Monday, July 13, 2020

Kill 'Em All: Wrestling with Jesus and Old Testament Genocide



There are several hangups people tend to have with Christian faith–fun topics like hell, sexual ethics, faith and science, exclusive divine claims, and making sense of the Bible. The very mention of some of these topics at the dinner table can quicken people’s pulses. But an issue that consistently makes the list and is also a quandary for Christians is divinely sanctioned violence and genocide in the Old Testament (OT). Not long ago, my church went through a Deuteronomy Bible study, and the total eradication of the Canaanites is a repeated theme in the book. The defeat of kings Sihon and Og in 2:24-3:11 included the annihilation of all the “men, women, and children” in their towns (2:34; 3:6). Total destruction is commanded multiple times for future battles as well (see 7:2, 16; 20:16-18; 25:17-19). Greg Boyd in his book Cross Vision: How the Crucifixion of Jesus Makes Sense of Old Testament Violence, says that commands for total annihilation of a people group are given thirty-seven times in the OT (p. 9). There also are multiple commands concerning putting individuals to death for certain infractions: idolatry (see chapter 13 and 17:2-7), murder (19:11-13), dishonoring parents (21:18-21), sexual violations (22:20-27), and kidnapping and selling people into slavery (24:7).


Prominent atheist Richard Dawkins says in his book The God Delusion that the Bible encourages “a system of morals which any civilized modern person, whether religious or not, would find–I can put it no more gently–obnoxious” (p. 268). He goes on to bewail some of the more repulsive episodes in Scripture–from commands about slavery, the oppression of women, stoning people for disobedience, seeming child abuse in the offering up of Isaac, the seeming sadism in the Father willing the Son to give up his life as a sacrifice, and God commanding the wiping out of entire people groups in the conquest narratives. Theologian Miroslav Volf in A Public Faith quotes another atheist, Sam Harris, who writes in his book The End of Faith that the Bible contains “mountains of life-destroying gibberish,” and Volf summarizes him as saying that “[w]hen Christians take the Bible as their final authority, […] they act in violent, oppressive, life-destroying ways that undermine the common good” (p. 18). Dawkins, Harris, and others contend that if we really get our morals from the Bible, we would turn into incredibly savage people. 


Of course, most Christians either ignore or interpret those passages in a way that does not condone such violence. When’s the last time anyone heard a sermon telling people to go stone children who dishonor their parents? When’s the last time you heard a preacher call for a holy genocide? Folks like Dawkins and Harris grant that modern Christians don’t teach such things, but they further contend that taking such an approach pushes against the traditional Christian teaching on biblical inspiration. If you don’t interpret those passages in a straightforward way, can you sensibly believe the Bible is inspired by God? Either you believe the Bible is God’s inspired word and have a mass-murderer morality, or you throw biblical authority and inspiration out the window in order to be a good person, but the notion of the Bible serving as an authority or a revelation from God doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on. Either way, Christians seem caught in a bind, forced into a contradiction of claims concerning their religion.


Dawkins and others raise excellent questions. Is there a reasonable way out from this conundrum? Can you believe genocide passages are God’s inspired word while also believing God would not want us to perform such actions today and be consistent? What do passages commanding divinely sanctioned violence mean as God’s word to us today?


A Christian View of the Old Testament


To begin, let's look at how Christians interpret the OT. One assumption behind the critique of Dawkins and others is that to believe in biblical inspiration, one must believe believe all parts of Scripture are equally authoritative. While Christians do believe all of Scripture is inspired by God, we do not believe all parts are weighted equally or serve the same function. A passage about putting adulterers to death (Leviticus 20:10; Deuteronomy 22:22) is not as authoritative as Jesus showing mercy to an adulterer and calling her go and leave behind her sins (John 8:1-11). Why? Christians believe that Jesus is the fullest revelation of God (John 10:30; Col. 1:19-20), and that the key to knowing God, understanding his will, and interpreting anything in Scripture, especially in the OT, is through the lens of Jesus and the Spirit. In light of Jesus being revealed in the New Testament (NT), Christians consider the NT more authoritative and binding than the OT, and contend that the OT has to be interpreted in light of God’s fullest revelation in Jesus. The function of the OT is primarily to prepare the way for and point us to Christ.


We see this notion at work in how Jesus and the early church interpret the OT. According to Jesus’ words in Matthew 5:17-20, he came not to abolish OT Law, but to fulfill it. This makes the idea of fulfillment a tool Christians might employ in interpreting OT passages. We can understand Jesus as bringing to fulfillment an idea or purpose an OT passage introduces. Once something is fulfilled by Christ, it may not be binding in the same way anymore for those who trust in Christ. Paul gets at a similar notion in Colossians 2:16-17 when he talks of OT food laws, festivals, and Sabbath as foreshadowings of the reality which is to be found in Christ. This once again is fulfillment language–a concept or practice gets introduced in the OT, but it finds its true fulfillment and perfection in Christ, which means those passages and concepts from the OT aren't applicable in the same way anymore. In Luke 24:25-27, as Jesus speaks incognito to his companions, he tells them that the OT points to his own suffering and glory (see also John 1:45; 5:39-47). Peter makes a similar point in 1 Peter 1:10-12 that God's Spirit was working in the biblical prophets to predict the sufferings and glory of Christ. In John 5:39-40, Jesus says in a conversation with Jewish leaders that they think they have eternal life by studying the Scriptures (the OT), and he says those Scriptures testify about him, yet the leaders refuse to come to him for life. Another picture is Revelation 5, where there is a scroll with writing on both sides that is sealed with seven seals, and no one can open it. Then, an angel tells John not to fret, because the Lion of the tribe of Judah can open it, and then John sees a Lamb looking as though it had been slain. The Lamb takes the scroll and is worshipped, and then in the following chapters starts undoing the seals. One way (though not the only way) to interpret this vision is that Jesus, who is simultaneously the slain Lamb and the powerful Lion, is the key to understanding God’s revealed will in the Scriptures, symbolized by the scroll. These passages see the OT as foreshadowing and preparing the way for Jesus' life, death, and resurrection. 


In one of the fullest reflections we get on this subject in the NT, Paul in Galatians 3:15-25 says the law (OT) was like a guardian or tutor God’s people were under temporarily, intended to lock everyone up under sin until Christ came and people could be saved by faith in him and his grace. While we’d all love for Paul to expound further on the specifics and how all this fits together, he does reveal a sense of progressive revelation, that the OT law was not God’s full revelation or his final plan of salvation, but was temporary and forward-leaning in nature, preparing the way for Christ. You also see Jesus cancel or modify parts of OT teaching. Jesus isn't afraid to correct some aspects of OT teaching. He cancels the OT “eye for an eye” principle (Ex. 21:23-25) and calls us to love, forgive, and pray for our enemies, while simultaneously making more stringent commands relating to murder (Ex. 20:13) and adultery (Ex. 20:14) in Matthew 5. Jesus considered himself to be revealing a more complete and better covenant than the former law, and he wasn't afraid to correct or intensify it in certain ways.


