Book Review: Recovering the Scandal of the Cross

As we rapidly approach Holy Week, the thoughts of many Christians will turn to the sacrificial death of Jesus of Nazareth on a Roman cross. The biblical texts are clear on this point: Jesus' death and resurrection were a necessary part of God's plan to overthrow evil and redeem creation. And so the church repeats again the truth that "Christ died to save sinners."

Exactly how his death accomplished this feat isn't so clear. Across the pages of the New Testament, a multitude of images and metaphors are used to explain what Jesus' death meant. These include sacrifice, ransom, battle, covenant, worship, and personal relationship. Since the time of Christ, the church and its theologians have wrestled with the meaning of the cross in their particular time and place. Various versions of atonement theology have arisen across the ages, including Christus Victor, Recapitulation, and, most famously, Penal Substitutionary Atonement.

In Recovering the Scandal of the Cross, Green and Baker cover in some detail the various atonement images used across the pages of scripture, as well as the more popular explanations from church history. In doing so, they come to the conclusion that there are so many images because there can be no single explanation covering the saving significance of the cross and resurrection. Instead, atonement is a multi-faceted concept that is best described using a variety of images. The New Testament writers followed this model; so, too, should Christians today avoid claiming any one model as THE model explaining the work of the cross.

This, of course, has raised no little controversy. To many Christians, Penal Substitutionary Atonement is most definitely the singular explanation of the saving significance of the cross. From Kirk Cameron to John Piper, voices have been raised in protest, arguing that denying PSA is denying the gospel. But Green and Baker make a powerful case that other images are truer to the biblical message; in fact, they agree with many who claim that PSA is a dangerous misunderstanding of the nature of wrath, that it too often leads to the support of abuses of power, and that it paints an unhealthy picture of God.

In the end, the authors believe it more important to seek out new ways of explaining the cross in our current contexts. Shame-based cultures will need to hear a different telling than would guilt-based cultures. The model used in Japan could and should be different from the model used in central Africa, which would differ still from models used on college campuses in the U.S. The basics are all the same - sin and rebellion have left humanity alienated from God, the source of all life. But on the cross Jesus has overcome the effects of sin and rebellion, and created new opportunities for life and wholeness for humanity.

From that starting point, Christians are encouraged to think broadly and deeply, exploring how their culture experiences the effects of sin, and what salvation means to them. Green and Baker offer some examples of this in action, using models developed in Great Britain, Tanzania, Japan, and the U.S. They then encourage the reader to move beyond simply accepting models created centuries ago across the world, and to ponder what the cross means in our world, and how best we can articulate that to those around us.

This is the 2nd Edition of Recovering the Scandal, and it has been heavily updated to reflect the decade of atonement discussion since its first publishing; in addition, sections have been expanded and clarified in response to criticisms of the first edition. It is an important read for anyone seeking to understand the broader atonement debate that has opened up in the last 10 years; it is equally important to anyone seeking to understand the meaning of the cross in their life, and in the world.

Note: Mark Baker was my professor in seminary, and he gave me a free copy of this book for the purpose of this review. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself in the book, although the reader would never know it was me. . .

Hell?

A few weeks ago I did a Q&A sermon. One of the questions was about hell. I spent some time discussing the scant biblical evidence for the traditional view, and riffed a bit on some of the other alternative readings of the doctrine of hell (see: annihilationism, apocatastasis). Suddenly, the internet is alive with the biggest hell debate we've seen in generations. I had no idea I was so influential.

Oh, wait. It's not me. It's just my gift of timing. The true story is that Rob Bell's new book is about to come out, and rumor has it he's making the claim that in the end Love Wins and everybody is saved. The heresy hunters are coming unglued and unhinged. Rob Bell has finally left the camp, they're claiming, and joining the ranks of all those heretics who deny the 'biblical' understanding of hell as a place of eternal torment with flames and devils and burning sulpher.

Eugene Cho talks about it here.
Jesus Needs New PR tells us how to survive the book release here.
The NakedPastor offers up his opinion cartoon-style here.
Out of Ur gets into the discussion here.
And in perhaps my favorite piece on the subject, the Slacktivist deftly covers the issue front to back here. 

Good timing, all of this, since I preached on it last week. And not everybody appreciated it.

One interesting observation here: Hell seems to be right up there with the divinity of Christ and the Virgin Birth as the most important Christian doctrines.

Which is sad, because, as I said in my sermon, the biblical basis for the traditional view of hell is sketchy at best. In fact, it's almost nonexistent. Nowhere is it found in the Hebrew scriptures. Nowhere is it found in the epistles of Paul. Hell as torment only shows up a few times in the gospels, and each time the context pushes us away from a literal reading. The Lake of Fire shows up in Revelation, but so do dragons and seas turning to blood and stars falling from the sky, and nobody takes those as literal descriptions.

To be clear: The Bible does teach there is judgment on sin, that there is a price both here and in eternity for rejecting Christ, for living lives of unrighteousness, for neglecting the poor and needy and homeless and alien and orphan and prisoner and widow and marginalized. And there is reward for choosing to live in Christ, for accepting his offer of salvation, for choosing to live justly and righteously.

The question comes down to the nature of hell (about which the Bible isn't clear), and the timing of hell. Is it eternal? Is it temporary? Or, to be more accurate, the timespan spent in hell by those who go there. Is hell a place of eternal torment for those who reject Christ, or a holding place that eventually releases its inhabitants? Do people in hell suffer torture for all eternity? Or are they consumed in the fire, annihilated?

Here's the truth: you can build a biblical case that hell is a place of ongoing, eternal torment. But you can also build a case that those who are judged as unrighteous truly die in every sense - they cease to exist. And, you can also build a case that in the end every person who has ever lived will spend eternity in the loving presence of God.

Which, by the way, is not the same as Universalism. That's a cheap shot that denies the intricacies of the theology at play. Universalism states that it doesn't matter what you do, everybody gets a free pass to heaven. Some do believe that, but it's not a biblical position. What people like Rob Bell, Brian McLaren, and my friend Randy Klassen are saying is that nobody gets a free pass into Heaven. All are saved in the atoning work of Jesus on the cross. It's just that some receive that salvation in this earthly life, while others finally own up to their sin, and receive God's grace, after suffering the torments of judgment (yes, it sort of sounds like Purgatory. . .but it's not).

(you know, even C.S. Lewis postulated that people could take the bus out of hell, if they would so choose).

The problem, to me, is that we're too invested in this Dante-an vision of hell, and can't really read the texts as they are. And we're too afraid of new ideas. Thus, whether it's Pastor Dan simply stating there are alternatives, or Rob Bell staking the claim that The Alternative is actually correct, people react instead of respond. Anger and rage come flying out, rather than healthy discussion. Accusations are made, rather than the robust work of theological debate.

And, truly finally. . .I'm not saying I agree with Rob Bell (how could I? I haven't read the book yet) or Brian McLaren (I stopped reading him before he got to his Hell book). I do, however, think there is a nugget of truth in this idea that our idea of hell is wrong. Mostly because, as Bell points out in the promo video, I think it both comes from, and paints, the wrong view of God. God IS love. God HAS wrath as a temporary response to sin. If hell is eternal, than wrath becomes an eternal quality of God. But that's not biblical. His anger is but for a moment, his love for a lifetime. His anger passes, his love endures. And if that be true, than hell cannot endure.

(Oh, and this - I know I left the exegesis off the table for this discussion. Some of the links above lead to some more theological discussions, but that wasn't really the purpose of this post today.)

Book Review: Making a Meal of It

Making a Meal of It is the second of three books penned by Ben Witherington III looking at the most basic elements of the Christian life and faith: Baptism, the Lord's Supper, and the Bible. Dr. Witherington is Professor of New Testament at Asbury Theological Seminary, as well as a prolific author and blogger. His expertise in NT and early church history give him a solid background with which to explore this topic of the Lord's Supper.

He begins by working the connection between the original meal in the upper room and the Jewish Passover feast, pointing out that the Passover festival was both a remembrance of what had gone before, and an act of renewal of the community that continually celebrated it. "Thus anamnesis is more than remembering; it is a placing of the current Jews into the ancient story such that it is and becomes once again their own story, their own trial and triumph, which took place in the Exodus-Sinai events" (10).

This, then, becomes the context of the original Lord's Supper, as shared in the synoptic gospels. In that place Jesus gathered his disciples, shared this meal with them, even with the one who would betray him (a scandal in itself), but he broke up the usual liturgy by reinterpreting elements of that meal, using them to point to his own impending atoning death. "What we have here then in the Last Supper is an enacted parable, much like ancient, prophetic enacting parables or sign acts. . .There is nothing here about the transformation of the elements into something they were not before. . .But what is most telling about all this is that Jesus is in a sense symbolically distributing the benefits of his Passion before it happens! How confident he must have been that God would use his death for good to have at this juncture changed or added to the Passover liturgy and referred to himself and his coming death this way" (27).

