost to the man Jesus and, possibly, the implicated Godhead. Like the image of victory, this overlooked metaphor, this biblical but not merely exegetical image, this ignored root from the Christian tradition, pictures the cross as embodied, costly exertion that succeeds. But the victory embedded in it is different from classical articulations of Christus Victor, for this fresh vision of the cross does not picture invisible forces or spiritual adversaries as the agents of our oppression. It instead remembers in the best Christian way that it is ultimately the corrupting influence of sin that must be defeated, and it makes sense of how the cross can actually do this.

This image, the one that really can revivify a teologia crucis for the twenty-first century, ultimately draws its power from a deep
connection to genesis, that is, origination. It evokes a semantic field that encompasses growth, new life, a fresh start, and the rhythms of the known, observable universe wherein pain and sometimes death are the fertilizers out of which new life springs. And this is how it accounts for the change that Christians confess the cross brings to persons, communities, and even the world itself. It is able to conceptualize coherently an instrument of denigration and torture as the process or mechanism out of which newness comes, new life for people as well as th
eir environs.

In this largely unnoticed strand of Christian theology, the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth is known as the birthing pangs—the labor—of God, who bears renewed, spiritual sons and daughters into the world. The blood and water that poured from Jesus are the blood and water that have accompanied every infant that has entered the world. The scarring harm, unavoidable and intrinsic to birth, marked too the body of the incarnate, laboring God. New life and new hope, long the prize and purpose of labor, spring forth in the Spirit from the mothering Jesus, incarnating into a dying world spiritual sons and daughters, possessors of God’s own inextinguishable life and heritable character. The cross is the labor of God. And in theological reflection drawn from this image, we argue that contemporary Christian atonement theology may once again recover the brazen, dissonant, radically gracious self-giving love of God (4-5).

Bennett finds his starting point in Johannine literature (John 3:37, 7; Titus 3:5; 1 Peter 1:23), and finds echoes of God in labor in Anselm, Julian of Norwich, Marguerite d’Oingt, feminist theology, as well as in Murray Rae. Here’s the thrust:

The language of second birth is therefore suggestive; it hints at theological depths in a way that other metaphors in John do not. It is enigmatic, forcing us to ask, “What is birth from above for John? What does it signal?” In short, “birth from above” takes place in Jesus’ crucifixion, and it signals the process by which human beings become natural children of God. In and through the cross, a fundamental change takes place in the relations holding between human beings, Jesus, and the Father—and the change implicates family and, in twenty-first century terms, DNA. At the cross, Jesus labors to bring humanity into God’s family. He gives us our second birth (8).

When creation is tied to redemption and to new creation, we are on to something vital. How’s this for a suggestive, if not provocative, opening?

If an essential feature of a faithful proclamation of the cross is radicality, then we may expect to shock and be shocked as Mother Jesus and the labor of God reconfigure what the church teaches about reconciliation in and through a humiliating death (14).

2017-09-13T20:22:45-05:00

100_4123 cropOftentimes when discussing issues of science and faith, or other issues that challenge the conventional thinking of the Christian faith, someone will up and quote or paraphrase Paul from his letters to the Corinthians.

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate.” Where is the wise person? Where is the teacher of the law? Where is the philosopher of this age? (1 Cor. 1:18-20)

Do not deceive yourselves. If any of you think you are wise by the standards of this age, you should become “fools” so that you may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight. As it is written: “He catches the wise in their craftiness”; and again, “The Lord knows that the thoughts of the wise are futile.” (1 Cor. 3:18-20)

The implication when this is brought into the conversation is, implicitly or explicitly, that we should forsake the wisdom of this world – the questions raised by philosophy, psychology, science, archaeology – and have faith in the wisdom of God and in his Holy Word, the “plain” reading of scripture. To accept an old earth and evolution or to question the historicity of Adam, Noah, Babel, Job, or Jonah is to succumb to the wisdom of the world, forsaking the wisdom of God (it is usually fine to turn the Song of Songs into an allegory though). To question the reality of Hell, eternal conscious torment, or the exclusivity of salvation is to succumb to the wisdom of this world.

In the 1 Cor. 23 Paul notes that Christ crucified is “a stumbling block to the Jews and foolishness to the Greeks” (1. Cor. 1:23). I have at times heard people claim that this view of Christ crucified as “foolishness” explains the resistance to so-called “biblical” views of creation be they young earth, old earth progressive creation, or intelligent design.

Does this stumbling block have anything to do with our approach to science?

Without discussing the specifics of the age of the earth, evolution, the historicity of Adam or the concept of Hell, I would like to look at this more closely today and pose a more fundamental question as well.

What is the wisdom of the world?

By the way – there is a link to an intriguing “scientific” study of greed and entitlement below. One that merely confirms, perhaps, the wisdom of God.

God has made foolish the wisdom of the world. But I don’t think this has anything at all to do with the age of the earth, the historicity of Adam, or many of the questions raised by the scientific study of God’s creation. The wisdom of the world is far more down to earth … and far, far dirtier.

The wisdom of this world involves jealousy, quarreling, and following human leaders. In the passages quoted above Paul is writing to a church in Corinth troubled by conflict, human pride, and divisiveness.

Brothers and sisters, I could not address you as people who live by the Spirit but as people who are still worldly—mere infants in Christ. I gave you milk, not solid food, for you were not yet ready for it. Indeed, you are still not ready. You are still worldly. For since there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not worldly? Are you not acting like mere humans? For when one says, “I follow Paul,” and another, “I follow Apollos,” are you not mere human beings? (1 Cor. 3:1-4)

The wisdom of this world involves greed, power, ambition, and self-interest. This “wisdom” is insidious and comes up repeatedly in the pages of the NT, in the sayings of Jesus as recorded in the gospels and in the letters of the apostles. The wisdom of this world is the world’s way to success and prestige.

Along this line there was an interesting article several years ago Higher social class predicts increased unethical behavior published in The Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. The authors performed seven different studies looking at the relationship between social status and unethical behavior.

Although greed may indeed be a motivation all people have felt at points in their lives, we argue that greed motives are not equally prevalent across all social strata. As our findings suggest, the pursuit of self-interest is a more fundamental motive among society’s elite, and the increased want associated with greater wealth and status can promote wrongdoing. Unethical behavior in the service of self-interest that enhances the individual’s wealth and rank may be a self-perpetuating dynamic that further exacerbates economic disparities in society, a fruitful topic for the future study of social class.

