Anonymous Disciples

Now on the first day of the Feast of Unleavened Bread, when the Passover lamb is sacrificed, Jesus’ disciples said to him, “Where do you want us to prepare for you to eat the Passover?” He sent two of his disciples and told them, “Go into the city, and a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him. Wherever he enters, tell the owner of the house, ‘The Teacher says, “Where is my guest room where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?”’ He will show you a large room upstairs, furnished and ready. Make preparations for us there.” So the disciples left, went into the city, and found things just as he had told them, and they prepared the Passover.

— Mark 15:12-16

When I first heard this story as a kid, I assumed that Jesus used his Special Jesus Powers to arrange for the upper room. After all, there are lots of ways that an omnipotent Messiah could have pulled it off: he could have informed the man with a water jar of his needs in a dream or a vision or an audible voice from heaven. He could have sent an undercover angel to make arrangements with the man with a water jar. He could have sent an undercover angel to pose as a man with a water jar himself. He could have used his omniscience to identify someone whose Passover plans had fallen through and who therefore had a prepared but unused room.

Quite some time later, I realized there’s a simpler (humanly speaking) possibility: he could have privately talked with one of his followers and simply not told the others. (And there would be good reason to do so: by keeping his plans private, he could ensure uninterrupted time for his final meal with his disciples and friends before his arrest.)

We have this popular image of Jesus traveling with twelve men who later became the twelve apostles: Peter, Andrew, James, John, Phillip, Bartholomew (or Nathanael), Thomas, Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon the Zealot, and Judas. A small enough group to memorize without much trouble; short enough to easily list off in a children’s Sunday school class. The full group of Jesus’ followers was much broader than that, though:

• When selecting a replacement for Judas, there were two candidates who met the qualification of having followed Jesus all the way from his baptism to his ascension (Acts 1:21-23); if two otherwise unknown people were present for Jesus’ whole three-year ministry, then it seems likely that several more were present for most or almost all of it.
• Besides the Twelve, Jesus sent seventy-two disciples out to spread the Good News of the Kingdom (Lk 10:1-20).
• Several women, including Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Susanna, traveled with Jesus and financially supported him and the disciples (Lk 8:1-3).
• Five hundred disciples were gathered together at one of Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances (1 Cor 15:6).
• Even those who weren’t at all part of the circle of disciples were included by Jesus: “John said to him, “Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him because he was not following us.” But Jesus said, “Do not stop him because no one who does a miracle in my name will be able soon afterward to say anything bad about me. For whoever is not against us is for us. For I tell you the truth, whoever gives you a cup of water because you bear Christ’s name will never lose his reward.” (Mk 9:38-41)

This pattern continues into the early church. Thanks to the prolific writings of Luke and Paul, we focus on the heroic missionary efforts of people like Peter, Barnabas, Paul, and Paul’s coworkers and students who he names in his letters. The early church’s missionary activity was much broader than that, though. Stephen Neil writes in A History of Christian Missions (p. 22):

Apart, however, from these special workers, the Church could count on the anonymous and unchronicled witness of all the faithful. Our first mention of this comes in Acts 8:4, where we are told that those who were scattered as a result of the persecution that followed on the death of Stephen went about preaching the word… But these were far from being the only volunteer missionaries. When Paul came to Rome, he was welcomed by believers; how they had got there we are not told… In later times great Churches were much set on claiming apostolic origin - to have an apostle as founder was a recognized certificate of respectability. But in point of fact few, if any, of the great Churches were really founded by apostles. Nothing is more notable than the anonymity of these early missionaries. In the second century there were three outstanding centres of Christian life in the Mediterranean - Antioch, Rome, and Alexandria. Of the foundation of the Church of Antioch we have just recorded all that is known; Luke does not turn aside to mention the name of a single one of those pioneers who laid the foundation. Peter and Paul may have organized the Church in Rome. They certainly did not found it. And of the foundation of the Church of Alexandria we know nothing for certain - neither when nor whence nor by whom.

We see a similar pattern in the Old Testament, too. 1 and 2 Kings devote six chapters to the life of Elijah, detailing one amazing miracle after another as he confronts idolatry and a wicked king, announces a famine, challenges 850 false prophets, calls down fire from heaven, then outraces - on foot! - the king’s chariot while a thunderstorm brews behind him. However, when all of those amazing, powerful, one-man-against-a-kingdom actions seem fruitless, Elijah is crushed: “I alone am left and now they want to take my life.” God encourages him: “I still have left in Israel 7,000 followers who have not bowed their knees to Baal or kissed the images of him.” (1 Ki 19:14,18)

Similarly, during the patriarchal age, we focus on the life of Abraham - and we should, since he received God’s calling and God’s promise to bless the world through him. However, even then, there were other believers in the Lord (because of stories passed down from Noah?). Job was most likely a rough contemporary of Abraham but was not a Hebrew. When Abraham left his home and traveled hundreds of miles to the promised land, he met Melchizedek, “the priest of the Most High God” (Gen 14:18), already living there.

So, what’s the point of these jaunts through history?

It can be easy to think that anyone who we can’t identify as part of our specific tribe or denomination or in-group must not be for us.

It can be easy to forget that giving someone a cup of cold water for Christ’s name may be as great a blessing as working a flashy miracle.

