Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

"An Apologia of Monasticism in an Age of Human Doings and the Idolatry of Achievements" – By Andrew Klager

I teach a course called ‘The Inner Transformation of a Peacemaker’ in the online Certificate program of the Institute for Religion, Peace and Justice at St. Stephen’s University (irpj.org/certificate). The foundation of this course is Christian contemplation and asceticism as the basis for our intuitive peacemaking and love of enemies to the extent that we have been transfigured rather than an artificially contrived imitation of Jesus’ more difficult commandments (among many other applications).

But I often have students in this course who don’t hail from a high church tradition or otherwise a tradition that has created space for the contemplative life of mystics and monastics.

As a result, I encounter bouts of trepidation from these students when I invoke monastics, both past and present, as unencumbered and undistracted models of attentiveness to one’s inner life as the ontological — or essential and existential — basis for genuine peacemaking that emanates from who we are rather than merely from what we try to do.

I therefore wanted to address this suspicion of the life of a monastic, eremitic (solitary) or otherwise. As I often encounter those who either forcefully or subtly condemn monastics because they ostensibly flee their responsibilities to our world and society, I have a few points to make below that I hope will prove helpful to some.

I could, of course, draw attention to the mendicant monks whose original monastic flavour was to live outside cloistered walls and minister to the poor and marginalized, or nuns who engage in “holy mischief” and participate in protests against the mistreatment of refugees, environmental degradation, ongoing colonialism, war and empire-building, or any other destructive actions and policies in our world. Or I could underscore how monastics show us that Christianity “works” if we also seriously, attentively, and consistently use what the Church gives us as tools for our transformation and salvation (cultivating the divine virtues of humility, patience, self-control, mercy, forgiveness, compassion, and so on).

They (the good ones anyway) are our goal and show us that our own attentiveness to the inner life, even if more piecemeal and sporadic, is not in vain, that Karl Rahner’s remark that “the Christian of the future will be a mystic or he will not exist at all” is actually a hopeful observation.

PSA's Moral Monster - Brad Jersak with Lazar Puhalo

Abp. Lazar: "I'm afraid that Evangelicalism itself can ultimately lead a thinking person away from Christ altogether. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that fundamentalism and the right-wing can do this, and most certainly does. When hate is interpreted as love there is little chance for trusting Jesus Christ to take root."

 

Brad: Agreed.

 

Some people who believe in penal substitution say that they know how much God loves him BECAUSE he killed his Son instead of them. To sacrifice one's own beloved child instead of me shows how much he values me. BUT the problem with such a disturbing vision of "love" is exposed by the way it fractures the human heart in its call to respond to such perverted love. The questions arise:

 

If I don't respond, what will he do? He will burn me forever. I'd better respond then. What sort of faith is that? It is nothing more than terrorism. The sinner's prayer becomes a contrived hostage video.

 

If I respond, did I respond well enough that I can truly believe he won't turn on me as well? What sort of moralistic striving does this generate, with the constant fear of abandonment ever lurking at every failure to perform well enough?

 

Even if I respond, what does this say about the nature of a child-sacrificing Father? If my neighbor's child breaks my window, and in my fury, demand my pound of flesh, if I take out my wrath on my own child instead of the neighbor, will the neighbor be inclined to run to my house when they've broken another window? Or will they run and hide? Will they see me as their benevolent benefactor? Or will they perceive in me a monster to be avoided at all costs?

 

This is not the Abba revealed through the life and passion of Jesus Christ. What it is, such a god may only be held, as George MacDonald said, in bitter loathing.

Brian Zahnd: Civilization: Violence upon Violence

Zahnnd_ Civilization-Violence Upon Violence from Plain Truth Ministries on Vimeo.