It isn’t that the poor are inherently more ethical, but that status conveys a sense of entitlement. The Science report notes “When participants were manipulated into thinking of themselves as belonging to a higher class than they did, the poorer ones, too, began to behave unethically.” Perhaps this study simply brings to light what Jesus taught.

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Truly I tell you, it is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” (Mt 19:23-24)

The wisdom of God overturns the wisdom of the world in pursuit of self-interest, be it money, power, status, or adulation. In the Kingdom of God self-interest and entitlement take a back seat to the love of God and love of neighbor.

The wisdom of this world involves failure to worship God and the world through its wisdom does not know God. At times the science and faith discussion does become mired in the wisdom of this world. Not because of the science, be it geology or evolution, but because of the arrogance to think that the knowledge that comes from human reason describes all of creation. It comes from an attitude that declares there is no God and rather steadfastly fails to acknowledge what the Psalmist knew … The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

What would you add to the list as part of “the wisdom of this world?”

Does the “wisdom of this world” have anything to do with the science and faith discussion? If so what and why?

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.

2017-09-02T14:43:00-05:00

ben-white-148430The word “book” in the post’s title is an intentional double entendre and a confusing one at that: we need the Book of Proverbs (that book) but as a book it represents the larger tradition of wisdom, and the other meaning of “book” is Tremper Longman’s new fantastic The Fear of the Lord is Wisdom.

The two scholars of my age to whom I go when it comes to wisdom literature are Tremper Longman and Peter Enns. Longman’s written a commentary on the core books of the wisdom tradition and so this introduction is a fitting summary of a career in wisdom.

Here’s why we need this book of wisdom and this book about wisdom: because those books sitting in the middle of our Old Testaments are ignored in “histories” of Israel and narrative approaches to the Bible and in theologies in general.

Here’s another reason:  because our society is bereft of wisdom voices as it clamors after the voices of revolution, after voices of the-new-is-always-better, and after the Me-Knows-Better-than-the-Past.

The result of a generation or more of departing from a wisdom culture is a devaluing of the grey heads in our churches. Longman is a good place to start, not because he is new but because he is putting together the wisdom of the wise on the wisdom concept in the Bible.

What is wisdom? Longman’s major themes from Proverbs, the fountain of biblical wisdom, show that wisdom is a skill in living, it is a moral life of obedience, and it begins in piety and is shaped by piety.

No one can be truly wise unless one is wise practically, ethically, and theologically.

1. The Skill of Living: The Practical Level
2. The Wise Person as a Good Person: The Ethical Level
3. Fearing God: The Theological Level

The most arresting images of the Proverbs are those of Woman Wisdom and Woman Folly, which Longman treats extensively and then shows the Proverbs presents its readers/hearers with The Choice of Life.

Now that we have considered the main texts that inform us about Woman Wisdom and Woman Folly, we should feel the burden of choice. With whom will we dine? Whom will we make an integral part of our life? This is the most fundamental decision we can make. But who are these women? What or whom do they represent?

Their names make it obvious that they are personifications of wisdom and folly, respectively. Indeed, Woman Wisdom, who is the more fully developed figure, embodies all the virtues associated with wisdom. She speaks truth and avoids lies. She hates arrogance. She is industrious, not lazy. The brief description of Woman Folly correlates with the vices associated with foolishness. She is secretive, a thief, and a liar.

So certainly Woman Wisdom and Woman Folly represent wisdom and folly. However, the location of their houses allows us to go further. Their houses are on the heights, and Woman Wisdom often speaks from the heights. When one asks whose house occupies the highest place in an ancient Israelite, or for that matter ancient Near Eastern, city, the answer is the deity.

Thus, we may go further and say that Woman Wisdom is not simply a personification of God’s wisdom but actually represents Yahweh himself. But if that is true, what about Woman Folly? Her house is also on the heights. Woman Folly also represents deity. In her case, she stands for the false gods and goddesses that rival Yahweh for the affection of the Israelites.

The choice is clear. Do we, the readers, choose to dine with Woman Wisdom, who represents Yahweh? Or do we choose to dine with Woman Folly and thus worship a false deity? In this way the book of Proverbs shows that it understands that wisdom and folly are theological categories.

So many today think wisdom is purely practical, purely pragmatic, secular, and universal. Not so, says Longman. Without theology wisdom is not biblical wisdom.

Thus, Proverbs makes it clear that wisdom is neither secular nor universal, but rather theological and particular to Israel.

The problem I perceive with those who go to the Wisdom literature in the Bible is the development of an automatic theory of life: do good, be blessed; do bad, you deserve what you get. This is directly countered by both Ecclesiastes and Job.

Longman shows there are two voices in Ecclesiastes: 1:3-11 plus 12:8-12 are the father and the Preacher’s “under the sun” theory of life is found in the heart of the book. Furthermore, Longman has this:

First of all, his final instruction is brief and to the point. He packs a lot of instruction into a verse and a half. His admonition to “fear God” teaches us to establish a right relationship with God characterized by fear. The son/we (the readers) are to “keep his [God’s] commands” and so are to maintain that relationship through obedience. Finally, the reader is to live in light of the future judgment. If we were to use anachronistic theological categories, we would say that we have justification, sanctification, and eschatology in a verse and a half. …

“Fear God” makes one think of the Ketubim [Writings]; “keep the commandments” evokes the Torah [Law]; and to live in light of the future judgment makes one think of the Nebi’im [Prophets]. If this is correct, then the father is telling the son and subsequent readers to adopt an “above the sun” perspective by turning to the Tanak, God’s revelation to his people.

Qohelet’s wisdom is thus minimized. Human wisdom, or “under the sun” wisdom, has limits. One must have a more robust theological vision.

Which is what we learn in Job: wisdom comes from God, not ourselves. The proper response is to submit to or obey God. Wisdom, then, as in Ecclesiastes and Proverbs, begins and is insufficient without a relationship with God.

The prototypes of wisdom — both good and bad — in the Old Testament are Joseph, Daniel, Adam and Solomon.

We need this book!

2017-09-05T04:28:33-05:00

McLeishI had the opportunity a week ago to join a group of colleagues for breakfast with Tom McLeish. It was a fascinating and wide-ranging discussion. Later that day I ordered copies of Tom’s book Faith and Wisdom in Science (2014) along with his more recent Let There Be Science: Why God Loves Science, and Science Needs God (2017). Tom is Professor of Physics at Durham University. He is a theoretical physicist specializing in soft condensed matter – polymer physics. You can read more about his science and other pursuits at his University website here. He also has an occasional blog coupled with his books on science and faith: Faith and Wisdom in Science. I had not seen his books before (rather surprising given the range of my reading in this area) but they are definitely worth reading and reviewing.

