Reflections on Grace and Community

Peter Schmiechen is a theologian and former President of Lancaster Theological Seminary. He has published extensively on the subjects of Grace and the Church

Category: Theology

Easter Confirmation

By

On June 8, 2025

In Grace, The Church, Theology

      On the Sunday after Easter, the Gospel reading (John 20: 19-30) presented us with two stories of Jesus’ appearances to the disciples.  In the first, Jesus appears to all the disciples except Thomas and shares with them gifts as signs of his resurrection.  Directly following is the second story of doubting Thomas, which seems to legitimize doubt in the life of faith since it involves one of the disciples.   I also suspect that Thomas is popular in a modern world which is suspicious of traditional religious authority and favors the right of the individual to seek independent confirmation of religious claims.  That Thomas should become a model for faith is surprising, since the ending of the story includes a mild rebuke of Thomas, which is easily overlooked.  Given the differences between the two stories, each offers a distinctive perspective on confirming the resurrection. Here’s why. 

      Let’s start with the story of Thomas: After Jesus appeared to the other disciples, Thomas refuses to believe their testimony unless he sees Jesus himself and can touch him.  When they are all together, Jesus appears to all of them and tells Thomas to touch his hands and side.  Jesus tells him to believe and not doubt, where upon Thomas declares: “My Lord and my God.”    But the story does not end there, with Thomas being the great example of finding faith while struggling with doubt.  Instead Jesus says: “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen but yet have come to believe.”  (John 20: 29)

      That’s a strange ending if Thomas is the hero.    Is he the model for faith or not?  To understand the last verse, we must consider the context.  John is writing to Christians 60 to 80 years after the resurrection.  None of his readers have seen Jesus before or after the Easter event, nor have they even seen any of the witnesses. They are what we might call second generation Christians.  They only know about the gospel and Easter by reports from the witnesses.   In fact, they do not have the option of insisting on a new appearance of the risen Lord.   From this perspective, Thomas’ request sets him apart from all the readers of John’s gospel.  He is demanding special treatment which none of them may receive.  Also bear in mind that even though we come centuries later, we too are second generation Christians, i.e., we depend on the witness of the women and disciples.

      So, what is John’s purpose for including the story of doubting Thomas in his gospel?   The question is important in light of the fact that holding up Thomas as the dramatic model for faith stands in tension with the need to address the second generation.  Let me explain.

     The initial theme is presenting Thomas the apostle as the definitive witness to the resurrection, set against the background of doubt regarding all the other witnesses.  Such a story would appeal to the second generation, which never saw any of the witnesses.  Not only does the story have what some would see as the apostle’s courageous refusal to believe unless he sees and touches the body of Jesus, but the center piece is the appearance of Jesus who encourages Thomas to believe and not doubt.  Then this culminates in the bold confession of Thomas.  It should be noted that “Jesus is Lord” is the oldest confession regarding Jesus and becomes widespread in the early church. So it would appear that the Thomas story is loaded with things to aid the second generation in believing.  

      But then a second theme emerges, which cuts deeply into the adulation of Thomas.  It begins with a rebuke of Thomas for believing only because he has seen.  Remember that Thomas asked for something no one else can ask for or receive.  It is here that the story is disappointing: by receiving an answer to his request, Thomas becomes a witness, like all the others.  For the story to be persuasive, we must trust Thomas as a witness, which is exactly what Thomas refused to do with the other witnesses.  What began in the hope of getting beyond trusting the witnesses now ends up just there: having to trust Thomas and the other witnesses.  While his story may be more dramatic than others, it leaves the second generation with the question whether they can believe without seeing. But then another twist occurs: Jesus blesses the second generation for believing without seeing.  It is not Thomas that is blessed but the readers of John’s gospel.   This is disappointing because the most definitive and dramatic account of the resurrection still leaves the second generation having to trust the witnesses. It would appear that they do not have any other option.  Or do they?

      It is at this point that the first story offers some help. Again, it is set in the evening when the disciples are together in a room (except for Thomas).  Jesus appears and shares four gifts: 1) peace;   2) a mission (“As the Father has sent me, so I send you…”   3) the Holy Spirit;  4) the authority to forgive sins.   Let me say that such gifts are mentioned at the close of the other gospels in various ways, the most notable being the Great Commission in Matthew 28.  It might be best to call signs of the resurrection.  

      This brief story strikes me as a very different from the story of doubting Thomas.  Instead of focusing on seeing and touching the body of Jesus, the story centers on what we might call signs of resurrection which form the community in new ways. In this story the appearance of Jesus moves directly to instances of transformative power: peace, a mission, the Spirit and the ability to forgive sins and resist the powers of anger and vengeance. In the context of our divided and violent world, these are significant.  Peace is not an ordinary, common practice.  Nor is accommodation to violence unusual, as today the world stands by while Russia reduces an entire country to ruble, Gaza is destroyed by bombs and its people starve, and Jews are killed on the sidewalk in Washington.  For good reason the first word spoken by Pope Leo XIV was “Peace.”  In a similar way, where there is clarity of mission, people reconciled to one another by forgiveness, or the presence of the Spirit, there is confirmation of Jesus’ resurrection.

      Once again we are confronted with the question whether faith is necessarily tied to other people or specific actions.   Can you believe in the resurrection and reject the four signs?  It is hard to imagine, but we need to avoid expecting all believers to live out their faith in the same way.  But the accounts of the resurrection draw believers together and they are given the Holy Spirit and sent on a mission to proclaim the gospel. (cf. Acts 2)  In the Gospel and Letters of God, it is unimaginable to speak of faith in God without loving one another.  Now we must be clear: the signs of resurrection are not the resurrection, but it is safe to say that where there is resurrection faith, there are the signs of peace, mission, the Spirit and forgiveness. 

      For a moment, consider these two scenes as two perspectives on the resurrection.  Both involve reference to Jesus’ physical presence, but for different reasons.   In the first story, Jesus’ presence is connected to experiencing the impact of Jesus as risen Lord.  The appearance of Jesus becomes a Pentecost event for the writer John.  In the story of Thomas, seeing and touching the body relate to certainty about the resurrection itself¸ as played out in the struggle between doubt and belief, but then is suddenly placed in the context of the second generation.  

      Now before we drive a wedge between these two views, let me affirm that both are part of the Christian witness to the resurrection.  If there were no bodily resurrection, questions would be raised whether it was all in the imagination of the disciples.  Conversely, without the experience of new life stemming from the risen Christ, the witness to the resurrection would lack spiritual power.   From the standpoint of the needs of the second generation—which is our situation—the first story is more helpful and persuasive. This is not to disregard questions about the resurrection itself. There is always a need to include the accounts of the witnesses.  They are the ones who insist that something happened to cause them to affirm that Jesus is Lord.  But as Thomas illustrated, if you do not have that experience, one can be caught between doubt and belief.  In contrast to Thomas, we do not have his experience.  

      I conclude from these observations that in the task of confirming the resurrection, the signs of resurrection become decisive.  The church needs to be spending time on how the resurrection forms the community in a new way and gives direction as to who we are, what we shall do and how we shall relate to one another. This is not unusual, since there have always been two approaches to confirming the resurrection: the appeal to the witnesses and the offer of signs of resurrection: peace, mission, forgiveness and the Spirit testify to Jesus as Lord.

       In other words, confirming the resurrection now relates to whether:

  • You are at peace or know anything about what makes for peace.
  • You have purpose connected to the Rule of God. (Note Jesus said you cannot serve two masters)
  • You have received a spiritual rebirth. 
  • You know anything about the forgiveness of sins (Note that the Amish consider forgiveness of sins a social practice required in order to hold back the power of vengeance and violence). 

Viewed from this perspective, we seem to be moving toward saying that the accounts of the witnesses inspire faith when the signs of resurrection impact our lives.  The testimony of the witnesses to the resurrection needs to be joined with a community where lives are changed by a mission, the presence of the Spirit of Christ, peace and the forgiveness of sins.

      Given all this it should not surprise you when I say that it is very difficult to talk about the signs of the resurrection apart from the common life of believers gathered in churches.  The idea of an individual Christian set apart from all common life may be possible, but it is the exception.  All of the signs of resurrection imply a common life of worship, prayer, study, service and fellowship.  Peace is found among people struggling with divisions and violence and the need to be reconciled to enemies.  To struggle with the need to forgive requires a community inspired by the Spirit, which celebrates that we were born to live for one another. Participating in congregations is not a popular thought today, as so many seem to be seeking individual forms of spiritual life apart from churches.  I will never say that Christ or the Spirit are confined to churches.  What I will say is that when believers gather to hear Scripture, where the gospel is proclaimed and there is a common life based on sharing bread and wine, in such places we may find signs of the resurrection.