The Death Penalty for False Prophecy Brad Jersak

JESUS CHRIST ON CAPITAL PUNISHMENT

I believe that when Jesus Christ said, “He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her” (John 8:7), he forever put to rest the question of the death penalty. This was his final verdict on the matter. Sadly, those who claim Christ as Lord are now statistically most in support of capital punishment. In fact, it’s odd that those who take the strongest stand on behalf of the unborn are, ironically, most reticent to abandon state-sponsored killing. That suggests to me that the rhetoric is less about saving lives than it is about partisan-identity.

Here’s what we know about God through the revelation of Jesus: our Abba is utterly opposed to the reign of death and his disciples will not participate in death-dealing of any kind. Until Christianity got in bed with Empire, the church heard these words of Christ as a mandate for all believers: “Put your sword back into its place; for all those who take up the sword will perish by the sword” (Matthew 26:52).

THE HOLY FUNCTION OF THE DEATH PENALTY

What then do we make of the Torah’s use of the death penalty? Did God issue those commands? Were they accommodations to ancient near eastern culture? Was that simply a projection of humanity’s default violence? Or part of the old covenant now abolished with the capital murder of Christ? These are complex questions worthy of much study and debate. No matter how we might finally answer them, I want to raise just one factor for thought.

I would propose that the pedagogical intent of the Law was to establish the measure of eye-for-an-eye justice. This has some implications, some of which may surprise readers:

• The Law sought to take vengeance out of the hands of the victim or vigilante and made justice the responsibility of the community.
• The Law sought to end cycles of escalation and retribution with a penalty proportionate to the crime.

So far, we’re still in the realm of the obvious. But as a rabbi friend of Lazar Puhalo pointed out, “If we Jews had taken the Law literally, eventually, the last surviving Jew would have had to stone himself to death.” The aphorism is humorous but also powerful in its implications:

• The Law established the measure of the seriousness of the sin. This is not the same as meting out the penalty for that sin.
• The Law established the weight of leverage behind the call to the true and higher justice of repentance and reconciliation.

CAPITAL PUNISHMENT – REBELLIOUS CHILDREN

Let’s begin with an example of a rebellious child. In Deuteronomy 21:18-21, the law says that a wayward son or daughter must be put to death. Seriously? Did they really expect parents to bring their children in to be stoned? No. That wasn’t the point.

The point was that the death penalty showed the children that the sin of rebellion is equivalent to death in its seriousness. Rebellion inevitably, ultimately costs lives. So, there we have the measure or gravity of rebellion. Was the point of that law now to mete out death to the child? No. Rather, by laying out such a serious penalty for the crime, the rebellious teen, the adulterer, or the murderer would be motivated to enter a thorough process of repentance and reconciliation. Instead of seeing the law as retributive justice to be exacted, it became the negotiating chip for restoration in families, between neighbours, and across communities.

EXECUTING FALSE PROPHETS

Now a word about those false prophets. You know who I mean, right? In recent context, we witnessed public ministers who presumed to deliver political prophecies prescribing partisan policies and people, issued divine threats, cursed those who voted for the other faction’s candidate, incited violence, proclaimed victory “in Jesus’ name,” and even now continue to deny that they were mistaken or lying. A very rare few have become repentant, grieving over their spiritual casualties, and owning their responsibility for creating fanatics. In God’s wisdom, some are even valued friends of mine for whom I feel compassion and can offer redemption.

Now given my personal commitment to the nonviolence of the Jesus Way and my opposition to the death penalty, you might find my proposal shocking.

It’s time to reinstate the death penalty for false prophets.

Yes, you heard me. And yes, my own missteps would surely put me in their company.

I am NOT saying that anyone should pick up stones to execute them.

Rather, I am urgently reminding those who purport to be prophets that these types of errors are not just a little “oops” that we play around with apart from consequences. Prophetic delusions and deceptions cost lives. Literally. Those lost lives have names: Brian D. Sicknick, Ashli Babbitt, Benjamin Philips, Kevin Greeson, Rosanne Boyland, Howard Liebengood, and Jeffrey Smith. Today these folks are dead, in great part through the blasphemies of defiant prophets who gave spiritual sanction to the capitol siege. The biblical sentence for that is death.

