A Rusty Aluminum Age

The letters of Paul are letters to people with serious problems: disunity (1 Corinthians), sexual distortion (2 Corinthians), heresy and doctrinal confusion (Galatians, Colossians, 2 Thessalonians), social confusion (Ephesians), racial misunderstanding and doctrinal intolerance (Romans), to name a few.

Some passages are almost embarrassing in their admission of glaring faults in the lives of Christians. I shudder to think that someday someone might discover some letter of mine written to friends containing descriptions similar to the disunity and depravity of the Corinthian church, or the tensions that rocked Timothy's struggling congregation.

Numerous scholars have (rightly) spoken of the 'golden age' of the first-century church as a myth. Instead, we would do better to see it as a rusty aluminum age, like a pile of discarded bicycles sitting in the rain, with various parts removed.

Thus, here is Pauline theology in a nutshell: humans need God's grace.

Exercising Liturgical Resistance

I met Steven Wedgeworth at RUF's Summer Conference in 2004. I was a freshman and he was on track to graduate in a year. Through the years we've kept in touch, and he is currently at Reformed Theological Seminary in Jackson, pursuing Masters of Divinity studies. If Cerberus had a list of heat-seekers, he'd be charted for sure. He also blogs at Wedgewords, and you'll find the link on the sidebar. Steven wrote a guest article on a topic related to some of the political discussion here, and I'm sure you'll enjoy it.

“Rebellion to tyranny is obedience to God.” - Never has a motto so stirred emotion and instilled action among conservative Christians. This slogan, combined with the Huguenot political tract Vindiciae Contra Tyrannos, was highly influential in both the American war for independence from Great Britain and the second war for independence against the dreaded North.

Ok, that second title is a little tongue-in-cheek, but it is undeniable that both major wars on America’s soil were deeply connected to religious as well as political though. The interesting, perhaps surprising fact, however, is that the slogan “Rebellion to tyranny is obedience to God” finds its origin not in Calvin and Knox, but rather Jefferson and Franklin. Indeed, when one inspects Calvin’s political thought a very different conclusion is reached.

Vehemently anti-democratic, Calvin affirms a conservative theocratic position that states that the magistrate, regardless of personal piety or justice, has been instilled with genuine authority from God. Citing Romans 13:1, 2 and 1 Peter 2:13, Calvin soundly declares that the King is a minister of God. In the face of protest, Calvin has this to say:

It may, however, be objected here and said, that kings and magistrates often abuse their power, and exercise tyrannical cruelty rather than justice. Such were almost all the magistrates, when this Epistle was written. To this I answer, that tyrants and those like them, do not produce such effects by their abuse, but that the ordinance of God ever remains in force, as the institution of marriage is not subverted though the wife and the husband were to act in a way not becoming them. However, therefore, men may go astray, yet the end fixed by God cannot be changed. (Commentary on 1 Peter 2:13)

On the other hand, Calvin was no mere absolutist, and he likewise turns the Scriptures back on the King to assert that since he is a minister of God, he is bound to God’s law. The State’s highest goal is to protect the proper worship of God and promote the justice and peace so that the gospel may be freely preached. Calvin was no secularist.

In Calvin’s political theory, the individual citizen expresses dissent primarily through prayer. He is not free to rebel or to engage in civil disobedience, however, he can bring imprecations against oppressive rulers. The fact that some may find this inadequate today perhaps says as much about the contemporary low view of prayer and worship as it does about Calvin’s failure of nerve.

He did, however, allow for the so-called “lesser magistrates” to defend the rights of the oppressed. This concept was picked up again by Samuel Rutherford in the 17th century when he wrote his apology for Scotland’s defensive wars against England, Lex Rex. Writing at the dawn the social-contract theories, Rutherford insisted that the King is in covenant with God, and thus upon violation of the terms of the covenant, the King forfeits his authority.
It is to be noted, though, that Rutherford does not simply call for citizen revolt, but rather he insists that the local officials have the right to enforce the law upon the King. Civilians are allowed the right of self-defense and are free to refuse religious coercion, but they are not given license to break the law.

