Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

Unchristlike Images of God in Matt 22:1:14 - B. Jersak, B. Zahnd, D. Flood, A. Klager

Matt 22:1-14 

Unchristlike Images of God in Matthean Parables

A Mini-Minyan with Brad Jersak, Brian Zahnd, Derek Flood, Andrew Klager

 

Introduction (Brad Jersak)

I was recently invited to share thoughts and respond to questions about my book, A More Christlike God: A More Beautiful Gospel, among a theologically mixed group of very perceptive readers.

Prior to the meeting, the facilitator gave me the consideration of a heads up about a question he was planning to ask. He wanted to me to address the problem of why Jesus’ parables sometimes seem to represent God in a rather un-Christlike light—especially as an infuriated and vengeful king who not only destroys, but even tortures those who do not respond to his invitation. Specifically, he asked me to look at the parable of the banquet as told in Matthew 22.

I was aware of the difficulties in that passage and thought to invite three colleagues to weigh in with their collective wisdom, rather than speaking on my own. Namely, Brian Zahnd, Derek Flood and Andrew Klager. I also received behind the scenes input from Pastor Jason Tripp, who I’ll reference later as well. The conversation that followed seemed well worth sharing, so the following represents excerpts from it.

We begin with the text: 

Matthew 22 ¹Jesus spoke to them again in parables, saying, ² “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding feast for his son. ³ And he sent out his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding feast, and they were unwilling to come. ⁴ Again he sent out other slaves saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited, “Behold, I have prepared my dinner; my oxen and my fattened livestock are all butchered and everything is ready; come to the wedding feast.”’ ⁵ But they paid no attention and went their way, one to his own farm, another to his business, ⁶ and the rest seized his slaves and mistreated them and killed them. ⁷ But the king was enraged, and he sent his armies and destroyed those murderers and set their city on fire. ⁸ Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those who were invited were not worthy. ⁹ Go therefore to the main highways, and as many as you find there, invite to the wedding feast.’ ¹⁰ Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered together all they found, both evil and good; and the wedding hall was filled with dinner guests.

¹¹ “But when the king came in to look over the dinner guests, he saw a man there who was not dressed in wedding clothes, ¹² and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you come in here without wedding clothes?’ And the man was speechless. ¹³ Then the king said to the servants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness; in that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ ¹⁴ For many are called, but few are chosen.”

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I Am Constantine Too — By Andrew Klager

How Christians should perceive the early 4^th-century Roman emperor, Constantine—his role and legacy, whether harmful or beneficial—is a vexing question, one that has admittedly caused for me, as an Orthodox Christian and historian of Christianity, much disillusionment.

Despite my Orthodoxy, speaking as a semi-Yoderian / Hauerwasian (though “recovering” to a large degree) who spends his life trying to be historically responsible and nuanced, we have to first remember that perfection isn’t the criterion of Sainthood; if this were the case, we’d have no Saints. While many Saints are recognized as such because they exhibited genuinely imitable piety and humility, often one of the faithful is recognized as a Saint simply because of one standout accomplishment or extraordinary act. All their faults and destructive behaviour—whether Constantine’s or another Saint’s—should be and certainly are acknowledged and condemned by the Orthodox Church despite their Sainthood. These acts ought not to be sanitized, trivialized, or euphemistically labeled as mere “flaws”: many of the acts that Constantine carried out in his own lifetime and the usurpation of the standards of the kingdom of God (poverty and peacemaking) in favour of the priorities of the state (wealth-building and security through violence) were horrific and have had downright destructive, seemingly irrevocable consequences.

I personally know Orthodox monks who would not consider Constantine a Saint, which is our prerogative too; often we place too much emphasis on what’s “official,” the propriety of public designations within Orthodoxy that gloss over the very real and horrific—even if historically contextual—actions that Constantine (as with other Saints) sanctioned in his own lifetime. Orthodox Christians love to rail against Arius—oddly reciting with glee that St. Nicholas of Myra punched him in the ear at the Council of Nicea (an act he was ashamed of and for which he later asked forgiveness despite our whimsical celebration of it)—but somehow our veneration of Constantine isn’t tempered by the fact that he was baptized on his deathbed (!) by Eusebius of Nicomedia—the bishop who read the opening statement of the Nicene Council in defense of Arius and one of only two bishops present to possibly refuse to sign the final Creed. What this says about the orthodoxy of Constantine—during whose reign Arianism wasn’t entirely abandoned and whose son, Constantius II, embraced Arianism—will likely never be adequately resolved.

Even still, it is essential that we adopt a historical maturity and sensitivity to the age, a sincere ability to put ourselves in certain past situations, to truly “enter into” history—apart from today’s technology, “20/20” hindsight (at least to us, while a future generation will no doubt condemn us with their 20/20 hindsight, and so it goes…), modern cultural and moral sensitivities, convenience of the information age, the fact that we have the luxury of volumes exposing the life of Constantine that we don’t have of some today whom we still nevertheless respect—by acknowledging what it was like for Christians before Constantine and after Constantine. When all Christian bishops can gather in one place for the first time after centuries of brutal persecution to labour on behalf of theological uniformity, and they kiss each other’s wounds where ears were sliced off and limbs were severed, the one responsible for such a dramatic reversal might reasonably elicit our gratitude and acknowledgement; to do otherwise, stems—in my view—from a subconscious (i.e., often unintentional) privileged elitism. There were too many positive changes that went along with this shift to get into here, but suffice it to say, he is “Equal-to-the-Apostles” not because of his piety (which was lacking, to say the least) but because of his major role in the Christianization of large swaths of humanity (i.e., much like the vocation of an Apostle—despite their own faults too, even the denial of Christ, in-fighting, etc.). Nothing more, nothing less.

But the bottom line is this: whether one condemns or adores (or is non-committal toward) Constantine usually depends on the target of one’s attention; if we look for the speck in others’ eyes, we will fail to recognize that Constantine’s plank is my plank. As we pray before ingesting the Holy Gifts, “…You are truly the Christ, the Son of the living God, who came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the first.” If I truly believe this, I should reasonably expect someone to write a book called, “Defending Andrew.” My criticisms of Constantine in the paragraphs above reflect what I also need to repent of and change; I have been angry with my brother as well, an internal impulse without which murder would not be possible, as Christ teaches us (Mt. 5:21–22). As I’ve said many times before, Constantine didn’t just live 1,700 years ago; I am Constantine too.

"Loving Our Enemies: Reflections on the Hardest Commandment": Jim Forest's Much Needed Meditation on a Shamefully Neglected Teaching — By Andrew Klager

Forest, Jim. Loving Our Enemies: Reflections on the Hardest Commandment. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Press, 2014. ISBN: 978-1-62698-090-7

I first met Jim Forest -- author of Loving Our Enemies: Reflections on the Hardest Commandment (Orbis, 2014) -- about five years ago when he made the trek from Holland to the south coast of British Columbia to, among other speaking gigs, give an intimate talk on St. Ephrem's Lenten Prayer at my small Orthodox parish then meeting in a converted barn. While giving him a ride from the church to the place he was staying that night, our conversation veered into Eastern Orthodoxy's somewhat underestimated inclusive embrace despite its miscalculated reputation of cold exclusivism -- even if falling victim to this unfortunate reputation at times. From this initial encounter, I was instantly impressed by the judicious and calm manner in which Jim reflected on, in this case, a somewhat thorny ecclesiological issue that reflects the need for more peacemakers to engender ecumenical hospitality.

The inspiring talk he gave at an Orthodox Peace Fellowship conference I organized in Abbotsford, BC in the summer of 2012 only reaffirmed his stoic humility. And the open arms of Orthodoxy that we had discussed a couple years earlier was echoed by Jim's hospitality when he opened his cozy and welcoming home in the historic heart of Alkmaar, Holland to my friend and I while en route to Egypt for a research project on interreligious peacebuilding between Muslims and Coptic Christians. Over the years, I have witnessed -- even if mostly from a distance -- and come to admire Jim's ability to speak calmly, though no less confidently, in hostile arenas and on contentious issues. This is the avoidance of making enemies when speaking on the topic of loving our enemies -- however demanding and imperfect such attempts may be for anyone dipping their toe in such vexed exchanges and themes.

