On Judging

"Judge not, that you be not judged." (Matthew 7:1 -- NKJV)

"Do not speak evil against one another, brothers. The one who speaks against a brother or judges his brother, speaks evil against the Law and judges the Law. But if you judge the Law, you are not a doer of the Law, but a judge. There is only one Lawgiver and Judge, He who is able to save and to destroy. But who are you to judge your neighbor?" (James 4:11-12 -- ESV, slightly modified)

"I wrote to you in my letter not to associate with sexually immoral people -- not at all meaning the sexually immoral of this world, or the greedy and swindlers, or idolaters, since then you would need to go out of the world. But now I am writing to you not to associate with anyone who bears the name of brother if he is guilty of sexual immorality or greed, or is an idolater, reviler, drunkard, or swindler -- not even to eat with such a one. For what have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the Church whom you are to judge? God judges those outside. Purge the evil person from among you." (1 Corinthians 5:9-13)

"Or do you not know that the saints will judge the world? And if the world is to be judged by you, are you incompetent to try trivial cases? Do you not know that we are to judge angels? How much more, then, matters pertaining to this life!" (1 Corinthians 6:2-3)

"Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls. And he will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make him stand." (Romans 14:4)

"Stop judging by mere appearances, and make a right judgment" (John 7:24)

It should be clear, I hope, that the question of whether or not Christians are to be judges of the character, actions, or eternal destiny of others -- whether inside or outside the Church -- is filled with tension.

The reason I list these passages (and there are, of course, more) is due to the recent spat on various social media platforms about the Supreme Court, DOMA, and the possibility of legalizing homosexual marriage. I've seen accusations, counter-accusations, counter-counter-accusations, and so on. "You're being judgmental!" And, as seems to be true in the Christian world online these days, there is the inevitable descent to name-calling, ad hominems, red herrings, and general snarky "well-I'm-right-and-if-you-don't-agree-with-me..." on either side of the issue. Not only is there no agreement on the issue, or on the validity of judgment over the issue, there is not an ounce of civility to be had. Part of this, I think, is that civil dialogue has been replaced, culturally, by a sort of weak-spined relativistic pluralism, especially evident amongst evangelicals of a younger sort.

What I'm encouraging, and hope to find time to write on in the near future, is a return ad fontes, to the source, to the Scriptures and the historical witness of the Church, as the starting-point for understanding what is going on and how we, the Church, might address it properly. The texts above stand as a initial salvo. Exegetical work needs to be done.

A few notes, though, from my own point of view, that might be important in setting out terms for debate. (Note, please, that I'm treating this in my normal fashion as an intra-Church debate. Theoretically, we share the same presuppositions, but don't necessarily do so with those "outside". I'm not interested, at this point, of debating with those outside of the Church community. Not that such debate isn't important or necessary, but I don't think the Church is quite ready for that...yet).

1) Christendom is over. We don't have the political clout of yesteryear. No emperors (or presidents or supreme courts) are out to protect our interests.

2) The "Religious Right" and "Moral Majority" are over. See #1. The moral bankruptcy of both major political parties in the USA is well known. We religious folk have been played as suckers by those in power. And we will continue to be suckers as long as we suck at the teet of those in power. If you want to fight homosexuality as a political issue, that is fine, but don't pretend that Republicanism or conservativism are just the political expression of Christianity. They aren't and they never were. Neither, though, is Democratism or liberalism. All of them are indebted to an Enlightenment rejection of the authority of the Church over any but the most private matters (if you don't believe me, read Locke's "Letter[s] Concerning Toleration" -- thanks to Caleb for the correction). Politically, the name of the game is the fact-value division: any attempt to overcome it is, frankly, treasonous. And it is treated as such by both parties.

3) Don't assume people "outside" care about your opinion, no matter how Biblically based it is. We've lost our moral voice (the Catholic sex-scandal, Ted Haggard, etc.), which will take generations of hard, humble work to reestablish. When we say something is Biblical, people automatically see hypocrisy. We cannot blame that on them, either. Judgment starts in the House of God, I've read somewhere.

