This is the eighth and final post in a series in which I've tried to offer simple answers to questions often asked in our church. It's really more of a table of contents rather than an actual post, I guess. Here are links to the questions I've dealt with:

How do we know God exists? (pt 1)

How do we know God exists? (pt 2)

Why does God allow pain and suffering?

If Jesus is the only way to Heaven, what about people from other religions? (1)

If Jesus is the only way to Heaven, what about people from other religions? (2)

How can we trust the Bible? (pt 1)

How can we trust the Bible? (pt 2)

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(This is the seventh of eight posts in which I’ll answers questions that come up often in our church, and the second in which I deal with this particular question.)

Science and history have never disproved the central claims of Scripture. I do not mean by this that every statement the Bible makes about ‘history’ or ‘science’ is absolutely accurate in every way. I mean that in many cases they were never intended to be. The Bible is not primarily about history, and not about science at all. It is about God, and how God is moving through history. Science doesn’t really have a say one way or another about the Bible’s credibility. Science and Scripture are talking about the world from very different angles; one could argue that these angles call one another into question, but that is another question altogether, and involves a faith decision one way or the other (see above on the existence of God). This may be frustrating for us because we are socially conditioned to believe that something must be scientific to be true, but this simply isn’t the case (as much of our lives prove quite clearly; see above on the existence of God). As for history, of course the Bible’s retelling has been edited and stylized. They were not primarily concerned with recounting facts, but with telling a story that shapes a community of faith by rendering the truth of/about God. The formal discipline of history (as we think of it) is a relatively new phenomenon and would have been entirely uninteresting to the writers of Scripture. Most importantly, once again, the resurrection of Jesus stands up to the toughest historical scrutiny, and its dependability validates the rest of the story of which it is part (though certainly critiquing much of the earlier story).

I would also stress that we have to trust in something, whether an ancient book or the contemporary mindset/mood of ‘the times’ in which we live. Many people in our world distrust the Bible, choosing instead to figure the truth out for themselves. What they don’t seem to realize is that they have been socially conditioned to make this decision – shun tradition and follow your intuition. In other words, someone (or rather some tradition) has told them to think like this, which means that this someone or tradition is their authority. The idea that they are free to think for themselves is a myth. And like all myths, it is one established by people in power to keep us out of their way. If everyone is concerned with their own private life and private spirituality and personal choices, the powers that be can continue to do their thing without any interference from something so annoying as an ancient tradition which exposes their claims as idolatrous and their pretension as empty arrogance. Anyhow, back to the point: even if you choose to distrust the Bible, you’re trusting some authoritative tradition. You’re believing in something. I just happen to think this is the most reliable - that is, truthful - tradition.

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(This is the sixth of eight posts in which I’ll answers questions that come up often in our church.)

Scripture's story centers on an historical event that stands up to critical scrutiny: Jesus’ resurrection. In discussing the trustworthiness of the Bible, I never start with the Bible, but with Jesus, and particularly Jesus’ resurrection. I believe with very good reasons that Jesus rose from the dead. I believe that this is the most historically likely way to explain the facts: Jesus was crucified under the authority of Pontius Pilate; his tomb was later found empty (otherwise the movement would never have gotten off the ground); the disciples believed Jesus appeared to them in a new physical body (they wouldn’t even have thought to make up the story, since they never expected Jesus to be resurrected alone within history, and it is very unlikely that they would have died for something they knew was a lie); the Christian movement was founded and took off, centrally based on this event. There have been many attempts to account for this evidence, but the only historically tenable conclusion is that something did, in fact, happen on Easter morning, and that this something was Jesus being resurrected from the dead. And this validates the rest of the story; Jesus’ resurrection proves that Jesus was God’s Messiah, and thus the world’s true Lord, which affirms the central lines of Old Testament hopes and promises. Jesus is likewise validated as the clearest revelation of Israel’s Creator God.

Its description of the world tells the truth about our world. To put it differently, it’s story fits. It describes the world truly. This is a huge point, so let me just offer an example or two. Take the story of Adam and Eve. When we free this story from questions like, ‘How did the serpent talk?’ or ‘Did Adam and Eve have belly-buttons?’ or ‘Why can’t we find the garden of Eden?’, we see that it accurately describes the human situation. We have all – as individuals and societies – listened to the voices in our world and in our heads, and chosen not to trust that God loves us and is out to do us good. We have all taken our destiny into our own hands, rejecting whatever it is we know of God’s command. We know that something is wrong with the world, and that it manifests itself in relational strife, toil, labor, and frustration from the ground (famine, drought, etc), and pain in childbearing. This story describes our world truly. There are many more ways this is true, both in general and of specific stories.
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(This is the fifth of eight posts in which I’ll answers questions that come up often in our church, and the second in which I tackle this particular question.)

If God plans to “save” people who aren’t explicitly identified as Christians, he hasn’t told us. All we know is how God has purposed to bring salvation to the world – through Jesus – so until God tells us otherwise we’re going to focus on that. This brings up two other points:

1. God hasn’t told us to spend a lot of time speculating what he might do with others. (In the Bible, this is one of God’s people’s favorite ways of avoiding looking at our own problems.) And he hasn’t told us to determine with certainty who will go where and experience what when God returns to make things right.