Deuteronomy 13 ¹ “If a prophet or someone who has dreams arises among you and proclaims a sign or wonder to you, ² and that sign or wonder he has promised you comes about, but he says, ‘Let us follow other gods,’ which you have not known, ‘and let us worship them,’ ³ do not listen to that prophet’s words or to that dreamer. For the Lord your God is testing you to know whether you love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul. ⁴ You must follow the Lord your God and fear Him. You must keep His commands and listen to His voice; you must worship Him and remain faithful to Him. ⁵ That prophet or dreamer must be put to death, because he has urged rebellion against the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt and redeemed you from the place of slavery, to turn you from the way the Lord your God has commanded you to walk. You must purge the evil from you.

THE LIFE-GIVER’S INVITATION

In light of the sobriety of such texts, we are grateful that God is a life-giver and not a death-dealer, and we would hope those who follow Jesus Christ emulate that commitment. We worship the Redeemer, not an executioner. But the fact that God has no intention whatsoever of taking the life of even one of the false prophets does not negate the measure of severity that the Law assigns their capital crimes.

That God applies amazing grace to sin rather than striking down the sinner does not at all diminish the seriousness of the sin. Rather, the Law is a tutor that illuminates the unfathomable grace already granted, ironically, through the unjust execution of Christ. And it reveals the corresponding depth of honesty, humility, repentance, and willingness to make amends appropriate to the offender. Irrespective of the world system’s retributive ideologies, Christ always, always opens a path to redemption and forgiveness. That gospel is powerful to generate our joyous response. But woe to those who receive the invitation and then double down in their insolence. Far better to take hold of the good news, and here it is:    

 “For we will surely die and become like water spilled on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again. Yet God does not take away a life; but He devises means, so that His banished ones are not expelled from Him” (2 Samuel 14:14).

So, once again, I invite those who prophesied falsely, whether knowingly or in ignorance, in good faith or in bad, to own their sin, recognize its seriousness, acknowledge due judgment, and then ask for the mercy already granted. Rather than putting prophets to death, these ‘prophets’ are to put to death the practices that set stumbling stones and snares in their disciples’ path. For some, it is already too late to abandon the lemming run to self-destruction. But to those for whom the wages of sin have not been paid, I implore you: open your hands to grace and start the trek home. I’ll meet you on the way.

Voices of Dissent: The Prophetic Spirituality of Divine Love Spoken through Martyred Mothers in Liminal Space - Marisa Lapish

The prophet is engaged in a battle for language, in an effort to createa different epistemology out of which another community might emerge. The prophet is not addressing behavioral problems. He is not even pressingfor repentance. He has only the hope that the acheof God could penetrate the numbness of history.

—Walter Brueggemann, The Prophetic Imagination

Perhaps the ache was even deeper for the prophets whose language was rarely heard as they lived marginally in patriarchal Roman society and Church in the first five centuries of Christianity. We strain to hear female voices even today in textbooks and primary sources, their voices still scant and hushed, still silenced by lack of bold print. But the minority human voice, says Brueggemann, is one that while suffering and marginalized, prophetically reveals the transcendent voice of God. These voices penetrate the “numbness of history” with an honesty articulating the negativity of fear, shame, and pain through lament, and with a hopefulness punctuating the subversive yearning that refuses to accept the majority experience as reality. As we read stories from the margins we hear God’s voice of co-suffering love. 

In this paper, I will accentuate the female voices of Perpetua and Felicitas as prophetic language of divine love in the context of their story of martyrdom. To do this, I will examine their voices as dissent in the liminal spaces their stories of spirituality occupied in the Greco-Roman context through the hagiographic literary work, The Acts of Perpetua and Felicitas. 