4) Don't assume people "inside" care about your opinion, no matter how Biblically based it is. See #3. Same reasons apply.

5) Civility is important. Learn it. Being arrogant, brusque, or hasty does not equal a good argument.

6) Proper authority is important. Here is one I think we especially need to attend to. What constitutes "proper" authority in God's Church? Just because you are a college professor of Bible does not make you an authority. Authority is derived from the holy Spirit through a life of holiness, compassion, mercy, justice, compassion, long-suffering, humility, holiness, and compassion.

That should get us started.

Emasculated Evangelism

Tonight, while going through the argument of St. Paul to the Romans, my students and I stumbled across something that I don't think I've ever fully grasped before.

We started off by talking about how the oikonomia, or pattern, of salvation in Paul's writings doesn't end with either justification or the saying of a Sinner's Prayer. Rather, it starts with God's calling, proceeds to the justification/vindication of the Cross (I am passionately against those who argue that justification happens at the moment of individual belief: it happened at the Cross and in the Resurrection -- Jesus' vindication/justification, of which we take part in through faith and baptism), leads to sanctification (being made into Temples of the holy Spirit), and, finally, glorification -- that is, sharing in God's glory, which was always His intent. Man originally (and Paul seems to mean Adam as a sort of Everyman) "exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things" (1:23)which has caused all to "fall short of the glory of God" (3:23). However, since we have died to Death in Christ's death (appropriated through baptism), we are raised in newness of life to "seek for glory and honor and immortality" through "patience in well-doing" (2:7). This means that any sufferings, whether they are persecutions or the last grasps of Death at dominion over us through sin, are "not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed in us" (8:18 -- the ESV has "to us" at the end of this verse, which seems to me to miss the point: St. Paul seems to have Mt. Tabor in mind here). This "glory" is none other than the glory we originally spurned and fell short of: the glory of God. That is, man's chief end is to participate in God's glory, which Jesus Himself prayed for in the Gospel of John: "The glory that You have given Me I have given them" (17:22), which was "the glory that I had with You before the world existed" (17:5). Theosis, in other words, is man's telos or goal.

Here's where it gets interesting (as if it wasn't already interesting enough):

St. Paul concludes this section, after talking about how the whole of Creation is waiting to be released into the hands of the glorified "sons" [that is, inheritors, both male and female] of God, by saying that this will be accomplished when we have "the redemption of our bodies" (Rom. 8:23). The resurrection, our ultimate vindication/justification as "sons of God", just as it was Jesus' ultimate vindication ("with power") as Son of God (1:4), is the moment of glorification. "For in this hope we were saved..." Wait, what? What hope? The hope of glorification through resurrection. The hope of the liberation of all Creation through that resurrection, when God will be "all in all" (1 Cor. 15: 28).

How many evangelistic moments include this? I asked my students for a show of hands. None were raised. Mine certainly was not. I was "saved" because I wanted to go to Heaven when I died. I believed Jesus could accomplish that for me (or rather, that He already had). While this is true, in its own way, it isn't the hope that St. Paul is talking about here in Romans 8. Rather, he is talking about something much greater: the death of Death. He is talking about the original purpose of God, not to be clothed in animal skins (Gen. 3:21), but to be clothed in Christ ("put on" Col. 3 and elsewhere), in the "house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens" (2 Cor. 5:1 -- possibly Paul's only reference to the virginal conception of Christ). The hope of the Gospel is, in Paul's trenchant phrase, "Christ in you, the hope of glory" (Col. 1:27).

We need to change our evangelism. This is the hope in which we are saved: that God will gather all things in heaven and on earth under one Head, even Christ, and fill them with His glory. Hallelujah!

On Detachment from the World

For a long time, some of which is cataloged on this blog, I was averse (to put it mildly) to any sort of asceticism or "world-denying" practice. Put simply, in the terms of one of my collegiate teachers (and now colleagues) that was dualism. And dualism is bad. How can one deny the world that God had created (Gen. 1), that He so loved (John 3), and that He is going to recreate (Rev. 21 & 22)? That and, of course, asceticism was somehow thoroughly Platonic and therefore a corruption of the purely Hebraic Christian inheritance (I knew this because I was told so; I hadn't read a lick of Plato). So, whenever I would encounter language in the Fathers or the early Christians that spoke in terms of world renunciation, I would discount it: sometimes I would discount the Father or saint who spoke it as well. They were deluded by philosophy (Col. 2:8), I said, and since I didn't want to be contaminated by such things (for, of course, I was free of such philosophical influences), I must reject them.