It can be easy to think that the people we hear about most are serving God best and forget about the countless anonymous faithful who also advance the Kingdom.

It can be easy to (consciously or unconsciously) exempt ourselves from the work of faithfully living out the Gospel just because we’re not popular or powerful.

It can be easy to think that things turning out right depends on solely on our individual efforts and forget that there are thousands and millions of fellow believers who have also not bowed their knees to idolatry.

God, thank you for the faithfulness of your people and your church - both the people we know about and those we don’t. We look forward to worshipping with them all in Heaven. Please help us, too, to faithfully serve wherever we are.

Advent 2020

“I’m not sure what to use for Christmas cards this year. It really hasn’t been a very good year.”

So my wife told me yesterday. I figure she’s right. After all, we’ve had an impeachment, near-war in Iran, murder hornets, a massive pandemic, the horrible death of George Floyd and the unrest and racial reckoning that followed, human rights violations in China, apocalyptic wildfires in Australia and California, enough hurricanes to exhaust the alphabet, and a bitterly divisive campaign season and election. After all of that, it seems a little… off to send a card like this:

Hmm. “Adventure” is certainly one way of describing 2020.

And Disney cartoons just aren’t doing much for me right now.

Even more neutral cards can feel off when many people (including my own family) aren’t able to enjoy all of the family-and-friends gatherings that they’re used to.

I definitely get where my wife is coming from.

Coincidentally, while reading the news yesterday, I saw a quote from a Washington Post opinion piece, “Prominent evangelicals are directing Trump’s sinking ship. That feeds doubts about religion,” by Michael Gerson. I should mention at this point that I don’t normally read The Washington Post. I have nothing in particular against it, but they have a perfectly reasonable policy of asking people to pay to read their articles, and I’m a cheapskate. And I’m consciously trying to cut back on my news media consumption, because I don’t think a steady diet of reading about whatever partisan conflict of the day is very good for my peace of mind. But the article piqued my interest, so I read it. I expected more punditry about the latest claims and counterclaims of Trump’s election loss, and that’s how the article started. Then it took a hard right turn, however:

For me, doubt is like staring into an abyss. The triumph of doubt involves a downward spiral of consequences. Without a transcendent moral order, ideas such as good and evil, noble and ignoble, are pegged in mid-air. Yes, it is possible to live honorably in revolt against a meaningless universe. But it is also possible to live dishonorably with the same justification. If raw matter is all that is, ideals such as justice are ultimately rootless…

If Christianity were judged entirely by the quality of Christians, it would be a tough sell — and I include myself in the judgment. Most of us are a jumble of resentments and fears. Most of us can be proud, cruel, foolish and self-deluding.

The best response is found in Advent. The most reassuring message of the season is that the existence of hope does not depend on us. It does not rely on our virtue or wisdom. It is a delivery from elsewhere. The German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer — who knew something of the subject — compared Advent to a prison cell “in which one waits and hopes and does various unessential things… but is completely dependent on the fact that the door of freedom has to be opened from the outside.”

The Advent narratives are filled with waiting people: Mary, Zechariah, Elizabeth, Simeon, Anna. They lived in patient expectation and were receptive to the Good News when it arrived. Their hope did not come as the result of a battle. It came like a seed planted in the ground. Like the sun rising in defiance of night. Like a child growing within his mother.

We are not the heroes of the story. Our contribution is to be watchful and open. But hope arrives in awesome humility. God is with us. Jesus is with us. This is everything.

So, while Christmas cards are reminding me of the darkness in the world, a political column in a secular newspaper is reminding me of the Light.

My whole life, I’ve treated the month of December as one extended Christmas celebration. There are Christmas lights and decorations and carols and Christmas albums and church pageants and topical sermons and workplace get-togethers and vacations to see family and more. And all of that’s great. Many churches, though, go farther: the season of Advent is formally set aside in their calendars in the four weeks to forty days before Christmas “as a time of expectant waiting and preparation for both the celebration of the Nativity of Christ at Christmas and the return of Christ at the Second Coming” (Wikipedia).

In the darkest month of the year, and in the darkness of 2020, we celebrate Jesus, who “shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (Jn 1:5).

We remember that Jesus responded to the world’s darkness by entering into the world, by experiencing all of the pain and suffering that we do, by taking it upon himself, and by triumphing.

We remember God’s fulfillment of his promise to deliver his people by sending Jesus.

Like Mary, Zechariah, Elizabeth, Simeon, and Anna, we wait for God to fulfill his promise and fully deliver us and make all things right.

And, like them, we can rest in the absolute confidence that he will do so.

Further reading: “What is Advent?”