 To continue reading, CLICK HERE to download Voices of Dissent - Lapish

Hospitable Church: The Challenges of Language, Space & Ritual for Table Conversations About Race and Gender - Marisa Lapish

The first step toward love is a common sharing of a sense of mutual worth and value. This cannot be discovered in a vacuum or in a series of artificial or hypothetical relationships. It has to be in a real situation, natural, free.

The experience of the common worship of God is such a moment. It is in this connection that American Christianity has betrayed the religion of Jesus almost beyond redemption. Churches have been established for the underprivileged, for the weak, for the poor, on the theory that they prefer to be among themselves. Churches have been established for the Chinese, the Japanese, the Korean, the Mexican, the Filipino, the Italian, and the Negro, with the same theory in mind. The result is that in the one place in which normal, free contacts might be most naturally established—in which the relations of the individual to his God should take priority over conditions of class, race, power,status, wealth, or the like—this place is one of the chief instruments for guaranteeing barriers.

—Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited

 

In his seminal book written over 45 years ago, Jesus and the Disinherited, Howard Thurman posed the question as to why Christianity seems powerless to radically deal with the issues of racial, ethnic, and religious injustice among marginalized people. Tragically, this impotency is most clearly evident within the walls of its own ineffective churches. Two decades ago, feminist author, bell hooks, incriminated Western Christianity’s inherent dualistic ideologies of right/wrong, good/bad as the “foundation of all forms of group oppression, sexism, [and] racism.” Womanist author Jacquelyn Grant asserted that black women’s three-dimensional experience of racism/sexism/classism calls for a liberating theology that brings dignity and humanity to marginalized people. Despite these longstanding prophetic voices of dissent for justice in the Church, Elizabeth Edman decries that “some of our most visible denominations cling to regressive and oppressive theologies and practices—hostile to women, LGBTQ people, non-Christians, urban dwellers, and the list could go on and on—increasingly rejected by common sense and basic human compassion.” 

Although the writings of Thurman, hooks, Grant, and Edman share a hopeful vision for a peaceful, just, and liberating spirituality, change in the Church has been minuscule and painfully slow over this past half-century. Jesus disrupted injustice all the time by rupturing simplistic dualisms including life/death, human/divine, sacred/profane, pure/impure, Jew/Greek, slave/free, male/female. Yet, the Church continues to be ineffective in following their Rabbi. Perhaps Thurman is correct in saying that the essence of justice is love birthed out of a “common sharing of a sense of mutual worth and value” which is natural, free, and grounded in real-life situations.8 If that is so, what are the barriers in our church cultures that prevent them from fostering a transformative environment that will “let justice roll down like waters?”9 How can our churches be more welcoming, hospitable spaces for conversations around the table about race and gender equity? This paper will discuss the challenges of language, space, and ritual as potential barriers for addressing social inequity in our churches for people of race, gender, and sexual minorities in order to facilitate awareness for a more welcoming, hospitable church culture for conversations intersecting spirituality and justice.

To continue reading, CLICK HERE to download Marisa Lapish - Hospitable Church 

Martyrs and Mystics: Feminine Resistance in the Early Church - Tabitha Sheeder

Judah & Tamar - School of Rembrandt

As a young girl, I remember listening to stories about church history, noticing how often they featured courageous men. I was confused and slightly disappointed at finding few stories that featured female characters. Words like “patriarchy” and “feminism” were unknown to me; I simply wanted to see myself in the grand narrative of God’s redemption of the world. As I continued to read the Bible, I highlighted the stories of brave, interesting women like Deborah, Tamar, and Hannah. The stories were there, it just took a deeper look to find them. Mary C. Earle writes, “As has often been the case throughout women’s history, particular women found ways to live within the accepted structures of their societies and yet also to be true to themselves and to Christ.” 