Perhaps as we move to America we can gain a little perspective as to how rebellion was received. Political theory had advanced since Calvin’s day, and the very structure of society was undergoing major change. The colonies viewed themselves as having their own lesser magistrates, and thus as the King broke covenant, they were just in enforcing negative sanctions. The South was certainly of this mind in the 19th century, as each state understood itself to possess sovereignty.

The question of civil disobedience today, however, usually concerns individuals. In this regard we must emphasize Calvin’s seeming aristocratic disdain as actually quite in keeping with the Biblical concept of submission. As Peter’s first epistle shows, submitting to civil officers follows the same pattern of slaves submitting to masters and wives submitting to husbands (sorry for the context ladies! 1 Peter 3:1). To put a more positive emphasis on this, submission ought to be grounded in the Trinity, as the Son freely submits to the Father. This is not a question of ontology, but rather of order. So likewise our respective submitting and ruling ought to be characterized by love. This, of course, finds great difficulty in godless states.

When the magistrate is not ruling out of love, we are still to submit. We are always allowed the right of self-defense and religious dissent, but in the civil realm we are not to seize authority.

America’s governmental system provides us some assistant of course, and for this we can be thankful. In many respects, democracy makes the individual a type of lesser magistrate. He carries out his vengeance in the voting booth and even in those, often very effective, James Dobson mailing lists.

I would like to return to Calvin’s suggestion of prayer though and go further in expounding the theme of liturgical warfare, perhaps adding a little more “muscle” to our concept of spiritual resistance.

In order to find the notion of prayer as resistance satisfactory to our activist cravings, we should consider the way in which God grants vengeance (Rom. 12:19, Rev. 6:10). Paul, quoting Solomon, says that when we feed our enemies, we heap burning coals on their heads (Rom. 12: 20). What are we to make of this? Is this “spiritual talk”?

As one studies the Hebraic background for this, he quickly understands just how “earthy” this concept is. Psalm 3: 7 speaks of Yahweh breaking the teeth of the ungodly. Psalm 10: 2 asks God to cause the wicked men’s plots to backfire. Psalm 21 pleas for multigenerational judgment. Psalm 109: 6 even asks that Satan be set up as the wicked’s judge.

As we read the Revelation of St. John with this Hebraic understanding of liturgical warfare, we see that all heaven breaks loose when the saints bring their prayers before the Lord. The cosmos is engaged in warfare, and vengeance- real vengeance- is the Lord’s.

It is certainly true that good citizens are well within their rights to engage in lawful activism. We can make petitions, write congressman, even hold public gatherings, but when it comes to violent resistance against the government, Christians should conduct this sort of warfare in the Spirit. Our weapons are not carnal swords and guns. They are actually much more devastating. The Church holds the power over generations, and is entrusted with the baptism of the nations. It is not a political entity, but neither is it a-political. The Psalter is a great place to begin, and the congregation of the faithful is always marching are the Church militant on earth. Our message is more than political. It is cosmic.

There is another king, Jesus.

No Love's as Random as God's Love

Lately, Cerberus has primarily been a political blog, which is fine by me, but I want to mix things up a bit with this post. This post is also unusual in that it doesn't draw many conclusions. Instead, I would like to encourage discussion on this topic. I would like Cerberus to be more interactive in general, rather than just three of us posting our thoughts and occasionally commenting on each other's posts. Many thanks to all of our readers who have been commenting already. Keep it up.

To the topic at hand: The first song on Wilco's album Summerteeth, "Can't Stand It," contains the lines "No love's as random / As God's love / I can't stand it / I can't stand it." I do not know exactly what the song is about or what Jeff Tweedy is trying to say here, but I always hear these lines as a criticism of Reformed theology, particularly the idea of election. After all, God's choice of whom He saves does seem random from our perspective. We do not know why He chooses whom He does, other than that it has nothing to do with anything good in the person He chooses. In fact, this is one of the most important features of the gospel, that there is absolutely nothing you are, have done, or will do that can make God love you any more than He decided to before He created the world.