Hope

Five Iron Frenzy was one of my favorite Christian bands in college and grad school. They were (or are - they got back together in 2011 after a nine-year hiatus) a Christian ska punk band, with an incredibly broad gamut of songs ranging from the absolutely ridiculous (“These Are Not My Pants (The Rock Opera)”) to passionate faith-based criticism of consumerism and racism to heartfelt worship. I hadn’t followed them in several years, so I was surprised and dismayed to hear last month that two of the band’s eight members had left the faith. As explained by Wikipedia:

In 1998, Scott Kerr chose to leave Five Iron Frenzy after renouncing his Christian faith. According to Kerr, he had begun experiencing doubts in high school which eventually came to a head during his time touring with Five Iron. In an attempt to reconcile his faith, Kerr fervently studied Christian apologetics - which he ultimately found “not persuasive and, at worst, intellectually disingenuous” - as well as works by David Hume and Bertrand Russell before deciding to leave Christianity. Though Kerr recalls the band accepting his revelation and decision to leave, [lead singer Reese] Roper remorsefully recalled souring the relationship between them by him “pushing Jesus on [Kerr] when he needed me to just be his friend”…

Andrew Verdecchio experienced a similar loss of faith during the early 2000s, following the death of his father and the events of the September 11 attacks. Verdecchio largely recalls the comments of conservative commentators Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell blaming the cause of the attacks on homosexuals for driving a wedge between himself and Christianity, leading him to seriously question his beliefs and role within a Christian band. Like Kerr, Verdecchio attempted to study apologetics “because I didn’t want to not believe it”, though said “the more I read these books and tried to convince myself, the less convinced I was”.

Last month was hard.

We had ongoing health challenges in my immediate family. My great-aunt passed away due to COVID. One of my son’s classmates committed suicide. I’ve had several setbacks at work. The ongoing pandemic is getting to me. The relentless division and hostility in our politics is really getting to me. I can go on Facebook and see friends who I loved and looked up to from Bible college now going through their own struggles and losses in faith, ministry, and marriage. November has been better, but I’m still dealing with family health issues and reading about skyrocketing numbers of COVID cases, a tense and bitterly contested election, and the death of someone who’s meant a lot to me. Reading about two of Five Iron Frenzy’s members leaving the faith felt like one more blow.

I need hope.

The Lord’s loyal kindness never ceases; his compassions never end. They are fresh every morning; your faithfulness is abundant!

— Lamentations 3:22-23, written upon the fall of Jerusalem and exile of the Israelites into Babylon

Hope is expectation of the good. It is linked with trust and yearning, and differentiated from fear… It is not a dream that offers comfort but may also be illusory. The life of the righteous is grounded in a hope that implies a future because its point of reference is God. To hope is to trust. It is demanded even in the good times. It is not our own projection but confidence in what God will do. God is our hope… Hope looks to him whom none can control. It is thus freed from anxiety… If God helps in present distress, he will finally put an end to all distress.

— article by R. Bultmann in Theological Dictionary of the New Testament

As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives,
and that as the last
he will stand upon the earth.
And after my skin has been destroyed,
yet in my flesh I will see God,

— Job 19:25-26, spoken after he loses his wealth, family, and health, and while he is convinced that God is treating him unjustly

I love how Kay Warren puts it in her book Choose Joy: Because Happiness Isn’t Enough. She says, Joy is the settled assurance that God is in control of all the details of my life, the quiet confidence that ultimately everything is going to be all right, and the determined choice to praise God in every situation. Hope is something that is birthed out of joy. If I truly believe that God is in control of the details of my life, if I really understand that ultimately everything is going to be all right, and if I choose to praise God in every situation, a space opens up in my soul that allows me to dream, to pray, to hope.

— Plumb, Need You Now

When the fig tree does not bud,
and there are no grapes on the vines;
when the olive trees do not produce
and the fields yield no crops;
when the sheep disappear from the pen
and there are no cattle in the stalls—
I will rejoice because of the Lord;
I will be happy because of the God who delivers me!
The Sovereign Lord is my source of strength.
He gives me the agility of a deer;
he enables me to negotiate the rugged terrain.

— Habakkuk 3:17-19

The brief glow [of the setting Sun] fell upon a huge sitting figure, still and solemn as the great stone kings of Argonath. The years had gnawed it, and violent hands had maimed it. Its head was gone, and in its place was set in mockery a round rough-hewn stone, rudely painted by savage hands in the likeness of a grinning face with one large red eye in the middle of its forehead. Upon its knees and mighty chair, and all about the pedestal, were idle scrawls mixed with the foul symbols that the maggot-folk of Mordor used.

Suddenly, caught by the level beams, Frodo saw the old king’s head: it was lying rolled away by the roadside. ‘Look, Sam!’ he cried, startled into speech. ‘Look! The king has got a crown again!’

The eyes were hollow and the carven beard was broken, but about the high stern forehead there was a coronal of silver and gold. A trailing plant with flowers like small white stars had bound itself across the brows as if in reverence for the fallen king, and in the crevices of his stony hear yellow stonecrop gleamed.

‘They cannot conquer forever!’ said Frodo.

— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

For I consider that our present sufferings cannot even be compared to the coming glory that will be revealed to us. For the creation eagerly waits for the revelation of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility—not willingly but because of God who subjected it—in hope that the creation itself will also be set free from the bondage of decay into the glorious freedom of God’s children. For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers together until now. Not only this, but we ourselves also, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we eagerly await our adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope, because who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we eagerly wait for it with endurance.

— Romans 8:18-25

— Taken in our neighborhood in March and April, during the lockdown

But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that the extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are experiencing trouble on every side, but are not crushed; we are perplexed, but not driven to despair; we are persecuted, but not abandoned; we are knocked down, but not destroyed, always carrying around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our body… Therefore we do not despair, but even if our physical body is wearing away, our inner person is being renewed day by day. For our momentary, light suffering is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison.