This led, as I've spoken about before, to my statement that "either the Holy Spirit has abandoned the Church since the days of the Apostles, or He has abandoned me."

What I didn't understand, though, was the purpose behind denying the world. What I didn't understand, though, was the necessity of denying the world. What I didn't understand, though, was that to love the world, as Christ loves the world (John 3:16), required that I follow the path of Christ to crucifixion. One can only inherit the world, can only be meek, if one "daily takes up the cross, denies himself, and follows [Jesus]". But, why?

Part of my problem was that I thought sin was the problem: sin understood as the breaking of God's divine Law, codified in the Torah, for which I stood condemned. While this certainly is a problem, it isn't the problem. Sin can be taken care of through repentance. All the Scriptures assume this, even Leviticus, which is arguably the most concerned with the effects of sin in the context of blood sacrifice. Repentance, of course, is a good and necessary thing (as I've argued here before). But, there is something more than moral rebellion happening in the world. How do we account for the "righteous pagan"? The person who, even if they outwardly hate Christ, act more like Christ than many Christians (especially oneself), especially in light of Matthew 25 (note that the "sheep" don't know they served the Master)? There is something more that I had missed. To deny the world because sin was the main problem would be to say, ultimately, that the world was inextricably tied to sin. The whole creation would be totally depraved, to use some old Calvinist terminology. This would lead straight to dualistic Gnosticism.

What I had missed, though, was the fundamentally ontological problem that man is faced with: he is dying. Sin is a problem, but the broken moral relationship between God and man can be healed through repentance (assuming, of course, God's mercy at the outset); yet we still die. "For dust you are and to dust you shall return." Since Adam was the "federal head" of the world, all the world inherited death. Adam was the mediator of Life to the world, his original task was incarnational in a way. His communion with God, at the Tree of Life, was not only Life for him, but Life for the world. He failed at that task, bringing death into the world and corrupting everything with possible non-existence, a detachment from the source of Life. Biology isn't a closed system: it depends on connection to a Life that is not bound by finite necessity. All things fall apart because they are finite, but that does not mean they were created to fall apart. They, all things (Eph. 1:10), were created to partake in God's Life. All things, instead, share in death. Our communion with them, even though necessary to sustain bodily existence (food, drink, shelter, sex, work, rest), is either a communion with non-existence or a communion with God through Christ.

Why deny the world then? Because we are carriers of death in a world that is dying without Christ. We deny the world, we fast, we abstain, we "mortify" because we know -- from the sacramental example of Christ -- that Life for the world only can come when this creation dies. Christ, the Life of the world, had to die -- to take on the penalty of Adam's choice -- so that it could be defeated. For how could death hold onto Life Himself and whatever He had united Himself to? This is how Christ defeated death by death. We participate in that victory by following the same path: we are baptized into His death so that we might walk now in the newness of Life that is communion with Him. But that means we cannot hold tightly to the world as it now is, but instead look forward to the end goal when all things are gathered up in Christ's Life (Eph. 1:10) and God is "all in all" (1 Cor. 15). To hold tightly to the things of this world now means we desire to keep our communion with death. We recognize our current need of them to stay biologically alive, but we cannot let them become (or remain!) our masters, for they are being used by a malevolent power that seeks only death for all things (it even went so far as to crucify the Lord of Glory). We will inherit the earth, the earth filled to the brim with God's Life, as we let go of it in its present state. Let no thing be your master but God. Love the world so much that you will die to it.

