Reforming Justification, Again: Salvation by Allegiance Alone 
and the Protestant Quincentennial

Still Reforming

Today, all around the world, Protestants will commemorate 500 years since the Reformation. October 31st is called “Reformation Day,” after the tradition that Martin Luther nailed his “95 Thesis” to the door of All Saints’ Church in 1517. Therefore, this year marks the quincentennial of that event, which many consider the spark that lit the fires of the Reformation. The Reformation is a highly complex phenomenon; it was of course theological, but also cultural and historical. Perhaps there are even facets of the Reformation that continue to remain unexplored. At least one aspect of the Reformation’s legacy that has been explored in great detail has been the doctrine of “justification by grace through faith.” Among Protestants, this is the doctrine that is held in highest esteem, and which ostensibly distinguishes the Protestant movement from all others. Nevertheless, even as a cornerstone of Protestant theology, the Reformation laid the groundwork for this doctrine, like everything else in Protestantism, to be continually reforming. As goes the phrase which became a Reformation slogan: semper reformanda.

For example, in his lightning rod of a book, Justification [1], N. T. Wright responded to criticism from his fellow Protestant scholar (of a different sort) John Piper. In it, Wright lambasts the stale way Piper and his particular tribe of “Reformed” thinkers have clung to a centuries-old traditional interpretation while other scholars, drawing from the best, recent scholarship, were making new discoveries. As Scot McKnight so succinctly and bitingly put it in an endorsement:

“Tom Wright has out-Reformed America’s newest religious zealots—the neo-Reformed—by taking them back to Scripture and to its meaning in its historical context. Wright reveals that the net-reformed are more committed to tradition than to the sacred text. This irony is palpable on every page of this judicious, hard-hitting, respectful study.” [2]

One of the great marks of the Reformation, one for which all Christians can be grateful, is its challenge to all such ecclesial structures which would prevent any gifted member of Christ’s body access to the Scriptures themselves. Of course, there have been and continue to be further challenges associated with such a democratization. One particularly biting criticism is that the Reformation exchanged a personal Pope for a paper one. However, a return to the sacred text in a serious effort to honor Christ and follow him faithfully, even if it requires challenging some strongly-held beliefs and traditions, is a noble endeavor insofar as it succeeds. One problem is that not all Protestants agree upon the extent to which tradition has run amok or is in need of reform. Many Protestants recognize the wisdom of the church having an educated clergy and a scholarly academy for the equipping of disciples. Many more recognize the wisdom of creeds which express the kergimatic Gospel of the Christian faith. Yet, in any case, whether Anglo-Catholic or Fundamentalist Baptist, Protestants have looked to the Scriptures first for their rule of faith, with lesser or greater respect to the tradition of the church catholic.

This has led to various positions on the hallowed doctrine of justification. Some Protestants have clung to the traditional Lutheran dichotomy of “works” and “faith,” or “law” and “grace,” with its accompanying characterizations of Judean faith, and have railed against “works righteousness” as a particularly seditious evil. Others, like N. T. Wright, have continued to seek the reform of the church’s theology, pursuing ever greater knowledge and understanding of the sacred text in its contexts, having unearthed new ways of conceptualizing the doctrine. Hence the need for his 2009 book. In this effort, there has arisen a school of thought which has come to be known as “the New Perspective.” However, as Wright himself points out, this is an unfortunate moniker since there is a more diverse collection of views than the term signifies. “…there is no such thing as the new perspective… There is only a disparate family of perspectives, some with more, some with less family likeness, and with fierce squabbles and sibling rivalries going on inside.” [3] A family trait these new perspectives all share is their exploration of the relationship between the covenants, the role of the church, and meaning of faith (among others). These are complex, interrelated subjects. Subjects that reach into many other areas of Christian theological exploration. For now, we turn to a recent entrance into this on-going discussion, one that has promise for reforming the Reformation yet again.

A New Proposal

Into the fray of this churning sea change of new perspectives dives a new book by New Testament scholar Matthew Bates, called Salvation by Allegiance Alone: Rethinking Faith, Works, and the Gospel of Jesus the King. Bates’s proposal is nuanced but essentially builds upon a Wrightian-style new perspective combined with the “King Jesus Gospel” of Scot McKnight. It also sets out to create a shared confession between the Roman Catholic conception of justification and that of Protestants. Though his thesis is broad, it’s also incisive. In the introduction he writes some of the most exciting and radical statements I’ve read in recent years.

“…the gospel cannot be accurately summarized by saying, ‘I trust that Jesus paid the price for me, so I am saved,’ or ‘Faith in Jesus’s death for my sins saves me as a free gift apart from my works,’ or even ‘I am saved because I am trusting in Jesus’s righteousness alone.’ ” (3)

“The best corrective is that ‘faith’ and ‘belief,’ insofar as they serve as overarching terms to describe what brings about eternal salvation, should be excised from Christian discourse. That is, English-speaking Christian leaders should entirely cease to speak of ‘salvation by faith’ or of ‘faith in Jesus’ or ‘believing in Christ’ when summarizing Christian salvation. For the sake of the gospel we need to revise our vocabulary.” (4)

Bates’s straightforwardness continues in the book’s introduction where offers a welcome and very concise summary of the book’s main premises.

“1. The true climax of the gospel—Jesus’s enthronement—has generally been deemphasized or omitted from the gospel.

2. Consequently, pistis has been misaimed and inappropriately nuanced with respect to the gospel. It is regarded as ‘trust’ in Jesus’s righteousness alone or ‘faith’ that Jesus’s death covers my sins rather than ‘allegiance’ to Jesus as king.
3. Final salvation is not about attainment of heaven but about embodied participation in the new creation. When the trust goal of salvation is recognized, terms such as ‘faith,’ ‘works,’ ‘righteousness,’ and ‘the gospel’ can be more accurately reframed.

4. Once it is agreed that salvation is by allegiance alone, matters that have traditionally divided Catholics and Protestants—the essence of the gospel, faith alone versus works, declared righteousness versus infused righteousness—are reconfigured in ways that may prove helpful for reconciliation.” (9)

With his thesis clearly spelled-out, Bates takes some time in preparation for his arguments to more precisely specify what faith is not.


An important exercise in a discussion as contentious as this one is ground-clearing. In the first chapter, Bates sets out to distinguish biblical “faith” from many common, modern misconceptions. While Bates invites some readers to skip this chapter, I think this may be one of the book’s most important. Too many conversations about Pauline theology, justification, salvation, or faith are sidelined before they ever fully start due to these pernicious preconceptions. Therefore, this ground-clearing exercise isn’t just academic; it’s highly practical.

There are at least five misconceptions of faith from which Bates disabuses readers. The first is “ fideism,” the view that faith is opposed to evidence-based assessment of truth, or is reducible to some kind of private, subjective experience. Bates’s example is that of a Mormon missionary who describes a ‘warm sensation’ in one’s heart. This Bates insists is “neither a biblical nor a Christian understanding of faith.” (17) Here, too, I’m reminded of conversations I’ve had with many modern skeptics influenced by the so-called “New Atheism” movement. It has been assumed by many that “faith” is opposed to reason or science. Bates disposes of such a distortion clearly saying, “…we should all agree that the ‘faith’ God requires of us has nothing to do with ignoring relevant evidence that is easily available when adjudicating truth claims.” (17)

The second misconception of faith Bates corrects is that which correlates “faith” with stepping out of security or rationality or common sense. We might call this “ visit this web-site blind faith.” Bates uses the classic example of Indiana Jones’s “step of faith” off a ledge into a dark chasm. Bates points out that this distortion is dangerous because it is partly true. While faith does require trusting action that may be uncertain, “stepping out in faith is not intrinsically good in and of itself.” (20) Rather, as Hebrews 11 teaches, “the true people of God are willing to act decisively in the visible world not for reasons that are immediately apparent but because an unseen yet even more genuine underlaying substance (hypostasis), God’s reality, compels the action.” (19) In other words, stepping out onto an unseen bridge that spans a chasm is only laudable if the bridge is trustworthy. “…it must be remembered that neither Noah nor Abraham launched out into the void, but rather each responded to God’s command. They acted in response to the call of a promise-fulfilling God with whom they had experience.” (19)

A third distortion of faith Bates confronts is what McKnight calls “ grace-ism” in the book’s foreword. This is perhaps the most pervasive and pernicious distortion. This misconception is particularly common in the Western world influenced by the Reformation. In it, “faith and works are pitted against one another as opposite paths to salvation.” (21) As Bates points out, once it is discovered what Paul really means by “works of the law,” this schema of works/faith dichotomy comes tumbling down. In fact, one comes to realize that biblical faith, by its very definition, includes works. (22) More on this later!

Fourthly, Bates distinguishes faith from “faith-as-optimism.” (23) This one is unfortunately very common in popular culture. Faith is merely the belief that things will work out favorably in spite of seemingly bleak circumstances. Similar to “blind faith,” the fatal flaw of this distortion is that by it faith is divorced from the object of faith. Faith becomes a good in and of itself, like the power of “intention” from New Age philosophy like The Secret.

Fifth and finally, Bates tackles the misconception of faith as affirmation of propositional truths or “faith-as-intellectual-assent.” I was grateful that Bates did not shy away from naming names, by identifying the Free-Grace movement. It’s important that these schools of thought be called out because they often have influence beyond the knowledge of their explicit teaching. For example, many are likely unaware that popular television preacher Charles Stanley (In Touch Ministries), father of megachurch pastor, Andy Stanley, is a proponent of this view. [5] I was also encouraged by Bates willingness to associate this distortion of faith with the ancient heresy of Gnosticism. There have been some who have resisted this correlation, but I think it is more than apt. I would have liked to have also seen Bates make the correlation between this misconception of faith and Enlightenment compartmentalization of “reason” from “tradition.” N. T. Wright has sufficiently explicated this connection in many of his writings.

With its clear sections, direct language, and some labels which can be used as shorthand, I found this chapter highly practical and a vital part of the overall argument. From here, Bates can begin to establish his argument by starting with the Gospel itself.

The Full Gospel

Five hundred years since Luther’s protest and the Gospel is still very misunderstood by a significant portion of Christians in the United States. Before Bates can fully extend his arguments regarding faith, he must address the misconceptions of the Gospel that calls for exercising faith. So, in chapters two and three, Bates will establish not only how the Gospel has been distorted in modern conceptualizations and presentations, but also the fact that Jesus preached the Gospel. (One might think it a given that Jesus preached the Gospel, but one would be wrong.)

In chapter two, Bates takes aim at the modern distortion of the Gospel that has taken such root in the American church that entire groups have formed to promote it. [6] The Gospel’s perversion has not happened overnight, but it has morphed over the last several hundred years. Bates does a great job pinpointing several of the key areas of distortion.

The very first error Bates points out is a critical one: many so-called “gospel” presentations paint discipleship as optional. (28) What Bates calls the “truncated” gospel has at least two distorted aspects he identities. First, it is in reality not the Gospel at all, but is instead a “Plan of Salvation” presentation. To the untrained, this distinction will be difficult to recognize. But placed side-by-side with the Full Gospel it becomes obvious.

Truncated (Plan of Salvation) “Gospel” Full Gospel
1. You and I have a problem called “sin,” and we are currently on the road to perdition. 1. Jesus, the pre-existent Son of God, took on a human life (incarnation) fulfilling the promises made to Abraham, David, the Hebrew prophets, and Israel.
2. Jesus died for your sins. 2. Jesus lived a fully human life, he
 proclaimed and demonstrated (through 
 miraculous signs) that in and through him 
God’s Kingdom was breaking into this 
 world. He was crucified, died, and was 
 buried, in accordance with the Scriptures.
 3. If you make a decision to believe in Jesus, you’ll be saved and go to heaven when you die. 3. On the third day, Jesus rose from the  dead, in accordance with the Scriptures,
 appeared to many, ascended to heaven, 
 where he is seated at the right hand of God 
 the Father, from which he reigns as Lord,
 and will come again to judge and unite 
 heaven and earth in a renewed creation 

One of the first and most obvious differences between these two presentations is that the Truncated (or Plan of Salvation) “Gospel” is self-centered, not Jesus-centered. It’s primarily about me and you, not primarily about Jesus. Jesus only shows up in the Plan of Salvation “Gospel” as a mechanism by which you and I are “saved.” In the Plan of Salvation “Gospel,” Jesus is less a person (much less Lord) than a salvation device. This is just one of the many destructive effects of placing Jesus in the wrong story. It fits within the broader destructive effect of distorting the concept of salvation itself. The very concept of salvation has to be reconsidered if we are to properly assess our presentations of the Gospel.

“…this truncated gospel assumes that the ultimate goal for humanity is spiritual bliss in heaven rather than… embodied participation in the new heavens and new earth. The difference has radical implications for what salvation actually means. In short, the story into which the truncated gospel has been made to fit needs to be rethought…” (29)

The incarnation rarely factors into the Plan of Salvation “Gospel,” because it doesn’t easily fit it into a guilt/forgiveness conception of salvation. Change one’s conception of salvation from guilt/forgiveness to embodied participation in a flourishing world and suddenly incarnation matters. This merely illustrates one particular way the controlling narrative either accentuates or attenuates the Gospel.