The earliest church carried on with this tradition of bread-breaking and wine-drinking in remembrance of Christ. While it is true that the book of Acts doesn't explicitly speak of the Lord's Supper, ". . .a good case can be made that the 'breaking of the bread' was Luke's shorthand for the special Christian meal that came to be called the Lord's Supper by the time Paul wrote 1 Corinthians" (30). However, one important aspect of this meal that must be remembered is its communal nature. This was a meal that took place in a home (or homes), not in the temple, perhaps daily as believers gathered together to share in this new-found faith in Christ. It was also closely tied to the sacrificial nature of this community, in which all sold their possessions so that none would go hungry or homeless. Speaking of Acts 2:24, Witherington writes, ". . . Luke sees the Lord's Supper as a fellowship meal, a meal that has a horizontal dimension binding the disciples to one another and so should be partaken of with great regularity to reinforce that bond" (31).

In the longest chapter in the book, Dr. Witherington digs into the passage dealing with this meal in Paul's first letter to the church in Corinth - one of the only texts in the NT which explicitly deals with the Lord's Supper. Much of his work here is to set this meal in context, comparing it to similar meals in Corinthian culture of the same time - meals that would have influenced the early Corinthian believers. In quick summary, much of this community's social life revolved around dinner parties and symposiums held in local homes by the well-to-do. Generally, the elite would invite those they wanted to impress (and their families) for a meal. Following the meal, the men would 'retire' for a drinking party. "The drinking parties were generally all-male affairs. . .But entertainment might include dancing and flute-playing girls and companions (hetairai) - as well as prostitutes at less-refined meals. . ." (35) Included in this after-meal affair were conversations "of all sorts of subjects, including politics, philosophy, religion, economics, and of course gossip and personal matters" (36).

Thus, this is what you had: The families of the rich and elite would gather for a meal. As they sat around the table, the most important people sat closest to the host. Following the meal, the women and children would leave, while the real party was just beginning. The few women who did remain were assumed to be immoral and shameful. In some of these locations, there was a garden next to the dining room "where slaves and perhaps lesser-status guests could also participate in the family meal or at least wait for the leftovers and take them away" (37).

It seems, from a close reading of 1 Corinthians, that the church in Corinth was allowing these traditions to influence their taking of the Lord's Supper. And Paul would have none of it. "Paul does not want his converts to hold their fellowship meals . . . according to the rules of Greco-Roman dining, perhaps especially because the Lord's Supper was a part of this larger fellowship meal and occasion. Not surprisingly these strictures came as something of a surprise, a painful one, to more high-status Christians in Corinth who had only partially understood what the practical implications were of being a Christian" (38).

This meal, according to Paul, is so much more than another feast with partying and debate. "What believers are sharing in is not just one another, but some third thing to which the word koinonia refers. . .Apparently Paul thinks more than mere symbols are involved. There seems to be some real, spiritual communion with Christ and others at issue here. . .Paul then is talking about that which binds Christians together into one body of believers. It is not merely the physical sharing in the bread but also the more profound spiritual sharing and uniting that it signifies and facilitates" (44-5).

What our author is working toward here is the premise that many of our discussion regardin the Lord's Supper in 1 Corinthians have approached the text incorrectly. Reading phrases like "discern the body" and "examine themselves" have been read through a strongly sacramental lens, in which it is assumed the elements somehow contain the body and blood of Christ, and thus individual believers must examine themselves to make sure they are worthy of partaking. But that isn't what Paul had in mind here. "The examination referred to in verse 28 means that one must reflect on how one is partaking of the meal; it is not about introspection to determine if one is worthy. . .While ['the body'] might be a reference to remembering Christ's death when one eats, it seems more likely in the larger context to refer to the body of believers. One is to be cognizant that this is a group meal, a group-building ceremony. . .The Corinthians are eating in a selfish and self-centered manner without taking cognizance of their brothers and sisters present. They should be partaking with them as one body of Christ, rather than following pagan protocol that gives the elite better treatment and first dibs at the meal" (59).

Witherington then turns to the great feast in the gospel of John. This text has long given scholars trouble, in that it doesn't seem to fit in with the accounts of the last supper in the other gospel. For one, the timeline is wrong - the synoptics place the last supper at the Passover feast, whereas John seems to place it the day before the Passover feast. Much work has gone into synchronizing these accounts, with some saying John just got it wrong, and others saying John changed the story to fit his theological agenda. The author here builds the case that both of those assumptions get it wrong. Instead, he writes, "Firstly, the Fourth Evangelist is portraying the disciples' sharing a farewell dinner, which was actually a series of dinners, with Jesus. Secondly, the dinner is not portrayed as a Passover meal." In other words, John is condensing a series of talks Jesus gave in the week leading up to the Passion, but doesn't directly give us an account of the Passover supper itself.

Another important point to be noted from the Gospel of John is that, through this final discourse, Jesus is working toward the same aims as Paul in Corinth. "Here we note that Jesus, by the footwashing episode at the meal, coupled with his prayer for unity in John 17, is depicted as undertaking the same kind of social rearrangement of perceptions and practices" [that Paul worked on in Corinth] (65).

It is here that Dr. Witherington does some detective work and comes forth with a startling claim. I'll let you pick up the book and work through the details, but, based on a careful reading of the text, and its interplay with the other accounts as well as the intricate details of the last days of Jesus, the author builds the case that the Gospel of John was written by Lazarus - the close friend of Jesus, the one Jesus had raised from death, the brother of Mary and Martha. And, if this is true, then it is probable that the meals earlier in the week, the meals on which this gospel focuses, the meals before the Last Supper, were all held in the home of Lazarus - which is why more attention is given to these than to the Last Supper itself.

Now, lest this review become longer than the book itself. . .it is pointed out that there really isn't any more work dealing with the Lord's Supper to be found in the pages of the NT; we also have very little documentation among the writings of the early church explaining the practice or belief surrounding this meal. Dr. Witherington works briefly with pertinent passages from the Didiche, which all seem to point toward a celebration that was part of a regular meal as both a remembrance of Christ's death, and as a unifying moment within the body of believers. "There certainly is nothing here that suggest some sort of magical view of the elements, and we have no commentary at all about the words of institution that Jesus himself spoke" (94). The few conclusions we can make based on this material are that the Lord's Supper remained an in-home ceremony taken along with a fellowship meal, that there is no mention of an official priesthood overseeing the meal, that it was partaken at least weekly, and that it was partaken of by those who had repented of their sins.

The final chapters of the book are given to working through the historical development of this meal, a development which, on the whole, hasn't been helpful. By the second century Ignatius of Antioch was speaking of the necessity of the the presence of a bishop to hold a love feast. By the fourth century many churches were banning love feasts as they embraced the ascetic movement (this was also one of the moments in which women began to be excluded from many church activities). Greek philosophical concepts of substance slowly overran the Hebrew concepts of enacted ritual, and, "Here then is a cautionary reminder - the less Jewish the approach one takes to the Lord's Supper, the more likely one is to be wrong about one's assessment of what is the case about the elements" (110).

By the Middle Ages, of course, the concept of transubstantiation had taken hold - that the bread and wine magically and mystically became the true body and blood of Christ. "The idea of transubstantiation is that the substantia changed when consecrated, whereas the material accidentia remain the same. In A.D. 1215 the Fourth Lateran Council proclaimed, 'His body and blood are really contained in the Sacrament of the altar. . .'" Witherington goes on to explain, "It was left to the Council of Trent to boldly claim what was absolutely untrue - 'it has therefore always been held in the Church of God' that what Christ offered under the appearance of bread and wine was truly his body" (119).

The theological maelstrom that was the Reformation added to the debate and confusion surrounding the Lord's Supper. "Luther discarded the notion that of the sacrifice of the Mass, but he wanted to hold on to the real, even physical presence of Christ connected somehow with the sacrament. This led to the idea of consubstantiation, the presence of Christ somehow being attached to or under and with the sacramental elements" (122). "By 1525 [Zwingli] was prepared to deny the real physical presence of Christ and speak of the spiritual presence of Christ with the Eucharist" (123). Zwingli began to grasp an important concept, perhaps coming close to seeing this for what it was supposed to be: ". . .he did not see the Lord's Supper as a merely symbolic ceremony, either. For those who received the elements in faith, there was the real spiritual presence of Christ, and. . .fellowship within the community of faith" (123). This would have a strong impact upon the anabaptist movement, which felt "the Lord's Supper signified and celebrated the unique communion between the Lord and his people, and among believers as well. It did not just have a vertical dimension such that it was all about the individual believers' communion with the heavenly Christ" (123-4).

So, what to make of all this? A couple of conclusions:

- "remembering and cherishing and keeping in mind. . .is the character of this meal according to Paul."

- "The focus of the original Lord's Supper is not on the elements in the present or the present in general, but on Christ and what he did and what he will do."

- While suggesting that moving the Lord's Supper back into the context of a larger meal might be a good idea, though not necessary, Witherington points out that there are modern adaptations of this meal that have harmed our understanding of it. "There is absolutely no reason why real bread could not be used, and more importantly whole loaf not yet broken, for the bread is in fact a double symbol, not only of Christ's own body, but of the church as the body of Christ - a united whole" (131).