From the birth of Jesus to his resurrection, women have always been an intrinsic part of the establishment and spread of Christianity. In spite of this, the past two thousand years of recorded church history have been written primarily by and about men. In Roger E. Olson’s Story of Christian Theology, he remarks that it is unfortunate that women’s contributions to theology are not well documented. However, he goes on to state, this is “not justification for revisionist histories that invent them.” What Olson fails to acknowledge is that the dominant narrative of history is already inaccurate due to its incompleteness. In this paper, I will amplify several stories of women in the early church, demonstrating that without a greater emphasis on their contributions, our understanding of history will continue to centre patriarchal narratives and will miss the undercurrent of feminine resistance.

To continue reading CLICK HERE to download the full PDF

Snapshots - Katie Skurja

My father died this week after a bout with COVID. Within hours of his passing, my siblings and I started posting pictures, memories, and dad-isms on our family group chat. With each snapshot of his life, I found my mind drifting to various memories attached to the event depicted. Some of them filled me with joy and others were laced with sorrow or tinges of regret. He was a complicated man whose life cannot be captured with any single angle of the camera lens.

If someone who had never heard of Jesus before read only the story about him making a whip and turning over the tables in the temple, it would be easy to conclude he had a bad temper or was some kind of tyrant. Now picture this person reading the scathing things Jesus said to the Pharisees in Matthew 23 or the line about violent men taking the kingdom by force. One might even think he was the kind of messiah the Hebrew people were hoping for – the kind who would raise up an army and overthrow the Roman rulers. This Jesus must be some kind of badass warrior.

Imagine a different scenario wherein the only story a person heard about this Jesus was of him being born in a stable among the animals. This is the man who is supposed to be the Son of God? What if the next story this person read is about Jesus tying a towel around his waist and washing his disciples’ dirty feet. The conclusion would be very different. What kind of leader does that? Even more alarming, what kind of God does that? These stories could paint a picture of a lowly, self-deprecating servant. This Jesus would hardly seem like the kind of figure one would trust to lead others out of captivity.

In order to get a fuller picture of who Jesus is, one needs to consider not only all the stories, but understand the stories in the context of time, place, and the larger arc of the story starting in Genesis.

The writer of Hebrews tells us Jesus was like us in every way, yet without sin. How much more do we need to consider the range of stories for us mere mortals who are finite, fallible, and prone toward going off the rails in various ways? With a few carefully selected snapshots of a person, we can paint a picture of a saintly person whose virtues rival that of Mother Teresa. By selecting other stories, we could easily paint a picture of a villain who deserves scorn at best and the painful torment of hell at worst. One might even believe such a person deserves no mercy. Without all the stories, it is exceedingly easy to fall into the trap of creating a one-dimensional portrait of a person.

In order to understand the complexities of a person, we need to consider both the light and shadow areas of the stories. When taking a literal snapshot of a person, too much light exposure will cause a photo to be washed out, flat, and uninteresting. Not enough light will make it unable to distinguish the details. As every artist knows, both shadow and light are needed to create a good portrait. The positive spaces are defined by the negative spaces.

As we navigate this season sharing stories and snapshots from the life of my father, each one will be part of the portrait of a man inside a larger story of humanity. We all are like sheep who have gone astray, turning to our own way, thinking we know better or have it all figured out. Even when we know it in our heads that we need God, our hearts do not always surrender to the One who is greater than us all.

In the late 90s, my siblings and I wrote tributes for our parents as part of a family reunion. Though we wrote them independently of one of another, there were themes that emerged about our father. He loved God and wanted to serve the world through his architecture. He loved his children and encouraged us to love and support one another. From our father, we inherited a collective love of nature, learning, music, art, and travel. We share fond memories of him making thin pancakes with sour cream and applesauce on Sunday mornings, of taking us camping and making Hobo Joes over the coals, and the many trips to our friends’ cabin in the woods. He seemed to have a joke for every occasion, he loved to laugh, and celebrated good food with enthusiasm. These are all true snapshots of my dad.

