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10 Things We Learned from the Rob Bell Controversy

May 10, 2011 in Culture, Theology with 11 Comments

I got tired of the Rob Bell discussion pretty quickly, so I’ve generally been avoiding posts related to that controversy. But, Relevant Magazine has a great post today from Scot McKnight that is well worth reading. In the post, What Love Wins Tells Us about Christians, McKnight offers an interesting reflection on the current state of evangelicalism, the way evangelicals respond to controversy today, and how our changing social/technological context shapes all of this.

Here’s his list 10 things that we’ve learned from this controversy:

Social media is where controversial ideas will be both explored and judged.
Megachurch pastors are being watched closely.
Tribalism pervades the American religious scene.
Hell remains a central Christian conviction and concern.
Christian views of hell are both incomplete and in need of serious examination.
Pressing questions require serious thinking.
Missiology remains the center of gospeling in our world.
Low church, non-denominational evangelicalism, of which Rob Bell is an exceptional representative, carries its own dangers.
We are still asking a big question: What is the Gospel?
What is evangelicalism and what is orthodoxy?

Make sure you read the whole post, but I thought his comments on the Gospel were particularly interesting. McKnight argues that the Gospel is still the centering reality of evangelicalism:

You can talk all you want about eschatology and about atonement theory and about evangelism and about worship, but the moment you cross a line others perceive to be too far in the wrong directions, you will be called out on it. The essential line in Christianity is the Gospel, and all theology is measured by its fidelity to the Gospel or its denial of the Gospel.

But, he then goes on to point out that we still don’t have a widely accepted definition of the Gospel:

How odd, I muse at times, that so many claim “gospel” for what they think but at the same time don’t recognize that the word “gospel” seems to be a contested term and category that demands careful words and definitions.

No wonder modern evangelicalism is having an identity crisis.

Where does the Gospel begin?

May 6, 2011 in Theology with 0 Comments

I flopped onto the couch, one leg carelessly knocking several cushions to the floor, the other resting dangerously close to my glass on the coffee table. The scent of freshly popped popcorn permeated the room. Lights dimmed, family gone for the evening, I was ready for a movie.

Switching on the TV, I was about to head for my recorded shows, when something on the screen caught my eye—a room full of obviously terrified people, guarded by darkly threatening men with automatic weapons and bad accents. This looks interesting.

Suddenly the large window at one of the room burst inward as a black-clad body hurtled through shattered glass with guns blazing. Miraculously, the flurry of bullets missed the unarmed people huddled on the floor, striking only the guards as they turned in surprise toward this unexpected visitor.

Seconds later, it was over. Pausing only to toss a couple of suave one-liners into the now silent room, the dark hero leapt back through the window, disappearing into the gloom beyond.

Okay, so it wasn’t an Academy Award winner.

Grabbing my bowl of popcorn, I flipped to another channel. There was no point in watching more. After only two minutes, I knew the basic story: some bad guys captured some good guys, and the hero came to rescue the good guys so they can live happily ever after. I get it. Time for something else.

But, what if there’s more?

Suppose the next morning I talked with someone who had seen the whole movie. And, I discovered that the piece I’d seen was actually part of a much larger and more complicated story. From the beginning, the hero had been working to defeat some secret society bent on destroying the world. (That’s what secret societies do.) Instead of just being a simple rescue, the scene I’d watched was where hero finally defeated this evil group and rescued the entire world from its impending destruction. Sure, the hostages got rescued, and that’s still an important part of the story. But as I hear my friend explain the rest of the movie, I begin to realize how much more was involved.

It’s hard to understand the end if you don’t know the beginning.

Many of us approach the Gospel like I did this movie. We’re so eager to watch the hero (Jesus) burst onto the scene and save the hostages (the cross), that we don’t even notice how we’ve jumped in toward the end of the movie. It’s like we think the first ninety minutes were just a bunch of commercials and trailers, keeping the audience mildly entertained until the real story starts. We tune in at the rescue scene, never wondering if maybe there’s more to the story than we realize.

And, to be fair, I understand why we do this. That part of the story is pretty incredible. It’s worth watching over and over again, like my daughters do with their favorite cartoons. But, we need to be careful. Unless we understand the whole story, we’re likely to misunderstand what’s really happening in the dramatic—indeed, climactic—story of the cross.

It’s hard to understand the end if you don’t know the beginning.

So, if we want to know what the Gospel is all about, we can’t jump straight to the cross. Instead, we’ll have to start where all good stories do: the beginning.

[This is a piece that I'm thinking of using in the Gospel Book to introduce the importance of Genesis 1-2 for understanding the Gospel.]

I remember going to Disneyland for the first time, fidgeting in line at the main gate, body tense with excitement. A whole new world lay just out of sight, a magical world waiting to be explored. (I had not yet fully appreciated that this magical new world included two-hour long lines, terrifying roller coasters, and a limitless sea of hot and harried tourists.) To enter this wonderland, I simply needed to hand a rectangular slip of pink paper to the bored teenager standing at the gate. A ticket. So simple.

And, once I passed through the gate, what did I do with my ticket? Well, I put it in my pocket, of course. You see, I needed the ticket to get into Disneyland, but once inside it was useless. They include all the rides and attractions in the price of admission. The ticket gets you in, after that you can put it in your pocket. I suppose I could have thrown it away, but you don’t do that with your ticket. You hold on to it “just in case.” At least, that’s what my parents told me.

That’s how many of us think of the Gospel. We hear the Gospel as the good news that we can “get in” to God’s kingdom and live with him forever. There’s a whole new world waiting for us, and the Gospel is our ticket. Without it, we’d never get past the main gate. But, with it we have exactly what we need to believe so we can rush through the gate with all of the other children, eyes wide with wonder at all the new sights and sounds.

And, we could do worse than to think of the Christian life as an amazing new world that we can explore like small children delighting in God’s wonderful creativity.

But, there’s a real problem with this analogy. Once you’re inside the park, what do you do with your ticket? You put it in your pocket. You keep it “just in case” or as a souvenir for your scrapbook, but you don’t really need it anymore. You’ve already gotten in.

So, you tuck the Gospel safely away, confident that it has served its purpose.