- And what are we to make of the debates regarding the presence of Christ? Let me quote one of the best paragraphs from the book:

"The Lord's Supper should be seen as a chance for a close encounter with Jesus, a chance for a moment of clarity and recognition in one's life that Christ comes to meet us, bless us, forgive us, over and over again, and that we can and must actively participate in this joyful event. It's not about magical rituals or medicinal elements; it's about the living presence of Christ, which can either be honored or dishonored by how we partake of the Meal. Yes, indeed a spiritual transaction happens at the meal, and it can be positive, and it can be negative. The real spiritual presence of Christ meets us at and in the Meal if we receive him by faith" (134).

Thus, in the end, what is the Lord's Supper? It is a community meal to which we are invited by Christ as living host, a meal wherein he comes and meets his people, offering grace and redemption. It is also a meal of cohesion, drawing together all God's children to this table, tearing down dividing walls and creating one new body. And it is an equalizing meal - there is no hierarchy here, no rich or poor, no important or irrelevant, but all who stand as brothers and sisters before Jesus. "It is a community ritual meant for the community to take together signifying their unity with Christ and with one another in and as the body of Christ" (135).

In conclusion, I believe Dr. Witherington has offered a strong, well-balanced theological approach to the Lord's Supper. Avoiding the issues that seem to mark most of the discussion, he finds a refreshing new way of digging back into the original meaning and intent of this meal, showing how this meal can actually unite the Body, rather than cause division as it so often has. He challenges both the high-sacramentalism of the Roman Catholic Church (and others), and the low-ordinalism of those who treat this meal as a throw-away thing to do every once in awhile, restoring its dignity without turning it into a magical charm. The book is deep and broad enough to interest scholars and theologians, but simple enough for the average Christian reader looking to expand their knowledge on this issue. It was extremely helpful to me, even affirming a few ideas I'd been pondering but had yet to see in any theological discussion. It's given me a lot to think about, both as a pastor and a participant in the Body of Christ.

Pastoral Question for Discussion

We held a Super Bowl party at our church. About 45 teens and adults (and 10 younger kids) came and enjoyed the game via projector on the wall, as well as the mandatory pizza and sodas and chips and salsa and cookies and crackers and carrots.

If you watched the game, you know a few of the commercials were a little, shall we say, risque. The sexy-women-in-underwear sort of risque. So there we sat, a bunch of Christians, including many young, impressionable teenage boys, projecting hyper-sexualized images up for all to see.

And now I wonder - the point of the event is both outreach and fellowship. Outreach - we get a lot of teens who come at the invitation of friends in the church. Fellowship - all these people enjoy a fun afternoon together, cheering and shouting and supping together.

But at what point are we doing more harm than good? And I know - some of you want to go past those ads and talk about the overt emphasis on alcohol, the violence on the playing field, the culture of domination and destruction and consumerism and consumption, the wasteful spending when people are starving around the world. I was going to say "let's leave that aside for a moment," but I guess they fit the question as well.

Is it appropriate for a church to hold a Super Bowl Party, in light of all the elements surrounding the culture of the game, elements that lead to death and destruction rather than life and redemption?

Go ahead. Discuss.

Book Review: Atonement for a Sinless Society

First, let me get this out of the way. This is a heavy book. It is a deep book. It's a book that makes you think. It's not easy Saturday afternoon reading. It's the kind of book that makes your head hurt. It begins like a freight train exploding out of a tunnel, and never lets up. So reader, beware. This one takes time.

On the other hand, it's a very important and necessary book, adding a much-needed voice into the 21st Century atonement discussion. It stands up there with Scot McKnight's A Community Called Atonement and Joel Green and Mark Baker's Recovering the Scandal of the Cross in calling the church to rethink the message of the cross of Christ in a multicultural, multilingual, postmodern, postChristian society.

Mann begins by making this somewhat startling claim: sin is dead. Or, to put it another way, we live in a 'sinless' society. But before you instantly write him off as a heretic, understand his reasoning.

"Sin has been caricatured, a tool for advertisers to suggest that a product is good and pleasurable. Far from being something to be avoided, sin is now part and parcel of the human desire that drives consumerist mentalities."

There is something deeper here, however, than simply a consumer-driven mindset. In actuality, sin is first and foremost a relational concept; sin is something we do against another, be it another person, or God. And both of those categories - the other, God - have all but disappeared from our thinking. Whether or not there is a God, belief in God has been waning for some time now; in addition, even many who would claim belief in God certainly live their lives as if God didn't exist. But even more, the postmodern self is an isolated self. In a world of I-pods and My-space, in a world lacking in deep relationship and community and familial relationships, in a world in which human beings have been reduced to consumers of products, people have lost any sense of "others." And, thus, "We live in a 'sinless' society because without the 'Other' there are no subjects to have wronged."

Even worse, where any concept of 'sin' exists it does so within the context of being 'sinned against,' rather than being a sinner. In other words, the 20th Century Therapeutic culture has successfully convinced people that "it's not your fault." We're all victims, be it of our parents, the institutions around us, or strangers in our world. ". . .the only obligation the client has is to his or her own self-realization, something deemed achievable without the 'Other', who is more likely to be perceived as the cause of traumas rather than the answer to them."

Now, astute readers may argue that Mann is discussing perception here more than reality, but that's exactly the point. Mann is not so concerned with the ontological nature of sin as he is the missional question of how we share the gospel of Christ. And for hundreds of years, that message has gone something like this:

1. You're sinner
2. You're guilty before God
3. The penalty of that guilt is death
4. Christ died in your place

However. . .when we attempt to tell this story today, people stop tracking right there at point 1. Since the people of this culture live in a 'sinless' society, any message beginning with concepts of sin and guilt will fall on deaf ears. Back in the day of big revivals and Four Spiritual Laws, people got this - they understood it. I've sinned. I've hurt others. I've hurt God and broken his laws. But today, people are more apt to protest "Wait! I'm the victim here!" And thus they never will stick around long enough to hear the message of the Gospel.

At the heart of Mann's work, though, is the understanding that, even as concepts of "sin" and "guilt" have passed away from our consciousness, people are no happier, nor fulfilled, than before. In fact, the utter isolation and separation that marks the lives of many people is just as miserable and painful as were earlier feelings of guilt and sin.

The new story goes something like this:

"While the post-industrialized self is able to push away the sins of moral misdemeanor. . .the intensity of emphasis placed upon the self has generated a chronic, internalized dis-ease, typically labeled 'shame'. . .shame has so consumed some, however, that they have taken on the identity of a shamed person and can only relate to themselves and to others as such."

In this new world, individuals still seek intimacy with other humans, but no longer out of a desire to know another; instead, "the self is primarily looking to satisfy its own need." There is a deep hunger for self-realization, and a latent understanding that relating to others is a necessary step to that self-realization. However, in the end, it's always about project "I." And, "once the 'Other' discovers that the agenda in relating is always 'I,' the person becomes disillusioned, cynical about relationships and the real reasons for social interaction."

And where this all leads:

"Thus a vicious cycle ensues: we long for intimacy, to have a deep sense of connectedness with ourselves and with 'Others.' However, the project of self-realization ultimately pushes the 'Other' away. Alone, the project of self-realization collapses in on itself, laying the seedbed for chronic shame to grow. . .With such fears the chronically shamed person hides behind masks, never truly connecting with others, never satisfying his or her need for intimate, mutual, undistorted relating - and so always falling short of what it means to be a human being, created in the image of the relational, Trinitarian God revealed in the Bible."

In other words: our society is awash in deep-seated feelings of shame, desiring above all else to share in mutual relationships, and yet knowing that, should they open up to the 'Other,' they will be rejected for being less-than perfect, less-than acceptable. For being a Loser, for being Lame, for being Stupid. Think of it this way: the images young people portray are all the images of who they want to be - cool, hip, sophisticated, partiers, fun, sexy - and so they present themselves on their facebook pages, their myspace profiles. Yet behind those stories lie their real selves, desperately seeking affection and unconditional love and acceptance; in fact, they desire Eden, where Adam and Eve were "naked yet had no shame." But there is no getting there, because of this reality: to be exposed is to be shamed, for none will truly love them and accept them as they need.

Shame, then, becomes the over-arching story for all postmoderns. "What becomes obvious is that she fears being exposed. . .for who she really is - a chronically shamed person, a self trying to live an unexposed life, fearful that others will 'notice' her and see the true self rather than the ideal. The self has a sense that it is defective and has a basic flaw that ensures its unacceptability and rejection by those whom it loves."

The ultimate result of all of this is a serious distortion in any and every relationship - their relationships with others, their relationship with God, and even their relationship with themselves.

It is at this very point that we can begin to discuss atonement. What people seek most of all is mutual, accepting relationship - someone who will love and accept them as they really are. And, at its most basic level, this is the story of Jesus and the cross.

Mann spends significant time expounding on the narrative surrounding the cross, bringing it to bear on our own narrative. Our experience is this: often, people will say they are "for" us; and yet, just when we need them most, they turn from us. This rejection feeds right into our psyche of shame. Jesus, on the other hand, said he was "for" us and then proved it. His "real" self lived out the "ideal" self which he presented to the world. In more common parlance, his "talk" was proven by his "walk." Not only did he say "greater love has no man than this, than to lay down his life for his friends"; he went out and actually did it - he gave up his life for his friends, rather than run away in self-protection.