— 2 Corinthians 4:7-10, 16-17

Three Takes on a Parable

One

[Jesus] also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt: “Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” (Lk 18:9-14)

Usually, when I hear this story, I think, “Wow, I’m glad that I'm not like that Pharisee.”

In doing so, of course, I risk becoming like the Pharisee.

Two

Those of us who’ve been in the church long enough have heard this parable a lot and have (thankfully) to some extent internalized its message. As a result, it’s easy to overlook how revolutionary the Good News is compared to other world religions. Consider, for example, an adaptation of the story as told by Mack Stiles:

Two men went to the mosque to pray. One was a rich man, the other a poor man. The rich man went through his libations and prayers as he did five times a day. As he was praying, he began to have a sexual fantasy about the young wife who lived next door to his home. But he finished his prayers and went home. The poor man stood off at a distance. He came so infrequently to the mosque, that he couldn’t remember the positions for prayer or his libations. But he looked up to heaven, beat his breast, and said, “Forgive me, O Lord, for I’m a sinner.” Who went home justified?…

Mr Stiles says that every Muslim he has asked this question has answered “The rich man.”

Three

Those of us who’ve been in the church long enough have heard this parable a lot and have (sadly) to some extent become overfamiliar with its message. As a result, it’s easy to overlook how revolutionary it is in our own lives. Consider this attempt to update it for more contemporary American culture:

Two people went to church to pray. One was a church elder, and the other was a despised LGBT activist. The church elder stood by himself and prayed this prayer: “I thank you, God, that I am not like other people - cheaters, sinners, adulterers. I’m certainly not like that activist! I go to church three times a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.’ But the LGBT activist stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat the ground in sorrow, saying, ”O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner." I tell you, this activist, not the church elder, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.

Can a Pro-Life Christian Vote Pro-Choice?

How can a Christian who believes in the sanctity of life and that life begins at conception vote for a pro-choice candidate? I’ve seen this question posed a few times - most recently on Facebook last week - and often seen it discussed in the past. The best expression I’ve seen of that viewpoint was in a 2004 article by J. Budziszewski, “Ballot Box Blues”:

“Just for purposes of argument,” she persisted, “suppose candidate X supported abortion, and candidate Y opposed abortion but supported a war that was unjust… So an unjust war would be a sanctity-of-life issue too, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” I said, “and an unjust war certainly could be even worse than abortion. But let’s think a little further. To be even worse than abortion, just how bad would the unjust war have to be?… Do you happen to know how many innocent lives are lost each year through legalized abortion?”…

“Just through surgical abortions? We’re running at about 1.2 million a year,” she said. “More than 44 million babies have been killed since abortion was legalized.”…

“So to be worse than abortion,” I asked, “wouldn’t an unjust war have to kill even more than 1.2 million innocent people each year?”

1.2 million innocent lives a year is a lot - enough to supersede almost any other policy question. I found this logic irrefutable, so I’ve reliably voted Republican for almost my entire life.

And yet…

There’s a lot more to Christian faith and values than protecting unborn life. Let’s take a step back from the abortion question and think about what a truly “Christian” approach to politics would look like. Robert O’Callahan, a Christian New Zealander, gives a great description:

A truly Christian party’s key issues would include reminding the voting public that we all sinners against God, in need of repentance and forgiveness that comes through Jesus. The party would proclaim to voters “how hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God” and warn against storing up treasures on earth instead of heaven. It would insist on policies that support “the least of these”. It would find a way to denounce universally popular sins such as greed, gluttony and heterosexual extra-marital sex, and advocate policies that reduce their harm, while visibly observing Paul’s dictum “What business is it of mine to judge those outside the church? Are you not to judge those inside?” A Christian party would follow Jesus’ warning against “those who for a show make lengthy prayers” and downplay their own piety. It would put extraordinary emphasis on honouring the name of Christ by avoiding any sort of lies, corruption or scandal. Its members would show love for their enemies and not retaliate when attacked. If they fail in public, they would confess and repent in public.

That sounds pretty difficult, but it’s what Jesus deserves from any party that claims his name.

Whew. That’s a lot. In tact, I’d go further than O’Callahan; I’d say it sounds just about impossible for a mainstream political party to reliably act like this. Certainly neither the Republican nor Democratic parties do. So maybe that’s too much to ask. Let’s set a lower goal; what would it look like for a political party to reflect Christian values?

For me, that would probably include some combination of the following: Opposition to abortion and assisted suicide (because of the sanctity of human life). A genuine care and concern for the poor (even if there’s plenty of room for debate about what concrete policies best help the poor). Care for the environment (we’re stewards of God’s creation). Opposition to racism (we’re all made in the image of God), including a willingness to wrestle with the legacy of slavery and institutionalized discrimination. Fiscal responsibility (including a willingness to pay a fair share in taxes). Support for the family. Support for families. A commitment to humility and truth-seeking that’s willing to engage with expert advice and outside consensus. A skepticism toward big government and a willingness to limit its power (because we’re fallen, and power corrupts). A skepticism toward big corporations and a willingness to regulate them (because we’re fallen, and power corrupts them, too). Vigorous defense of religious freedom and freedom of conscience for all faiths (I don’t want Christianity protected just because it’s currently mainstream). A skepticism toward violence and instruments of violence (because we have a Second Amendment and wars can be just, but violence and instruments of violence are symptoms of the fall and end human lives and aren’t something to celebrate).