There’s more that could be said here, but I hope you see I'm not blowing smoke when it comes to how Jesus and the early church interpreted the OT. They saw Jesus as the center of the Scriptures, the key to interpreting the Bible and understanding God. There is a sense of progressive revelation going on until the coming of Jesus–the OT prepares us for and points us to Christ, but it is not the full revelation of God and doesn't always carry the same weight of authority as the NT. This does not mean the OT isn't inspired by God, but rather it means parts of the OT play a different role when we interpret them in light of the NT and the coming of Christ. If anything in the OT is contradictory to the teaching of Christ, the apostles, and their close associates who authored the NT, we must interpret those OT commands differently and discern how that passage might point to Christ, while the NT commands are most authoritative and binding for Christian life and practice today.


A key question is why would God not reveal all of himself immediately? Why did God selectively reveal his will over centuries instead of sending Christ immediately after humanity fell? While we’re peering into a mystery here, one possible reason is that God wanted to reveal to us just how incapable and weak we are apart from the fullness of his grace accomplishing salvation for us. Lest we think we could be good or save ourselves apart from a unilateral work by God, the OT serves as a painful but powerful reminder of how nasty sin is and how it enslaves us (Romans 7:13-14), of how imprisoned we are by sin and evil apart from God’s full rescue in Christ (Galatians 3:22). Paul, as he concludes a section of his argument in reflecting on God's work and faithfulness to Israel, says in Romans 11:32 that God has bound everyone over to disobedience in order that he may have mercy on us all. This gets at the notion that Luther lifted up from Paul (and it’s present in Deuteronomy 31 as well)–Luther taught the second function of the OT Law is to condemn us as sinners and drive us toward Christ our Savior. The OT reveals to us how bound we are by the power of sin and evil and prepares the way for a greater work of salvation in Jesus. Through it we gain a deeper perspective into our own flaws, but also a greater appreciation for Christ and a sense of our need for Christ and the Spirit.


Some Observations on Genocide in the Larger Framework of the OT


Let’s briefly make some observations on the genocide passages within the larger framework of the OT, and then turn to look at how the NT either enriches or changes these passages.


God Is a God of Judgment–One of the primary things we can learn from these passages is that God is a God of judgment, who is disturbed, wounded, and angered by our sins. Our sins are deserving of death, and God has rights over life and death. Some of the reasons listed in the OT for why God drove out the inhabitants of Canaan can be found in passages like Deuteronomy 18:9-14, which lists out some of the practices of the people. They would sacrifice their children in fires as offerings to the gods and would listen to sorcerers, psychics, and necromancers. Leviticus 18 also lists out a host of sexual sins that were practiced by some of the Canaanite people, along with another mention of child sacrifice. So we’re not talking about societies that walked old ladies across the street and were deeply life-affirming, kind, and generous. Worshipping false gods isn’t just a matter of making God upset, but it has direct consequences on how we treat others. If we fail to worship the one true God and commit idolatry, the way we treat others will fall out of sorts as well. God takes the lead in decreeing judgment and is the primary fighter and giver of victory. In fact, a lot of the victories Israel wins are miraculous, because they weren’t a trained army or a bunch of professional mercenaries. These were people who were delivered from slavery in Egypt and had wandered in the desert for 40 years before undertaking the conquest at God’s leading. God's miraculous ability to give victory against frightful odds is on display in these passages.


There Is Mercy Even Toward Canaanites–In the book of Joshua, God commands mercy for Rahab, the Gibeonites, and sojourners who ostensibly could have been Canaanites–apparently God’s holy war wasn’t waged on the basis of ethnicity, but rather on the basis of whether people accepted or refused to find shelter under the wings of Yahweh. You also see that God’s plan has always been to bless all people and to reach the world–he tells Abraham all nations of the world will be blessed through him in Genesis 12. There are many passages in the Law that are about caring for the sojourner in your midst, the foreigner who lives with you. And sojourners were always welcome to worship Yahweh and to become devoted to Yahweh. So the wrath of God can’t be said to be racial in motivation or about ethnic cleansing–God loves all people and has always welcomed all people who were willing to be in relationship with him.


Exaggerated Victory Language–Ancient near eastern military documents typically exaggerated their claims of victory and their accomplishments in battle. Kings in the ancient near east used to claim that they killed every single person in the land, then later would talk about how much tribute the presumably dead group of people then had to pay. Hint: people who have been totally obliterated can’t pay tribute. It was inflated, trumped up language that exalted in victory, even if all of the people weren’t literally killed (see Dr. Lawson Stone, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGVn1gaSsAsn ). We see hints that a similar notion might be at work in the total destruction passages in the OT. For instance, Joshua 10:20 says that the Israelites “[struck the Amorites] with a great blow until they were wiped out,” and in the very next breath talks about the remnant that fled into fortified cities. I thought they were wiped out, but then they’re hiding in cities? You see this in Deuteronomy 7:1-5, in which Moses commands the Israelites to “devote [some of the native inhabitants] to complete destruction” in verse 2, and then goes on further to command them not to intermarry with them. Why would they even have the chance to intermarry if they are devoted to complete destruction? In 1 Samuel 15, Saul is said to have eradicated totally the Amalekites, but they pop up later in 1 Samuel 27 when David makes raids against them, and again in 1 Samuel 30 when they raid David’s city of Ziklag when he was living among the Philistines. Another example is a people group known as the Anakim. In Joshua 11:21-22, it says that Joshua totally destroyed the Anakim who were in the promised land and in the hill country around the city of Hebron. The text says only in the territories of Gath, Gaza, and Ashdod–Philistine territory–did some Anakim remain. Later, however, Joshua 14:12 and Judges 1:20 tell of Caleb asking Joshua permission to take possession of the hill country and to drive out the Anakim who are there. But wait, didn’t Joshua totally destroy them from the hill country earlier in chapter 11? Moses totally destroyed the Midianites according to Numbers 31, and yet they pop up again to oppress the people of Israel in Judges 6. There are other examples of “totally destroyed” people groups who reappear in Scripture. It’s possible the original audience would have understood those passages not to be talking about literal, total annihilation, but that it was commonplace to use hyperbolic, exaggerated language concerning victories (see Scott Risley, http://bibleteachings.org/what-does-it-mean-to-utterly-destroy-the-canaanites/ for more). With these passages in mind, the total destruction commands may not actually refer total destruction, but could be inflated military language that was common in the ancient near east at that time.


How Do Jesus and the NT Inform How We Interpret These Passages?


Jesus Bears the Curse of Death for Us–While some of the prohibitions in the OT are still considered sinful in the NT, the punishment of death has fallen away. Jesus does not stone the woman caught in adultery, even though Lev. 20:10 and Deut. 22:22 command it. Why? Through Christ bearing the curse of the law, namely death and an experience of exile, for us (Galatians 3:10-14). Jesus fulfilled the death penalty by dying for us, in our place, for our sins. This creates space for God to be both just in condemning sin in one place in Christ, and yet also making a way for God to show great grace and love for those who repent of their sins and throw themselves at the feet of God's mercy. That’s in part why you see no commands to stone or kill someone in the NT. The highest form of discipline in the NT seems to be excommunication.