Being and Doing

By

On May 4, 2025

In Grace, The Church, Theology

      One way of exploring the life of faith for both Jews and Christians is to use the terms Being and Doing. Let’s begin by saying that Being has to do with the state of a person, i.e., heart, mind and soul; while Doing has to do with how a person expresses themselves in momentary or extended actions.  I would even add that Doing includes the way we think, since thinking happens within a person formed with a specific Being. Thinking and doing are not the same in everyone because they are derived from different forms of Being in different cultural settings.

But things get complicated: On the one hand we assume that actions grow out of a person and so we ask: “Why did he do that?  But on the other hand, what one does can influence and form a person’s Being.  Much education includes training, even practice, in performing certain actions (and prohibits other actions) on the assumption that such repetition will become habits, which in turn will be internalized.  That is, the child will come to understand the reason for such actions and will eventually do them voluntarily.  The actions no longer need supervision by parents and teachers but become habits of the heart.

      So why is this distinction important?   To begin, the goal of true religion for both Jews and Christians is a new form of Being and Doing, formed by the gracious action of God.  This gives Being a certain priority since it represents the relation of the believer to God in terms of faith and commitment, love and gratitude.  But Doing is also essential, since the Being formed by grace finds expression in specific forms of Doing.  Take for example the Shema: ‘Hear O Israel, the Lord our God is One and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your might.”  (Deuteronomy 6:4-5)  The passage goes on to say that “…these words shall be written upon your heart…” and you shall teach them to your children.  Jesus affirms the same point: faith in God means voluntary and intentional love of God and neighbor, arising from the person transformed by grace.  Such heart religion can never be reduced to a list of things to believe, unrelated to the heart.  Luther and Calvin insisted that faith was not a good deed to gain acceptance by God, but the joyful trust of the heart toward a gracious God. To the extent that religion becomes defined only in terms of ideas or actions, it runs the danger of lapsing into lifeless repetition of seemingly good words or deeds which have no relation to the state of mind or heart. From what has been said, we can see the dynamic relation between Being and Doing.  Doing is dependent on Being as a relation to God, and Being as a relation to God cannot exist without acts of love.  Paul’s great sermon on love (I Cor. 13) affirms acts of love as greater than faith or hope.  The First Letter of John declares that if one does not love, one does not know God. (I John 4:8)  In this light Being and Doing cannot be separated.  When pressed, this leads to a surprising point of view, namely that anyone can do something good for a neighbor in need, by design or accident.  But true religion involves hearts and minds in joyful love of God and neighbor.

      We now are at a point to ask: Given the way hearts and minds have been orientated in the ways of the world and our own self-centeredness, how is this new form of Being and Doing possible?  When the New Testament speaks of redemption, reconciliation or liberation, it is pointing to the possibility of a major change in our Being.  Whether we describe it in terms of a re-orientation, or a deconstruction of the old form of self-hood and the re-construction of the new, what is being affirmed is the possibility of change, resulting in a new form of Being. 

Consider several examples:    

      1. The first thing Jesus says in Mark 1:14 is to announce the presence of the Kingdom of God followed by a call to repentance and faith.  The sequence is crucial: something is happening which requires and makes possible a change.  Repentance is a turning of hearts and minds from current commitments to trust in the Rule of God. The disciples are called to give up the standards of the world and accept the rule of love.   Referring to the old ways of ruling over others, Jesus says: “But it shall not be so among you.” (Mk 10:43)  We cannot serve two masters: One must choose to let go of the old and receive new life.

      2. The Gospel of John begins with the declaration that the very Word of life and light “…became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth; we have beheld his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father.”  Such an event makes possible such a drastic change that it can only be compared to a new birth.  (John 3) This makes no sense to Nicodemus, and  Jesus makes clear the new birth is not something we can control, but comes of the Spirit.  In a similar way Jesus speaks of living water and the bread of life.    

      3. Paul thinks we are so weighed down by sin, fear and the powers of this world that the change must be comparable to dying to the old life and rising with Christ to new life.  Transformation is possible because it involves one no longer living to oneself but living in the power of Christ and the Spirit.  In Galatians 6:3-4 he declares that he can expect great things of believers because they are a new creation.  Years ago Paul Tillich re-phrased these words, suggesting we think of this as a new being. 

      In these three cases, we need to note the peculiar sequence: First, the agent of change is God.  These are not self-help stories.  We do not improve, heal or restore ourselves.  

      Second, all talk about something new in us and the world is dependent on something God has done.  For Jews, there is a constant remembrance of God’s liberation of Israel from bondage in Egypt.  For Christians it is the life, death and resurrection of Jesus which constitutes the new event.  Whether you wish to point to Christmas, his calling of disciples, healing the sick, liberation from demonic power, creating a new covenant, his faithfulness unto death or God raising Jesus to be Lord, all of these constitute the new reality in our midst which generates a new Being.

      Third, from this new Being there comes the mandate to act in new ways.  Note the order: we are not called to bring in the Kingdom by ourselves, or to do things if we think they are good.  Rather, we are commanded to act because we have been drawn into the new Being by the grace of God.  As I learned years ago, the indicative always precedes the imperative.  What is in Christ becomes the basis (or possibility) for a new Doing.  Nowhere is this more evident than in Paul.  He begins with what is: God in Christ changing the world.  Then he admonishes us to be what we already are in Christ.  Take his words in II Cor. 5:16, where he makes the transition from what is to what is possible with the words: “From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view….”  In a sermon on this passage I stopped and said: Take a card and write on it: “From now on, therefore!”   When you want to know what time it is, pull it out and read it.  No matter what the time is at Greenwich, England, the real time is always: “From now on, therefore!”

      Fourth, and so important because our culture ignores this: The new Being is always a communal existence.  The exodus culminates in a Covenant; Jesus calls disciples into a New Covenant community.  The new Being of the community, as well as that of each individual contained therein, is sustained by worship, prayer, the sacrament of the new covenant, as well as acts of fellowship, service and evangelism.  

      Now let me raise the question: How is this affirmation of Being and Doing affected by the church crisis and does what has been said offer any clues regarding the way forward?  For seven decades, mainline churches have lost members (from 30% to 50%), hundreds of congregations, a decline in seminarians and a loss of funds.  The decline in members has been especially painful since data suggests that mainline churches were not able to retain confirmands. In effect we lost our children.  With little success at evangelism, decline and loss have dominated the mindset of church leaders.  That is the current world of mainline Protestant churches, but we should add that Roman Catholics and Conservative Protestants have experienced their own form of the crisis. We need to ask about how religion has been affected by the culture and why people choose life on the edge of churches or completely outside of churches.  And I would hope we would avoid thinking that the new Being is only in churches. 

      Here’s several things we know.  First, since the 1960’s the culture wars have dominated the way churches define themselves.  We have struggled with divisions over wars, civil rights, women’s rights, the environment, LGBT rights and many more issues.  This has generated a tense situation between liberal and conservative Christians, but just as importantly, divisions within every local church.  In America the church has been defined as a voluntary association of like-minded people.  But the culture wars revealed that we are not like minded.  In this respect, the culture wars exposed the fact that the church of agreement is dead and that we were not at all sure about the basis of unity.  Was it a matter of belief or just a political process of majority rule?   

      Second, in American society, religion is something the individual chooses.  As a result, people can be religious or speak of Jesus outside the church.  Religion does not naturally involve a community with spiritual and social practices.  As a result, congregations are not seen as an essential part of being religious—in fact, they are too often seen as merely a means to do certain things.  

      Third, Americans are optimistic and tend to claim innocence, be they liberal or conservative.  In fact, conservatives now use the power of the government to forbid the discussion of certain issues like racism, lest such discussions make people feel pain. In such a culture, there is confidence that people can realize personal goals of happiness or solutions to moral problems by themselves.  In the context of the traditional link between sin and grace, the claim to innocence undercuts a distinctive way Christians talk about faith in terms of human need or the call to repentance. 

      Fourth, we can enumerate some reasons why people left the church.  Some left because they did not agree with church practices, especially in the culture wars.  Others were deeply wounded by practices which affected them and felt like they were pushed out, to become refugees.  For many, the disconnect from churches occurred along with the movement from rural areas to cities or cities to suburbs.  For young people it occurred during the time in higher education or the pursuit of careers.  In such cases, pluralism appears to be a factor since it undercuts claims by individual churches to be the only church.  At times one gets the impression that churches simply did not appear to be the place to be.  In the years after WWII, this was not the case, but it appears to be the case in the last fifty years.  People speak of being busy, having second jobs, or engaged in other things (like sports for kids on Sunday mornings).   

      It is appropriate to cluster all these factors together because I don’t think there is one central factor and the reasons for leaving churches probably overlap.  In more than one way it is unsettling to find that over this period many left churches because of the Christians, i.e., oppressive matters of faith and practice, as well as violations of trust by priests and ministers.    Leaving seemed the appropriate thing to do, as in the movie The Graduate, where the young couple flee the church and lock family and friends inside with the cross.