There’s room for disagreement here; I’m sure that some Christians would express some of these values differently or may add or remove some. But hopefully this is at least broadly recognizable as a list of Christian political positions. Of these positions, protecting 1.2 million innocent lives a year should surely go at or near the top of the list. The problem is that this list doesn’t line up with the Republican or Democratic parties; each party does some things well and others less well.

To be more direct - the Republican party isn’t just the evangelical Christian party. (If it was, it would look more like O’Callahan’s ideal.) It’s a coalition of evangelical Christians, other social conservatives, big business types, libertarians, whites who are still irritated about the civil rights movement, and Buchanan- and Bannon-style nationalists. (And, of course, there’s some overlap between these groups, and plenty of folks can fall into more than one group.) Most of these groups aren’t automatically bad, but they can have views and positions that go against the spirit of Christ - turning into social conservative moralism and big-business mammon and libertarian self-centeredness and white-grievance-fueled racism and arrogant ethnocentrism. And some of those views and positions show up in the Republican party. And so I’m left feeling like, if I’m going to vote to protect 1.2 million innocent lives a year, I have to accept all of the rest that comes along with it. In fact, I sometimes even feel like my vote is held hostage - as long as the Republican party is pro-life, it can do whatever it wants for anyone else in the coalition, secure in the knowledge that evangelical Christians will never abandon it.

I don’t like feeling that way. But, to protect 1.2 million innocent lives a year, I can suck it up and deal with it. Right?

And yet…

• The number of abortions has steadily declined for the last forty years. In 2017 (the most recent year I could find statistics for), the pro-choice Guttmacher Institute estimates that there were 862,000 abortions.
• Pro-life and pro-choice advocates both act like overturning Roe v. Wade is the end game. In reality, though, that just returns the question to individual states. A 2019 study in the Contraception journal suggests that overturning Roe v. Wade would result in a net decline of 13%.
• It’s not clear that overturning Roe v. Wade is even possible. It was decided in 1973, when six of the nine Supreme Court justices were Republican nominees. Each election, it seems, we’re told that this time the next Republican president will be able to appoint enough justices to make a difference. Since 1973, though, Republican presidents have appointed twelve justices to Democratic presidents’ four. It seems that the Court is extremely reluctant to overturn precedent, regardless of what presidential candidates might imply and what evangelical voters might wish.
• The pro-life movement has made steady progress in chipping away at abortions in the state and local levels without overturning Roe v. Wade. Over the past decade, hundreds of new abortion restrictions have passed, and dozens of abortion clinics have closed (1, 2).
• One risk with this incremental progress is that the Supreme Court could issue rulings striking down some or all of these restrictions. Now that conservatives have a 6-3 majority in the Supreme Court, that seems unlikely.
• Our goal isn’t to outlaw abortion; it’s to end abortion. This requires a moral and spiritual effort to convince people of the value of life. Here, too, we’re apparently doing pretty well; public opinion seems fairly stable for decades, despite a significantly more liberal culture in other respects. On the other hand, the fact that public opinion isn’t significantly improving shows we have a long way to go - and the kind of compromises we may make to win on the political and legal front may hurt our efforts on the moral and spiritual front.
• There’s plenty of evidence that declining abortion rates correlate with economic aid and contraceptive access. So ending abortion ought to be part of a broader discussion of how to help the poor and how to provide health care and contraceptive access. Current Democrats may do better than Republicans here.

So we went from “we have to vote pro-life nationally to save 1.2 million lives a year” to “there’s an outside chance that voting pro-life nationally could save 112,060 lives a year” (13% of the current declining rates) to “we’re continuing to make pro-life progress regardless of what happens nationally (and maybe the ‘pro-choice’ Democrats have some helpful ideas, too).” And saving 112,060 lives a year is huge, and I don’t want to downplay or become numb to the horror of abortion, but I’m also increasingly weary of feeling like I have to compromise numerous other values and positions for the sake of a cause that we’re making real headway on regardless.

Because, after all, ending abortion is only part of upholding life. To pick just one example: according to Wikipedia, African Americans’ average life expectancy is 3.6 years shorter than white Americans. How do I weigh 862,000 unborn lives lost to abortion against 45 million African American lives shortened due to racial and economic inequalities? I don’t know. Shouldn’t we be talking about lives lost to racism and poverty as passionately as we talk about lives lost to abortion? Probably. There aren’t easy answers, but I at least no longer think that it’s automatically correct to vote for the party that says they’re “pro-life.”

For a Christian, being pro-life should go deeper still: no matter how good we do at preserving life in the face of abortion and poverty and violence and COVID, everyone dies. In Luke 13:1-5:

Now there were some present on that occasion who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. He answered them, “Do you think these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered these things? No, I tell you! But unless you repent, you will all perish as well! Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower in Siloam fell on them, do you think they were worse offenders than all the others who live in Jerusalem? No, I tell you! But unless you repent you will all perish as well!”

Jesus’ listeners wanted to tie each of those deaths to human action and consequences (in that case, the idea that bad events were the direct result of God’s judgment on sin). Jesus challenged them to reorient their perspective: people die regardless, and what’s more important is getting right with God, lest we die eternally. As it relates to politics - being truly pro-life has to mean that we support candidates and policies that make it easier to follow Christ, who alone can offer permanent life, rather than tempting or corrupting people into sin, and that we avoid compromising our beliefs and our witness for the sake of anti-abortion laws. John Piper makes this point brilliantly in “Policies, Persons, and Paths to Ruin”; I’m not sure how much I can add to what he wrote.