Why I'm No Longer an Evangelical

Christianity Today recently tweeted about their sticking to the word "evangelical" as a self-identifying descriptor. I tweeted back that the problem with the word "evangelical" is that it lacks any objective content. Too many groups use it that have vastly divergent theologies (I'm thinking conservative Reformed groups and Rob Bell-types here) for it to actually be a meaningful descriptor. Certainly, it is not necessarily meant to be an exclusive modifier, but using it for "Christians in every tradition and communion who seek to love God with all their heart, mind, soul, and strength" is the same as saying "evangelical = Christian." In that case, why not just say "Christian"? They might (and I'm guessing here, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting either author of the piece, although Mr. Galli did speak at my recent seminary graduation) say that "Christian" is too broad of a label itself, including anyone within the liberal-conservative orbit, whereas "evangelical" comprises those more centrist (how else will we fit in the Sojourners with the Moral Majority?). What, in the end, it reduces Christianity to, since it is such a broad, all-encompassing label, is a movement, whereas Jesus came to found a Church. There is, as they note implicitly in the quote above, no institutional unity to be found among evangelicals. In fact, you can be evangelical whilst not recognizing the baptisms of those in other groups of ostensible evangelicals. It is, then, a superficial and overly rationalistic (since it is based on some form of doctrinal communality -- but not unity) movement that will be more destructive of institutional unity (Christ came, we must insist, to found One Church, not many, often warring branches, denominations, or sects) than healing.

This was brought to my attention somewhat obliquely a couple of weeks ago by a colleague at Geneva College when I griped on Facebook about the lack of apathy evangelical students brought to the study of the Scriptures (after all, if sola Scriptura is true, then oughtn't we to be fully engaged in learning what those infallible Scriptures say?). He said that he was uncomfortable with the term, preferring to qualify it with "non-confessional" and "confessional" evangelicals (if I remember the proposed nomenclature correctly). If we need that sort of definitional differentiation, though, it seems more fitting to abandon the label altogether. That was confirmed by the CT article: it just doesn't work anymore.

So, I propose we either adequately qualify the label so that it doesn't mean all things to everyone, or we drop it all together. Really, in the end, it seems to mean just Christian anyway, with a decidedly weak ecumenical bent ("oh, you're a Catholic Pentecostal Reformed Evangelical...me too, even though I'm also a Calvinist Orthodox Organic Church Emergent!") that glosses over the tough issues we are supposed to be hammering out.

I'm not an evangelical, then. I'm a Christian. Often confused and rarely right.

On Theological Authenticity

NB: Strong language.

One aspect of modern Christian life that I know far too well is the experience of disconnect between what is promised in the Scriptures and what is experienced in daily life. I notice this in my students when I talk about our glorification like Christ's on Mt. Tabor. When has this happened to them? Or anyone they know? When have they been so filled with the Holy Spirit as to be legitimately called a "temple" (1 Cor. 6). In my own experience this has usually been explained as something that just "is" without any discernible change or benefit to the individual believer (or the church community). It is, in other words, an unverifiable assumption. To those that, for whatever reason, have been burned in their experience with the church this rings especially hollow: can a "temple of the Holy Spirit" be a pedophile, an arrogant prick, an adulterer, or a hate-monger? Is it possible for the Holy Spirit and Belial to actually live together and partake of one another, or is it impossible as Paul says? (In other words, Paul is writing to the Corinthians that they are in grave danger of losing their experience of the Spirit -- a dire warning as we learn from Hebrews 6. It also assumes that not everyone who was joined to the Corinthian community had had such an experience: note the sexually immoral brother. This is not to say that not everyone has a share in the Spirit, either; but we can quench His work. I hope you can see the gymnastics I'm engaging in just to avoid suspicion of heresy, since our words are so easily misconstrued).

An unverifiable assumption in the realm of theology is dangerous. It is saying that a certain state holds when no evidence, except one's assumed right interpretation of the Scriptures, can be marshaled otherwise. Now, theology is not a hypothesis-verification sort of science, but that doesn't mean anything goes. There are criteria that should be met. What I am seeing my students, and I think it quite astute, is that they are noticing that criteria are not being met. As Dr. Horrible puts it, "The status is not quo."