Like Jim Forest himself, Loving Our Enemies exudes gentle wisdom. Ever the engaging and vivid storyteller, Forest weaves together profound anecdotes and quote-worthy insights to ennoble the cessation of enmity and cultivation of reconciliation in this latest offering. For my money, the chapter "Holy Disobedience" is worth the price of admission alone. The book avoids highfalutin jargon and the reader won't get bogged down by esoteric theological terminology, making this a very accessible and fluid read befitting a lay audience -- which a book on this perennially sidelined topic should be. Much deserved, Loving Our Enemies is also the Gold Medal winner in the theology category of the 2015 Illumination Book Awards.

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Us Versus Them: The Myth that Underlies Our Violence Against the Other — Andrew Klager

This is the myth that underlies our violence against the Other—our so-called “enemies”:

One of the motivations of violence against the Other is portraying oneself—or “our side”—as completely “good” and one’s enemies—or “their side”—as completely “evil.” We do it all the time—as individuals, as cultures, as races, as religions, as nations. This dual portrayal gives “our side” the permission to kill, incarcerate, torture, and oppress since our actions will automatically be deemed righteous, commendable, and sensible, as we are the “good” guys and therefore any actions we take—however objectively deplorable—are automatically considered “good.” And our enemies can be killed, eliminated, incarcerate, oppressed, and tortured as inanimate objects to be eliminated in the implementation of our ideologies and interests because they have no good in them and are therefore completely evil and thus worthy and deserving of their death, torture, incarceration, and oppression. Since there is nothing good in them (i.e., our completely evil “enemies”), no good will be destroyed when our enemies are killed, tortured, or otherwise oppressed.

The antidote to this crude, unthinking, facile, and toxic bifurcation is the prerequisite transfiguration for loving our enemies and building peace intuitively and (super)naturally. The resolution is therefore ontological rather than a forced and contrived imitation—good or bad. And part of what this transfiguration looks like is recognizing the good in our enemies and the evil in ourselves—that, as the gulag surviver, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, remarked, the dividing line between good and evil doesn’t run between separate human beings or identity groups, but down the middle of every human heart; this requires stillness (hesychesis) and attentiveness (nepsis) to the vices and passions in ourselves and a commensurate life of repentance, all of which induces our transfiguration—the partaking of the divine nature (2 Pt. 1:4), the same “stuff” as the Prince of Peace—that capacitates us for treating the Other in the same way that the Transfigured One treated the Other—i.e., the prostitutes, the Samaritans, the publicans, the Roman occupiers.

A desire for retribution is the response to our perception of complete evil in the Other; a desire for restoration is the response to our recognition of at least some good in all human beings—“the true light, which enlightens everyone” (Jn. 1:9)—that can still yet be unearthed, prioritized, and cultivated.

Orthodox Eschatology and St. Gregory of Nyssa’s De vita Moysis — Andrew P. Klager

Editor's note: This chapter of Compassionate Eschatology, edited by Ted Grimsrud and Michael Hardin, is used by permission of Wipf and Stock Publishers.

 

Orthodox Eschatology and

St. Gregory of Nyssa’s De vita Moysis:

Transfiguration, Cosmic Unity, and Compassion

Andrew P. Klager

INTRODUCTION

THE PURPOSE OF THE present volume is to introduce readers to a compassionate eschatology from the vantage point of various theological attitudes and traditions. What follows, then, is an outline of the eschatological themes that comprise an Orthodox Christian perspective.

As we navigate through an Orthodox conception of the hope endowed to all creation when Christ “trampled down death by death,” and which is assimilated by the Church through ascetic struggle, participation in the liturgical theodrama, and veneration of icons that depict and embody the Eschaton, the sentiment that “compassion” is a worthy foil through which to apprehend an Orthodox eschatology is justified.

With the conviction that a dialogue on the validity of a compassionate eschatology should depend not only on the outcome of theological conjecture and syllogism, but must also include a historical precedent, especially from the Church fathers, to circumscribe and frame this dialogue, the present essay will also appeal frequently to St. Gregory of Nyssa’s celebrated philosophical and ascetic treatise, De vita Moysis,¹ as a highly apposite patristic voice to guide our investigation.

It has become whimsically aphoristic for Orthodox Christians to answer theological inquiries, and especially the more difficult ones, with, “It is ultimately a mystery!” But, this is true of its eschatology perhaps more than for any other theological issue. While the ecclesial schisms that have characterized much of Christianity’s history over matters of Christology, Triadology, and the like are at least comprehensible on a primal level, it is utterly unfathomable the many more recent schisms that have compounded as a result of squabbles over events that have not yet even occurred!² An Orthodox articulation of eschatology is therefore unique in its reticence, refusing to speculate beyond the creedal affirmation that Christ “is coming in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end,” which motivates his Bride to “look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.”

Click here to read A.P. Klager's full chapter in Compassionate Eschatology

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Footnotes:

1. For all English references, I will be using Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses, translated by Ferguson and Mahlerbe (hereafter simply Vit. Moys.). Since this essay is appearing in a book whose audience is concerned more with Christian eschatology than with Gregory of Nyssa himself, all references to the original Greek will not be to the usual Gregorii Nysseni Opera, on which the English translation is based, but will instead be to the much more accessible: Migne, Patrologiae Graeca (hereafter PG).

2. See Ware, Orthodox Way, 133f.

Why Jesus was "Mean" and I Shouldn't Be: Reflections on Criticizing Others — Andrew Klager

Fr. Thomas Hopko’s famous 55 maxims contain four that I’ve particularly clung to over the years: “We don’t judge anyone for anything”; “Don’t try to convince anyone of anything”; “Give advice to others only when asked or obligated to do so,” and “Be simple, hidden, quiet and small.” Needless to say, I fail at all of them all of the time (and am right now). The following, however, is a reflection on these maxims for when I discover myself embroiled in exchanges that show the potential to turn heated real quickly. 

I've noticed the habit among some Christians to justify their unkind words and scathing condemnation of others by pointing to a favourite verse—Matthew 3:7, when Jesus calls the approaching Pharisees and Sadducees a "brood of vipers." It is, however, not enough to point to Jesus as our example in such a wholesale manner; the more responsible thing to do is instead isolate what he commanded us to obey as the subjects of his yet unfulfilled prayer in John 17—that "as you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us"—and therein acknowledge that there's an imbalance in authority to speak so confidently. In this sense, Jesus didn’t tell us to imitate his brashness and confident criticisms when confronting untruth. Truth is not written or spoken, but embodied and ontological. To this end, Jesus has only commanded us to take up the cross upon which he was also enthroned. 

St. Peter didn’t write, “For to this you have been called, because Christ was also unkind to everyone and exhibited a confidence that only God Incarnate could pull off, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps,” but instead remarked, “For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps” (1 Pt. 2:21). The Beatific Ladder celebrates poverty of spirit, meekness, mercy, purity of heart, and peacemaking because Jesus knew that our own frailty, confusion, and immaturity requires this of others and ourselves.

When Jesus said, “You judge according to the flesh; I judge no one” (Jn. 8:15), he was underscoring that we are all limited by the same finite constraints that confuse our judgment, and that he alone is unique in possessing a judgment that emanates from perfect oneness with the Father—judgment as divine Light (Jn. 3:17–19). This is a confidence that we should not trick ourselves into thinking we can have. When Jesus said, “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged” (Mt. 7:1), he was trying to warn us that our judgment of others will only kick-start a cycle of judgment, that his divine Light will expose this cycle of judgment that we initiated and are trapped within (Jn.3:19–21), that we need to look at ourselves only and our own need for repentance, as we are all in the same boat—not one above another—but that Jesus’ perfect humility and kenotic co-suffering love means that he is unique in his ability to step outside this boat and walk on the water in which I know I will sink.

Jesus is God and I am not. We are all in the same boat, but hell is a solitary place where I alone reside.