      There are some important things we have learned about losses and gains. 

      >We ought to be cautious regarding judgments regarding the spiritual life of those outside the church. 

      >While many left churches because churches appeared to be on the wrong side of issues relating to justice and peace, they did not appear to return to churches when the churches engaged in causes for justice and peace, i.e., churches active in such causes did not necessarily avoid losses or grow.  This does not mean churches should not join in action for justice and peace, but that such practices should not be simply a strategy for adding members.  

      >It would be helpful to know more about how people outside the churches nurture their being and seek to be transformed.  Here I am not just referring to self-help programs but the way people seek to participate in something which makes a difference or ways to be transformed.

      >Much of the language we use to speak of sin and grace needs to be re-considered.  For example, the traditional formula of beginning with sin so as to prompt a need for grace may not work because of general confusion about sin and innocence.  Or, those who find themselves suffering from oppressive systems do not feel a sense of guilt, but of shame.  They may not need forgiveness as much as liberation.

      But here’s an alternative: In one discussion on finding an approach to those outside the church, one pastor in Lancaster, Jeff Shanaberger, suggested that we model regular Sunday worship on the great festivals of Christmas and Easter.  In thinking about this, several things came to mind. The fact that many people do come to these two services may suggest that they are not as secular as we might think they are.  But more important, these two services have the power to attract because they begin with a gracious event which changes things.  This is the logic of the gospel and the proper order of Being and Doing.  Christmas and Easter celebrate with joy (note: that is crucial) the birth and resurrection of Jesus, the agent of God who brings salvation as well as a sacred presence.  They also celebrate the new Being of the community as the beginning of a movement to restore life and light in the world.  Need I say it, they begin with grace. 

      Think for a moment of the powerful words in John 1: the Word becomes flesh; light and life are present so that we have seen His glory.  Is it possible that we could envision the worship between Christmas and Easter, as well as Easter and Christmas, not simply as our attempts to interpret the meaning of these two great holidays, but to celebrate the glory of God revealed in our midst?  The old piety of gratitude, so mindful of grace extended to sinners, was not wrong and will always be part of the gospel.  But in our situation, what if we saw worship as a way of overwhelming and inspiring listeners with the glory of the new being in Christ.  In the middle ages, cathedrals did that for people and still do for some.  In the Protestant revolt, the proclamation of grace captured the imagination of people weighed down by the judgment of God. To see the glory of God in the community at worship, at the table, in fellowship, and in service may be a way to point to the good news.  This might move us to reform the Supper liturgy so that it is not a sacrament of penance, but a glorious celebration of the cosmic salvation in Christ.  I can also dream that it might prompt a new lectionary focusing on broad themes regarding the gospel, with clusters of texts which might focus our attention on proclaiming the gospel in the current crisis of the church.  And if our preaching followed the sequences in the gospels, where men and women were called to make a decision, it might be just the way to invite listeners today to choose and to decide what one will do with one’s life.  A piety of glory would be an amazing turn of events.       

Note: For a more detailed discussion of some of these issues, see Tradition in Crisis: The Case for Centric Protestants.

The Truth Shall Set You Free

By

On March 12, 2025

In Grace, Politics, Theology

            When I was teaching courses on the Bible at Elmhurst College, John 8:32 was a wonderful opening to what religion was all about: “The truth shall make you free.”  Enrollments had shifted to the Social and Natural Sciences, reflecting the cultural shift that truth had to do with facts and the ability to use and control all sorts of things: institutions, markets and even nature itself. So it was very counter cultural to suggest that Jesus was not thinking of truth as facts but the relation between ourselves and other people, nature and God. It had to do with life rather than death, harmony rather than division. For this reason I don’t do very well on a Bible quiz dealing with people and places. 

            Christian writings often appeal to Genesis 2 to describe how things were meant to be, before they were torn apart by deception and falsehood. This idyllic picture can be helpful even though one need not take Genesis 1-2 as a literal description of the origin of things.  So consider the image: The newly created humans know the truth: they know that they are human and not God, that God is God and may be trusted; and that freedom and life are found in loving one another and God. It may be called Paradise because of the harmony between all. The humans trust one another and there is no fear, even though they are naked, i.e, defenseless. But when they seek the knowledge of good and evil, which belongs only to God, the harmony is broken and they are afraid of one another and of God. In that state, they must protect themselves from one another (therefore they put on clothes) and hide from God. Note, in that situation they are no longer free but are governed by fear and the need to defend themselves.  From this perspective, the truth which brings freedom is the truth that restores relations between humans and God. In other words, truth is the means to repair the damage of deception and falsehood.

            But things change. We are now at a point where it is necessary to affirm that truth also has to do with facts and that whatever our intentions, messing with facts can cause a serious break in relations with nature, one another and with God. This is not surprising. Facts tell us about specific things, but also about the relations between things. If I say Cleveland is in Ohio, that means that it is east of Chicago. But that’s an easy one. When your wife asks the question: “Where were you last night?” this seemingly factual question could prove to be a very important relational question.

            Human discourse requires that we tell the truth about facts. Family life, business, education, history, science, health and yes, politics, are all about getting the facts straight. All my life it has been suggested the politicians sometimes misrepresent things, shade the truth, and even say things which are false. But I have never known a president who willingly and without shame, tells us so many false things as the current president. It first appeared that he just had a penchant for exaggeration or making sweeping statements. But then it was declared that what he said were “alternative facts.” It took a while to understand this, but it is hard to accept is as normal or right.

            Insisting on falsehoods is marked by two things. The first is that it is not just exaggeration, but a deliberate attempt to create a new reality or alternative world. By misrepresenting oneself one theoretically becomes what one hopes to be—a successful business man, a great deal maker, and even a candidate that never loses.  All the limits and setbacks which most people have to accept are dismissed.  All the adjustments one has to make living with the people in the real world are unnecessary.  Life is defined any way one chooses.  It really is an alternative world, which can only be maintained by continually defending it and adding on extensions to the original falsehood. The whole thing is a house of cards.  When it finally falls apart there is a sense of betrayal, like unto the exposing of false idols.

            The second aspect of living in an alternative world is that it requires accomplices and enablers.  In the micro-world of the family, the whole family has to adjust and go along.  In larger communities, those who are supposed to be the guardians of reality in all its forms must decide to accept the aberrations imposed by the alternative world.  Take for example, the attempt to create an alternative history of America, where the facts of slavery, segregation and repression are suddenly never to have happened, or at least in their true form.  We are supposed to somehow work out a new relation with African Americans without any reference to the real history, which is banned because it makes some uncomfortable and allows others to perpetuate an alternative history, as in the attempt to redefine the Civil War by saying that it was about States’ Rights or economics.  The problem with this is that it misrepresents reality and thereby perpetuates the original inequality.  White and black people are not seen as who they are, or what they have experienced, or what is currently the state of America. The truth is swept aside and replaced by false claims.  Truth, as respect for facts, is thus betrayed.

            The consequences of insisting on falsehoods and trying to live in a bubble of make believe are obvious.  One is that it initiates a continual process of defending what is false in order to perpetuate the original falsehood. Some states have now resorted to using the power of laws to force people from challenging the falsehoods.  With our President it began with arguments about crowd size at his first inauguration, and culminated in the false claim that he won the 2020 election.  This was followed by the false claim that January 6 was not an attempt to overthrow the election.  Four years later it required pardons for hundreds of people convicted of crimes relating to January 6, since their convictions repudiated the claim that the event was a peaceful protest. At each point he sought to create an alternative world and in each case people around him were forced to play the game.  Elected officials, party leaders, religious leaders, news media chose to take up residence in this fantasy world rather than resist and acknowledge the truth.   Most recently, in February 2025, he repeated the false claim that the U.S. spent 350 billion in support of Ukraine.  But to everyone’s surprise, the President of France would not accept this and corrected the President in the White House: in fact the figure was closer to 110 billion, while NATO allies had contributed 130 billion.  Yet he repeated the false claim when he berated Mr. Zelensky.  So it goes, on and on, to perpetuate an alternative world.

            When a President insists on misrepresent the truth, those around him are forced to accept what is not true. Even though so many defer in silence or share in confidence that they don’t believe the fabrications, the damage is done. They are forced to lose their integrity in order to be loyal and keep their jobs. 