I know the theological answers to this sort of objection: God's choice is based on His sovereign will and is perfect. God is the Potter; we are the clay; we have no right to challenge why He makes some vessels for one purpose and some for another.

These responses probably would not do much to satisfy someone who raised this objection, though. The objection as I hear it is based on an emotional response ("I can't stand it"). The logic of the above answers will not take away this emotional response.

Now for my lack of a conclusion: Is this what Tweedy is talking about? What is the rest of the song about? To what degree is this objection valid? What would you say to someone that raised this objection? Is there a better response that does deal with the emotional response? Is the only solution to let the Holy Spirit work to remove this emotional response? Does this objection bother you at all?

Religious Totalitarianism, Pluralism, Christianity, and Atheism

This morning I was listening to WNYC, the public radio station in New York City. The last segment on the Brian Lehrer Show was an interview with Eboo Patel, the founder of the Interfaith Youth Core. He has also just written a book, Acts of Faith: The Story of an American Muslim, the Struggle for the Soul of a Generation. The following is the audio of the interview:


In the interview Eboo Patel discusses the state of affairs in the world. He believes that the central conflict of the 21st Century is and will be the conflict between religious totalitarianism and pluralism and that young people will be central to the outcome of that conflict. He draws from W. E. B. Du Bois's idea of the color line of the 20th Century and calls this religious conflict of the 21st Century the faith line. His goal is to use the power of young people on the side of religious pluralism and points out how Martin Luther King, Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, and Nelson Mandela were all young when they began to make great strides for racial pluralism in the 20th Century.

Of course religious totalitarianism and pluralism are not the only options. I immediately thought about my own beliefs. I don't consider myself to be a totalitarian or a pluralist, though I am a fundamentalist by some definitions. The way that Patel describes and defines the two camps he has in mind leaves some question as to where he would put me. The only non-pluralistic religious groups that he mentioned are very radical. It seems that he fails to recognize the middle ground where I stand: I think other religions are wrong, but I am not trying to kill anybody.

The comments on the WNYC website bring up another option for belief as well: atheism. Most of the people that left comments are antitheists, people who believe that all religions are foolish, harmful, and morally wrong. There seems to be a growing movement toward this position. I have to wonder if this idea will eventually replace pluralism as the preferred belief system of liberal thinkers. I suppose it is closer to logical consistency at least. (By the way, Richard Dawkins, one of the leading proponents of this "New Atheism," will be debating John Lennox in Birmingham, Alabama, on October 3.)

This antitheistic New Atheism has more in common with religious fundamentalism than with agnosticism and "weak atheism." It will be interesting to see how the debate among pluralists, antitheists, and the various religious exclusivists develops and how the rise of New Atheism effects how Biblical Christianity does apologetics and evangelism. We may have to take another step back from the questions of the truth of Christianity and the plausibility of Christianity to the question of whether religious belief is even a valid human activity. Antitheism is gaining steam in the face of radical Islam, and it is now as important as ever to show that Christianity has a positive influence on the world by working to build the kingdom.

The weight of Calvinism does not come from TULIP, the Westminster Confession, or even the book of Romans, all due respect to the Apostle. Paul's epistles instead explain what might be the most powerful part of the Christian drama. Christianity is a story of the objective searching out the subjective. God walks with man in the garden, and seeks him out after the Fall. It was not Adam that sought the Lord, but the Lord that sought Adam. God came to Abraham. God sent his prophets to an unrepentant Israel. Jesus came to earth, and sought out his disciples after his resurrection. And in these days the Spirit comes to believers, further equipping them and renewing their hearts and minds towards Christ.

You Want Egypt? I'll Give You Egypt.