I also remember the day that I got my driver’s license, that little plastic card that declares you to be a free agent, a real teenager, able to go wherever whenever. But, arriving home from the DMV, I was angry. Although I’d finally reached the pinnacle of teenage freedom, my parents weren’t going to let me drive. Not by myself. I was still too young and inexperienced. Maybe in a few weeks.

I needed to sulk. How could they do this to me? Didn’t they understand what a driver’s license was for? How was I supposed to explain to my friends that I had a license, but I still couldn’t drive? It was embarrassing.

Then I stepped through the front door. And my dad tossed me the keys, the car keys. In my memory, it feels like a scene from a cheesy movie. Everything slows down. The keys glint in the sunlight as they trace their gentle arc through the air. Cue the music.

I’m not sure who was more surprised: me or my mom. I found out afterward that my dad hadn’t consulted her on this sudden change of plans, and she was not at all pleased. I say I found out afterward, of course, because I was out the door before the keys had finished jingling in my hand. I wasn’t about to give anyone a chance to change their mind. I’m not even sure I knew where I was going. But that hardly mattered. I had the keys!

Racing to the car, I unlocked the door, flung it open, and jumped into the driver’s seat. It’s like I was afraid that it wouldn’t be real until I was in the car by myself…with the keys.

Then, with a contented sigh, I closed the door and placed the keys carefully in my pocket. “Isn’t this great?” I thought, “I’m finally in the car!” Reaching over I fiddled with the little black knobs on the radio. I found out that if I turned them all the way to the left, they made a little clicking sound. That was fun. Then I discovered the vanity mirror. It had its own light. Cool. But the best was the button with the red triangle. When I pushed it, these little green arrows on the dashboard started blinking. I liked that. I even said “Vrooom, vroom,” a few times and turned the steering wheel back and forth. All in all, it was a good evening.

Of course that’s not what I did. I was a teenager with a driver’s license, a car, and car keys! What good would it do to sit in the driveway with the keys in my pocket? I wanted to drive the car—roll down the windows, turn up the radio, enjoy my newfound freedom. But, to do that, I needed to use the keys. The keys make the whole thing work. You can’t leave them in your pocket.

So, I had the keys in the ignition almost before my butt hit the seat. And I was gone. Off on my first teenage driving adventure. I barely managed not to peel out in my parent’s driveway, wisely thinking that this might hinder future driving opportunities.

Unfortunately, many of us see the Gospel more like a ticket than a key. Both are good for getting into things. But beyond that, the resemblance ends. Once you’re in, you don’t need the ticket anymore. But the key to a car, that’s what makes everything work.

The Gospel is a key. It’s not simply what we believe to get into the Christian life; it’s what makes the Christian life work. As I hope you will see by the time you’ve reached the end of this book, the Gospel shapes every aspect of the Christian life—worship, ministry, work, family, theology, and more.

Why do you need to read a book about the Gospel? If you’re like me, it’s because we often think that the Gospel is only for the beginning. But, without the Gospel, all we’re left with are the knobs and buttons on the dashboard that my daughters like to twist and turn when I’m not looking. If you really want to roll down the windows, turn up the radio, and drive the car, you need to take the key out of your pocket and use it.

[This is the third part of a short series I'm doing on different ways I could begin my Gospel book. The first two were "I Don't Want to Be a Dirty Klingon" and "A Place of Mystery, Magic, and Dirty Kleenex." (Apparently I've had dirt on the brain.) This one takes things in still a different direction. Let me know if you have any thoughts/feedback.]

Don’t park Jesus, drive the car

April 29, 2011 in Theology with 0 Comments

A Place of Mystery, Magic, and Dirty Kleenex

April 27, 2011 in Theology with 3 Comments

A place of mystery, a dark region of unexplored secrets, a fairy realm of magical enchantment, only the bravest dare delve its depths, and only the most foolish do so without some sense of trepidation and awe. Slowly I reach out, hands trembling slightly. What lies within? What treasures might I find? What dangers?

Gently prying the sides apart, I peer into the gloom, wondering what I will find this time.

My wife’s purse is an amazing place.

You doubt? She’s a mother, public school teacher, and children’s ministry volunteer. Spend that much time around small children and I’m sure your purse would be a pretty interesting place as well. She has to be prepared for every occasion, and she picks up all kinds of odds and ends along the way. Magicians have their bottomless hats; my wife has her purse. She wins.

I love watching her try to find stuff in there. After a little rummaging, she can usually locate the important things fairly quickly: wallet, cell phone, keys, lipstick. I don’t know how she does it. If she asks me to get her keys, I usually just bring the whole purse. Otherwise, I’d be gone all afternoon. But my wife can track them down in an instant.

When she has to find something she hasn’t seen or used in a while, however, that’s when the real treasures come out: toys, candy, pens, mysterious “presents” from her kids, food, and small herbivores. Okay, maybe not the last. But you get the point. Beneath the dirty Kleenex and nail files, down in the wrinkled corners far from the light of day, that’s where the fun stuff hides.

I like to think of my wife’s purse as a magic bag filled with amazing treasures. On any given day, she’ll probably pull out just a few of those. Others may get used on a weekly or monthly basis. And, some particularly rare treasures almost never breathe fresh air.

And, for many of us, the Gospel is just like this, a bag full of treasures, some so tarnished from daily use that we’ve forgotten how amazing they truly are, others pushed so far down that we have forgotten all about them, if we even knew they were there in the first place.

Ordinary Treasures

Some treasures are relatively ordinary. Now, at first glance, the concept of an “ordinary treasure” seems like a contradiction. How could a “treasure” ever be “ordinary”? Yet, it happens all the time.

Have you ever looked closely at a blade of grass? At first glance, it’s nothing special. Just a flat and fairly straight piece of vegetation. Look more closely, though, and you’ll see the veins running up the blade, the frayed edges at the top from the last time you mowed the lawn, the delicate way it bends slightly to one side. Place that same piece of grass under a microscope and you’ll see even more: an entire grass universe will open up before you—cells, chloroplasts, molecules, atoms, neutrons, electrons, and so on. Each level giving way to another. Press deeply enough and you’ll arrive at levels of reality only dimly understood by our most brilliant scientists—quarks, antiquarks, leptons, strings. Can you get much more ordinary than a blade of grass? Yet, when we stop to take a close look, we begin to realize that what seemed so normal and non-mysterious a moment ago actually contains limitless mystery, wonder, and awe. But, how often do we do that? Grass is “normal”, and normal things are not mysterious; normal things are not treasures; normal things are, well, normal.