            The larger consequence is the way disagreements over facts lead to breaks in relations between people and groups. All these years of maintaining false claims creates a general breakdown in political discourse.  Those in the president’s orbit no longer may say what they know to be true.  The culture of false claims therefore sets people against one another, at all levels from family and friends to political opponents to world leaders.  No wonder things fell apart in the Oval Office on Feb. 28.  Mr. Trump wants to create an alternative history regarding the war, where Mr. Putin is not an aggressor, and move on to business regarding precious metals.  But the man sitting next to him was trying to save his country from destruction, which includes loss of thousands of soldiers and civilians, cities laid waste and the unimaginable, 20,000 children being abducted.  It is hard to get past the refusal to deal with these facts.  This is why we need to tell the truth.  False claims distort and malign people.  We must tell the truth because it is the first step toward right relations.  Recall that in the South Africa Peace Process, the process toward reconciliation began with telling and owning the truth regarding what happened. 

There was a time in Protestant theology when it was very fashionable to make a distinction between facts and broader values and relations. So, one could point to Jesus as the One who brings the truth about salvation, which has little to do with the facts of this world. That distinction may or may not have been appropriate in the 1960’s and 70’s as I struggled to find a point of connection with college students. But it is not appropriate now.  Creating an alternate world of false facts only isolates and divides. And that means, even if it is not the real intent, that division and war never end.  On the very eve of Lent, it is worth remembering that Jesus’ announcement of the presence of the Rule of God began with the call to repentance.  And what is repentance other than telling the truth about what is, about what we all have done, and about the consequences of our actions.  In this world, telling the truth can be painful.  Of course it makes us uncomfortable, but since when is our comfort the standard for what we say.  Only the truth about what has happened in our history, about what is happening in Ukraine and Russia, or Israel and Gaza, can set us free, no matter how uncomfortable or painful it may be.

Lent: The Power of the Story of Jesus

By

On February 13, 2025

In Family, Grace, Theology

      When I was a kid, Lent was a very special time.  This is the church season that lasts for forty days leading up to Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week and ending in Easter.  Back then, we did not practice Anointing with Ashes on Ash Wednesday, that was something Catholics did.  But we had to go to church every Wednesday evening for six weeks.  As I remember, it was a communal celebration of the story of Jesus.  He was always at the center doing things like healing the sick, teaching, telling stories and getting into trouble.  Around him were his disciples and lots of people who wanted to follow him, but kept doing the wrong things.  Then there were people who did not like what Jesus was doing and last but not least there were Romans who were in charge with lots of soldiers.  A great cast of characters.

       So every Sunday and Wednesday my Dad, the preacher, would present some episode of Jesus interacting with one or more of these people.  Some of them, like the disciples, seemed to want to follow him but could never get things straight and did the wrong things.  James and John wanted to do the right thing, but then asked to rule over people and Jesus really scolded them.  Late in the story Peter denied knowing Jesus and Judas betrayed Jesus, who was eventually arrested and crucified.  As a congregation of listeners, we were asked to see ourselves in this story and learn something about good and bad, but especially see the contrast between Jesus and all these characters.  So in one case we might learn about the selfish son who asked for his inheritance and went away only to lose it all and end up tending pigs.  That’s quite graphic.  Or, as already mentioned, James and John had trouble getting the message.  When they thought Jesus might come to worldly power, they wanted authority to rule over others.  And of course there were bright spots where Jesus taught us how to pray, or told us what we needed to do to be blessed; like the merciful, or the pure in heart, or the peacemakers.  The challenges were great, as in the story about the guy who had lots of money but loved it more than following Jesus.  Then Jesus surprises us by saying it will be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.  As kids we were not sure what that meant, other than it sounded like our day-dreaming about being rich didn’t fit in with following Jesus.  That became all the more clear as it became apparent that Jesus was faithful to God, even to the point of suffering and dying.

      As communal theatre, we were brought into the story, identified with all sorts of characters, whether they were good or bad, loyal or disloyal. Each week we saw another form of virtue or human failing and we were put in the shoes of one of these figures.  Sometimes it was about how things will work in the Kingdom of God. The parable of the laborers in the vineyard always provoked outrage.  You may recall that this is the parable where workers start at different times of the day, but at day’s end, they all get the same pay. At Sunday dinner we argued about that because it wasn’t fair. I think Dad was glad we were arguing about something important but he had to tell us to stop fighting.  Lost in all the yelling was the idea that in the Kingdom we are not treated as the world treats us according to very limited views of what a person deserves. What happened was that we learned by seeing ourselves in all the characters, wondering what we would have done and, if we were listening, what we would do now: will we be merciful, peacemakers and faithful. 

      I often think of those days—it wasn’t just the services but the time between them as well since the images were impressed on our minds.  I think it all represented a different form of piety. As I mentioned, it was a very communal process.  Being Christian meant being members of the congregation and that meant showing up for Lenten services.  Faith meant being faithful to God in terms of following Jesus.  Such faithfulness was always seen in the context of my family, consisting of a brother and sister, parents, grandmother and great aunt, structured around the life of a Protestant minister and the seasons of the church.  But I also lived in another world which presented other kinds of challenges.  Five days a week I went to a large grade school on the north side of Chicago, where the students were split between Catholics, Protestants and Jews. None of my friends at school or on the block where we lived belonged to our church.   I walked the commercial streets and saw the bright lights of movie shows and commercial shops. When my friends and I walked past bars and looked through the open doors we wondered what it was like in there.   I would take the L—the elevated train system—which ran through the backyards of very poor neighborhoods, I saw such crowded conditions which I could not comprehend. One summer I ventured farther from our neighborhood to a park on my bike, where I was knocked down by an older boy who then rode off with my bike.  My Father was very upset and took me to the police station where it was duly recorded but I never saw the bike again. When he mentioned this at church I was surprised to find I was some kind of hero. The event heightened the difference between the larger world and our church life, especially the intense practice of Lent.  There, portrayed for all to see, was the fidelity of Jesus suffering on the cross.  It was fairly clear to an impressionable schoolboy that there was a difference between this message of the faithful Jesus and the messages received from the public world around me.  At the time I had no idea how to resolve the tensions, but I knew they existed.  Jesus made it clear that I was living in two worlds and that I could not serve two masters.  What was not clear was how to resolve that and I guess I am still working on it

      That world has changed in important ways.  We all know about the decline of organized religion, the closing of churches and loss of members.  But consider some major changes in the way we think about religion.  One is that for many people, the practice of religion is an individual matter, involving a single person and God.  Or as is often said: “I’m interested in spirituality.”  What this can mean is that individuals use worship and the resources of organized religion to support and strengthen their personal life.  It is not a matter of building up the church and its mission, even if one goes to church now and then.  Religion is to support my personal journey and, as a result, one selects those things that will benefit my spiritual development.  So I hear a lot of journey talk: we are all on a journey, seldom together, and church is there to help you make your way.  Why is this a problem?  Well, for one thing, when the focus shifts to the individual’s journey, then participating in a congregation struggling to exist in a crazy world becomes less important.  For another, the person on the journey is in charge.  He/she is no longer called to be a follower and take up the way of Jesus, but to select from a market place of religious practices what he or she needs and wants.

      Images of being on a journey are very common and appear across the religious spectrum.  Some of them are good: they allow us to connect with people by respecting differences between people and where they are at.  People find themselves at different places along the journey of life.  And of course the most famous devotional book in Protestantism is Pilgrim’s Progress, which conceives the life of faith as, guess what: a journey.  My concern about the term is that it isolates believers from one another. You have your journey and I have mine. Most important, I fear it tends to view Jesus as the teacher/guide along the way who provides aid and points to the way.   When this happens, it minimizes the broad affirmation that Jesus is more than a travel guide, but the one who transforms us and joins us into a new spiritual life that is best described as new life in him.  This explains the preference for talking about rebirth and how Jesus is living water or the bread of life.  If you want some backup for this, consider the work of E. P. Sanders, who concludes that the most distinctive theme in Paul’s writings in the New Testament is that of participation in Christ.  In other words, Christian faith is about being part of the life of Christ and that means participating in the community of Christ.  Another helpful reference would be William Evans’ study of the Reformed tradition (i.e., Protestants influenced by John Calvin rather than Martin Luther).  He concludes that the distinctive thing about this tradition is being united with Christ, and that union involves the community of Christ.  Now, I don’t want to overdo this.  There is a place for each believer to ask about the state of his/her soul, to consider ways in which the gifts of Christ change, support and elevate the individual. In the gospels, Jesus does and says things that speak to that all the time.  But it is always in the context of taking up one’s cross and following Jesus. 

      Let me put it this way: for several decades, books on purpose have been very popular in prompting people to bust out of confinement to narrow or negative goals.  But whose purpose and what purpose are we talking about.  Is purpose just a psychological concept to help people expand their vision or improve their lives according to our cultural standards—some of which are the source of our problems? Our culture associates happiness with acquiring more things, making more money and moving up the social ladder, with little regard for whether this leaves lots of people with little access to such goals.  So when we talk about purposes or goals, which goals do we have in mind?  Those of the Kingdom or those of a consumer driven world? By contrast, I understand the gospel to be a call to be transformed by the grace of God, not a self-help strategy.