Non-Violence and Spiritual Warfare–Jesus was undeniably non-violent toward people throughout his life. If there is a place for violence against other humans in the New Testament, you might be able to argue for it from Romans 13, with the constraints that someone is part of an official government position designed to reward what is good and halt evil, though that matter is disputed within the church. Otherwise, there is no divinely sanctioned violence against other human beings present in the NT. We do see a move from eye for an eye thinking into the call to love our enemies in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:38-48). We see Jesus call peacemakers blessed children of God in the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:9). We see Peter telling us to follow the example of Christ when suffering unjust treatment in 1 Peter 2 and 3 by entrusting ourselves to him who judges justly, and to imitate Christ and show his love even to the people who would harm us. We have Paul telling us in Romans 12 to bless those who persecute us and not to repay anyone evil for evil, but to overcome evil with good. When it comes to following Jesus and having a Jesus-centered faith, becoming more devout and zealous about our religion should not make us more violent, but more peaceful. Becoming more devoted to Christ should, in the words of James 1:19, make us more quick to listen, slow to anger, and slow to speak. It should make us more full of the fruit of the Holy Spirit, which is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. It helps us believe in and work for justice without having to insist on our own way or eradicate those with whom we disagree. It helps us hold together grace, love, and tenderness alongside a deep longing for justice, truth-telling, and things being made right. 


There is a place, however, for spiritual warfare in the NT. This gives us a hint that one way we can interpret violent OT passages is to spiritualize them and use them in reference to spiritual conflict. Jesus casts out many demons in the Gospels and gives a teaching about “binding the strong man” in Mark 3:20-30 and its parallels, implying that Jesus is stronger than Satan and came to drive him out. In Ephesians 6:10-20, Paul mentions that we are in a struggle against spiritual forces of evil and darkness, and therefore we need to be equipped with God’s armor and be ready to wage spiritual war. In 2 Corinthians  2:5-11, Paul urges the Corinthians to forgive an offender and to be on guard against the devil’s schemes, one of which apparently is to harbor unforgiveness and grudges. Later in 2 Corinthians 10:3-6, Paul says that though we live in this world, we do not wage war as the world does, but rather the weapons we fight with are not of this world. They are weapons of divine power that can take down arguments against Jesus in order to make every thought captive to Christ. The Apostle John says in 1 John 3:8 that the reason Jesus appeared was to destroy the works of the devil. The NT portrays the world and the church as caught up in a cosmic battle waged by spiritual forces seen and unseen. Suffice it to say there is a spiritualizing move when it comes to violence and warfare language in the NT. This illuminates one way we can focus our rage and violent energy. It isn't to be directed against human beings, but against powers, principalities, and the forces of darkness.


God Still Expresses Divine Violence in the NT– Divine violence and the judgment of God does not disappear in the NT. All throughout, from the Gospels to Paul to Peter to John, they affirm that Jesus will return to judge the whole world and exact justice. John sees a vision of this in Revelation 19-20, where Jesus as the Rider on a White Horse comes to wage war against all that is opposed to God, and you also see the great white throne of judgment, where God definitively decides the fate of the whole world. Also, the judgment of God is still active in the present age as well–its not all stored up until Jesus comes back. God strikes Ananias and Saphira dead in Acts 5:1-11 because they lied about how much they were giving to the church and kept back part of the money for themselves. In Acts 12:20-23, King Herod Agrippa I is struck down by the angel of the Lord when he is giving a speech because people started calling him a god and not a man, and he wouldn’t give glory to God. The text says “he was eaten by worms and breathed his last,” which sounds like a pretty unpleasant way to go. Paul, in 1 Corinthians 11:27-34, attributes people in the church getting sick and some even dying as a result of God judging and disciplining them concerning abuses in how some in the Corinthian Church were celebrating the Lord’ Supper. Jesus also says he’s going to kill the children of a false prophet labeled Jezebel at the church in Thyatira in Revelation 2:18-29 (perhaps her children are her disciples/followers?), who have been given time to repent, yet have not. God’s present justice and wrath has not disappeared in the NT. Still, we do not see any commands for God’s people to carry out divinely sanctioned violence against other humans in the NT like we saw in the OT. The NT focus tends primarily to be on the return of Christ as the time when God fully exercises his justice. Peter says this delayed justice and judgment displays God’s patience and kindness, which is meant to lead us toward repentance so everyone may be saved (2 Peter 3:8-9). God’s primary desire is for everyone to be saved, and in some cases he allows present injustices in hope that we will turn from our sins and be saved and transformed by his grace. Still, if we spurn God’s grace and mercy in Jesus, the same holy and just judgment displayed in these earlier examples waits in store for us.


Is God a Baby Killer?


You may think all the aforementioned stuff is well and good, but let’s not beat around the bush–are you really trying to defend God concerning commands about killing babies in those total destruction passages? Is it ever possible to give a moral defense of such an action? And if so, doesn’t that seem a bit hypocritical, especially since much of the church champions defending unborn life but worships a God who at least at some point in time commanded the killing of Gentile babies? Children are dependent and defenseless. Young children are more the product of their parents and culture than their own choosing. Who they are is almost entirely received, not chosen. Only when they get older are they able to have more power of choice and self-definition, and more moral responsibility gets assigned to people based on how much power they had in making moral decisions. How on earth could God command things like this and be good?


There are several options on how some people proceed here. 


1. Those Passages Are Wrong and We Need To Leave Them Behind–Some folks take this approach, but again, it seems to fall prey to the critique Dawkins and others give. It’s hard to make much case for biblical inspiration and authority if you simply choose to dismiss parts of the Bible you don’t like. This isn’t how Jesus treated the OT (see for instance Matthew 5:17-20; 15:3-11; 21:42-44; 22:29-32; 26:54; John 10:35). If Jesus viewed the OT Scriptures as inspired, I don’t think we can simply say they are wrong and we need to move on from them. It’s probably not wise to think we know better than Jesus. It’s better to ask how should we interpret those passages and how are we to understand them as being inspired, even if the surface level meaning is not applicable for Christians.