Bates shows that the Plan of Salvation “Gospel” has led to the neglect of at least two of the most important parts of the Gospel: Incarnation and Enthronement. When it comes to the Gospel, the story that frames our presentation is key! If creation and Israel are somehow left out, not only is the Gospel truncated, but our very concept of salvation is distorted, perhaps beyond recognition. “…the gospel cannot be holistically comprehended without seeing the manner in which the incarnation fulfills God’s promise to David, a promise God spoke shortly after David had secured the throne…” (32) Bates makes this connection between incarnation and enthronement explicit by way of the Resurrection.

“Yet the gospel is not just about the Davidic promise; it is also about the resurrection. The most compact yet explicit articulation of the gospel, as found in Paul’s Second Letter to Timothy, makes this clear: ‘Remember Jesus the Christ, raised from among the dead ones, of the seed of David—that is my gospel” (2:8). […]the resurrection in turn is intimately connected with the coronation of Jesus.” (33)

Bates has a wonderful section called “The V Pattern” to make the connection between resurrection and exaltation more accessible to lay-persons. He uses more common parlance to teach some highly important yet sometimes overly technical theology. Bates shows that many of the most didactic of Paul’s teachings about Jesus’s life and what it means have a similar “down, then up” pattern to them. That is, they describe Jesus’s voluntary submission, humility, suffering, and sacrifice (down) as an expression of God’s very nature of love. Which leads to resurrection and exaltation (up) as an expression of Christ’s victory over sin and death and sovereign reign over the world. “The Son of God is now the enthroned and actively ruling Son of God, the cosmic Lord. […]this new super-exalted status as cosmic Lord is not peripheral to the good news about Jesus. It is at the very heard and center—the climax of the gospel. Jesus has been enthroned as the king. To him allegiance is owed.” (37)

So, now that Bates has cleared the ground, and has re-established the controlling narrative, he can begin to make this definitive summary of the gospel. Here’s a hinge on which he turns to it: “the gospel proper is not in the first instance a story about human need for salvation but a story about Jesus’s career, a career that culminates in his attainment of heavenly authority. The gospel story integrally involves Jesus’s death for sins, but that is only part of the story, and the gospel narrative draws our eyes above all to Jesus’s kingship.” (51)

Here’s Bates’s outline of the Gospel proper:

“Jesus the king

preexisted with the Father,
took on human flesh, fulfilling God’s promises to David,
died for sins in accordance with the Scriptures,
was buried,
was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures,
appeared to many,
is seated at the right hand of God as Lord, and
will come again as judge.” (52)

If it is not yet obvious, salvation, grace, and faith, what so often are exclusively thought to be “the gospel” are missing. That is because, with other New Testament scholars like N. T. Wright and Scot McKnight, Bates identifies the Gospel Proper as “the power-releasing story of Jesus’s life, death for sins, resurrection, and installation as king[…] The gospel is not… justification by faith alone.” (30) Rather, “Properly speaking, pistis is not part of the gospel but the fitting response to the gospel. Moreover, our justification is not part of the content of the gospel proper either… Our justification is a result of the gospel when we are united by pistis to Jesus the atonement-making king.” (54)

This brings us to the crucial discussion of the doctrine of justification. No doubt few doctrines are more hotly-contested than this one. And many powerful institutions, organizations, and networks are all built on a particular understanding of this doctrine. It’s no wonder, then, why that understand it so fiercely protected nor why it is supported by so much money. These groups must continue to survive to ensure the preservation of the status quo. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that some of the reviews of Bates’s book have been scathing. One such review included this statement: “…the writing is peppered with outrageous statements, caricatures, logical leaps, confusing language, theological imprecisions, and deficient scholarship, making the book unsuitable for a general audience.” One thing you can be sure of, whatever it is that Bates is saying in this book, it has ignited passionate discussion. Now we will turn to the heart of that matter.

Keeping Faith

Translation of the Bible is a political act. There’s simply no avoiding its ramifications for the Christian community and its mission. So too is the translation of crucial terms in the Bible. And few terms in the Bible are more crucial than “faith,” or more precisely the Greek word transliterated “pistis.” The moment someone suggests an innovative translation for such an important term, there is bound to be pushback. Bates anticipates this, of course, and lays out the kind of disclaimer one might expect:

“The word pistis is Greek has a much wider range of possible definitions than the English allegiance. (Put more technically, scholars speak of its large semantic domain.) My intention is not to flatten the rich multiple meanings and nuances of pistis into a bland singleness. Rather it is to claim that, when discussing salvation in generalized terms, allegiance is a better overarching English-language term for what Paul intends with his use of the pistis word group than the more customary faith, belief, and trust.” (78)

But make no mistake, even with this disclaimer, people will no doubt criticize Bates’s proposal. They will caricature it as reductionistic. That is why it is important to note that Bates also finds many contexts in the New Testament when “loyalty” and “faithfulness” are adequate translations. With such a range of possible translations, Bates is in good company with New Testament scholars the likes of N. T. Wright, Michael J. Gorman, John Barclay, and Richard Hays. (83) But this will not be enough for many readers; they will need to see evidence from the Scriptures themselves. That’s fine; Bates is happy to oblige.

Chapter four is chock-full of biblical evidence for his proposal. However, for me the most persuasive is the political/imperial cultural and historical context of the New Testament. Given the vocabulary utilized in the New Testament, there is no way to avoid the direct confrontation with their political connotations. As Bates puts it:

“In the broader Greco-Roman world, the word euangelion, ‘gospel,’ could mean good news of military victory or of the emperor’s birth or reign. The term kyrios, ‘lord,’ along with soter, ‘savior,’ was a favored term used by the emperor. In fact if one had ceased to be a Christian and wanted to prove that to the Roman authorities, then one could offer a sacrifice in the presence of a statue of the emperor while saying ‘Caesar is Lord,’ which was understood in such contexts as incompatible with the sworn confession ‘Jesus is Lord.’ ” (88)

For a more concrete example, Bates points to the Philippian jailor from Acts 16. The context is the Roman colony of Philippi, which Luke is keen to make readers aware of. Paul and Silas’s appeal is to “pisteuson upon the Lord Jesus…” Note the “Lord” title. Any Roman official knows who their Lord is, and it isn’t a Crucified Jewish rabbi. Bates describes this as “…an exhortation to the jailor to transfer his ultimate allegiance from the emperor to the enthroned Jesus.” (88) What happens next demonstrates his choice. He defies the command of the magistrates and embodies obedience to his new Lord. “…the jailor has transferred his allegiance by bodily serving the ambassadors of the Lord Jesus (Paul and Silas) rather than the clients of the emperor (the magistrates).” (89)

One particularly interesting section of this chapter is where Bates takes on Reformed definitions of faith inherited from Augustine.

“[Translating pistis as allegiance] is a deliberate alternative to the classic definitions of ‘faith.’ For instance, Saint Augustine determined that faith (fides) has two primary components: (1) ‘the faith which is believed’—the content that must be intellectually affirmed; and (2) ‘the by which it is believed’—the interior commitment of ‘faith’ that takes place in the heart/mind. Meanwhile, during the Reformation a threefold definition of faith developed among Luther’s followers: (2) notitia—the content to be intellectually apprehended; (2) assensus—intellectual agreement that the content is true; and (3) fiducia—trust or a disposition of reliance (rooted in the will/affections as variously defined). This trifold definition of faith is still used by many Lutheran and Reformed theologians today.” (92)

Instead of 1. Content; 2. Agreement; and 3. Trust, Bates proposes: “Mental affirmation that the gospel is true; professed fealty to Jesus alone as the cosmic Lord, and enacted loyalty through obedience to Jesus as the king.” (92) On each of these Bates spends a few pages expounding. By mental affirmation, he does not mean absolute certainty (as some are likely to misunderstand). Instead, he means something closer to the “sufficient” confidence to obey. I would have used the term “conviction.” Bates writes, “If a person is intellectually confident enough in the truth of the gospel that she or he is willing to give allegiance to the Jesus who is described in that gospel as the universal Lord, then the intellectual-agreement for salvation has been satisfied.” (95) This dispenses with long doctrinal requirements or even technically-specific theological nuances. This is not about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, but is instead about whether you agree enough with the Gospel to act upon that agreement.
Where ‘confession of fealty’ is concerned, Bates doesn’t imagine the “praying of the sinners’ prayer,” as so many Evangelicals are keen to emphasize. Instead, Bates has a much more public and political “confession” in mind.

“Paul does not envision raising your hand in church or silently praying a prayer in your heart as a sufficient ‘confession’ (nor does Paul say that such an action couldn’t initiate salvation, but he clearly intends something more substantive). Paul is talking about something public and verbal, like what might happen at an ancient baptism…” (98)

Bates biblical example is when Paul is on trial before Felix in Acts 24 and he “confesses” he belongs to “the Way.”

Likely it’s Bates’s third element that will ruffle the most feathers. I can already hear the chants of “works righteousness” coming from the Reformed camp. Nevertheless, Bates is smart to point directly to Jesus’s teachings on works in the Sermon on the Mount. Like any Anabaptist would, Bates shows that Jesus wasn’t concerned merely with professed loyalty, but embodied loyalty. “Jesus himself indicates, in what is perhaps the most terrifying statement in the New Testament, that confessing that he is Lord is not on its own sufficient to secure eternal salvation [referring to Matt. 7:21-23]. Allegiance includes obedient action.” (99) Bates goes on to summarize this point, “Professed allegiance is not sufficient; the allegiance must be realized by genuine, albeit not perfect, obedience. Pistis must be embodied. In fact, because salvation is a bodily journey, it cannot be any other way.” (99)

About Objections

When an author who is providing such an innovative proposal as this one, I personally love it when she or he includes an entire chapter addressing potential objections—especially when the potential objections are so thoughtfully considered and responded to. On a related note, few things aggravate me more in a book review than a reviewer who raises questions the book addresses as if they are left unanswered by the author. This is precisely what happened when this book was reviewed in Christianity Today. [8] The reviewer asks, “When, for instance, have I shown enough allegiance?” This a very good question—one the author absolutely anticipated! That is why the author devoted four pages to answering it in an entire chapter devoted to addressing potential objections (cf. p.124-127). Honestly, when I read a review that raises questions a book answers, I question whether the reviewer actually read the book. Whether the Christianity Today reviewer actually read chapter five or not, you should! Bates thoughtfully responds to the questions that came up for me and which I anticipated others may have. And, unlike that reviewer, I paid close attention to how Bates nuanced his arguments. I thought he did a fine job.

There was a footnote (8 on page 107) in which Bates lumps Open theism and Process theism together in one group and dismisses both. I found that to be very unfortunate. Wright has made similar dismissive statements. I’m not sure why New Testament scholars remain so ignorant of the distinction between these two groups, but it continues to be a source of frustration for those of us who have studied the subject extensively. If I had been Bates’s editor, I would have advised him to only comment on what he has actually researched.

Bates’s specific discussion of “The New Perspective on Paul,” (114-117) is nuanced, but he ultimately and correctly sides with scholars like Sanders and Wright that a reassessment of Paul’s theology apart from Reformation goggles reveals the deep distortions that have haunted Pauline studies ever since. For example, he writes, “E. P. Sanders and others have shown that most ancient Jews believe that they were born into covenant membership as an ethnic privilege (chosen by God by race as much as by grace), and hence that they were moving toward final salvation so long as they did not flagrantly disregard the commands.” (114) And later in that same section, “[In Galatians for example] Paul is probably not as concerned with perversions regarding how an individual might enter into right relationship with God as he is with false ideas about what can truly demarcate the people of God as the genuinely ‘declared to be in the right’ people of God…” (114) Those who have read any of Wright or McKnight’s work in this area will surely recognize these cues and see that Bates is drinking from the same wells (so to speak). That is not to say that Bates does not make a point to distinguish himself from Wright on a couple of occasions like in a footnote on page 181.

All in all, this chapter should serve to settle some minds enough to continue reading, or it will clarify Bates’s thesis so much that those with prior commitments too big to fail will simply stop reading. And that is very unfortunate, because the next two chapters form a hook on which Bates’s entire thesis hangs. Unless Bates can show that the Gospel is part of an altogether different meta-narrative (overarching story), then his proposal of salvation by allegiance alone will fall flat. He must show that the very concept of salvation has been distorted and that will require reimagining the human person and human destiny.

Restored and Reigning

Chapters six and seven demonstrate that the primary reason why Christians have traded in the Full and True Gospel for a Truncated (Plan of Salvation) “Gospel” is because they have misunderstood the overarching story the Bible is telling. If one is convinced that the story the Bible is telling is one of legal-indebtedness to a wrathful judge in a cloudy realm somewhere up above, and that Jesus died to settle that debt, appease that wrath, so that those who accept his free gift of grace can go to heaven when they die, then the Plan of Salvation “Gospel” makes perfect sense. Problem: Angry debt-collector in the sky. Solution: Human sacrifice to pay the debt and appease the wrathful god. But if this story is shown not to be the one the Bible tells, suddenly this “gospel” doesn’t seem like such “good news” after all.