      In an article in the New York Times, David Brooks discussed how people use personal stories to define themselves.  He then asked “Yet if the quality of our self-stories is so important, where do we go to learn the craft of self-narration?  Shouldn’t there be some institution that teaches us to revise our stories through life, so we don’t have to suffer for years and wind up in therapy?” (3)  Is not the answer to the question, for Jews and Christians, the synagogue and the church?  Let’s unpack that.  First, by this I mean that our self-stories reflect interests, values and commitments we inherit and create by ourselves.  They may embody what is good about our culture and our lives, but they also embody some of the bias, self-interest and corruptions of a broken world.  If this is so, the question then becomes: by what norms and standards are we going to evaluate our self-stories?  What is needed is a new point of departure to enable us to move beyond our culture wars and social-political alignments.  Unless this happens, the craft of evaluating our self-stories does not produce much change because we are confined to private bubbles, claiming innocence and repeating the same old stories without a new point of departure.

      Lent offers something quite different.  By hearing the story of Jesus we are confronted with the fact that we still have not resolved the tensions between the Rule of God and the ways of the world, with all its brokenness, violence and warfare.  What Lent declares is that Christianity is not a three step program or a process we manage.  It is a crisis. And it is created by Jesus when he tells us we can’t serve two masters.  We must choose.  The choice is between repentance and trust in God in contrast to some combination of our values and the powers of the world.  Now here’s the hard part: Repentance as turning to God and trusting the Rule of God are not a work that earns us salvation.  Salvation is a gift.  That’s why the story of Jesus is a call to lose your old life and be born again, or to center your life not in the world’s ways but in Christ. In the end, the choice is to receive life by grace.   

(1)Cf. E.P. Sanders, The Historial Figure of Jesus, (London: Penguin, 1993).

(2)Cf. William B. Evans, Imputation and Impartation: Union with Christ in American Reformed Theology, (Eugene, OR., Wipf and Stock, 2008).

(3) Cf. David Brooks, “Self-Awareness May Be Just a Mirage,” New York Times, September 16, 2021, A23.  

On Holiness

By

On February 7, 2025

In Theology

      In about four weeks we begin Lent, leading to Holy Week.  In preparation for that I want to consider the subject of Holiness, which is crucial to all these events.  And you may be surprised by what we find.

      Let’s begin by recognizing that Holy is a basic name for God, as in the phrase “The Holy One of Israel” or the words in the Lord’s Prayer: “…hallowed be thy name.”  But it’s hard to talk about holiness without reference to other basic names like just, righteous, merciful, faithful and love.  Here’s one problem: Since we believe in One God, all these names must be united in some way or else we would end up with a God divided into different components.  But we would not use all these names unless each one suggested something a bit different.  So what’s distinct about holiness and how does it relate to the other names of God?

      Holiness, like justice and righteous, move in the direction of the moral majesty and perfection of God.  And these words have associations with judgment and punishment.  By contrast, mercy, goodness, and love move in the direction of union or reunion with God in kindness, forgiveness and salvation.   Many people first encounter this distinction when they discover that each parent assumes one but not both roles and the children had to figure out how to protect themselves from the Holy parent and appeal to the loving parent.  When the parents confused things by changing roles depending on the issue, the kids had to adjust their strategy.  But when you have one God, it is hard to know what to do if somehow God is holiness and love.  (Yes, I am aware that Roman Catholics might find comfort in praying to Mary or Protestants might rush to pray to Jesus rather than our Holy Father.  But in general, it would be good not to have God, the Holy Family, or the saints divided according to preferences regarding judgment or forgiveness. As you can see, there is a lot at stake in this discussion.  Unless holiness and love can be related in a positive way, we are not sure how to approach God, nor are we sure what it might mean to be a holy or loving people.  It won’t work to claim holiness belongs to the Old Testament and love belongs to the New Testament, since a careful reading shows that each Testament is about both. And I am not in favor of preaching on holiness one Sunday and Love on the next, leaving everyone wondering what will come next week.   

      The standard strategy for dealing with this issue is to find texts which show the unity of holiness and love.  A simple example of that is Psalm 23.   It consists of a comprehensive list of the way God protects, cares for, restores the faithful, provides goodness and mercy for ever in the house of the Lord. Here indeed is a strong affirmation of love and goodness directed toward us.  At the same time and from the first verse, we are reminded that the one doing all these things is the Lord, i.e., the Almighty God.  Holiness is not mentioned but implied, as we may have no fear in the face of the shadow of death, evil or our enemies.  There is no question that the loving, caring God is the Holy One of Israel, there is not a hint that holiness and love might not be united in God.         

      A somewhat different strategy would be to look at what holiness means when it appears by itself.  If the only way we can affirm holiness is to let love come to the rescue, that only paints us into a corner.  The question then is: What can we learn about holiness in both Testaments.

      Let’s begin with call of the prophet Isaiah in Is. 6.  When Isaiah comes into the presence of the Holy God, he declares: “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts.”  Nothing more may happen without a divine act of healing.  So, a burning coal touches his lips and he is made clean: “…your guilt is taken away and your sin is forgiven.”   Only then can the call of Isaiah be accepted.  Seminary students rush to have this read at their ordination, so they too may see themselves as called and sent by God.  What are usually not read are the next few verses: When Isaiah asks what he shall say to the people of Israel, the answer is to tell them God will destroy nearly everything because of their faithlessness and sins. 

      There are two themes in this story.  The first is that holiness differentiates God from humans, who deserve judgment, and it could take terrible form.  Note that this is expressed in two ways: a) the language of moral perfection, sin and guilt. b) the language of pure and impure, clean and unclean, and the resulting shame.  Standing before God, Isaiah needs to be cleansed outwardly as well as spiritually since he is an unclean person amid an unclean people.  This sets up a parallelism that occurs repeatedly in the Bible.  From a moral perspective, sinners need to be forgiven and reconciled to God; from the perspective of purification, they need to be cleansed.  If sin generates guilt which must be taken away, the shame of impurity needs to be washed away, or as in this case, burnt way. The second major theme, quite the opposite of separating us from God, is that holiness can be the means for healing/reconciliation.  It is the Holy God who commands that Isaiah shall be cleansed by the hot coal, allowing him to speak for the Holy God.   

      We have here an interesting development: The two forms of holiness move in different directions: one separates sinners from God and announces judgment, the other overcomes separation and makes whole. Note that the tension is not expressed in terms of holiness versus love but now appears to be two forms of holiness.  Also note that Isaiah is not made clean by his own actions, nor does he offer gifts or deeds to appease an angry God. Rather, it is God who initiates the means to overcome the separation and take away judgment.  This is true of every saving event in the Bible, such as the liberation of Israel from Egypt, the Mosaic Covenant, the renewal the covenant after the idolatry of the Golden Calf or the means of forgiveness on the Day of Atonement.  In the case of Jesus, the call to believe in the coming Rule of God begins with a call to repent. While Jesus does not practice the ritual washing associated with John the Baptist, his call for repentance makes clear that the Holy God requires change due to our separation from God. In the end, the change required is faith in the coming Rule of God and the call to participate in the New Covenant of Jesus.

      We don’t always think of Holiness as the will to redeem.  But consider the origin of the word holy.  It has ties to the words whole and heal. Holiness also has strong ties to goodness.   For example, in the creation story in Genesis 1, things are declared to be good, which can also be expressed by saying that they are whole and are united in harmony.  They have integrity because they are not divided by conflicting impulses.   By contrast, in Genesis 3, where the sin of disobedience appears, the result is fear and mistrust of one another and of God.  Instead of wholeness, Adam and Eve are divided.  And each is divided from their true self until wholeness can be restored.  Thus we can say that in its original form in creation, holiness contains the creative drive to create outside of God that which is also holy.  Then we discover in later events how holiness appears in the theme of God’s will to restore the creation, as for example in the covenant of Sinai.   God creates a people and calls them to be holy.  When sin enters the story in the idolatry of the Golden Calf, the harmony of the covenant is broken.  But the story does not end in absolute judgment, but the will of the Holy God to heal and restore the covenant.        