2. God Did Not Speak These Commands, but These Texts Showcase How God Accommodates Fallen Humanity–Greg Boyd is a proponent of this view in his Cross Vision: How the Crucifixion of Jesus Makes Sense of Old Testament Violence, and Boyd makes the case that Moses and others either misheard God and/or made him in their own image when it comes to commands about inflicting divinely sanctioned violence. Boyd maintains that if Jesus, the perfect Son of God, was misunderstood by his disciples multiple times concerning his crucifixion and resurrection, then could it also be possible that God was misunderstood by his servants in the OT? Boyd makes the case for direct and indirect revelations of God, that when any picture of God in the OT conflicts with the picture of God revealed in Christ crucified, we must consider it an indirect revelation of God (p. 98). These passages are still inspired, however, in that we may be able to lift some principles or truths out of them, even if the entirety of a passage isn’t 100% applicable to us as Christians. And, the flawed are grisly parts can showcase how God accommodates broken sinners like us, which points us to God’s ultimate act of accommodation–the cross of Jesus–where Christ painfully bears the sins of the world to make a way for us to be made truly whole and holy if we turn from our sins. Even the nature of Scripture is cross-shaped in that it accommodates human sinfulness in order to point to God’s love. In this way, Boyd maintains that Moses and others didn't actually hear from God on divinely sanctioned violence, but the passage is still inspired by pointing to God's loving accommodation which ultimately leads us to the cross.


I think Boyd’s paradigm has a lot that is stimulating. I would modify him in a couple ways, and I also don't think his paradigm is without issues. First, Boyd seems too limited in his typology (typology has to do with how the OT foreshadows Jesus and the new covenant). He makes his particular interpretation of the cross crowd out other valid biblical themes about Jesus. What about the resurrection, the ascension, and Jesus’ eventual return and judgment of the world? He has a typology of how OT divine violence foreshadows the cross, which is true and good, but he doesn’t seem to reflect much on how OT divine violence could also foreshadow other aspects of the work of Jesus. I think there are a lot of connections that can be made to Christ's final judgment in the genocide passages. In fact, the vision of the rider on the white horse (Jesus) in Revelation 19:11-21 reads a bit like an OT genocide passage. I think Boyd's model misses this.


Second, Boyd doesn’t fully capture how God sometimes results to coercive force. He writes, “God must always act by means of influence rather than coercion” (p. 58). I agree with an aspect of this statement since I’m an Arminian. I believe God acts by means of influence when it comes to inviting people into a saving relationship with Christ. We are not coerced into becoming followers of Jesus, but loved and invited into the relationship and given grace-enabled choice. But I chafe at the word "always" in the quote above. If we resist God, he is not opposed to bringing coercive judgment and discipline into our lives. Again, I’d appeal to the aforementioned examples of Ananias and Saphira (Acts 5), Herod (Acts 12), the Corinthian Christians getting sick and dying from God’s judgment (1 Corinthians 11), and Jesus saying he’s going to kill the children of Jezebel (Revelation 2). It seems pretty clear to me that God is using coercive power to bring judgment in these passages. You can still be a pacifist like Boyd and believe in God’s right to exercise divine violence–in fact, it can be some of the grounds of your pacifism. Boyd makes the case that many in the church have made God in our own image, and perhaps Boyd is doing the same when it comes to screening out any possibility that the God we see in Jesus crucified and risen could still use coercive force?


My main question is over why Boyd doesn't use the same explanation concerning OT food laws, the sacrificial system, circumcision, religious festivals, Sabbath observance, clean and unclean laws, etc. Did Moses "mishear" God on those commands? Jesus considered those things to be revealed from God, though he fulfilled them and they aren’t binding for Christians. Can we not think similarly on divinely sanctioned violence? Of course, the key difference between the former issues and divine violence is that the former did not entail any loss of human life. Could God have commanded divinely sanctioned violence, knowing it would be a temporary, incomplete revelation whose true significance would be revealed in Christ–Christ bearing the death all sinners deserve, Christ waging war against evil spirits and calling us to join the battle, and Christ bringing final judgment against evil? That leads to the next possibility, which also is not without its challenges.


The strength of Boyd’s approach is that it gets you off the hook for believing God commanded genocide while also holding onto the plenary inspiration of Scripture, but his approach is not without issues.


3. God Spoke These Commands, but Their Function Is Spiritual and Typological in Nature–I see a couple ways people could go here. One is to pull from the above knowledge of exaggerated military victory language to make a case that in giving the total destruction commands, God did not intend the total eradication of people, but rather the military defeat and overthrow of a broken culture. That is probably how proponents would interpret the distinction made in Deuteronomy 20:10-18 on how to go to war with nations outside the promised land vs. how to go to war with nations in the promised land. The total annihilation language was more on the eradication of a culture, not the actual killing of women, children, and babies. 


Others would say yes, God is speaking commands to kill women, children, and babies. Probably no one wants to get stuck defending this position if there's a better explanation, but even if it is the case, I’d have a hard time seeing God consigning people to eternal damnation, especially children, who have no ability to choose anything other than what is given to them by family and culture. Perhaps Paul’s comments in Acts 17:30 that “in the past God overlooked such ignorance” of idolatry would be relevant here? 


These approaches maintain the notion of God genuinely speaking these commands, even though they are temporary and indirect revelations, and their main Christ-revealed function is that they are prefigurations of the cross, spiritual warfare, and final judgment. They do not "get God off the hook" when it comes to commanding violence in the past, however. Whether you hold to a softer view or a literal view of the nature of the violence, these views still bring up questions concerning God's faithfulness and fairness. These may not be insurmountable given some of the considerations above, but they can be "sticky wickets," to quote a friend who gave some feedback on a draft of this. Of course, proponents of this view maintain they are not applicable at face value for Christians when it comes to God commanding people to eradicate others, since nowhere is this supported in the NT.


4. God Still Calls the Church to Inflict Violence and Holy War Today–This position would say there is no significant difference between Old and New Testaments on the issue of divinely sanctioned violence. God’s people are still called to use violence to enforce God’s will. This is the mistake parts of the church fell into during the Crusades. While you could make a biblical case for this position, you would have a hard time making a Christian case, because supporting this would require having the OT become weightier and more foundational than Jesus and the NT when it comes to your theology. That’s not a Christian way of doing theology and is not how Jesus and the early church interpreted Scripture. Perhaps an exception can be made for those in governmental roles created to preserve order according to Romans 13:1-7.


I think options 2 and 3 can work for thinking through this issue, though the conversation certainly isn't over.


Conclusion


Biblical inspiration does not mean all Bible passages are weighted equally or function in the same manner. Jesus is the key to interpreting Scripture since he is the full revelation of God. When an OT passage conflicts with a NT passage, Christians should obey the NT while also seeking to discern how that OT passage connects to the work of Christ. God has authority over life and death. He sometimes exercises that right in history, but mostly God patiently waits to express his full and final justice until the return of Christ, an act of love done in hopes that people would turn from their sins and trust in Jesus in order to find life, meaning, and hope. Christians have a diversity of views on if God actually commanded the genocides, and if he did, on whether it was an actual genocide or the use of exaggerated language. Becoming more zealous and devoted to Jesus should not make Christians more savage and violent people. Jesus was non-violent toward people, and he and his apostles call us to be non-violent as much as possible, while still standing for truth and goodness and struggling against spiritual evil with spiritual weaponry. 