Mann makes much of this issue of "ontological coherence" - the idea of being complete and true and coherent, even at our deepest levels. As humans, we lack this kind of coherence. Our "ideal" self is never matched by our "real" self. And this is the heart of our shame, why we never reveal our "real" self." Jesus, on the other hand, was completely true to himself. And the cross was the proof of that. He certainly made a lot of promises; had he turned and walked away from the cross, he would have proven that his "true" self was just like ours - a sad shadow of the "ideal." Instead, when faced with the option of allowing himself to be killed, or running away and saving himself, Jesus chose the former, and thus proved that his word can be trusted. His love and acceptance can be trusted. And here we begin to overcome the power of shame.

In fact, it is on the other side of that cross, at the resurrection, that the possibility of new, undistorted life begins. Having proved that his love conquered even death itself, Jesus invited all to enter into this new life he had begun.

"Rather paradoxically, Jesus' pursuit of death in actuality becomes the pursuit of life. The postmodern fears that, in living for the 'Other,' we die to ourselves. At the cross, Jesus subverts this rationale. Living for the 'Other' (even unto death) leads us from a place of isolation, alienation and meaningless insufficiency as a human being to a coherent ontology and to a place of mutual, undistorted, unpolluted relating - to a life that conquers emotional, spiritual and (almost inexplicably) physical death."

Now, I've almost completely ignored one of the major tenets of Mann's work, which is that, to the postmodern, fact is nothing and narrative is everything. One can confront postmoderns with the Fact of sin and guilt, or with the Fact of shame and fear, but it will continue to slide off. Postmodern people define their reality (much as premoderns did) via story and narrative. Thus, the counter to the narrative of shame is not the Fact of the cross, but the Story of Christ, living a life of love and truth, sharing meals with the outcast and the shamed, dying himself as the most shamed and yet returning with continued love and acceptance.

As an example of this at work, Mann counterposes the stories of Jesus and Judas at the last supper, and in so doing presents Judas in a new and, I believe, refreshing light.

For too long, Judas has been caricaturized as the conniving, greedy, satan-filled villain of the story. The truth is, the scriptures leave plenty of room to discuss the final motives for his actions. Perhaps he was simply greedy, or making a play for power. On the other hand, does he not fit this description, penned by Stephen Pattison and quoted by Mann?

Some shamed people lack a sense of personal worth and value. This means that they may act compliantly and in such a way as to attract approval from outside themselves rather than being concerned to do the right thing or what is best for others. The need to be acceptable may also cause shamed people to lie or be dishonest.

Mann recognizes that we may never fully know what Judas was up to. But that's not the issue. The fact is, Judas easily becomes the recognizable figure to the post-modern self, seeking value and worth in the absence of true relationship. "The post-industrialized self reads the story of Judas and recognizes someone traumatized by the dis-ease of chronic shame."

Point of fact: while the reader often focuses solely on Judas the betrayer, it is usually missed that the other disciples are all betraying Jesus, and each other, at the same time. Each is left to ask "Is it I who will betray you?" To add to the pain, note that nobody followed Judas out of the room as he left to make his final bargain. "Surely the disciples could feel the distress that must have come over Jesus as he watched one of his closest friends depart. Still, for whatever reason, there was no attempt to stop him, no one willing to inquire after his welfare. He was left to his own devices, to disappear from their lives into the darkness." To top it all off, in Luke's telling of the story, "even as the door closes behind Judas, an argument breaks out as to who is the closest to Jesus, the most loyal friend, the truest companion and therefore the most important in the kingdom." All are self-serving, all seeking after their own gain.

When told this way, the postmodern reader will quickly identify. This hodgepodge group, all self-serving and self-seeking, all presenting their ideal self - "I will never betray you, Jesus" - while at the same time living the reality of their true self - focused only on their own gain.

And Judas plays one final role - he displays for us the ultimate response to complete personal breakdown. The pain of the fracture between ideal and reality becomes too strong, and Judas kills himself. He can no longer endure the isolation, the loneliness, the incoherence, and death - non-identity - becomes preferable to carrying on.

Jesus, however, plays the counter-story, the story that gives us hope.

To frame Jesus once more with the narrative of Judas: both Judas and Jesus die on trees away from human relating. Though both, it may be suggested, are 'offerings', only one is efficacious. Judas does not restore his own relationships, or those of anyone else, through his death because he dies in the absence of mutual, unpolluted relating. His death represents his life, and the life of all who suffer the same absence - and that includes the postmodern self. . .Jesus' death, however, takes on this non-relatedness, this non-being, by making way for the possibility of a restoration of relationship - resurrection, even. . .

The cross. . .is not a place of judgment for the inadequacies and insufficiencies of human relating. Indeed, it is a place of acceptance, of embracing the human condition. Atonement is the presence of the 'Other' without condemnation.

So, then, what do we do? As the postmodern self is define by narrative, and that a painful, broken narrative, the answer is to tell a new (old) narrative - the narrative of Jesus, who died as he lived - seeking open, honest, mutual intimacy with those around him, and who destroyed even the final barrier, death itself, thus opening up the door for the rest of us to live lives of mutual, undistorted relationships.

Mann sketches out one primary method of telling that story - the Lord's Supper, or the Eucharist. Mann suggests we recast the liturgy of the Lord's Supper, so often told as a story of guilt, wrath, and forgiveness. Instead, the same story can be told as a story of broken lives posturing for self-gratitude while at the same time full of shame and loathing, and the one at the center who sees beyond all that and loves and accepts anyway. This story, re-enacted and lived whenever the church gathers around the table, tells the atoning work of Christ in ways that will sink in and reach a culture that knows its shame but knows nothing of guilt.

There is so much more here, so many other directions this book moves, so many powerful nuggets, but this review is too long already. Congratulations if you're still here. Obviously, I was impressed with the book, and am still wrestling with many of its questions and implications. I need to set it down for a bit and let my brain stew on it, before cracking it once again and seeking how to apply it in my life. As I said earlier, it's a heavy book, but a book for which I am very grateful. It's truly one of the most important books on the atonement that I've read in a couple years. I only hope this review has done it justice.

_____

Next Up: Soul Revolution, by John Burke

Something new about myself

I always thought I was an American. And I always thought I was a Christian.

According to Beth, though, I'm actually a Molinist.

I'm still scratching my head over this one.

Music, Theology, and The Saving Grace of Jesus

Not too long ago I was speaking to Mark Baker on the issue of communicating the atonement. Baker is a former professor of mine in seminary, and the author of several books, including Recovering the Scandal of the Cross and the editor of its sequel, Proclaiming the Scandal of the Cross. Because of our relationship over the last 7 years, I was able to submit a chapter for Proclaiming, which, I'm always pleased to tell people, made it through the final cut and into the book.

At heart is the issue of atonement: what exactly did the cross accomplish? Baker's premise is that today we live too strongly with one story/metaphor: Penal Substitutionary Atonement. You've heard the story: We sinned, God became really angry, we deserved God's wrath, Jesus took God's wrath into himself on the cross, God was appeased and we received salvation through Jesus.

Historically, there have been other ways of looking at the cross. Biblically, there are certainly other ways of describing the work of Christ to bring salvation to his people. Some would argue that PSA should be only one of many metaphors (a la Scot McKnight), others would argue it's an unhealthy metaphor at best, so perhaps should be set aside for awhile.

In Recovering the Scandal, Baker and Joel Green make the case that even the biblical models of atonement are metaphors at best: none fully describe the intricate inner mechanics of salvation. They argue that the NT writers were doing their best to contextualize the message of the cross, bringing home the eternal message in contemporary words to impact local listeners. They thus encourage today's pastors, teachers, sunday school leaders, thinkers and theologians to come up with metaphors for atonement that speak to today's listeners: to tell "the old, old story" in such a way that it is faithful to the biblical texts but expands the models so that they impact today's listeners. They also, certainly, encourage us all to open up the biblical models and embrace the fuller range of atonement language, rather than focusing in on the "appeasement of wrath" message inherent in PSA.

So back to our conversation. Mark's question to me was "how do we get this message out? How do we reach people? How do we get their attention? How can we begin to impact the larger church culture with this message?" The PSA model is so central to so many presentations and understandings of the gospel that almost nobody is hearing that they have a choice to look at it differently. From the days we're in sunday school, up through "decision night" at camp, into the sermons we listen to and the songs we sing. . .they are all dripping with PSA language. So Mark's written these books, Scot McKnight recently added to the conversation with his A Community Called Atonement, but on the ground, word just doesn't seem to be getting out very quickly. So how do we change an entire culture?

About that same time, I was finishing up Her Heart Can See, the recent biography of Fanny J. Crosby, and it struck me how much our music influences our theology. The songs we sing as children, the songs we love in worship - whether or not we realize it, they teach us the things we come to believe are Truth. In Crosby's day, she was often criticized by theologians and composers as being "trite" and "given to emotionalism." Her hymns were simple and spoke simple truths of hope and faith and God's love. In many ways, the Evangelical Church owes its passion for evangelism to Crosby and other songwriters, who wrote songs like "Rescue the Perishing." Much of our sentimentalism is owed to her and others who wrote songs about Jesus as friend, as companion, as dear father waiting to welcome us home. And so it struck me: as long as we're singing songs that say "And on that cross as Jesus died, the wrath of God was satisfied," people will continue to hold strongly to a PSA model. A changing of hymn lyrics could be one of the primary methods of getting people to think about this all differently. The truth is, theologians can argue about this until the cows come home, but one or two good songs could bring about quick change across the board.