In fact, the reality is, this is not the story the Bible is telling. Bates, like Wright and McKnight before him, stands in a long line of New Testament scholars who have been championing a new vision of the biblical narrative. Instead of the angry divine banker in heaven, these scholars have shown that the God of the Bible is the God of love whose original covenant of vocation (the “Image of God”) still stands today. This God created human beings to be “idols” (as Bates puts it), who rule and cultivate the world God made. “The purpose of bearing the image [of God] is so that the created order can receive proper governance, so that humans can bring the wise rule of God in a tangible fashion to creation.” (148) This “idol” language is important because it gets at a very central part of the biblical story, immersed in the ancient Near Eastern cultural context in which the Bible was written. In the ancient Near East, the best possible location for an idol to reside was in a temple where worshippers access the power and healing of the deity. In this section, Bates wisely draws upon some of the ground-breaking and highly relevant work of acclaimed Old Testament scholars like John Walton and Nijay Gupta.

Together, these two chapters pack a powerful one-two punch. They shape an alternative narrative from that which N. T. Wright calls the “works contract” story. Instead, Bates shows that the Bible is telling the story of humans having the image of God restored in them by Christ so that they can rule and reign over the created order alongside God as they were always intended. This new meta-narrative forms a compelling foundation upon which Bates’s salvation-by-allegiance-alone thesis can build.

“For if final salvation is not primarily about the individual soul going to heaven, but about embodied transformation as the individual participates alongside others in the holistic restoration of the entire cosmos, then the logic of the allegiance-alone proposal takes on greater coherence. Moreover allegiance entails an invitation to rule alongside him and is the foundation for transformation into his image.” (131)

“The good news, on the other hand, is that when we participate in worship of the one true God, the result is that we become increasingly sensate and insightful—we see, hear, smell, and touch the God-crafted reality of the created order, and we correctly recognize that it points to truths about God’s very self. And in so doing we are set free to be fully human one again; that is, we are increasingly conformed to the image of the Son, the truly human one, the one who fully images God. […]

In the incarnation, Jesus comes to us as the genuinely human one, the fulfillment of God’s intentions for what it means to be most completely human. The stunning mystery of what it means to be a flourishing human is this: to be fully human doesn’t mean to be the opposite of God; it means to fully image God, to reflect and represent God flawlessly in God’s entirety, glory, and splendor.” (155)

This new meta-narrative also cuts against all individualism that has crept into our conception of salvation and of justification. I’m particularly grateful to Bates for the phrase “allegiant community” for it inspired my imagination in ways I can only attribute to the work of the Holy Spirit. A better summary of overarching story of the Bible, I have not read in some time.

“God placed humans in Eden as idols imbued with his own spirit so that other humans and all creation could dynamically experience the sovereignty of God through the image of God borne by each human. Yet immediately the Adamic image of God became defaced and distorted through sin so that creation failed to receive its proper stewardship. Jesus the Messiah is the authentic, full image of God, the faultless representation. Jesus, who died for our sins, fully bears the image of God, and subsequently our own image can be renewed as we join the allegiant community in gazing upon him. So the end goal of salvation is that through allegiance we become fully human—that is, that we flawlessly mirror God because we have been fully conformed to the image of Jesus the Christ.” (162)

This telling of the biblical story directly contrasts with the “works contract” narrative and undermines the individualistic, transactional, and escapist connotations of the Truncated (Plan of Salvation) “Gospel.” Which makes it a great segue into chapter eight, which is no doubt the crux of Bates’s proposal.


Bates’s proposal thus far has cleared the ground of misconceptions about pistis, clarified the content of the Gospel proper, and established the correct biblical narrative in which the Gospel is situated. Now it’s time to turn to that contentious doctrine of justification. What does the allegiance proposal have to say about justification?

First, Bates supplies readers with a bit of historical and theological background. An essential part of Reformation’s theological dimension was its development of an alternative doctrine of justification from the Roman Catholic church. Here Bates summarizes the two contrasting views succinctly: “Protestants tend to favor a model of ‘imputed’ righteousness… and Catholics ‘imparted’ or ‘infused’ [righteousness].” (166) Then he discusses the famous Pauline doctrine of being in Christ: “…if union with Jesus the king is key to understanding personal salvation, then it is worth asking what this union entails.” (167) Indeed, that’s what the debate is all about.

But before Bates can put forth his proposal regarding justification, he has one last stop to make at notoriously arcane and extraneous discussion of “order of salvation.” Reformed thinkers in particular are often obsessed with it! Here, I found Bates discussion fine overall, but best in the places where he critiques individual election and where he contrasts the systematic options with an approach that employs “biblical theology.” (170) There was one place in this section that disappointed me, however. I was disappointed by his brief comments on divine foreknowledge. Like the footnote on Open theism and Process earlier, Bates again wades into philosophical waters well over his head while devoting far too little space to a very complex subject. In cases like this, it would be better not to discuss it at all than to discuss it with a single sentence and a string of proof texts. Readers deserve better.

In this section, I was most appreciative of Bates’s argument for union with Christ beginning at baptism along with the footnote on page 174 which outlines an early church baptism. Overall, his discussion of the order of salvation was well done, especially in the places where he shows the artificial nature of systems that are imposed upon Romans to create an order that isn’t inherent in the text. To top it all off, Bates includes a wonderful quote from Michael J. Gorman in a footnote on page 175 that includes the phrase “cruciform theosis.” Bonus points!

But, by far, the most important part of this chapter is the development of “incorporated righteousness.” This is where the proverbial rubber meets the road. Here is where Bates intends to propose a way forward between Catholics and Protestants. On the one hand, Protestants are insistent that righteousness be God’s alone and never ours alone. But, on the other hand, Catholics are equally insistent that righteousness be something that God grants to human beings. The first step to bridging this divide is to deconstruct some unhelpful categories. The legal nature of the Protestant doctrine of justification has led to some implications which do not square with the text. Bates wants to be sure to begin his proposal with the text as the center-piece, not a borrowed systematic theology from centuries ago. I particularly liked this section:

“Protestants urgently need to reassess their grammar of salvation. For such distinctions between initial righteousness (so-called justification) and subsequent righteousness (so-called sanctification) simply cannot be consistently maintained by a careful exegesis of the specific terms, thought structures, and categories actually used by even a single one of our biblical authors. Such terminology promotes an individualistic, one-time transaction model of justification and in so doing does not deal seriously with justification’s past, present, future, communal, and creational dimensions. In the final analysis Scripture does not make consistent qualitative distinctions between the declared righteousness of the Messiah attained at our initial moment of justification (when we are united with him) and our righteousness in the Messiah as subsequently nurtured and maintained by the Holy Spirit, as if one or the other were more primal or important for our final salvation.” (186)

This passage alone might make the entire chapter worth reading. But, Bates goes on to show how “incorporated righteousness” does the most justice to the biblical material. He has criticisms for both “imputed” as well as “infused” righteousness. For Protestants, he argues:

“…unless classical notions of imputation are reduced from instantly ‘covering’ to an in-the-Christ ‘reckoning’ or ‘considering’ (per logizomai in Gal. 3:6 and elsewhere)—which does not really clarify how the ‘reckoning’ transpires, then imputation cannot be regarded as a biblical concept or term. That is, apart from a prior (or simultaneous) union with the Messiah, imputed righteousness collapses.” (188)

Meanwhile, for the “infusion” view, Bates writes,

“On the other hand, infused righteousness does front union, and so it is a helpful metaphor; but it is inadequate as a standalone description of how we attain a right standing before God. […] An organic metaphor, such as infusion, that suggests the flowing over of the Messiah’s righteousness and resurrection life into us upon declaration of allegiance is totally appropriate so long as it is clear that the righteousness communicated properly belongs to Jesus as the Christ and only derivatively to us (that is, it is never imparted so that it becomes our own independently.” (189)

So both conceptions have shortcomings. Imputation is a legal fiction that does not comport with the biblical witness, while infusion can devolve into impartation if it is not guarded against independence. Bates’s solution is “incorporated” righteousness.

“In-the-Messiah or incorporated righteousness can be defined as the saving perfect righteousness of Jesus the Christ that is counted entirely ours when we join the Spirit-filled body that is already united to the righteous one, Christ the kingly head.” (190)

That is, Christ’s righteousness overflows to the allegiance-yielding community empowered by the Spirit. All those who are joined to that body through baptism and communion, who share in its embodied obedience share too in Christ’s declaration of being in the right before God. Bates’s proposal demonstrates a high ecclesiology that combats the endemic individualism of too much Protestant soteriology. However, only time will tell what kind of reception it receives. As for me, I welcome it happily.

Allegiant Applications

All of this is wonderful, provided it finds legs and feet in our everyday lives. But how? In Bates’s final chapter, he homes in on practical ways the allegiant proposal can be applied.

First, this new proposal must yield new modes of presentation. “…a true gospel invitation must summon the hearer toward a confession of allegiance to Jesus as the king or cosmic Lord.” (199) To do this, the presentation of the Gospel must cease to be direction to invite Jesus into one’s heart, and instead be the proclamation of the Jesus story in all it’s power-releasing glory. Bates calls it “a grand, sweeping cosmic drama that encompasses Jesus’s entire career.” (199) But this especially means that the preaching of the Gospel cannot be reduced to “forgiveness transaction.” (200) And this means keeping the focus squarely on Jesus, not on the individual.

“The gospel proper is not a salvation procedure focused on the individual. It is the universal-wide story of Jesus’s entire life—from preexistence to anticipated return—a story that unveils God’s saving power for the whole created order. It is a salvation story into which the individual can be whisked up when he or she joins the allegiant community.” (201)

Furthermore, this means we must be sure to center Gospel proclamation in the right meta-narrative. Rather than polemics against “works,” as in the meta-narrative N. T. Wright calls the “works contract,” the allegiant proposal puts works in their proper context, as embodied union with Christ in obedience and discipleship. An appropriate proclamation of the Gospel is one which is nested in the entire breath and depth of the biblical story, from creation to New Creation. (What Wright calls the “covenant of vocation.”) And, finally, a proper Gospel presentation will not give hearers a false sense of assurance, suggesting that a one-time prayer guarantees ultimate salvation. Such glib promises are more harmful than good. As Bates puts it, “Instantaneous assurance compromises the allegiance-demanding gospel and spiritually endangers anyone who blithely accepts it.” (204)

Second, the allegiant proposal connects the Gospel to ministries of compassion, justice, and mercy in way that the truncated, “Plan of Salvation,” false gospel never could. Since salvation is no longer conceptualized as an escape from the world, or as opposed to doing good works, all the aspects of the church’s mission that strengthen and empower this-worldly lives. While the Plan of Salvation “gospel” tells people that they get a ticket to heaven when they die, the Full Gospel contained in the allegiant proposal proclaims that God is making all things right, redeeming the whole world, and that whole communities can be restored in anticipation of their ultimate restoration. The allegiant proposal puts the proleptic Kingdom of God back into the Gospel that was hacked off by the Plan of Salvation “gospel.”

This breathes new life into the church’s mission, as it ennobles the work of believers in all manner of spheres. Artists are joining with God in the aesthetic beatification of the world in anticipation of the new creation. Activists are fighting for a world of equity characterized by justice in anticipation of the new creation. Engineers, medical professionals, first responders, —the list goes on and on; in every sphere of life, the work that Jesus-disciples take up with integrity and intentionality is a contribution to the restorative mission of God in the world.

Third, the allegiant proposal gives us eyes to see the ways our allegiance is demanded by powers other than Christ. The more aware we become of the Gospel demands of obedience and discipleship, the more evident it is that we must resist the non-Gospel demands of other powers of this world. Bates clearly contrasts the United States “pledge of allegiance” with the Apostles’ Creed. While the flag pledge inculcates allegiance to America, the Apostles’ Creed inculcates allegiance to Jesus Christ.

“Each week children in the United States place their right hands over their hearts, face the flag, and pledge allegiance. […] The Apostles’ Creed needs to be mobilized so that it functions like a flag pledge—to become the Christian pledge of allegiance for the universal church.” (210)

Practices such as these are formative, whether we realize we are being formed in the moment, or not. The allegiant proposal simply makes the obedience-demanding aspect of these practices more overt. While we cannot live our embodied lives free from formative practices, we can be more intentional about which practices we allow ourselves to formed by. The liturgical confession of the Apostles’ Creed has been forming Christian communities for centuries. Bates only encourages readers to recover this ancient, powerful practice and harness its formative potential.

There are many additional applications not covered here. The allegiant proposal will likely give rise to several new expressions of Gospel proclamation that are faithful to the New Testament. And those proclamations will unleash the creative Spirit to empower Jesus-disciples to embody the restorative Kingdom of God in myriad ways and by myriad means.