      One last example: Paul’s view of the righteousness of God. This is a well know example and, through Luther, became foundational for the Protestant movement.  Like Holiness, righteousness names God and also God’s opposition to sin and evil.  Sin is a break in our relation to God and incurs God’s judgment.  In this sense, to invoke the righteousness of God when talking about sin can strike terror in the hearts of listeners.  Paul, however, uses this most terrifying term to interpret the salvation appearing in the death and resurrection of Jesus.  Here the righteousness of God is at work as God’s will to restore and heal rather than condemn and destroy.  So Paul can say that “…while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”  (This is parallel to the declaration in John’s gospel that Christ came not to condemn the world but to save it.)   For Paul, this requires re-thinking who God is and what God intends for the world.  The holy and righteous God wills to save and redeem.  In this sense, the tension between holiness as separation/judgment and holiness as restoration/healing is resolved.  There will always be judgment against sin and evil but judgment is not the last word.  So Paul can say that the righteousness of God is revealed in Jesus as the restoration of the brokenness of the world. Such a conclusion has enumerable consequences for the way we think and believe, as well as the way we worship.  If at every point the Holy God initiates restoration, forgiveness of sins and liberation from shame, then we must never think of our salvation as something we initiate, generate, earn or claim.  It is always an act of God—the very Holy God who opposes sin and evil.

      So what have we discovered?  It is clear that holiness means two things: God’s opposition to sin and evil and God’s will to heal and restore.  This is quite amazing, since this tension, which is usually expressed in terms of the tension between holiness and love, is now within holiness itself.  It is not just love which pushes for healing and restoration, but holiness as well.   If this is the case, the ground for the popular interpretation of the cross known as penal substitution is taken away.  Let me explain.  As a way of interpreting the cross, penal substitution argues that Jesus must die in order to satisfy the demands of the law.   Sin has broken the Law and the Holy God cannot forgive until satisfaction has been achieved.   The solution is for God to send the Son to offer his life as settlement for sin.  To be sure, this act by God can be interpreted as a gracious will to save, but it is compromised by the idea that God cannot act until the demands of the Law are met. Holiness can only distance God from sin and evil and demand punishment to appease God by Jesus’ death. The whole argument rests on this view of holiness.  But this is not consistent with the way holiness functions in the history of salvation.  Holiness is both God’s opposition to sin and evil but also God’s will to restore and heal.  In Exodus 34 in the face of Israel’s idolatry of the Golden Calf, it is the Holy God who renews the broken covenant.  In Paul’s view, it is the righteousness of God which wills the salvation of sinners. 

      We have, then, a view of holiness which too often has been ignored in favor of the demanding and judgmental view of the Holy God.  This changes the way we view God and interpret the cross of Jesus.  And it even changes the way we think about fulfilling the mandate that the people of God should be holy as God is holy.  That would mean not claiming innocence because there is indeed a difference between God’s holiness and our attempts to be holy.  It would also mean that the practice of holiness would include the will to heal and restore rather than judge and condemn.

A Disruptive Christmas

By

On January 12, 2025

In Love, Theology

       Once again Christmas gives rise to glorious celebrations including music and carols, Christmas trees and candles, and gifts given and received.  The actual stories, however, expect more.  Take a look at Matthew and Luke.  Most people know the cast: Mary, Joseph and Jesus, shepherds and wise men. Less known are Elizabeth and Zechariah, the parents of John the Baptist, born a few months before Jesus. Then there is King Herod, who rules by permission of Roman occupying forces, and finally an old man, Simeon, who gives a blessing.

       Key to the stories is the tension between the angelic announcements and responses of those involved. The announcements proclaim new acts of salvation which will restore the nation, bring release from enemies, revelation to the Gentiles and peace on earth.  The responses are quite varied:  the women display confusion and fear, leading to excitement and praise of God, while Zechariah is so disturbed that he is struck speechless. There is fear among the shepherds, and even King Herod is so afraid that he plots to destroy all new born males if he cannot find the child predicted to be king.  The wise men wish only to bring gifts and avoid aiding Herod’s plans.  Zechariah recovers his speech to sing a new song, but only after allowing his wife to give his son the name of John, rather than his father’s name according to tradition. Then there is a final blessing by Simeon, who was granted his wish to see the salvation promised by God. There’s a lot of things packed into these stories and you may be able to identify with some aspect.  No wonder the Christmas carols show no limits in joyfully celebrating reconciliation and peace at the appearance of the Messiah.  

        What we have, then, are stories of great joy mixed with fear and death of new born children and a final escape in the night taking Jesus to safety in Egypt.  It is obvious that the writers could not forget that the salvation revealed in Jesus generated resistance and conflict.  Indeed, the New Testament is dominated by the question: If Jesus really is the Son of David and the Christ, why did he die?  It is therefore fitting that the story includes fear and resistance because the birth of Jesus intends to disrupt things as they are.  In the songs of Mary and Zechariah there is the contrast between the humble, the faithful who fear God, and the hungry (or poor), versus the proud, the rulers and the enemies.  The contrast between light and darkness represents the difference between the peace generated by faith and righteousness versus the violence and warfare of the world. . 

       Some of the songs intend to calm our fears.  First, we are reminded that what will happen is in line with the promises to Abraham and the covenant of Moses.  Time and again the fears of parents and shepherds are allayed by the assurance that God is faithful to the oath sworn to Abraham and our fathers.  Bringing John’s birth into the story of Jesus is a step toward uniting the followers of John and Jesus.  A dramatic move is the way Mary, who is young, unmarried and without child, ends up singing a song derived from Hannah, the mother of Samuel. Mary is therefore connected not only to Hannah, but also to Sarah, Rebecca and Rachel, the patriarchal wives, who all bear children late in life as promised by God. Since Mary is not old or barren, the point seems to be to place Jesus’ birth in this history of children born by God’s unexpected grace against human doubt and fear. 

       Assuring us of God’s faithfulness does not rule out that God intends something radically new.  The references to rulers, the proud, and enemies probably refer to the current ruler who has collaborated with the Romans in occupying Israel.  Besides being a political and economic burden, foreign occupation violates religious law, meaning that everyone has been compromised and in need of ritual purification. No wonder that John the Baptist will end up preaching repentance and washing in the Jordon as the first step toward true religion.  Likewise, Zechariah’s reference to light and darkness can refer to keeping or violating the law.  So he proclaims that the rescue from their enemies enables the pursuit of holiness and righteousness.  Such liberation is, according to Simeon, extending light to the Gentiles and peace to Israel, or as the angels said to the shepherds, God is glorified in heaven and there shall be peace on earth. 

       But here’s the hard part: If Christmas is about a new act of redemption, a transformation of the world, and then Christmas will involve changing lives, with tensions and struggles.  The early Christians knew this because that is exactly what happened in the story of Jesus.  There was resistance, opposition, suffering, and death.  We must therefore recognize that the uncomfortable and shocking side of the Christmas story reflects what happened between Christmas and Jesus’ death on the cross. So in our time there is resistance to the celebration of Christmas if it means disrupting things as they are.  Either the promise of Christmas is confined to a limited time and space, or the promise is adjusted downward so that it does not threaten the world, be it those in power or average folk who would rather leave things as they are instead of having them change.   

       To illustrate the disruptive nature of Christmas, consider the way Christmas intends to transform time and space.  For us in the northern hemisphere, our calendar consists of twelve months, all properly named and associated with the four seasons.  Days of the week have specific names and repeat themselves every seven days.  Time is organized and regulated as to what we should do and expect.  Then along comes Christmas, always on the 25th of December, but not the same day of the week.  It sets up a distinctive configuration of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—this year being Tuesday and Wednesday.  We are not accustomed to have sacred things on Tuesday or Wednesday, but maybe Sunday.  Suddenly two days of ordinary time are the stage for changing the world.  Ordinary time tells you when to work or attend to personal interests.  It tells you that some own most of everything and others are supposed to be happy with little food or health care. It reports where wars are destroying children and cities but not when they will end, since they are considered a normal way of doing business.  Sacred time tells you that God is near, mandating repentance, reconciliation and peace.  Thus Christmas is disruptive, since even we who are worn out by ordinary time are not sure we want things to change. Of course shepherds are afraid since they have little to say about anything, but so are rulers, who fear losing power, even to the point of killing children.  Mary is called to accept a role in God’s plan without knowing how this is possible.  Like Abraham, long ago commanded to kill Isaac, she must trust God.  Then, almost in comic relief,  but not quite because it too is so serious, against tradition Zechariah allows his wife to name their child and regains his speech.  These things do not happen in ordinary time but are made possible because the sacred is disrupting things. 

       In a similar way our space is changed.  A tree is brought into the house, decorations change the interior space, and at the center of this sacred space is a manger with a child surrounded by people summoned by God to bear witness to what God is doing in this world. Words and actions confined to the sacred space of churches now appear in our homes but also public squares and the airwaves.  Recall again how the carols talk about some very heavy stuff: God being near, people reconciled, peace on earth.  All this is very threatening to those who rule according to their own interests, as even today they would keep to their schedule of killing children in Ukraine and across the Middle East. They resist the encroachment of the sacred, but since they are unwilling to declare outright war on it, they try instead to confine it to a few days in December or to small sacred spaces.  They ask us to capitalize on the joys of shopping and parties in the hope that you will have a “Merry Little Christmas.”  The very words make one wonder what a Big Christmas would look like.  Nevertheless, Christmas, with its fear, sorrow and joy, resists being confined in the hope that we will dare to celebrate a world transformed.  In spite of the cultural forces organized to mute the message, it still intrudes with news of peace on earth, good will among all people.  In one sense what defines the church is precisely this: it is a community on earth that persists in living in the reality of God’s reconciling love all the time.