And so I have seen in the last couple of years, in a variety of ways, many folks either turn their backs on Christ and the Church completely, or cease to pay meaningful attention to what is happening in the life therein. And this is often placed on their backs in the form of passive-aggressive guilt: "They didn't really believe," "Don't they know that we aren't perfect, we're just forgiven," and other platitudes that these disaffected rightly discern as bullshit.

So what do we (I) need to do? Be silent.

We are using words that we have no right to use. We are not "pure of heart," so we have not seen God. The vision of God, however one understands it (and I think the Mt. Tabor Transfiguration experience is probably the best), is reserved for those that have made their hearts ready for inhabiting by the Holy Spirit. If we read Leviticus, or the Prophets, we should note that God takes the purity of His Temple very seriously. I'm not talking, either, about whether you sing the right songs or whether you wear the right clothes. I'm talking about, at a baseline, forgiveness. Jesus says, repeatedly, that if we don't forgive those who have trespassed against us, we won't be forgiven by God (Matthew 6, the parable of the Unjust Steward, etc.). If we don't forgive, we cannot come anywhere close to asserting our right to speak about God, about Christ, about the Christian life in a meaningful way. Maybe it is right for our leaders, every once in awhile, to say that they won't preach a sermon that week, since they have not been able to forgive their spouse, neighbor, friend, enemy, whatever. It is right always, and at all times, for us who are not in formal leadership positions to be concerned with the silent work of logging our eyes, rather than vacuuming those of others.

It is strange, now that I think about it, that the best way to evangelize the world might be to say nothing at all. But it is also strange that God saves the world through the crucifixion of His Son. Strangeness isn't a stranger to Christianity. Forgiveness is the strangest thing in the world, but Christ and His Church tell us -- through the common Life they share -- that it is upon such strangeness that the world is founded.

Holiness as Participation

"I do not pray for these alone [the apostles], but also for those who will believe in Me through their word; that they all may be one, as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You; that they also may be one in Us, that the world may believe that You sent Me. And the glory which You gave Me I have have given them, that they may be one just as We are one: I in them, and You in Me; that they may be made perfect in one, and that the world may know that You have sent Me, and have loved them as You have loved Me." (John 17:20-23)

"In Him [Christ] we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace which He made to abound in us in all wisdom and prudence, having made known to us the mystery of His will, according to His good pleasure which He purposed in Himself, that in the dispensation of the fullness of the times He might gather together in one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven and which are on earth -- in Him." (Eph. 1:7-10)

"Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And everyone who has this hope in Him purifies himself, just as He is pure." (I John 3:2-3)

This post, like many lately, is predicated on my questions concerning theological authority. Specifically, the question of "holiness" in Biblical interpretation. Kenneth Bailey, an excellent Anglican author, puts early interpretive authority in this way (Paul through Mediterranean Eyes, 123):

The ancient Eastern churches did not have scholars or theologians, but rather 'Fathers of the church.' The assumption behind that language is: Only when we see the authenticity of your piety, and your commitment to the church, will we take your scholarship seriously.

Those who were holy had the interpretive keys passed to them (there were exceptions, of course, which the Church is still learning to deal with).

What, though, is holiness? Is it moral purity? Is it "keeping the Law" (whatever that phrase actually means)? I'm inclined to say "yes...but..." Why? Listen to St. Paul:

If anyone else thinks he may have confidence in the flesh, I more so: circumcised the eighth day, of the stock of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of the Hebrews; concerning the Law, a Pharisee; concerning zeal, persecuting the Church; concerning the righteousness which is in the Law, blameless. (Philippians 3:4-6)

(It is important here to note that some modern translations, like the NIV, translate the "righteousness" in the last verse as "legalistic righteousness," which is a blatant skewing of what Paul said and is trying to say). Paul here, in his argument, is saying that he had it all right (not sinless, mind you, but blameless -- an honor-shame dynamic is being proffered here, not a legal one): he kept the Law! And what did it mean for him? Holiness? No, but rather persecution of the Church and, therefore, alienation from the Life of Christ. He had a righteousness, a "being-set-right-ness," but it wasn't the right kind. Rather, in Christ (that is, being in union with Him through faith and baptism), "I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having my own righteousness, which is from the Law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which is from God by faith; that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if by any means, I may attain to the resurrection from the dead." (vs. 8-11) Being in Christ, participating in His death and resurrection, is the key to righteousness: not what we have done, but what He has done. Holiness isn't our moral efforts, but rather participation in Christ. However, this is not a passive thing, but rather is all our life: note Paul's language that this righteousness is towards knowledge (which means a participatory knowledge, not mere rational assent), towards fellowship in suffering, towards conformity to death. This is an active process that is brought to birth in us through ascesis, through entering and remaining in the Life of Christ at all times and in all places. "Pray without ceasing" he says elsewhere.