-APK

 

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"You cannot be too gentle, too kind. Shun even to appear harsh in your treatment of each other. Joy, radiant joy, streams from the face of him who gives and kindles joy in the heart of him who receives. All condemnation is from the devil. Never condemn each other. We condemn others only because we shun knowing ourselves. When we gaze at our own failings, we see such a swamp that nothing in another can equal it. That is why we turn away, and make much of the faults of others. Instead of condemning others, strive to reach inner peace. Keep silent, refrain from judgement. This will raise you above the deadly arrows of slander, insult and outrage and will shield your glowing hearts against all evil." — St. Seraphim of Sarov (1754–1833)

 

 

"And this is the Judgment ..." The Divine Light of Christ — Andrew Klager

In John 3:19-21, Christ overtly identifies the nature of divine judgment: 

"And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God” (Jn. 3:19–21).

So, Christ's judgment is overtly identified as divine Light. This is why Orthodoxy doesn't hold to a dualistic view of the afterlife, wherein we are sent to one of two physical locations—heaven or hell. Instead, heaven or hell is our subjective experience at our posthumous encounter with Christ (or divine Light, à la the Transfiguration on Mt. Tabor), who is—of course—immutable. If God is immutable, he cannot change from divine love in an anthropomorphized manner (i.e., as we understand it through familiar social analogies in our finite state). Fr. Thomas Hopko puts it this way: 

"[I]t is precisely the presence of God’s mercy and love which cause the torment of the wicked. God does not punish; he forgives. . . . In a word, God has mercy on all, whether all like it or not. If we like it, it is paradise; if we do not, it is hell. Every knee will bend before the Lord. Everything will be subject to Him. God in Christ will indeed be 'all and in all,' with boundless mercy and unconditional pardon. But not all will rejoice in God’s gift of forgiveness, and that choice will be judgment, the self-inflicted source of their sorrow and pain" (Foreword in Sergei Bulgakov, 'The Orthodox Church,' xiii).

So, understanding the judgment of Christ as Light (which is what he himself identifies it as) is key here. For example, St. Gregory of Nyssa (c.335–395) explains this subjective phenomenon from the plague of darkness in Exodus, even while the Hebrews still experienced this darkness as Light:

"It was not some constraining power from above that caused the one to be found in darkness and the other in light, but we men have in ourselves, in our own nature and by our own choice, the causes of light or darkness, since we place ourselves in whichever sphere we wish to be” ('The Life of Moses,' 2.80). 

So, God does not change nor have shifting mood swings and is therefore categorically not actively meting out his wrath as we popularly and anthropomorphically understand it. Instead, he is immutably divine love, mercy, and forgiveness, and the experience of wrath is one of self-condemnation and incompatibility with divine Light, much like when Christ, in his compassion, said to Paul on the road to Damascus, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads [spikes]" (Acts 26:14). The act of persecuting Jesus therefore has the experience of "wrath" built into it, but it is self-inflicted since God is immutably love—the divine Light.

What Should Christians Do About the Violence in Northern Iraq? — Andrew P. Klager

To answer my title right off the bat, I don’t really know. This piece won’t solve anything, but I think I’m in good company in this regard. The following might, however, help us change the way we think to avoid making the situation worse and perhaps move in a more positive direction.

I was originally going to write a piece on why I don’t post stories about persecuted Christians on social media, but I’ve decided that it would be inappropriate to do so given the real-life horrors in northern Iraq. If I couldn’t read my piece to the parents of a raped and beheaded child, I shouldn’t be writing it. “Holier-than-thou” pieces are stupid anyway.

Christians are asking what we should do in the face of such barbaric violence as that which ISIS has meted out against the Yazidis, Shi’a Muslims, Assyrian Christians, Kurds, and those Sunni Muslims whom they regard as kuffār (unbelievers) because they have entered a state of jahiliyya (the reemergence of the ignorance that preceded Islam, this time due to Western influence).

Now, I realize that I’m writing this from an elitist position in a peaceful society far removed from the brutality that has drenched the sands of northern Iraq in innocent blood. I get that. If you believe that I shouldn’t be writing about this situation because my relative comfort will inevitably render the following unrealistic and trite, I’ll understand. It’s not easy to keep emotions in check, to think straight while helplessly viewing images of unspeakable brutality through brimming eyes. I don’t think that anything I write below is easy to do. It certainly isn’t easy for me.

So, what are we supposed do? 

The Contradictory, Convenient, and Self-Serving Impulses in Selective Biblical Literalism — Andrew P. Klager

Cartoon by David Hayward

There’s been a lot of online chatter about Michael Gungor’s recent admission that he doesn’t believe that everything in the Bible—particularly the OT—should be read literally. Here’s my two cents. I don’t claim that this is in any way original or mind-blowing, but it’s important to keep in mind nonetheless. The following is therefore meant as a neatly packaged response to the oft-repeated fear-based chorus lines that Christian fundamentalists have been singing in the face of this ostensible hermeneutical threat.

What I’ve noticed time and again is the accusation that refusing to read everything in the Bible in a literal way marks the beginning of a slippery slope toward denying the central tenets of Christianity: the virgin birth, Christ’s death and resurrection, etc. And this is what makes Gungor’s admission so threatening to them. It may seem like a minor, esoteric anomaly within the confines of the Evangelical world, but to the fundamentalist gatekeepers, admissions like Gungor’s call into question the authority of each and every word between the leather-bound, monogramed covers of their Bibles that many of them have abruptly enthroned at the right hand of the Father in a coup d’état to replace the One who preached the Sermon on the Mount, taught love of enemies, and absorbed our violence instead of fighting back. It’s a big deal to them.

The Convergence of the Past, Present and Future in the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict — Andrew P. Klager

History is important. And I don't think it's just my bias as a historian that compels me to affirm this. The past -- history -- is, however, little more than a collection of memories, of myths and stories. Everything is in the past. Everything. And yet, oddly enough, all we really have is the present, while our actions today are motivated by our recollection of the many yesterdays behind us. These memories, stories, and myths matter. We need to learn about them.

I'm frequently asked for my opinion on the crisis in Gaza and am asked a lot of questions about the mind-boggling escalation of violence in the past couple weeks. And although I probably shouldn't, I also read the cacophony of infuriating public comments at the bottom of news reports on the ongoing violence, many of which are woefully ignorant of the historical backdrop to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict generally and the recent Israeli bombing and ground incursion in Gaza by extension. Except they don't know that it's by extension. And that's the problem.

The past, present, and future converge in the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict like no other on earth -- the past, because of the history that animates this conflict; the future, because of the predictive apocalyptic impulses especially in conservative Evangelical Christianity that myopically affirms and emboldens Israel's every move; and the present, because the decisions and actions today rest on both trajectories simultaneously.

French anthropological philosopher and originator of the Mimetic Theory, René Girard, wrote the following in his book, Battling to the End (2009):

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The Vulnerability that Makes Peace Possible: An Interview with Stanley Hauerwas — Andrew P. Klager

I was privileged enough to chat with Stanley Hauerwas on how our theology impacts our perception of the Other, our political allegiances, and our desired response to our enemies. Nearly every article on Hauerwas mentions that TIME magazine designated him "America's Best Theologian" in 2001, so I guess I'll do the same here. He was also interviewed by Oprah. As the author of a veritable library and known as one of the world's foremost postliberal theologians, he was educated at Yale in a time when George Lindbeck and H. Richard Niebuhr graced its halls. Now the Gilbert T. Rowe Professor of Theological Ethics at Duke Divinity School, Hauerwas is proud of his heritage as a bricklayer's son and frequently makes correlations between his upbringing in the trades and the theological craft. He hates pretention and dislikes when Christians act nice as a way of flaunting their ostensible superiority. But Hauerwas is probably best known for his outspoken pacifism and censure of American Evangelical Christianity's individualism, emphasis on rationalism or "right belief" -- by both fundamentalist and liberal theologians -- and uncritical subsumption of neoliberal impulses and militaristic state priorities.