Criticism: Atonement Mishaps

Overall, Bates does an excellent job summarizing complex theological concepts for a lay, if informed, audience. However, there was one area of the book that fell flat in this regard. That was Bates’ treatment of atonement. Obviously, a book of this brief length cannot comprehensively express all the many nuances of atonement theology. Nevertheless, there were a few frustratingly poor sections in this regard. In particular, it was very disappointing to read Bates take up the language of “wrath satisfaction” in regard to atonement. Considering that he seems very well-read in McKnight and Wright’s work, I expected a much more careful and rich exploration of these themes than was often present. For example, Bates writes, “The Messiah was put forth by God as a hilasterion (‘mercy seat’), the place where atonement was made, which involved the satisfaction of God’s wrath and the removal of sins.” (180) Well, the first half of that sentence is correct and the second half is patently incorrect. No one disputes that the authors of the New Testament use the temple imagery to metaphorically describe what happened in the death and resurrection of Jesus. They also use a wide range of other metaphors which Bates makes very little mention of. But, to make such a direct correspondence between a fact like: the hilasterion is the mercy seat where atonement was made, and the unbiblical theory that God’s “wrath” was somehow “satisfied” is sloppy at best, but possibly grossly irresponsible.

Perhaps Bates completed this book before having the benefit of reading N. T. Wright’s The Day the Revolution Began. One could forgive him if that were the case. But, either way, such a terse and self-assured statement loaded with centuries of false presuppositions does not belong in what is otherwise a thoughtful and precisely-written book. In any case, these few off-handed references to debunked and destructive atonement theories do not constitute a large enough component of Bates’ overall proposal to call it into question. However, his case would be strengthened if they were not included.

The Future of Justification

Nearly two thousand years ago, the apostle Paul warned that there will be false presentations of the Gospel. Today, a truncated, “Plan of Salvation” “gospel” (if it can be called that) has become pervasive. Many millions of people who profess faith in Christ believe they have a ticket to heaven, to evacuate the planet, because their guilt vanished in a legal fiction called “justification” when they intellectually affirmed an abstract concept of Jesus’s death somehow taking away their sins. Many of these millions of people continue living their lives unchanged by this gospel, and unchanging of the world they inhabit, because this gospel makes no demands upon them, and grants them no vision of a God restoring the world. It is a discount gospel, a gospel of “free stuff,” which can be collected and discarded at will like all the other disposable products consumed or wasted in so many American malls. This false gospel has in recent years been confronted by several of the world’s leading New Testament scholars and practitioners. And it is time to lay it to rest once and for all. In the place of this truncated, “Plan of Salvation” gospel, the church must embrace the ancient-yet-ever-new Gospel of King Jesus and its accompanying demands of allegiance and discipleship. With a renewed focus on the Gospel story of God in Christ redeeming the world, the church can once again take up its holistic mission and resist all other allegiance-demanding powers. Without it, the church may cease to be a relevant movement in the world, while other powers dictate the narrative of history.

The allegiant proposal has the potential to produce fruitful dialogue among Christian traditions who have long held seemingly-irreconcilable differences. But, Bates’ theses are so straightforward, an optimistic person could be forgiven for dreaming of the day when Christians from all three major branches of the church could share in the same power-unleashing and world-transforming Gospel of King Jesus. The reality is far more complex, of course. Dialogue between Catholics and Protestants has not always been as diplomatic as it has in recent decades. Nevertheless, I am choosing to allow this book to give me hope for the future of the church and our understand and practice of salvation. And I’m grateful to Matthew Bates for giving the church this gift.


  1. Justification by N. T. Wright
  2. McKnight’s endorsement of Justification
  3. .p28
  4. Ibid
  5. “Free Grace Theology, History”
  6. “The Gospel Coalition”
  7. Anthony Daw, Review in Journal for Baptist Theology & Ministry, Fall 2017, Vol. 14, No. 2, p.106-108.
  8. Kelly M. Kapic, “Do We Need a Stronger Word for ‘Faith’?” Christianity Today, June 21, 2017 []

3 Insights from The Cross and the Lynching Tree: A Good Friday Sermon

Today is Good Friday, the day of the Christian year set aside for prayer, deep reflection, and contemplation upon the Cross of Jesus—his suffering and death. However, I must warn you that none of the activities we engage in today will divest the Cross entirely of its mystery. The crucifixion and death of Messiah Jesus, the Son of God, is one of the great mysteries of the Christian faith, alongside the Incarnation (which we celebrate at Christmas), and the Resurrection (which we will celebrate on Easter Sunday). To our Modern ears, a “mystery” sounds like a challenge. Because of our conditioning as Modern people, we instinctually think something is only a mystery because we have not cracked it yet, put all the pieces together, figured it out. But the Cross, like the Incarnation and the Resurrection, is not that kind of mystery. It’s not a case waiting to be cracked; it’s not puzzle waiting to be solved. No, the Cross is an inexhaustible mystery. The Cross is a mystery like its a portal to the incomprehensible life of God. We can never fully comprehend it, though many of humanity’s most brilliant minds have tried. In fact, it’s a symptom of our Modern disease that we constantly try to reduce the Cross to a formula, a theory, and use punchy one-liners to define it. We constrain and reduce what God has done, by trying to explain what we are called to contemplate with awe and humility. The Cross is a mystery, not a mechanism for having our guilt removed or going to heaven. So, there won’t be any attempt at an exhaustive explanation for how the cross “works” this evening. Instead, my goal is merely to invite you to stand with me in awe and humility at this great mystery.

At the same time, while we can never fully explain the Cross, or fully comprehend the Cross, there are ways that God gives us insight into aspects or dimensions of the Cross that have profound implications for our lives. Simply because we cannot know all there is to know about the Cross, doesn’t mean we can know nothing.

During the season of Lent, I’ve read a book by the preeminent theologian Dr. James Cone, entitled The Cross and the Lynching Tree. As you can probably tell simply by the title, this book was a deeply challenging read emotionally. Dr. Cone does not hold back from describing in detail the horrific and grotesque practice of lynching which has characterized this country since Reconstruction after the Civil War until only recently. Reading this book during Lent was the most meaningful Lenten practice I’ve ever participated in. As I’ve read it, I’ve been praying. I’ve been attentive to my thoughts and emotions. That’s one of the ways we discern what God is saying to us and how God is at work in our lives—we pay attention to what’s going on, on the inside of us—how we’re being moved. We open an internal dialogue with God. What does this feeling mean, God? I’ve been asking God questions like that a lot lately. I want to invite you to do some of that discernment work this evening. As I share a few insights I’ve gleaned from Dr. Cone’s work. I want to invite you to pay attention to what’s going on, on the inside of you. Have an internal dialogue with God about what you’re feeling. I think that’s one of the ways we can make of the most of Holy Week and experience lasting transformation.

I want to share with you a few insights I’ll take away from The Cross and Lynching Tree, because I truly believe Dr. Cone’s thoughts on the Cross are incredibly timely for you and me in the United States in 2017. This American context we share right now is fraught with racial conflict and I believe that the Cross gives us lenses through which to see our world that will help us to make better sense of racial conflict and help us to see God at work.

1. De-sanitize the Cross

The first insight I’ve gleaned is that if we’re going to have any hope of making sense of racial conflict in our nation today, we’ve got to De-sanitize the Cross. Did you know we have sanitized the Cross? For tens of millions of people in the United States, the Cross is nothing more than a religious symbol that means forgiveness or grace or something like that. We make crosses out of dainty little pieces of gold and we wear them around our necks as jewelry. The Cross has become so innocuous that we hardly notice them when they are plastered everywhere! I’m a pastor and I hardly notice them!

When the Cross is plastered everywhere, and is thought of by nearly everyone as simply a religious symbol of grace and forgiveness, it’s easy to forget what the Cross originally was—Terrorism! Crucifixion was terrorism! Deliberate, calculated terrorism! Crucifixion was designed to send a death threat to all who saw it. Romans used crucifixion to terrorize Jewish people in Jesus’s day—to intimidate them, so that they would remain subservient to Rome. They used it to maintain their control over the minds of the Jewish people.

How many of you saw the movie Get Out? If you haven’t seen it, you have to. It’s an important film. I won’t give any spoilers, because I think you really need to see it. But I bring it up because of this point about mind control. It wasn’t just fear that made the terrorism of the Cross powerful—it was the sense of utter powerlessness that it rendered in any onlooker. That sense of utter powerlessness was brilliantly depicted in the movie as a “sunken place” from which a person can’t escape. When Jesus was still a small child, Jewish Galileans, Jesus’s neighbors, perhaps even some relatives, staged a revolt against Rome. The Romans decided to send Galilee a message, so they crucified 2,000 of the Galilean rebels. Crosses with people Jesus might have known, writhing in pain, along the road, as far as the eye can see. Think of the trauma that inflicted upon the Galilean onlookers. That’s a tactic designed to force people into a “sunken place.”

If we’re ever going to get insight into the racial conflict in our country, we’ve got to start by de-sanitizing the Cross. Dr. Cone puts it so well,

“As Jesus was an innocent victim of mob hysteria and Roman imperial violence, many African Americans were innocent victims of white mobs, thirsty for blood in the name of God and in defense of segregation, white supremacy, and the purity of the Anglo-Saxon race. Both the cross and the lynching tree were symbols of terror, instruments of torture and execution, reserved primarily for slaves, criminals, and insurrectionists—the lowest of the low in society.” (p.31)

There was a political rally during the election season, in which a older white man violently attacked a younger black man as he was being escorted out of the stadium as a protester. Afterward, the man who attacked him was asked some questions on video. He was asked why he attacked the young man and he responded that the young man wasn’t acting “very American” and then he said that next time he “might have to kill him.” At another political rally, a man who was video recorded shouting obscenities at a protester was asked about it and he responded saying, “I can’t believe I did that. It was me, but I’m not a hateful man. I just got caught up. When I saw the video all over the news of me doing that to that young man, I was just disgusted with myself.” This is called “scapegoating,” putting all the blame and shame on a person or a group of people, and punishing or expelling them to free the community or society from their sense of their own sin. Make no mistake, scapegoating unifies people. But it doesn’t unify them in the Holy Spirit, it unifies them in the unholy spirit of accusation—the spirit of the accuser (ha-satan).

In the Gospels, we read of the crowds who cheered for Jesus as he entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday with shouts of “Hosanna” and “Son of David”. That very same crowd had turned into an angry, violent mob by Friday. They freely allowed themselves to be swept up in the spirit of hatred and violence.

The De-Sanitized Cross is a Lynching tree. We see reflected in it all the anti-creation, anti-human forces of evil that are work in our world converging on an innocent human being. That’s why Peter says to the ruling council in Acts, “The God of our ancestors raised up Jesus, whom you had killed by hanging him on a tree.” (5.30)

The world-renowned historian and theologian N. T. Wright wrote,

“Anyone looking at the cross of Jesus with a normal understanding of the first-century world would think: the rulers and authorities stripped him naked and celebrated a public triumph over him. That’s what they normally did to such people.” (Paul for Everyone, p.170)

When we De-sanitize the Cross, we can see the Crosses in our own society. We can see the ways innocent people are victimized and scapegoated. We can see the powers at work, sweeping people up in hatred and violence.

Let’s do some of that attentiveness and discernment work now.  How’s your internal dialogue with God going? Are you being attentive to your emotions? Let me ask you some more general questions: Who are the scapegoated in our nation today? Who are those who the powerful have scapegoated? And now, how about some more personal questions: Who have you and I scapegoated? Who do we wish to heap all of the shame and blame and guilt upon?

While the De-sanitized Cross is an instrument of terror and a death threat, the second paradoxical insight I’ve gleaned from Dr. Cone’s book is how the Cross “Dis-arms the Powers.”

2. Disarm the Powers

Colossians 2.15 is one of my favorite verses in all of Scripture. “Having disarmed the powers and authorities, [Jesus] made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross.”

Dr. Cone uses a powerful analogy in the book that stuck with me. In 1955, Emmett Till was brutally lynched at 14 years old in Mississippi. Dr. Cone writes,

“If anything was remarkable about the Till lynching, it was not so much the callousness of the deed as the militant response it evoked. If lynching was intended to instill silence and passivity, this event had the opposite effect, inspiring [African Americans] to rise in defiance, to cast off centuries of paralyzing fear. The signal of this change was marked by the actions of Mamie Till Bradley, Emmett’s mother, who refused to allow this heinous act, like so many similar cases, to remain in the shadows or to fade from public memory. When Emmett’s body was brought back to Chicago, she insisted that the sealed casket be opened for a three-day viewing, exposing ‘his battered and bloated corpse’ so that ‘everybody can see what they did to my boy.’ She exposed white brutality and black faith to the world and, significantly, expressed a parallel meaning between her son’s lynching and the crucifixion of Jesus. “Lord you gave your son to remedy a condition,” she cried out, “but who knows, but what the death of my only son might bring an end to lynching.” (p.66-67)

If the enemy thinks it has the atomic bomb, the ultimate weapon: Death, and it uses it, but it doesn’t work, what does it have left? Pontius Pilate said to Jesus “Don’t you know I have the power to kill you?” And Jesus essentially says back, “Is that all you got?”

The Cross is paradoxically the destruction of Jesus and the triumph of Jesus. On the Cross, Jesus somehow disarms the powers and authorities, rendered their ultimate weapon, not only useless, but uses it as a weapon against them! This is Divine Aikido! Somehow, God is able to fold the enemies’ attack back in on it. We don’t know how this works, we can’t explain it, but it has worked. For two-thousand years, Christians continue to follow Jesus even though it has often resulted in their death. Over 30 Christians were murdered by ISIS on Palm Sunday in Cairo, Egypt. But Coptic Christians will be back worshipping on Easter Sunday, because we don’t fear death.

