Justin Patton's Blog

People are feeling the reality of the “wrongness” in the air today more keenly than any time in the last 70 years. It feels like the Church is less prepared to respond to the challenge (whatever it may be) than we have been in the recent past. Division is at an all-time high. We have never looked at our neighboring churches (or our neighbors in the pew beside us) and with more suspicion than we do today.

Imagine if we could set aside the arguments about which behaviors are the most harmful. Imagine setting aside our lists of the most outrageous sins and simply calling them all — sin. Rather than amplifying the distance between the relative goodness and virtue we perceive in ourselves, and the utter depravity we perceive in others, imagine if we shrank that distance and just identified everyone as “people who sin.”

It’s easy to sense a conspiratorial, suspicious, or heretical motive at the core of this imagination. But the Bible offers a decent foundation for it: “for all have sinned.” We don’t lose the responsibility to discuss sin and holiness and behavior and motives. But we do lose the perceived right to start the discussion from a place of presumed moral superiority in ourselves. The Bible does not grant us that. Moral superiority in Jesus? No problem. Elsewhere? No.

You and I will never find a Savior among our peers, not even among the most moral of them. What we will find, at best, is solidarity regarding the frail human condition. At worst, we will find condemnation and criticism — and that will often be valid in any and all directions. This is why we all need a Savior, because only one Man could ever offer humanity the genuine grace we need. Only one Man ever had the right to affirm the image of the Father, the value, in each one of us. It is the affirmation that eclipses all other affirmations. We need someone who has the divine right to say: “Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin.” We need to follow Him in surrendering the right to condemn others.

This model is not something that many Christian organizations can claim a regular, conscious embrace of in daily life. And so, one is forced to wonder along with Kierkegaard: is perhaps Christendom not Christianity’s greatest enemy? If so, then what is the solution? We have identified part one of the human condition: all have sinned. Condemnation is nearly always valid, but is there a good reason behind this divine plan of doing away with a valid thing?

Part two has everything to do with the claim that God entered into humanity through the person of Jesus Christ in order to accomplish something. This unique thing has to do with setting captives free, and it must be more than an exercise of human will power/belief. Imagine again, if you will, that acceptance through Christ’s life, death, and resurrection is offered unconditionally, but the primary obstacle to accepting this acceptance is a demand to be in control of the terms. In judging ourselves to be somehow owed the acceptance that is offered, we forfeit the free gift. Not via some legal clause, but at the very ground layer of reality. And here’s the kicker: we do this anytime we judge another person as having fallen short of Christ’s acceptance.

Make no mistake, the terms of acceptance are without condemnation —as they were in John 8. And if this gospel is true, then any charge of “gaming the system” must be levied first at those who claim a threshold of acceptance based on their moral priorities. The gospel is higher than this.

“Did ‘ere One ascend to a holy perfecting,
to meet a frail hope the High Realm might arise?
If true but just once, then darkness is dying…”

This is the announcement of the kingdom. Christ did ascend to a holy perfecting, as a human, for the whole race of humankind. Darkness is now dying. Accepting His acceptance is the only way free of the condemnation that remains valid for everyone — apart from Christ. Condemnation is what we offer ourselves and each other when we don’t have faith in the work of Christ. Freedom from this captivity is the work of the Son of Man; ultimately it is freedom from death itself. This is the why the early church celebrated the finished work of the cross of Christ. It is truly good news.

I’m going to share a quote with you by AW Tozer. It’s about human potential. But first, it’s important that you understand Tozer holds two contrasting ideas at the same time. Before I get to potential, I want you to hear how Tozer speaks about problems in the church. Which probably needs to be done more often than it is. So this is the quote before the quote, all by Tozer, circa 1950.

“If the Holy Spirit was withdrawn from the church today, 95 percent of what we do would go on and no one would know the difference. If the Holy Spirit had been withdrawn from the New Testament church, 95 percent of what they did would stop, and everybody would know the difference.”

For Tozer, it’s important that it be understood: Christians are not alright. The church was, across the board, not alright 75 years ago, in Tozer’s estimation. And there is no reason to think his assessment would be sunnier today. Tozer refuses to let this principle float around in ambiguity. For the person who says, “Lord knows I’m not perfect!” Tozer would respond: “Not perfect? Not perfect?! You wouldn’t know if the Holy Spirit disappeared entirely.” This is bonkers offensive. But the question is, is it offensive because Tozer is wrong? Or because he’s threatening our comfortable and generic imperfection — the kind we barely have to ask forgiveness for — with something that requires genuine accountability? Tozer refused to let Christians deal with an absence of the Holy Spirit theoretically. He refused to concede the idea of safe, inconsequential church sin.

But… there’s another Tozer quote…

“God shines best of all in humanity. And it’s only sin that has cracked the lens and distorted the image. So that, when WE look at each other, we don’t see the potential that lies there. When our Lord looked at us, He saw not what we were, but what we could become. And He took away the curse of our limitations. …Jesus Christ said, No!, you are not what you seem today, you are what you can become. And so He gives us the power to move out to the edges of the perfection of human personality, that is the glory of the Christian life.”

— In the same way that Tozer refuses to let our problems remain ambiguous, generic and distant, he also refuses to let our potential remain ambiguous, generic and distant. This is Tozer engaging not only with the fact of the resurrection, but also with the effect, which was to change everything.

Jesus Christ gave us living, breathing proof that we are no longer destined to die in our limitations. But… if we are not walking according to the Spirit, if we are not letting the most important event in human history redefine our thinking, then we are living as if the resurrection never happened. And every time we put into action the old idea that human limitations are fixed, we wave a finger at the sky, and we tell Jesus: I’ll be the judge of the limits of your blood. We define people by their failures first, when we could have defined them by their Christ-purchased potential.

In Jeremiah 31, the Lord said, “The people who survived the sword found grace in the wilderness; when Israel sought for rest, the Lord appeared to him from far away. I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you. Again I will build you, and you shall be built, O virgin Israel! Again you shall take your tambourines, and go forth in the dance of the merrymakers. Again you shall plant vineyards on the mountains of Samaria; the planters shall plant, and shall enjoy the fruit. For there shall be a day when sentinels will call in the hill country of Ephraim: ‘Come, let us go up to Zion, to the Lord our God’.”

Jeremiah comes along about 500 years after the Judges. You may recall that during the time of the Judges Israel did many things that wouldn’t incline a person to refer to the nation as “virgin Israel.” Jeremiah is 400 years post David and Solomon, who were kind of like the ancient version of today’s TMZ scandals. Jeremiah is roughly 200 years after Micah, who denounced the misuse of power and called Israel’s prophets corrupt. And yet, after all that …the Lord says, “I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you. Again I will build you, and you shall be built, O virgin Israel!”

God knew all about Israel’s failures. But he made a promise to Abraham. And He always knew what it was going to take to fulfill that promise. He saw the potential for the whole world, from the very beginning. 600 years after Jeremiah’s prophecy… came the chosen, willful sacrifice for our good. The cross. The fulfilment of the promise to bless all nations through Abraham. Throughout the Old Testament Yahweh never stopped giving us reasons to doubt the limitations of sinful humanity. Through David, through Jeremiah, through Isaiah… And finally His Son came in the flesh. Died by free choice. And rose again.

And for the first couple of hundred years after Jesus’s ascension, Christian worship was first and foremost celebratory. The Early Church knew Christ had risen, and they knew what HE had changed. When 500 people see a famous dead man walking around, or eating and drinking, it makes many old ways of thinking seem… over. They’re just over. Thank God. It was understood that a new age had dawned because of the resurrection. The church recognized the fulfillment of Psalm 118: “There is a sound of exultation and victory in the tents of the righteous: “The right hand of the Lord has triumphed! the right hand of the Lord is exalted! I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord. The Lord has punished me sorely, but he did not hand me over to death. The same stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes. On this day the Lord has acted; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Jeremiah and David both provide insights into the cross. In Jeremiah we see the God who refuses to allow limitations to define Israel. In the Psalms we see the God who accepts rejection in order to save. So it becomes increasingly difficult to define the resurrection mindset as anything the world would ever see as “common sense”… The renewed mind sees that old things have passed away and all things have become new.