Because there’s another, deeper risk to evangelicals’ blanket support for Republicans as the “pro-life” party- not only does it weaken our impact within the party (by limiting our ability to advocate for broader Christian views, because the coalition knows it has our vote regardless), but by so closely identifying with a secular party, we risk getting sucked into secular partisanship, and we risk mistaking Republican party positions for Christian positions, and we risk becoming viewed by the outside world as just another political interest group. These are tragic, potentially eternal consequences, and I believe they’ve happened and continue to happen.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I still passionately believe that abortion is wrong. I know that there’s still a strong case for supporting anti-abortion policies and candidates. I just can’t let it solely decide my vote anymore.

Further resources:

• “What About Abortion? Should this one issue determine how Christians vote?” - a video from Phil Vischer (of “Veggie Tales” fame) and Skye Jethani, and the source for some of the information here
• “Electing Republicans has not reversed Roe v. Wade. It’s time to change our strategy.” - a Catholic writer makes a similar argument
• “Four reasons a Democratic administration would mean more abortions” - another Catholic writer presents the counterargument

Pandemic Rights

I started drafting this a couple of months ago and never got around to finishing it. It’s a bit outdated and a bit political, but I still wanted to share it.

Over the past few months, as society has debated the proper response to the coronavirus pandemic, I’ve heard two very different viewpoints expressed for churches. At the national level, I’ve heard arguments that churches are essential, that they should be permitted to stay open or to reopen, that it’s an infringement of our rights and an infringement of religious freedom to close them. At the local level, though, I’m hearing a much simpler and more direct tone, such as my local church’s announcement in March to not meet in person: “This decision was made out of a desire to love our neighbors and protect those who are vulnerable to this virus.” Later, they decided to continue meeting online “simply out of love. We believe that the best way to love our neighbors is to continue meeting online, to continue doing what we can to keep people safe… The final reason is our witness… We’re convinced that our collective belief, our collective stance as a church is to focus on our witness as a community, and we know that there are a lot of people who are anxious about this and are immunocompromised or who are worried about their family members, and we want to be honest and true and caring for that concern.”

Of course, this isn’t the first time that we’ve had such debates on our rights as Christians in America. Much of the contemporary debate traces back to the 1980s, with the creation of the Moral Majority and the rise of the religious right, supported by people like Jerry Falwell Sr., Pat Robertson, and Cal Thomas. Thomas’s views later shifted, though. He wrote a newspaper column that stuck with me ever since I read it in 1996:

[Supreme Court Associate Justice Antonin] Scalia urged the 650 present [at a prayer breakfast] to ignore the scorn of the “worldly wise” and merely stand up for their beliefs. Such advice is in contrast to much of what we hear in some religious circles: There are demands for respect. There are calls for the “Christian equivalent” of the ACLU to force secularists to treat believers fairly. There is an attitude that says “how can they do this to us,” as if a servant is greater than his Master.

There is nothing in Scripture that commands those who seek to follow God to demand their rights. There is much about the benefits of obedience to what the Bible teaches. Rewards for enduring persecutions are promised, but, like an individual retirement account, they are delayed.

And there is a good deal of teaching about persecution. When experienced because of “righteousness’ sake,” persecution is to be welcomed as a sign (though not the only sign) that the person being persecuted is thinking, behaving and worshiping in a way that pleases God.

There are many Christians in other parts of the world who might gladly change places with American believers. In other nations they face torture, discrimination and murder. Here, their “suffering” is limited to occasional slights from reporters and cartoonists.

According to Christian Solidarity International, the National Islamic Front is torturing Christians in Sudan with whips and then inserting hot chili peppers into their wounds. Do American Christians think critical words and occasional discrimination hurt more than this? They should focus their outrage at the ones guilty of practicing real persecution…

When the Apostles stood before the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem and were ordered flogged for preaching the Gospel, they didn’t whine about being persecuted. They “rejoiced because they had been counted worthy of suffering disgrace for the Name.” That’s the right attitude. It is far preferable to complaining about the way one is treated. It is, I think, what Scalia was getting at. And he is a man practicing what he preaches.

Early in the pandemic, I read a few articles from a Christian perspective arguing that it was medically wise and spiritually acceptable to not meet in person. I’ll admit that I found these unconvincing; I’m a firm believer in the importance of the local church. Even though I work with technology for a living, I don’t think that Zoom calls and live-streamed church services can fully replace meeting in person; after all, God gave us bodies for a reason. But I can’t argue with my local church’s decision to prioritize loving their community, or with Cal Thomas’s injunction to not focus on our rights. Even though I think that meeting in person is important, or even if I think that the risks of COVID-19 are being exaggerated, the fact is that many of the broader public are or were convinced that it was deadly serious, and so temporarily sacrificing in-person gatherings became a way to show love to those with those fears and concerns. I’d much rather that we as the church be known as the folks who, out of love for and a desire to help others, paused something we consider vitally important, rather than being known as the folks who insisted on our right to gather in spite of others’ objections.