Hauerwas had a major influence on my theological development. Along with the writings of John Howard Yoder -- Hauerwas' colleague and close friend from their days together at Notre Dame -- I devoured anything he wrote especially during my later undergraduate years, Resident Aliens begin the most formative for me. His works gave me something in the theological realm to be excited about for the first time. I owe a lot to Hauerwas for this major shift and my trajectory since.

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A Farewell to Mars: Brian Zahnd's Timely Send-Off to the God of War in an Age of Religious Violence — Andrew P. Klager

Zahnd, Brian. A Farewell to Mars: An Evangelical Pastor's Journey Toward the Biblical Gospel of Peace. New York: David C. Cook, 2014. ISBN: 978-0781411189

Rarely do books on such timely topics combine the right mix of incisiveness, accessibility, and brilliant analysis in a single literary package, but Brian Zahnd has achieved this elusive synthesis in his most recent offering, A Farewell to Mars: An Evangelical Pastor's Journey Toward the Biblical Gospel of Peace. On the heels of the 70th anniversary of the Normandy landings on D-Day, Zahnd has given us a remarkable overview of Jesus' peaceable kingdom as an alternative to the nationalism, patriotism, and militarism that define the political ethos of his own American homeland, even if it exists to a lesser degree in other countries around the world as well. "What Jesus called evil," Zahnd observes, "are the very things our cultures and societies have honored in countless myths, memorials, and anthems."

Poetic and perceptive, insightful and courageous, it's as though nearly every sentence is a tweet-worthy aphorism with the power to generate life-changing (or at least life-reexamining) cognitive dissonance among his many readers: "We sequester Jesus to a stained-glass quarantine and appropriate a trillion dollars for the war machine," Zahnd laments. Pervading the pages of this thin yet rigorous volume is a careful deconstruction of one of the most ingrained impulses in societies built on the soul-destroying munitions that rouse endless warfare: gratitude toward "our side" -- which is mistakenly equated with "God's side" -- for killing other human beings in order to preserve our so-called "freedom" (read "comfortable, affluent lifestyle"). As Zahnd remarks, "Freedom becomes a euphemism for vanquishing (instead of loving) enemies; truth finds its ultimate form in the will to power (expressed in the willingness to kill). This is a long way from the ideas of peace, love, and forgiveness set forth by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount." Indeed, "If we carefully examine how we use the word freedom," Zahnd challenges us, "it becomes apparent that we use it to sanction our perceived right to pursue happiness in a self-interested fashion."

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Understanding Biblical Violence - An 'Oikonomic Approach' — Andrew P. Klager

When we consider depictions of divine behaviour in the Old and New testaments, quoting a string of verses to support our favoured portrayal of God typically reveals more about the person who enlists these passages than it does about what the Bible actually says. We can all engage in cafeteria hermeneutics—choosing only those verses that appeal to our theological taste buds—but this is missing the forest for the trees. What’s absent, then, is a cohesive interpretive framework for providing at least a bit of consistency. 

And yet, neatly packaged solutions to the inconsistency of divine behaviour in the two testaments fail to enter the struggle and remain there if need be. Why, for example, does God seem to authorize genocide (1 Sam. 15), while also preaching peace, love, mercy, and 70x7-fold forgiveness (Mt. 5)? What is the take-away here, and what are we called to imitate and obey? When we ponder Old Testament prescripts through a Christlike lens, is it ever a happy occasion to smash a baby’s head against the rocks (Ps. 137:9)? Do any of us stone fortunetellers (Lev. 20:27) or think that God has an evil spirit (1 Sam. 18:10)? Was it that “Satan stood up against Israel, and incited David to count the people of Israel” (1 Chr. 21:1) or was “the anger of the LORD … kindled against Israel, [so that] he incited David against them, saying, ‘Go, count the people of Israel and Judah’” (2 Sam. 24:1)? If I’m in a tussle with someone and my wife tries to defend me by grabbing my opponent’s nether regions, should I cut off her hand (Dt. 25:11-12)? Or, am I supposed to gradually learn how to love my enemies, pray for those who persecute me, bless those who curse me, forgive my transgressors 70x7-fold, and refuse to fight back—even heal those who are harmed by others who come to my defense—when I face suffering and the prospect of death, all without a weapon in my hands (Mt. 5:43-48)? None of this is meant to discount Scripture or disrespect it, but it does reveal the need for a more consistent hermeneutical framework to make sense of it.

The Case for 'Pure Religion' — Andrew P. Klager

I used to believe, “It’s not about religion, it’s about relationship.” Yet, we are told in the New Testament, of course, that there is a good and bad type of religion:

“You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness. Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls. But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like. But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing. If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless. Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world” (James 1:19-27).

So, simply hearing (and, presumably, accepting—or cognitively assenting to—what we hear) without doing is not practicing “religion that is pure and undefiled before God.” The doing part is participating in the kingdom of God here and now by caring for orphans and widows (i.e., the marginalized and oppressed, or “the least of these”), but the prerequisite for this doing is being “slow to anger,” ridding “yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness,” and keeping “oneself unstained by the world.” This points to the capacitation for the doing, or the requisite transfiguration that intuitively enables one to participate in the kingdom of God by loving one’s enemies, caring for the oppressed, and giving a voice to the voiceless. We cannot, however, do this difficult “work” on our own, in a sort of stale, imitative style that fights against our fallen nature and resulting passions; we need to instead be gradually transfigured so that such “religion that is pure and undefiled before God” unfolds naturally and intuitively rather than forced and contrived. 

“Religion” that aids this capacitation through transfiguration is pure and requires more than the so-called “freedom” to act apart from so-called “man-made rituals.” In my more Evangelical days, I had no categories for understanding the rhythms of liturgy and daily memorials, rituals, processions, etc. and didn’t respect or trust the 2,000 years of wisdom and experience that produced them, and therefore didn’t see any reason to follow them. Lumping these rhythms in with “bad religion” is to not give them a chance, is to expect the worst of them without legitimately understanding them and without giving them the benefit of the doubt. The “me-and-Jesus” routine is ultimately a manifestation of modern Western individualism to which Evangelicalism has fallen prey and envisages human beings as souls encased in flesh, where the flesh is simply utilitarian (or worse), like a jeep for getting around (or getting in the way).

We are all interconnected corporeal and spiritual beings, the spirit and body both declared “good” by God. In this sense, in a postlapsarian world, we cannot expect that the “freedom” to hear without doing or the freedom to maintain a “me-and-Jesus” relationship will restore the image of God unilaterally or just because we really, really want it. We need to do something to participate in the kingdom of God (as James says above), but we already saw that there’s a problem: How can we be transfigured—or restore the image of God in cooperation with divine grace—to capacitate ourselves for this doing?

As corporeal fallen beings we need similarly physical “rituals” or liturgical rhythms of which we are constantly mindful to cultivate the virtues of humility, compassion, patience, self-control, love, gratitude, obedience, self-denial, etc. So, for example, if we take becoming “slow to anger” from the pericope in James above, we can’t simply try really hard in the depths of our soul to control ourselves, since anger (and all vices) manifests itself through physical contact with the physical world around us and in our own physical expressions of anger. So, the “ritual” of fasting, for example, is an ascetic discipline that—through attentiveness to what I should avoid eating and the resulting self-control—transfers into the “real world” as attentiveness to our own vices/temptations and therefore results in greater self-control; it is a practice drill for the real world, but one that truly transfigures and cultivates the virtues. Again, as corporeal beings, we innately react to and are transfigured by the sight of beauty entering our physical eyes (icons, architecture, symbolism, vestments, lit candles, etc.), the smell of pleasant odors entering our noses (incense, the wood of the iconostasis, beeswax candles, etc.), the sounds of sacred melodies entering our ears (hymns, chanting, bells, etc.), the tactile sensation of various textures on our bodies (kissing icons, touching the vestments of the priest as he passes by with the Eucharistic Gifts, prostrating with your forehead to the ground, the heat of the candle’s flame, etc.), and the taste of appetizing flavours on our tongues (the Eucharist, feasts, breaking the fast, etc.).