In Faith and Wisdom in Science Tom picks up on a biblical theme that has impressed me as well. The book of Job is probably the most useful biblical resource for understanding creation, faith and science. The wisdom hymn in chapter 28 and God’s speeches in 38-41 are particularly significant.  But Job will come later. Today I will look at Tom’s opening framework for faith and science.

What words or images are conjured up by the idea of science?  Are the ideas positive or negative?

 Tom notes that science falls in a class of concepts “that generate a very mixed response with a clamour of different voices including the critical, the impersonal and hard-edged.” Science both dehumanizes and cures cancer. Faith is a similar concept that generates contradictory responses – trust and extremism. Many voices argue that science and faith are contradictory and that science is the path to truth. As an example Tom quotes Dawkins: “I am against religion because it teaches us to be satisfied with not understanding the world.” (The God Delusion)

This quote is interesting. A person could equally say against Dawkins “I am against science because it teaches us to be satisfied with not understanding the world.” If science, touching on investigation of the material world limits knowledge and human experience it also constrains and constricts human experience.

In fact Tom points out that many people are uncomfortable with science precisely because it depersonalizes and dehumanizes. To unweave the rainbow, using John Keats’ line, is to remove an important element of reality from the picture. “For Keats, science relentlessly … saps nature of all that touches the deeply human within us.” (p. 15)

Another important perspective is that science is simply a tool to better the human experience (cure cancer, permit communication and travel). Perhaps, however, science is in part “art” providing a creative contribution to human flourishing.  Science may improve the communication between humans (thinking, feeling beings) and the material inanimate world around us.

McLeish suggests that our culture reflects the contradictory impulses toward science and its impact on humanity.  There is a clamor of voices in a chattering crowd.

We will need to … take a contemplative journey of our own through some science before we can tease out roles for faith, or even ‘Faith and wisdom’, in this highly emotive strand of our culture. What does it feel like to do science? … Some rolling up of sleeves and ‘contemplation’ of science from within will also prepare us for resonance we will need to be sensitive in reading wisdom literature from much older cultures. (p. 24)

The biblical accounts of creation, particularly in Job, reflect the (inspired) wisdom literature of ancient Israel.

This should be an interesting book and an interesting journey.

What images arise from the concept of science? faith? 

How does this reflect our culture?

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.

2017-09-04T06:40:37-05:00

Screen Shot 2017-02-18 at 11.14.30 AMBy Jeffrey D. Miller says No. On Miller, see here.

Complementarian/egalitarian discussions and debates can be complex. Some involve arguments from the finer points of Greek and Hebrew. Others may require an understanding of theological themes that span the entire Bible. Still others require solid grounding in the social sciences. Because of such complexities, I find it refreshing when someone asks a question that is easily answered. The question that forms the title to this blog entry is just such a question.

[For this fine book by Ruth Tucker, click here.]

Essentially all readers of Arise have heard the claim that egalitarians are following culture. This claim is typically intended to point out that egalitarians are being seduced by feminism. And the feminism in question is usually a reference to the movement called second-wave feminism, which began in the 1960s and lasted for twenty-plus years—a movement with ramifications which continue to wield strong influence today.

To those who would ask this easy-to-answer question, whether egalitarians are being seduced by feminism, I might choose to respond as follows:

Perhaps you haven’t heard of Martia, a church leader in France, probably in the 5th century—long before second-wave feminism. Or of Hilda of Whitby, a Christian leader and educator in the British Isles. She wielded considerable influence in the 7th century—long before second-wave feminism.

Unfortunately you have probably not heard of Lioba, a biblical scholar, church historian, and missionary to Saxony in the 8th century—long before second-wave feminism.

I wonder, have you heard of Saint Clare of Assisi, who exercised leadership as an abbess and influenced many Christian leaders, including Francis of Assisi and more than one pope, in the 13thcentury—long before second-wave feminism?

It’s more likely that you’ve heard of Joanna Cotton, who lived out egalitarian principles, including teaching adult men, in the 15th century—long before second-wave feminism. Or of Margaret Fell, cofounder of Quakerism with George Fox, who wrote the booklet, Womens Speaking Justified, Proved and Allowed of by the Scriptures, in the 1660s—long before second-wave feminism.

Perhaps you’ve even heard of Mary Hanson and Dorothy Fisher, early leaders of Methodism in Britain. In fact, when John Wesley compiled a list of sixty-six of the earliest Methodist leaders, forty-seven of them were women. Wesley compiled this list in the early 1740s—long before second-wave feminism.

Or of Mabel Lossing Jones, an evangelist and missionary. She began her missionary work in India in 1904—seven years before marrying famed evangelist E. Stanley Jones and long before second-wave feminism. Or of Anna Boyd, who preached extensively in the northeastern United States. She was or­dained by the Rhode Island Adventist Conference and became the first president of the Union Female Missionary Association in 1866—long before second-wave feminism.

Surely you’ve heard of Catherine Mumford Booth, co­founder of The Salvation Army with her husband, William. She argued for the equality of women and promoted them to ministerial equality with men. She was active for the bulk of the second half of the 19th century—long before second-wave feminism.

Again, you’ve surely heard of Jessie Penn-Lewis, a writer, speaker, and revivalist in the British Isles. Penn-Lewis advocated for women’s ministry in the late 19th and early 20th centuries—long before second-wave feminism.

I hope you also know about Alvera Mickelsen and Catherine Clark Kroeger, born in 1919 and 1925, respectively. These women were founding leaders of CBE International; they were writing about, as well as living out, evangelical egalitarianism before the advent of second-wave feminism.

You’ve noticed, of course, that the above list contains only women. But please know that over the centuries many men have also promoted women as Christian leaders of various kinds.

I began by claiming that this question—whether egalitarians are giving in to culture—is easy to answer. You don’t need all these names to answer it. Instead, you simply need a common-sense awareness that the idea that women are equal to men and are thus fit to exercise leadership in the church began neither in 1960 nor in the United States.

I should note that all of the women mentioned above have been written about in CBE International’s journal, Priscilla Papers. I easily found them, as well as many others, using the online index here: https://www.cbeinternational.org/sites/default/files/webindex2013.pdf. Another excellent resource is Handbook of Women Biblical Interpreters, edited by Marion Ann Taylor and Agnes Choi, which offers summaries of the life and work of 180 women ranging from the 4thto the 21st centuries.