When you add up the number of believers you think of in terms of POTENTIAL FIRST… what’s that number? Most of us can see potential in ourselves. That’s not a bad thing. And if you have kids, or grandkids, I bet you can see potential in them. And after that point? The amount of potential you see in others drops off pretty fast. It’s not easy to see the blood-bought potential in everybody. But we do see it in some people, and that’s a start. A good start. We just don’t want to let it also be the finish.

In Acts 10, Peter tells Cornelius that NOW he realizes how true it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts from every nation the one who fears him and does what is right. This is monumental. This is Peter’s mind being renewed — thus the realization — and then the transformation that followed. Commentator Carl Holladay says, “Considering the long-established tradition of purity laws and how deeply embedded they were in Jewish thought and practice, the church’s decision to challenge them could not have been made lightly. Nor could the implementation of this change in the everyday life of the church have been easy, especially in communities in which Jews and gentiles sought to be disciples of Jesus.”

Jaroslav Pelikan remarks that Peter’s reference to doing “what is right” is not an invitation to moral examination, but rather a challenge: “by what right may we be more restrictive than the Almighty One?” By no right, obviously. By no right. Because the resurrection matters more than our knowledge of good and evil. We are free of the curse of the garden, but we have to accept the reality of the cross in order to experience the Holy Spirit.

In the end, we are left with a very great burden if we intend to step into the pulpit and defend a “limitations-first” understanding of the resurrection. Christ’s resurrection ransomed all of our stolen potential back from Satan. Don’t hand it back over. All our limitations are forgiven in Christ, and we are finally free to live the rules of love and eat at his table, to announce the good news to others until Jesus comes again.

There’s one more element in this theology of grace and potential. And that is the life of ongoing sacrifice. Carrying our own cross. When I see your potential through the cross of Christ, I am moved to extend grace… that grace will always have me moving in the direction of laying down my own life. The result of a cross-shaped life can be genuine relationship. And where there is genuine relationship, there is the Holy Spirit.

According to Erasmus’s Enchiridion, the “Christian soldier” fights a distinctly spiritual battle characterized by perpetual warfare. Humanity is described as living in a general state of delusion, and for this reason, the author encourages holding “all things suspect.” He suggests that fleshly habits and the fleshly zeal embedded deep within us lay us open to demons. And so, Erasmus warns vigorously against the danger of violating our “agreement struck with God in baptism.” I cannot stress how heavy handed Erasmus seems to my modern sensibilities. His book feels like a verbal bludgeoning, yet Erasmus’s goal is to encourage readers to take up the three Ws of spiritual warfare: watchfulness, weapons, and wisdom.

The author points out that no one sees the soul dying. If they did, they would go to even greater lengths to care for spiritual wounds compared to the wounds of the infinitely less-important flesh. But if we are watchful, Erasmus argues, we may develop a helpful sense of desperation that will shift our paradigm. We may begin to see where we have made peace with some vice, and therefore set ourselves against God himself. Romans 8:31 (“If God is for us, who can be against us?”) is offered as a much needed ray of hope in a somewhat bleak opening assessment of the plight of the Christian, let alone the pagan, mortal. Faith is the shield Erasmus mentions both early and late in section 1. “Trust in me, for I have conquered the world” (John 16:33). Apart from faith, the weapons used by the enemy against humankind are “certain.”

In the “weapons of faith” section (2) Erasmus prioritizes prayer and knowledge, suggesting that knowledge is useful in directing prayer in the most beneficial ways. Connected to knowledge is the notion that eager study of scripture is an aid in both adversity and temptation. There is an expected warning against imbibing the morals of the Gentiles, but an unexpected criticism against “modern theologians” who err on the side of emphasis upon the letter, versus acknowledging “that our law is spiritual.” Erasmus spends significant time encouraging the appreciation of mystery: “Surely I do not at all want you… to tarry in the barren letter, but to hasten to the more recondite mysteries…”. This leads into an examination of the Christian armor of 2 Corinthians 10. According to Erasmus it is only after one is fortified by the complete set of spiritual armor that one can claim the fearless proclamation of Paul in Romans 8:37–39: “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?”

Erasmus’s last point deals with wisdom, and it begins with a bang. “Peace is that highest good to which also the lovers of the world turn all their efforts, but theirs is a false peace.” The one and only difficult way to true peace is through the cross of Christ (1 Corinthians 1:23–25). True wisdom is trusting in this spiritual reality, while disbelieving in any other path. This connects to the second idea of point 3: the contemplation of learning oneself. Specifically, the author’s admonition, “…let no one arrogate to himself the fantastic opinion that he knows himself well enough.” This challenge is helped by the hope that knowing more is better than knowing less, while also considering what is known about the state of man and the nature of God.

Erasmus suggests tremendous somberness for the Christian life, while somewhat paradoxically offering the encouragement: “Take upon yourself the vow of victory with your whole heart.” He promises that the diligent exercise of spiritual arms will result in everlasting peace: “…all hope of safety rests in iron.” He reminds us that while the war is in ourselves, “gentleness renders us able to receive the divine spirit.” Erasmus’s work is a challenge to look beyond the barren letter in more ways than one.

If God is real, then humanity does not define peace, virtue, beauty, or truth. The ramifications of this are extremely difficult to appreciate, because we deceived humans are sure to behave contrary to this truth. Therefore, someone needs to go “full Erasmus” from time to time. Not everyone should. But a select few have to, and Erasmus has enough “theological mystery” DNA within him to pull it off better than most.

His main points are convincing. Does it matter if we’re trying to make peace with vices? “Yes!” How much does it matter, just a little bit? “No, a whole bunch!” Sometimes hyperbole can be an appropriate tool, even at the risk of introducing misunderstandings. When Erasmus instructs his readers to “hold all things suspect,” it could be understood hyperbolically. Or, it could mean something similar to C.S. Lewis’s quote from The Great Divorce: “There is but one good; that is God. Everything else is good when it looks to Him and bad when it turns from Him.” It’s not intuitive to suspect everything, but if everything can be misused into idolatry, then it does make sense.

When he discusses our “agreement struck with God in baptism,” Erasmus appeared to me at first to tread too closely to a transactional and/or black and white sensibility. But in other places, like when he considers the impossibility of fully knowing oneself, there is ample evidence to rule out the expectation of perfect moral obedience in exchange for salvation. In other words, we don’t have to “get the victory” over vice today, but we certainly can’t intend to leave “peacefully” with it. We must be engaged in the internal spiritual fight. This is to uphold the agreement of baptism.

The thought of being largely unaware of having an injured and dying soul is a terrifying and powerful mental image that I believe accomplishes its intended purpose. The challenge to value what is unseen is a perpetual warfare issue, and Erasmus nearly departs his bludgeon-y ways when he asks, “To what purpose was he delaying to impress the sign of the cross upon your brow, unless, while yet alive, you might fight under his banner?” Here I catch a whiff of Tolkien-esque allegory, and the flavor of Enchiridion changes momentarily.

I can imagine that for some readers, Erasmus’s soft spot (can it be said that he has a soft spot?) for poetry, philosophy, mystery, allegory, and “meaning that goes deeper than the letter” might be seen as weakness. But it is my favorite thing about his whole work, and its existence makes the rest of the work more powerful in my estimation. Meaning does go deeper than specific combinations of lexemes, yet the superstition surrounding the idea of magical grammar is alive and well in 2026. Apparently it’s been around for several hundred years. Erasmus challenges his readers to interact with scriptural meaning, not to quote lots of verses without understanding.

Erasmus’s use of scripture feels more practical than theological. He references verses like someone preparing to use a tool, not someone presenting a new theory about an old insight. This can appear fast and loose in comparison to an exegetical commentary. I’m not sure that puts Erasmus on less solid ground, though. I think the place he overextends most (semantically) is the connection of the term “woman” to the carnal part of man. Perhaps his meaning is sound, but it’s not easy to parse.