All of this combined may look like worthless “religion” to some, but to those of us who enter into it daily (which can’t be explained, but only experienced over time), it is the physical liturgical rhythm that acts on our corporeal selves and senses to catalyze, animate, and give shape to our transfiguration and cultivation of virtues. We may fail at entering meaningfully into the rhythms, keeping the fast exactly (or at all), keeping a prayer rule, etc., but we also fail at life, at having compassion on the marginalized, the poor, the oppressed; the two go hand-in-hand and we try knowing we will fail, though—with God’s grace—we sometimes grow incrementally.

To have the “freedom” to do “whatever I want” (and I’m hyperbolizing here, but mean it more as the rejection of so-called “constraining” rituals or disciplines in favour of a “me-and-Jesus” or “me-and-my-Bible” individualism) breeds the vices that reflect this doing “whatever I want.” To prostrate in prayer every day for years and years, however, instills humility; to wait until the end of a 7-week long fast period has ended to eat that burger you’ve been craving instills patience; to bow and ask forgiveness from a 4-year-old kid on Forgiveness Sunday instills compassion; to pray the prayer of the publican, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner,” thousands and thousands of times in one’s life and to recite every Sunday immediately before receiving the body and blood of Christ, “I believe and I confess that you are truly the Christ, the Son of the living God, who came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the first,” is likewise to instill humility and commensurate compassion, love, and peace—internal and external; to know that I will carry the body and blood of Christ in myself as the Theotokos bore God in her womb without being consumed encourages my cooperation with divine grace through participation in these disciplines that trigger the transfiguration that will allow me to also bear God in myself without being consumed.

As members of an individualistic society, I think we are more prone to—even revel in—shunning “obligations” and “disciplines” (and heaven forbid we bring up the dreaded word, “obedience”!), even the liturgical rhythms that are shared by and therefore profoundly connect the many faithful across the globe. The more negative definition of “religion” that’s become fashionable among low church or free church folks is likely related to moralism, appeasing a wrathful deity, and obligations that immediately condemn us if we don’t follow through in every detail; this is indeed a false religion. But we shouldn’t throw the baby out with the bath water, especially since the ancient forms of Christianity were here first before it became popular among Evangelicals—while completely separate from and with no categories to understand or esteem this liturgical world—to emphasize a “me-and-Jesus” relationship. Instead, we need to resuscitate the word “religion” so that it aligns with the scriptural model of pure religion that James endorses. 

Beyond Arguing about Divine Inconsistency in the Old and New Testaments: An Orthodox Perspective on Union and “Knowing" — Andrew P. Klager

 

The seemingly irreconcilable portrayal of divine violence and retribution in the Old Testament vis-à-vis Jesus’ commandment to love one’s enemies and example of suffering in the New Testament presents a perennial challenge.  This is a complex and multi-layered issue, the various proposed resolutions for which hold serious implications, including the way our perception of God often becomes a justification for our own behaviour—either abusive, brutal and violent or compassionate, gentle and nonviolent. The following, therefore, does not claim to be a comprehensive settlement to placate all sides of the ongoing debate, nor does it present a “silver bullet” solution. Instead, I’ll outline a couple considerations from an Eastern Orthodox perspective that I hope will be helpful to the many who struggle to reconcile the ostensibly divergent portrayals of God in the Holy Scriptures.  Perhaps more importantly, however, I’ll propose a realignment of our priorities that will hopefully help us transcend the many arguments on all sides regarding this issue or other theological issues like it.

First, it’s important to realize that God is revealing himself incrementally throughout the Old Testament, especially from Abraham forward. God cannot and did not inculcate his fullness instantaneously (perhaps a more modern Western binary and forensic understanding of salvation leads to this miscalculation), but he instead had to work with and gradually mold a Mesopotamian polytheistic polygamist tribal leader from Ur who implemented a well defined Semitic tribal legal code that was familiar to his kinsfolk. This is what God had to work with from the beginning, and so the Old Testament is important as a narrative of God revealing himself piecemeal, culminating in his full revelation at the incarnation as the “image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15) in whom “whatever the Father does, the Son does likewise” (Jn. 5:19). Those who hastily accuse proponents of a more ‘Christ-like God’ of neo-Marcionism or nonchalantly throwing out the entire Old Testament might do well to affirm the gradual nature of “narrative” and acknowledge the constraints of breaking into time and space.

Q & A: "God became man so that man might become Gods" — Andrew Klager

Question from Brad Jersak:

If I hear the Early Church Fathers correctly:

The telos of Deity was to become human (a transfigured human by nature) without surrendering his deity.
The telos of humanity was to become divine (a transfigured human by grace) without surrendering our humanity.

Andrew Klager:

“God became man so that man might become gods,” as written by St. Athanasius in the context of the Arian controversy, but also found in several fathers – Sts. Basil of Caesarea and Irenaeus most prominent among them.

There’s a paradox though, and your observation, “without surrendering our humanity,” touches on it: when we consider the kenotic (self-emptying) maneuver of the Logos incarnate, it is precisely our humanity (if embraced properly and attentively) that reveals the extent to which we have “partaken of the divine nature” (2 Pt. 4:1). This is to say, when the pre-existent Logos took on the flesh of the Theotokos, he revealed the divine virtues that are intrinsic to him—humility and love—but that are contextualized in time and space within a postlapsarian world, i.e., translated as mercy in a postlapsarian world that now needs mercy, compassion in a postlapsarian world that now needs compassion, patience in a postlapsarian world that now requires patience, peace in a postlapsarian world that now needs peace, etc. This is co-suffering love, but a love that can only be expressed quintessentially when God and we embrace his and our humanity. 

2 Corinthians 5:21 — Panel discussion with Andrew Klager, Michael Harden and Brad Jersak

2 Cor. 5:21 – Andrew Klager, Michael Hardin, and Brad Jersak

Andrew Klager is an Orthodox historian and theologian who teaches at a number of schools in British Columbia, including the University of the Fraser Valley and Trinity Western University. Among his many other contributions to current scholarship, he offered an article to Stricken by God? Non-violent Atonement and the Victory of Christ (Eerdmans, 2007) entitled “Retaining and Reclaiming the Divine: Identification and the Recapitulation of Peace in St. Irenaeus of Lyons’ Atonement Narrative.” 

Michael Hardin and his wife Lorri—Anabaptist teachers par excellence—lead a ministry called Preaching Peace (www.preachingpeace.org). Hardin is a Girardian scholar who co-edited Stricken by God? and whose seminal work, The Jesus Driven Life, has just been released in an expanded 2^nd edition.

Brad Jersak teaches New Testament and Patristics at Westminster Theological Centre (Cheltenham) and serves as Associate Editor of The Plain Truth and CWR Journal with PTM.org. Brad is also general editor of Clarion.

*    *    *    *    * 

Brad Jersak: I frequently field questions about the meaning of 2 Cor. 5:21, especially from those who, like me, initially inherited a particular penal substitutionary lens through which to read it. The text reads as follows:

²¹ He made Him who knew no sin to be sin on our behalf, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him (NASB).

In the popular Calvinist interpretation, on the Cross, God the Father imputes the sins of the world onto Christ, such that in bearing our guilt, Jesus literally ‘becomes sin,’ or ‘became a curse’ (Gal. 3:13) on our behalf. Since a holy God cannot look on sin, the Father must turn his face away, forsaking his Son and pouring out all the wrath of God against sin upon him. Sin is thus punished in Christ in our place. Thus the wrath and justice of God are satisfied and God can justly forgive all those for whom Jesus died (i.e., the elect, given Calvin’s limited atonement). I believe this is a fair summary of the traditional Reformed position. Indeed, I once held this precise position (as a careful five-point Calvinist) in my MA thesis, “The Nature of Christ’s Suffering and Substitution” (BBC, 1988).

Of course, penal substitution does not offer the only understanding of this passage. The dominant Eastern Orthodox view, for example, holds to a more restorative view of justice and therapeutic vision of the Cross. In that scenario, the Father is seen in Christ (Zech. 12:10)revealing his love and mercy through the Son (1 John 3:16). Rather than satisfying his wrath through punishment, we see God-in-Christ pouring out forgiveness on the world (the whole world) for our salvation.