In short, the answer is no, biblical egalitarianism is not the result of the second-wave feminism of the 1960s and 1970s. We’ve been around much longer than that.

2017-08-29T07:46:01-05:00

By Jason Micheli

Ash Wednesday Every Day – Romans 14.1-12

If you’re all caught up on Game of Thrones and Bachelorette in Paradise, and you’re looking for something new to watch, then I suggest you check out Stalker, a dark, dystopian science fiction film from the 1970’s. I discovered it on Netflix after I’d binge-watched all 7 seasons of Californication.

Stalker tells the allegory of 3 men who journey across a post-nuclear wasteland.

Shrouded in mystery, the character called Stalker guides two other characters, who are cryptically named Writer and Professor, across the burnt out remains of a devastated civilization. Stalker is leading them to an apocalyptic oasis called the Zone. Stalker has promised them that at the center of the Zone is a place called the Room.

In the Room, Stalker tells them, they will achieve their hearts’ desire. In the Room, their dreams will come true. In the Room, you will get exactly what you truly want.

Initially, it sounds like a promise worth a journey. Only, when they arrive at the threshold of the Room, Writer and Professor get cold feet. They’re overcome with second thoughts as the frightening thought occurs to them: What if we’re stranger to ourselves?

‘What if I don’t know what I want?’ Writer and Professor, in turn, ask Stalker.

‘Well,’ Stalker explains to them, ‘that’s for the Room to decide. The Room reveals you, it reveals all, everything about you: what you get is not what you think you wish for but what you most deeply wish for.”

At the edge of the Room, what had sounded like a dream starts to feel like a nightmare. Rather than escaping the ruins of God’s apocalyptic judgement, it feels like they’re about to enter into it.

Anticipation turns to dread as Writer and Professor both have an epiphany that terrifies them: What if they don’t want what they think want? In other words, what if they’re not who they think they are?

In a book about the film, critic Geoff Dyer says:

“Not many people can confront the truth about themselves. If they did, they’d take an immediate and profound dislike to the person in whose skin they’d learn to sit quite comfortably for years.”

Eventually, Writer and Professor run away, terrified at the prospect of standing before the Room and having their true selves laid bare.

Watching Stalker this dark, dystopian sci-fi flick from the ’70’s, you’d never close out Netflix, check it off on your queue, click off the clicker, and say to yourself That was a happy story. 

You’d never leave a review on Rotten Tomatoes to evangelize strangers You’ve got to check out this story about the Room “to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secret is hid…” 

You might say it’s a good story, a good flick, a good scare. But you’d never say it was good news.

———————

So how is this passage next up in Paul’s queue, “We shall all stand before the judgement seat of God,” how is this good news?

Judgement?

This sounds like bad news.

But the Apostle Paul left the bad news behind back in chapter 3.

Back when he said that “…all are under the Power of Sin…there is no one righteous; not one…all have turned aside and stand condemned.” 

That was 11 chapters ago. The bad news was 11 chapters ago.

Since then, the Apostle Paul’s message has been Gospel- the good news that we are justified not by anything we do but by what Christ has done.

For us.

That what matters is not our faith (or lack thereof) but Christ’s faithfulness.

That what counts- what God reckons- is not our unrighteousness but Christ’s righteousness.

It has been good news for 11 chapters.

Paul’s apostolic announcement has been about freedom:

Freedom from the Law.

Freedom from having to do right.

Freedom from the burden of human performance.

For 11 chapters, it’s been the good news of our freedom:

Freedom from judgement because, Paul told us, “…while we were yet enemies of God, God in Christ died for the ungodly.”

Freedom from guilt because, Paul told us, “…Since all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God; we are now justified by his grace as a gift.”

Freedom from condemnation because, Paul promised, “…There is therefore now NO CONDEMNATION for those who are in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

———————

But-

If there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus

If nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus

If nothing we do can separate us from the love of God- nothing:

Not our participation in persecution or war

Not our habits that lead to hardship or distress

Not our apathy that enables nakedness and peril and famine

If nothing we do-

If nothing we turn a blind eye to-

Can separate us from God, in whom there is now no condemnation, then how is this good news: “We shall all stand before the judgement seat of God?”

——————-

I can tell you nothing tightens the sphincters of east coast mainliners quite like a verse such as this one: “We shall all stand before the judgement seat of God.”

Still, even if the verse doesn’t make you fret with holy fear or sweat with sudden self-awareness, even if this verse doesn’t bother you, you still have to square it with the 11 chapters that have come before.

You still have to square this “…everyone will come before the judgement seat of God” with what Paul said 4 chapters earlier that “…everyone who confesses with their lips that Jesus Christ is Lord will be saved.”

Which is it? Everyone will be judged? Or everyone will be saved?

How does “…all will stand before the judgement seat of God…” square with chapter 11 where Paul said that all will be saved, that God will be merciful to all.

Judgement. Mercy.

Which is it, Paul?

It can’t be both/and can it?

That everyone who confesses Jesus Christ will be saved and everyone will stand before the judgement seat of God?

How do we square it?

Because you have to do something with it.

You can’t just dismiss it as a throwaway verse because the Apostle Paul doubles down on it in verse 12: “…each of us will be held accountable before God’s tribunal…”

In fact, Paul repeats it almost word-for-word to the Corinthians: “We must all appear before the judgement seat of God.”

And you can’t dismiss this verse about judgement because the Apostle Paul here sounds like Jesus everywhere- all over the Gospels, Jesus warns of the Coming Day of Judgement.

As in his final teaching before his Passion, Jesus promises that he will come again to judge the living and the dead, gathering all before him.

Not some.

All:

unbelievers and believers

unrighteous and righteous

the unbaptized and the born again

All- not some- all, Jesus says, will be gathered for judgement.

    The “saved” are not spared.

And all will be reckoned according to who fed the hungry and who gave water to the thirsty and who clothed the naked and who welcomed the immigrant.

And who did not.

“All shall stand before God for judgement,” Paul says.

Just like Jesus said.

And according to Jesus’ Bible that reckoning will be a refining.

A refining fire, says the prophet Malachi, where our sinful self- even if we’re saved- will come under God’s final judgement and the the Old Adam still in us will be burnt away.

The corrupt and petty parts of our nature will be purged and destroyed.