I would like to have seen a reference to Genesis 1:26 and the concept of humankind being made in God’s image. I think this could have provided a helpful counterpoint in section 3 regarding the understanding of the nature of God and the nature of man.

Erasmus is not easy to read. But if fighting vices is important, then fighting to understand truth is important, too. Many modern traditions struggle to address spiritual warfare, and Enchiridion is a specific call to this fight, and to see this fight as primarily internal. It avoids a modern “charismatic” treatment of the topic, and grounds the call to battle foremost in prayer and knowledge. Erasmus may bludgeon just hard enough to sway some who might not be moved by a less emphatic voice.

I often think of C.S. Lewis recommending the reading of old books for the purpose of keeping “the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds.” On one hand, this does not often happen naturally, but I do think people have a natural interest in distant history. If it was worth it to PBS to make a Martin Luther documentary, I’d hope today’s church would also find it worthwhile to explore an abridged exploration of the challenges of someone like Erasmus. I can imagine a lot of potential discussion questions. “Is it a fight to keep the breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds? Why? What can we do to make that a more regular and profitable experience? How have we ignored the idea of perpetual warfare? What replaces it in modern life? Is there a kind of knowledge that better informs prayer? How do we account for the wide range of conflicting ‘knowledge’ in our culture today? What kind of warfare actions are congruent with Enchiridion’s message in our modern lives? What actions are not?”

Study itself can be seen as a struggle, battle, or fight. Not for right answers, per se, but for maturation and wisdom. Rather than bolstering preexisting knowledge, considering the merits and weaknesses of Christian thought from outside one’s tradition and time can be a kind of participation in spiritual warfare. Movement of any kind, given the powerful sedatives that are so addictive in our world today, may be the first and most important battle for many of us. The language and passion of Erasmus can certainly be drawn from when asking the kinds of questions that might deserve a more prominent place in the modern church.

In De spectaculis, Tertullian opens with two statements that he intends to prove false. The first is, essentially: “The exploration of the boundaries of external entertainment are in no way at odds with faith in Christ.” The second, and seemingly more challenging and universally applicable, being essentially: “Surely sin does not really extend beyond the law.” While the practical arguments of the treatise are heavily engaged in disproving the first statement, the underlying theological sentiment throughout Tertullian’s work orbits around disproving the second.

The author further sets the stage by establishing the benefits of understanding the nature of both God and his adversary. “We must not, then, consider merely by whom all things were made, but by whom they have been perverted. We shall find out for what use they were made at first, when we find for what they were not” (145). Tertullian retains a somewhat negative tone for most of the treatise. He is not interested in magnifying the character of God by extolling positives (e.g. the promise of the patriarchs), but rather he seeks to contrast David’s wisdom from Psalm 1:1 with the clarity of the Ten Commandments. The result is the warning that, even in the absence of an obvious illegality from the Mosaic law, a person may still miss out on blessing through the foolish/dangerous diversions of Roman entertainment.

Tertullian is concerned that Christians are not just adapting to Roman culture, but developing apologetics to defend it. And it isn’t just “culture in general,” but an element that is wildly popular, and has a uniquely idolatrous bent to it. In a more general sense, Tertullian seems to be arguing for a culture of Christ above all other cultures, one marked by a priority on the unseen realities of a Holy God above all else.

One primary argument is that each brand of spectacle can be traced back to pagan roots. The author goes so far as to suggest that all the “shows” are specifically demonic in origin, possibly permitting even Christian attendees to be possessed by spiritual entities. Tertullian imagines that even if no harm comes from involvement with the shows now, “think how it fares with you in heaven” (166). The ongoing spiritual warfare is a primary concern of the author. Ultimately, a love of the shows (earthly pleasure and entertainment) seems to Tertullian to be in opposition to the love of God (the revelation of the kingdom and the life of the Spirit).

In between Tertullian’s lengthier moral criticisms and practical arguments are nuggets of his underlying theology, such as: “That which is really good or evil cannot be ought else” (162). He mentions man being made in the image of God more than once, but always in a negative sense: what was good has been corrupted. This is congruent with his idea that sin does indeed extend beyond the law. By the final chapter, the author’s weighty mood finally breaks. Kind of. In the first few sentences there is the anticipation of the glorious joy of reunion with God. “But what a spectacle is that fast-approaching advent of our Lord, now owned by all, now highly exalted, now a triumphant One! What that exultation of the angelic hosts! What the glory of the rising saints! What the kingdom of the just thereafter! What the city New Jerusalem!” (168). But he is Tertullian, after all, and it will be a mixed bag from this point to the end.

If I were trying to evaluate Tertullian in my own, modern vacuum, I would probably be critical. It’s easy to imagine his argument placing a bullseye on all art. Bach is bad? Rembrandt’s Return of the Prodigal Son is bad? There’s no discussion to be had on this? However, I don’t think that’s what Tertullian is saying at all. For one thing, the pieces of art I just mentioned could never have been imagined in the 2nd century. Though he uses the word “arts,” and includes things similar to modern-day community theater and athletic events, we must understand that the practical parts of his argument are dependent on a specific context. He is writing in Carthage 100 years before Constantine. His philosophy/theology, however, may well be timeless. At the core of Tertullian’s argument, I hear the hint that the question “Is this a sin?” is perhaps a rather unhelpful one. Hence the appeal to Psalm 1:1 rather than the commandments. If a person has to ask, then Tertullian would say, “It’s probably a sin.” And I’d understand his sentiment. But rather than advocate for infinite questions, Tertullian takes us back to Genesis: God, humanity, Satan, the fall. It is not an easy context to try to live within. And the author does not ask his reader to. He asks us to put ourselves, our very being, into the context of Christ. If the reader extends to him the benefit of the doubt, Tertullian offers a lens that is incredibly useful. Now, whether or not this lens can only result in the author’s lengthy and specific charges is another matter. Still, understanding that this world is, generally, at odds with the Kingdom should matter a great deal to us.

Tertullian’s practical advice can feel slightly at odds with his theology. As if he is trying too hard to prove something that requires spiritual illumination to see. I can understand why a 2nd-century Christian would be concerned about pagan gods being demons in disguise. But are chariot races idolatrous? And a way for demons to possess humans? I would say …it’s possible. Could the Super Bowl half-time show be idolatrous and a way for demons to possess humans? Maybe. Could a huge mega-church worship event be any of those things? Whew. I don’t know. Maybe. And we can start to see why “Is this a sin?” may not be the best question after all. Maybe the answer to that question is, “possibly” more often than we want to imagine.

Tertullian may have been right about natures being unchangeable (“good or evil cannot be ought else”). If he’s right, then the doctrine of total depravity must be wrong, or redemption would be impossible. 1 Corinthians 4:6 references Genesis 1:3: “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.” Neither redemption nor transformation are points of De spectaculis, and that’s okay. The reader might assume that Tertullian does not adequately value those elements, but the purpose of the treatise is specific and very useful without needing to be theologically comprehensive. I do believe that God is glorified by drawing light from darkness, though. And this may be something Tertullian would dispute.

I believe Tertullain’s exegesis is sound, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t guessing at some point. I would argue we all are. Specifically, I’d say he’s guessing when he says, “‘Not that an idol is anything,’ as the apostle says, but that the homage they render is to demons, who are the real occupants of these consecrated images…” (156). To which I can only say, “maybe.” It seems potentially congruent with the larger context of God, humanity, Satan, the fall. But even if that is not the case, the idea that we can be enraptured by a worship band without actually putting ourselves into the context of the Person of Christ or his kingdom is a sobering thought.

Christians need each other; we need Tertullian. To hear the struggles and concerns of the church from nearly two thousand years ago, and the careful reasoning of a leader, is invaluable. Like the personalities in our own churches, Tertullian’s personality is a lens for us to see a part of God’s personality — if we have eyes to see. His concern might be understood as: “You must face the painful notion that you might be avoiding the reality of the Person of Jesus Christ when you ask “is this really a sin?” If we are avoiding Jesus, it could be argued that everything is a sin. If we love the subwoofers more than silence, worship as we think of it could be a sin. If we can’t imagine ourselves as a people set apart from our culture in our practice and hearts, a challenge such as Tertullian’s might help us to see it.