With these thoughts in mind, I’m hoping that the next time we read or hear the genocide passages in all their gruesome detail, we can receive them as God’s inspired words to us through Christ. They should remind us that Jesus died for us to show us grace, though we are sinners who deserve wrath. They should remind us that we are challenged to join in Jesus' battle against sin and spiritual evil, participating in spiritual warfare through prayer and lining our lives up with God's truth. They should remind us that Jesus is returning to judge and totally annihilate all evil, while those who trust in Christ will enter into God's promised land of eternal happiness, healing, and harmony. May we wrestle with these texts and come away with a deeper appreciation of Christ.

Saturday, June 27, 2020

Come, Gladdening Light



Every now and then I get inspired to write a song. I've entitled this one Come, Gladdening Light and it is about grief, loss, and hope. It's a rough cut–just me and my guitar. It has a folk vibe to it. My tempo is a bit all over the place, but I thought I'd share it with you anyway and hope you enjoy it. Here's the link to the song with lyrics in the description: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gQppu2ykVfE&feature=youtu.be 

Tuesday, June 9, 2020

Thoughts for White Christians

We’re in a complex, chaotic, and charged moment in the life of America right now. It’s like a painful, tangled-up knot of many different strands. No one person has created this pain. It comes from things bigger than all of us. It comes from our collective past as a nation. It comes from our individual stories and experiences. It comes from the messages and actions of representatives of different groups. It comes from multiple issues colliding into each other, sometimes explicitly, sometimes under the surface.

So how are you doing? A lot of people are hurting right now. I’ve had to work through some emotions, and I think we’re all continuing to do so. I’ve been praying and journaling. Some of my initial thoughts were immature and unhelpful, but doing so has helped me wrestle with myself and with our moment. How are you processing your pain? I think we can all show each other some grace while also pursuing what we believe is right.

I want to share how I’ve been thinking through some of those strands and intersections that have had a pull on my heart. I'm speaking primarily to white Christians, mainly because that's my experience and these are the people I'm around the most. In doing this, by no means am I intending to make white experience the center of our present moment. As most minority folks know, we've had a bad habit of doing that for centuries. Still, there are things we white Christians need to grapple with. I've been thinking that we could use a lot of discipleship on the intersections of faith and ethnicity, faith and politics, and faith and conflict.

Faith and Ethnicity


As a white Christian pastor who has been in predominately white congregations and spaces for most of my life, bringing up the intersection of faith and ethnicity is often uncomfortable to us white folks. It can bring up painful past and present issues, and it usually puts us on the defensive. So… often we don’t talk about racism and hope that things will magically get better, or we always talk about it in terms of the past. If we preach on Christ reconciling Jews and Gentiles to each other through the cross in Ephesians 2:11-22, or God not showing favoritism along ethnic lines as per Romans 2:9-11, or Jesus engaging with Samaritans and Gentiles in the Gospels, it’s easy for us to apply those principles to the past and on an individual level. “Yeah, slavery was bad. Yeah, Jim Crow was bad. Aren’t we glad that isn’t happening now?” We talk of racism as something that got solved with the Civil Rights movement, and if people claim racist things are still happening today, we might accept it on an individual level, but be very resistant of talking about it in systemic terms. “Sure, Billy Bob might be racist, but our laws and country are fair now.” Unfortunately, this ignores or minimizes the experiences of many of our minority brothers and sisters. Hearing them talk about mistreatment and systemic sin can lead us to silence, or worse, to start casting stones at other ethnicities in an attempt to deny or deflect away from our faults. It’s a way of saying, “Oh yeah? Well you have problems too! What about X…” While we’ve done it for a long time, ignoring and lashing out isn’t going to help anyone going forward. This is not to say we white people have not brought gifts to the world and have strengths. It’s rather a way of saying that like every person and every group, we’re a mixed bag, and we need to own our faults.

White folks have been the majority of the U.S. population, and with that comes privilege and power. We have a troubled history when it comes to slavery, Native American genocide, Jim Crow, and a justice system that has had more teeth against minority people than whites (read Michelle Alexander’s The New Jim Crow). There are lingering effects from these sins when it comes to inherited wealth, social capital, and opportunities. Whether we know it or not, these things shape our lives and they also shape how other ethnicities experience us. This is not to say white pain, white people struggling with poverty, and our individual choices don't matter. It's simply an acknowledgement that the past shapes the present, and that shaping is beneficial for white people and detrimental to minority people.

To be honest, even if we acknowledge the sin of the past and privilege in the present, we white folks haven’t really had to care much about other ethnic communities. For a long time, we've been able to get along well enough in life without them. We've had most of the power and could spend most of our time in white enclaves. This is going to become less and less the case in our country’s future. If trends continue, demographic research is showing whites will no longer be the ethnic majority in America in about three decades. I think part of what’s going on in our present moment is our country is starting to feel some of these demographic changes as minority people gain more voice. We’re also seeing differences among generations in how to understand and talk about ethnicity. The article I linked to above claims that as of this year, white people comprise less than half of the population age 30 and under, and so younger white people are having more opportunity to connect to people and concerns beyond their immediate ethnic group. Younger generations also haven't had to experience as much change as those who lived through the Civil Rights movement, who already have had to devote mental and emotional energy toward change. According to survey research from Barna (see the free ebook below), Gen X and millennials are much more likely to acknowledge how racism in the past affects our present, and express a desire for the church to take steps toward fairness and reconciliation. When it comes to navigating church, culture, and politics in the future, white folks are increasingly going to have to develop intercultural competence. To fail to do so is to hamstring ourselves when it comes to friendships, evangelism, how we do church, business, and political coalitions.

How can we own our faults without hating ourselves or lashing out? How can we be better at listening to and loving our neighbors who don’t look like us instead of ignoring them and pretending they aren’t a part of us when they’re in pain? As Paul says in 1 Corinthians 12:26, “If one part [of the body of Christ] suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.” How can we build a fairer church and world together?

Several people have been recommending books to educate ourselves on this topic. I think that’s a good step. The more we can listen to different voices and research, the better. My hope is we become better informed and compassionate without being crippled by anxiety and feeling like we have to walk on eggshells when it comes to ethnic difference. Sometimes we can become so wrapped up in the potential for causing slights and pain that we feel it’s better to avoid reaching out across lines of difference altogether. Remember: We’re all made in the image of God, and the humanity we share is more fundamental to our identity than ethnic and cultural differences. We’re all more alike than we are different. For those who follow Jesus, the Spirit we share is more foundational to our identity than any other identity marker, and Jesus unites people you wouldn't expect to see together in other circumstances. My hope is for us to be informed and sensitive, but not lose heart for reaching out in love when it’s hard and there's the potential for rejection. 

Of course, the primary book I'd recommend reflecting on is the Bible. You might be surprised, but it's chock full of inter-ethnic issues and principles that can help us move forward. I'm grateful that my seminary is hosting several conversations on race, and the first one was very good on showcasing the biblical and theological tools we have for moments like these (though we haven't always lived into them well historically.) You can check it out here.