There are other stories that tell of another side of the man who was larger than life. Most who knew him would agree that he had a stubborn streak as wide as the Mississippi River. “I Did It My Way” could be one of his theme songs. Though he and my mother were featured as a happy young couple in a marriage retreat brochure, my siblings and I all bear scars of the many painful scenes between them as the marriage fell apart. Our loving father could also be cruel, manipulative, controlling, and bitter. Perhaps no one knew this side of him more than our mother, who nevertheless loved him to her dying day. These snapshots are also true of my dad.

Without all the stories, we cannot embrace him as a beloved child of God, imbued with the divine image, who is also a fallible human being in need of God’s grace… just like the rest of us. Without all the stories, we cannot understand the need for forgiveness. Only when embracing all of who he was in life can we trust his entirety to God’s embrace. When holding all of who he was, we also join with God’s embrace of OUR whole selves. We learn to accept forgiveness of our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Lord, make us instruments of your peace.

Not all who disagree with you are "Progressives" - Open Letter to Alisa Childers - by Joe Beach

December 7, 2020    Denver, CO

Dear Alisa,

Thank you for your service to the body of Christ. I appreciate your passion. Your work is needed. There really are enemies of the gospel out there and there really are wolves in sheep’s clothing from whom we need warning and protection.

My prayer for you is that you become much more careful as you identify those enemies. You often, it seems to me, mislabel brothers and sisters as “progressive” when, in fact, they are nothing of the sort. Again, as best as I can tell, you often label people as progressive simply because they disagree with your pet doctrines and opinions. Not everyone outside of the neo-reformed (young, restless, and reformed) camp is a progressive. Lots of the church’s very best theologians over the centuries, beginning with the apostles, would strongly disagree with your definition of the gospel (i.e. your atonement theory), your hermeneutics (i.e. your modern literalism), your eschatology (again, modern literalism with a touch of dispensationalism and Zionism), your view on the nature and duration of hell (a doctrine not mentioned in the ancient creeds because it was a matter of opinion), and on and on. I could give more examples of your bias and unfair labeling.

Just because someone disagrees with your opinions (some of which are quite debatable), that doesn’t make them a progressive. Let me be clear: there are hundreds, if not thousands, of us ordinary pastors out here who love Christ with all our hearts and have a very high view of Scripture – who nonetheless might disagree with you on many important subjects. That does not make us progressive. We may be right. We may be wrong. And you may be right or wrong. Or we all may be partially right and partially wrong. But it doesn’t automatically make us “progressive” Christians simply because we differ from some of your interpretations or opinions.

Allow me to say it another way: there are thousands of us ordinary pastors out here who fully affirm genuine Christianity. We have, for instance, an orthodox, historical, traditional Christology. We revere and honor all 66 books of the Bible as Holy Sacred Scripture. We affirm with all our hearts, without reservation, the ancient creeds (e.g. I Cor. 15:1-8, Apostles’ Creed, Nicene Creed, etc.), and we affirm them every bit as sincerely and knowledgeably as you do. We affirm them in full awareness of what they say and what they mean. There are thousands of us ordinary pastors who sacrificially serve regular, ordinary churches full of ordinary people trying to serve Christ, follow Christ, worship Christ, honor Christ, etc., etc. But we may disagree with some of the tenets and assumptions of your particular theological camp. Again, that doesn’t make us progressive Christians.

Anyway, I just wanted to plead with you to please make a space for us types. I want to plead with you to not shoot everything that moves outside of your theological fortress. Not everything moving around out there is an enemy. Some of us are fellow disciples, brothers and sisters, who are trying to read the Scriptures in more of an ancient way, maybe more of an Eastern Orthodox way. But we are not liberals or progressives. We are traditional, orthodox, Spirit-filled, Christ-centered believers. You will actually be doing harm to the Kingdom of God and to the gospel to spend your time shooting at us. I hope that makes sense and I hope that helps.  