The greedy and the bigoted and the begrudging parts of our nature will be purged and destroyed.

The vengeful and the violent parts of our selves will be purged and destroyed.

The unforgiving and the unfaithful parts of us, the insincere and the self-righteous and the cynical- all of it from all of us will be judged and purged and forsaken forever by the God who is a refining fire.

Now, keep in mind- purgation is not damnation.

     Purgation is not damnation. 

But neither is it pain free. Neither is it pain free.

Again, how is this good news?

What’s Paul doing saying this here, in chapter 14?

Paul left the bad news behind, back at the beginning.

But the promise that you will stand before the judgement seat of Almighty God- stripped and laid bare, all your disguises and your deceits revealed, naked wearing nothing but your true character- admit it, it sounds awful.

It doesn’t sound at all like anything to which you’d say: ‘Amen! Me first.’

——————-

A couple of Fridays ago, my oldest son and I milled around Charlottesville. I went to college there and now we have a house nearby.

Alexander and I walked around Charlottesville’s Downtown Mall and UVA’s Grounds just before the tiki-torch-bearing scare mob descended from the Rotunda shouting “blood and soil” and “Jews will not replace us.”

We saw the empty Emancipation Park snaked with metal barricades and draped with police tape.

We saw homeless men looking dazed and curious about the stage craft and street theater setting up around them.

We saw the lonely-looking white men- boys- wearing white polos and khaki cargo pants, whose faces, illumined by flame and fury, we’d later recognize in the Washington Post.

We grabbed a coffee and a soda just off the side street where Heather Hoyer would be murdered the following day.

Meanwhile, some of my clergy colleagues were in an adjacent church training for non-violent protest, learning how to lock arms, how wash away tear gas, and how roll over to protect your liver when you’re being kicked or beaten.

There’s an elementary school near the park there in Charlottesville, most African American kids. I used to work there in their after school program, Monday through Friday, when I was an undergraduate.

Walking around the park with my son, I thought of Christopher Yates, the boy who had no father at home, whom I took to Long John Slivers on occasion.

Back then, he had no idea there were people in the world who looked like me who hated people like him simply because they looked like him.

Walking around that park on Friday with my son, who is not white and is growing into an ugly but necessary awareness of that fact, I thought of Christopher.

And I got angry- righteously angry- at those who would fill the park the next day.

“God damn them all,” I whispered, making sure my son could hear.

———————-

That Sunday I led the long pastoral prayer in my congregation.

And what I prayed…I prayed about them.

I prayed about them, those whose thoughts and actions betray allegiance to the gods of bigotry.

I prayed about them, those whose apathy and excuses and silence tolerate hate and harm.

“Bring your judgement to them, O God,” I prayed.

“Bring judgement to those who embrace terror, racism, and violence…” I beseeched.

Bring your judgement I begged.

Bring your judgement- upon them.

God damn them all. 

It was a good prayer, I thought.

Not everyone agreed.

One man, whose mother I buried and whose kids I confirmed, fired off an email complaining about “the Stalinist regime of [my] ministry.”

“Please don’t use this event as an excuse to ram progressive orthodoxy down our throats. More religion and less politics!!!!!!! Please!!!!

At least he said the magic word.

I read his email and sighed and, under my breath, I said “Bless his heart,” which you might not know is a southern euphemism for “@#$% @#$”

———————-

Still another worshipper took me to task for my prayer that Sunday.

Frank is in his 80’s, a retired Old Testament Professor from Greenville College. He and his wife moved to my parish a few years ago to be near his daughter.

After the final Sunday service had finished and the crowd had petered away and the ushers were cleaning up the pews, Frank shuffled up to me.

He was hunched over as he always is, a knobby cane in one hand and a floppy bible in a carrying case in the other hand.

He stopped, I noticed, to face the altar wall and, with his cane in his hand, genuflected the sign of the cross, tracing it across his lips and then his chest.

Almost always Frank has nothing but unfettered praise for me, which makes him not only the President of the Jason Micheli Fan Club but it’s only member.

Almost always Frank has nothing but praise. Not this time.

Shaking my hand, he shook his head in a ‘there you go again’ kind of way.

And he said: “Well, Reverend, you certainly were bold to pray for judgement on them.”

I was already beaming.

Ignoring my self-satisfied smile, he added: “You just weren’t nearly bold enough.”

“Professor, I don’t know what you mean…”

He cut me off with a “Tssskkk….” sound between his teeth.

“You only prayed for them. You didn’t pray for our judgement.”

“But…” I started to protest, “I was there. We weren’t the ones with hoods or tiki-torches.”

“Everyone in this country is sick with judging- judging and indicting, posturing and pouring contempt and pointing the finger at someone else,” he said, pointing his finger at me.

He raised his voice a little as well as his hunched-over posture: “As Christians, we’re supposed to put ourselves first under God’s judgement…”

“…Because we’re the only ones who know not to fear the Judge…” I completed his sentence for him.

He smiled and nodded, like I’d just passed his exam.

“Christians like to say that every Sunday is a little Easter, but, every day- every day is Ash Wednesday where we bear the judgement of God on behalf of a sinful world.”

He tapped his cane on the carpet and lifted up his bible by the straps as if to say: It’s all right here if you’d just read it. 

———————-

And it is- all right here.

The Apostle Peter makes Paul’s same point when he writes in his letter that “Judgement begins with the household of God.” 

The household to which Paul writes, the church in Rome, was divided against itself over issues of food and worship.

It reads in Romans like an obscure, arcane issue, but wipe the dust off their dispute and you discover it’s really the same debate you see spun out all over social media, on CNN and Fox News, and across the front page of your newspaper (if you still trust them enough to read them).

It was a debate over politics and identity.

It was an issue of ‘Us’ vs. ‘Them.’

The community in Paul’s Rome had split into factions, drawn lines, created competing tribes whose divisions had calloused and calcified into contempt.

Sweep the dust off this argument and you see that the community in Paul’s Rome was no different than the community in the Rome we call America.

Carnivores vs. Vegetarians.

It’s different in form but not in function from Democrats vs. Republicans.

Meat-Eaters vs. Non-Meat-Eaters – it’s the same dynamic as Black vs. White, Conservative vs. Progressive, Racist vs. Righteous.

Every time, in each instance- it’s like Pink Floyd said; it’s Us and Them.

And to them all, the Apostle Paul admonishes: “Do not judge…for we will all stand before the Judgement Seat of God.”