Holiness, to get to the point, is not moral action in the traditional sense. In fact, that can lead us the wrong way (either towards believing that we must be moral to gain God's approval or towards thinking that moral behavior is the sin qua non of Christianity). Rather, it is first a participation in Christ, which is manifested in new way of existence that is "righteous," that is, it is set right to God's will for the world: glorification of all things through Christ (Eph. 1:10). To be holy is to be in communion with Christ at what the Fathers called the "noetic" level, that part of human nature that is deeper than rationality, where we can ceaselessly commune with God (I have not yet attained to this level, but I earnestly desire to). The only way to do so, though, is through prayer and forgiveness, not being right all the time, although that is a strong temptation for all engaged in theological studies.

The Essence of the Faith

Last night with my Bible class we delve into the Sermon on the Mount as recorded in Matthew 5-7 and various parables of Christ found throughout the Gospels. One theme that is strikingly consistent is that of forgiveness. If we want our sins forgiven by the Father, we must forgive our brothers, in fact we vow this when we pray the Lord's Prayer. "Forgive us our debts/transgressions...as we forgive our debtors/trangessors". The parable about the unmerciful servant is the same way. St. Peter asks, "How many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me?" Christ answers "70 times 7." (Now, it should be asked, why didn't He just say "490 times"? Possibly He was making a connection to Dan. 9, where 70 sevens appears in context of God's forgiveness.)

The essence of Christianity, then, seems to be a concrete action: forgiveness. We can be forgiven by God for not understanding the hypostatic union, or for messing up predestination, or whatever. What cannot be forgiven, though, is our own unforgivingness. This is not because God is unable, far from it, but to not forgive is to consciously turn away from the likeness of God, who sends rain upon the just and the unjust. As C.S. Lewis puts it, "The gates of Hell are locked on the inside."

Forgive everyone for everything.

The Infinity of Theology

As my study of the Church Fathers grows deeper, I have come to wonder about the propriety of theological discourse. Can (should!) anything new be said? In one sense no, in another sense yes.

The point of academic theology is twofold: to pass along what has gone before (the Tradition) and to use that to speak afresh to our times and places. So, if we are just in the business of the first aspect, then, no, theology cannot say anything new. It is bounded by Jesus Christ's person and work. We speak of Him and no other. However, language changes, situations change, challenges come up, and we must speak of Him somewhat differently at times (the homoousias controversy seems to speak to this -- how do we confess what the Church confesses and safeguard that from Arian misunderstanding?): however the bulwark by which our theological language is judged is not the culture or the history or the place, but Jesus Christ Himself. Even in our re-expression we must avoid theological novelty.

Does this mean, though, that theology is complete? By no means.

The subject of theology, the One whom we long to know (and I don't mean knowledge in a purely "rational" sense here), is, by nature, infinite. So our knowing of Him progresses truly, but slowly as we are drawn deeper into His Life (the Holy Spirit) in His Body (the Church). Theology itself, then, is the infinite study of the Infinite One. We will never (thank God!) be able to say, "Well, now we know all there is to know." Nor will we be able to fully express it. All the other subjects, because they are being joined to Christ (Eph. 1:10ff.) are the same way: we may see (for example) an atom in various equations, or models, or super-collider experiments, but we still cannot comprehend -- have exhaustive knowledge of -- an atom. Nor shall we ever. We have true knowledge, but only partial. We look into a mirror darkly.

It is interesting, in this regard, that both Sts. John and Paul, at different points, basically say that someday, eschatologically, we will fully participate in this infinity, "knowing even as we are known."