Tertullian’s approach, possibly slightly reimagined, could be a needed challenge for modern cultural apologists, which surely many Christians have become today. However, it would not be a surprise to see how Tertullian’s practical arguments and negativity could also be used in the service of cultural apologetics, if it became unmoored from his philosophy/theology. Cultural apologists would need to be humble enough to turn Tertullian’s lens upon themselves, not others, to benefit from his work. Buried deep within De spectaculis, the author offers another nugget of his theology: “God has enjoined us to deal calmly, gently, quietly, and peacefully with the Holy Spirit, because these things are alone in keeping with the goodness of His nature, with His tenderness and sensitiveness, and not to vex Him with rage, ill-nature, anger, or grief” (157). It would not be difficult to imagine a modern reader struggling to read De spectaculis with the calm, gentle, quiet spirit Tertullian recommends, and yet if he did, the benefit of the treatise would increase.

Our world applauds strong opinions… at the surface level. We applaud pretty much everything at the surface level. Or else we condemn it. Either way, there is a strong sense that to be certain is good. The 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence is coming up, and some ad campaigns have begun to ask, “What’s YOUR declaration?” And you can probably imagine a video montage along those lines where you hear from different people, right?

There is a less applauded question, but more important, I think, which is — “How do you know if your passions and your enthusiasms (which seem generically good most of the time), how do you know if they are specifically good? And the world really struggles with this one. There are no ad campaigns asking this question. It can feel threatening… when someone asks how you know something, it sounds like a challenge. It often feels like an attack. But imagine if we could actually… trust somebody. Imagine if the person asking the question was unilaterally safe. You’ll have to work pretty hard to imagine that.

In contrast to certainty, I heard a school choir singing a Billie Eilish song this past week. A couple of lines stood out to me. “I used to know, but I’m not sure now …” Watching all those young people, they sure seemed vulnerable singing those words. They didn’t sound like they were in an ad campaign. It was like the song was revealing something our world would prefer to remain hidden. So on one hand, we live in a world asking for declarations, and on the other hand, there’s this little-acknowledged truth that peaks through the cracks of our culture: “I’m not sure. There are some really important things I don’t have all figured out, but I dare not admit it. There is nowhere that is safe to admit it.”

One of the more curious lines from the song is this: “When did it end? All the enjoyment? I’m sad again, don’t tell my boyfriend… it’s not what he’s made for.” In John 4, Jesus has a conversation with a Samaritan woman. This woman had experienced over and over what boyfriends and husbands aren’t made for. Jesus meets her at a well. And in verse 14, he tells her: “Those who drink of the water that I will give them — will never be thirsty. The water that I will give, will become in them a spring of water — gushing up to eternal life.”

We don’t easily admit to being thirsty in a spiritual sense. And if we do, it’s usually a generic thing. “I guess I’m hungry for God. That’s what the church tells me.” But Jesus works patiently and carefully to connect the physical with the spiritual. He doesn’t say, “If this woman wanted to understand me, she would. Therefore, I don’t owe her anything.” No, he said, “You’re thirsty for water. And you’re thirsty for true satisfaction. If you only knew about it, if you only knew about the gift of God, and knew who it is who’s speaking to you, you would ask for the water I will give.” And as the conversation continues, we see that even asking isn’t easy. There are basic objections. “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob?”

When the woman finally asks Jesus to give her the water, when she finally participates… that is when Jesus tells her, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” Now things are going deeper. Now Jesus brings up an example of something that has failed to satisfy this woman for her whole life. This is not generic. This is an incredibly specific example of life-long dissatisfaction. She doesn’t go into detail, but she does answer honestly, “I have no husband.” Then Jesus replies, “You are right when you say you have no husband. The fact is, you have had five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite true.”

This is not Jesus slam-dunking on the woman’s immorality. This is Jesus still working, connecting the physical with the spiritual. And now the woman realizes… Jesus is not talking about regular water, or even magical water. This is a man of God. She changes gears immediately. She asks, “What’s the right way to worship God? On this mountain, where my ancestors did, or in Jerusalem as the Jews claim?”

Jesus says neither. Or both. “…a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth.” The woman said, “I know that Messiah is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us.” Then Jesus declared, “I — the one speaking to you — I am he.”

At this point the disciples show up and Jesus’s conversation with the Samaritan woman comes to an end. She believes he is the Messiah, and she goes and tells others, and they believe, too. But there’s an interesting post credits scene. The disciples try to get Jesus to eat something and he tells them, “My food is to do the will of Him who sent me, and to complete His work.” Jesus is trying to draw the woman into his way of life. He’s trying to draw the disciples into his way of life. “My food is to do the will of Him who sent me.” Spiritual food is more real, it’s more real than physical food. It’s tempting to joke about it. “Oh, yeah? See how long you live eating spiritual food only!” Well, I think that’s Jesus’s point, actually. We would all be immeasurably better off if we took Him at his word.

This line not only helps us to understand Jesus’s interaction with the Samaritan woman, but also something Jesus says two chapters later: “Very truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.” This verse has been used to support the idea of transubstantiation, it got the early church accused of cannibalism… But what’s happening here is, Jesus is staking his claim as our Savior… he is teaching that his hunger and our hunger are both for participation in the Life of God …above all else. Our true hunger is the same hunger that Jesus knows. Our true hunger is for the passion of Christ.

What is this water that Jesus will give? It’s not magical water that ends the body’s need for hydration. It’s his Life. His own flesh and blood. But even that is about something more than a magical covering for sin. Is the ransom paid? Yes! Then what else remains? As a student at MCF once asked me, “Why are we still here?” We can argue about the degree to which it matters, but calling humans to repeated participation in his life, to a continuing and ever-widening repentance, seems to be worth it to Jesus.

In 2 Peter 1:4, Peter says we are made “partakers of the divine nature.” We can think of this as being participants in the Life of God, followers of the Way of Jesus, rejectors of pride, repenters of the wisdom of men…. Thomas Aquinas understood this as participation in the divine nature…. Participating willfully, purposefully, joyously, and painfully… in something that though it is true and good. Why does participation in Christ’s passion lead to suffering? Because our souls love the lies of the flesh. We love them, like the Samaritan woman loved the hope of husbands and boyfriends. And to begin to disbelieve even one of those lies …is a full-on existential crisis… it hurts like dying hurts. To finally disbelieve that a husband was ever meant to satisfy, is to leave someone like the woman at the well in a vacuum of hopelessness. If not the husband, then who? If not the career, If not money, If not the respect that everyone else seems to get, then how does the vacuum get filled? Anyone who has been trying to fill the vacuum for a long time understands dying hope. They understand the Billie Eilish line: I used to know, but I’m not sure now.”

A.W. Tozer said that, “In nature everything moves in the direction of its hungers. In the spiritual world it is not otherwise. We gravitate toward our inward longings, provided of course that those longings are strong enough to move us. Impotent dreaming will not do.”

The question facing every believer who has ever lived is, how am I dreaming an impotent dream today? How am I failing to move into participation with Jesus today? To believe Jesus is to disbelieve something specific. To disbelieve that we can avoid participation in the divine life. To believe that eternal life means movement. There is nothing easy about it.

The woman at the well, The rich young ruler, The prodigal and his older brother. The disciples. Everyone faces many challenges of disbelieving things their flesh has loved. There is no better description of the effect of grace than when a person believes Jesus all the way to the point of disbelieving in whatever false hope Christ has revealed — and then asking Him to uproot it. There is something facing you today that feels like it would be the collapse of everything you hold dear if you were to exchange it for anything else. For the prodigal’s older brother, it was the collapse of the system that he thought had earned him his inheritance. For the rich young ruler, it was the collapse of the comfortable way of life that he expected to maintain while still following God.

George MacDonald describes these false hopes as untruth in the soul. And it is the work of God to reconcile his creation not only by covering our sins, but also by uprooting the lies we love and replacing those with Himself. This requires our participation. Time after time in scripture Jesus ignores symptoms, and he works to engage the root cause instead.