Hebrews 2.14 says, “Since [God’s] children have flesh and blood, [Christ] too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil—and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.”

Jesus was the scapegoat to end all scapegoating. Jesus took onto himself all the blame and shame and he absorbed it. Human beings violently sinned our sins into Jesus, and he took them. All the principalities and powers of the world tried to crush him, but he broke their power—the power of the fear of death—and he triumphed over them! The devil and the rulers and powers didn’t know their plan would backfire on them. Paul said, “None of the rulers of this age understood it, for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory.” (1 Cor. 2.8) Jesus took it all for us, and what he gave us in its place is forgiveness, purification, new life, new humanity, oneness with God.

Here’s how Dr. Cone puts it in his book,

“God’s word is paradoxical […] a mystery that one can neither control nor fully understand. It is here and not here, revealed and hidden at the same time. “Truly, you are a God who hides himself, O God of Israel, the Savior” (Isa 45.15) Nowhere is that paradox, that ‘inscrutability,’ more evident than in the cross. A symbol of death and defeat, God turned it into a sign of liberation and new life.” (p.156)

You and I disarm the powers when we refuse to use the power of death, the power of the sword, coercive power.
You and I disarm the powers when we speak the truth to rulers and authorities prophetically without fear.
You and I disarm the powers when we embody the alternative new humanity created by Jesus in our communities of faith.

That’s one of the primary reasons I’m at New City Church. Because the way you and I disarm the power of racial hatred and violence is through intentionally forming and participating in interracial Christian community. The way you and I disarm the powers is by taking down the crucified ones of society from their crosses and joining with them as family. (p.161)

When we De-sanitize the Cross, we can see how it was an instrument of terror used by the powers. We can also see how the fear of death is the atomic bomb of the powers. But Jesus absorbs that blow and comes out the other side. He disarms the powers of their ultimate weapon and frees us from the fear of death.

Which leads me to the last insight I gleaned from Dr. Cone’s book I’d like to share with you. The Cross “Directs our Creativity.”

3. Direct our Creativity

One of my favorite aspects of Dr. Cone book is his commentary on black Christian art.

“The spirituals, gospel songs, and hymns focused on how Jesus achieved salvation for the least through his solidarity with them even unto death. There were more songs, sermons, prayers, and testimonies about the cross than any other theme. The cross was the foundation on which their faith was built. In the mystery of God’s revelation, black Christians believed that just knowing that Jesus went through an experience of suffering in a manner similar to theirs gave them faith that God was with them in suffering on lynching trees, just as God was present with Jesus in suffering on the cross.” (p.21-22)

Black preachers, artists, poets, musicians had a De-sanitized Cross. They saw its brutality reflected in their own lives and in the history of American racism. Part of Disarming the Powers for them was Directing their Creativity into artistic expression. Dr. Cone quotes Shawn Copeland, professor of theology at Boston College,

“If the makers of the spirituals gloried in singing of the cross of Jesus, it was not because they were masochistic and enjoyed suffering. Rather, [they] sang because they saw on the rugged wooden planks One who had endured what was their daily portion. The cross was treasured because it enthroned the One who went all the way with them and for them. [They] sang because they saw the results of the cross—triumph over the principalities and powers of death, triumph over evil in this world.” (p.151)

Art is also not the only way the Cross Directs our Creativity. Dr. King is one of the best examples of how the Cross Directs Creativity into nonviolent direct action. Cone writes,

“…for King nonviolence was more than a strategy; it was the way of life defined by love for others—the only way to heal broken humanity. Hate created more hate and violence more violence. King believed that the cycle of violence and hate could be broken only with nonviolence and love, as revealed in Jesus’ rejection of violence and his acceptance of a shameful death on a cruel cross.”

“King saw the cross as a source of strength and courage, the ultimate expression of God’s love for humanity.” (p.85)

As we meditate on what the Cross might have to say to our American context in 2017, I want to invite you to enter into this deep mystery with awe and humility. When we contemplate the de-sanitized Cross, we’re rightly disgusted by it; we’re rightly repelled by it. But when we see how Jesus turned what was an instrument of terrorism and torture into his own triumph over the powers, we are emboldened to confront the powers and authorities in our world. When we see how Jesus took the blow and absorbed it, overpowering death with love, we are freed from the fear of death and we can lives of hope even in the midst of a world still plagued by racism and violence. The de-sanitized Cross that disarms the powers directs our creativity into joining God in the renewal of all things. It beacons us to imagine that a new world is possible. We are empowered with courage to enter into the messy but beautiful work of seeking racial righteousness and justice in community.


2016 Reading Recap & Recommendations

Recently, I saw that Missio Alliance has published an “Essential Reading List of 2016,” and was proud to see my friends Jessica Kelley, Drew Hart, and Lisa Sharon Harper’s books make the list. Represent!

So, Missio’s list got me thinking about the books I read this year. Here’s a brief reflection with recommendations.

In preparation for a sermon series, I started this year reading works on the New Testament book of Revelation. I re-read three of my favorites: 1. Reversed Thunder by Eugene Peterson; 2. Reading Revelation Responsibly by Michael Gorman; and 3. Revelation For Everyone by N. T. Wright. In my opinion, these are still (hands down) the best three resources on Revelation. But, I also read a few new ones. David DeSilva’s book Unholy Allegiances was excellent. It’s an accessible and brief introduction with insights backed by archeological research and empire criticism. I also read Brian Blount’s Can I Get a Witness? which is in a league of its own. It was eye-opening in many ways. Darrell Johnson’s Discipleship on the Edge was a very helpful text for preaching and full of interesting insights.

In addition to sermon prep reading, I also read several other books I think are worth recommending. My top eight are:

Day_Revolution_Began1. The Day the Revolution Began by N. T. Wright

When the church looks back on this period in history, we will undoubtably speak of Wright’s scholarship the way we do those theologians who define an era like Augustine or Aquinas. His work is that important. He’s probably best known for deeply impacting historical Jesus studies and Pauline studies, two of the most contentious fields in modern Christian theology. But, in recent years, Wright’s work has coalesced into two discernible modes. He has his field-defining, 600+ page tomes like Jesus and the Victory of God. In these, he does extensive exegesis, engages with the work of best and brightest minds in the world, and details ground-breaking approaches to well-worn subjects. Then, his second mode are popular-level, ~200 page works for lay-persons. In this mode, he’s also made waves like with this books Surprised by Hope and Justification.

The Day the Revolution Began is a book on Jesus’s Cross in the latter (popular-level) mode. It’s around 400 pages, but it is written in his layperson-accessible style. He doesn’t name-drop dozens of scholars or parse Greek words. But he manages, in a relatively brief book, to provide readers with a high-level survey of the history and landscape of teaching on the atonement. Wright challenges sacred cows and yet remains intensely traditional. What sets apart Wright’s work from so many others is that he brings into focus the New Testament’s deep indebtedness to the Hebrew Bible and how fully immersed Jesus’s story is in the story of Israel. With Wright’s signature punchiness, he takes aim at distortions of “penal substitutionary atonement” that forsake the biblical narrative for an unbiblical one. In the end, Wright recovers all the best aspects of “PSA,” while both discarding its perversions, and providing the structure for a far better frame. That frame is Exodus and Exile; two of the most important aspects of the biblical narrative which arrive at their climax in the Cross.

This book is a must-read for theology nerds.

Roadmap_Reconciliation2. Roadmap to Reconciliation by Brenda Salter-McNeil

In Roadmap to Reconciliation, Brenda Salter-McNeil distills decades of wisdom gleaned from painstaking and miracle-producing work among Christian organizations wrestling with cross-cultural and interracial ministry into a highly-accessible, highly-practical, and brief book. On a subject as fraught with landmines as racial reconciliation, Dr. Salter-McNeil manages to both provoke and build bridges. She simultaneously confronts and comforts. She does this by masterfully weaving together powerful stories from her extensive body of work with profound biblical insights. While brief, this book is packed with potential to transform ministries who are seeking to be transformed.

This book is a must-read for any pastor or Christian leader courageous enough to engage in the Gospel work of racial reconciliation.

Water_to_Wine3. Water to Wine by Brian Zahnd

For his “sabbatical,” Brian Zahnd (and his wife Peri) recently walked the 500-mile Camino de Santiago pilgrimage traveled by millions of Christians down through the centuries. But that six-week journey pales in comparison to the journey he has traversed in the last 15 years. He’s been transformed from a Charismatic (read: tongue-talkin’), prosperity-preaching, war-praying, bible-thumping, Americanized, “Evangelical,” Christian into a contemplative, liturgical, (probably still tongue-talkin’), nonviolent, sacramental, Jesus-follower. In Water to Wine, he details some of that journey and its one with which I deeply identify. I’m so grateful for how Zahnd articulates the Christian faith; it inspires and energizes me. (Read my full review)

This book is a must-read for any “Evangelical” who senses there is more to Christianity.

Lord_Willing4. Lord Willing? by Jessica Kelley

I’ve been waiting for and dreaming of a book like this one for years! Lord Willing? is a theodicy from the perspective of a thoughtful, intelligent woman who has personally experienced agonizing pain and loss. Far too many of the theodicies on tap today are written by men and are written to reinforce a picture of God that looks nothing like Jesus. Jessica Kelley allows us to see into the darkest moments of her life, as she profoundly struggled with God’s goodness and power in the midst of her son’s (Henry) battle with cancer. Matched only by her laser-focused, Jesus-centered theological insights are her engrossing accounts of how she experienced each excruciating moment. What sets this book apart from all others is that it doesn’t offer a “solution” to the problem of evil in the form of a doctrine—it offers a Jesus-centered framework that allows a mother watching her son slowing dying not to loser her faith. Kelley offers readers a way to see that the Jesus-looking God is at war against all evil—including cancer—and suffers alongside each of us, sustaining us in his unique love. She offers readers an alternative to the “blueprint” view of God, which makes God the cause of cancer and renders God’s character suspect. Kelley’s view is extremely well-researched and supported by Scripture. But make no mistake, Kelley’s story is also heartbreaking, so make sure you have tissues handy when you read it.

This book is must-read for everyone who wrestles with God’s goodness or power in the midst of pain and loss.

You_Are_What_You_Love5. You Are What You Love by James K. A. Smith

James K. A. Smith is my favorite “Reformed” thinker. I loved his book Desiring the Kingdom. And that’s why I also loved You Are What You Love. It felt to me like the lay-person’s version of Desiring the Kingdom, which I think is a brilliant move. While Desiring the Kingdom was aimed at transforming our conception of Christian education using an Augustinian anthropology and corresponding pedagogy, You Are What You Love widens the scope of his thesis to all Christian formation. Smith’s contention is that human beings aren’t primarily “thinking things,” shaped by our thoughts, but are desiring persons, formed by our deepest loves. In classic Augustinian fashion, Smith points to our “disordered loves” as the root cause of our distorted humanity. Therefore, the solution is properly ordered loves. This, Smith writes, is accomplished through the practices of Christian worship. This simple idea is power-packed. With it, Smith can diagnose all the ways our loves are being malformed by “secular liturgies,” the practices in which we thoughtlessly engage every day. Smith urges us to take back the power of habit to harness our formation and submit it to God’s will and way. Through the practices of Christian worship, we are being transformed by God’s Spirit and grace more and more into the image of Christ.

This book is a must-read for all Jesus-followers who want to be properly formed.

How_Jesus_Saves_World_From_Us6. How Jesus Saves the World From Us by Morgan Guyton

Morgan Guyton has been challenging toxic Christianity on his blog, “Mercy, Not Sacrifice” for quite a while now. So, while overdue, How Jesus Saves the World From Us was worth the wait. Each chapter highlights one way Morgan has conceptualized his journey out of toxic Christianity and into a deep relationship with Christ. (Read my full review)

This book is a must-read for anyone who has felt hurt by Christians or churches but still desires a relationship with Christ.

How_Survive_Shipwreck7. How to Survive a Shipwreck by Jonathan Martin

Jonathan Martin’s first book, Prototype, is a tough act to follow. But with his signature, vulnerable and poetic style, Martin offers a sequel that did not disappoint. Even though Prototype was deeply personal, somehow his second book manages to be even more personal. As Martin draws you into his story of personal loss and failure you can’t help but grow more and more introspective and contemplative. He’s a master at this. Before you know it, you are half-reading and half-praying. Martin’s pastoral ministry extends to every reader of this book and its a ministry of empowering grace.

This book is a must-read for everyone who has felt like a failure and needs to hear God’s voice speaking life over them.

Embrace8. Embrace by Leroy Barber

This was my first time reading a work by Leroy Barber and it was a great introduction. While I’ve followed some of his ministry through my involvement with the CCDA, this was the first time I’d read any of his extended story, and it’s amazing! I was very encouraged by this book, not only as a minister but also as a Jesus-follower. I also loved the emphasis on shalom. As some of you may know, my wife is writing a book that also focuses on shalom that is due out in 2017. This book opened my eyes to even more of God’s power among us.