Compassionate Eschatology: The Future as Friend (eds. Tim Grimsrud and Michael Hardin). Review by Brad Jersak

Compassionate Eschatology is a collection of diverse scholarly essays exploring the relationship of eschatology (‘end times’ theology) and Christ’s teaching on peace and reconciliation. The book gathers writers from across the theological board, including Lutheran, Anabaptist, Orthodox and Catholic traditions to address themes in a sort of peacemakers guide to the apocalypse, divine judgment and the Book of Revelation.

The compilation is unique in that it takes a specifically Girardian approach (i.e. Rene Girard’s mimetic theory) to theology, culture, advocacy and the environment. It features enormous breadth, from Hardin’s study on First Nation prophecy to Barbara Rossing on global warming to Andrew Klager’s recall of Gregory of Nyssa.

The studies on the Book of Revelation were very good summaries of some of the authors’ (notably Grimsrud and Bauckham) previous non-violent treatises on the Apocalypse. While I am sympathetic to Weaver’s Anabaptist interpretation, I don’t know that these expositional chapters were sufficient to break the impasse with previous challenges of objectors (esp. Miroslav Volf).

Nevertheless, the book as a whole certainly did accomplish its objective in reorienting our view of the future towards Christian hope. One essay after another offered an alternative vision to the doomsday gloom of the rapturists’ ‘hell-in-a-handbasket’ escapist fatalism. Divine judgment becomes part of God’s redemptive purposes by which the universe is renewed and Christ’s compassion actually wins the day. Imagine ‘the final day’ as an all-pervasive truth and reconciliation commission where absolutely everything and everyone is put right in the Jesus’ way of restorative justice—where our shrunken dreams of temporal retribution gives way to God’s grand plan to include healing and deliverance, restitution and rehabilitation, redemption and restoration.

“For They Know Not What They Do”: An Epistemology of Obedience, Compassion and Social Responsibility — Andrew P. Klager

I. INTRODUCTION

I am an optimistic theoretical determinist. I also encourage freedom of conscience on a pragmatic level. While avoiding the all too ubiquitous and gratuitous theological discussion surrounding election and free-will, I nevertheless contend that the distinction between determinism and freedom of conscience presents a false dichotomy; the latter is merely a practical extension of the former. This is precisely why I can be both at once. I do not find either Calvinist claims regarding election to be persuasive, nor do I feel the utility or even existence of free-will, as it is commonly understood, to be valid. Mine is not a theological concern, per se, however; it is rather a philosophical matter or an evaluation of reality itself.

The Extent of the Kingdom — Andrew P. Klager

Introduction:

The certainty with which many Christians condemn other religious affiliation is largely unwarranted and incongruent with the gospel message. Specific extra-biblical presuppositions are often invoked in order to substantiate their exclusive claim to the only existing God. Moreover, psychological barriers such as a lust for religious supremacy and the fear of claims that appear to threaten the preeminence of Christianity also discourage sound biblical judgment. Some extra-biblical presuppositions that are employed by Christians in order to mask their insecurity include the belief that God operates within surface human categorical structures such as religious institutions, that the Bible actually contains instances of Christian interaction with current world religions, that all institutionalized religions other than Christianity are in fact Satanic and that orienting oneself toward Christ implies an appropriation of the correct conceptual understanding of who Christ is. Of course, such commonly held extra-biblical presuppositions are not only improbable based on proper biblical exegesis, but are indeed quite silly when issues of semantics and anachronism are addressed.

The aim of this article is to challenge the veracity of the aforementioned extra-biblical presuppositions, while advocating a more appropriate relationship between Christianity and other religions from a biblical perspective. Undoubtedly, this task is enormous and the avenues one could take in order to achieve this end are seemingly infinite.[1] However, this article will be primarily limited to the gospel account presented by Matthew, with intermittent support drawn from other biblical writers. Therefore, this article cannot claim to present a comprehensive response to the extra-biblical presuppositions stated above, but instead acts as the initiation of a more consistent understanding of the interaction between Christianity and other religions for those who otherwise would dismiss anything that resides outside institutionalized Christianity as an irreconcilable abomination. The specificity of this article will, of course, allow the reader to cite certain verses that seemingly contradict my thesis. However, care will be taken to present a hermeneutical approach that will hopefully equip the reader to sufficiently respond to her or his own enquiry. In the end it is hoped that a more compassionate and attentive approach to non-Christian religions is maintained.

Institutionalized Christianity and its Exclusive Claim to the Kingdom of God:

Of course, Jesus did not speak in terms of Christianity or institutionalized religion. This reality must be accounted for if Christians seek to interact honestly with other religions. The central theme of Jesus’ message according to Matthew is the kingdom of God.[2] Its significance is based on Christ as the suffering servant and the social-economic impact of his crucifixion and our participation in it (Lk. 22:24-27; Phil. 1:29; 2 Cor. 4:10-11); social-economic equalization contains an acute impact on morality, peace and justice and is thus the nucleus of God’s salvific plan for humanity.[3] This kingdom is a present reality and not a future supposition, as many Christians assume(Lk. 17:20-21). The kingdom of God is, therefore, a laudable ‘category’ for determining the extent to which one complies with God’s restorative and salvific plan, and is one that negates the relevance of current religious institutions. It is thus prudent to determine the boundaries of the kingdom of God and to decipher how far these boundaries extend beyond the restrictions of institutionalized Christianity. Not only is the kingdom of God disassociated with current religious structures in that kingdom expectations can indeed be met within religions other than Christianity, but these same kingdom expectations can also, sometimes to a large extent, be met within identifiable moral demographics (i.e. homosexuals, fornicators, divorcees, adulterers, murderers, thieves, etc.).[4] This may seem confusing since kingdom expectations denote a compliance with certain moral standards both social-economic and individual.[5] However, to place those who fully comply with kingdom expectations within the boundaries of the kingdom of God, and those who don’t outside these boundaries is impractical and unrealistic. The pertinent question, therefore, requires a verification of the extent to which one complies with kingdom expectations not simply whether one does or does not comply. Consequently, a murderer may participate with Christ in ushering in the kingdom of God through other means.

It is important to recognize that early evangelism had to contend with personal mystery religions that often encouraged sexual promiscuity and self-mutilation in its religious rites and mythological reenactments during sacred festivals. Societal moral corruption was condemned by Paul (Rom. 1:18-32); his list of ‘all manner of wickedness’ reflects the brutality of the first century in Rome, which included gladiatorial contests and execution by crucifixion. “Social organization contributed to the debasing of morality. Slavery gave occasion for cruelty and sexual license.”[6] It appears, then, that the social-economic variance against which Christ preached resulted in additional behaviour that was contrary to the kingdom initiatives that Christ embodied. Even the hedonism of Epicureanism and the natural authority in Stoicism is contrary to the kingdom of God (Acts 17:17-21). However, Paul reminds his audience that God, “is not far from each one of us” (Acts 17:27). Generally speaking, current world religions have much more in common with the gospel represented in the kingdom of God than the pagan religions of the first century. And, although disclosing the authority of Christ’s message of peace and social justice to others is indeed warranted, it is equally sagacious to recognize the extent to which the kingdom of God is manifested in people of other faiths.