“Judgement begins with the household of God.”

Pay attention now-

Paul isn’t arguing (a la The Donald) that there are “many sides” to every issue. Paul isn’t asserting that every possible practice or perspective is permissible. Paul most certainly isn’t urging acceptance for acceptance’s sake or tolerance for tolerance’s sake.

No, when Paul implores the Christians in Rome not to cast judgment, he’s instead instructing them to bear it.

To bear judgement.

Upon themselves.

When Paul reminds them that we will all stand before the judgement seat of God, he’s not warning them of coming condemnation. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Paul isn’t preaching fire and brimstone. Paul’s pointing to their baptisms.

He’s reminding them of their calling, their commissioning.

He’s exhorting them to imitate Christ.

———————

Frank smoothed his tie underneath his jacket but it flopped out again as he hunched back over and shuffled out of the narthex.

He turned around a few steps later, pushed his glasses back up his nose, tapped his cane on the carpet, and then pointed its end at me.

He said:

“We talk all the time about imitating Christ, about being his hands and feet, and doing the things Jesus did. Most of the time we’re talking about serving the poor, forgiving another, or speaking truth to power.’

“But if the most decisive thing Jesus did was become a curse for us, taking on the burden of judgement for the guilty, then the primary way Christians imitate Christ is by bearing judgement on behalf of the guilty.”

———————

The primary way Christians imitate God-for-us is by bearing judgement for others.

Don’t you see- that’s how this is good news.

It’s us. We’re the good news.

We’re the good news of God’s judgement. We’re the followers of Jesus Christ who, like Jesus Christ, mimic his willingness to bear the judgement of God on behalf of the guilty.

We’re the good news in this word of God’s judgement.

In a world sin-sick with judging and judging and judging, indicting and scapegoating and recriminating and casting blame- we’re the good news God has made in the world.

     Just as Jesus said, the first will be last and the last will be first.

We who are baptized and believing, we who are saved and sanctified- we who should be last under God’s judgement thrust ourselves to the front of the line and, like Jesus Christ, say “Me first.”

Rather than judge we put ourselves before the Judgement Seat.

Rather than condemning and critiquing, we confess.

     We bear judgement rather than cast it.

We listen to the guilty. We never stand self-righteously at a distance from them. We never forget that ‘there but for the grace of God’ we’d be just like them, and that them not us, them- the ungodly, are the ones for whom God died.

We bear judgement rather than cast it.

We confess: our own sinfulness and guilt, our own racism and violence and pettiness, our own apathy and infidelity and failures to follow.

Knowing that there have been plenty of times we’ve seen Jesus thirsty and not given him a drink, plenty of times we’ve seen Jesus an immigrant and not welcomed him.

Knowing that even when we have seen Jesus hungry and fed him that doesn’t change the fact that even our good deeds, our best deeds, are like rags, for not one of us, really, is righteous and there is no distinction, really, between any of us.

We bear judgement rather than cast it.

Because we know we can come before God’s Judgement Seat expecting to hear the first words spoken when God came to us: “Do not be afraid.”

We’re the good news in this word of God’s Judgement.

——————-

Stalker, that dark, dystopian sci-fi flick from the ’70’s about a Room to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secret is hid…”  it’s a disturbing, unsettling, thought-provoking film.

It received hundreds of positive reviews.

It helped inspire HBO’s West World.

The British Film Institute ranks it #29 on its list of the 50 Greatest Films of All Time.

It’s a good movie.

But you’d never call it good news.

You’d never call it good news.

Not unless the cast included a few more characters, people who thrust the terrified Writer and Philosopher aside at the threshold into the Room and said to them “Me first.”

2017-08-28T21:53:30-05:00

RTB-BioLogosChapter two of Old Earth or Evolutionary Creation: Discussing Origins with Reasons to Believe and BioLogos focuses on biblical interpretation. John Walton presents his view as one approach common in evolutionary creation and at BioLogos. Kenneth Samples writes for Reasons to Believe. Today we will look at John’s opening statement. The next post will focus on Ken’s presentation of his view.

At BioLogoswe believe the Bible is the inspired and authoritative word of God.” Scripture is taken very seriously by everyone involved. Some prefer not to use the word “inerrancy” as the term carries some unfortunate baggage in our culture. I, personally, prefer to stick with inspired and discuss what this means rather than use other terms to construct a fence around Scripture (see Inspiration? Yes! – Inerrancy? for more on my thinking here).  John Walton (Professor of Old Testament at Wheaton College) is more comfortable with the term inerrancy.  In rough outline his view focuses on authority, accommodation, and message.

First, it is important to realize that the authority of Scripture rests with God and not with us as readers, or even with the original authors. But “God chose to communicate his revelation through human communicators. He thereby invested his authority in them. Scripture comes to us through human instrumentation.” (p. 29)

Second, God accommodated his message to human authors and audiences. This isn’t a cop out – it is a fundamental aspect of communication. “Every act of communication requires accommodation that will tailor the communication to the needs and circumstances of the audience, including their background beliefs about the world.” (p. 29)

Finally, the message was (usually) clear and intended by the original author. There are prophecies and oracles only fully understood much later. The New Testament authors certainly identified meanings that go beyond the original intent. Walton sees this as another example of divine inspiration. “The later New Testament author who interprets the Old Testament also enjoys the benefit of authority vested in him by God. So his message comes with divine endorsement too.” (p. 30)

However, now the canon is closed. We do not possess this authority to reinterpret. In the absence of a transcendent interpretation within the pages of Scripture, we should only view the intended meaning of the original author as inspired. “Once we move outside of the author’s intentions, we have no confidence that we are actually identifying something that God meant to say. We have no authority and neither do the meanings that we discern that are not represented in the inspired author’s intentions.” (p. 31)

With respect to the question of origins, Walton suggests that we err when we see modern cosmological models in Scripture. The Big Bang, evolution, an ancient earth, the globe, and a sun-centered solar system were unknown and are not found the Old Testament.  We shouldn’t expect to find scientific concepts that are alien to the original audience. “Our interest for the interaction with science is in whether the intentions of the author make claims that inherently deny the conclusions of modern science.” (p. 32) Walton has argued (For example, Lost World of Genesis One and Lost World of Adam and Eve) that the claims being made in Genesis are not material claims of origins, but claims of purpose and function. It shouldn’t concern us when ancient cosmology is used to communicate the message. God accommodated his message to the original author and audience. “In cases of creation and the flood, interpreters are obliged only to those affirmations being made by the author as expressed in his language and understood against the backdrop of his culture. The hermeneutical principle that is too often neglected is that we must therefore read the text as an ancient text, not a modern one.” (p. 32)

The intended message of God, conveyed though human instrumentation is inerrant.