This is a must-read for everyone trying to follow God’s call on their lives, even when it’s deeply challenging.

Here are some other good lists: Biologos, Kurt Willems’ Paul Books


The Stage that Divides Us: A Sermon on Luke 18.9-14

The Gospel reading for this Sunday is a parable of Jesus—perhaps a familiar one for many of us, perhaps not. On the surface, this parable is fairly easy to understand. But, today, you may see some themes from this text that aren’t so self-evident. You might see how you and I can live lives alienated from God’s love. And this state of alienation from God’s love leads to alienation within ourselves and from others.

Before I knew this text was the Gospel reading for this week, I had already been thinking about this state of alienation because of how it feels in America right now. Powerful forces of division are at work in our world. So, I believe this text is very timely and has a lot of important things to say to us today.

parable-of-the-pharisee-and-the-publican-basilica-di-santapollinare-nuovo-ravenna-italy-6th-centuryIn this text, Jesus tells a parable about two men praying at the Temple. The two main characters are very specifically chosen to be polar opposites with inherent conflict in their identities. One is a member of a group called the Pharisees. The other is one of many in Jesus’s day who have become tax-collectors for Rome. The two characters also represent these two groups.

The Pharisees were devout Jewish leaders in Jesus’s day. They had a particular understanding of how the Reign of God was going finally going to arrive in the midst of the present occupation of Israel by Rome—a foreign, Pagan, military empire. Their belief was that the only righteous response to God’s people being under the control of unclean Gentile overlords, was resistance through purity. If Jews in Israel would just maintain the purity of their Jewish identity by keeping the Mosaic Law meticulously, and especially remaining pure by not associating with ‘sinners’ like Gentiles or tax-collectors, then God would return to Zion in power through his Messiah and liberate Israel once again (like a new Exodus from Egypt).

But there were other Jewish approaches to the dilemma of Roman occupation besides resistance through purity. Other devout Jewish people felt equally strongly that the only way the Reign of God was going to arrive was if they met this invading, violent force called Rome with equal and opposite force. Only difference between Rome’s violence and the violence of these “Zealots” (as they were called), was that the violence of the Zealots was religiously-justified because “God is on their side”! (Ever heard anyone talk like that? I have!) Jesus Barabbas, the man who was released instead of Jesus of Nazareth on that first Good Friday, was this type of Jewish revolutionary—someone the Gospel authors say participated in a violent rebellion for which he was imprisoned awaiting execution when his life was exchanged for Jesus of Nazareth’s.

Then there were Jewish people whose approach to the Roman occupation was to compromise with them—even to get rich from their violent reign over Israel. That’s what a tax-collector was doing. I’m currently reading a book with New City’s men’s group in which the author compares first-century tax-collectors to modern-day IRS agents. That is an terrible misunderstand that makes me want to demand whatever seminary he went to give him his money back! First-century tax-collectors weren’t pencil-pushing bean-counters like IRS agents—they were ruthless extortionists who profited from the oppression of their own people! If you think that the Pharisees disliked tax-collectors the way we dislike paying our taxes, you don’t understand just how much of a betrayal it was for a Jewish person to become rich by taking even more money than a person owed Rome, under the threat of violence against their own fellow Jewish people. Tax-collectors weren’t like IRS agents at all. Tax-collectors were like gangsters who you had to pay protection money to, and you hated them because they were supposed to be your brothers! In fact, tax-collectors were so hated that the Zealots would often assassinate them.

Jesus chose these two types of Jewish men for his parable because their identities as members of their respective groups were in direct opposition to each other. They had polar opposite ideas about the Reign of God, their ruling Gentile overlords, and what righteousness looks like in response.

(This is a rhetorical question, so please don’t shout out any names of groups) Who do you think Jesus would choose for his parable if he were telling it to Americans today?  Without calling out any group names, think to yourself about who Jesus would have starring in his parable today?

There are dozens of fault lines in our society and world today, between groups who have as much hostility against one another as the Pharisees did with tax-collectors. It’s nearly impossible to tune in to any form of news or media without the headlines centering around the conflict between two of these groups.

Jesus’s choice of these two group representatives is very deliberate. Luke writes, “He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.” (v.9 NRSV) The Pharisees would fall into Jesus’s intended audience. They regarded tax-collectors as unclean “sinners,” formally excluded from the synagogue—the center of Jewish religious and social life. Pharisees regarded their way as the only righteous way.

So, what does Jesus do with this parable? He flips the script, of course! That’s what Jesus does!

It’s the despised tax-collector who throws himself upon the mercy of God who is counted righteous before God, not the self-righteous Pharisee!

This parable isn’t a challenge to those who you and I “regard with contempt;” it’s a challenge to us. You and I are in danger of considering ourselves part of the in-group, and those people we despise as part of the out-group. You and I have made up our minds who the “bad guys” are. You and I have already counted ourselves as part of the “good guys” group. And no one can tell us otherwise!

But Jesus’s parable challenges you and I directly, on how we view ourselves and our judgment of others.

Our view of ourselves and judgment of others is warped by something that may not be obvious in this parable. But a slight reframe might help us to see how this challenge applies to us, even now.

The setting of the parable appears obviously religious (the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem). But the setting beneath this setting is a Stage.

A place of worship like the Temple was a place where the focus is centered around God. But the Pharisee’s prayer betrays that he imagines himself as the main attraction, the star of the show. He’s putting on a performance.

Did you know that when Jesus called the Pharisees “hypocrites” in the Gospels, that term didn’t yet mean what it has come to mean for us today? “Hypocrite” was a term for an actor. It literally means “before the critics,” like someone on a stage performing for an audience. It describes someone who is putting on an act, or wearing a mask.

When Jesus calls out the Pharisees for being performers, he’s calling us all out! We’ve all grown up in a world where we’ve come to understand that people are watching us and judging us. So, in return, we watch them and judge them. We’re all critics and we’re all performers! We’re all hypocrites!

My friend Morgan Guyton is a campus minister in New Orleans. He recently wrote a book called How Jesus Saves the World From Us: 12 Antidotes to Toxic Christianity. In a chapter called “Worship Not Performance,” he reframes the familiar Genesis story of humanity’s fall into sin as not about disobedience and punishment, but about the loss of authentic delight in God alone and the fall into self-conscious performance for God and others. He writes,

“Adam and Eve don’t gain the wisdom that the serpent promised as a result of eating the fruit [of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil]; the only ‘knowledge’ that they gain is the fear and shame of their nakedness. They receive the curse of self-consciousness, the death of innocent wonder, which turns a life of worship into a life of performance.” (1)

These two ways of living are in conflict with each other. We can’t live in authentic delight in God alone and also live in shame and fear, performing for God and others. What happens when we live in this performance mode, is that we become alienated from God, alienated from ourselves, and alienated from others. God calls out to us, “Where did you go?” And our only honest answer is, “I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.” To which God asks, “Who told you that you were naked?” or, to put the question another way, “Who are these critics you’re performing for?

The fear and shame that comes from self-consciousness shows up in a lot of different forms. It can show up in self-righteousness like in the Pharisee in Jesus’s parable. For some people, it shows up in cynicism or self-destructive behavior designed to say to our critics, “You can tell me what to do!” Some people’s performance is in their morality. Others’ is their correct beliefs. Others in their correct political opinions (I’m sure no one here knows anyone who thinks they have the correct political opinions in this highly contentious election season). Others justify their existence through their aptitude, their productivity, their wealth, their status, or their celebrity. This life of performance under the critics is a curse!

Essena-ONeillNot too long ago, I heard of a young woman in Australia who got headlines for quitting Instagram, which to most of us is nothing newsworthy at all. But, what made it interesting to many people is that when she announced her decision to leave social media, she had over 600,000 followers. She had so many followers, that she was getting paid to post pictures of herself with products or in certain clothes. Here’s what she’s quoted as saying in one article I read, “I’m the girl who had it all and I want to tell you that having it all on social media means nothing to your real life … Everything I did was for likes and for followers.” “I was surrounded by all this wealth and all this fame and all this power and yet they were all miserable, and I had never been more miserable.” (2)

She was alienated from her own true self. She was wearing a mask, performing for her Instagram critics and dying inside. You and I don’t have to be Instagram models to understand what that feels like. We have our own ways we perform for the critics.

Let me ask you this: What does it profit us if our performance for God or others gains us everything we think we want, but the fear and shame of putting on an act cost us our very souls?

This performance life that we can live due to shame and fear not only alienates us from God, and alienates us from ourselves, it also alienates us from one another.

Part of the Pharisee’s performance is to heap contempt on the tax-collector as a way of reassuring himself that at least he’s better than someone else.

Did you know that “Satan” is not a proper name, but is instead a description of a role in a law court? Ha-Satan means “the Accuser”. It speaks of the person in an ancient law court who brings charges against another. When we heap scorn upon another person or group of people in a self-righteous attempt to justify ourselves, we are taking on the role of the Accuser. We have the attitude, or “spirit,” of the Accuser.

In the Genesis story of humanity’s fall into sin, Adam and Eve eat the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, they become afraid, ashamed, and hide themselves. Then God asks them if they’ve eaten of the fruit and their immediate response is to start accusing others. It’s Eve’s fault; it’s the serpent’s fault; it’s your fault, God!

The Performance Game we play when we live in the fear and shame of self-consciousness, “before the critics,” leads us to the Blame Game that divides us from one another. That’s why Jesus has the Pharisee self-righteously say “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector.” (v.11)

forbidden_fruitThe curse of self-consciousness that we live under not only alienates us from God because we feel afraid and ashamed so we hide from God—and it not only alienates us from ourselves because that fear and shame leads us to perform for God and others, wearing masks, and seeking to justify ourselves—it also alienates us from one another because we use the knowledge of good and evil to judge and accuse one another. Self-consciousness and the compulsion to perform leads to accusation and division.

(Again, this is a rhetorical question, so please don’t shout out any names) What are some of the divisions we can see in our society, and our world today, that come from us judging and accusing one another?  I’m sure we can all think of several.

Recently, I began reading a new book by a pastor named Jonathan Martin called How to Survive a Shipwreck. In it, he talks about his own experience of “shipwreck”, when he had to step down from leading the church he planted and pastored for several years because of a moral failing. In one section of the book, he talks about how for so long he thought of himself as above such a failing, like it could never happen to him. He judged others and thought himself pretty righteous. But he discovered through his own shipwreck that we’re all in need of God’s mercy—like the tax collector in Jesus’s parable. Here’s what Martin writes,

“One way or the other, through illness, divorce, calamity, or death, we will be stripped away from the things that made us feel other than/apart from our fellow humans. And life itself will plunge us into the sea of our own shared humanity.

Ideally, the primary function of religion will be to loose us from our illusions of individuality and self-reliance and deliver us from the toxic fruit of ego development. But instead of equipping us to avoid the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, we make entire religions out of worshipping around the tree instead. Rather than breaking down the illusory boundaries between ‘us’ and ‘them,’ insiders and outsiders, sacred and profane, religion often underwrites these boundaries, reinforces them, gives us a sense of being good guys over/against the bad guys. Instead of subverting the lie of ‘us’ and ‘them,’ religion is often a tool to make us feel special, set apart. No wonder Jesus tells the Pharisees of his time, practitioners of these kinds of judgments, that they make converts ‘twice as much a child of hell as yourselves.’ ‘Us and them’ religion is poison to the soul, and it often takes a lifetime of humiliation to detoxify us from it.” (3)

One of the ways this parable hits me right in the gut is in how I think about those with different political opinions from mine—especially my fellow Christian sisters and brothers. The temptation to judge and accuse them has been strong this election year. I know I’m probably the only one. I read an article the other day that didn’t necessarily present the arguments for why someone would support alternative policies or another candidate, but it presented how our nation has become so divided culturally between those who dwell in small towns, suburbs, and rural areas, and those who dwell in cities. And it gave me some much needed empathy for my sisters and brothers in Christ who have a different outlook on things because of where they’re from. I recognized that my outlook is also colored by where I’m from, and we all need God’s mercy.

This passage also challenges me to think about the ways I perform for the critics. It caused me to really recon with the reality that I have some critics I’m performing for from my past. Part of my drive in life is to show them I matter—to justify my existence.

How does this parable of Jesus challenge you? Take a moment to process these two questions between yourself and God. In what ways are you playing the Performance Game? And in what ways are you playing the Blame Game?

Humanity has a serious problem. We’re born into a self-conscious world. We’ve all eaten the fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil and so we’re afraid, ashamed, we hide, and we accuse one another. As a result we’ve become alienated from God, from ourselves, and from one another.

The Good News in this parable is the solution Jesus gives to this experience of alienation. By God’s grace, we can exercise courageous vulnerability, by throwing ourselves upon God’s mercy, and humbly accepting God’s unconditional, transforming love. No more hiding! No more performing! No more masks! No more accusation!