It is important to acknowledge that Jesus called those who sought to comply with his kingdom expectations ‘sons of the kingdom’ (Mt. 13:38), as he did in the Parable of the Weeds, or ‘sons of the Father’ (Mt. 5:45), as he did in the section of the Sermon on the Mount concerning love for one’s enemies. The contrast Jesus makes is with the Pharisaic life of hypocrisy; the emphasis is on practice since Jesus acknowledged that, “The Scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat, so practice and observe whatever they tell you, but not what they do; for they preach but do not practice” (Mt. 23:2-3). These are the ‘categories’ within which Jesus operated: (1) ‘sons of the kingdom’ and (2) those who do not seek to practice kingdom initiatives represented in Christ’s social-economic message. Throughout the forthcoming description of the kingdom of God and those who participate in it, it is essential to recognize who among us, regardless of religious affiliation, participates in these kingdom initiatives and to what extent. It is a question of the extent to which one receives salvation outside institutionalized Christianity, and is therefore not an ecclesiological matter; the church is unique in that it has identified its authority in the actions of Christ, but this is not the determining soteriological factor (at least for partial salvation). However, this esoteric knowledge may aid one in deciphering how to participate with Christ in God’s salvific restoration of his creation, but is dependent on a correct emphasis and evaluation of Christ’s message. Ostensibly, Christians maintain an advantage over those who have not identified Christ’s actions as the decisive authority; however, often those outside institutionalized Christianity unwittingly participate with Christ in his kingdom initiatives to a greater extent than those within. The goal of social-economic equality and moral observance thus becomes the soteriological criterion.

Jesus’ ministry began after his temptation in the wilderness by imploring his audience to, “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand” (Mt. 4:17). Despite the often moral connotations associated with the word ‘repent’, it merely means to change your mind. Jesus was asking his audience to reorient themselves to the kingdom expectations represented in God’s initial creation. The example of the Pharisees’ question regarding divorce demonstrates how concessions were made in the Mosaic Law for actions that are contrary to the kingdom of God due to the difficult epistemological situation in which fallen humanity found itself. However, Jesus desired to align his audience with God’s plan to restore the kingdom expectations that existed, “from the beginning” (Mt. 19:3-9), and in essence circumvent previous concessions. God acknowledges that humanity is made in his image (Gen. 1:27) and that the true light (Christ) enlightens every human (Jn. 1:9). Therefore, despite presently held human categories (Muslim, Buddhist, murderer, homosexual, etc), Jesus is concerned only to identify the extent to which humanity demonstrates kingdom expectations.[7] After Jesus healed a blind mute, the Pharisees accused him of diabolic schemes. But Jesus observed that every kingdom divided against itself is laid to waste (Mt. 12:25), in essence implying that those who demonstrate kingdom expectations participate with Christ and do not act against him regardless of the human categories we may use today (Mt. 12:30). To the extent that a person does good (practices and encourages social-economic equality and Yahwehist individual morality), his heart is aligned with the kingdom of God (Mt. 12:35). The indicator of precisely who participates with Christ is fruits (Mt. 3:8; 7:15-20; 12:33; 21:33-46). For Jesus asserts that, “A sound tree cannot bear evil fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit” (Mt. 7: 18). Consequently, the question is not whether or not someone is in the kingdom of God, but to what extent does one participate in the kingdom of God. Everyone sins (both socially and individually), but all humanity also bears good fruit to one extent or another, Buddhists and murderers included. The essential kingdom element, and it is indeed a social-economic one, is love: “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him” (1 Jn. 4:16). In a much broader sense, Matthew identifies precisely who participates with him in kingdom work: “Whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother, and sister, and mother” (Mt. 12:50). To the extent that a person is doing good (whether social-economically or individually), and thus aligning herself or himself with the will of the Father, she or he is participating with Christ in ushering in the kingdom of God.

The Centrality of Christ as Practical Participation Rather than Noetic Awareness:

The claim of the centrality of Christ is at the heart of institutionalized Christianity’s exclusivity. However, the centrality of Christ is only exclusive to Christianity when interpreted as a noetic or intellectual awareness, or when presupposing that the utterance of Jesus’ name functions as a semantic séance, so to speak. The invocation of Jesus’ name should instead be associated with its underlying message rather than with the word itself. The semantics of Jesus’ name should not be limited merely to his personhood, but should encompass his message; the former serves no real purpose if detached form the latter. Therefore, the centrality of Christ is exclusive only to the extent that his social-economic and practical message is exclusive, a message that everyone participates in to some extent either consciously or unwittingly.

The limited significance in acknowledging who Christ is and in stating his name in order to receive some salvation is exhibited in many places. Demons recognize Jesus as the Son of God (Mt. 8:29) and the Holy One of God (Lk. 4:34). Even people who seem to be secure in their faith, and who acknowledge Jesus by name are surprised to find themselves on the outside (Lk. 13:25). Jesus provides this unambiguous caveat: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of [God], but he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you evildoers’” (Mt. 7:21-23). Notice that the invocation of Jesus’ name did not secure entrance into the kingdom of God, especially since their works had little to do directly with the social-economic ministry of Christ.[8] The ‘evildoers’ undoubtedly ignored Jesus’ social-economic message and example, for Jesus declared elsewhere that, “it is enough for the disciple to be like his teacher, and the servant like his master” (Mt. 10:25); it is not uncommon for those who do not know who Christ is, like those described above, to nevertheless be like him. Here, however, one must ask what the will of the Father is. Jesus provides the above warning after teaching his disciples how to pray; this prayer asks the Father to let his will be done on earth as it is in heaven, and proceeds to delineate the social-economic elements of the Father’s will (bread or provision for survival, elimination of monetary debt, forgiveness) (Mt. 6:9:15). Additionally, this warning is given immediately after Jesus asserts that, “You will know them (false prophets in this case) by their fruits” (Mt. 7:16). Based on the context, therefore, the will of the Father is to produce social-economic fruits that are intrinsic to the kingdom of God. Since Christians can agree that only one God truly exists, no other non-existent God can actually be worshipped and obeyed. Certain conceptual authorities that lie within other religions can indeed encourage a corresponding behaviour that is in some respects different than the message of Christ and in some ways congruent with it. This discussion on the will of the Father seems to indicate that one worships the one truly existing God to the extent that she or he participates in his kingdom initiatives. Regardless of religious affiliation, everyone either consciously or unwittingly worships the only truly existing God to the extent that their concept of God and corresponding behavioural expectations replicate the essence, expectations and actions of the only existing God (and let’s face it, the common Christian conception of God is largely incongruent with the God of peace and social justice in the Bible, while his essence is blasphemously reduced to a spectacle of derisory analysis).

However, acknowledging who Jesus is will identify precisely, at least theoretically, what the kingdom of God looks like and how one is able to participate with him in it. If one is able to confess Jesus Christ as Lord, this person has affirmed the credibility of Jesus’ message, while the precise nature of the kingdom he embodies is identified. When the inquirer asked Jesus what good deed he must do in order to have eternal life, Jesus equates himself (his personhood) and his ministry with the commandments and the social-economic consciousness in selling everything and giving to the poor (Mt. 19:17).[9] To identify Jesus, therefore, implies the identification with his social-economic ministry and the kingdom expectations he embodies. Simply put, those who are aware of who Christ is, are theoretically better equipped to participate with him in his kingdom initiatives. Because salvation is ultimately teleological,[10] soteriological fullness is unlikely unless one is aware of the nature and requirements of the kingdom of God which Christ embodies. It is important to thus recognize that no one has received full ontological salvation; since the extent to which one participates in kingdom initiatives is the defining soteriological factor, whether or not one resides within institutionalized Christianity, everyone must allow the mystery of God’s judgment to loom over them. This is precisely where the possibility of posthumous salvation makes its entrance. Regardless, this does not mean that those who are unaware of the centrality of Christ in the kingdom of God cannot unwittingly receive some salvation to the extent that they are practicing kingdom expectations. Indeed, to align oneself with the humility and social subservience of Christ is to become the greatest in the kingdom of God (Mt. 18:4), which must imply the existence of a least in the kingdom who are those who perhaps do not comply with kingdom expectations to this more precise extent.