Numbers 14:1-4:

Then all the congregation raised a loud cry, and the people wept that night. And all the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron; the whole congregation said to them, "Would that we had died in the land of Egypt! Or would that we had died in this wilderness! Why is the LORD bringing us into this land to fall by the sword? Our wives and our little ones will become booty; would it not be better for us to go back to Egypt?" So they said to one another, "Let us choose a captain, and go back to Egypt."

It is treacherously easy to overspiritualize the Old Testament, especially when it comes to the narratives. If centuries of allegorical interpretation weren't enough to drive this point home, it won't take you long to find a dozen contemporary sermons full of "principles" and "timeless truths of Scripture" painstakingly extracted from the stories of the Old Testament. Whether these practices are useful or proper is another question; the point here is that we are dealing with a record of events. Are there principles here? Truths of scripture? Yes. There is much to be learned in today's passages about God, faith, even politics. But that is not what the narratives primarily are.

What's more, we are dealing with a record of human events. There are a lot of things in the OT narratives that are easy to label 'supernatural'; and while this word is sometimes difficult to shake free of its Deistic trappings, it certainly is more fitting than 'natural'. Nevertheless we read about real people, actual humans. Putting aside for the moment questions of historicity, it should not sound too strange to sat that Moses was a human political and religious leader, Korah was a human revolutionary, and so forth.

In the passage at hand, the Israelites are facing another another human issue: military difficulties. The Israelites have just found out from the agents they have sent into Canaan that the land will be nigh impossible to conquer. It is full of well-protected cities and equally well-armed warriors. One can easily imagine running across a similar passage in a history of, say, Alexander the Great's conquests.

The real intrigue here is that the Israelites, or at least some factions within the larger group, also propose a practical human solution to their issues. "Let us choose a captain, and go back to Egypt," say the Israelites to one another. In other words, let's replace Moses with someone more competent, and change our policy. The real problems here are our intentions for conquest. This plan has been wrong from the start!

Numbers 21:5-9:

The people spoke against God and against Moses, "Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food." Then the Lord sent poisonous serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many Israelites died. The people came to Moses and said, "We have sinned by speaking against the LORD and against you; pray to the LORD to take away the serpents from us." So Moses prayed for the people. And the LORD said to Moses, "Make a poisonous serpent, and set it on a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live." So Moses made a serpent of bronze, and put it upon a pole; and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live.

About 40 years later, not much has changed: the Israelites are still worn down and poorly provisioned at the end of four decades of hard survival in the wilderness following their failed attempt to take Canaan's hill country. It is now difficult to find food and water, and the food they do have they find unacceptable. Spiritual allegories and life principles present themselves by the dozen (and this is not necessarily a problem) but we must keep in mind that these are real issues, human events. It is precisely as real issues and human events that these two passages begin to come into a fresh and meaningful light, and take on a meaning that is decidedly more than human.

A recurring theme in the wilderness narratives is the suggestion, when the situation becomes dire, to return to Egypt (cf. Exodus 14:11-12 and
Numbers 11:5, 18-20). The story of the serpents in Numbers 21 can be read as the subversive fruition of that suggested solution. It is not overly imaginative to think of aging Israelites telling their children stories of their old lives in Egypt. Life in Egypt was remembered as difficult but good; a demanding life, but worth it all for the benefits the Israelites enjoyed there. And what splendor was in Egypt! Awesome pyramids, grand cities, majestic rulers -- Egypt truly was a place of glory, power and ideals.

One of the most vivid symbols of Egyptian glory was the serpent, sticking in the Israelites' minds, we may think, much as the hammer and sickle sticks in the minds of former Soviet citizens. But it seems that, at times at least, the serpent did not symbolize oppression for the wandering Hebrews, but salvation. Time after time they urge their leaders to take them back to Egypt, until finally, at a time when most of the group knows only stories of the greatness of Egypt, the Israelites receive salvation from the serpent. The people wake up one morning to find serpents everywhere -- much as their former masters woke up one morning to find frogs everywhere -- and before they know it, the plagues of Egypt have come upon them in new form. Far more than their firstborns die; this serpent kills without judgment. God subverts the symbol of Egypt in order to show his people what Egypt really is. And when the Israelites finally are saved, it is when God co-opts for Himself the symbol of the salvation to which Israel had been looking. Egypt remains symbolized by the serpent, but Egypt no longer symbolizes salvation. God is, as He reminds His people all through the exodus narratives, the one "who brought you out of the land of Egypt." Salvations belongs to YHWH alone.