When we do this, we are freed from self-consciousness to live in wonder and worship of God like a child freely dancing—without any concern for how they appear.  Morgan Guyton writes,

“When we’re performing for the critics, we are living the opposite of belovedness. Belovedness means living under the gaze of a God who watches us with such warmth that we stop worrying about what to do with our hands when we dance. That warmth, if we allow ourselves to embrace it, can fill our hearts with the true, genuine worship that we lost when we were children.” (4)

And Jonathan Martin writes,

“You were created in the image of God. Before you knew anyone or did anything, everything was in you necessary to live at home in divine love. However buried that image of God is within you, that part of you that knows what it is to be perfectly loved, held, and known—it is still very much there.” (5)

That’s how Jesus ends his parable: with the tax-collector, the “sinner,” formally excluded from Jewish religious and social life, “going home” right with God.

Today, we can all “go home” right with God. The Good News is that God is making all things new, recreating the world through Jesus and the Spirit. Jesus has made a way for you and I to be reconciled to God, reconciled to ourselves, and reconciled to one another. That experience of being rescued from the domination of self-consciousness and invited to participate in God’s Reign on earth is what we call salvation and what we celebrate in this meal we share together called the Lord’s Supper, or “Communion,” or the “Eucharist” (which means thanksgiving).

May this meal be our coming home today, freed from the watching critics to live under God’s loving gaze of grace. If you are willing and able, please pray with me.

Most Merciful God,
We confess that we have sinned against you and sinned against one another,
in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole hearts; we have not loved our neighbors or our brothers and sisters as ourselves.
We humbly repent.
Just as your Son Jesus did, have mercy on us and forgive us;
That we may delight in your will and walk in your ways,
To the glory of your Name.


  1. Morgan Guyton, How Jesus Saves the World From Us: 12 Antidotes to Toxic Christianity (WJK, 2016), p.10.
  2. Rheana Murray, “Instagram star quits social media, reveals her ‘dream life’ was all a sham,” Today (Nov. 4, 2015) [ ] (accessed Oct. 19, 2016).
  3. Jonathan Martin, How to Survive a Shipwreck: Help is On the Way and Love is Already Here (Zondervan, 2016), p.48-49.
  4. Guyton, p.15.
  5. Martin, p.70.

More Wrightian than McKnightian: Where Exactly is the Kingdom?

20 Once Jesus was asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God was coming, and he answered, “The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed; 21 nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There it is!’ For, in fact, the kingdom of God is among you.” (Luke 17 NRSV)

Lately, the Kingdom of God has been the subject of much discussion in Christian theological scholarship and local churches. Two biblical scholars in particular have been at the center of this discussion, with two very similar but slightly nuanced views. Those two are Tom Wright and Scot McKnight. As is evident from their names, either of their views is -ight, but which was one is right? (See what I did there?)

Space and time constraints permit only a brief and perhaps reductionistic survey of both scholars’ views. However, my ultimate aim is not merely to survey their views, but to present my own. I hope to show where I see the reign of God present and its relationship to the church.

Let’s start with McKnight. In books like Kingdom Conspiracy, McKnight puts forth a proposal that we might call “ecclesio-centric.” He makes it clear that he does not find it biblical at all to speak of God’s “kingdom” activity outside the people of God. For him, God’s Kingdom is the church.

An ecclesio-centric model of the Kingdom has some appeal. It squares with a lot of Scripture. The people of Israel are often equated with God’s kingdom. And Paul often speaks very highly of the church, as the fulfillment of God’s purposes and plan (e.g. Eph. 1.23, 3.10, etc.).

However, Wright’s position also has biblical support. For Wright, Jesus is God’s-Kingdom-in-person. That is why Jesus preached the Gospel as “The Kingdom of God is near.” (e.g. Mt. 3.2; Mk. 1.15; Lk. 10.9, etc.) The church had not yet been established by Jesus’s death, resurrection, ascension, and sending of the Holy Spirit. And yet, Jesus’s presence was the supreme sign of the Kingdom’s in-breaking. What’s more, the Risen Christ continues to be present in the world by his Spirit, revealing Christ and manifesting the Kingdom.

So, therein lies the primary point of departure. Both theologians believe that the Gospel is the announcement and enactment of the Kingdom of God. Both theologians believe that Jesus, the Spirit, and his church are central to that enactment. But there is a slight nuance in how they would view the relationship between the church and the Kingdom.

Perhaps it’s relevant to state that McKnight, though he has become Anglican of late, has for many years been one of the most prolific voices in the U.S. for what’s been called “Neo-Anabaptism.” Both the Anabaptist and Anglican traditions centralize the church in the work of God. But it may be relevant that the Anglican tradition has been more comfortable with recognizing God’s work outside the church in common grace.

In a rare, constructive dialogue with a friend on Facebook, I suggested that maybe pnuematology would have an impact on this discussion.

If one views the work of the Spirit (e.g. illumination, drawing of people to Christ, manifesting shalom, etc.) as the same work that is theologically described as the “in-breaking of the Kingdom,” then the presence of the Kingdom would overlap with everywhere the Spirit can been seen to be at work.

Pentecostals and Charismatics have been talking this way for a hundred years, of course. Where the Spirit heals and delivers, the Kingdom is present. This is also backed-up by Scripture. Jesus correlated the miraculous power of the Spirit with the in-breaking of the Kingdom.

20 But if it is by the finger of God that I cast out the demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you.” (Luke 11 NRSV)

Where the Spirit is at work, Jesus claims, the Kingdom is breaking in.

Another factor that may influence one’s view on this subject is one’s conception of a kingdom. If one associates a kingdom with an institution, one is more likely to side with McKnight. But, it’s important to note that “reign” is a more accurate translation than “kingdom” for the New Testament concept.1

The “reign” of a king is much more than an institution or a group of people—it is also the ethos of that king, the values, and way of life embodied in the era of that king’s rule.

The ethos of God’s reign is pictured throughout the Bible as the presence of peace, justice, right relationships between people and God and each other, as well as harmony with God’s creation. The prophets often picture this as the end of war and violence, or as the end of predator and prey, or God’s presence as in the Temple, only everywhere (e.g. Is. 2.4, 11.6; Rev. 21-22). This vision of God’s reign is also encapsulated in the complex Hebrew word: shalom.

Wherever God’s Spirit is at work wooing, drawing people to Christ, reconciling people to one another, fostering restorative justice; manifesting God’s love in physical healing, emotional healing, providing for physical needs like hunger, thirst, safety, and freedom, God’s reign is breaking into this world.

The church has a critical role to play in this in-breaking. The church are those who gather in that shalom, give glory to God in Christ through worship, and bear witness. The church are those who embody the reign of God through our lives.

This is how the church serves as a ‘colony of heaven’ (Phil. 3.20). We manifest the in-breaking of God’s reign in our communal life. We also spread God’s reign in our proclamation and embodiment of that reign in the world. The church is to be a microcosm of what will one day characterize the whole world.

Here’s a concrete example: the Conversion of Cornelius’s Household

In Acts chapter 10, we read of a man named Cornelius who is a Gentile Centurion. (That’s two strikes). But to his credit, he is described as a “god-fearer,” which likely means he is a Gentile convert to Judaism or just a Gentile who keeps the Law of Moses. (Note: Even if he has been in-grafted into Israel, he is not yet a member of ‘the Church of Jesus Christ’). And yet, this man’s generosity and devotion are recognized by God (cf. 10.4b). God is at work in this man’s life. How can God be at work in his life? By God’s Spirit, of course. God’s Spirit is the main character of Acts. The Spirit is the One through whom Jesus continues to be present to his disciples and to act in the world.

You know how the rest of the story goes: The angel who appears to Cornelius (who informs him that his devotion and generosity have been received by God) tells him to send for Peter. Meanwhile, Peter is getting a lesson from God about Gentile-inclusion. So that, by the time, Gentile messengers from Cornelius arrive, Peter is ready to go with them. Upon hearing the Gospel preached to them, Cornelius and his whole household received the gift of the Holy Spirit. It was upon their reception of the Holy Spirit that Peter initiates them into the church by the sacrament of baptism.

Who would deny that the activity of the Spirit in Cornelius’s life was the reign of God breaking in? How did it happen? By the power of the Spirit. When does the church come into the equation? When Cornelius’s household hears the Gospel about Jesus and receives the Holy Spirit.

Let’s recap:

  1. God’s Spirit is at work everywhere in the world—even among those we would least expect (e.g. Gentile Centurions, etc.). God’s Spirit is drawing people to Christ, as evinced by the vision of the angel and the command to send for Peter.
  2. The preaching and embodiment of the Gospel by Peter is met by the reception of the Holy Spirit in those among whom God is at work. God’s reign is manifest in their midst.
  3. Then, those among whom God has been at work by God’s Spirit, manifesting God’s reign, are initiated into the church.

Therefore, the church is the culmination of the in-drawing work of the Spirit in the world, and the front lines of where God’s shalom-making reign is found.


  1. basileia (transliteration of the Greek) means: royal power, kingship, dominion, rule—not to be confused with an actual kingdom but rather the right or authority to rule over a kingdom; of the royal power of Jesus as the triumphant Messiah; of the royal power and dignity conferred on Christians in the Messiah’s kingdom.

A Deeper Look at The Get Down: An Interview with Pastor Efrain “Brother E” Alicea

The Get Down is a Netflix series set in NYC during the late 70s/early 80s. It touches on many interrelated aspects of life in NYC during that time—from Disco to the rise of Hip Hop culture to political corruption. It also features a portrait of religious opposition to secular music in the form of Latino Pentecostalism.

Pastor Efrain “Brother E” Alicea grew up in NYC during that era, was immersed in Hip Hop culture, and his story also intersects with Latino Pentecostalism. So, in this interview, Brother E tells some of his story, reflects on the show, and shares about the ministry he’s doing with Elements Church in the Bronx.

Check out the interview:


Chemical & Idolatry: Reflections on a Jack Garratt Track and the Apocalypse of John

Because here’s something else that’s weird but true: in the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship—be it J.C. or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles—is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It’s been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness. Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful, it’s that they’re unconscious. They are default settings. They’re the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that’s what you’re doing.

— David Foster Wallace, “This is Water”

Late last year, I fell headlong into the music of Jack Garratt. It started with his EP, Remnants, and continued with the release of his first full album, Phase. There’s too much to say about my love for his music. Suffice to say I find it enchanting.

Meanwhile, in my teaching capacity as a pastor, I’ve been immersed in the study of Revelation. Rather than charting the Great Tribulation, or attempting to decipher which rogue agent on the world’s stage is the “antichrist,” or some such quixotic project (as Dispensationalists are want to do), I’ve been teaching John’s Apocalypse using the cruciform-centric hermeneutic that has been developed by such scholars as Richard Bauckham, Michael J. Gorman, N. T. Wright, and Greg Boyd. I’ve also been learning from works by both David DeSilva and Brian Blount, who read it through the lenses of postcolonial empire criticism and the experience of the African American church in America, respectively. And I also have to give props to Brian Zahnd’s excellent teaching ministry via the Word of Life podcast. He’s spent some extensive time in Revelation in recent months/years and it has been highly formative.

A second lens through which I’ve been reading Revelation is pedagogical. For this I blame the works of James K. A. Smith—particularly his book Desiring the Kingdom, of which he has recently published a layman’s version called You Are What You Love. Smith has succeeded in shifting my focus as a teacher from the dissemination of information to the inspiration of imaginations for the purpose of spiritual formation. (Not that I’ve mastered this; I’ve still got a lot of pedagogical baggage to overcome.)

One of the unexpected discoveries I’ve made thus far has been just how much of Revelation is pastorally concerned with spiritual formation. This should have been more obvious to me, considering that the book is so clearly addressed to seven churches from their bishop. However, I’ve spent so much of my Christian life surrounded by those who read this book as a roadmap to the “end times,” that the pastoral value of the book has rarely been presented as anything more than its ability to predict the future.

This brings me to “Chemical” by Jack Garratt.

Phase has become the soundtrack to my life for the past several months. I listen to it in the car and I listen to it while I write sermons. “Chemical” is one of the tracks that has fascinated me the most. What initially captured my attention was this:

And when you pray, he will not answer
Although you may hear voices on your mind
They won’t be kind

And when you pray, he will not answer
I know this for I ask him all the time
To reassure my mind  

Naturally, my pastoral ears perk up when prayer is mentioned. But this is clearly not a positive assessment. I’m almost ashamed to admit I didn’t understand what this track was about until I watched the video—and then the brilliance of this track blew my mind.

John of Patmos does something unparalleled in the New Testament. Instead of writing in the didactic style of the epistles, which Evangelical Modernists love, or the narrative style of the Gospels and Acts, he writes in the apocalyptic mode of a Hebrew prophet. He writes a book that takes many of the things Jesus preached in his famous “Olivet Discourse” and expands them into something that resembles a Greek drama more than a sermon. Relentlessly paraded before the eyes of our imaginations is a graphic and often grotesque onslaught of nightmarishly disturbing pictures. But as the cruciform-centric hermeneutic has taught us, these images are not meant to be taken as a journalistic, if phenomenological, account of future events. Instead, they are symbols of realities as true today as they were nineteen hundred years ago.