Human souls are divided, but God wants us to make whole people out of us. He wants to give us the peace of an undivided heart. This is accomplished through having only one Lord of the soul. So what is the precious lie of your soul today? Ask Jesus to show you. Ask him to uproot the untruth. Participate in the uprooting. Eat his spiritual flesh; drink his spiritual blood. It sounds extreme because it is extreme. Ask Jesus to give you the satisfaction that he longs to give, and then walk with Him toward it. Participate. Take up your cross. Believe Jesus, and move.

I suspect I am in the majority of life-long Christians who identify most strongly with the prodigal son’s elder brother. Presuming oneself to be among the stricter, and therefore the most prudent/wise/obedient group, is a tempting false equivalency to make. I think it leads to the rivalry Henri Nouwen speaks of between the older and younger brothers in Christ’s parable. 

I spent many years viewing “younger-brother behavior” from a self-righteous position. It is incredibly difficult for humans to separate a person from their behavior, especially when we see ourselves as obedient and others as disobedient. I did not recognize anyone teaching or modelling any awareness to the contrary of this view prior to my college years. I viewed those I thought to be disobedient as inherently worse than those who seemed to be more obedient. I was good in my own eyes because I didn’t do what they did. I knew I still needed Jesus, because we all do, but I also believed there was absolutely a pecking order, and Jesus knew about it as well as I did.

The main reason this appealed to me was because it was simply normal Christianity as I understood it. I was trying to receive the teaching I’d been offered, obey my parents, and just be a good Christian. The prodigal’s presumed sins were all the same sins my church and parents seemed the most concerned with: promiscuity, alcohol abuse, and other “warm-blooded” indulgences (as Dorothy Sayers might say). The message of the parable seemed to be: a person who seeks these things ends up spiritually and physically empty, but he will be received if he returns to the Father – and turns from those sins (which I was already not committing).

Perhaps it was a lack of trust and safety among the Body that prevented this nuance from coming to light: “Just when I think I am capable of overcoming my temptations, I feel envy toward those who gave in to theirs” (76). There were some cases in which I knew this to be true of myself—even as a child. But if the adults did not dare to express this sort of experience, then I certainly wasn’t going to. It would be years later before I accepted that the younger brother and I were inherently the same.

Nouwen describes the binary result of this brotherly short-sightedness with horrifying clarity: “To be afraid or to show disdain, to suffer submission or to enforce control, to be an oppressor or to be a victim: these have become the choices for one outside of the light” (82). Of course, we older brothers don’t realize that we are outside of the light unless we: 1) see that our choices fall into one of these two general areas Nouwen describes, and 2) realize how far short of the gospel this binary option falls. Many of us are ready to fight to the death to justify the older-brother way of doing things. Younger brothers often have an easier time admitting that their debauchery is debased.

Nouwen reminds me of Richard Foster’s view of formation as he wonders how an older brother can prepare to be found and brought home again. “Obviously not just by waiting and being passive” (84). Trust and gratitude, like Foster’s disciplines, are keys. It turns out that trust really is what was lacking, along with the gratitude that comes from a safe community. This resonates with my experience, as I did not trust that it was at all safe to be cheering for the homecoming of younger brothers publicly at church. It seemed they would need to prove themselves by exhibiting some predetermined number of years of older-brother behavior before the church proclaimed such loose canons as having truly come home. 

Sometimes it seems as if new churches should be planted with this sensibility embedded from the start, instead of trying to figure out how to evangelize a church full of skeptical older brothers. I do think transformation is possible, but the outcome is never certain and the time investment can extend to a lifetime.

I’m no Southern Baptist ethicist, but I think evangelicalism’s perpetual focus on the LGBTQ culture wars is failing absolutely everybody. A whole lot of that focus results from a verse that hasn’t been dealt with very often by homosexual religious apologists. The apologists have brought up the nature of Roman homosexuality, and how it was vastly different than the issue of gay marriage today, and they’ve brought up the dates of the biblical inclusion of the word “homosexual,” …but I find a different issue far more theologically compelling.

1 Corinthians 6:18 would seem to suggest that sexual sin (which has been entirely reduced to “LGBTQ sin” in terms of Christian activism today) is somehow worse than other sins. The comparison aspect of verse 18 seems impossible to miss. However, there are a few versions (KJV, NRSV) in which the comparison aspect is curiously absent! Was Paul actually comparing sexual sin to all other sins, like greed or pride, and finding it to be worse? If not, the modern evangelical war against sexual sin as the “issue of our day” is entirely out of balance (as Dorothy Sayers humorously argues—far better than I ever could—in her 1941 tract “The Other Six Deadly Sins”).

“‘All things are lawful for me,’ but not all things are helpful. ‘All things are lawful for me,’ but I will not be dominated by anything.” — 1 Corinthians 6:12

This translation, the ESV, along with many other more recent translations, uses quotes around certain phrases to indicate that the translators believe Paul is referring to a common Corinthian saying. What appears in quotes is not Paul’s meaning. What appears in quotes is believed to be a Corinthian slogan. Neither the King James Version nor the NKJV nor the NASB include quotes of the Corinthian variety (but they do point out when Paul quotes Genesis).

The Message and the NIV, however, go so far as to render the translation as “you know the old saying…” or “you say…”. So depending on the translation, there is either nothing to indicate that Paul is comparing and contrasting Corinthian slogans with God’s truth (KJV, NKJV, NASB), or there are quotation marks (ESV, RSV, and NRSV), or there are clarifying statements that render Paul’s words as “you say” to indicate that he is quoting the culture of his own audience, after which he offers his own, contrasting thought.

In addition to these ambiguities, the location of the quotation marks also seems to be in question. The New Century Version ends the quotable section in verse 13 earlier than does the NIV. So there isn’t 100% agreement about where the quotes go, either. Of course, if we were first century Corinthians, we would know immediately.

Paul begins by quoting one of the local sayings, and then …responding very thoughtfully. He challenges this weak, bumper sticker logic “I have the right to do anything,” from an unexpected angle. He doesn’t just say “no you don’t!” He appeals to the well-being of the Corinthians. His logic seems to be: “Suppose that were true, suppose you DO have the right to do anything… what good is it, if the thing does not benefit you! Do you want to be mastered by a thing?” Paul ups the quality of the logic.

He also appeals to the Corinthians’ sense of personal value and individual freedom. Rather than protest this idea that they have the right to do anything, Paul tells his readers what it is that he is in favor of. Being “for” something is always more powerful than just being against something. So what is Paul for? The inherent value of the Corinthians. He’s for loving them. He seems to be saying: “I know you don’t want to damage yourself. I know you don’t want to lose your free will to a thing.”

Paul continues to contrast common Corinthian logic with his own: “‘Food is meant for the stomach and the stomach for food — and God will destroy both one and the other.’ The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body. And God raised the Lord and will also raise us up, by his power.” — 1 Corinthians 6:13–14

The Brazos commentary on 1 Corinthians suggests moving the quotation a phrase later, and the NIV has done just that in comparison with the ESV. Isn’t it interesting that, depending on your translation, one reads different phrases as either Paul’s logic, or logic with which Paul is directly disagreeing! Let’s go with the NIV here.

“Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? Shall I then take the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute? Never! Or do you not know that he who is joined to a prostitute becomes one body with her? For, as it is written, ‘The two will become one flesh.’ But he who is joined to the Lord becomes one spirit with him.” — 1 Corinthians 6:15–17

“Sexual intercourse is seemingly trivialized by the Corinthians. They do not realize that, because of God’s creative act and intentions, sex is never trivial. …Paul’s view of sexual union does not denigrate or devalue, but recognizes its divinely ordained blessing of wholistic intimacy.” — Bender, Kimlyn J.. 1 Corinthians (Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible), Brazos Press, 2022.

“Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body. Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.” — 1 Corinthians 6:18–20

“Flee from sexual immorality.” That’s simple enough. The Corinthians have seen the whole time why Paul wants them to do that. But finally he underscores this thing that is for their good with a clear directive. But not without working hard to be persuasive first. Paul understood that motives matter.

“Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body.” — 1 Corinthians 6:18

“There is good reason to see this verse as first, providing a Corinthian slogan, and then giving Paul’s response. It is difficult to think that Paul held that any sin is “outside” or “apart” apart from the body in light of all that he has said above, where physical actions in deeds not only implicate the whole person, but also have spiritual ramifications owing to ones being a member of Christ. It therefore seems most likely that the first part of this line is a Corinthian slogan used by some members to trivialize their sexual escapades as of no real importance.” — Bender, Kimlyn J.. 1 Corinthians (Brazos Theological Commentary on the Bible), Brazos Press, 2022.

The Brazos commentary is suggesting that we haven’t yet ironed out the issue of quotation marks. And I’m not sure why we would think that we have. Not only does it make sense for Paul’s pattern of contrasting Corinthian slogans with the truth to continue, but the congruency of the whole passage is more theologically consistent if we consider verse 18 to be the fourth example of this.

Brazos is suggesting the passage ought to read like this:

Corinthians: “Every sin that a person commits is outside the body.”
Paul: “But the fornicator sins against the body itself.” [You don’t get away with it that easily, guys. Sorry.]

If this is correct, then: 1) Paul is still doing what he’s been doing this whole time, and 2) we don’t have to ignore as many theological inconsistencies as we would have to if we took all of verse 18 as part of Paul’s theology.

However, the word “other” is missing from this suggested translation. Isn’t it supposed to say, “Every OTHER sin a person commits is outside the body…” And doesn’t that word OTHER seem to pretty clearly connect the phrase to sexual immorality?

The Brazos Commentary has gotten rid of the word “other.” Why? Because in a literal sense, it’s not there. The KJV, NKJV, NRSV, Young’s Literal Translation, and Strong’s Concordance all indicate that the word “other” does not appear in this verse. If “other” isn’t there — and it literally isn’t — then its function as a grammatical determiner for “sexual immorality” is nonexistent. There is no reason to view sexual sin as extra… anything.

All parts of the human belong to God: body, soul, spirit. Nothing is lost from the gospel by giving up the theological idea of a “worst” sin. Paul isn’t failing to call sexual immorality “sin,” he is establishing equality. It is an equality of perspective and an equality of response — an equality of all fallen humanity.

I.
Andre Ong explains that it is possible “the gospel reached the shores of India before
Paul wrote the epistle to the Romans” around 55 AD (Ong 2019). The “Thomas Tradition” is identifiable “in song and verse for generations untold” which “tell about ‘the Coming of the Way of the Son of God’ into the lineages of families” (Frykenberg 2008, 93). Oral tradition is significant, but far from conclusive. Still, it made sense to Thomas skeptic Alphonse Mingana that “India’s most ancient Christian communities took this matter so seriously” (Frykenberg 2008, 91).

In terms of early literary evidence, there exists a 3rd-4th century Syriac text called the Acts of Thomas. It is not native to India, but rather Edessa, which is in the region of modern Iraq (Frykenberg 2008, 93). There is some evidence to believe the origin could go back to the 2nd century. It is the “oldest surviving account left by any congregation beyond the frontiers of the Roman Empire in the East” (Frykenberg 2008, 93). There are additional indicators that link the Christian communities of Edessa and India, which suggests that the Acts of Thomas is not the only connection between the regions, strengthening the argument for validity.

One of the more tantalizing pieces of archeological evidence for the Acts of Thomas has to do with the potential validation of a character in the work: King Gundaphar. A collection of coins was discovered in Afghanistan in 1834, which was the first time the historicity of Gundaphar was actually confirmed (Ong 2019). This would seem to bring credibility to at least portions of the Acts of Thomas.

Either way, “…there can be no reason to doubt that Christian and Jewish communities were already settling along the shores of the subcontinent by the second century”(Frykenberg 2008, 103). A Christian scholar named Pantaenus was reported to have gone to India in the second century and found “Matthew’s gospel had already arrived” (Frykenberg 2008, 103). Christianity was in India surprisingly early, but unless we consider the Acts of Thomas to be largely a reliable historical record, we don’t really know quite how it happened.

While the Council of Chalcedon in 451 largely ended many Western Christian controversies, the churches in the East (especially beyond Byzantium) were largely left to roil in those same controversies… and weaken (Frykenberg 2008, 105). The Muslim expansion of 632-42 continued to weaken discourse between East and West, and between possible language barriers and the eastern monastic lifestyle proving an ill-fit among regular people, the Church in the East largely disappeared (Frykenberg 2008, 105).

II.
Hinduism contains similarities to the Western notion of “all Truth is God’s Truth.” It
sees ultimate reality as too great for any one religious expression to encapsulate it. Both the Hindu and the Christian might therefore say, “wherever Truth exists, it must be God’s.” The main tension in Indian Christian theology is between a tendency toward pluralism and “only Christ.” Definitions can remain in such a flexible state, the question of whether they retain enough of the original intent may arise. Even in Western Christian confines, the number of ways in which “only Christ” can be interpreted can be surprisingly varied. For example, C.S. Lewis and Helmut Thielicke both believed that a person might be saved (through only Christ), but without certain expected indicators (such as knowing Christ’s name). In a more pluralistic sense, Indian Christians might claim Christ as the “crown of Hinduism” (Farquar 1915). Any of this kind of talk is guaranteed to unsettle your grandmother.

Raymundo Panikkar argued that “Hinduism was a kind of Christianity in potential” (Greenman and Green 2012, 119). This may at first sound shocking, however, it is a Christian tenet that every human being is a Christian in potential. Even within Orthodox Christianity, there are those sects which cannot abide some element of the other, so it hardly requires being from a different religion to find oneself excluded by Christians. But the inclusion of Christ has elements that we do not fully understand, as exhibited by the words of Christ to the thief on the cross.

Paul Devenandan believed “there was a need to enter into dialogue with people of other faiths and discover the hidden Christ” (Greenman and Green 2012, 120). This could be viewed as a slippery slope toward pluralism, or a Pauline approach to redeeming the altar to the unknown god. I believe it becomes evident that the risk of error can never be eradicated and that patient and generous correction is a part of the Christian walk. Perhaps the pluralism that we must come to accept is this state of being in mid-creation, and all the uncertainty that entails—not challenges to the exclusivity of Christ.

Whereas a tendency of Western Christianity is sometimes to overextend itself in endless delineations, conceiving of ever higher resolutions of theological definitions, Indian Christianity can be inclined in the other direction. A.J. Appasamy struggled to emphasize “…the whole work of Christ and the gravity of human sin” (Greenman and Green 2012, 117). Of course, the balance between the two extremes is not something that can be mathematically determined. But if one must err, perhaps allowing for some measure of mystery isn’t the worst thing—especially if it can’t be helped anyway.

III.
Indian theologians have “defended a high value of biblical authority” and “hold to
missionary intentions” (Sugirtharajah 1999, 232). Their theology of spirituality remains largely in line with a biblical worldview (Greenman and Green 2012, 124). The Indian theology of suffering can be seen to align with Paul’s teaching on the subject (Greenman and Green 2012, 125). God as Creator, Christ as wholly human and wholly God, the community of believers, and the resurrection of Christ (and those who follow Him) all appear largely intact in most Indian Christian theology.

I’m left feeling very bad at this point about my criticism in section two not being robust enough. Obviously there are lines that deserve and require defending. But I’m a product of my own culture, and I’ve been surrounded by harsh critics my whole life. My first inclination is not to join them. This exercise reminds me of the cry of my own heart. “Am I Christian enough, yet?” Will the gatekeepers of the community I aspire to be a part of let me in? Tenet one, two, three… check, check, check. I’m not sure anyone is fully capable of defining comprehensively the “complete” Biblical worldview, or the key parts of it, or the actual fidelity of the person striving toward fidelity. I’m cheering for the Indian theologians. They can’t be too much further off than any randomly selected church in the West.