Barna group is giving away a free e-book on race relations, with some survey data and thoughts from diverse Christian leaders on how to move forward here.

I’m pasting books, some of which I've read, some of which come recommended by others, if you’d like to read further: 

  • Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson (this has been turned into a movie that is streaming for free on Amazon Prime during the month of June if you’d like to watch)
  • Rethinking Incarceration: Advocating for Justice That Restores by Dominique Gilliard 
  • Letter from a Birmingham Jail by MLK Jr.
  • Locked In: The True Causes of Mass Incarceration and How to Achieve Reform by John Pfaff
  • Welcoming Justice: God’s Movement Toward Beloved Community by Charles Marsh and John M. Perkins
  • I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness by Austin Channing Brown
  • The Speeches of Fannie Lou Hamer: Telling it Like it Is by Maegan Parker Brooks and Davis W. Houck 
  • Let Justice Roll Down by John M. Perkins


Faith and Politics


Our present moment has also revealed that Christians in America have very different approaches to politics. Once again, speaking from my context in primarily white churches in the South, I have often heard the phrase we should not “preach politics,” or overly meddle in political affairs. There is a sense in which this advice can be both helpful and unhelpful. 

Helpful–Not preaching politics can be helpful (1) because pastors and churches can idolize politics. We can become so wrapped up in political movements that we neglect things like evangelism, spiritual formation, and more. I’d be wary of a church that always harps on the latest in politics and calls for certain votes and political actions but doesn’t call people to faith in Christ and to grow in grace and prayer. (2) Politics can be divisive, so avoiding the subject can preserve a form of unity in the church. Usually when you preach in a way that addresses modern political issues, you can expect some pushback unless you’re preaching to the choir of a mostly mono-political church. (3) Not preaching politics is understandable because no current political party represents the full set of values present in the Bible. There are values that conservatives champion–ending abortion, strengthening families, protecting religious liberty, fiscal responsibility, creating jobs, and the importance of personal responsibility–and values that liberals champion–helping refugees/migrants, reducing gun violence, fairness when it comes to ethnicity and gender, providing for the poor, caring for the environment, and addressing systemic sin. When I read my Bible, I find all of these values. It can be easy to advocate for a chopped-up set of values that are handed to us from the Democrat or Republican platforms instead of letting biblical faith take center stage. Lately, I've really liked the analysis of The And Campaign and their Church Politics podcast in their efforts to transcend partisanship and evaluate current political issues from a biblical worldview. I understand that different Christians are going to choose to prioritize different value sets and politicians over others. We all have to make that choice. I also know the practice of politics is going to be imperfect. I don’t hold out high hopes for a political party embracing a fully-orbed set of Christian values. The church is called to serve of Christ as Lord, not necessarily the nation. But what I don’t understand is wholehearted devotion to certain politicians or party platforms like they are God’s gift to the world. That is idolatry and letting a party platform take center stage instead of God's desires. Such idolatries cause pain, confusion, and roadblocks to evangelismWe cause pain when we show up for some causes based around biblical values but not others, which is what I hear many of my black and brown brothers and sisters saying about white Christians right now. There's a lot of passion about being pro-life when it comes to abortion, but not much pro-life passion when it comes to black people being killed for no reason. Wading into the fray is hard, and there can be pressure to align totally with a party platform. Christianity doesn't fit neatly into party platforms.

Unhelpful–Yet not preaching politics is unhelpful (1) because it gives a divorced picture of Christian faith, that Christianity is all about a spiritual world, but it isn't concerned about the concrete realities that shape our lives. It's all about "saving souls," so we have nothing much to say about migrants, nothing to say about abortion, nothing to say about racial inequities, nothing to say about creating jobs and thriving economies. We don't reflect on the civil disobedience and political implications of some of God's servants in Exodus, Daniel, and Acts and how that might be relevant to us. We don't reflect on God using a political leader to save her people: Esther. We have nothing to say on policies and practices that trap people in poverty like Amos and James did. "Spiritual Christianity" has a lot to say about evangelism, formation, and prayer, but lets someone else’s rules take center stage when it comes to political issues instead of thinking about how Jesus might want us to approach these issues. The Lordship of Jesus isn’t just over our souls or over the spiritual realm–Jesus is Lord over all existence. He has come to reconcile all things to himself, things on heaven and things on earth (Col. 1:19-20). A famous quote from Abraham Kuyper gets at this: “There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, ‘Mine!’” The church has a distinct witness about what God desires that can be a boon to society when thoughtfully applied. (2) “Not preaching politics” is also unhelpful in that it’s impossible. Deciding not to talk about politics is still a political philosophy that has political ramifications in our churches and communities. There is no neutral position. (3) Not preaching politics often subtly aligns with the status quo. We don’t need to preach politics because what “is” is alright with us. It’s interesting I've heard this maxim in white churches, but not in other ethnic churches. Unfortunately, when you look at history, similar language was used in Southern white churches around the issues of slavery around the time of the Civil War and segregation during the Civil Rights Movement. Might we not want to preach politics because the status quo benefits us white folks, and to lift it up means to point us toward change? Meanwhile, the concerns and pain of minority people go unheard from the pulpit, and they wonder if they could ever fully be themselves in majority white congregations. 

I don’t want to paint the picture that if we’d all just agree on politics, revival would break out, tons of people would surrender their lives to Christ, and we'd finally get rid of all sin in the world. No. Neither do I want to pretend that I have all the answers. I’m a pastor, not a politician. I am open to the charge of being out of my depth in political thought, and I don't get everything right. Still, we lose a potential area of discipleship and doing good if we neglect focusing on how following Jesus should inform our political life. Instead of “Don’t preach politics,” I’d say “Sometimes preach politics.” It’s risky, but biblically grounded, informed, humble, and kind messages around political issues can be an uncomfortable blessing to our people, our communities, and our world.

Faith and Conflict


The first two points play into this final point. Since we don’t do well concerning ethnicity and politics, many of us think it’s fine not to act like a Christian when it comes to conflicts that touch these areas. We lose sight of the fruit of the Holy Spirit and love of neighbor. We avoid honest conversation. We tell one-sided stories. We avoid thinking that we might be wrong or have incomplete information. We avoid listening to our neighbor. We assume someone who is different from us ideologically is an idiotic scumbag. We don’t lose or win graciously. We try to control others instead of relying on persuasion. We carry bitterness in our hearts. And we don't always think or argue well when it comes to moments like these and when we're hurting.