Understanding the New Perspective on Paul: Questions, Answers and Stories

The chief difference between the "new perspective" on Paul (NPP) and the more traditional Reformed and Lutheran views is a difference of stories. I am no scholar, but I suspect that much of the conflict between the conservative and revisionist sides of the debate (if I may use those labels) results from trying to integrate differing storylines into the wrong stories.

One of longest-running Western storylines is the narrative of personal morality: how do we achieve moral perfection? If we cannot do this, what is our status before whatever god there might be? This question was far more than theoretical; many of the greatest writers on the subject, from Augustine to Luther, wrote from consciences struggling with knowledge of their own imperfection.

One of the greatest answers to this question in Western thought was the answer of the Protestant Reformation. How do I achieve the sort of personal righteousness required to be accepted before God? In short, said the Reformers, you don't and Christ does. "Our righteousness and wisdom are in vain," says Martin Luther. (Commentary on Romans, p. 28). The Reformation sought to abandon the project of building up oneself before God, accepting the alien righteousness of Christ, for "there neither is nor ever was any mere natural man absolutely righteous in himself: that is to say, void of all unrighteousness, of all sin." (Richard Hooker, A Learned Discourse of Justification, p. 2)

The Reformers did not, however, give up the existing storyline of acceptance before God; instead they redefined its answer. What we need is not personal righteousness, but rather "a righteousness which does not originate on earth, but comes down from heaven." (Luther, Romans, p. 29) The personal morality required for acceptance before God was given up for an extrapersonal morality, but the key element in the story -- the need for righteousness in order to be accepted by God -- was accepted, even built up. The Reformation thereby affirmed the existing narrative of man's relationship to God, though they radically redrew the answers to its central questions.

Herein, I suggest, lies the chief factor in the confusion and controversy surrounding the "new perspective" on Paul. The question asked and answered by Lutheran and Reformed thought is, as we have seen, How do we achieve personal righteousness in order to be accepted by God? Their answer is, of course, the righteousness of Christ alone, through faith alone, etc. The answer that Lutheran and Reformed thinkers find in the NPP is something along the lines of, the entirety of a life lived, including faith, works, and the rest of it.

But here is the confusion: the NPP is not asking and answering the same question as the Protestant Reformation. Lutheran and Reformed thinkers generally perceive correctly the answer given by the NPP, but assume that the answer goes with their own question. But instead of telling a story of sinful humans trying to be righteous before God, proponents of the NPP find in Paul a story of sinful humans chosen by God to be His chief agents in restoring His creation. The chief question to be asked, then, is not about achieving righteousness before God, but about how we can tell which people have been chosen as these agents. The (somewhat oversimplified) answer is faith and works.

This answer, if paired with the Reformers' question, does lead us down the path to Rome at best, and to Pelagianism at worst. It would be far more productive, not only from an exegetical standpoint, but also from an ecumenical view, if discussion could proceed on the level of storyline and questions. Only in this context can the answers of the Reformation and of recent scholarship be helpfully compared and discussed.

All Scripture is God-Breathed

"All scripture is inspired by God and useful for refuting error, for guiding people's lives and teaching them to be upright. This is how someone who is dedicated to God becomes fully equipped and ready for any good work."
- St. Paul, 2 Timothy 3:16-17, New Jerusalem Bible

2 Timothy is a dark letter. Compared to the rest of Paul's works, and to the New Testament in general, it is full of conflict, sadness, and struggle both inward and outward. There are moments when the glory of grace could not be brighter, but the most uplifting passages and stirring exhortations of 2 Timothy nevertheless presuppose a difficult road ahead.