Some Gospel treasures are like a blade of grass. We see them so regularly that they’ve become ordinary, almost boring.

Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.

One one level, . Jesus does love us. He loves us very much. Press a little harder, though, and you begin to see the wonder, mystery, and awe lying just beneath the surface.

Who is Jesus? That question alone could take us an entire book to answer. Messiah. Savior. God. Man. Son of God. Servant.

Who are we? Creatures. Beings made in the image of God (more on this later). Sinners. Saints. Persons. Men. Women.

And, what is love—not just the broken, human love that I’m familiar with—but real love? What does it mean to say that God himself loves? And, what does it mean to say that the almighty, holy God of the universe loves tiny, broken, rebellious creatures like us? Talk about a mystery.

“Jesus loves me.” A childlike statement of simple faith? A profound declaration of mysterious wonder? Both. Viewed under the microscope, a whole universe unfolds before us. A universe that we have just begun to explore.

If parts of the Gospel have become “normal” for you, then I encourage you to take some time to see the mystery again.

Even the ordinary can be a treasure.

A Forgotten Treasure

When I was a kid, “cleaning” my room involved cramming as much stuff as possible into my closet and praying that my dad wouldn’t notice when he came to inspect. Sometimes that even worked. Usually it didn’t. That means I often had to spend an afternoon pulling everything out of my closet and putting stuff where it belonged.

I remember one afternoon in particular. Toward the back of the closet, I found an old lunchbox. Thoughts of rotten PB&J sandwiches and prepubescent flies swarmed through my head, until I opened it. Nestled inside like a pirate’s lost treasure, I found twenty dollars I had hidden several months before, a considerable sum for a small child. This was my secret stash. (I’m not entirely clear on why all kids need to have a secret stash. But, it seems pretty universal.) And, I had forgotten all about it.

That was an exciting afternoon. I didn’t have anything in particular that I wanted to do with the money. But, that was beside the point. I had rediscovered my secret stash! Indeed, finding a forgotten treasure was so exciting that I spent the next several months trying to recreate the experience. I tried hiding that lunch box back in the closet, under my bed, in another room, and even on the ledge just outside my window. Nothing worked. Try as I might, I kept remembering where I’d stashed it this time. It’s hard to forget a treasure on purpose.

It’s easy to do on accident.

I can’t remember when I first heard the Gospel. Growing up in a Christian home, I’m sure I first it before I could even understand what I was hearing. But, I have an amazing capacity for forgetting things. So, even if we assume that my Sunday school teachers those many years ago did a great job explaining the Gospel to me, how much do you think I could forget over the course of several decades? Or even just a few years? I’ve always been able to recall those “ordinary” truths we discussed above. But, what if there’s more? What if there are treasures in the Gospel that I’ve simply forgotten about?

I bet if I dug into the Gospel a bit more, I’d find a secret stash of Gospel truths nestled inside an old lunchbox just waiting for me to rediscover them.

What about you?

An Unknown Treasure

The really great thing about my wife’s purse, though, are the things even she doesn’t know about. I still haven’t quite figured out how that happens. But then, I don’t spend most of my day surrounded by small children. So, she occasionally finds things in her purse that she knows nothing about.

I tested this the other day. With her permission, I dug down into the nether regions of my wife’s purse. Along with the ordinary items, I found a single mitten (even though it was almost summer), several plastic doodads of unknown origin and function, a small stuffed elephant, candy that I think was from several Halloweens back, and a love note that one of our daughters had slipped in there months before. She had no idea how any of it had gotten there.

What if the Gospel contains treasures we don’t even know about yet?

Just look at what Peter says when he preaches to a large crowd on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2:22-36). He’s just explaining the Gospel, so you’d think it would be pretty straightforward. Yet, he includes all kinds of odd things that most people don’t even consider when they’re talking about the Gospel. He begins by emphasizing that Jesus’ death was done according to the “plan” of God. What plan is this? What was God trying to accomplish and how did Jesus fit into this? Then, Peter spends more than half of his time talking about the resurrection. Really? What does the resurrection have to do with the Gospel? When I explain the Gospel, I usually focus on Jesus’ death. But, Peter only devotes one verse to Jesus’ death, spending nine verses on his resurrection. Why is that so important? And, we Peter spends a lot of time talking about God’s promises from the Old Testament. It’s good to know that God keeps his promises, but is this really a part of the Gospel? And, why does Peter include the fact that Jesus was raised to the right hand of the Father and that he has poured out the Spirit on his people? How do these truths relate to the Gospel?

I’ve heard a lot of Gospel presentations over the years, and I don’t think any of them included most of the ideas that Peter thought were so important. What have I been missing? What might we all be missing?

The Gospel has treasures many of us know nothing about. They sit in the wrinkled corners, waiting for us to come looking.

UNPACK YOUR BAG

With a purse like my wife’s there’s only one reliable method for discovering everything that lies within: tip it over and see what comes out. Every now and then, you have to empty your bag in the table, giving it several good shakes to make sure that each wrinkled corner surrenders its precious cargo. Then you can pour yourself a cup of coffee, sit back, and take a close look at what you’ve discovered.

That’s what this book is for. Like my wife’s purse, we need to dump the Gospel on the table and (re)discover its amazing contents. Some things will be ordinary treasures that we know well and use regularly, but whose true depth and mystery we need to see again. Other things we’ve heard about, but have since forgotten. And, there may even be some things that we never knew about in the first place. Regardless, this book offers you a chance to pour yourself a cup of coffee (latte, tea, hot chocolate…whatever), sit back, and experience again the amazing glory of God’s good news.

Let’s unpack the Gospel together. You may be surprised by what you find.

[This is part of a short series I'm doing on different ways I could begin my Gospel book. I started yesterday with "I Don't Want to Be a Dirty Klingon." This one is obviously a bit longer, and goes in a very different direction. Let me know if you have any thoughts/feedback.]