And so it was that I was excited to hear the new song "Jesus Saves," by Travis Cottrell and David Moffit. (You can listen to it on Travis' MySpace Page). They paint one of the fullest, most robust pictures of atonement that I have heard in song. What I especially appreciate is that they reflect one of Scot McKnight's central tenets, and one that I have long felt was important: that the whole life of Jesus Christ, from birth to death to resurrection, is part of the atonement story. You cannot boil the whole thing down to one transaction that took place on the cross. Instead, from the incarnation, through the life and ministry of Jesus, on the cross and in the empty tomb, all are working together to bring about salvation for us and this world. And Cottrell and Moffit get it. Look closely at these lyrics, and note how they bring the whole story into The Story:

Hear the heart of heaven beating, "Jesus saves, Jesus saves."
And the hush of mercy breathing, "Jesus saves, Jesus saves."
Hear the host of heaven sing, "Glory to the newborn King."
And the sounding joy repeating, "Jesus saves."

And this is the part where they really nail it:
He will live, our sorrows sharing, Jesus saves, Jesus saves.
He will die, our burden bearing, Jesus saves, Jesus saves.
"It is done!" will shout the cross, "Christ has paid redemption's cost!"
And the empty tomb's declaring, "Jesus saves!"

Do you see it? The whole life of Christ is there - birth, life (identification), death and resurrection, all in one full picture of redemption. And the cross is there, the idea of paying the cost of redemption, but without bringing in an angry God in need of appeasement. You have substitutionary atonement there, without bringing in the Penal part of it. You have the necessity of the cross, but also the importance of Christ sharing in our sorrows throughout life. And you have it all brought to completion, not at the cross, but in the empty tomb.

It also helps that it's a great song, with a very catchy, singable melody, so it sticks in your head once you've heard it once or twice.

And this is exactly what is needed in the conversation. I encourage you to take a listen, and see if you can't get it into the rotation at your church, wherever that may be. And take time to consider: what other songs could contribute to this conversation?

Grace is loving someone more than they deserve?

Seen on a church sign in Seattle last Friday: "Grace is loving someone more than they deserve."

What do you think? Do you agree? Disagree? Is that a fitting description of grace? What's your initial reaction? Or would you even pause to ponder it if you drove by the same sign?

Personally, I think they got it wrong. For a couple reasons.

The first issue would be this word "deserve." The above definition begs the question of how much love do people deserve?

It may help you to know this is a Lutheran Church. And if I may interpolate, Lutherans, being generally reformed in their theology, come at it from this place: Since we're all sinners, and since the wages of sin is death, the only thing we deserve is the wrath of God leading to death. It's the old "that saved a wretch like me" theology. We're all worms destined to destruction, yet God chooses to love some of us, and save some of us, and this is "Grace."

On the same token, we all mistreat each other. We all hurt each other. We're all jerks to each other. Some more than others, mind you. Usually those other people are bigger jerks than we are. So we show "Grace" by loving them, even when they're such jerks that they don't deserve it. Thus, we arrive at the church's sign: Grace is loving someone more than they deserve.

I think that's all missing the point. We have to go back further than "the wages of sin is death." We have to go back further than the fall. We have to go back to creation. Which reminds us that all humans were "made in the image of God." Later, the psalmist, reflecting on creation, wrote that humans are just a "little lower than the angels." And all good theology flows from Christology - looking at the world through the lens of Jesus Christ. What do we learn by bringing Jesus into the conversation? "For God so loved the world. . ." That Jesus so loved this world, he would allow himself to be beaten, crucified, and killed in order to save it. "Greater love has no one than this, that they lay down their life for their friends." And "God demonstrated his love for us in this: While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."

Okay, our Reformed brethren (and sistren (?)) are saying. That's the definition of grace - we were loved, even when we didn't deserve it. We deserved wrath (as if those two could be played off of each other).

I would push back and say because we're created in the image of God, we deserve nothing but love. Although that may sound pompous, so maybe a better way would be putting it because we're created in the image of God, we're completely loveable. God's wrath does not negate his love; I believe God loves us even when he's upset about what we're doing.

Therefore, grace cannot be loving somebody more than they deserve, because we all deserve love and nothing else.

Personalizing it, since God loves me and God loves you, I deserve to be loved by you and you deserve to be loved by me. No matter what you do to me, you still bear the image of God, you are still loved by God, and therefore you deserve to be loved by me. I cannot love you more than you deserve, because you deserve the full measure of my love. That's biblical. Even our greatest enemies deserve the full measure of our love, since Christ loved even those who crucified him. The posture of the Christ-follower is a posture that loves all others, not more than they deserve, but because they deserve to be loved.

I could also quibble with the "more than" part. . .because I'm not sure you can measure love. Can you love someone as much as they deserve, nor more, no less? Can I give you 26% of my love, because that's what you deserve? Can I give my wife 100% of my love, and my enemy 50% of my love? Biblically, love is an either/or. You either love someone or you don't. There aren't different levels of love. I either love you as you deserve, or I don't. I either face you and say "you are beloved," or I withhold love from you, which, in effect, says "I don't really love you, I'm just sort of acting like it."

So, why does any of this matter?

Because it makes a difference in how you treat your neighbor. Saying "I'm loving you even though you don't deserve it" always comes from a posture of separation, of exclusion. It subtly sneaks in the thought that somehow we're superior;"aren't we special for showing them grace." Even "God loves us more than we deserve" so often leads to unhealthy posturing. How dare any of us, loved of God, created in the image of God, grovel and say "I'm such a loser, such a worm, God hates me. . ." If you begin from the place of "nobody deserves love, but God loves and so shall we," your worldview is the polar opposite of what I believe is the correct understanding: we all carry around the imago Dei, we are all already loved, and always have been loved by God, we are all deserving of the full measure of love." In other words, we begin from a place recognizing worth and value in each other, rather than forcing ourselves to "love people more than they deserve."

So than what is grace? Perhaps a more truer definition would be, at least of us, loving someone in spite of how we may currently feel about them. Or recognizing that all are the beloved of God, no matter how they think about or treat us.

And from God's perspective? Perhaps simply that love is his nature, wrath a temporary action necessitated by our rebellion. But wrath never supersedes nor overcomes love. God sometimes, of necessity, shows wrath, but he is always love. Because God created us, we deserve to be loved.

podcasting the atonement

Tony Jones, of Emergent Village fame, interviews Mark Baker, professor at Mennonite Brethren Biblical Seminary, and author of Recovering the Scandal of the Cross and editor of Proclaiming the Scandal of the Cross (to which I submitted a chapter. . .).

Mark was my professor in my MBBS years and has remained a friend over the years.

His discussion with Tony covers everything from Mennonite theology to Nicaraguan wars to atonement theology. Yoder and Ellul make an appearance or two, as well. . .

And I even get my own five seconds of fame.

Go listen and enjoy.

For H, who asked on Sunday

"Are the Fruit of the Spirit and the Gifts of the Spirit the same thing? What's that all about?"

Let's look at it this way: Suppose we all got together to build a big house. Along comes the project supervisor to organize us. He hands one person a hammer, and says "you're going to hammer in the nails." He hands another a paint brush, and says "you paint the walls." He hands another a set of plans and says "you're going to be the on-site supervisor." To another person he hands a broom and says "you're going to clean things up, so they look nice." He takes a couple people over to a small portable kitchen and says "you're in charge of feeding the crew, and encouraging them by bringing them drinks and treats." Then he grabs a few more, hands them some flyers, and says "Go out into the town and tell people about our wonderful house, and all the great things it will offer them." And on and on it goes. Each person is given a tool (some people even get a couple tools) that they are to use together to build the house. Hardly any two people have the same set of tools, but all the tools necessary for building the house are there, divided among all the workers. And so we get to work, each doing their part to build up this house.

Now, people do pitch in and help each other out. The fact that I have a hammer doesn't mean I can't set it down and help hang some wallpaper for a few minutes. The fact that I'm in charge of yardwork doesn't mean I can't stop and chat with passers-by who want to know what's going on. Even if I'm the on-site supervisor, I can still help the food people hand out sandwiches. We all pitch in together, doing what needs to be done, but mostly we remain in our area of expertise, and slowly the house is built.

This is how it works with the Gifts of the Spirit.

However, while we are at work building this house, using our individual tools and talents, we should ALL be joyful in our task. We should ALL be patient with each other. If the site supervisor comes along and says "I blew it - that trench needs to be over three feet," we can forgive her and joyfully make the correction. If the sandwiches are late in coming, we should all be patient while waiting. If they bring me tuna fish and I wanted PB&J, I ought to be kind in my response. If a child is working next to me and knocks over the paint can, I should strive for gentleness in my reaction. All along, I ought to be looking for ways to encourage the other workers. And we should all work hard at making sure we're in the best possible condition to do the work to which we are called. We know that if we're out late at night getting plastered, we'll be in no condition to show up to work bright and cheery in the new day. So we avoid the "works of the flesh" and strive for the fruit of the Spirit.