       Let me close with two things.  First, my son and editor, Nathan, in these days of remembrance of President Jimmy Carter, ran across these words of Carter from his speech upon receiving the Nobel Peace Prize:  “War may sometimes be a necessary evil.  But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good.  We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other’s children.”

       The second is a memory of mine from our years living in the Chicago area.  On the roof of the Merchandise Mart in downtown Chicago, every year they would light a big sign proclaiming Peace on Earth during the Christmas season.  Then I discovered that the sign was there all year, only the lights were not on.  It made me wonder what would happen if they were left on all year.  It was culturally acceptable to have the lights on in December and part of January and to then turn them off so we could get back to ordinary time.  A little bit of disruption is acceptable but having the lights on all year would be too much. That, no doubt, would raise all sorts of questions.  And that is why Christmas is disruptive.

A Favorite Verse

By

On November 22, 2024

In Grace, Nature, Theology

      On my opening page is a verse from Psalm 104 in the Jerusalem Bible.  Allow me to share with you why it is so decisive for me.  But first, here is the complete Psalm, which may make it obvious. 

Bless Yahweh, my soul.  Yahweh my God, how great you are!
Clothed in majesty and glory, wrapped in a robe of light!
You stretch the heavens out like a tent, you build your palace on the waters above; 
Using the clouds as your chariot, you advance on the wings of the wind; 
You use the winds as messengers and fiery flames as servants.
You fixed the earth on its foundations, unshakable for ever and ever; 
You wrapped it with the deep as with a robe, the waters overtopping the mountains.
At your reproof the waters took to flight, they fled at the sound of your thunder,
Cascading over the mountains, into the valleys, down to the reservoir you made for them; 
You imposed the limits they must never cross again, or they would once more flood the land.
You set springs gushing in ravines, running down between the mountains,
Supplying water for wild animals, attracting the thirsty wild donkeys, 
Near there the birds of the air make their nests and sing among the branches.
From your palace you water the uplands until the ground has had all that your heavens have to offer, 
You make fresh grass grow for cattle and those plants made use of by man, 
for them to get food from the soil: wine to make them cheerful
oil to make them happy and bread to make them strong. 
The trees of Yahweh get rain enough, those cedars of Lebanon he planted, 
Here the little birds build their nests and, on the highest branches, the stork has its home.
For the wild goats there are the mountains, in the crags rock badgers hide. 
You made the moon to tell the seasons, the sun knows when to set; 
You bring darkness on, night falls, all the forest animals come out: 
Savage lions roaring for their prey, claiming their food from God.
The sun rises, they retire, going back to lie down in their lairs
And man goes out to work, and to labor until dusk.
Yahweh, what variety you have created, arranging everything so wisely!
Earth is completely full of things you have made: 
Among them vast expanse of ocean teeming with countless creatures,
Creatures large and small, with the ships going to and fro
And Leviathan whom you made to amuse you.
All creatures depend on you to feed them through the year;
You provide the food they eat, with generous hand you satisfy their hunger.
You turn your face away, they suffer, you stop their breath, they die and revert to dust.
You give breath, fresh life begins, you keep renewing the world.

Glory for ever to Yahweh! May Yahweh find joy in what he creates,
at whose glance the earth trembles, at whose touch the mountains smoke!
I mean to sing to Yahweh all my life, I mean to play for my God as long as I live.
May these reflections of mine give him pleasure, as much as Yahweh gives me!
May sinners vanish from the earth and the wicked exist no more!
Bless Yahweh, my soul.

      Ever since I saw this translation of Ps 104, I was hooked.  In lively, poetic language it invites you to see all the wonders and terrors of creation. In its variety and wise order, “Earth is completely full of things you have made.”(v. 24)  At times Ps. 104 brings to mind Gen 1, though my hunch is that the Psalm came first, since it is more poetic, less formal and shows less interest in logical order. It also avoids the sweetness of Walt Disney and refuses to gloss over instances of nature in tooth and claw.  Our life, suffering, or death are placed in dependence of the God who gives or stops the breath of all living things. There is no apology or retreat from that cluster of affirmations so essential to the Jewish world view:  All things are created by God and they display wondrous variety and order.  There is no attempt to cover up frightening stuff or only talk about what we might think is the good stuff.  And, this is interesting, what was once created continues to exist only by the sustaining power of God.  The world is not a wind up clock.  God is not beyond the world, uninvolved or unaffected by what happens.  Finally, this is our intended home. We are not to long for a spiritual existence void of work or physical sufferings.  We are a part of this world, capable of rejoicing in God, just as God rejoices in the wonders of creation.

      Ps. 104 is in the form of dramatic poetry with wonder filled images.  Can such metaphorical images be a basis for descriptions of God, the world and human life? In my life time, one school of thought has insisted that the Hebrew mind was simply not interested in what we would call the nature of things, especially in terms of philosophical analysis.  This meant that the Hebrew Bible was interested in the history and the salvation of Israel but not discussing God or the world in technical terms.  Now, the issue here is not the use of poetry or metaphorical language, since both forms of speech might convey something to be true in a descriptive way.  For example, liberals object to Gen. 1-2 as a literal account of creation not because it uses poetry but because it does not accord with our view of the created order.  So what are we to do with Ps. 104? 

      Some might be put off by the suggestion that the world is surrounded by water—an image which reappears in the flood story of Noah, where the flood occurs because the waters of the deep rise to cover everything.  Or, were the large sea monsters (Leviathan) really created to amuse God?  Or again, one might ask why there is no rationale for giving or taking away the breath of life: are we at the mercy of divine whims or is there some clear purpose to the divine providence?  These are legitimate questions and we should note that they assume that poetry in praise of God can convey descriptions of God and the world.

      For myself, I have never been convinced that material like Ps. 104 speaks only to the heart and makes no claims about God or the world. The Psalms affirmed God the creator of all things and that humans were created for life with one another, nature and God.  That such affirmations are embedded in poetic language of praise only makes them more powerful, since they are statements about God and the world bound up with faith and love toward one another and God.

      If, on the other hand, the Psalms do not give us statements about God and the world, then a different kind of problem is created.  Where are we going to find descriptions of God and the world to fill in the picture?  If you know Christian history and theology, you are probably laughing.  In an effort to give the Psalms a surer foundation, Christians in every age have borrowed language to fill in the void in the hope of giving the Psalms a surer foundation.  Too often, they turned to Greek philosophy, which relies on the sharp distinction between the real and unreal, the infinite and finite, the spiritual and physical.  For example, the great debate over the Trinity basically was a clash between Platonic versus Biblical assumptions regarding God.  Could the Infinite God, who created all things actually enter this world of finitude and fallen creatures.  Arius said No, and Athanasius said Yes.  The modern variation on such a view is the attempt to protect the majesty of God from the way God is portrayed in this Psalm.  God is the absolute and infinite, is above and beyond the created world, does not need to be entertained by monsters in the sea, nor is God willing to get involved in the complications of this messy world.  God created everything but now lets it run and is watching, as the song says, from a distance.   

      At other times, elements from non-Christian views crept into the church to compromise the Psalmist’s perspective.  In the early church opposition came from Gnosticism, which held that this world is fallen, prone to decay and death.  The solution is to escape to the ideal realm of truth and light. This is made possible by the secret knowledge given by a divine messenger.  The world is not our home but the problem.  The other great option in the ancient world which nullifies Ps. 104 is cosmic dualism, which offers a simple explanation for the presence of good and evil.  The answer is that there are two gods, one good and one evil. But the Psalmist will have nothing to do with this kind of polytheism.  

      These are the kinds of things on my mind when I read Ps. 104 and yes, that says something about me.  But they are also a part of our culture: on the one hand, the world is a mixture of good and bad stuff and the best we can do is stay close to the good and avoid the bad. Then along comes Ps. 104 and shocks us with a powerful set of affirmations.  There is one God, not two or many, in constant warfare.  This one God creates the heavens and the earth, things majestic and wonderful and the sorrowful and sad.  There is no attempt to divide the world between good and evil, nor any hint that we are spiritual creatures exiled to planet earth.  Human existence is not to be explained by using two separate categories of spirit and matter, since physical things appear to be enlivened by spiritual power, yet are still made of dust.   You can’t imagine how much religion that excludes.  Then there is the insistence that creation is not a once for all deal, but whatever exists continues to exist only by the power of God.  That certainly is an invitation to some interesting discussions.  And finally, there is a total disregard for placing God on a pedestal beyond this world, free from whatever happens and totally unaffected.  God takes pleasure in the creation and rejoices in it.  Certainly, not all questions are answered, but it is clear that the rich poetry makes multiple claims about God and the world.