I don’t want to be a dirty Klingon

April 26, 2011 in Theology with 2 Comments

I’m trying to decide if I should tell you what this book is about. Everyone says that’s what you’re supposed to do in an introduction. After all, if I don’t tell you what the book is about, how will you know if you should keep reading? But, here’s the problem. If I tell you what the book is about, I’m afraid that you’ll think it’s really about something else. After a few chapters, you’ll realize what’s going on and get frustrated with me for tricking you into reading my book. Even though we’ve never met, you’ll think I’m a jerk, and tell people bad things about me. Word will spread and soon people everywhere will hate me. Devastated, I’ll retreat into an imaginary world, refusing to speak in any language other than Klingon, and bathing only during full moons.

So, as you can see, the stakes are pretty high. If I don’t tell you what the book is about, you won’t want to read it. Then I’ll get depressed because no one is reading my book, and I’ll spiral down into my own private pit of despair. But if I tell you what the book is about, you might misunderstand. Then you’ll hate me, and I’ll end up as a dirty Klingon.

Since I’d rather avoid both outcomes, let’s see if we can find a third option. I’ll tell you what the book is about. But you have to promise to believe me. You’re not allowed to think that I’m really talking about something else. I’m not. This is a pretty simple book. It only has one topic and one purpose. So, if you’d rather read a book about something else, please do. You’ll enjoy it more, and you won’t hate me as much.

This is a book about the Gospel.

There, that wasn’t so hard.

But, now that I’ve said that, let me explain what I was so concerned about. First, even though I just told you that this book is about the gospel, I’m afraid you’ll think that it’s really a book about evangelism. Flipping through the pages looking for tips and techniques on how to share the Gospel with your friends and neighbors, you’ll be quite disappointed. Evangelism is an important topic. But, this book is not about that. Instead, we’re just going to focus on understanding the Gospel itself better. That should prepare and motivate you to tell others about the Gospel, but that’s a subject for a different book.

Second, by telling you that this is a book about the Gospel, I’m also afraid you’ll think that this is a book primarily for non-believers or new Christians. I can understand why you’d think that. We want people like that to hear and understand the Gospel. The word “gospel” simply means “good news,” the good news that God wants the world to hear. And, if God has good news for the world, everyone should get to hear it. So, if you’re a non-believer or a new Christian, please feel free to continue reading. You’ll hear some pretty amazing things about God and his good news.

But, if you’ve been a Christian for a while and have heard the Gospel more times than you can count, I want you to know that this book is really for you. Once you’ve been a Christian for a while, you start to think that you’ve got that whole “gospel” thing down pretty well. You’re ready to move on to the more challenging truths of the Christian life. Indeed, if you’re like me, you even start to tune the pastor out when he gets to the gospel part of the sermon. It’s not that you don’t think preaching the Gospel is important; you’ve just heard it so many times you don’t think you have anything left to learn.

If that’s you, please keep reading.

There’s always something new.

Reviewing Half the Church (Todd Miles)

April 20, 2011 in Theology with 23 Comments

This is a guest post by Todd Miles, Associate Professor of Theology at Western Seminary. Todd has a Ph.D. in systematic theology from Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and now serves as an elder at Hinson Church in Portland, OR.

Many thanks to Zondervan for providing a review copy of Half the Church: Recapturing God’s Global Vision for Women by Carolyn Custis James (2011).

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Half the Church: Recapturing God’s Global Vision for Women, by Carolyn Custis James, is a book written by a woman for women, calling them to bless the church and ultimately the world through the exercise of their gifts. As a man, a good case could be made that I have no business reading the book, let alone reviewing it. However, I was asked to review the book from a complementarian perspective. It is a book of significance in the evangelical church, so it needs to be evaluated.

Summary

First, a summary of the contents: The book is driven by two issues that are of chief concern to James. First, she grieves the loss to the church and to men when half the church effectively disappears through Anorexic spiritual diet or stymied roles (19). Second, James is dismayed over the plight of women in other countries and is outraged that the church is not the loudest voice decrying the atrocities committed against women around the world (21). These two issues lead to three significant questions whose answers comprise the rest of the book. She wants to know what message the church has for women of the 21st century, what will the church do about the rampant suffering of the world, and what messages are we sending to the world in the way that we mobilize and treat our own daughters (41). It is her desire to write a book that takes seriously the plight of women who live in states of horrific oppression, while simultaneously calling women of the evangelical church to Kingdom action. In so doing, she urges women to participate in the full-orbed gospel of both gospel proclamation and mercy/social justice (25).

Much of the book is given to alerting the reader to atrocities committed against women around the world, such as abuse, sex-trafficing, torture, and various kinds of murder (e.g., female infanticide and so-called honor killings). But James is concerned that the evangelical Church is sending the wrong message to the watching world and to those women who are suffering. Though the time is right for “believers to embody a gospel culture where both halves of the church are thriving because following Jesus produces a climate of honor, value, and love, and we are serving God together as he intended from the beginning. Yet instead of casting a powerful gospel vision that both validates and mobilizes women, the church’s message for women is mixed at best; guarded, negative, and small at worst. Everywhere we go, a line has been drawn establishing parameters for how much or how little we are permitted to do within the church (48).

To remedy this, James correctly turns to the Bible. First, from Genesis 1, she teaches that men and women are fully and equally created imago Dei (57-72). James rightly notes the glory of being an image bearer, along with the awesome responsibility that the doctrine entails. From the creation of man and woman in the image of God, she contends that Adam and Eve were born into conflict and resistance (before the fall) where both are called to be leaders in the tasks presented to them by God (73-78). James finds evidence for female leadership in the narrative of Ruth and Naomi (80-98).

Second, James turns to Genesis 2, where it is written that Eve was created as a helper fit (ezer kenegdo) for Adam. James notes that there are many places in Scripture where God is described as an ezer, often with military connotations. James then concludes that God created his daughters to be ezer-warriors with our brothers (113). She then unpacks the paradigm shifting implications (for both women and men) of women being ezer-warriors (111-118, 123-133), particularly given the dangers in our current cultural context of magnifying submissiveness, surrender, and meekness as important attributes for women (120-123).

Third, James turns to what she calls the blessed alliance that the Bible presents as the model for male and female roles and relationships (135-143). Examples of the blessed alliance are found in Esther and Mordecai, and then in Mary and Joseph (143-150).

Having turned to the Bible for instruction and examples of how women and men are to relate in the mission of the Kingdom, James then explains where we ought not to turn in the Bible for such instruction: the passages over which complementarians and egalitarians debate (153-61). James believes that biblical texts such as 1 Tim 2:11-15 are so difficult to understand that it would be wise to turn to clearer texts that are not the subject of debate for guidance on the issue of men’s and women’s roles in the Church and home. It is frustrating to James that the Church quarrels over these texts while women in the world are suffering injustice and atrocities (161-165). Turning to the example of Jesus, James suggests that Evangelicals should be less concerned with issues of authority and more concerned with issues of justice (166-173).

Finally, James concludes her book with a call to women to rise up and actively participate in the mission of the Kingdom, proclaiming the gospel and advocating for women around the world who are suffering (175-194). The Church must empower and utilize its other half by mobilizing an army of ezer-warriors.

Areas of Agreement

Let me begin my critique of the book by highlighting four areas of agreement with James. First, it is evident that Carolyn Custis James is a sister in Christ who cares deeply about the proclamation of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Despite our differences, we are co-laborers in the Kingdom of Christ. Second, in Half the Church, James calls attention to the atrocities committed against women in other nations. She rightly rebukes the church for its ignorance and silence concerning the horrific plight of far too many around the world. Third, James correctly calls for the church to engage in both the word and deed of the Kingdom, commanded by Jesus, and then modeled by Jesus and his apostles. Too often the church swings from the extremes of proclamation only to mercy/social justice only. Such is a distortion of the Kingdom and the gospel that announces it. Finally, James is right to want to get every woman involved in the ministry of the gospel. She appropriately grieves over the anorexic spiritual diet of many Christian women.

Areas of Critique

As an elder in a local church, I can deeply appreciate these emphases. Unfortunately, the book is flawed at too many levels for me to endorse it. Hermeneutical errors, biblical-theological errors, exegetical errors, and logical errors abound. These errors are not peripheral to her main points but in every case exist precisely where her arguments are being made. For the reasons outlined below, I could not in good conscience recommend the book to anybody.

James understands Adam and Eve to be co-laborers in a context of conflict and resistance even before the fall, necessitating a strong co-leader for Adam. But Scripture attributes the conflict of the biblical drama to sin, narrated in the account of the fall in Genesis 3. There is no hint in the narrative or in subsequent biblical testimony to the kind of conflict that would necessitate a co-leader and warrior for Adam. Adam is alone, so God creates one who is like him, but is not the same as him, as a “helper suitable for him,” and in so doing creates the institution of marriage. James ignores the biblical-theological categories of fall and redemption, attributing that which the Scriptures blame on the sinful rebellion of Adam and Eve to creation itself. Contrary to James’s analysis, Adam was called to “work and keep” the garden before the creation of Eve (Gen 2:15), and this is language more in keeping with a biblical priest than a biblical warrior. Further, even if the mandate to work and keep were passed on to Eve (which I suspect it was), does this entail that their respective roles in working and keeping were identical?

James’s evaluation of the Hebrew word ezer is more problematic. Recall that James established that God had created a warrior-ezer for Adam because other biblical uses of the word ezer carry military implications. But words have meaning in specific contexts and to find a meaning of a word in one text and then transfer that meaning in wholesale fashion to another text is illegitimate. By the time James is done, her call for an army of warriors with ezer-spirit permeates the book. Gone, all in the name of a word study, is any notion of marriage in the understanding of a helper fit for him, even though the context of that specific text (Gen 2:18) is marriage itself. Gone is the important and faith-filled reality that Adam named his wife Eve (contra James’s assertion in 100-101), “the mother of all living” (Gen 3:20), his statement of faith that God would save them one day through the offspring of his wife (Gen 3:15).

James calls for a blessed alliance between women and men. But she refuses to interact with the biblical texts that speak directly to how men and women are to relate in the context of the church and marriage (in fact, James implies that the Bible does not contain instructions for building a blessed alliance in our churches and homes [146]). She simply dismisses those texts as too difficult to understand, claiming that doctrines should be based on clear texts, not disputed texts. That sounds a bit like cooking the books to me. If one eliminates all the many biblical texts that speak to differentiation of roles in the church and home, then of course there would be no call or reason for wives to submit to their husbands, or for the office of elder to be reserved for men. But are those texts too difficult to understand? Is “I do not permit a woman to teach or exercise authority over a man” or “Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord” impossible to interpret? I will grant that application will take wisdom and discernment. But disliking the implications of a verse is not the same thing as not being able to interpret the verse. If dispute over meaning were grounds for eliminating biblical texts, we would have no word from God at all. Further, dismissing the debate by arguing that while the church quarrels “millions of little girls are being sold as sex slaves in vast regions of the Majority Word . . . and human trafficking is happening locally, right under our noses” (161) is both a red herring and an appeal to emotion, and is neither suitable nor helpful for real Christian discourse, nor does it help those being victimized.

On the same topic, James feels that the egalitarian world is repelled over the debates concerning men’s and women’s roles in the church and home, because women who have experienced great gains in the academy and workforce are called to submit in the church (48-49, 159). But what kind of argument is this? Of course our fallen world will look at the church, which calls for women to submit to the sacrificial leadership of their husbands, as hopelessly bizarre. Acceptance or rejection by the world is not an argument in any way for the legitimacy of a doctrine.

One last significant hermeneutical flaw: James believes that a key to understanding the Ancient Near East and Greco Roman contexts in which the Bible was written is to look at today’s Middle East (32). They do share commonality in that they could each be described as patriarchal, but is it legitimate to compare the contemporary Muslim culture of the Middle East with the Jewish and Greco-Roman cultures of the Old and New Testaments? For example, did Mary really face the threat of an honor killing? The biblical texts do not indicate so. When such erroneous cultural assumptions are made, the result in Half the Church is a distortion of the biblical narratives. Honestly, as I read James’s retelling of the stories, I almost came to dislike Joseph and Boaz for being dangerous patriarchalists. Never mind that the biblical texts describe Joseph and Boaz as just and worthy, respectively. In general, James’s interpretation of the biblical narratives, particularly when she seeks to find examples of female leadership over men (e.g., Ruth and Naomi over Boaz, Mary over Joseph, Esther over Mordecai), are creative, but faithful to neither the immediate context nor the biblical-theological storyline.

Finally, as a husband, father of a daughter (and five sons), and elder over a church at least half-full of women, I must comment on the tone of the book. The language throughout is prejudicial against those who see marriage and motherhood as of the essence of femininity, and against those who see submissiveness as a legitimate biblical virtue to be sought after. For example, women who lovingly submit to the sacrificial and loving leadership of their husbands are described as bringing less of themselves to the task at hand, not bringing their full selves to the partnership (158). Parents who teach their daughters to submit in this day and age might be setting them up for physical abuse (120-122). Perhaps most frustrating were claims that differentiation of men’s and women’s roles in the church and home are not qualitatively different than, and could lead to, the atrocities of violence and abuse committed against women in the world. These claims were explicitly made (e.g., 110). They were perhaps more effectively implicitly made on the numerous occasions when chapters that expressed concern for women in the church began and ended with stories of horrific abuse from around the world. This is an effective literary strategy, but it is irresponsible, logically flawed, and misleading.

James is right to call attention to the plight of victimized women around the world, but her biblical arguments are so poor that she has done little to rectify the meager spiritual diet she so decries. The women of the church need better than this.

When half the church holds back…

April 11, 2011 in Theology with 0 Comments

I grieve the loss to the church when so many Christian women believe it’s possible to subsist on an anorexic spiritual diet. I grieve that far too many women and girls are living with small visions of themselves and their purpose. I grieve the loss to our brothers who are shouldering burdens we were created to share and are doing kingdom work without us when God means for us to build his kingdom together.

When half the church holds back – whether by choice or because we have no choice – everybody loses and our mission suffers setbacks. Tragically, we are squandering the opportunity to display to an embattled world a gospel that causes both men and women to flourish and unites us in a Blessed Alliance that only the presence of Jesus can explain.

That’s from the introduction to Carolyn Custis James’ Half the Church: Recapturing God’s Global Vision for Women. Over the next couple of days, we’ll be posting two reviews of the book from people with different perspectives on the role of women in the church. Brad Harper from Multnomah University will start things off tomorrow, and Todd Miles from Western Seminary will follow. I’d encourage you to track both reviews and get two different looks at the book.

And, don’t forget that Zondervan has also give us a copy of the book to give away. We’ll be giving the book away on Friday, so you still have a few days to enter if you’re interested.

Origen, Barth, and Bell: Theological Perspectives on Hell and Universalism

April 11, 2011 in Church History, Theology with 16 Comments

Let me begin by making two statements: 1. I have read Rob Bell’s book, Love Wins. 2. I am not interested in giving a long critique of the book. Several people have already written good ones, and another review from my perspective would add nothing to the conversation. What I want to do here is attempt to answer the question, “Is Rob Bell saying anything different than what Origen and Karl Barth claimed?” In the last month I have heard Bell’s view of hell likened to both of these men as well as C.S. Lewis. (I cannot, however, speak to Lewis’ view b/c – to my shame – I have only read the Chronicles of Narnia and Mere Christianity). Ironically, if you Google image “Universalism” both Origen and Bell’s pictures show up. Origen was excommunicated for some of his teaching, being accused of saying that even the devil might have a shot at redemption. At the end of Barth’s life he often had to defend himself against the accusation that he was a Universalist. Is there any correlation between these men?

Origen

The notion that Origen taught that all people would be saved, including the possibility of Satan, has been around for some time. The reality is that Origen was much more “orthodox” than what he is given credit for. According to the historian, Justo Gonzales, Origen proposed many doctrines, not necessarily as truths to be generally accepted, nor as things that would supersede the clear doctrines of the church, but as his own tentative speculation, which was not to be compared with the authoritative teaching of the church. He was in line with what was considered orthodox for his day. It is unfair to take later matters settled by the church (some several hundred years later), and then look back on his teachings and scold him for wrestling with them. However, the question is whether or not Origen taught that all men would eventually be saved, even Satan. The answer is that he postulated some type of universal reconciliation because of his view of free will, but never affirmed it as orthodox or in line with Scripture. In his book, First Principles (1.8.4), he says, “So, too, the reprobate will always be fixed in evil, less from the inability to free themselves from it, than because they wish to be evil.” Once in hell, the choice to choose otherwise will never be exercised because the will of man will not choose otherwise. Concerning the possible salvation of Satan, Origen did not teach the possibility that he would be saved. In a debate with a man named Candidus, Origen was defending his notion of free will, and said that Satan could be saved if he wanted, but that he would not be saved because of his choice to live in rebellion. Origen’s point was that Satan did not want salvation because his free will choice. He writes in a letter defending himself against the above accusation, that anyone who would claim that Satan would be saved was a “madman.” Although he was labeled a heretic in 399 by a council in Alexandria, and then excommunicated as heretic by the 5^th Ecumenical Council in 553, Henri Crouzel says this was more from the musings of Origen’s followers than Origen himself. Origen postulated a reconciliation of all things, but did not affirm it as orthodox. He also did not teach any type of post-mortem changing of the heart. Although he wanted to defend the notion of free will, he affirmed that the reprobate’s will was fixed in sin and rebellion.

Barth

When it comes to nailing down Karl Barth on the issue…good luck! According to Oliver Crisp and Geoffrey Bromiley (translator of Barth’s Church Dogmatics into English) his theology cannot escape the accusation. Karl Barth taught that Jesus Christ was both the subject and object of election. As the subject he is the electing God. As the object he is the elect man. Simply, Barth sees Jesus as the representative of all men, not only some of them. (He had a major beef with Calvinism!) If Jesus represented all men, took the condemnation that was to fall on all men, then the logical conclusion of Barth’s theology would be that all men would be saved. This is what Barth hoped for. The problem is that he wasn’t sure it would happen. When asked if he was a Universalist, he denied the label. Furthermore, he taught that although all men were elected in Christ, their election still had to be actualized through the exercise of faith, and that the gospel had to be preached if there was any hope for man. Thus, in the end you can take one of two approaches with Barth. You can side with Oliver Crisp, who says that Barth was either a Universalist or incoherent in his doctrine. Or, you can opt for George Hunsinger’s view that Barth was not a Universalist but an agnostic. He simply left the question open ended with a strong tilt towards universal hope.

Bell

So where is Bell? Again, good luck. I think he wants to keep the free will of Origen, and the hope of universal reconciliation like Barth. Unlike both of these men, however, he seems to go further and claim a definitive reconciliation of all people, including post-mortem redemption. If all are not saved then love does not win, which is the premise of his book. He redefines the term aion to refer to an “intense experience,” not a period of time with beginning and end (by the way, it’s never good to get one definition of a word and apply it to all uses of that word) (57). Going so far as to say that, “forever is not really a category biblical writers use” (92) Thus, hell is not forever in the sense of time. It’s just a “period of pruning” or a “time of trimming” or “an intense experience of correction” (91). Hell can be now, on earth, as we reject God’s way and God’s story of love. Hell can be a place we go to after death. The picture John gives us in Revelation, however, is of a city with open gates in which people can “come and go.” Bell suggests that if someone dies and goes to hell and is finally overcome by the goodness of God in Christ and repents, it is possible that God will let them into heaven whose gates are always open. (I wonder if that also means those in heaven can leave?) Hell, even one of their own making, has finally pruned their resistance. He says that Christians should long for this (111) and admit that these questions “are tensions we are free to leave fully intact. We don’t need to resolve them or answer them because we can’t, and so we simply respect them, creating space for the freedom that love requires”(115). If he is genuine in this statement, he affirms that he’s not sure if there is a universal reconciliation. (If he’s wrong, though, doesn’t it end really badly for people?!) Furthermore, Bell is not a traditional Universalist (i.e. everyone gets in regardless of what they want). However, he seems to be advocating a type of Christian Universalism. Jesus is necessary. Everyone gets in, but everyone gets in only because of the sacrifice of Jesus. In this sense Bell is exclusive. Also, the sacrifice of Jesus was inclusive of all. Bell says that “Jesus does declare that he, and he alone, is saving everybody” (155). He also says that people just might not be aware that it is Jesus doing this for them (155). Buddhist will use a different name. Muslim’s will say Allah. In this case, the gospel in the Bible is not the only way to heaven (i.e. Believe this or you don’t get in). Jesus is the only way, and the Christian church (especially those that mix the warning of eternal conscious judgment in hell with grace) doesn’t get to lay claim on the only exclusive message. The message is really love. So although Bell is not a traditional Universalist, he does appear to be advocating a view of Universalism (i.e. an Exclusive (Jesus alone) Inclusivist (Everybody) Pluralist (Many Ways to Understand) Universalism) that puts the love of God and the cross of Christ squarely in the middle of every persons salvation. This allows him to have some vague tie to evangelical Christianity, even though his definitions behind the terms create something new.

If I’m reading Bell correctly, there is indeed a piece of continuity between his view and those of Origen and Barth. There is the hope of universal reconciliation. I think that all Christians would hope for what these men hoped for, the salvation of all men. At that point our desires would be in line with God’s. However, in the end Bell is very different from Barth and Origen. Bells view is different from Origen b/c he postulates, not a fixed will of rebellion in hell, but the possibility that the will may always change, even post-mortem. Origen may have questioned, but never considered it an “orthodox view” as Bell does. Origen also never separated salvation from the Christian gospel or thought that the beliefs of Roman pagan religions were somehow coterminous with the gospel of Jesus. Bell is different from Barth in that Barth never separates salvation from a choice that is made in the here and now. Barth never spoke of a hell as a time of “pruning.” More pointedly Barth never called for a softening of the biblical text or a “better story” that excluded judgment or widened itself to encompass other religions (Neither did Paul in Acts 17). If anything Barth called for more proclamation and the indiscriminate preaching of the unique Christian gospel (not a widening of it) along with a warning for those who rejected it. They hoped for a universal reconciliation, but thought it not possible or, at best, were agnostic about it. In the end, neither Origen nor Barth, say what Bell is now saying.

Zephaniah as the link between Babel and Pentecost

April 1, 2011 in Biblical Studies, Theology with 9 Comments

Exegetes and theologians have long argued that Pentecost should be seen as a reversal of Babel – the scattering of the human race through the proliferation of languages healed through the unifying power of the outpoured Spirit. But, if these are two events are key bookends in redemptive history, doesn’t it seem odd that relatively little is said about this in the intervening narrative? Does the OT have any concept of Babel as a problem in need of resolution, or is this a brand new theme suddenly tossed into the mix at Acts 2?

These are the questions that Paul Pastor raised in the paper he presented at the NW meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society. Paul is an MA student at Western Seminary, and the paper was a summary of his MA thesis, “Echoes of ‘Pure Speech’: An Intertextual Reading of Gen. 11:1-9; Zeph. 3:8-20; and Acts 1-2.” Paul has graciously allowed me to upload the complete thesis here.

The basic thrust of Paul’s argument is that Zephaniah 3:8-20 provides the intertextual link between Babel and Pentecost. As he summarizes:

Pentecost as a reversal of Babel has been widely seen by exegetes since the early days of the Church. However, these two stories are by no means simple “bookends” with empty narrative space between them. Rather, it shall be shown that an extremely significant instance of textual connection comes from the often overlooked text of Zephaniah.

It will be argued that the Babel narrative of Genesis 11:1-9 is accessed and developed by Zephaniah 3:8-20; and that that text in turn provides a guiding paradigm of Babel-reversal that is utilized by Luke in the Pentecost account of Acts 2. Seen in this way, Zephaniah’s prophecy provides an indispensable link between the two texts of Genesis and Acts; simultaneously looking back into the seminal history of the covenant community and forward to the radical in-breaking of the Spirit at the harvest feast of Pentecost.

Intertextual “echoes” of themes and motifs will be traced at length through the three texts, noting linguistic parallel, narrative similarity, and intertextual dependence for the developing trans-biblical narrative.

The thesis that follows is a fascinating example of intertextuality in biblical exegesis. After a brief summary of his intertextual method, Paul argues that the Babel narrative itself is “incomplete,” leaving the reader in suspense as the story never comes to satisfactory resolution. Paul then argues Genesis forms the clear backdrop for much of Zephaniah, setting the stage for identifying further intertextual connections between the two books.

The heart of Paul’s argument comes in the third part of the thesis, where he identifies a number of textual connections between Gen. 11 and Zeph. 3. In my opinion, intertextual linkages like this always bear the burden of proof as they need to establish real textual connections rather than mere linguistic or thematic similarities. And, Paul does a remarkable job of identifying and defending the connections at work, though you’ll have to read the thesis for yourself to follow all the different lines of argument that he offers.

Finally, Paul turns his attention to Acts 2, arguing that Acts 2 bears many of the same textual markers as the first two passages. Given the strong thematic and linguistic connections, Paul concludes that Luke intends for his readers to see Acts two as the conclusion of a narrative arc that begins in Gen. 11 and runs through Zeph. 3.

And, to wrap everything up, Paul offers a few closing words on how a study like this can impact the life and praxis of faith communities:

It is my sincere hope that this study may also impact the thinking and practice of our local churches and communities of faith. I believe that when scripture is seen with the literary intricacy and vitality that a study of this type highlights, it is compelling and powerful for those who cling to the scriptures as the word of God. The narrative excellence in view here, the thorough intentionality, and the development of a single coherent narrative across the span of centuries and as the product of three very different communities of faith should capture the attention and imagination of modern believers.

Here are a few brief ideas for what the practical and responsive outworkings of this study could look like: Our thoughts about national and international unity should be profoundly influenced by the paradigm offered in these texts. True unity is only possible across ethnic, social, lingual bounds by the power of the Spirit and for the purpose of a shared service and worship of God.

This study is a reminder that truly, “All scripture is profitable” (2 Tim. 3:16, ESV). The Hebrew Bible is frequently under read by Christian readers, and the Latter Prophets even more so. This section of our Bibles is rich with powerful imagery, concept, and nuance, coloring our theology and worldview. It ought to be increasingly read.

In addition to this, it ought to be increasingly taught and preached. Our pastors and teachers ought to carefully interact with this literature both for its compelling content, as well as the dramatic role that it plays in the over arching scriptural meta-narrative.

(This is part of a series highlighting papers presented by several faculty and students from Western Seminary at the 2011 NW regional meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society. You can see the rest of the posts in this series here.)

Augustine and the Problem of Free Will

March 31, 2011 in Church History, Theology with 9 Comments

Picture in your mind something that you think is a really bad idea. (I’m picturing a cat.) Now imagine someone using something that you wrote many years ago to defend this heinously awful idea. How would you feel?

That’s exactly what happened to Augustine. By the latter part of his life, Augustine had developed a clear reputation for defending divine sovereignty, predestination, original sin, and the “bondage” of the will. But when he was younger, Augustine had written some things, particularly in De Libero Arbitrio (On Free Will), that sounded to many like he used to believe something very different. Indeed, some of statements sound very libertarian. And, much to Augustine’s chagrin, his critics used these earlier works against him, contending that they were just saying what himself he used to teach.

That had to have been annoying.

And, it raises a key question: Did Augustine have a consistent position on free will throughout his life, or were his opponents correct that his later position was a dramatic departure from what he wrote in his earlier works?

Those are the issues that Billy Cash dealt with in the paper that he presented to the NW regional meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society last month, “Augustine and the Consistent Trajectory of Compatibilism“. (Billy is a Th.M. student at Western Seminary and a regular contributor to this blog.) And in the paper, Billy contends that Augustine’s early writings are consistent with his later writings, and that we should understand Augustine to be a consistent compatibilist throughout his life.

Billy starts things off by arguing that although Augustine does sound libertarian at times in De Libero Arbitrio, he is still operating from a largely compatibilist framework. Two arguments in particular ground this conclusion:

First, in book three of On Free Choice of the Will, Augustine asserts that the fall of Adam and Eve in the garden consigned all men to a life of “ignorance and difficulty,” a life in which they would find themselves unable to choose the good….

Secondly, although the grace of God is not center-stage in this particular treatise, it is not absent. In his Retractions, Augustine reminds his readers that he does in fact claim in On the Free Choice of the Will, “that anything good in a human person, including any goodness in the will, is a gift of God.”

So, although there are some differences between Augustine’s early and mature writings – differences that can be partially accounted for by the Manichean controversy that Augustine was addressing in his earlier writings – there is enough continuity to conclude that there is a clear and consistent “trajectory” leading from the one to the other, rather than a marked “departure” in the later writings.

In the last part of the paper, Billy turns his attention to an interesting argument presented by Eleonore Stump, which she calls “modified libertarianism.” I won’t go into the details of the argument here, but the essence is that Stump is looking for a way to understand even the later Augustine within the broader framework of a libertarian view of free will. And, although she presents a creative argument, Billy contends that her position is ultimately incoherent (or at least inconsistent).

So, at the end of the day, Billy concludes:

Development in theology does not necessarily imply change, as seen in the early church’s development of doctrines concerning the divinity of Christ. That Jesus was the divine Son of God was never denied by the Orthodox Church. There was development, however, in how that divinity was to be understood, and this development led to a distinction between what was to be considered true or heretical. Likewise, in Augustine’s mature theology he believed that the will of man was free to choose what it desired, but the desire of will to choose the good was enabled by the grace of God, prior to any choice or merit found within the individual. Although his early theology was not as developed and Augustine did not give grace as prominent a position in influencing the will in On Free Choice of the Will, Augustine himself says that the grace of God was not absent, just not the focal point of his argument. In light of the affirmations of the will found in his early writing, On Free Choice of the Will, it may be stated with surety that the trajectory of his argument was compatibilist in nature, and was not altered from early to later works, just more thoroughly developed. Since this is the case, any attempt at construing a libertarian view of the will in Augustine is misleading.

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