Scripture does not teach evolutionary creation, progressive creation, or young earth creation (it isn’t a science text of any age or sort). This simply isn’t part of the intended message. We should focus on the intended message.

What do you think of Walton’s line of argument?

How do we discern the intended message of Scripture?

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.

2017-08-29T08:04:54-05:00

Does Greg Boyd affirm divine wrath? Good question. It depends. There are plenty of strong-minded theologians who proudly announce their affirmation of divine wrath, John Macarthur being one, who unfortunately do not keep wrath in any kind of tension or balance with grace. It won’t do flatly to announce wrath as divine retribution and leave it at that. Wrath, Yes, but how? Whether you like Greg Boyd’s view or not, he attempts to bring the fullness of Scripture into alignment with what he perceives is its center: the cross as a revelation of the cruciform God of gracious redemption.

Screen Shot 2017-04-18 at 5.35.23 PMGreg Boyd, in The Crucifixion of the Warrior God examines this issue under the category of “divine aikido.” Like it or not, he’s doing his best to examine wrath in the context of the larger sweep of Scripture.

I contend (and have said before) that the biggest problem for Boyd is many of those who disagree with him, perhaps almost all those who disagree with him, do not think his problem is a problem at all! That is, they don’t think divine violence in the Old Testament is a problem because — for the most part — they believe divine violence and retribution are entirely consistent with God’s holy being in the face of sin and that all people deserve that kind of violence. It is not, so they would say, unfair for God to be violent against some sinners; in fact, it is also unfair that God that shows favor to some who escape divine violence. This merciful unfairness is divine grace.

Boyd thinks that view itself is the problem and that the image of God projected in that view is inconsistent with the cruciform shape of God as revealed in Christ.

Here are Boyd’s big ideas:

Aikido means “the way of peace” or “the way of the harmonious spirit.’ Developed by Morihei Ueshiba in the 1920s and 30s, Aikido is a martial arts technique that trains “warriors” to engage in nonresistant combat, turning the force of aggressors back on themselves in order to neutralize their opponent and hopefully to enlighten them regarding the evil in their heart that fueled their aggression!

The Principle of Redemptive Withdrawal is anchored in the fact that God the Father did not act violently toward his Son when the Son bore the judgment of our sin that we deserved. Rather, with a grieving heart, the Father simply withdrew his protective hand, thereby delivering his Son over to wicked humans and fallen powers that were already “bent on destruction” (isa 51:13).4 Yet, by abandoning his Son to suffer the destructive consequences of sin that we deserved, the Father wisely turned the violent aggression of these evildoers back on themselves, causing evil to self-implode and thereby liberating creation.

We may thus state the Principle of Redemptive Withdrawal as follows: God judges sin, defeats evil, and works for the redemption of creation by withdrawing his protective presence, thereby allowing evil to run its self-destructive course and ultimately to self-destruct.

Yet, we shall see that our cross-based faith also requires us to discern that God is doing this in hopes of eventually redeeming these people and as a stepping-stone ultimately to causing all sin and evil to self-destruct.

So what about divine wrath? I reformat and put in bold:

I will argue that the cross reveals, and Scripture confirms, that God’s “wrath” is

(1) one and the same as his decision to abandon people to their sin,
(2) redemptive in intent (up until the final judgment),
(3) something that grieves the heart of God, and
(4) is his strategy for causing evil to self-destruct.

Put in my terms, divine wrath is not Schadenfreude as some careless preaching clearly suggests or even states. Notice how Boyd attempts to reverse the approach to wrath:

Indeed, rather than interpreting Scripture’s various depictions of God’s “wrath” through the lens of the cross, it is my impression that many theologians throughout history, and espedally since the Reformation, have tended to interpret the “wrath” that God expressed on Calvary through the lens of Scripture’s violent divine portraits. 771

The cry of dereliction is a critical verse in this discussion, leading Boyd to this (777): “In the separation that was experienced on Calvary, therefore, the Trinity experiences ‘the loss of God for the love of God,’ as Gerard Rosse expresses it. And because the love that this loss expresses is the love that eternally and necessarily unites the three divine Persons, we must consider the abandonment of the Son on the cross to constitute the supreme expression of the loving union of the three divine Persons. And … this is precisely why the cross constitutes the definitive revelation of the triune God.” He continues, “Perhaps the best way of thinking about this is to distinguish between the loving unity that the three divine Persons experience, on the one hand, and the loving unity that defines God’s eternal essence, on the other. We could say that on the cross, the former was momentarily sacrificed as an expression of the latter. That is, the three divine Person’s sacrificed their previously uninterrupted experience of perfect loving union in order to express the perfect loving union that defines them as God” (777-778).

At this point Boyd develops each of the four points above as how to understand the wrath of God.

We can summarize this insight by noting that as sin is the act of pushing God away, so God’s judgment of sin is the act of God granting the sinner his wish to push God away. 779

Indeed, this expression of divine “wrath” against sin involved no personal animosity on the part of the Father toward Jesus, let alone any :t of violence on the part of the Father toward Jesus. It was wicked humans, under the influence of demonic powers, who carried out all the violence described in the passion accounts. The Father merely withdrew his loving, protective presence, thereby delivering his Son over to these violent agents, in accordance with the plan the Son had freely agreed to. 781

Boyd next deals with the common view that wrath has as its end retribution:

The second aspect of Jesus’s experience of his Father’s “wrath” that we need to discuss concerns the fact that this judgment was not an end in-and-of-itself. The ultimate purpose of the Father’s abandonment of the Son was rather to redeem humanity and all of creation and to vanquish the kingdom of darkness and sin that has held us captive since the fall (e.g., John 12:31; Col 1:20, 2:14-15; Heb 2:14;1 John 3:8). 782-783

Boyd argues for divine grief over divine wrath: “I would, in fact, go farther and argue that since the cross reveals that the very essence of God is an unsurpassable self-sacrificial agape-love that fully identifies with sinners and that suffers on their behalf (vol. 1, chs. 4-5), we should not only say that the heavenly Judge “mourns’ with those who mourn under his judgments; we should go further and say that the Judge’s mourning in allowing any people to come under his judgment is inconceivably greater than the mourning of those who are being judged. Since God’s love for people is inconceivably beyond whatever finite love they have for themselves or for their loved ones, the suffering that God experiences when he sees he must withdraw his protective hand and allow people to experience the death-consequences of their rebellion must also be inconceivably greater than whatever suffering people experience as they and/or their loved ones undergo a judgment of God” (800-801).