It is important when considering the correct hermeneutical approach to identify what biblical teaching can fit into or comply with another seemingly competing principle. When Jesus declared that unless one’s righteousness exceeds that of the scribes, she or he will never enter the kingdom of God (Mt. 5:20), and many other such practical warnings, the behaviour that warrants exclusion is quite evident as are the pragmatic social-economic requirements. However, no soteriologically significant exclusive statement exists with respect to confessing who Jesus Christ is. To be sure Scripture does declare that, “If you confess with lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved” (Rom. 9:10). This statement is indeed true, but it does not indicate the status of those who do not make this confession, although many Christians footnote this verse and many like them in order to make it imply otherwise. This statement, and others like it, reveals the soteriological advantage and intentions of those who affirm the authority of Christ; considering the teleological nature of full salvation, this verse is merely stating something true and nothing more. This article has sought to propose the role of those who have not confessed Jesus Christ as Lord. Even passages that may seem overtly exclusive such as Jn 14:7, appear to function as such only if understood within a noetic dichotomy rather than a social dichotomy where all humanity can participate in kingdom initiatives without the knowledge of who Christ is. The rejection of Jesus is intimately linked to his sayings (Jn. 12:48). As demonstrated above, identifying Christ implies an identification with his social-economic message not merely with the concept of who Christ is. Therefore, that which is unique about Christ, namely his kingdom initiatives, directs one to the Father. Indeed, all that Christ represents is appreciated by many outside institutionalized Christianity and often by few from within, while the origin of his vision is frequently ignored. Regardless, sons of the kingdom do, “not love in word or speech, but in deed and in truth” (1John 3:18).

It is additionally likely that Jesus is merely making a definitive statement concerning his divinity. In this fashion Jesus is maintaining a sense of credibility for his message of social-economic equality. Without acknowledging who Christ indeed is, it is improbable that one would want to follow his teachings. The reality that Jesus is the Son of God and that he can produce social change through healing demonstrates that his social-economic initiatives and teachings are credible, while it also directs his audience to the perfection of the Father who sent him (Mt. 8:15; 11:2-6; 21:23-27). If salvation is ultimately teleological, one would theoretically be unable to receive full salvation unless she or he first acknowledged the credibility of Christ’s message and participated in the kingdom initiatives identified therein. Therefore, at least some salvation can be affirmed in those who unwittingly comply with some kingdom expectations that perhaps may have been derived from a separate, albeit partially Christ-like, authoritative source. Ultimately the centrality of the person and name of Christ is experienced by all people regardless of what human labels one uses to categorize those outside institutionalized Christianity; indeed, to the extent that one shares in Jesus’ name, Emmanuel, which means ‘God with us’ (Mt. 1:23), and to the extent that one participates in the social-economic and Yahwesist individual moral kingdom initiatives that were embodied by Christ while he was with us, that person receives and distributes God’s salvific restoration.

Footnotes:

1. Some issues that are pertinent to the subject matter of this article, but will not be directly addressed in the space permitted are: the nature of Restorationist Theology and the improbability of impending eternal torment; the possibility of posthumous salvation and its complimentary role in the progressive ontological view of salvation; God’s ability to act and get what he actually wants and its soteriological implications; the extent of God’s love and unconditional grace as actually unconditional; the restorative perspective of justice in opposition to the retributive view.

2. Matthew uses the phrase ‘kingdom of heaven’ instead of ‘kingdom of God’ because he wanted to avoid using the tetragrammaton, which was offensive to his Jewish audience. However, I will be using the more common phrase ‘kingdom of God’ since the alternative has popular inappropriate eschatological and ‘other-worldly’ implications.

3. For a more comprehensive look at the social-economic and thus salvific implications of the cross and Christ’s follower’s participation in it, see: Yoder, John Howard, The Politics of Jesus (Grand Rapids: W.B. Eerdmans Publishing, 1994), 94-97. Elsewhere, Yoder poignantly observes, “In none of the accounts where the word is reported does Jesus reprimand his disciples for expecting him to establish some new social order, as he would have had to do if the thesis of the only spiritual world were to prevail. He rather reprimands them for having misunderstood the character of that new social order which he does intend to set up. The novelty of its character is not that it is social, or not visible, but that it is marked by an alternative to accepted patterns of leadership. The alterative to how the kings of the earth rule is not ‘spirituality’ but servanthood (38-39)”

4. It is noteworthy that Jesus only directly addresses issues of individual morality once (Mt. 15:1-20). This is not surprising since his ministry was concerned primarily (almost exclusively) with social-economic matters and not matters of individual ethics. He also addresses these issues of morality listed in Mt. 15:19 in the Sermon on the Mount (Mt. 5:21:48), but only to indicate the extent to which kingdom expectations surpass yet compliment Yahwehist concerns from the Old Testament. Adultery is addressed one more time in Mt. 19:3-9. Other than in the Sermon on the Mount when Jesus’ main concern was exposing the new perspective on commonly held Yahwehist expectations, all of Jesus’ interaction with individual moral matters was initiated by external enquiries either by the Pharisees or his disciples. Individual moral matters, therefore, were not Jesus’ main concern, especially in light of the infrequency of these discussions. Moreover, Jesus seems to use these few opportunities when individual moral matters do arise to illuminate the purpose of the kingdom of God to recapture the initial social/moral expectations before the fall of humanity, and highlight God’s concessions on moral issues in the Old Testament in the recognition of humanity’s difficult epistemological situation after the fall.

5. Individual morality was addressed by Yahweh mainly in the Old Testament; this morality was implicitly social-economic, but the context and primitivism of Yahwehism did not warrant such issues to arise explicitly. The adoption of a people by Yahweh meant that his chosen people needed to be progressively taught about kingdom expectations through largely negative commandments in order for Yahweh’s people to decipher what sin is and, therefore, what not to do. Some concessions, of course, were made to accommodate their primitive understanding of the kingdom of God. This can account for a lot of the dissimilarities between Old and New Testament teachings. Jesus’ social-economic teachings introduced the need for affirmative action that complimented the negative commandments of the Old Testament. While both teachings are necessary for full participation in the kingdom of God, Jesus’ ministry clearly emphasizes the social-economic elements.

6.  Fergusson, Everett, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: W.B. Eerdmans Publsihing, 2003), 69.

7. It is assumed that the reader will recognize that to murder or practice homosexual behaviour demonstrates a deficiency in participating in kingdom initiatives, but that these people can and do participate with Christ in other ways.

8. This is to say that one could theoretically prophesy, cast out demons and perform many mighty works without having any social-economic or individual moral impact; this is not to say, therefore, that prophesying, casting out demons and performing mighty works could not have a social-economic impact. In this case, no social-economic or moral contribution seems to have been made especially when considering that Jesus labelled them as ‘evildoers’.

9. It is noteworthy that Jesus here unequivocally associates salvation with the commandments and his social-economic kingdom expectations. There is no mention of grace or faith as it is commonly understood among many Christians today. Perhaps more effort should be made to ensure hermeneutical integrity, and therefore understand works when mentioned in a negative light as those specifically from the law as Paul indicates in Rom. 3:28, and more importantly those that are accompanied by honour and pride (Mt. 23:2-7, 23). Instead, the ‘works’ or deeds Jesus requires for entrance into the kingdom of God is intrinsic to this entrance itself. One cannot enter the kingdom unless she or he participates with Christ in the kingdom initiatives; this participation is precisely the entrance itself. However, the works Jesus requires are those that directly oppose the works of the law when accompanied by honour and pride; Jesus requires his disciples to suffer under the harsh social-economic conditions and to avoid conduct that encourages and produces these harsh conditions. In addition, Jesus requires his disciples to endure the political ramifications of taking up his cross. These works are never condemned in Scripture, and are indeed encouraged incessantly by Jesus as they are here.

10. Also, In the Parable of the Seeds the seeds that fell on good soil interestingly yielded varying quantities of grain, “some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty” (Mt. 13:8). The mention of a hundredfold is mirrored in Jesus’ address to his disciples after the rich man refused to sell everything he had. A progression through the negative Yahwehist commandments is described, but the inquirer is still lacking affirmative social-economic action; to this Jesus replies, “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me” (Mt. 19:21). The rich man’s response can be interpreted a few ways, but what is important here is the association that Jesus makes between a social-economic self-denying attitude and receiving a hundredfold. The crown of the progression in the discussion with the rich man is the same as the crown of the progression in quantities of grain yielded by the seeds on the good soil. Salvation, therefore, seems to be teleological in that true salvation is equated with full participation in ultimate social-economic restoration.

Andrew Klager is a theologian from Abbotsford, BC.