You often refer to the many people who have “deconverted (or deconstructed) themselves right out of the faith.” I agree with you. I see the same thing and I share your pain. I think it’s both rampant and sad. But, again, not all of us who disagree with your particular camp are on that slippery slope. Some of us remain firmly planted on the Solid Rock of Jesus Christ. And, yes, I do mean the crucified and risen Christ of Holy Scripture.

Sadly, I have sometimes heard you, and especially your guest “experts,” flippantly say that these progressive preachers really don’t worship, serve, and obey the genuine Christ – they are just faking it so as not to lose followers. Your experts also say that these preachers really don’t submit to God’s authority in the Holy Scriptures. They just do their own thing. These are very unfair judgments. These are often clear cases of slander. And, let’s not forget that all slanderers go to hell, according to the Bible (I Cor. 6:9-11; Gal. 5:19-21).

Grace and Peace to you,     

Joe Beach

"Herakleitos, Aeschylus & the Jewish Zeus" - Ron Dart

P.S. It is interesting that Herakleitos was from Ephesus and the notion of the "Logos" was front and centre to Herakleitos -- and then St. John and Mary the mother of Jesus settled in Ephesus. John begins his major book with the "Logos." There is, therefore, an obvious link between Herakleitos and John, with "Logos" as the core and hub for both of them. Even T.S. Eliot begins the "Four Quartets" with 2 aphorisms from Herakleitos. 

On Using the Cleansing of the Temple to Justify Violence - Chris Green

To those who want to use the story of the Temple cleansing to justify violence, I’d say, first, that it’s a dangerous mistake to identify “America" with Israel or the Temple with the Capital (the so-called “Temple of Democracy”).

But even if we leave that aside, I’d say, second, Jesus simply was not violent, at least not in the way some imagine him to have been. Matthew, Mark, and Luke tell us Jesus drove out those who were buying and selling, overturning the tables of the clerks. John adds the detail about the whip. But the Gospels never suggest he killed or wounded—or even touched—anyone or anything except the tables. No blood was shed.  

Third, I’d say it’s a deep betrayal of Jesus to snatch this one act out of the context of his entire life and ministry. Surely what Christ did in the Temple was an embodiment of what he taught on the Mount of the Beatitudes and what he suffered on Mount Calvary—not their negation or subversion. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus taught us it is not enough not to murder anyone. We must not harbor even the shadow of hate toward our neighbor or utter a whisper of a curse against our enemies. On the cross, he poured out his life for those who had betrayed and tortured him, praying in his last breaths for his killers to receive a mercy they had not shown to him. In the final analysis, Jesus was killed by the powers in large part because his teachings and way of life called their authority to use even legitimate violence into question. So, in light of what Jesus said and did, and in light of what was done to him, we have to face the fact that the desire to cut this one moment out of the seamless garment of his life exposes the ugliest sin in us. 

Fourth, and most importantly, I’d say it’s vital to remember Jesus’ story is not ours to use. In fact, making use of God’s story or God’s name is the essence of idolatry, and an act of horrific violence—against God, no less, who is our neighbor. Ironically, then, if we exploit the story of the Temple cleansing as some kind of validation for insurrection (or similar violence), we are acting in the spirit of the moneychangers Jesus drove from the Temple. Like them, we are making use of holy things to justify ourselves. Of course, once we have committed to acting in these ways, we’ve already long convinced ourselves we are acting in righteous anger. But the proof is in what we do with the story of Jesus and what our actions mean for our neighbors, especially those we’re tempted to regard as our enemies. 

Origen, in his commentary on John’s Gospel, warns his readers not to take the account literally, precisely because he anticipates how their sinfulness will lead them to misread what Jesus was doing. He sees how they would use such a misreading to excuse all kinds of cruelty and abusiveness. So, Origen argues, what Jesus did was an act of divine, not human, wrath, intended to quell the anger of the mob. He then quotes Ps. 33:10, a passage which seems especially relevant in our current moment: “The LORD frustrates the plans of the nations and thwarts all their schemes.” In short, Origen holds that Jesus’ actions were intended to undo violence, not to do it.