IV.
Because there is such a strong sense of pluralism in India, the tendency of the West
to replace and erase indigenous cultural identity during the process of evangelism and conversion is not their first instinct. The idea that both people and their cultural identity can be potentially Christian without adapting to a total Western mindset is likely a far greater reality on the mission field than in Western churches, but that sensibility could be of tremendous help to our churches in the West.

Theology often involves talking “about” God in the third person. Helmut Thielicke remarks on the dangers of this in his book A Little Exercise for Young Theologians, and recommends the approach of speaking “to” God in the second person. When Western Christians disagree about theology, the differences they diverge over are rarely as challenging as retaining an indigenous cultural identity through conversion. But if this respecting of identity—of thinking in the second person about God and each other—were more central than speaking about God, perhaps Western Christians could strengthen our own ability to trust more in His identity (and our identity in Him) and less in our own spiralling rationales.

Introspection is not the strongest element in Western theology. The debate over Matthew 7:1 (i.e. judge not) is rarely balanced, and the takeaways shared on the internet are usually extremely one-sided. The fear that the verse is being used as an excuse to sin is perhaps valid, but likely not as widespread as the possibility that the verse is being used to keep the focus on the shortcomings of others, and off of oneself. Indian tradition is highly introspective, placing perhaps too much value on a spirituality that fails to connect with practical life. But similarly to the point I questioned before, is that really any worse than connecting the one-way street of our judgmental, outwardly-focused morals to the practical lives of others while failing to look inward?

However, R.S. Sugirtharajah notes a problem in India that I would argue is shared by the West. This is the “gap between the theology… in the seminary and the theology advocated by the institutionalized Church” (Sugirtharajah 1999, 233). It isn’t that one should be presumed superior to the other, though it is common to hear representatives of both groups criticize one another. The great need is for patient, respectful discourse. For the seminarian to presume education alone guarantees an advantage in biblical interpretation is a mistake; for the layperson to presume their lack of education guarantees an advantage is a mistake as well. In this scenario, both parties would do well to tolerate a bit more “pluralism.”

References

Farquhar, J. N. -. 1915. The Crown of Hinduism / by J.N. Farquhar. England: Humphrey Milford, Oxford University Press, 1915.

Frykenberg, Robert Eric. 2008. Christianity in India : From Beginnings to the Present. Oxford History of the Christian Church. Oxford: OUP Oxford. https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=nlebk&AN=242218&site=ehos t-live&scope=site.

Greenman, Jeffrey P, and Gene L Green. 2012. Global Theology in Evangelical Perspective : Exploring the Contextual Nature of Theology and Mission. Downers Grove, Ill: IVP Academic.

Ong, Andre. “How the Gospel Reached India.” Christian Global View in World Perspectives 605. Online lecture for Bethel Seminary, St. Paul, MN, July 11, 2019.

Ong, Andre. “An Overview of Indian Theologies.” Christian Global View in World Perspectives 605. Online lecture for Bethel Seminary, St. Paul, MN, July 11, 2019.

Sugirtharajah, R.S. 1999. “Postcolonialism and Indian Christian Theology.” Studies in World Christianity 5, no. 2: 229–40. https://doi.org/10.3366/swc.1999.5.2.229.

Cultural Apologetics: Renewing the Christian Voice, Conscience, and Imagination in a Disenchanted World

Cultural Apologetics is a call to examine the nature of cultures, including (and especially) the culture of modern Christianity. Specifically, it is a call to a renewed hope in all things true, good, and beautiful at the heart of the Christian faith. Author Paul M. Gould touches on the innate longings of the human creature, how the gospel interfaces with those longings, and how specific cultural challenges may either assist in or hinder inroads made into various cultures by a distinctly Christian worldview. Among those hindrances, a worldly approach of disenchantment within Christian culture itself looms as a translucent barrier. Gould would have us remove that barrier and become reenchanted, leaving our modernist purgatory behind for happier, greener pastures.

The author relies heavily on sociological rationale, such as Peter Berger’s “plausibility structures” (19). Such structures are thought of as mostly unrecognized yet powerful guide rails inherent in the imagination and rationale of a culture. A failure to account for these structures amounts to a failure to be able to effectively communicate the gospel with that culture.

Biblical evidence is also presented, such as Paul’s engagement with the Lycaonians. “Paul began to proclaim the good news, inviting them to ‘turn from… vain things’ (i.e. idols) too ‘a living God who made the heaven and the earth…” (85). If Paul was trying to confront sin “head on” (per the purgatorial Christian ethos), then he failed. But he does not simply say: “Stop it” — and then proclaim his Christian duty complete. Instead, he draws the attention of the culture to the things they already recognize to be “good and delightful” (85). What a nut.

Anglican Theologian Hans Boersma echoes Eastern Orthodox priest Alexander Schmemman at the conclusion of the chapter “Reenchantment” when he says, “we must ‘relearn to see the world with sacramental eyes’” (92). Schmemman offers this:

“Centuries of secularism have failed to transform eating into something strictly utilitarian. Food is still treated with reverence…To eat is still something more than to maintain bodily functions. People may not understand what that ‘something more’ is, but they nonetheless desire to celebrate it. They are still hungry and thirsty for sacramental life” (Shmeman 2018, 22). In these examples we find an appeal to theological evidence.

C.S. Lewis introduces the philosophical difference between the function of truth and meaning in Chapter 4: Imagination: “…while reason is ‘the natural organ of truth,’ it is the imagination that is ‘the organ of meaning” (107). The idea of a higher meaning behind a truth (potentially a fact) would seem to be consistent with Platonic idealism, a concept Glenn S. Sunshine explores in his work” (Sunshine 2009, 25). If imagination is undervalued (or even demonized) within a Christian subculture, the effect may be to exchange the meaning of truth for a truncated religion of “pure” morality, cut off from the living Person of Christ.

To accept the imagination as a function of meeting the divinely-placed needs in humanity is to reconnect with beauty. Christianity expressed in terms that beguile rather than demand is surely a more meaningful, even truer, representation of the faith than one measured against a catechism only. “‘Beauty will save the world.’ It’s a startling statement… the more common saviors people turn to are money, machines, knowledge, or political power, not beauty” (117). Beauty as the road less taken is an ethos consistent with C.S. Lewis’s notion of stealing past the ‘dragons’ of plausibility structures: “But supposing that by casting all these things into an imaginary world, stripping them of their stained-glass and Sunday school associations, one could make them for the first time appear in their real potency? Could one not thus steal past those watchful dragons? I thought one could” (Lewis 1956).

Gould follows his look at beauty with a chapter on reason, which deals with the nature of truth as syllogistic logic is capable of revealing it. This is a helpful look at how logic functions, but it is also notable that the human element is not ignored. “The content level is the literal meanings of the words that convey our message. The relational level expresses the amount of affection, respect, and compassion between people” (138). We often overestimate the value of the content of our messages compared to the respect and compassion we offer in our attempts at communicating reason.

The conclusion of the primary argument, if not the book, is a chapter called Conscience, which corresponds to the virtue of goodness. One striking point comes from the English poet W.H. Auden. Whereas many people look at the world’s injustice, pain, and suffering, and so question God, this account from Auden is the inverse. Having rejected Christianity for atheism, Auden believed in a “natural human goodness” (151). But when he saw a documentary of the Nazi invasion of Poland in 1939, Auden found his atheism contradicted by the evilness he perceived in Hitler and his actions: “I thought I had done with Christianity for good” (151). The existence of genuine Good is far more difficult to reject than it is to accept.

Having never heard of Gould before, this book surprised me throughout — in a lot of good ways. First of all, I’m not sure I’ve ever come across another Christian who seems to have taken a spiritual journey so similar to mine. I eventually stopped being surprised and began to expect the conclusions and sources Gould would share next. I think anyone who gets deeply involved with C.S. Lewis (and his favorite authors) is likely to have pieced together the benefits and challenges that the “true, good, and beautiful” ethos brings to the table. I do believe Gould succeeds in consolidating and packaging the sometimes unobvious connections between the “old, dead Brits” into a cohesive vision for rethinking the church’s approach in the modern day.