In the midst of this comes a small section on "the sacred writings". Paul exhorts his protege to remain faithful to the scriptures and the teaching he has received on and from it. This bidding to hold fast to scripture is not without its urgency. "This is what you will need for the days ahead," says Paul. "And you are definitely going to need it."

Paul's tone, then, is somewhat foreboding. After all, Timothy and his Ephesian church are in a difficult situation to say the least, as is Paul himself. But these words are meant for comfort and assurance. Paul is here offering not merely an old friend's encouragement, but the key to Timothy's difficult task. The experienced apostle's point is that the scriptures are the foundation and means of Timothy's work, and they will not let him down, no matter how rough the road.

This point is driven home by a brief look at the overall context of the letter. Paul is on death row and, if the local heretics have their way, so is Timothy's church. Timothy's mentor and father in the faith has the opportunity -- the necessity -- to tell Timothy all that he needs to know, do, and have in order to build the Kingdom in this hostile environment. In this context his constant refrain is, Hold fast to the scriptures, for they are what you need; indeed, they are given by God Himself for this very purpose.

Here it must be noted that what many tend to read into v. 16 is simply not there; namely, a statement of the modern doctrine of the infallibility of the Bible. Such a doctrine, regardless of its accuracy, is simply absent from this text. Paul is here giving one long exhortation to courage, perseverance, and faithfulness in the thick of opposition; the furthest thing from his mind is the age of the earth and whether Jonah really spent three days in a fish's belly. Only if we read in our own notions of what "inspired" might mean can we find a claim here of Biblical infallibility as it is currently formulated. Paul's literal language, "all scripture is God-breathed (theopneustos)", is an evocative, wonderful phrase for God's personal involvement in the creation of the scriptures, but it is far from being support, by itself, of this doctrine. There is much to be said on either side of this controversy, but none of it will be said here.

What, then, does Paul mean? He is clear about one thing: these scriptures are what you need. They give wisdom, leading to salvation (v. 15); they are our foundation and means for "refuting error, for guiding people's lives and teaching them to be upright." They thoroughly prepare the agent of the Kingdom of God, so that he is ready to undertake and complete "any good work." Truly Timothy would have had a near-hopeless task in front of him had he not "the sacred writings".

What meaning can this have for us? Many of us still seek to answer this question within an overly modernist context. We know what the world needs, and that is good authority; we know what good authority is, and that is facts and laws; therefore the Bible is the source of reliable facts and laws.

Others of us are overly postmodern. We know what the world needs, and that is freedom; we know what freedom is, and that is choice and subjectivity; therefore the Bible must be the great affirmer of such things.

Both of these models, and others like them, assume much too readily that we know what the world needs. All of us alike exalt ourselves above the Bible, putting the scriptures into our own molds. In the words of N. T. Wright, "we have tended to let the word ‘authority’ be the fixed point and have adjusted ‘scripture’ to meet it, instead of the other way round." No one expects that what the world needs after all is the Bible; instead, we look for ways to make the Bible fit our own preconceived notions of problem and solution.

Paul would have us act differently. Paul's message to Timothy is that the Bible is profitable for thoroughly equipping the man of God, not because it is fact or law or timeless call to existential decision, but because by it "the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work." (v. 17) But Paul's message is not merely utilitarian. The Bible does not just happen to have this effect on and through the church, this is so precisely because all scripture is God-breathed.

Whatever the full meaning of this rich and beautiful phrase, it is the greatest reason we could have for taking the scriptures as they are. Perhaps this is impossible; perhaps we can never quite pull away from our own presuppositions. The question of whether we can ever actually get at the Bible without bringing a bit of ourselves into the picture, or even whether this is desirable, is not for now to decide.

What is clear is that this God-breathedness calls for a robust and vibrant praxis centered around the Bible. Liturgy and living, meditation and memorization, praying and preaching, reflection and research each play a role in building the Church's life on and around scripture. We must rush forward into this great and terrifying book God has given us, constantly working out fresher and more accurate ways of talking about and living by it.