I’ve witnessed a lot of overly simplistic statements and actions the past few weeks on all sides. The composition fallacy is a logical fallacy that assumes one part of something automatically represents the whole. “All police are evil.” “All protestors are idiots.” “White people are evil.” “Black people just tear stuff up when they get upset.” Just because we see instances where some people are acting in these ways doesn’t mean that the whole is like that. That’s not to say we can’t acknowledge systemic unfairness in how law enforcement have engaged with people of color, or stand against looting, rioting, and retaliatory violence. All or nothing statements based on composition fallacies don’t capture reality or help. I’ve also seen people employ false dichotomies, false either/or choices. "To support the African American community, you must be against the police, support disbanding police departments, and not care about the emotional heaviness and hardships many in law enforcement deal with." Or, "To support the police, you must critique the African American community, not empathize over the damage undeserved deaths of black and brown people are causing communities of color, and you must oppose all protestors." You don't have to be locked into these false dichotomies to support the African American community or law enforcement when it's done well. Further, I’ve seen several guilt-by-association techniques that try to push people into boxes: if you support Black Lives Matter, then you must automatically support everything about a very progressive platform (are you one of those pro-choice, anti-economy liberals?), or if you criticize rioting, you are supporting everything about a very conservative platform (are you fine with police brutality and throwing your lot in with white supremacists?).  

Don’t fall prey to sloppy rhetoric. Respect and good argumentation still matter, especially when dealing with painful and complex issues, and even more so for followers of Jesus, who are to embody the grace and truth of Christ. Bridge-burning statements may feel good in the moment, but they limit how many opportunities we get for coming to the table, for diverse friendships, for persuasion and for learning. We may not always be able to choose when or how those moments come to us. They can come around the dinner table, in the locker room, in the board room, in the church office, in the classroom, or on the street corner. But if we follow the way of Christ, those moments will come. Do we want them, or would we rather spend our days signaling how awesomely right we are on social media and push people away? 

We are in a messy moment. We can't flip a switch and fix racism. It took a long time for us to get where we are, and it will take time to move toward a fairer world. There are many things that are outside of our control. To be honest, racism is a global problem, and I don't think sins like it will be fully eradicated in the world until Jesus comes back, but that doesn't mean there's nothing we can do or that we should be defeatist. We can all do our part where we have influence. Prayer is crucial when we face things outside of our control. I'm reminded of Jesus' teaching on prayer in Mark 11:22-25, that if we pray in faith, God can uproot mountains and throw them into the sea. Let's pray that God would uproot the mountains of racism, anger, ignorance, apathy, and inequity out of all of us, out of the church, and out of the nation. If Jesus can rise from the dead, he can do this. 

Specifically to my fellow white Christians, I'd ask us to consider further reading on how ethnicity has shaped and continues to shape our world, to let Scripture ground our values rather than a political party, to show up for brothers and sisters of color regardless of if it looks "liberal" or "conservative," and to continue to have a humble posture of listening, love, and prayerful action. I know I've talked a lot in terms of politics, but I was reminded by a good Baptist brother who read a draft of this that this is an opportunity for sanctification, for becoming more like Jesus. He's right. And I want to try to do better. I hope you'll join me. Prayer, education, friendships, and wise politics will all be part of working toward a better world. 

Don’t lose sight of the positives. We’ve seen peaceful protests and prayer meetings break out across the nation. The vast majority of law enforcement have acted well and helped protect against looting and rioting. Several ideas (though maybe not all) are moving forward for better practices and accountability in policing that can benefit both minority communities and police departments. We’re seeing statues and symbols of white supremacy that have been unsettling to many start to come down from places of honor and power. We’re being called for more honest conversation about how race shapes our lives, our churches, and our country, and how we might move toward a better harmony together. For these things, I praise God. I pray the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and the many who have died before will not be in vain. I pray for our law enforcement, the vast majority of whom are doing things right, who face situations of incredible stress and danger that hardly any other job has to face, and for those who have been killed or shot during riots and looting. I hope and pray that moving forward we will be more committed to love and friendship across lines of difference than ever before, even if it’s hard. I pray that Jesus would give us eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts that are full of love to be agents of reconciliation and justice. And whether America pulls back together or falls further apart, my ultimate hope is in Jesus, who is Lord over all, who died and rose to rescue us from our sins, who calls us to repent and confess our sins in order to be free, who always gives us hope, and who is with us even now.

Thanks for reading. I love you all.

Sunday, March 22, 2020

Roman but Not Catholic Review


I am a Protestant who has a deep appreciation for Catholicism. I have been to Mass a few times and, like most Protestants, got a bit lost in the liturgy, but still had positive experiences. I have read a number of Catholic authors for whom I’m grateful, people like Pope Francis, Robert Barron, Gregory Boyle, Richard Rohr, Frances MacNutt and Henri Nouwen. I’ve dabbled with St. John of the Cross, Thomas a Kempis, Teresa of Avila, and Thomas Merton, and I’ve read the Catechism of the Catholic Church. I have Catholic friends and some former Protestant friends who have converted to Rome. I love Catholicism’s deep appreciation of history, its penchant for beauty and mystery, and its spiritual life. While I have holy envy about some aspects of Catholicism, I have not had a deep desire to become Catholic. Lord knows my own tribe of United Methodism has issues, but there is much about it that I love, and it has been a good boat from which to fish.

I recently finished reading Roman but Not Catholic by two United Methodist scholars, both of whom either are or have been affiliated with Asbury Theological Seminary. Kenneth Collins is a former Catholic and a professor of historical theology, and Jerry Walls is a philosophical theologian who got his PhD at a flagship Catholic institution, Notre Dame. This is a polemical book, and they critique some of the claims of Catholicism, past and present. The clever title gets at their thesis, that some of the claims of the Roman Catholic Church actually prevent a more fruitful unity that could be enjoyed among all Christians. 

I’d give the book 4 stars. Where it’s good, it’s very good. There were a few parts that were a bit overboard or annoying. The book has an academic bent to it, but the strength of that is the authors deal with some of the best arguments made by some Catholic scholars. If you’ve been to seminary, you probably won’t have any issues, but this book could be a tad difficult if you haven’t. It's also 410 pages, so it's not the quickest read.

Unlike some less charitable Protestants, Walls and Collins wholeheartedly affirm that Catholics are fellow Christians. I think it’s unfortunate whenever Protestants or Catholics assume the other doesn't have a saving relationship with Jesus. Walls lifts up commonalities between Catholics and Protestants. We all believe Jesus is our Savior and Lord who died for our sins. We all believe salvation is by the grace of Jesus. Most all of us affirm the early creeds given to us by church tradition, like the Apostles’ Creed, the Nicene Creed, and the Chalcedonian Definition. We perform the same practices and understand God to be involved in them, though we may label them differently. We share in the mission of making disciples of Jesus, and we all are empowered by the presence and power of the Holy Spirit. What we share is deeper than our differences, but the differences still remain and it can be helpful to explore them.

Collins maintains that the main disagreement between Protestants and Catholics comes in the role tradition plays in shaping the church. To be sure, only some of the Radical Reformation (the Anabaptists), not the Magisterial Reformers (Lutherans, Calvinists, and Anglicans), sought to get rid of tradition altogether, in the sense of an ongoing interpretive deposit that must be passed on from generation to generation. So then, the great debate between most Protestants and Roman Catholics over the authority of Scripture and tradition is actually in the end a dispute, to use [Heiko] Oberman’s own language, over “two concepts of tradition” (p. 26). 