The good thing is, we don't have to manufacture love, joy, peace, patience, and the rest. These are not our own attitudes, but the fruit that the Spirit works in us. As we draw nearer to God, God's Spirit works in us to produce loving hearts, patient demeanors, joyous spirits, gentle attitudes, and the like. Yes, we do well to "work" at demonstrating these fruits, but in the end we seek God and let God bring them about in us.

In short, we're each given a tool, or a couple tools, that we use in concert with all others to build up the Kingdom of God and share his love in the world, but the Spirit works his fruit in all of us, so that, as we work, our lives and attitudes will reflect His hand upon us.

Hope that answers your question.

Why I could never be a true Calvinist

Once upon a time there was a man named Joseph, who had always wanted children. 18 children, to be exact. And so he had 18 children.

However, Joseph being a wise man, even before he had his children he knew that they would disobey him, bringing great shame and dishonor to his name. He knew they would eventually reject him (don’t all children?), and that he would be forced to punish them for their sins against him. Yet Joseph was a loving man, and so he devised a plan – again, long before his children were born. His plan would pay the penalty for the rejection of his sons and daughters. He would provide a way to take the punishment himself, thus retaining his honor and yet freeing his children of guilt (editor’s note: the specifics of that plan are another story for another day).

And so it came to be. He had his children, they rejected him, and he initiated his plan, paying the price for their sins, opening up a door for forgiveness to flow. But there was another part to this plan. Back before his children were born, Joseph had already decided he would save children 1,3,12, and 17. The rest – well, they could just live and die with their guilt. They could just receive the punishment they so deserved.

And so Joseph, being a wise man, worked in the lives of 1,3,12, and 17, wooing them and drawing them closer to him, until they had no option but to accept his forgiveness. How fortunate for 1, 3, 12, and 17! How grateful they were for being forgiven! And all the neighbors were amazed at this man’s mercy, his glory, his wisdom! He had shown everybody that he was still in charge, and that he would be so kind as to even save a few of his kids.

Oh, except for the rest of the kids, who are now down in the cellar, being tortured mercilessly for their sins. Sure, Joseph had it within his power to save them, but he showed everybody just how glorious he was by NOT saving them. They’re not so sure their father is all that glorious. In fact, he seems a little unfair. After all, he knew they would reject him. In fact, some said it was his plan for them to reject him in the first place. And yet he never had any intention of saving them, like he did their brothers and sisters. These children, the ones in the basement – they all think they got the shaft.

What Did He Know, and When Did He Know it, Part 2

So Erin had to go and suggest I actually bring scripture into the discussion. . .

First, though, let me respond to a couple comments left by Hisstoryun underneath that post.

"(I wonder what led you to your conclusion that Jesus was only a man. It is not biblical (as you put it) for scripture does not support the idea. It is noteworthy too that you offer no supporting scripture for your theory. On the contrary, scripture supports the opposite idea that Jesus is indeed God.)"

You misunderstand my point. If that's because of my lack of clarity, I apologize. I never meant to imply that Jesus only a man. Along with Paul in his letter to the Colossians, I believe that "in him the fullness of deity dwelled." I affirm the ancient teaching that Jesus was fully God, and fully human. I simply suggested that Jesus set aside his prerogative to access his divinity while he walked on earth. He never ceased being divine; he simply chose to fully embrace humanity for the 30-some years he walked on earth.

"If Jesus had somehow given up His role and rightful place as God, how then could He be the Savior of the world because as such he surely would have been a fallible sinner the same as you or me?"

I disagree. It was exactly because he gave up his role and rightful place, and remained the spotless Lamb, that he became the Savior of the World. Now, if you're understanding of the atonement is locked into a Penal Substitution Model, in which the Perfect Infinite God had to pay the Eternal Infinite Price for our sin, then you need the Infinite Jesus to die for you; in fact, you don't really need Jesus to become human. But if you start to lean toward a Recapitulation Theory, then it becomes extremely important that, in fact, he lived the perfect human life in all its fullness - a life not relying on his own powers, but a life grounded in a relationship with his Father, who was the source of strength and life.

I appreciate the work you put into your reply; obviously, you put much time and energy into it. Unfortunately, I think you're arguing against a position that I wasn't taking in the first place. Again - I'm not saying that Jesus was "just a man." I'm saying that, when God took on human form in Jesus, God embraced that humanity to the fullest. Jesus was God, but Jesus chose to lay aside the "special position and abilities" due God - not that he didn't have them; he just chose not to use them. In that way, he showed for the rest of us what True Life looks like - the way humanity was intended to be, living in perfect communion with our own heavenly father.

Okay, back to Erin.

I think, to begin with, it comes to a question of philosophy and interpretation. The scriptures teach that Jesus was God and man. They don't teach how that worked. They don't give us any schematics. They just show Jesus at work, suffering and hurting like a human, yet performing miracles and showing "special insight" that must be attributed to God's power.

Most of us start with the preconceived idea that Jesus was kind of Superman - he looked human alright, but he had all these special, non-human powers. We point toward the verses that seem to imply this - the miracles, the Words of Knowledge - as proof, all the while ignoring (or explaining away) any verses that would seem to indicate otherwise.

But the scriptures also teach a Jesus that is human. A Jesus who gets angry, a Jesus who gets tired and hungry. And there are places where it seems Jesus' truly is lacking in information. Such as at the feeding of the 5000. "How much food do we have?" Some will say "he's just testing them - he already knows the answer." But that's an assumption based on a preconceived idea; it's not what the text says. Same as when the woman who had bled 12 years touches his cloak, and he turns around "trying to find out who touched him." Again, some say "he knew, he was just asking for her benefit." But that's an assumption placed onto the text; it's not what the text actually says.

Finally, there's this verse in John 14: "The words I say to you I do not speak on my own authority. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work."

I think there is a huge insight into Jesus' life here. Phillip has just asked "show us the Father," and Jesus replies "If you've seen me, you've seen the Father." He's talking about this interplay, this interconnectedness between himself and the Father, but it seems to me that he's saying that all he's taught and done he's done not by how own authority, but by the power of the Father working in and through him.

This also makes sense of Hebrews 4, where we are told "we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are - yet he did not sin." Now, if Jesus was operating in his own strength as God, then this is just a game - sure he was tempted, but he was God, so he couldn't sin. What use is that? But if Jesus was operating as a human, and lived and moved not in his own power but in the power he received out of his intimate relationship with God, then there is actually something here we can grab ahold of.

Think of it this way: Jesus the Divine comes and wanders around in all his divinity, smiting demons and raising the dead and speaking Words of Knowledge because he's God. It's nice to look at, but it's totally foreign to us and gives us nothing to emulate. In fact, we could never hope to live as Christ lived. . .so why try? He's like Superman.

Or think of it this way - Jesus, though God, lays aside the rights and privileges of Godhood in order to experience humanity in its fulness (a la Phillipians 2). Now, one could argue that, since he was conceived of the Holy Spirit, he was lacking in the sin nature we all possess. I could go for that. But as Jesus grew, as he walked upon the earth, he lived and moved and had his being not in his own strength, but in the strength that he derived from his intimacy with the Father. The miracles he performed were not out of his own authority, but because he walked so closely with the Father. What he knew, he knew not because he had access to heaven's data bank, but because his mind was in one accord with the Father, and the Father revealed these things to him.

Here's why I like option 2:
- It takes the incarnation seriously. Either Jesus was fully human, or he wasn't. To take seriously his humanity, he could not live into the fulness of his Diety for that time.
- it takes seriously the verses that speak of Jesus' lack of knowledge, and all the times he is portrayed as fully human, rather than trying to "explain them away."
- It gives us a stronger mandate for discipleship. If Jesus was able to accomplish his works not because he has God's Power, but because he walked so intimately with the Father, then we have a call to walk intimately with the Father. We have this model laid before us that drives us to the Father for strength, for power, for understanding. It teaches us of the importance of relying on the Father.

It teaches us, in fact, that should we choose to walk intimately with the Father, as Jesus did, then we are living as Christ lived (what we're called to do in the first place), and that there is strength and power for us there.

I know, it seems foreign, and almost a little heretical, but I think if you go back and read the stories, and see how much Jesus relied on his relationship with the Father, if you go back and look at the anointing of Jesus at his baptism, if you look at the texts that speak of Jesus emptying himself. . .I think it's there, if you have eyes to see it.

Emergent Atonement Contest

The winner in the Atonement Metaphor contest over at Emergent Village has just been posted, along with a couple runner-ups. You might even recognize one of the judges. . .

What Did He Know, and When Did He Know It?

I was recently involved in a discussion related to how much knowledge Jesus had during his time on earth. Being God incarnate, was Jesus omniscient? That's often the image passed down to us - the baby Jesus laying in the manger, knowing the fate that awaits him, feeling the limitation of this tiny body. Or of Jesus hanging on the cross, thinking about you and about me. It's as if his body is flesh and blood, human, but his mind is still divine, carrying the entire databank of Everything God Knows (almost sounds a little gnostic when I put it that way, doesn't it?)