      All this brings us to the ending.  Verse 33 proposes that singing is the appropriate response to the God who has created all things, including us.  Singing wakes us up, pierces the heart and elevates us to a higher level.  It is important because when done from the heart it is not utilitarian but offered as a gift to God.  It’s not elevator music.  When needing to praise God, Deborah sang a song, Hannah sang her song and Mary expanded on it.  David is said to have been good at singing to the Lord.   There is no purpose to singing to God except for the praise and love of God.  It reveals one’s heart, which is where your treasure is.

      Then there is the whimsical idea of playing for God all my life.   As far as I know, the Jerusalem Bible stands alone in substituting the word play for the word sing in v. 34.  The word play can refer to playing musical instruments, children playing games or young and old playing in sports.  Even professionals play the games.  Bart Giamatti proposes that play takes on a new and special meaning in the modern world: play is that free and spontaneous activity, striving toward personal fulfillment, in contrast to all the required activities and work, which for so many have become repressive and void of meaning. (Cf. Giamatti, Take Time for Paradise, (New York: Summit; 1989)   Some people work harder at their play because it is free and gives meaning to life.  In such activity the individual or group gives expression to what is truly desired, authentic and fulfilling. Thus play becomes the quintessential expression of one’s self (heart, mind and soul).  This modern use of the word play was certainly not on the mind of the Psalmist, but it may have been on that of the translator.  To play for God is to give to God the free expression of one’s heart. It is done spontaneously without regard to what is required by forces outside oneself. It is to love God.  And to do that all one’s life.  To ask how one can do this all one’s life is already to miss the point. It is to gather together all things in the love of God, so that the varied and wonder filled life created by God is given in praise of the Creator. Such action points to both the Shema: “Hear of Israel: The Lord is your God, the Lord alone.  You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul and with all your might” (Deut. 6: 4-5) and Jesus’ summation of all the commandments by affirming love of God and love of neighbor. (Mark 12: 31).

      Last but not least is the ground breaking affirmation that our reflections give God pleasure, “…as much as Yahweh gives me.” In one simple verse, without much fanfare, the Psalmist excludes the possibility that God is so perfect that God is unaffected by mere human beings.  God, who created all things, takes pleasure in the wonders of the world, knows and grieves our sufferings, and rejoices when we rejoice.  You matter to this God.

      Psalm 104 is like a wakeup call, but one needs some time to comprehend it with heart and mind. This world is not all there is.  We are not alone, forced to find whatever meaning we can in more material things or by abandoning them altogether?  I suspect the writer of this Psalm knew people who lived and worked in a world where God did not matter, or just as scary, never dreamed of finding goodness or meaning in this world. Here is the writer’s response. There is no holding back or fear of unanswered questions.  In our time, when secularism crowds out reference to God, or references to God seem pointless, these words are a great example of middle speech.  Indeed, singing and playing for God might be most appropriate for mean times.  

Love and Justice

By

On October 25, 2024

In Family, Grace, Love, Politics, Theology

      In 1961 my wife, Jan, and I joined CORE, the Congress of Racial Equality. We were 23 and I was in seminary in St. Louis.  Core was committed to breaking down the walls of segregation.  The organizing committee consisted of about ten people, holding meetings  Sunday evenings.  They were all professional people, older than we were. One young man by the name of Clay later became a U.S. Congressman.  We didn’t know much about the racial problems in St. Louis or about how to change things.  So we listened.  I was especially interested in the interplay between theory and strategy. 

      Mainline Protestants had developed a consensus about the priority of love. Love can be defined in many ways, from satisfying our needs to love of another or God without regard for oneself.  Given the priority of Jesus giving his life for service of God and neighbor, Protestants leaned toward thinking of the highest form of love as self-sacrifice for God and others. 

       But how does love as self-sacrifice relate to the struggles of justice which involve conflicting self-interests and struggles of power, or even restraining evil doers to protect the defenseless? And of course, many wanted to know how such self-sacrificing love related to the clash of national interests which demanded citizens to join military action against another state.  One solution was to argue that the church was bound by the standard of love, while the state was obligated and permitted to use power to resist evil and achieve justice. But that left some questions.  For example, were believers as Christians obligated to be pacifists?  Or, could Christians utilize power in politics or in the pursuit of justice in society?  My Father, a pastor, leaned strongly toward pacifism, although he supported WWII.  Yet he did not know what to make of political action, which routinely involved power.  His caution also extended to the direct action programs in the civil rights movement. As a result, the split between love and justice involved theoretical issues and personal decisions.

      In the face of this impasse, Reinhold Niebuhr had presented a bold alternative. He declared Christians must chose both: love as self-sacrifice was indeed the highest ethical standard but Christians were also obligated to pursue justice and protect the defenseless.  But here’s the catch: In most cases, justice in this world can only be achieved with various levels of coercion.  This was obvious for Niebuhr in WWII, but long before that he discovered that achieving justice in social struggles involved some form of coercion, as in the case of removing the practices of segregation. Then, having shocked all his liberal religious friends by arguing some degree of coercion is permitted, he turned and argued that non-violent coercion was morally and practically superior to violent coercion. 

      Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. took this idea and developed a strategy for change, based on non-violent coercion.  Other groups, such as CORE, followed in developing effective strategies.  In our small group meetings we were asked to think about applying non-violent force to change segregation.  This meant we would interrupt business at “Whites Only” lunch counters at Woolworth’s,  but not do physical harm to people or property and not respond in word or act with violence if something happened to us.  We were also told that we could be arrested.  That caused us some pause.  We had never been arrested and we had no idea what effect such would have on Jan teaching in a public school or my being in seminary.  We knew that our parents would not be pleased about our getting arrested, or even just participating.  After weeks of discussion and soul searching we decided to go ahead.

      As I recall, the sit in succeeded in disrupting business as usual at the lunch counter.  Some white people were not very happy and said so.  A reporter took our names and we were listed the next day in the newspaper.  But no one got arrested.  This of course was small stuff compared to the sit-ins and demonstrations that would come across the south where demonstrators were beaten and some were killed.  Soon the City Council introduced a proposal to require public places to be open to all people. This brought an interesting twist.  At the CORE meeting prior to the vote, someone asked by anyone knew a respected member of the Council.  To everyone’s surprise, the student in the back row (me) raised his hand and I was asked to call him.  He was a member of the church my Father had serviced in St. Louis.  But I had last seen him when I was 8 years old.  Somewhat nervous I called him and we had a good talk and he said he would think about it.  He voted for the change.  Somehow, his own moral compass and his friendship to his pastor prompted him to reverse course.  Even in the rough and tough politics of City Hall, love and friendship still displayed great power.  We continued to be a part of the group until we went off to the east for further study.   

      During that time, I heard Dr. King in St. Louis.  One statement stuck with me:  he said he was not asking us to love black people but to refrain from lynching them.  That always reminded me that the issue was not an attempt to suddenly reach the highest level of moral achievement (loving one another, or the white fear of intermarriage) but justice as freedom from violent and repressive practices.  Segregation was and is a form of terrorism because it devalues some people.  It is state sponsored violence.  Those that deny that sin can be embedded in the social practices and laws of society need a history lesson.  People were suffering and dying.  Right then.  So what were we going to do about it?  Appeals to love seldom did much to change systemic racism and violence. Dr. King offered an alternative: An incremental plea based on a non-violent strategy to reduce violence against blacks and facilitate the possibility of living together. Now this may not sound like much, but back then it was a huge step forward.

      There was no doubt that non-violent coercion was a use of force.  At that lunch counter we prevented people from eating there. The sit in took money away from waitresses and Woolworth’s.  We could claim it was not violent but it still was coercion.  Was it justifiable?  For Dr. King (and Niebuhr) it was justifiable in light of the suffering and threat to life.  Read Dr. King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail to get a sense of his deep disappointment when religious leaders told him he should be patient.  Patience and appeals to ethics had not changed much.  The same can be said when “thoughts and prayers” are extended to the victims of gun violence today, or when only condolences are offered to women denied medical relief by force in the face of rape and incest.  The disregard for suffering knows no bounds.  That is why Dr. King sought a third alternative of non-violent coercion in the cause of justice.  It is less than self-sacrifice, though many have been sacrificed in the process.  Acts of non-violent coercion are a form of justice that spares us the terrible consequences of violence and perhaps embodies the hope of reconciling love.  In spite of all the resistance and suffering, even Dr. King could dream.      

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén