NT Wright is seriously wrong

I have come to the view that there are serious mistakes in NT Wright’s Jesus and the Victory of God.

One error is that Wright presents a view of salvation history which is anachronistic at key points; and which fails to notice the difference in the portrait of God in the New and Old Testaments.

Wright wants to present God as having had a plan from the time of the fall for defeating evil. The plan involves the selection of Israel to be a light to the world. There are a number of problems with this. 

Wright says that God’s idea was from the outset that Israel would be the light of nations. But this idea is first found in Second Isaiah, about the mid 6th century BCE, and is a reaction to the apparent abandonment of Israel by God: if God will not restore us to our former national sovereignty perhaps he means us to have spiritual leadership. It is anachronistic to suggest that this is what God intended all along.

Further, God’s promises to Abraham, Moses and David were generous and far reaching covering everything that Israel could desire in terms of national sovereignty, prosperity, good health and fecundity. Of course, they were only partly realised because Israel was disobedient, but the answer to that was to repent of the disobedience and resume the promised idyllic existence. What is the inner logic in God’s deciding to develop an entirely new grand plan (Israel as the light of nations) in which all the earlier promises are simply ignored?

Thirdly, the idea of evil is a critical element in Wright’s understanding of the divine plan. But evil is not an OT biblical notion and enters into Jewish thought by way of Zoroastrianism and apocalyptic writings in the last two or three centuries before Christ. It is grossly anachronistic to make it an element of God’s plan for Israel from the outset. Also the idea of evil is treated as though it is a straightforward one but it is far from that.

I have suggested in the preceding paragraphs that Wright, in an attempt to find a divine grand plan for humanity, has constructed a spurious continuity between Jewish tradition and Jesus. But he is even more assiduous in ignoring the possibility that Jesus rejects major elements of Jewish tradition as found in the Old Testament.

For Wright, God is faithful, loving and merciful, the picture of God that might be derived from Jesus. It is important to his overall thesis that God is portrayed in this way, since otherwise it is hard to sustain the idea that God had the same plan of salvation all along. But the OT God is quite different from the picture painted by Wright.

The God of the OT is a God of power who throws his weight around in earthly affairs. Jesus’ concept of God’s activity in the world is much more like the period of after the Babylonian captivity, when God is absent, than the period of Abraham and Moses when God is constantly intervening in the world. Wright’s suggestion, that God uses the Romans as a means of bringing down destruction on the Jewish nation in 70 AD for failing to heed Christ, is an appeal back to that primitive God and is quite foreign to the NT account of Jesus.

Further, despite his protestations to the contrary, the God of the Old Testament exercised power with little regard for issues of justice and mercy. Sometimes he is deliberate in the exercise of his power, seeking to advance his interests through planning (as when he hardens the heart of Pharaoh or leads the people out of danger or gives them success in battle); at other times his power is vented in anger or pique or is cruelly whimsical. His use and abuse of power comes to a head when Job demands an explanation for the torments that God has allowed to be inflicted on him. God’s only response is that he is immensely powerful and Job is puny. Job’s final words say, in effect, that God condemns himself out of his own mouth. 

Wright says that Jesus accuses Israel of being possessed by Satan in part because it prefers the path of violence to that of peace. Now there is no doubt that Jesus was against violence but was his criticism directed at the Jews of his own day or the tradition to which they were heir? Wright must claim it was directed at the Jews of Jesus’ own day if he is to protect his version of God and the constancy of his salvation plan.

But in most of the Old Testament, God is a warrior God and the Lord of Hosts- certainly in the Pentateuch, Judges and Kings; and also in the Psalms. If Jesus was claiming that he was going to restore Israel, then Jesus’ hearers had good reason to expect that the Lord of Hosts would come in power and might to sweep away the occupying Romans and restore Israel to its rightful place of supremacy among the nations. They could also legitimately anticipate that he would achieve this by the means he had employed so often in the past, a massive intervention in the natural order of things- for example, use of the elements to destroy enemies, supernatural enhancement of Israel’s military prowess, manipulation of the minds of Israel’s enemies to advance God’s plans. These expectations were not some nationalist perversion of the scriptures but their constantly repeated and explicit claims. It is therefore difficult not to conclude that in attacking violence, Jesus had the mainstream Jewish tradition of the OT in his sights, not its current custodians.

My second major criticism of Wright is his view that it Jesus is mistakenly thought to have been an innovative teacher of timeless ethical truths. Wright rejects this for two reasons. Firstly, Jesus’ ethic may have had a different slant but it was not distinctively new. In fact everything that he preached can be found in the OT scriptures, at least in germ, if they are read with sufficient sensitivity. Occasionally he asks the reader whether Jesus may have been denouncing the OT tradition as distinct from its current custodians but he rejects the idea out of hand. In my opinion this is mostly wrong but I will leave that for another post.

A narrative/historical approach to emergent theology

A vastly expanded attempt to take on board, critique and modify a narrative/historical approach to emergent theology

What is being proposed?

A narrative/historical account of the people of God, and approach to soteriology, in which an understanding of political and historical circumstances relating to Israel and Rome in the 1st century shape the narrative. The people of God are described and defined in relation to Israel’s history at that time.

In this reshaping, in which narrative receives greater attention than doctrinal or ethical formulations and approaches, a theology which is more attuned to postmodern thinking is developed, in contrast with the presuppositions which underlie ‘modern’ thinking. There would be a moving away from a rationalistic, proposition-based faith, with its focus on the individual, and life beyond this life, to a sense of being part of a narrative, a historical continuum, and salvation as a corporate reality with focus on this life.

As part of the historical underpinning of this approach, the significance of the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple in A.D.70 has played a great influence in understanding the mindset and orientation of salvation as it might have been historically understood by 1st century Christians.

Pursuing this approach, it is possible to make a case for seeing a great deal of the New Testament emphasis as being relative to the A.D.70 events (and beyond – with the decline of Rome).

Puzzling passages in the gospels make sense when seen as applying to the destruction of Jerusalem as a ‘coming’ (parousia) in judgement – to which Jesus was cryptically referring eg Matthew 10:23; Matthew 24:34

Matthew 24 and its parallels in Mark and Luke could be interpreted as entirely relevant to that event.

Parts of the New Testament letters could also make sense within this framework eg Romans 16:20; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; 2 Thessalonians 2:1-11;

Much of Revelation (up to chapter 15) could also be interpreted as a kind of expanded commentary on this approach to Matthew 24, rather than referring to events in the distant future as yet unfulfilled, or events that were recapitulated throughout church history.

The approach is underscored by echoes of O.T. prophecy. Daniel 7 is a key text against which the ‘coming’ of Jesus can be understood. Instead of a ‘coming’ at the end of time (towards the earth), a ‘coming’ into the presence of the ‘ancient of days’ is the text which provides a means of understanding the N.T. references to Jesus’s ‘coming’. In Daniel, it is a ‘coming’ in which power and authority are vested in ‘the son of man’ figure, transferring power to him from the kingdoms of the earth. This power is shared with the saints of God. (Daniel 7:13-14; 26-27). From this perspective, the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple can be seen as the primary referent of Jesus’s ‘coming’ in Matthew 24 (v. 3, 4, 27, 30, 39, 42, 44, 46, 50). The destruction of the temple (and Jerusalem) is seen as the primary fulfilment of the prophecy of Matthew 24, linked with other references, such as the cursing of the fig-tree (21:18-22), the lament over Jerusalem at the end of the diatribe against Pharisees and teachers of the law (Matthew 23:37-39).

In the Matthew 24 prophecy, the destruction of the temple is seen as ‘the end of the age’ (24:3), not some far distant time. This event provides the focus for the perspective of the four gospels and their teaching and even the ‘great commission’ of Matthew 28:19-20. It is also the event to which N.T. letters are also made relative – especially if they can were written before A.D.70. From this point of view, the case for Revelation being written before A.D.70 also assumes significance.

Consequently, many if not all the N.T. documents can be said to be radically contingent to their 1st century circumstances. The whole enterprise of what it means to be ‘saved’ is related to political and historical events culminating in the destruction of Jerusalem of A.D.70. Jesus’s ministry itself assumes a far more political character, relating to a combination of Jewish eschatological hopes, which were rooted in an expectation for a historical deliverance from oppression, and political circumstances relating the conflict between these hopes and a Roman military dictatorship thinly veneered with the appearance of concessions to Jewish autonomy.

Once the ‘eschatalogical event’ of A.D.70 is fulfilled (followed by the equally necessary eschatological judgement on Rome), the field is left open for the people of God to explore their post-eschatological nature as God’s ‘new creation’. In this field of exploration, the shaping principles of N.T. gospels and letters are somewhat removed, not just by historical and cultural distance (which always required re-interpretation for subsequent ages), but more radically, by the fulfilment of the eschatological events for which they were created. The people of God are now liberated into a more flexible interpretation of how they are to live, and how they are to being ‘good news’ to the world, and perhaps more significantly, how they are to be ‘good news’ in the world.

So what are the strengths and weaknesses of this approach? How watertight is the theological underpinning?

First, it seems to me that there are some clear strengths in this theological approach.

1. Perceiving ourselves to be part of an on-going narrative of the People of God rescues us from the world of theological propositions and idealism, which is systematic, but encourages a kind of passivity and distance from the world. The narrative approach is more dynamic, links us with tradition on a human level, and avoids the tendency to make claims to have an answer for everything. Against postmodernism, there is a ‘metanarrative’, but it plays out on a more human level. It is up to us to find our role in the on-going narrative/drama.

2. The historical framework within which the narrative approach rests takes us away from the Jesus of ‘timeless truths’, somewhat disconnected from the life of the normal world, and introduces us to a Jesus whose practices brought him into direct conflict with the politics of his day – both Jewish and Roman. The focus is earthward, not heavenward, in that Jesus came with an agenda for change which was about how the earth was to be run. The immediate threat was to Jewish eschatological hopes, which rested on vested interests in the here and now. The threat became a power struggle, in which the powerful elite was no longer perceived as being at the forefront of God’s redemptive purposes for Israel – be that the Pharisees, or Zealots, or a mixture of both. Jesus threatened the interests of these and the Herodian party, Sadducees, and the guardians of the Temple. Finally he was a threat to Rome.

3. Jesus’s conflict with powerful bodies within Israel was more than an unfortunate hindrance to his programme; it was developing into a conflict with God’s purposes for the nation. The more the Pharisees opposed, the more they were storing up disaster for themselves and the nation. In the end, the judgement which came on the nation was a natural consequence of their refusal to adopt a new way of seeing God’s purposes for the nation. They still assumed that the old way of opposing arms with arms would hold good, and that Rome could be overcome on its own terms, by violence and war. Jesus had come with a new agenda, which involved constituting a new kind of nation. By refusing this, the Jews were on a course to destruction, which came in A.D.70.

4. Much of the gospels and New Testamant needs to be re-read in the light of this political dimension to the Jesus’s agenda and the opposition he incurred. Jesus’s call to repentance was not just a call to turn from private sins (although it certainly was this), but it was part of a greater call to turn to him and follow his agenda, so that the national catastrophe that was coming could be escaped.

5. ‘Sin’ also needs to re-interpreted in the light of the kind of agenda to which Jesus was calling the people. Just as there was ‘sin’ which had led to the exile, there was ‘sin’ which was inviting a coming catastrophe. Behind whatever specific manifestations there may have been of this ‘sin’, there was a hardness of heart which was refusing God and His purposes, and worse, dressing itself up as loyalty to God. It was truly a sin which deceived people.

6. The interpretation takes us away from the gospel as purely individualistic appropriation of salvation, to a salvation which had the aim of creating a new people. Salvation becomes an essentially corporate and historically rooted affair.

7. The focus of this salvation is directed much more to the here and now, to our role and place on God’s earth, rather than as an insurance against risk in the life to come. The burden becomes much more how will we live as God’s people now, rather than waiting for the life to come.

8. Salvation is much more keyed into the world of politics and belief around us – and becomes much more holistic.

9. Salvation is something that will engage much more with alternative, competing ideologies; at the same time it is not so much concerned with the superiority of its arguments to ‘win souls’, but with advancing a narrative towards its conclusion.

However, there are some weaknesses, or potential distortions, in the narrative/historical approach.

1.Whilst seeking to remove theology from the realm of abstract, universal spiritual principles, and to anchor it in the ‘here and now’ of Israel’s 1st century history, the approach may ignore the wider history of Israel itself, beyond the 1st century, and even beyond the post-exile, 2nd Temple period. The broader picture of Israel is of a covenant-keeping God, whose intention was always to be true to His covenant with His people, but to deal with sin. In this sense, everything was provisional in the history of His dealings with His people, until the fulfilment which came through Jesus, the Messiah, the Son of Man. This fulfilment was much more than a solution of a local difficulty for a middle-eastern tribe; it was God’s way of bringing salvation to the whole world, as prefigured in the promises to Abraham, and worldwide promise of salvation in Isaiah.

2. Emphasising salvation as rescue from the destructive events of A.D.70 can fail to give due emphasis to the giving of the Spirit as the reconstituting of the people of God – around the Son of Man. The granting of authority over the nations to the Son of Man figure in Daniel 7, and the sharing of that authority with the people of God, occurred as much with the ascension of Jesus and the giving of the Spirit, as it did with the destruction of the temple and Jerusalem. The last event was as much a conclusion to a process as the fulfilment of Daniel 7 in itself – and even then, not a conclusion, just as the giving of the Spirit was not a conclusion, but anticipatory of a final transfer of power from the nations and supremacy of Christ and his people to come.

3. The granting of the Spirit must be seen as a sign of the covenant, but also the reality of what the covenant promised: a crucial enabling power, identified with the coming of God’s kingdom. Acts 1: 1-3 describes an intensive period of training about the kingdom. The gift of the Spirit (v.4 & 5) and the power of the Spirit (v. 8) are identifiable with ‘the kingdom’ referred to in the first three verses, and in v.6. The disciples asked when the kingdom would be restored to Israel, which can sound like a rerun of Israel as a nationalistic entity. But what would the kingdom look like? Jesus gives clues to the answer in the echoes of Isaiah which are found throughout the chapter (Holy Spirit, power, witnesses, ends of the earth etc – all Isaianic terminology). Isaiah is the prophet of the kingdom (eg Isaiah 32), but Isaiah uniquely described what this kingdom would look like – eg Isaiah 35:5-6; 61:1-3. When Jesus was challenged about his credentials as the one sent from God, it was to this fulfilment of Isaiah that he referred his questioners (Matthew 11:4-6). The restored kingdom was not to be a kingdom like the kingdoms of the earth. It was a kingdom imparted by the Spirit’s activity, ruled over by Jesus. Wherever the Spirit moves, there is the kingdom. Matthew 12:28 also identifies the coming of the Spirit with the coming of the kingdom.

4. Identifying salvation purely with rescue from the destruction of A.D.70 may also fail to give due emphasis to the place of the crucifixion – which was the centre of God’s plan to remain true to the covenant, but deal with sin in His people – and thereby, deal with the sins of the whole world. The cross was more than a substitutionary judgement for the immediate sins of the people of Israel, so that they would not be destroyed by the events of A.D.70. It was the climax of all the narratives which had formed the story of God’s people and contributed to their self-identity: beginning with the Genesis sin/fall narrative, and through the Exodus/Passover narrative. It took a Jew like Paul to take up the significance of the crucifixion as the answer to the sin of Adam - Romans 5:12-21. Paul’s focus is on the consequences of Adam’s sin for the human race, not just the Jews. The ‘gift of righteousness’ is not just survival through disaster, but ‘eternal life’ (v.21).

5. The focus on A.D.70 as the defining eschatological event for Israel (taking up all the references to ‘the parousia’) may ignore a greater, future eschatology, and ‘parousia’ to come. In this eschatology, the greater events are the final ‘return’ of Christ, final judgement and the creation of ‘new heavens and new earth’, as an environment for redeemed humanity in resurrection bodies.

The importance to Paul of this future focus is illustrated in 1 Corinthians, where the chapter on the resurrection, far from being one amongst a number of issues which Paul wanted to clarify to the Corinthians, is the central issue which governs all the other issues. Everything else is relative to this chapter. No resurrection, then everything else, even the cross, becomes pointless. Because of the resurrection, everything else we do in this life gains significance, and helps determine what kind of a resurrection we will obtain.

That a parousia is future, as well as taking place in A.D.70, is inferred by the parables following Matthew 24. The delay in the return of the Son of Man, sketched out in the form of master of the household, bridegroom, master returning from a journey, culminating in the final separation and gathering of his own for ‘the kingdom that has been prepared for you since the creation of the world’ seems impossible to limit to the A.D.70 event – which never seems to have been mentioned or seen by anybody as the final, culminating event.

6. The narrative/historical approach runs into trouble with its radical relativising of gospels and letters to pre A.D.70 circumstances. The giving of the Spirit provides a way of refocusing the heart of the gospel – in its covenantal, kingdom (social) and eternal significance. The Spirit also points us to the new community God was inaugurating, thus providing also a social and cultural relevance for the world at large. The giving of the Spirit as the heart and substance of the reconstituted Israel also provides on-going relevance for gospels and letters as the means whereby the character of God’s people as a community were and are to be shaped.

There’s probably much else to be said – but this provides a few thoughts just to prompt discussion.

The marks of a renewed theology

In view of John’s and Richard’s very pertinent non-complaints / non-criticisms in the ‘Was Jesus’ baptism a trinitarian event?’ thread, it might be a good idea to try to refocus our core objectives. What are we trying to do here? What makes this a worthwhile exercise?

What I would like to invite people to do is list what they regard as the most important distinctives, defining emphases, of a renewed theology - whether they think of that as an emerging theology, a post-evangelical theology, post-conservative theology, post-liberal theology, post-modern theology, or whatever. This could be done by listing 3 to 5 main points under each of the following three headings:

1. content: how would we characterize the distinctive beliefs, ideas, doctrines, of a renewed theology;
2. theological method: how do we go about constructing such a theology; how do we communicate it?
3. purpose: what are our overriding objectives? what motivates us?

If that format doesn’t suit you, please express yourself as you see fit.

For the sake of maintaining order please reply directly to this post (or click here), but feel free to comment on what others have posted.

What (again) is an emerging theology?

The whole idea of an ‘emerging theology’ is nebulous, which is probably unavoidable and probably a good thing. But every now and again I feel the need to sketch some boundaries, contours, intentions, commitments - if only to help us keep in view the stated purpose of this site, which is to ‘assist the development of a transparent, community-driven theology for the “emerging church”’. There have been good discussions along these lines in the past: ‘Outline of an emerging theology’, ‘What is the relationship between emerging and evangelical theologies?’, ‘The marks of a renewed theology’. This is simply another personal attempt to give some definition to the phrase ‘emerging theology’.

So here, very briefly stated, are what I feel to be some of the leading characteristics of an emerging theology. It reflects my biases and blindspots. If people want to suggest corrections or additions, I would be happy to take them into account and republish the list as a more collective statement.

1. A theology for a community that is in self-conscious continuity with the biblical people of God and the calling of Abraham to be blessed and be a blessing to the nations of the world.
2. A theology done under the lordship of Christ.
3. A theology that gives priority to narrative in order both to define its core and to contextualize the content of biblical teaching.
4. A theology that seeks to understand the intimate relationship between text and historical narrative.
5. A theology that at its heart is a reading of scripture.
6. A theology that as a matter of methodological commitment celebrates, reinforces, and exploits community: an emerging theology is strongly relational, conversational, interactive.
7. A theology that is strongly aware of, and responsive to, the locality in which these conversations take place.
8. A theology that attempts to resist certain distortions of modernism.
9. A theology that is broadly but not slavishly postmodern in its epistemology, wary of absolute formulations, tolerant of diversity and plurality, sensitive to the social manipulation of texts.
10. A theology that places a high value on intellectual and critical integrity - ‘integrity’ being, I think, the ‘postmodern’ word in that sentence.
11. A theology committed to the renewal of its own discourse, understood not only as speech but as the whole spectrum of means (artistic, communal, activist) by which we communicate.
12. A theology that fosters an open, inquisitive, probing mindset.
13. A theology that endeavours to integrate rather than dissociate modes of thought, analysis, and practice, that draws on the mind of the whole community of faith.
14. A generous theology that is inclined to discover meaning and truth outside of itself.
15. A theology with an eschatological orientation towards the renewal of creation - humanity within a comprehensive ecology; therefore a public rather than a private theology.

See also Ian Mobsby, ‘Is there a distinctive approach to theologising for the emerging church?’

Brian McLaren and preterism

There has been a surfeit of eschatology on this site recently, and I imagine that many are wondering how this all helps the emerging church. To make matters worse, we are beginning to see some sort of convergence between the emerging church and preterism. Virgil Vaduva, who is one of the editors at planetpreterist.com, has been contributing to discussions here, but he has also just published an interview with Brian McLaren which, in the spirit of a generous orthodoxy, tentatively explores the potential overlap between these two movements. I’d be especially interested to hear from people who think this is a move in the wrong direction - either for the emerging church or for preterism.

Cracks in the pavement: an emerging story of new creation

This essay was originally written for Restoring Eden, a Christian environmental network, as an attempt to ‘outline a narrative eschatology… that would validate a positive creational theology’. In the interests of cross-pollination they have kindly allowed me to post it here in advance of its publication on www.restoringeden.org. So please buzz over there and sprinkle the pollen of Open Source Theology on the sexy anthers of Restoring Eden. And vice versa.

The essay is written from inside the emerging church conversation. It does not presume to represent an emerging church consensus, but it shares two key concerns: that the ‘mission’ of the church should in some way embrace the whole of creation, and that our theology should be constructed in the first place as narrative. It attempts, therefore, to explain the relation between the church and creation simply by means of a retelling of the biblical story.

A world-within-a-world

The call of Abram was a call to restart creation. Humanity was not working properly. When people first began to multiply on the face of the land (so the story goes), God saw the extent of human wickedness and the violence that filled the earth and decided to sweep away in a cataclysmic flood the life that had been created. After the flood people began again to multiply and spread across the earth, but when they came to a plain in the land of Shinar, they settled and began to build a city for themselves and a tower that would reach the heavens. Fearing that humanity would over-reach itself, the Lord again acted in judgment, scattering the people across the face of the earth and confusing their speech.

So we have a humanity with a strong propensity for violence, with ambitions to make a name for itself by means of its technological ingenuity, dispersed throughout the world in isolated linguistic groups. At this point God intervenes again, not to judge this time but to initiate something new. He promises Abram that he will make him a great nation. He will bless him and make his name great; he will make him fruitful, he will multiply his descendants so that they will be like the dust of the earth, as the stars of heaven; and most importantly he will give to those descendants the land of Canaan, in which they will prosper.

The language is, of course, familiar. The promise that they will be blessed, that they will be fruitful and be multiplied and fill the land clearly invokes the creational paradigm of Genesis 1:28: ‘And God blessed them. And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth….”’ With one significant difference this is a renewal of humanity – the difference being that the whole earth has been replaced by the small but fecund land of Canaan.

Humanity has failed to carry out the original mandate on a global scale, so a people is brought into existence to be that creation in microcosm, in the midst of the nations of the earth. When Israel eventually gains possession of the land, the covenant with Moses sets out the conditions under which they will enjoy the goodness of their creation-within-a-creation, their Eden in the world. Deuteronomy 28 is especially important here. If they obey the voice of the Lord their God and keep his commandments and statutes, all will be well; they will be blessed and will be a blessing to others. If they fail to obey the voice of God, both they and their environment will be cursed, just as creation was originally cursed by Adam’s disobedience. They will suffer sickness and drought; their livestock will be barren; their crops will fail; they will be defeated and killed by their enemies; ultimately, they will be driven from the land and exiled among the nations.

The call to be an authentic creation in microcosm, humanity in prosperous harmony with its environment, almost gets drowned out in the noisy progress of Israel’s history. But not quite. The psalmists never forget that the earth and its fulness belong to the Lord, that the created order declares the glory of God, that the trees of the forest will sing for joy before the Lord when he comes to judge the earth. This is undoubtedly poetic language but it at least reminds the worshipping community that we approach the Lord of heaven and earth as creatures in an ecosystem.

Spinning into night

The prophets also understand that Israel’s story is mirrored in its environment. When Israel sins, the earth suffers with it: ‘The earth mourns and withers; the world languishes and withers…. The earth lies defiled under its inhabitants; for they have transgressed the laws, violated the statutes, broken the everlasting covenant. Therefore a curse devours the earth, and its inhabitants suffer for their guilt… (Isaiah 24:3-6). And when the hope of forgiveness and restoration breaks through the clouds, creation rejoices and will be renewed: ‘For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress; instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle; and it shall make a name for the LORD, an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off’ (Isaiah 55:13).

But now we come to an important question. What happens to this hope? For we are at a point in the story when the lights are beginning to go out. Israel’s small, troubled world-within-a-world is spinning into night. The people are torn apart by injustice and sectarianism, misruled by their kings and priests, bullied by their various pagan overlords; the sanctity of the temple and Jerusalem is repeatedly threatened by the presence of Gentiles. It’s all moving towards a dramatic, indeed horrifying, climax.

The final collapse of the microcosm is announced emphatically by Jesus. Invading armies will devastate the land; the city of the great king, the house of the living God, will be destroyed; the people will be slaughtered or once again scattered in confusion across the earth. It has all become a house built on sand that will not escape being swept away when the floods come.

In the beginning was the word

But there would not be nothing left. A new creational microcosm would emerge from the ruins of the old, a new world-within-a-world would be born. This, I would argue, is fundamentally what is saved by Jesus – to cut a long story much too short. He is the Word that brings a new creation into existence; he is the life of this new world; he is the light that dispels the darkness of ignorance and folly; he is the tabernacle, the place of God’s dwelling in its midst; he is Jacob, the beginning of a new people, called to demonstrate to the world what it means to be authentic humanity.

How that renewal comes about takes us to the heart of the New Testament story. Jesus gathers a community around himself that must survive the violent disintegration of the old age and the traumatic birth of the new. It is a community that will have to share his trust in the Father, that will have to walk the same narrow path that he walked, carrying the cross that he carried – rejection, humiliation, harrassment, ill-treatment, and quite possibly death. It is a community that must be prepared to suffer the birthpains of the coming age for the sake of God’s reign over this emerging humanity, for the sake of God’s presence in the midst of this world-within-a-world.

My argument in The Coming of the Son of Man is that what made sense of these circumstances and gave hope to the church as it faced the hostility of Roman imperialism was the story that Jesus and others told about one like a son of man who would be seen – just as Daniel ‘saw’ him – coming on the clouds of heaven to the throne of the Ancient of Days to receive ‘dominion and glory and a kingdom’. This human figure is not simply an individual. He is also the suffering community of the righteous, the saints of the Most High, against whom an arrogant and blasphemous pagan power makes war. It is a frightening vision, but it carries the profound assurance that God will defeat his enemies and vindicate those who trust in him.

The vindication of the persecuted church, both the living and the dead, marks the end of the long eschatological night. The microcosm is spinning into the light again, but with a new king, a new lord, and the Spirit of God possessing the hearts of its people.

The perennial hope of a renewed humanity is not to be with God in heaven – that is at most an anomaly, a digression, a subplot in the story of God’s world-within-a-world. The hope is that God will make all things new (Revelation 21:5). There will be a new heaven and a new earth, in which there will be no more suffering, no more pain, no more injustice and violence, no more decay and death; and the dwelling of God will be with humanity. That is the vision that defines the scope of our vocation.

If at first you don’t succeed…

When the early church eventually emerged battered but vindicated from its long struggle with Rome, it set about the task of being new humanity. Ironically, but perhaps not surprisingly, the model of human society it adopted was the imperial one: a highly structured, hierarchically governed polity that aspired to bring the whole earth under its control. The creational microcosm of Christendom lasted in one form or another for 1500 years – a mixed blessing to the world. But the paradigm has now collapsed under the weight of history, and we are again having to ask what it means to be an authentic humanity on display in the world.

The challenge that we face, then, is both practical and prophetic. We always have to be the new creation, which means three things: that we make the creative God central to our life as community; that we demonstrate a commitment to justice and love amongst ourselves that heals the deep divisions and hurts of the old world; and that we respect the ‘land’ that has been given to us – we cannot be a world-within-the-world without taking the created environment into account.

But in pursuing this agenda we should also be a sign to the world that things could be different; we make an alternative way of being human visible. That is a prophetic function, and it calls for a collective imagination that will dramatize, publicize, inflate, amplify the story of a God who makes all things new – just as the prophet from Nazareth transformed a simple journey into Jerusalem into a powerful and subversive story about the coming of God as king to defeat his enemies and deliver his people from oppression. In this post-modern, post-Christendom age the world-within-a-world that we are called to be is bound to exist marginally, in the cracks in our societies – like grass and weeds growing through cracks in the pavement. But we exist prophetically – and that is a powerful way to be.

End of Days....

I’d be interested to know from contributors to OST just what their various stances are with respect to End-Time teaching. I was brought up in a pre-tribulation, pre-millenial doctrinal environment which confidently expected Christians to be spared the persecutions of the Antichrist via the kind of ‘secret rapture’ endorsed by Tim LaHaye, Hal Lindsey and others. Nowadays I din’t seen any Biblical support for pre-trib rapture — at best, Christians can only expect a mid-trib ‘exodus’, but even that is dubious. I realise that this kind of thread could lead anywhere, not least to a discussion regarding the identity of the Antichrist — man or corporate body etc. Or has the Emerging Church ditched any belief whatsoever in the Second Coming?

Life After Death

Okay, I’ve lurked for a bit and now I am going to throw something open. What does the emerging church think about the possiblity of life after death? All "scientific" evidence appears to point to the simple fact that when we are dead we are dead and that is it. However, the existence of an afterlife has been a central tenet of Christian thinking forever.

I guess my questions for discussion are these:

• Is there an afterlife?
• How is an afterlife concieved if it does exist?
• What do we think of heaven and hell and by extention judgement?
• If the afterlife exists, what is the point of this life?
• If you are going for a universalist or psuedo universalist interuptation (ie we all or most of us get into heaven) then what is the point of this life? Why doesn’t God just take us straight there….
  
• If there isn’t what does this mean to Christianity?
• Does the lack of an after-life actually make Christianity purer - ie no reward makes action to do good

I hope this will be an extremely productive discussion. It’s such an important issue to consider.

Post-eschatological charismatic?

What can we say about the so-called ‘miraculous gifts’ in light of the post-eschatalogical situation. What is the place of the ‘miraculous’ gifts in New Testament spirituality? The paradigm shifting that is underway opens an opportunity for fresh commentary on this, and those of us hammering out a theology of/for/with the emerging church just might be in the grace-infused historical moment within which the boorish and constipated controversies of the past can be transcended.

This is important for an emerging church seeking to be generous to those with whom we disagree, but also who recognize the complexites that arise when our desire to be generous meets a concern about the demonic or the counterfiet.

My current interest in this is due to the widespread influence of the International House of Prayer based in Kansas City and its rapid growth of late, even among emergent-friendly congregations. It is a ‘whole-nother-thing’ with it’s own vocabulary and alot of talk about ‘eschatology’. Other brands of charismatic theology and practice have expressed concern over their influence.

At this point I do not desire to start a conversation about IHOP. I don’t know if that is even appropriate to do on this website. (Maybe even my mentioning of their name is wrong…if so please let me know) What is in order is what I first mentioned above.

Can a Christian Support War?

It seems to me that since the dominant image of Christianity in the US media is of right-wing Christians who predominantly vote Republican, one would think that this group would generally be in support of the current military operations in Iraq. On the other hand, I personally find that I cannot count myself as a follower of a Jesus who always practiced non-violence himself, and support violent actions of my state. Another view of the issue is that a Christian ought to support war if and only if every other possibility has been exhausted. So, perhaps this would make the Second World War justifiable, but one would want to let the inspections process finish before finally coming out in support of military action in Iraq. I have heard this called “Just War Theory.”

Must a Christian be a pacifist? Must a Christian support war in some cases? Is Just War Theory a workable solution to the problem? Are there other possibilities?

Homosexuality

How should the emerging church respond to the prospect of 'large-scale ecosystem collapse'?

The latest WWF biannual Living Planet Report warns of ‘large-scale ecosystem collapse’ by 2050 because the earth can no longer keep up with the demands that are being placed upon it. What should the response of the church be to this? And what, if anything, should be distinctive about the response of the emerging church?

It seems to me that the theological basis of a constructive response to the environmental crisis lies in the understanding of the ‘church’ as an expression of authentic humanity. The church is essentially the product of God calling into existence a new creation in the midst of a world perpetually marred by idolatry, arrogance, injustice and violence. The paradigm derives from Abraham, whose calling was a reiteration of the original creational blessing on humankind and the mandate to be fruitful, multiply and fill the earth (Gen. 12:2-3, 7; 17:1; 28:3-4; cf. 1:28); but it modulates throughout the biblical narrative, through the New Testament story of suffering, renewal, and vindication, culminating in John’s final galvanizing vision of a new heavens and a new earth.

As new creation, as authentic humanity, as a creational microcosm, as a world-within-a-world, the church is defined by three modes of being in relationship:

1. The church is the place of God’s presence: the creative God is central, as one who is worshipped, who is holy and just, who is made angry by human rebellion, by the corruption of the created world, who opposes the pretensions and wickedness of the nations, who redeems a people. For Israel this presence was represented essentially by the temple; for the church it is mediated through the Spirit.

2. The church is called to social righteousness: an authentic humanity demonstrates in itself justice, fairness, compassion, love, forgiveness, etc. For Israel this righteousness was defined and monitored by the law; for the church it is grounded in forgiveness and the writing of the law on the people’s hearts; it is an expression of the fact that God reigns over his people - we are not subject to other powers, whether cultural, political or spiritual; we are free to be slaves of righteousness.

3. The church embodies in itself a relation to the created environment: just as Israel inherited the goodness of the promised land, so the church as the renewed family of Abraham has inherited in dispersed fashion the world (Rom. 4:13). I would suggest that this is where we must begin to construct a credible theological and missional response to the world’s increasing alarm over the state of the environment.

The people of God is only ever a creational microcosm imperfectly. So although we are called in the first place to be that new humanity - to be God-centred, to be righteous, to live well on the earth - we never escape from our failings and ineffectiveness. In our inadequacy, however, we can also be a sign of something better than what we are: we point beyond ourselves to the God who redeems and will make all things new.

So my question is this: How can the church effectively demonstrate what it means to be new creation in its dispersed relation to the earth? How do we live as a world-within-a-world, a people amongst peoples, in respect of the third mode of being? And how do we imaginatively leverage that imperfect existence so as to be a visible, public sign of authentic humanity that challenges, inspires, gives hope?

Let me put this rather more provocatively. Let me suggest that the Spirit of God is calling his people to an awakening of the prophetic imagination in community so that the story of the creative God can be told well - with integrity and power - during the coming crisis of the environment.

See also ‘Human footprint too big for nature’ on the WWF website.

Is Jesus Even Relevant?

In the closing chapter of JESUS AND THE VICTORY OF GOD, N.T. Wright acknowledges that locating Jesus within his second-temple Jewish world includes the risk of making him irrelevant.

My question for all interested is this. Since Jesus mission was the ushering in of the reign of God, and since for the last 2000 years it is apparent that the lion is not laying down with the lamb, that plowshares are beaten into swords, the nations are not streaming to the mountain of the Lord, and no little child is leading them, doesn’t it make more sense to conclude that the reign of Israel’s God has not begun, and that Jesus in consequence must be regarded as a failure at best, or a false messiah and false prophet at worst? Stuart

Jesus is not God Almighty

In private emails between Peter and myself, the subject of the divinity of Jesus came up. I suggested that it would be a good idea to publish a post summarising our exchange and inviting further discussion. Firstly I have written up the points I originally made, in a slightly expanded form. Next I have printed the issues/objections raised by Peter in response to this, with my replies. I welcome anyone who wants to ‘have a go’ and join in the fun.

The divinity of the Son.

It seems to me that when Jesus referred to himself as possessing ‘divinity’ it was invariably in terms of the indwelling Father, not the incarnate ‘God the Son’. He never speaks of ‘the Son that dwells in me’. Instead, Jesus was indwelt by his God in the same way the ark of the covenant was. In John 17:3, Jesus clearly sets himself in contrast to ‘the only one who is truly God’, the Father (see also John 5:44).

Furthermore, where the title ‘god’ is applied to Jesus by others, it harmonises far better with the Hebrew Bible to read it in terms of a functional equality, as opposed to an identity of substance. Moses was made a god to Pharaoh (Exodus 7:1) because he acted as Yahweh’s stand-in for his dealings with Egypt. In the same way, Paul describer the Satan as ‘the god of this age’ in that he occupies the dominion, usurped from Adam, that the Son will enjoy in the age to come.

Of course, the distinction between ‘small-g’ and ‘big-G’ in our English translations is artificial, since there was none in the original Hebrew or Greek manuscripts.

Jesus functions as God towards humanity in that he did and spoke of himself as doing things which up to that point only God was thought of as doing (the general resurrection and judgment, the forgiveness of sin etc.)

Yet for all this, I would insist that there is no evidence that the apostles ever deviated form the strict unitary monotheism of the Jewish fathers. There is still only one Creator God, the Father, in spite of the addition of a vice-regent, Jesus, God’s agent through whom he interacts with man. Surely it is significant that the only clearly articulated ‘incarnation’ theology in the New Testament is found in the mouths of mistaken pagans (Acts 14:10). According to 1Tim 2:5, God is one and his Son is a man (wouldn’t this have been the perfect place to introduce the ‘god-man’?). 

To hold a concept of Jesus as being ‘god’ in a ‘homoussian’ sense (being of the same substance as God the Father- a Greek term not found anywhere in the Bible) has a double effect:

Firstly it divides the godhead, violating what according to Jesus was the first and greatest commandment (Mark 12:29-30). This is borne out in the contradictory Athanasian creed that ‘the Father is God, the Son is God and the Spirit is God, yet there are not three Gods, but one’.

Secondly, it eclipses Jesus’ humanity- an aspect upon which the most heavy scriptural emphasis is laid. Evidence of this is found in the Chalcedonian declaration that the Son possessed an ‘impersonal’ human nature. That he is ‘man’, but not ‘a man’. Read in the light of 1 John 4:3 this should cause alarm bells to ring.

What about the holy spirit?

In the development of patristic thought, the spirit didn’t become a person in the godhead until long after the Son. Strictly speaking, the spirit of God would appear to be his operational presence, as opposed to another person in the godhead.  It is God’s dynamic, reaching into the world to create, inspire, work miracles etc.

Furthermore, it would seem to connote the ‘inner life’ of God, often being used synonymously with his thought and by extension, his expressed word. Of course, the same could be said of our human spirits. They too can be vexed, grieved etc. without being another person ‘subsisting’ within our ‘essence’.

It may even be that ‘spirit’ is not an ontological category at all but instead, a metaphor. The literal meaning of the words ruach in Hebrew and pneuma in Greek are in both cases ‘wind/breath’. This has been obscured by their transliteration into English from the Latin ‘spiritus’ as opposed to straight translation. So ‘spirit’ may not be anything in and of itself, but rather a term, acting as a stand in for various functions.

Some confusion has arisen due to Jesus’ personification of the spirit in the later chapters of John, as the ‘paraclete’ who would take over his role subsequent to his ascension. But this is standard Hebraism. One of the best examples would be Solomon’s personification of ‘lady wisdom’ in Proverbs chapter 8. James Dunn’s excellent ‘Christology in the making’ offers many examples from the Judaism of Jesus’ day of the widespread use of this device in relation to God’s attributes.

Even today we would say of a ship, “God bless her and all who sail in her”. But, though we often personalise inanimate objects, we would never refer to a person as an ‘it’ unless we wanted to insult them. Yet throughout both Testaments, God’s spirit is referred to in almost exclusively impersonal terms.

What follows are Peter’s comments and my responses:

• How does the death of Jesus find meaning within this framework?

The highest expression of God’s love for us is the giving of his Son (John 3:16). The Son’s love for the Father is shown in his obedient offering of himself  (John 14:31). None of this is obscured by attributing full humanity to Jesus and full divinity to the Father. Jesus’ blood is still the ransom demanded and provided by God for our sins.

• What distinguishes Jesus from other people, if he is just one in whom the spirit of the Father is operating? Most of the figures in the bible could claim that.

 The differences are several. The Son is the cornerstone of the Father’s purpose and motive for his entire creation. As such, his calling is unique. In the counsels of God he alone was chosen from the beginning to be God’s solution to sin, the expression of his mercy and plenipotentiary sovereign of the created order. Furthermore, his unparalleled obedience to this calling further distinguishes him. At immense cost to himself, he set aside his own pride, self-will and every right due to him, making room for the Father to perform his work through him. 

Yet the scriptures lay great emphasis upon the fact that this does not exempt him from the weaknesses and temptations experienced by the rest of us. In this way he is both a credible role model and merciful high priest in that he can fully relate to our sufferings and limitations. By contrast, God cannot be tempted with sin (James 1:13 and Hebrews 4:15). To make the Son into God seriously undermines both God’s holiness and the genuine human experience of Christ.

Your observation that many of the figures of the Bible could also claim to have God’s spirit operating through them is absolutely true. This is consistent with the fact that the Son of God is revealed to us in comparison to them. Another Moses, but with greater authority. Another David, with a permanent throne. Another Adam, succeeding where he failed and winning back what he lost.

Why would the supremacy of the Son need to be revealed to us by means such as these, if he was God Almighty? It would be enough simply to state it clearly, and leave the issue alone.

• What about the impact of this on the depth of the atonement, in that it isn’t God on the cross taking the suffering on himself;

God, who loves perfectly, had to endure watching the agonies of his Son, the most worthy object of his love. Surely there is no question of the degree to which God suffered. The fact that the Son suffered too, as someone other than God, does nothing to detract from this.

• That someone other than God is able to atone for sin or find release from its consequences.

Where does the Bible teach us that God would die for our sins? God is immortal and cannot die (1 Timothy 1:17, Luke 20:36). In contrast, Jesus was only made immortal subsequent to his resurrection.

God atoned for our sins by providing a sacrifice, not by being one. In the Old Testament he provided blood for temporary atonement. In the New Testament he provides his Son for a permanent sin offering once and for all.

As he gave his life, Jesus cried out from the cross “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me’. Therefore, whoever was left on the cross from that point on cannot have been God. If Jesus’ personal centre was indeed ‘divine’, then this abandonment would have left nothing but an empty shell to die. Incarnation theology is forever crossing the line into docetism.

• That in this framework, sin is not seen as such a great problem to be overcome (That all that is required is a bit more effort and trying harder at the rules!)

Anyone who has struggled with sin knows only too well how great a problem it is. This experience is universal, irrespective of Christology.

Yet, to the extent that our view of sanctification is a product of our Christology, it could reasonably be said that a message that sin could only be overcome by God in the form of a man is remote and irrelevant. None of us has the advantage of a personal existence in eternity prior to our birth.

Instead, Jesus’ achievement and sacrifice are all the more remarkable by virtue of his human limitations. He is the uniquely normal man, the living example of a spiritually mature humanity which will be the standard of the age to come.

So, far from minimising the problem of sin, his example is more inspiring, given his success in spite of the absence of any hidden advantage.

• That very often folk who do not subscribe to Jesus’ divinity lack personal experience of God in their own lives.

This is your observation. But does the Bible encourage us to evaluate truth in these terms? Wouldn’t a faith based on ‘personal, experiential knowledge of the divine’ be more akin to gnosticism than New Testament Christianity? Where in the Bible does anyone ‘invite Jesus into their heart’ etc.? Powerful experiences are a feature of all mystical religions, yet we would not establish their veracity on that basis alone.

The faith-experience of the apostles seems rather to be the result of their persuasion concerning God’s promise. It gave them hope, and hope gave rise to joy.

For now, Paul tells us, we see through a glass darkly. Only ‘then’, in the age to come can we look forward to seeing God face to face, as so far only Adam, Moses and Jesus have. To seek more than this, if it entails going beyond the confines of scripture, is to tread a dangerous path towards the occult. www.Godfellas.org

What Jesus did NOT die on the cross for

With this post I would like to invite people to engage in the question of the meaning of the death of Jesus. I have been growing up with a very calvinistic (Jesus died as a ransom for our sins) tradition of Jesus’ death on the cross. In recent years I have questioned more and more this prerequisite I grew up with: The purpose of Jesus’ coming was to die for us. Before I want to make my point I want to say that I myslef see different approaches in the NT about this question. The position I am going to present is not a perfect one. However, and otherwise I wouldn’t post this topic, I believe it is a better one (meaning more biblical one) than the calvinistic (or should I say evangelical) position. It goes as follows:

1. God did not send his son with the purpose or aim to die for us.
2. Jesus died for our sins, yes, but God did not need the death of his son to forgive sins.