I've come to believe that that image isn't accurate. I would posit that in becoming human, Jesus gave up all rights and privileges of godhood, choosing to rely completely in God the Father to guide and direct his life. In other words, the miracles of Jesus were not from any miraculous powers Jesus had, they came about because the Father was working through the Son. Because the Son walked so intimately with the Father, because the Son regularly communed with the Father, the Son became the vessel open to fulfilling the Father's will.

(Note: I know it gets tricky with that whole trinity thing. I'm a little uncomfortable with the way this image seems to divide up the Trinity. The only reason I prefer this image is that I think it's biblical. So what if it doesn't "make sense" to my finite mind?)

I believe the same would be said of Jesus' knowledge. I believe Jesus did not, in fact, carry around inside of himself any extra knowledge; I don't think he could do a data uplink into heaven and ascertain any extra knowledge. Instead, I think it's more biblical to look at Jesus as a prophet, who knew the future only insomuch as the Father revealed it to him. In choosing to humble himself a la Philippians 2, Jesus laid aside the ability to know the first from the last and the last from the first. Even in Matthew 11:27 Jesus hints that the Father gave to Jesus all that Jesus had. So, essentially what I'm saying is that Jesus himself grew into an understanding of the Kingdom, and his role in it, as he progressed through life, and that it was his relationship with the Father that allowed him insight into those around him, and what the future held.

So I was struck last night by this thought - when Jesus chose Judas to be one of the 12, did he already know Judas would betray him? That's the message that often preaches - "Imagine - even knowing what Judas would do, Jesus still chose him!" But what if that's not the case. What if Jesus saw a broken man who he thought he could fix? What if Jesus had full hope that Judas would turn from his brokenness and embrace the healing of the Kingdom of God? What if, all along, Jesus actually expected that Judas would finally, one day, get it right? After all, along the way it's not like the other disciples acted any better than Judas. So who's to say Jesus "knew" that Judas would betray him, any more than he was growing frustrated with the others?

And at the last supper, when Jesus said "one of you will betray me?" did he know it supernaturally? Or was he just wise to the ways of men; had he watched Judas' recent behavior? Had he seen Judas speaking to the Scribes and Pharisees? Did he have some inside knowledge, or was it more along the lines of a parent who just "knows" that their child is up to something?

I think it makes all the difference, really. If Jesus already knew, then Judas is blackballed from the beginning. But if not. . .then it tells us something about the heart of Jesus, and his love and compassion for even Judas, his hope and desire that even Judas would someday have ears to hear and eyes to see. It takes Judas from the role of Ultimate Bad Dude and puts him back in the category of just one more disciple who Jesus was trying to win over.

Mostly, if we see that Jesus loved and hoped for Judas, perhaps it will inspire us to be more loving and compassionate toward even those who betray us.

More on the problem, or how I see it

More on yesterday's discussion regarding Jamieson and Hutcherson. . .

I tried to say this on Eugene's blog yesterday, but have been refining it in my head ever since. I'm still not sure this is in its final form, but here it is in process:

As Christians, we believe that our hope, our joy, our peace, our fulfillment is found in one place - in a relationship with the God who created us and loves us and redeems us. In fact, we would go so far as to stake the claim that for anybody, true hope, joy, peace, and fulfillment is found in one place only - in the redeeming love of God who gave his Son to rescue us from our broken lives. Finally, we would say that any hope for the future of our world and the societies in which we live is based in only this - the work of Christ's Spirit to mend back together our broken systems, redeeming and restoring all things back into the perfection in which they were created.

Part of that belief includes the related belief that there are actions, decisions, ways of living that are in harmony with God's work in the world, and that there are actions, decisions, and ways of living that are out of sync with God's work in the world. There are actions we take that lead toward Christ, and thus toward life; there are actions we take that lead away from Christ, and thus toward death. That second category, the actions that lead to death, we call "sin." And "sin" is not bad simply because it's arbitrarily labeled "sin," but because it leads the one who sins away from the Giver of Life.

Christians, then, work at this in their own life. It's called "discipleship." Taking every thought and action captive so that our choices and our actions reflect the will of the One who loves us and redeems us. Sin leads to pain, and obedience leads to life. While we all still sin, our ultimate goal is the pursuit of the life already given to us (I know that seems an oxymoron; blame Paul, since it's his theology. . .).

But we live in a world of people who reject the Christian message, which leaves a bit of a quandary. Do we "live and let live," knowing the choices of the world are only leading them further and further down the pathway that leads to death? Or do we attempt to bring our belief to bear on society, bringing the Gospel that leads to salvation to those who don't yet know?

Here is where the church often fails. For one, we often redefine "sin" as moral code and "sinners" as wrong. Hence, we work hard at "preaching at" sinners, making sure they know that we think they're sinners. For another, we too often focus on the action and not the person. "Sinner" becomes a category, not a real person with real feelings and desires and hurts and passions. "Sinner" implies (in the mind of many church-goers) somebody already on the way to hell, somebody to be avoided or yelled at, rather than a person created in the image of God, somebody already loved by God, somebody looking for hope and healing - just like we all are.

This is where the church has failed historically, and where many fail today.

However, there are those like Jamieson who seem to think that the church should simply change its message. That the church should be all loving and accepting and tolerant. They usually end up at the "judge not, lest ye be judged" place. To which I would respond "Yes - we should be loving, and gentle, and opposed to violence and prejudice at all levels, but at the same time we cannot stand by and in tolerance smile at people who are choosing to live lives that lead them away from the ultimate source of comfort and healing." At some point, it would be unethical and dishonest for us to pretend that all was well when, in fact, we believe that all is not well.

And this is the rub. On this issue, some want to be told "you're fine just as you are." But we can't tell anybody that. None of us are fine, just as we are. We all are held accountable for the decisions we make - whether they lead to life or death. I certainly don't agree with Rev. Hutcherson on a few things, and I wish he would be a little more careful in his public pronouncements, but on this we agree - we stand by the Word of God, which leads to life, and cannot affirm people for making choices that lead to death.

I have a friend who a few years ago told me he was gay. And he had decided he was okay with that. He knew what I believed to be the truth. The day he came out of the closet to me, we had a long talk about all of this. I told him I could not change my belief; in fact, it would make me a hypocrite if I did. He told me he accepted that, and he wouldn't try to change me, but he was content with who he was, and asked me not to try to change him. We affirmed out friendship. And we remained close friends until I moved a few states away.

Somehow, I think this is where we need to get. To love people because they are people, to encourage people to make choices that lead to life, to explain why dealing with sin is so important, but in the end, to respect people's choices, rather than flinging rocks at each other. Most churches need to learn the meaning of "It's your kindness that leads to repentance." But, on the other hand, those who live lives contrary to God's design can't expect Christians to ignore the teachings of God, because we believe that in them is found Life.

But see, already that takes a lot of work, a lot of nuance, a lot of discussion and adjustment and patience and willingness to love people who don't agree with us. . .

and that never makes for good press coverage, does it?

Be A Winner for Jesus!

The aforementioned "Images of Atonement Contest" is up and running over at Emergent Village.

"In order for the rich benefits of alternative atonement theology to move beyond the circles of those who read theology books we must develop alternative imagery. We need not just a golf bag full of different explanations; we need a bag full of different imagery to use in conversations over coffee, in sermons, youth meetings, on blogs, etc. This contest aims to help this happen both through encouraging a wide number of people to work at developing an image, and then also by sharing the best images so that many others can use them."

Go ahead - try it out. Even if you don't win, it's good to stretch your mind around the broader meaning of atonement in our world.

Book report

One of the benefits of long plane rides is all the spare time for reading. So it was that, on the way to Chicago, I finally finished Scot McKnight's A Community Called Atonement.

This issue of Atonement (the theology, not the movie - although I read that book coming home from Chicago 5 years ago or so. . .) has been rumbling around in my head ever since taking the Theological Understandings of Jesus class at the Mennonite Brethren Biblical Seminary. Mark Baker, class professor, had written (with Joel Green) Recovering the Scandal of the Cross, which attempts to push back against the overwhelming single narrative of Penal Substitutionary Atonement. Green and Baker argue that there are a number of biblical metaphors for atonement, and that the church should do well to claim them all. In fact, they suggest, it's time to write some new metaphors to carry the message of atonement into a world that has left the idea of guilt and sin behind.

(side note: The folks at Emergent are working on a contest, in which people will be able to submit new atonement metaphors that would speak to a post-modern culture. Judges will include MESSAGE DELETED TO PROTECT ANONYMITY OF JUDGES)

To cut this down - I was challenged by the book and Baker's teaching; I ended up submitting a chapter that was included in Recovering's sequal, Proclaiming the Scandal of the Cross. Following last Easter I preached a series on "what did the cross actually do?" The message I preached on shame was one of the most powerful experiences of my preaching career.