Wearing masks is similar. I know there are strong disagreements over how effective they are. Personally, I’m convinced they’re worth wearing. But, even if you don’t think they’re helpful, many others do; wearing a mask becomes a way to show love to them. This was brought home for me when I was talking during the height of the pandemic shutdowns with a coworker who (to the best of my knowledge) was not a believer; while I sat cocooned in my home office doing my well-paid fully remote software development job, her partner went to a grocery story where she constantly worried about what he might bring home because of constant contact with shoppers and other employees who often weren’t careful. How could I convince her of Christians’ love if I insisted that my rights were more important than her fears?

I don’t want to overstate my case here. The Bible tells us to be good citizens (Rom 13:1-7, 1 Pe 2:13-17), and in a democracy, that means being part of the democratic process and participating (as far as we can without compromising our mission) in society’s discussions on how to balance the rights of individuals and groups. We’re blessed to live in a country that promises religious freedom; that’s a gift, and it’s not wrong to try to hold on to it. And, for what it’s worth, I think that modern American culture is more hostile to traditional Christian beliefs than it was when Thomas wrote in 1996 - but masks and lockdowns still fall far short of the torture that Thomas’s Sudanese Christians face, and they’re no worse than what many people in the world are going through. Instead of fighting even harder for our rights, I’d rather we work even harder to show love and spread the Gospel. After all, laying aside one’s rights out of love for others is what Jesus himself did,

who, though he existed in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be grasped,
but emptied himself
by taking on the form of a slave,
by looking like other men,
and by sharing in human nature.
He humbled himself
by becoming obedient to the point of death
—even death on a cross!
As a result God highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
every knee will bow
—in heaven and on earth and under the earth—
and every tongue confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord
to the glory of God the Father. (Phil 2:6-11)

The NET Bible

I’ve been using the New English Translation, or NET Bible, as my version of choice on my YouVersion Bible app for a few years now. There are a few reasons I really like it:

First, it was one of the first translations to be made available totally free of charge. I know that workers deserve to be paid (1 Tim 5:17-18), and so I don’t at all begrudge the efforts of, say, Zondervan to be compensated for their work on the NIV, but I deeply appreciate that a group of scholars is working to make a Bible translation free of charge.

Second, like most Bible translations, it has translation footnotes where there be some alternate possibility for how a verse is translated. However, the NET Bible’s translation footnotes (which are available in YouVersion) are incredibly detailed - often approaching a study Bible’s study notes in thoroughness. For serious study, I’ll still break out my four-pound ESV Study Bible, but having the NET translation footnotes readily available on my phone is great. The online version of the NET Bible goes further; it includes free commentaries by Thomas Constable, Alexander Maclaren, and Matthew Henry. I’ve often found Constable’s notes helpful in study and teaching.

Third, the translation sometimes uses newer scholarship for a bit of a different perspective in its translations. I’ve found this helpful in my own reading of Scripture, so I wanted to share a few examples here. I hope it will provide some new insights for you, too.

A couple of caveats before I continue: Like many former Bible college students, I’ve studied Greek. However, I’m nowhere near qualified to evaluate the work of professional Greek scholars; I can say that I appreciate a particular translation and find it helpful, but I’m limited in how well I can say it’s more or less accurate than others. And I don’t want to make too much out of these translation differences. Some skeptics (and, perhaps, some Christians) will make a big deal out of differences in manuscripts and translations, but the fact is that the overwhelming majority of the text in our Bibles are clear and unquestioned.

Ephesians 4:26-27

How the NIV puts it:

“In your anger do not sin”: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold.

How I’ve usually heard it interpreted: It’s not a sin to be angry, because anger is just an emotion, but we must not sin by letting anger control us. To help avoid the temptation of sinning in our anger, we should deal with it promptly - that same day, if possible.

How the NET puts it:

Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on the cause of your anger. Do not give the devil an opportunity.

How the NET translation notes explain it:

Christians are to exercise a righteous indignation over sin in the midst of the believing community (v. 26a; note that v. 25 is restricting the discussion to those in the body of Christ). When other believers sin, such people should be gently and quickly confronted (v. 26b), for if the body of Christ does not address sin in its midst, the devil gains a foothold (v. 27).

If following God really is the priority in our lives, if we’re learning to love the things that he loves and shun the things that he hates, then there are things that should make us angry. The Bible also says that “human anger does not accomplish God’s righteousness” (James 1:20), and there are definitely risks in indulging that anger or in resorting to it too quickly when we see something we don’t approve of - but we ought to have passion, and we ought to take sin within the church seriously.

I also appreciate how this interpretation ties together the passage; Paul starts out Ephesians 5 with a discussion on the importance of holy living, and instead of following that with a random assortment of specific commands, this interpretation has Paul lead into the importance of holy living within the community by promptly and truthfully confronting each other where we fall short.

1 Corinthians 13:12

How the ESV puts it:

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.

How I’ve usually heard it interpreted: In the larger passage, Paul is talking about how spiritual gifts will no longer be needed in the future. Some people interpret this as referring to the end of the apostolic age and the completion of the canon of Scripture: once that’s happened, we have God’s Word to give us more complete knowledge, and so the partial knowledge through prophecy and speaking in tongues would no longer be needed. A more likely interpretation, I think, is to understand the future state as referring to the second coming of Christ: our knowledge of God on earth is “dim,” imperfect, and partial, but once Jesus returns, our knowledge of God will be complete (to the extent that finite beings’ understanding of the infinite God can be complete).