Collins goes on to say Protestants view the Bible as the primary, most authoritative source of revelation, with tradition also being useful, though not on the same level. Protestants hold that later tradition is worthy of being critiqued by the earliest Christian traditions found in Scripture. Catholics view Scripture and tradition as having equal value, and that tradition itself is what gave us the Bible, showcasing that tradition is at least on par with Scripture when it comes to its authority. Most Protestants would acknowledge that yes, God did give us the Bible through tradition, but that doesn’t mean church tradition has the same level of authority as those initial inspired writings. Rather, it means God led the early church to recognize that which most clearly represented God and was inspired by him. Walls devotes chapter 5 to how Protestants can make a case for biblical authority and the importance of the early creeds without having to hold to the claims of the magisterium or view tradition on the same level. This chapter was probably the one I wrestled with the most, and I'm not sure if I'd use the same language as Walls on some things.

In chapter 4, Walls does a good job critiquing John Henry Newman’s book An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine, particularly how Newman forces things into an all-or-nothing argument when it isn’t required, and how Newman’s own rhetoric gets away from him at times. In chapter 8, Walls also deals adeptly with Catholic critics who claim that Protestants are their own popes, sifting everything through their own individual interpretations, while Catholicism can claim an intellectual high ground. He replies that most Protestants, like Catholics, are formed and make interpretations in community, and that Catholics make individual judgments and interpretations too.  There is no convincing basis for Catholics having an epistemic high ground.

Another interesting tidbit is a question lifted up by Collins: if a Catholic converts to Protestantism, does paragraph 846 of the Catechism teach they will be damned and lost? The paragraph reads as follows (emphasis mine):

Basing itself on Scripture and Tradition, the Council teaches that the Church, a pilgrim now on earth, is necessary for salvation: the one Christ is the mediator and the way of salvation; he is present to us in his body which is the Church. He himself explicitly asserted the necessity of faith and Baptism, and thereby affirmed at the same time the necessity of the Church which men enter through Baptism as through a door. Hence they could not be saved who, knowing that the Catholic Church was founded as necessary by God through Christ, would refuse either to enter it or to remain in it.


In other writings the blow is softened a bit for those who are born or raised in a Protestant church and never become Catholic, but for those who have been baptized Catholic and convert to Protestantism, the teaching of paragraph 846 seems ominous indeed, implying such people will be damned. Collins plays with the logic here: 

…since Ulrich Zwingli and John Calvin both left the Roman Catholic Church, whereas John Wesley did not, having been born into the Church of England and baptized as an infant, Zwingli and Calvin are both schismatics and therefore likely lost (bearing in mind Rome’s earlier language of “hence they could not be saved…”), though Wesley may yet be in heaven since he is by no means personally chargeable with the sin of schism (p. 119)!
This sounds a particularly sour note for the many Latinos today who have left Catholicism for Pentecostal Protestantism.

Collins is good at calling into question some of the historical claims of Rome, showing that some of the church’s assertions are not present in Scripture and the earliest traditions of the church fathers and mothers. He says Rome is often guilty of anachronism, of reading later understandings back into earlier times where those understandings were not present. He does this effectively concerning apostolic succession, the papacy, mariology, transubstantiation, the priesthood, and more. Collins is also the one I got frustrated with the most, however.

His calling the adoration of the host idolatrous (p. 167) is over the line. He is too nitpicky in chapters 17-19 on justification, where aside from some salient points, Collins passionately splits hairs. This could’ve been one chapter instead of three. I don’t think he grapples sufficiently with some of the representatives of the New Perspective on Paul–he dismisses N. T. Wright’s conception of justification in a paragraph. Having delved through Wright’s Romans commentary, I’m more sympathetic to his view over Collins’, who may be shaped more by the reformers than by Paul himself. I like how Fleming Rutledge writes of justification in her book The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ. She uses the term rectification (we are not just seen to be right, but made right within, rectified) as a better way of capturing more of what Paul means by justification. Collins seems very intent on keeping justification and regeneration as separate concepts and works, while nothing is lost if the concepts bleed into each other. He would affirm that justification and regeneration always come together anyway, so I grew a bit puzzled by his insistence on keeping them conceptually separate.

One could almost get the impression in the justification chapters that Collins doesn’t have a synergistic (working together) view of God’s grace, but a monergistic (working alone) view. Calvinists tend toward monergism, claiming that God alone sovereignly works salvation according to his will, and there is nothing humans can do to accept, reject, or change it. Wesleyan/Arminians tend toward synergism, that God’s prevenient, preceding grace enables us to receive and respond to God and make decisions to receive more of God's grace or resist God. United Methodists have a synergistic conception of God's grace, and are probably more similar to official Catholic teaching in that regard than to our Reformed Protestant sisters and brothers. Collins does highlight some nuance between Methodist and Catholic conceptions of sin and grace, but in many ways the practical nuts and bolts of our theologies in this regard are very similar. He fails to celebrate the commonality of synergistic grace and comes across as overly critical. He also has some comments pertaining to sacramental theology that seem out of step with his own tradition. Collins has a lot more good than bad, but these things detract from the book.

In chapter 20, Walls explores the divisions within Catholicism, calling into question the assertions about it being the one true church with unbroken historical consistency. He makes the case that even though the RCC talks a good game about infallibility and being the one, true, holy, and apostolic church, in reality it is a deeply divided church. He compares Roman Catholicism to a pluralist Protestant denomination, in which many of its people either disagree with or violate official church doctrine. At times laity, priests (Richard Rohr and Gregory Boyle, for all their pluses, are examples of this), professors, and bishops push against the official teachings of the church. A very striking example of this is the church’s total ban on all forms of contraception. A worldwide poll of Catholics indicated 78% supported the use of contraceptives in some form, with some countries getting results of over 90% (p. 382). There are further disagreements around divorce, the ordination of women, same-sex intimacy, the validity of Vatican II and the popes after that time, when it is appropriate to serve someone Holy Communion, and more. Walls shares a quote from Carl Trueman that rings true: “At least Protestantism has the integrity to wear its chaotic divisions on its sleeve” (p. 394). Here’s another quip from Walls on the topic: “Protestant converts to Rome who imagine they are joining a church that is free of the divisions and disagreements that plague Protestantism are quite mistaken. Indeed, far from escaping those problems of Protestantism they disdain, they are in fact joining a church that is functionally a radically pluralist Protestant denomination” (p. 399).

I’m a Protestant, so this book is preaching to the choir. Still, it’s good at exploring some of the fault lines that still exist between Protestants and Catholics 500 years after the Reformation, and to look at some of the deeper arguments made on both sides. I think some of Collins and Walls’ suggestions to Rome could lead to a wider catholicity among all Christians if implemented. At the very least, even if we never think alike, couldn’t we at least join together in celebrating at the Table of the Lord?