It’s all aikido-like:

God did not overthrow Satan’s realm by relying on the kind of aggressive, coercive power Satan relies on and, not coincidentally, that earthly rulers typically rely on. God rather relied on his wisdom, born out of a love the fallen powers could not fathom, to disarm this kingdom and, in principle, to reduce it to nothing. By withdrawing his protection and delivering over his Son to these wicked powers, allowing them to carry out the violence that was in their hearts, the Father caused their evil intentions to recoil back on their own heads (cf. Ps 7:16), thereby using evil to punish evil. Hence, just as every aspect of the violence done to Jesus was carried out by fallen humans and fallen powers, not God, so too every aspect of the violence that brought about the demise of the fallen powers was carried out by the fallen powers themselves. 803

 

 

2017-08-24T17:57:36-05:00

Screen Shot 2017-08-19 at 2.22.54 PMOne of the approaches of Martin Luther to Roman Catholic theology was to argue that many Catholic beliefs — Scripture, Mary, Eucharist, seven sacraments, monasticism, justification and merit, purgatory, the saints, and the papacy — were unbiblical, therefore unwarranted, and at least potentially dangerous or distorting. Were their ideas about these topics unbiblical?

Matthew Levering, in his new book Was the Reformation a Mistake? Why Catholic Doctrine is Not Unbiblical, with a robust response by Kevin Vanhoozer, sets out to show how Catholic biblical reasoning accounts for each of those beliefs mentioned above.

So, what is Catholic biblical reasoning? It is Bible-based, church-shaped, worship-centered, and developmental. In other words, it is biblical but not just the Bible.

Catholic doctrine arises from Scripture, but it does so
through a liturgically inflected and communal process of “thinking with” Scripture in ways that cannot be reduced to an appeal to biblical texts for irrefutable evidence of the particular reality expressed by the doctrinal judgment. 20

I am not trying to prove Catholic doctrine to Protestants. What I am trying to do is to offer some grounds for challenging the view that the Catholic positions on the topics treated in my nine chapters are “unbiblical,” in the sense of being derived from modes of reasoning not warranted by Scripture and/or being not rooted in Scripture. 20

Levering, as he often does, makes an emphasis of the liturgical context for biblically-based reasoning:

After Jesus’s resurrection, his way of teaching the central truths of faith required the disciples to come to a clearer and deeper understanding of these truths in communal and liturgical contexts. 22

Time opens up more truth:

Through his Spirit of truth, Jesus ensured that his apostles and those to whom the apostles handed on the leadership of the church (such as Timothy) faithfully wrote and then drew together the books of Christian Scripture. Again through his Spirit of truth, Jesus ensures that Scripture would be interpreted faithfully by the church in handing down the gospel over the centuries. 22-23

Notice the ecclesiology at work in Catholic biblical reasoning:

The reasoning prescribed by the Bible for interpreting biblical texts is hierarchically and liturgically contextualized, in the sense that the Spirit communicates the word of Christ to the people of God who are gathered for worship by “the apostles and the elders,” and by those like Timothy whom the apostles (whose testimony to the gospel of Christ remains uniquely authoritative) appointed as their successors. 24

When God has gathered us in worship and praise, God reveals the meaning of his Word to us. 26

I am simply suggesting that the actual biblical ways in which God brings about his people’s understanding of his Word deserve attention when the question is what modes of biblical reasoning have a proper role in grounding Christian doctrinal judgments of truth. Even if (uninspired) interpreters cannot replicate the work of the (inspired) apostolic authors, the Holy Spirit may guide the church in Spirit-guided modes of biblical reasoning that, while rooted in more than the plain sense of the text, should not be called unbiblical. 27

So, his argument is that what Catholics believe about these nine topics is both biblical and not unbiblical and it is a kind of biblical reasoning:

Although Paul’s approach to biblical interpretation is not normative for post-biblical interpreters in any strong or determinative sense, it does provide biblical warrant for similar modes of biblical reasoning practiced by the church under the guidance of the Spirit in later centuries. 28

When asked to show what convinces us that Scripture supports the doctrinal positions by which we articulate the content of our faith, we must point to specific biblical texts, but we must also keep in mind that the modes of biblical reasoning that we find in Scripture are not normally aimed at providing logical or historical proofs, but instead emphasize participation in the living liturgical community that receives and ponders the Word of God. 28

My biblical reflections aim to show that even if one disagrees with judgments made in the course of Catholic doctrinal development, the Catholic positions on the nine disputed doctrines should not be rejected as unbiblical or as lacking in biblical grounding—at least given the Catholic view (shared by many Protestants as well) of biblically warranted modes of biblical reasoning. 29

The problem, as Levering readily admits, was the condition of the Catholic church in age of the Reformers:

But despite the need to reject easy caricatures, there was in fact a massive institutional problem characterized by a lack of holiness and an abuse of power, especially papal abuse but certainly not limited to it. 30

Instead, it seemed plausible that the bishops of Rome had gradually seized power and led the Catholic Church into its present ruin of Mary- and saint-focused piety, of selling indulgences on a grand scale, of lavish ecclesiastical lifestyles, of poorly educated clergy and scripturally ignorant laity, of neo-Pelagian theology, and so forth.

Thus, the Reformation was not a mistake. It was needed:

To call the Reformation a “mistake” in such a context would be absurd. I hold that the Reformers made mistakes, but that they chose to be reformers was not a mistake. There had to be a Reformation, and it is good that the Reformation shook up a status quo in Rome and elsewhere that was unacceptable and untenable. In this sense, the Protestant Reformation cannot be dismissed as a mere “mistake,” even if in my view it mistakenly deemed some Catholic doctrines to be unbiblical and church-dividing. 31

Although I differ from the Reformers with respect to the biblical grounding of the Catholic doctrines they disputed, they were right in seeking reform, in perceiving the large extent of post-biblical doctrinal development, and in insisting upon grace, faith, and Scripture at the very heart of Christianity. 31

Catholics reasoning like Levering are my friends.

Follow Us!


TAKE THE
Religious Wisdom Quiz

What Christian group is known for using incense during worship?

Select your answer to see how you score.


Browse Our Archives