The Seer’s primary pastoral concern is the vision of ‘the good life’ toward which these fledgling churches (and by extension our churches today) were living. Every day, in a thousand different ways, they and we are tempted to place our trust in a story that is not the story of Jesus’s incarnation, self-giving death, and resurrection. The story in John’s day was the “Pax Romana”; the story for many of us today is the “American Dream.” The way John combats this lie is with the truth that empire is beastly and to follow its way is adultery for the people whom God has redeemed. John gives his congregations a new imagining of what ‘the good life’ is all about. Instead of conquest as violent domination, conquest becomes giving faithful witness to God’s grace in and through Jesus. The Lion of the Tribe of Judah, Messiah Jesus, is revealed as the little, slaughtered Lamb who yet stands and reigns from the very center of the God’s throne. True power is not located in the military might of Rome’s armies but in the self-giving love and wisdom of God demonstrated on the Cross and in the Resurrection.

“Revelation does not contain two competing Christologies and theologies—one of power and one of weakness—symbolized by the Lion and the Lamb, respectively. Rather, Revelation presents Christ as the Lion who reigns as the Lamb, not in spite of being the Lamb. […] ‘Lamb power’ is ‘God power,’ and ‘God power’ is ‘Lamb power.’ If these claims are untrue, then Jesus is not in any meaningful way a faithful witness.” [1]

The New Heaven and New Earth is a vision the world gone wrong finally made right. It is a reimagining of the vision of shalom ubiquitous among the writings of the Hebrew prophets—not just some tranquil “peace,” but the world as it should be. This is the vision the churches are to be proleptically embodying now in part as a foretaste of what’s to come.

But, like a fish in water, we unconsciously swim in the current of our surrounding culture and the desires of our hearts are molded and shaped by our environment. We are indoctrinated into believing that ‘the good life’ is found in the acquisition of power, wealth, and pleasure. We surrender our agency to the pursuit of these ends and we become instruments of the powers that be. This is what the psalmist is describing when he warns that placing our trust in human-made idols numbs us to the life-giving Spirit of the Creator God.

The idols of the nations are merely things of silver and gold, shaped by human hands. They have mouths but cannot speak, and eyes but cannot see. They have ears but cannot hear, and mouths but cannot breathe. And those who make idols are just like them, as are all who trust in them. — Psalm 135.15-18 NLT

Here’s how N. T. Wright puts it:

“You become what you worship: so, if you worship that which is not God, you become something other than the image-bearing human being you were meant and made to be. […] Worship idols—blind, deaf, lifeless things—and you become blind, deaf and lifeless yourself. Murder, magic, fornication and theft are all forms of blindness, deafness and deadliness, snatching at the quick fix for gain, power or pleasure while forfeiting another bit of genuine humanness.” [2]

“Chemical” is about the power we give our idols—with which they mercilessly destroy our humanity. The “love” idols have for us is the “love” of an abusive master. It is not a relationship of mutuality, interdependence, nor understanding; it is a relationship of utter domination. As David Foster Wallace put it, “[they] will eat you alive.”

My love is overdone, selfish and domineering
It won’t sit up on the shelf
So don’t try to reason with my love
My love is powerful, ruthless and unforgiving
It won’t think beyond itself
So don’t try to reason with my love

My love is chemical, shallow and chauvinistic
It’s an arrogant display
So don’t try to reason with my love

The apostle Paul famously describes love in a letter to the Jesus-disciples of Corinth. If you’ve ever been to a wedding, you probably know at least this much Scripture.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. — I Corinthians 13.4-8 NIV

Our idols aren’t patient or kind; they aren’t self-giving or forgiving. Our idols demand subservience at all costs—especially the loss of our humanity.

The pastoral mission of John of Patmos is to inspire the imaginations of God’s people—to place before them the vision of the Lamb Who Was Slain—the only One worthy to reign in heaven—because he is the embodiment of self-giving love. The Lamb moves us to worship not because of some ‘shock and awe’ display of brute force. No, the Lamb moves us to worship because the self-giving love of God smites our hearts with a power that could never be possessed by tanks or bombs. The image of God being restored in God’s redeemed people is the vocation of serving as priestly rulers on God’s behalf, reflecting God’s loving reign into the world God loves.

The questions with which John of Patmos confronts us are of allegiance and trajectory.

What vision of ‘the good life’ is forming the desires of our hearts—the shape and aim of our lives—through the everyday practices in which we often unconsciously participate?


  1. Michael J. Gorman, Reading Revelation Responsibly: Uncivil Worship and Witness Following the Lamb Into the New Creation (Cascade Books, 2011), p.139.
  2. N. T. Wright, Revelation For Everyone (Westminster John Knox, 2011), p.92.

Palm Sunday: Two “Triumphs”

Palm Sunday is the occasion on the Christian calendar when we commemorate Jesus’s “triumphal entry” in Jerusalem. The concept of a triumph requires some explanation because it’s foreign to modern Americans.

A triumph was a ceremonial and celebratory procession through the streets of a city. When the Romans wanted to celebrate their latest conquest, they celebrated with a triumph. In fact, in 70AD the Roman general Titus destroyed the very city into which Jesus entered that first Palm Sunday. Titus’s triumph, with the spoils from the Jerusalem Temple, is depicted on a monument which remains to this day in Rome.

Roman_Triumph_Jesus_TriumphThat first Palm Sunday, Jesus wasn’t the only person leading a procession into Jerusalem. There was a second. From the opposite side of the city, Pontius Pilate was entering Jerusalem from his home in Caesarea. His procession was in the Roman style—complete with a terrifying display of Rome’s military might. Pilate was perched atop a majestic stallion with all the trappings of Roman wealth and prestige. His procession was a proclamation of his and Rome’s superiority. The message was directed to the pilgrims who had gathered in the city from near and far for the Passover festivities. “Don’t let things get out of control. Or these soldiers you see here, they will cut you down!” (1)

But Jesus’s “triumph” was of an altogether different kind. His victory would not be won by military might. His status would not secured by wealth or prestige. And he isn’t interested in asserting his superiority. By direct contrast, Jesus enters Jerusalem in humility, on a donkey.

Mark’s Gospel makes it clear Jesus deliberately staged his “triumphal entry” to fulfill the prophesy of Zechariah:

“Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion! Shout, Daughter Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and victorious, lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” (9.9)

Jesus sent his disciples to bring him a donkey colt for him to ride. Jesus staged his procession as a prophetic lampoon of Roman imperial pomp and circumstance. He meant it to expose the pretensions that exalt themselves.

York.DonkeysAndKings.89408When my children were a little smaller than they are now, I used to read them stories from this book called Donkeys and Kings by Tripp York. He tells eight Bible stories from the perspectives of the animals in the stories. But the star of the book is the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem on a donkey. In this story, the donkey Jesus rode into the city, George, finds himself stabled with the royal horses of the Caesar’s court. And they are not happy at all at the ruckus his rider has caused. In fact, they’re outraged at his presumptuousness to be in a procession at all. Here’s what the arrogant royal stallion, named Constantine, says to George, the donkey Jesus rode into Jerusalem:

“…your kind does not get to make history. History is made by the strong, the powerful—those in charge. It si made by kings, Caesars, warriors, government officials, nobility, and stallions. It is not made by the weak, the lowly, those filled with resentment for their small and insignificant place in life. It is not made by creatures like you or the one you gave a ride into the city.” (2)

Today we celebrate Jesus’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem because it reveals to us an altogether different way of being-in-the-world from the arrogance and violence of empires.

In Luke’s account, when Jesus sees the city of Jerusalem he foresees its destruction in 70 AD and he weeps over the city. He said,

“Would that you, Jerusalem, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.” (Lk. 19.42 ESV)

May we not make the same mistake. May we see the way of Jesus and his way of peace!

Responsive Reading:

One: Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Today we celebrate the triumphal entry into Jerusalem of our King, Jesus!

All: Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!

One: Humble, riding on a donkey, King Jesus entered the city as the crowds prepared the way for his victorious arrival.

All: Rejoice! Rejoice! The triumphant King has come!

One: On the journey to liberation from sin, we celebrate Christ’s victory, we sorrowfully contemplate his sacrifice, and we revel in his resurrection.

All: We remember the long road to freedom that our ancestors traveled, filled with triumphs, death, and new life.

One: Ride on, King Jesus! Ride on, conquering King!

All: Jesus came “to bring Good News to the poor; to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind; and to set the oppressed free.” (Lk. 4.18)

One: With excitement and joy we welcome you into our lives. With loud shouts of hosanna we joy you on your march toward liberation, justice, and love for all people.

All: Rejoice! Rejoice! The triumphant King has come! (3)


We praise you, O God,
For your redemption of the world through Jesus Christ.
Today he entered the holy city of Jerusalem in triumph
and was proclaimed Messiah and King,
by those who spread garments and branches along his way.
Let these branches be signs of his victory,
and grant that we who carry them
may follow him in the way of the Cross,
that, dying and rising with him, we may enter into your Kingdom;
Through Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns
with you and the Holy Spirit, now and forever.
Amen. (4)


  1. Marcus Borg, “Holy Week: Two Different Meanings” []
  2. Tripp York, Donkeys and Kings: And Other “Tails” of the Bible, p. 43 []
  3. Adapted from “Triumphant Entry (Palm Sunday)” Litany in African American Heritage Hymnal,
  4. Adapted from the Book of Common Worship, “Palm Sunday”.

The Bible is Not a Database: 
A Very Brief Reflection on Biblical Interpretation 
in the Digital Age

A few years back, I misplaced something, and instead of thinking, “Where did I last see it?” I unconsciously thought, “I’ll just run a Spotlight search for it” …as if every item in my house (and presumably the rest of my life) was indexed in Mac OS X. That was the moment I realized using computers had literally changed the way I think. Even though I’m the furthest thing from a luddite, I was forced to acknowledge that the affect technology was having on me (especially on how I think) was not entirely positive. I was becoming more aware of a specific example of how the practices in which we participate form the way we think. And this new way of thinking, in turn, affects all we think about—including the Bible.

When it comes to our understanding of Scripture, how we access the Bible matters a lot. Technological changes in the way we read and interact with Scripture change our conception of Scripture’s purpose.

“The medium is the message.”

For example, in the fifteenth century, a revolutionary new technology fundamentally changed the way people we able to engage with Scripture. The printing press made it possible for an individual to possess their own, personal copy of a Bible translation. This fundamentally shifted the way people interacted with Scripture. Scripture transitioned from being heard in corporate worship to being read in private. When that happened, our expectations of Scripture changed too. Rather than expecting the community to interpret the Text together, the new expectation that emerged was that the individual will interpret the Text, well, individually. This new expectation of private interpretation radically transformed the way we understand the Bible.

Today, another technological advancement is shifting our expectations of the Bible. And it’s just subtle enough that we may not notice it. Because of the advent of the Internet and the proliferation of web servers, we’ve now moved on from merely approaching the Bible as a book to be read (and therefore interpreted) privately, to approaching the Bible like a Database.

The database is a fixture of our digital lives, whether we realize it or not. It’s running in the background of all our most beloved online destinations. It powers our digital quests for both enlightenment and entertainment. This hidden dimension of the Web is what enables us to quickly access information that we would otherwise never unearth. We no longer have to read off long URLs when we want to direct people to a particular page of a website. We simply direct them to the site’s home page and recommend some concise keywords (e.g. “For more information, go to keyword ‘Fresh Air’ ”). Many people don’t even bother using a website’s own search feature to find the information they’re looking for, they just use a search engine like Google. In fact, we no longer ‘search’ for pages on the Internet, we “google” them.

What formative power does this new practice (empowered by the database) have on our way of thinking?

For one thing, it makes us “queriers”.  When a person submits their keyword search into the search field of a database-driven website, they are “running a query.” The user has a question and the magical database elves run around finding the answer. You and I come to the Database with your questions, and we have faith that the Database has the answer.

This new way of thinking poses a serious problem for how we understand the purpose of the Bible. Approaching the Bible like a database fundamentally misunderstands Scripture’s nature. The Bible does not promise to answer our every question. In fact, the Bible has its own agenda and isn’t particularly interested in catering to our whims.

Imagine someone picking up a novel and looking for the search field. They then think to themselves, “I don’t want to read this whole book. I’m not interested in the plot, or the story the author is trying to tell. I just want to know the age of the main character. Why can’t I just ‘google’ the answer to my question?”

Well, the reason one cannot simply ‘google’ the answers to one’s Bible queries is because the Bible is a Story, with a plot, and the particular Story the Author is telling is what matters, not our questions. When we fail to recognize this, we will inevitably misuse the Bible.

To understand what the Bible teaches, one has to understand the Story the Bible is telling.

To know the answers the Bible supplies, one has to know the questions the Bible is addressing.

The Story of the Bible is about God and God’s Kingdom.

The Bible is the Story of how the Creator God is restoring the whole creation.

The Bible is the Story of the how the Rescuing God is redeeming all of humanity.

The Bible is the Story of the God of Israel’s relationship to a particular people (Israel+Church) in a particular time and place (the ancient Near East).

The Bible is NOT the story of modern, Western people.

The Bible is NOT the story of the material origins of the universe.

The Bible is NOT the story of human sexuality and its rules.

The Bible is NOT the story of the United States of America and its exceptionalism.

If you run queries like the Bible is a database, what will come back is: “no results found.”