And, of course, last year Scot McKnight weighed into the discussion with the above-mentioned book. McKnight's premise, somewhat akin to Baker and Green's, is that there are any number iof biblical images that speak about atonement, and that they are all important. While each is metaphor in its own right, each offers a slightly different shade as to the extent of the work of the cross. McKnight's genius is in likening all this to a golf bag - in your bag, you need a number of different clubs, because different clubs fit different situations better than others. So too with atonement metaphors. One will speak to one issue, in one situation, one will speak better in another.

McKnight begins by discussing the problem itself - what problem was atonement meant to solve? Because where you begin ends up defining where you end. And the basic problem, according to McKnight, is this - we were made in the Image of God, to live in relationship to God, to others, to creation, and to ourselves. Sin cracked that Image, and distorted all four directions of relationship. Therefore, atonement must be big enough to restore that Image, and to restore relationships in all four directions.

He then moves on to discussing the various atonement moments and metaphors. I appreciate the fact that he pushes atonement further out than simply the cross, or the cross and resurrection. To McKnight (with whom I wholeheartedly agree), the whole life of Christ was an atoning work. Thus, the incarnation, the cross, the resurrection - these all are part of the bigger atonement picture.

McKnight briefly sketches a few of the historical developments related to atonement, and then sums them up with this thought: The bag that holds all the atonement images is defined as this - Atonement is identification for incorporation. Jesus came to earth to identify with humans. His life, Passion, and resurrection are all about identifying with humans, with living the human life in all its fullness. And Jesus did this that we might be incorporated into his death and resurrection, that we may be restored to God, self, others, and creation through his redemptive work. Jesus died for us, instead of us, and with us. "God sends his Son into this world, the Fourth Gospel tells us, to set in motion the earthly missio Dei, the mission of God to bring the world to its consummation, to restore cracked Eikons [humans made in the image of God], to heal humans in all four relational directions. . .Everything good happens to the Christian by virtue of union with Christ."

Finally, McKnight challenges us to recognize this fact - the primary work of God is to create an atoned community who will carry out the work of atonement in the World. This is not an individualistic "Jesus saved me!" thing; when we are incorporated into Christ, we are given the mandate of joining with the people of God to live out atonement for the world around us. Therefore, the Church is to be about the work of the missio Dei, fighting for the oppressed and loving the hurting and feeding the hungry and standing up to injustice and proclaiming the Good News that Jesus Christ is Lord. When the church gathers for fellowship, when the Church fights for justice for all, when the church goes to work in carrying out God's mission to the world, when the Church lives out the Lord's Supper and Baptism, then the Church is reflecting it's nature as God's atoned people.

Now, I must admit this. I love theology, I also love practicality. And I found myself at the end of the book saying "and how do we do this?" But this is more of a theological, setting-the-stage kind of book, than it is a "how-to" book. Perhaps sometimes I expect too much, or I'm looking for the easy answers. Either way, McKnight's book throws out the gauntlet - are we going to be the people God called us to be? Are we going to be living atonement in our midst? Are we going to be living out the Mission of God in our communities? Are we going to expand atonement until we realize it is about the restoration of all of Creation, and not just the salvation of a few? And are we going to be the Christians we're supposed to be, carrying on God's work into our communities?

Or are we going to settle in, knowing that "It's all good between Jesus and me. Now pass the chips. . ."

A Post on Theology and the Writer's Strike

On a message board I frequent, somebody asked about the Hollywood Writer's Strike; specifically, they asked whether or not unions "line up biblically." This was my response. What do you all think?

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I find that questions like this are too broad to create much conversation on the subject. You can't find any verse or passage that speaks directly to the topic, so unless you define some issues, there's not much to discuss/debate. To that end, let me propose three smaller issues that might point us toward an answer to the bigger question.

1. Is there a justice issue involved? Is there an injustice being perpetrated that unions might be able to stand up against? In the 20s and 30s, this was the case. Sweat shops, virtual slave labor, paying a pittance for backbreaking work, fatcat corporate owners getting wealthy on the backs of the poor, uneducated, illiterate, immigrant population. Unions stood up for the rights of those who suffered greatly, and brought about great reforms for the working masses (sadly, many churches fought against the unions in the misguided belief that God had ordained capitalism, and unions seemed inherently socialist). So, are unions today seeking after justice and fair treatment? Or are they after vain power, liberal politics, or excessive monetary gain? wrt the hollywood strike, are the studios being unjust toward the writers (note: unfair and unjust are not the same thing)? Is the writer's union striving after justice for its constituents?

2. Is it even fair to talk about injustice toward writers, when so many others are truly suffering? How does the suffering of Hollywood writers compare to the suffering of the immigrant mother working as a hotel maid at the Travel-lodge? Is it right for somebody who's making a livable wage in Los Angeles to demand more, even strike for more, when a lot of people are struggling to survive on minimum wage or worse? How does God feel about writers demanding more, when the rest of the world is surviving on a couple cents per day at best? Does any American Middle-class worker have the right to complain, when all over the world people are still in slavery, in deathly conditions working in Chinese coal mines or African diamond mines, when families are selling their daughters into prostitution just so they can eat?

3. Considering the garbage that Hollywood continuously spews forth, are any of these the right questions to be asking? In other words, "do unions line up biblically" may be a non-issue, when the writers have proven that they have no intention of "doing justly, loving mercy, and walking humbly with their God." Considering the incessant glorification of violence, the normalization of aberrant sexuality, the objectification of women, the fame and glory given to every kind of sin, the commercialization of everything decent, the unhealthy attention paid to Paris and Jessica and all the American Idols, and considering the mockery of Christianity and God's ideals (love, justice, kindness, compassion, forgiveness, etc.), is the strike really an issue? Or is the entertainment system so broken, so diabolical, so ungodly, so anti-christian, that God couldn't care less about whether or not they have a union? Perhaps his only desire is that they learn what it means to proclaim that Jesus Christ is Lord.

Forgive the processing going on below

Once, a long time ago, I was pretty certain I knew the Truth about things. At least, I knew God, I knew the Bible, and I knew right theology from wrong. I had spent my time among the fundamentalists and knew all about Absolute Truth and correct doctrine and all. I'd also been trained by the Christian Reformed in their tradition (which is its own sort of fundamentalism), but mostly I'd come to see things from a good, Bible-Believing Fundamentalist perspective. Knew all about inerrancy, infallability, inspiration, creationism, predestination, penal substitutionary atonement, and premillenial dispensationalism.

Only two things made me nervous.

One, I knew that there were a lot of REALLY IMPORTANT theological things I knew nothing about, things like double predestination and superlapsarianism. The people I respected debated these things, and I really couldn't say much. So I felt like an inferior theologian. And I felt like I needed to study a lot more.

Two, the fact that so many of my fundy friends spent all their time debating theological intricacies and hunting out heresies, instead of taking care of the widow and the orphan in their distress. They were quite smug in their knowledge of dispensationalism, yet they feared going out and meeting their neighbors, lest they be smudged somehow by some un-named sin out there. It seemed an odd way to serve the Lord, but it was pretty much all I knew.

(note: I found myself in this place mostly because of the 2 years at Bible College and the 2 years I worked for a Baptist Church. If I'd paid more attention to my parents, I might have realized that there was more to life than lining up jots and tittles)

Then a funny thing happened. I started studying among the Pietists, and made an interesting discovery. They differed in significant ways from my previously held theological positions - in fact, they didn't even hold to some of the most significant fundamental positions. And yet, I could see they loved the Lord, and that he was working in and through them. Hmm. . .

Then I spent a year studying with the Quakers, and made an interesting discovery. They had their own theological base, but it didn't overlap very well with the fundies I'd learned from. They were worrying about a whole different set of issues. And yet, I could see that they loved the Lord, and that he was working in and through them. Double hmm. . .

Then I spent 4 years studying with the anabaptists/Mennonite Brethren. And I found myself in waters I didn't even know existed. They never even talk about inerrancy or infallability or double predestination or superlapsarianism. Instead, they talk about community, about the Word working itself out in the world, about being peacemakers, about discipleship whatever the cost. And I could definitely see that they loved the Lord, that he was working in and through them.

Along the way I've spent time studying with Wesleyans and Presbys and Catholics and Episcopalians and Baptists. Plus I had some discussions with Brad about the Orthodox perspective on theology.

And what I've learned is this - theology is a lot deeper, wider, broader, more complex and more beautiful than I (or the fundies) ever imagined, because God is deeper and wider and broader and more complex and more beautiful than I ever would have imagined. He is certainly bigger than our theological systems.

Now, I have good friends who stand on both sides of many of our issues - creationism, the role of women in ministry, inerrancy, the nature of the atonement, free will vs. sovereignty. . .and all of them love the Lord, and God works in and through them all.

I guess part of what I'm trying to get at is this - there are two ways to engage in theological discussion. The first is to do like the fundies and engage in heresy-hunting, spending every waking moment going after every perceived undermining of the Faith once and for all given to mankind (a la John MacArthur's recent diatribe against the Emergent Church). The second is to say "Wow, that's interesting. I've never heard that before. Can you explain it a little more?"

Of course, I think there is bad theology. Of course, I think some theological positions are just plain wrong. And a few are, in fact, dangerous and need to be corrected.

But I'd rather sit by the road and ask somebody else to describe their view than sit in the fortress shooting arrows at travelers who are moving along.