Not to be misunderstood: Yes: Jesus came down on the earth; He lived a just life; the people (both Romans and Jews) cruxified him; He rose from the death; He ascended into heavens.  This is the story of Jesus. This is what happened to him. The above two statements I questioned are assumptions, or interpretations of the story of Jesus that I do not find strongly supported in the Bible.

The reason I believe many christians support the idea that God sent his son to die for us is twofold: a. this is what they are told from sunday school on and is portrayed as one of the fundamentals of christianity; and b. is based on the assumption that since God foreknows everything and therefore also Jesus’ death he must somehow also have ordained it.

I would like to start of with a very interesting parable that Jesus himself is telling. If you have a moment, please read the parable at the beginning of Mk.12, the so called ‘parable of the tenants’. Very interesting here is verse 6. Accoring to this verse God did not send his son to death; but was hoping the people would respect him; since he is his son. According to this parable it was not the landlord’s intention that his son wiould be killed, even though this was the risk he took.

This is how I feel most of the NT is in harmony with. God sent his son to reconcile the world to himself. It indeed was a risky enterprise but the intention of his mission was not to die (a dead Messiah also in jewish tradition was not something that was expected), but to live and bring the people of Israel back to their God. I think we misread many passages in the NT. Many verses talk about God ‘giving’ his son. I don’t know exactly why, but we always sweem to read ‘death’ in it. If Jesus gives his life then he gives his life! He might give his death also, but only in so far as his death is part of his life. In John 3.16 for example I can’t see a reference of Jesus death. It talks about his life; not his death. For example. no one really thinks of the death of christians (even though death might be a consequence) when reading Romans 12,1. ‘give life’ or ‘sacrifice’ does not necessarily imply death. (even though it can).

I do not see ‘a law from the Old Testament’ that Jesus had to die for. According to Hebrews is Jesus explicitely NOT a priest in the tradition or accordance with Levi which tribe performed the killing sacraments, but according to Melchisedek, who was before the law was given, and therefore the tradition of sacrifices was started. So all those sacrifices do not really apply to Jesus (in my opinion), neither is he the fullfillment of those.

According to Paul in  Romans 5:18 it is the righteousness, and not his death that brought about justification before God.

Also, from the times of Abraham by the latest, it was forbidden to offer human sacrifices to be killed. God could not possibly violate this law by purposely sending his own son to death.

If God is God then he really does not need a human sacrifice (or if you are trinitarian: a sacrifice of himself) to forgive sins. How on on the basis of what other than his souvereignity and mercy in the parable of the lost son in Luke 15 then did the father forgive his son when he asked to come back? Jesus was telling this parable BEFORE his death. How can Paul say that Abraham was justified by his faith?  No sacrifice has been offered.

The evangelical view of these things in my opinion dismisses the scandal that took place. They killed Jesus! Hey, they killed Jesus! Evangelicals wake up; they killed Jesus!!!!!!!!!! They killed the only one that was righteous! No, God did not kill him; they did! He came and healed and loved and helped. And they killed him!!!! That is a scandal! They killed a member of God’s family!!! This is unbelievable!! Don’t just accept this as ‘an OT law’ or ‘because they had to’, or because’God sent his son to die’. As if God and the mean Romans / Jews would have collaborated in the murder of Jesus! No!!!! it is a murder and nothing less. And if there was a law that Jesus had to die for it is the law that humans can’t stand rightous people and people that do not compromise and are not corrupt.

And here is the amazing story: Even though we humans killed the son of God; killed a beloved member of God’s family: God’s one and only son; God is not at the end with us. He did not give us up. He uses what has happened against him and his son as a sign of love. as a sign of love that the world has never seen before: The cross is an invite to come and become a son and a daughter of God like the one they killed. To also come to God’s family. And as an eternal sign that God is souvereign and this is really true: he rose Jesus from the death and started the biggest track of humankind: we can all follow Christ towards God. No, this isn’t theology or a new theory besides Calvin. this is just telling of what happened with Jesus and with God. Or you might call it narrative theology; I don’t know.

Am I sure that I am saved?

How do you consider yourself a evangelical - what are the parameters that you use to define that in your life? I have not for instance seen you quote or refer to your relationship with Jesus. Are you sure you are saved?

This (provocative?) question was posed by marhorse in the thread ‘What is the “emerging church”?’ This is by no means a complete or even a very coherent response, but the question is important and helpful - partly for personal reasons but also because it brings sharply into focus a critical area of contention between evangelicalism and emerging theology. For a personal statement of faith you could also have a look at ‘My (tentative) beliefs’.

My sense of still being ‘evangelical’ probably has more to do with personal history than with theological conviction, to be honest. I am in many respects a product of modern evangelicalism and probably share more of its presuppositions and shortcomings than I care to admit. But I have to say that my relationship to modern evangelicalism as an intellectual and cultural movement has always been strained - I simply do not believe that it gives an adequate account, either in theory or in practice, of what it means to be in continunity with the biblical narrative.

Am I sure that I am saved? I do not think that the Bible defines ‘Christianity’ fundamentally or centrally as a religion of salvation, and certainly not of the highly individualized personal salvation that is characteristic of modern evangelicalism; so I do not think that the question ‘Are you sure you are saved?’ really gets at the heart of the matter. I believe that the God who called Abraham has called me to be part of his own people, and that my inclusion in that people is a matter of grace and is a consequence of Christ’s death and vindication. It could not have happened without the victory over Israel’s sin, its alienation from God, the prospect of judgment, and the opposition of the powers that ruled over Israel, that - to my mind - is best captured in the story about the suffering Son of man who receives ‘dominion and glory and a kingdom’ from God. This is a narrative of salvation but it is worked out primarily at a corporate level and it is set within a larger narrative of the calling or election of a people to be a place of God’s dwelling in the world.

So for me, as someone who was ‘alienated from the commonwealth of Israel’, what I have received from God by faith, as an outworking of his grace, is incorporation into a people in the midst of which the living God dwells through his Spirit and whose ‘king’ or ‘lord’ is the messiah Jesus. That ‘incorporation’ is my ‘salvation’, I guess you could say - it is what has made me whole, it has brought me into a new humanity, it has reconciled me with the living God, it has set me free from all other kingdoms - Christ is my king.

Am I sure? Why shouldn’t I be sure? I have been baptized into a worshipping community. I am part of that community. What’s not to be sure about? It’s like asking a footballer if he’s sure he’s part of the team. He’s signed the contract, he trains with the team, he gets paid by the club, he’s wearing the club strip, and he’s on the pitch playing, well or badly, with other members of the team. Of course he’s part of the team. In other words, the question ‘Are you sure that you are saved?’ reflects the over-subjectivized, over individualized bias of modern evangelicalism.

There is another reason why I hesitate to speak of a personal relationship with Jesus at the moment. I think that much of the New Testament language that suggests this (eg. Phil. 3:10) refers specifically to the experience of communities of believers that had to share in sufferings of Jesus - the sufferings of eschatological transition, the birthpangs of the age which has now come. This is a major part of the argument of The Coming of the Son of Man. Otherwise, I am rather inclined to think that the doctrine of a ‘personal relationship with Jesus’ is almost as much a modern invention as the Catholic doctrine of the assumption of Mary. It may have been a legitimate and necessary reaction against rationalism and formalism, but it had the unfortunate side-effect of reinforcing modernism’s obsession with the individual ego.

I’m sure this is all going to sound far too complex, if not downright evasive - but in a way that is precisely the point. I think that we need to recover the complexity of the biblical narrative, the larger theological and historical context that must frame any narrative of personal ‘salvation’, and that inevitably resists the modern myth of individualism. My suspicion, marhorse, is that when you talk about holding to the Word of God, you are silently running it through a tightly controlled and restrictive interpretive grid that ‘modern evangelicalism’ has built into you. You’re welcome to object to that - and also to point out that we all have our interpretive grids. But that does not exempt us from the struggle to understand ourselves, our world, and the Word of God better.