Gould desires to make the biblical position seem “plausible and desirable again” for modern culture, and the road to this includes acknowledging how poorly evangelicalism has handled many issues over the years. Not for the purpose of casting stones or blaming, but to identify legitimate stumbling blocks and to correct those toward the things that are of first importance (e.g. the imago Dei, the equality of sinners, etc.). This application is a third way between the current leading options: recklessly affirm opinions, or vehemently reject them, and we desperately need it. It also succeeds as a case study that may be applied to other areas.

References

Gould, Paul M. 2019. Cultural Apologetics : Renewing the Christian Voice, Conscience, and Imagination in a Disenchanted World. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan.

Lewis, C.S. 1956. “Sometimes Fairy Stories May Say Best What’s to be Said.” New York Times (1923-), Nov 18.

Shmeman, Aleksandr. 2018. For the Life of the World : Sacraments and Orthodoxy. Yonkers, New York: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press.

Sunshine, Glenn S. 2009. Why You Think the Way You Do : The Story of Western Worldviews from Rome to Home. Grand Rapids, Mich: Zondervan.

Critical Dilemma addresses the philosophical foundations of many of today’s most prevalent moral beliefs, ranging from Karl Marx to Kimbelré Crenshaw. Part I examines the history and variety of critical theories in significant depth, while Part II offers an academic, yet Christian, critique of the same. Shenvi and Sawyer are careful to delineate the Christian perspective from a political one, while underscoring the desperate need for the church to be capable of interacting with the culture at large in a productive manner. 

Philosophical evidence from the de facto father of critical theory (Marx) is presented early on: “The ideas of the ruling class are in every epoch the ruling ideas…” (71). This, from Marx’s critique of his former mentors entitled The German Ideology, was written in 1845—but not published until 1932. Marx dismisses religion, along with any other philosophy besides materialism, with the following statement: “Morality, religion, metaphysics, all the rest of ideology and their corresponding forms of consciousness no longer retain the semblance of independence; they have no history and no development; but men, developing their material production and their material intercourse, alter, along with their real existence, their thinking and the products of their collective thinking” (Marx 6).

While Marx may be the easiest father figure to identify, the authors point out that the term “social justice” itself was coined by a Catholic priest before The German Ideology was ever published (127). Biblical evidence is used to support the notion that social justice—as understood in some measure the way critical theorists would recognize it—is a biblical good: “You shall not pervert the justice due to your poor in his lawsuit” Exodus 23:6 (128). 

Sociological evidence is presented in the criticism of the concept of objectivity and neutrality: “CRT (Critical Race Theory) scholarship as a whole challenges liberalist claims of objectivity, neutrality… and argues that these principles actually normalize and perpetuate racism…” (158). The principle of the rejection of objectivity clearly has theological implications as well.

Michel Foucault’s approaches to archaeology and genealogy are used in queer theory to conclude “not only that homosexuality is a social construct but that the homosexual himself is a social construct” (180). Similarly, Jacques Derrida’s “deconstruction” presumes to undermine preexisting delineations based on the initial presumptions that gave rise to the delineations. The problem with a total rejection of objectivity begins to become apparent…

The last chapter in Part I surveys the positive contributions of critical theory. The authors provide two reasons for this. First, “All actual truth is grounded in God’s reality” (205). Secondly, “If we don’t have any genuine understanding of critical social theory, our critiques will not be credible or effective.” Therefore, to even look for objective truth within critical theory is to provide a reason for CT’s adherents to value objectivity, and to find it is to disprove one of CT’s tenets in a loving way. 

Part II begins with a survey of the basic Evangelical worldview and frames critical theory as an alternative worldview (among many). “Understand we are not saying [critical theory beliefs] must function as a worldview/metanarrative. But it would be wrong to conceive of contemporary critical theory or the critical social theory from which it is derived as only a narrow analytical tool with a limited breadth of application. Its ideological presuppositions, claims, and commitments are much too broad, much too foundational and totalizing for that” (277). An article by David French in National Review explained intersectionality as: “identity politics on steroids, where virtually every issue in American life can and must be filtered through the prisms of race, gender, sexual orientation, and gender identity… [it] is filling that religion-shaped hole in the human heart.”

The second half of Critical Dilemma essentially attempts to prove what Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said in 1962: “[communism] is the only serious rival of Christianity The other historic and great religions of the world such as Judaism, Mohammedanism, Buddhism, and Hinduism may stand as alternatives to Christianity. But for the most formidable competitor that Christianity faces in the world today, we must look to communism” (King). The authors compare critical theory, CRT, and queer theory to Christianity in order to understand why people are drawn to each worldview. Ultimately, this work attempts to clarify why Christianity offers the most comprehensive and compelling answer to questions regarding human origin, truth, morality, purpose, and love.

I think the authors were highly successful with their goals for this book. There is a desperate need for reliable, well-contextualized educational resources for church leaders in this area. These topics seem like political issues to many, but in many cases function much more like a competitive religion. It’s not enough to just be right about the philosophies and moralities in play, Christians must be wise, too. This requires a sensitivity to why the different critical theories appeal to people’s legitimate needs and a patience for the work required to reveal the truth of Christianity by one’s actions as well as one’s words.

In some circles, CRT and/or queer theory can’t be discussed at all without introducing extreme tension and causing offense. I think the authors did an admirable job of attempting to mitigate this, but when people already see an issue as inherently virtuous or evil, there’s not a lot that can be done to circumvent such bias. I believe church leaders must wrestle with these issues, but it may well be that their primary duty in relation to their congregations is to discuss the issues in a way that bypasses triggering language. In this regard, Critical Dilemma leaves church leaders largely on their own. The authors don’t lay out a plan for this (see Cultural Apologetics by Gould for one such plan), but they more than adequately highlight how Christianity differs from CT in convincingly attractive ways.

CT’s assault on objectivity is cloudy at best. Outside of critical theory, one is allowed to take note of the fact that relativism can’t demand to be absolutely, objectively true without undermining itself. But CT does away with millenniums of multiculturally agreed upon logic by arguing that everything, apart from itself, is oppressive, thereby rejecting the formerly accepted argument against relativism in favor of a new strongman theory reminiscent of Nietzsche—but with a much stronger sense presumed moral authority. This is both attractive and irresponsible.

The primary weakness I see in Critical Dilemma is the lack of a clear solution to an issue raised by political philosopher Hans Kelsen. “…Kelsen argues that people who believe in an absolute morality will want that morality imposed through authoritarian rule” (Berggren 2016). Critics can see this authoritarian rule in many applications of CT today, though CT gives itself a hall pass. But this is also what CT criticizes in Christianity, and there is some validity (and hypocrisy) to this criticism. Christians have fallen back on authoritarian rule at times, amending “go and sin no more” with “…or else.” Christ dying on the cross would seem to be the antithesis of authoritarian rule, proof that, for Christians, minds are not changed via excommunication or coercion, but by God’s kindness (Romans 2:4), as understood through the promise to Abraham and the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. If this were the rule among Christians, would CT have had as much success in supplanting Christianity as a modern worldview?

I think Critical Dilemma will be very useful in ministry as a reference and potentially a book to be shared with those who have the interest and patience to try to understand the issues better. It may become even more important as the years go by, as the “religion” of CT becomes more prevalent. Defending and especially demonstrating Christianity as a faith that calls its adherents to die to themselves first seems to be significant in answering the criticism of oppression. 

References

Berggren, N. (2016). Does belief in objective morality lead to coercion? An analysis of the arguments of Kelsen and Buchanan. Review of Austrian Economics, 29(3), 315-326. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11138-015-0318-8

King, Martin Luther. Sermon at Ebenezer Baptist Church, Sept. 30, 1962. https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/can-christian-be-communist-sermon-delivered-ebenezer-baptist-church#:~:text=While%20insisting%20that%20%E2%9Cno%20Christian,stand%20against%20racial%20discrimination%2C%20he

Marx, Karl. The German Ideology.  https://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/download/Marx_The_German_Ideology.pdf

Shenvi, Neil, and Pat Sawyer. 2023. Critical Dilemma. Eugene, Oregon: Harvest House Publishers.