How the NET puts it:

For now we see in a mirror indirectly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know in part, but then I will know fully, just as I have been fully known.

How the NET translation notes explain it:

Corinth was well known in the ancient world for producing some of the finest bronze mirrors available. Paul’s point in this analogy, then, is not that our current understanding and relationship with God is distorted (as if the mirror reflected poorly), but rather that it is “indirect,” (i.e., the nature of looking in a mirror) compared to the relationship we will enjoy with him in the future when we see him “face-to-face.”

My postmodern brain likes the idea of seeing “dimly” or “darkly” in an imperfect mirror. (I even referenced it in last week’s blog post.) I struggle at times with doubt and with how to make sense of the numerous and conflicting takes on Christian beliefs, so that imagery resonates with me. And I don’t think it’s necessarily wrong. But what if it’s not what Paul is trying to say here? Through the Spirit of God working through the body of Christ (because that’s what the gifts of the Spirit are - even if we no longer see the same miracles as the first-century believers, the Spirit still does this), and through God’s Word (the Old Testament Scriptures that Paul knew, and the New Testament writings that even in the first century were becoming recognized as Scripture), we can see the reflection of God - accurately, even if it is indirect and incomplete.

Constable gives a modern-day analogy: “Today we might say that we presently look at a photograph, but in the future we will see what the photograph pictures.” It’s the difference between admiring the gorgeous photos of the Wiki Loves Earth contests and seeing those sights for yourself.

The NET translation notes go on to discuss possible Old Testament parallels: God told the Israelites that he spoke with Moses face-to-face instead of “in dark figures [of speech]” (Num 12:8), and Paul talks about Moses in 1 Cor 10 and 2 Cor 3, so he could have easily had Moses in mind here. That makes the imagery even stronger: Moses’ face reflected the glory of God to the Israelites who (through fear and fallenness) could not approach God themselves, but now we can see God’s glory reflected through his Word and his church, and now “we all, with unveiled faces reflecting the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Cor 3:18). And, finally, in Heaven, we’ll see God directly, and each of us will be (as C.S. Lewis puts it) a “dazzling, radiant, immortal creature, pulsating all through with such energy and joy and wisdom and love as we cannot now imagine, a bright stainless mirror which reflects back to God perfectly (though, of course, on a smaller scale) His own boundless power and delight and goodness.”

Ephesians 3:11-12

How the NIV puts it:

[God’s intent was] according to his eternal purpose that he accomplished in Christ Jesus our Lord. In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence.

How I’ve usually heard it interpreted: The principle that we’re saved - that we’re able to approach God - only because we have faith in Christ and accept his grace, rather than because of anything that we do, is a core belief of Christianity and was one of the foundational emphases of the Protestant Reformation. It would be hard to overstate its importance. It reminds us of the wonders of God’s grace; it tells us of our need to put our wholehearted trust in God; it knocks down our continued efforts to set up our own standards of behavior as if our works could make us right with God. And yet…

How the NET puts it:

This was according to the eternal purpose that he accomplished in Christ Jesus our Lord, in whom we have boldness and confident access to God by way of Christ’s faithfulness.

How the NET translation notes explain it:

Though Paul elsewhere teaches justification by faith, this presupposes that the object of our faith (Christ) is reliable and worthy of such faith.

…And yet, I sometimes fear that we oversimplify or misstate justification by faith. In our zeal to give God, and not us, the credit for our salvation, we draw such a sharp distinction between faith and works that we almost make it sound as if our actions don’t matter (because, if our actions affected our eternal fate, then we’d be saved by works), or we try to argue that even responding to God (by choosing to accept the Gospel and being baptized) is itself a work. And I fear that “faith” has suffered a bit from being turned into church jargon; we know that it’s dead unless it’s accompanied by works (James 2:14-26), but we still define it primarily as “religious belief” or “a set of religious beliefs,” when its fuller meaning includes faithfulness (not merely belief or trust, but holding to one’s promise) and allegiance (belief plus a commitment that’s seen in one’s actions). (All of this is worth a longer discussion in some future post.)

And, in discussing how we’re saved and what we do and how we need to believe, why are we spending so much time talking about “we,” anyway? In discussing the salvation that Christ has wrought for us, shouldn’t we focus on Christ? That’s part of the reason I appreciate the NET Bible’s translation: all of the wondrous gifts that come with our salvation are through Christ’s faithfulness. The focus is on Christ.

The technical terminology here is whether the phrase “faith[fulness] of Christ” is an objective genitive (Christ is the object of “faith,” so “faith in Christ”) or a subjective genitive (Christ is the subject, so “Christ’s faithfulness”). This isn’t the only place where this phrase occurs; the NET translation notes also point out Rom 3:22, 26; Gal 2:16, 20, 3:22; and Phil 3:9 as places where “faith in Christ” should be translated “faithfulness of Christ.” I love going back to those passages and, without minimizing the truth that we’re justified because of our trust in and commitment to God, re-reading them in light of the bigger truth that we’re saved because of Christ’s and God’s faithfulness - because God upheld every promise he made to his people, even at the cost of his Son, and because Christ lived right and was obedient even to the cross.