What does it mean to be saved?

David Hopkins, editor of Next-Wave, suggests that the church ought to stop trying to ‘save’ people. Or at least, he argues that the sort of ‘personal salvation’ on offer in the church today simply doesn’t work in a postmodern climate. It doesn’t make sense to people. What people are looking for is ‘to have a sense of wonder restored’. You can read what he has to say here.

This has got to be worth thinking about. We have assumed for a long time that Christianity is a religion of salvation: you start off being lost, you welcome Jesus into your heart, you get saved, and you go to heaven rather than to hell. If that simple narrative is defunct, what do we replace it with? What do we do with all those metaphors? What is the narrow path that leads to life? What does it mean to move from darkness into light? What sort of condemnation or judgment should people fear? What does it mean to be saved? Can we still go out with the gospel and honestly claim that we are offering people the same deal that the first disciples offered to the world? Do we think anyone really wants it?

10 principles for reading the Bible in a postmodern context

Implicit in these principles is a process of deconstruction followed by reconstruction. Deconstruction is necessary because there are certain ‘invisible’ structures present in our thinking as believers, many of them relics of an earlier, embattled period, which now constrain and distort our attempts to understand and articulate the truth that lies in the Bible. But there must be a corresponding reconstruction with the goal of reinstating the Bible as a valid public text for the emerging culture.

1. Reading honestly

We need to develop a visible intellectual integrity – keeping in mind that intellectual integrity is not just for intellectuals. Traditionally we have treated Christian truth more or less as an inviolable and definitive set of truths. Built into the formulation of truth, however, must be something of the hesitancy or doubt or provisionality that we experience as we seek to make sense of the story about God. The belief system which we advocate must reflect something of the imperfectness, the incompleteness, of our belief.

2. Let’s pretend it’s not inerrant

There has been considerable debate over whether it is acceptable to take a more historical-critical stance towards the truth status of Scripture. Should we regard the factual content and coherence of the Bible to be divinely guaranteed? Or should we accept more public criteria for truthfulness and deny that the Bible is an epistemologically privileged text?

For the purposes of this site we might suggest a compromise: we will set aside claims to the predetermined inerrancy and sanctity of the Bible, at least insofar as such claims force upon us standards of truthfulness that conflict with criteria of thought that we are not prepared to abandon in other areas of discourse (scientific, historical, literary, social, etc.). In other words, we will read the Bible as though it were a profane text, on the ‘pretence’, so to speak, that its truthfulness is an emergent quality, to be discovered through the process of reading, not to be superimposed from above.

There are some important advantages to this approach: it allows us to read the Bible as the unbeliever reads it; it helps to defamiliarise the Bible for us, which will be an essential aspect of the deconstruction process; it keeps open the possibility that a more robust and persuasive truthfulness will emerge as we grapple with the fact of the Bible’s historicity; and we keep in view the significance of the Bible as the Word of God for the church.

3. Forgetting what we’ve been told

We must let go of the need to define truth dogmatically. The transition we are going through has shown our dogmatic systems to be very inadequate containers for biblical truth. They have become the fragile and lifeless chrysalis from which the butterfly of a more vital understanding is struggling to emerge. If we are to rediscover the truthfulness of Scripture, if we are to find a way to restate the Gospel within a postmodern intellectual environment, we must go back to the source and come to know the Bible for what it really is.

The problem with the traditional propositional theological model is not that it is propositional but that it is inflexible; it is reluctant to acknowledge and review its presuppositions; it is unwilling to wipe the dogmatic slate clean and start again. We do not need to abandon propositionalism in favour of a narrative theology, but we do need to demonstrate that our more or less systematized conclusions are genuinely connected not only with the story of which they are a summary but also with the dynamic process of the church’s continuing interpretation of that story.

4. An intrinsic biblical theology

We can make a useful distinction between an intrinsic and an extrinsic biblical theology.

An extrinsic theology is generated outside the original historical context. Although it is a product of the text, it becomes more importantly the means by which the text is subsequently interpreted. An extrinsic theology is generally well-adapted to a set of contemporary social and religious conditions, but it is likely to misrepresent the original meaning.

An intrinsic theology arises in relation to the complex historical situation of the text: it belongs to the circumstances of its production and reading. It is their theology, not ours. Such a theology is by no means inaccessible to the modern reader, but it requires some effort to place oneself in the world of the original community and hear what they heard. I would suggest that this constitutes the right sort of hermeneutic for a postmodern biblical theology: it is the act of standing outside ourselves, it is an act of intellectual self-displacement, of theological humility. It is also an effective means of deconstructing modernist theological discourse without succumbing to historical and theological relativism.

5. Spirit-driven theology

A postmodernized theology must be pentecostal, in that it must fully take into account the activity of the Spirit in the life of the believer; and it must be charismatic, in the sense that the capacity to re-envision, reinvent, to make sense of the gospel in a postmodern context, must be experienced not purely as an intellectual competence but as a gift of the Spirit.

6. Reading the big structures

Meaning will be found primarily in the large literary structures of the Bible rather than in isolated, dogmatically selected proof-texts. These natural structures include historical narrative, theological argumentation, sustained prophetic analysis. The reliance of popular Christianity on proof-texts is a pseudo-rationalist strategy that is likely to sound artificial to the postmodern ear.

7. Reading the community of the texts

It may suit a postmodern orientation to think not only in terms of reading the text but also of reading the community that generated and used the texts. Such an approach recognizes that for postmoderns truth comes alive as it is expressed and lived out in community. It would require less imaginative dependence on the New Testament texts, an openness to other literary, historical, archaeological resources.

It might help to think of the New Testament community rather as we think of other Christian communities-for example, the Celtic communities that have proved to have a strong affinity with postmodern spirituality.

8. Eschatology at ground level

The New Testament needs to be interpreted much more deliberately and consistently in relation to the eschatological crisis that marked the end of the age. But we will also need to affirm as far as possible the historical and realistic dimension to eschatological teaching.

We need to develop an eschatology that hovers near the ground of history, that is marked out by the crises of history. Whereas seekers may be struggling to get off the ground, believers tend to have the opposite problem of not being able to keep in touch with reality. Having discovered the thrills of eschatology they are inclined to soar off into orbit either to disappear forever or burn up on re-entry.

9. Being read by the text

One problem that arises when we emphasize the historicality and contingency of Scripture is that we make it somewhat remote from personal experience. As sacred text the Bible has an inherent universality and may speak quite naturally to a twenty-first century readership if it is disposed to listen. If we strip away the sacredness, we are left with an ancient document that may lack immediacy and authority. Part of the answer to this is that the reader must learn to enter imaginatively into the ancient world of the Bible. But there is also a need for the church to speak prophetically today, drawing both on the ancient texts, which it is endeavouring to interpret with increasing accuracy, and on the understanding given through the Spirit.

10. Practical usefulness

Our reading of the Bible must be practically useful for the church. We need a discourse that can empower worship, teaching, pastoral ministry, evangelism, and so on.

All Truth is God's Truth... or...

My maxim has long been that "All truth is God’s truth" and I’ve attempted to live in such a way to demonstrate that belief. I was responding to a friend’s blog the other day when I suddenly stopped and questioned one of my core beliefs. I asked:

Surely our ability to deal with the truth we have (what we do with knowledge) is more important than what knowledge we have?

Now that I phrase it like that, I wonder how it fits into the creation stories. What do people in the community think? Is knowledge (such as ‘’the knowledge of good and evil’‘) sinful in itself or does it take willfull action based on that to become sinful?

Original post here

I began to consider knowledge and sin in light of