I guess for me the bottom line is this: if we can’t see what’s wrong with using the story of Jesus cleansing the Temple to justify insurrection, if we don’t see how that story calls us to repent of violence and the glorification of violence, then our only hope is the wrath of God, the last extremity of God’s love, which may trouble us toward repentance.

In a sermon on the cleansing, St. Augustine asks, “Who are they who sell the oxen? Who are they who sell the sheep and doves?” And answers: “They are those who seek their own interests in the church rather than those of Jesus Christ.” Again, that is exactly what these folks are doing when they use Jesus’ story for their own ends. Thankfully, Jesus loves us too much to leave us to our fantasies of righteous anger and warranted violence. And the truth is, we need him to drive us out and overturn our tables.

See also:

Brad Jersak, "The so-called 'violence' of Jesus in the so-called 'cleansing of the temple"

Kenneth Tanner "On Justifying Violence with Jesus' Whip"

"Postcards from Babylon: the Church in American Exile" -- documentary review by Brad Jersak

"Postcards from Babylon: the Church in American Exile"
Documentary review by Brad Jersak

“Come home. You’re better than this.”

—Daniel Dietrich, Hymn for the 81%

You had me at Brian Zahnd.

When the first seven days of 2021 had already trumped (sic) the insanity of 2020, and Christian nationalism had erupted in all manner of ‘prophetic’ blasphemies, I was neither surprised nor confused. That’s a lie. But I wasn’t bereft. That’s because I had already read the clear-minded social commentary of an actual national prophet—my friend and online pastor, Brian Zahnd. But what I pined for was that his sanity would be amplified for those whose heads are spinning. Cue the Postcards documentary.

A word about where I’m coming from. While I’m primarily known as a theologian, my Ph.D. was in political theology, exploring the intersection of political philosophy and our theology of the Cross. Politically, I’m a Canadian “High Tory” conservative who regards the entire American experiment (from far left to far right) as a violent exultation in freedom as self-will. That’s problematic for me as a Christian resident in a vassal state under the direct shadow of history’s most powerful empire.

But I don’t hate America any more than Jesus hated Rome. Indeed, most of my best friends are Americans and I find their enthusiastic hospitality and authenticity incredibly beautiful. It’s the ‘empire’ part that’s troubling—but particularly when faith is seduced by the powers “in the name of Jesus.” And that’s where Postcards is crucial. “Americanism,” says Zahnd, “is a rival religion to authentic Christian faith.” It’s an unholy harmonization of the American dream and some patriotic, nationalistic and militaristic aberration of the gospel.

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Sedition and Silence - Jim Wallace

What has been happening since the outcome of the November presidential election has been historic: continuous acts of sedition aimed at overturning the results of an American election by the current president of the United States.

Our nation’s first president, George Washington, decided not to become a new king, but voluntarily turned his office over to a new president. John Adams then turned his office over to Thomas Jefferson after he lost an election, setting a precedent that became a bulwark of American democracy. After becoming the most “unprecedented” president in American history, Donald Trump is now trying to destroy that fundamental practice by using the power of the presidency to deny the results of an election he lost. That sedition must not be met with silence — from political leaders or from faith leaders.

There is obviously a very dangerous political lens to these actions: The future of democracy in America is at stake. But I would argue there is also a theological lens — that the growing power of a distinctive American heresy is also at play.

In the face of the president’s open efforts to erase the results of the election and defy the Constitution, we have seen cooperation and collaboration by what is now his Republican Party unlike anything we have seen in American history. Even after every accusation of election fraud has been proven false or struck down by courts (including by judges Trump appointed) and multiple recounts in several states, Trump and his media machines have continued to spread disinformation across his base and around the country.

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Jim Wallis is founder and ambassador of Sojourners. His book Christ in Crisis: Why We Need to Reclaim Jesus is available in paperback now. Follow Jim on Twitter @JimWallis.