2. Consider that God might sometimes intentionally not tell us things for our own good. You’ve probably heard of the age of accountability – the idea that children are not held responsible before God for their actions until they reach a certain point in maturity. Well, Scripture never tells us specifically when that is. But if you think about it, that’s probably a good thing. If God had said, “All children are safe from judgment until they reach the age of 10” (or whatever age), then what would happen? You’d have some crazy person going around killing all the children under a certain age in places where the message of Christianity was not present or allowed. Do you get my point? If we knew that there was some “other way” for people to be saved – not other than Jesus, but another way of being saved through Jesus – then lots of (or lots more) people would never worry about telling people the truth about Jesus. (I owe this point to my friend Nick Parsons!)

So does God save people apart from explicit faith in Jesus? We don’t know. If he does, he hasn’t told us about it, and for that we are grateful. Within this, we hold out the possibility that God may accept into “heaven” persons not explicitly identified as “Christians” (such as Ghandi or someone who never heard about Jesus). We are not saying that we’re sure this is the case; that would take us beyond the bounds of what we think God has revealed. But we are affirming that we don’t think it would contradict the character and ways of God revealed in Scripture’s witness to Jesus Christ. So does God save people apart from explicit faith in Jesus? We don’t know, but we’re not willing to say we know for sure that he doesn’t. And more importantly, we believe that God has come to us in Jesus, offering salvation in both the next life and this one. Our task is to faithfully respond to what we believe God has revealed.
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(This is the fourth of eight posts in which I’ll answers questions that come up often in our church.)

There is a huge problem with this question, which generally assumes that the thing God is concerned about is individual persons getting to heaven when they die. But God’s goal is not to save individuals out of the world to live with him in heaven, but to redeem – and eventually re-create – the world, including the people in it. Moreover, the Bible does not teach that we will live together with God in heaven forever, but that God will come from heaven and dwell with us on a freshly created and fully healed “new earth.” Nevertheless, the question still remains as to who will “be there,” so to speak, wherever “there” is and whatever it will be like. So we continue. (For the most part, I will use the language of “saved” and “heaven” in the way they’re typically used, but keep in mind that I find this usage problematic.) I will offer my thoughts on this topic in two posts.

God can be trusted to do the right thing. It’s his call, and I’m very glad about that. Whatever God does will be right, and it will not violate his love, his grace, or his holiness.

If anyone will be in heaven, it will be because of Jesus. No one can be “good enough.” The only reason any of us can be “saved” – that is, liberated from the powers of sin and death (in the next life and/or this one) – is because Jesus both averted God’s wrath and broke the stranglehold of sin/Satan over humanity. Had Jesus not done what he did, none of us would be saved. So there is no way anyone can be saved apart from Jesus.

We want God to save as many people as possible! We never rejoice at the prospect of anyone being shut out of God’s future. If we get to heaven and out that God’s mercy and grace were wider than we imagined, we will certainly celebrate. We don’t use God as a way to make ourselves feel better than other people.
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(This is the third of eight posts in which I’ll answers questions that come up often in our church.)

(This question is obviously much more than merely an intellectual problem. The words 'suffering' and 'pain' hardly grasp the realities they speak of. So I offer the following thoughts as woefully inadequate reflections on a much deeper problem.)

To put it in simple terms we can understand, when God created the world he had two options: (1) Create a world where creatures did not have an opportunity to rebel against him. If he chose this option, then the world might be tragedy-less, but human beings would be more like robots than actual people. Most importantly, love would not have been a real possibility in the relationship between God and humanity, and between humans and one another. (2) Create a world where creatures did have an opportunity to rebel against him. In choosing this option, he opened the door to the possibility of evil, suffering, and death entering his world, but he also kept open the door of love and authentic relationship.

So either you have a world of love with suffering, or a world with neither suffering nor love. And the whole purpose of creation was for our Triune God to share Divine Love, to invite other creatures into this dynamic interplay of life and love. Basically, it goes against God’s nature to avoid love, even though love is always inherently risky.

Another important biblical teaching is that there are beings in this world – evil spirits, if you want to call them something – that work against God’s purposes by leading humankind into personal and corporate rebellion. One of the main purposes of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection was to defeat these powers of evil that enslave human beings and cause both 'natural' evils (earthquakes, tsunamis, etc) and personal evils (murder, pollution).

This brings us to what the Bible considers to be the more crucial question: What is God doing to overcome the problem created by sin and death entering the world (that is, evil and suffering)? From the very beginning, God has been working to overcome the sin problem begun in Adam. He has done this by calling together a community of people committed to worshiping, obeying, and trusting him alone. Through this community God seeks to show the world what life is like when God is honored as God, draw all people back into relationship with him, and to put the world back together again. We believe Jesus stands at the center of this plan as God taking upon Godself the world’s evil and overcoming it. Once gain, it is now through the church that God seeks to continue this mission. So in a very real way, we are God’s answer to the problem of evil and suffering.
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(This is the second of eight posts in which I’ll answers questions that come up often in our church.)

Yesterday I argued that no one – neither believers nor atheists – can be absolutely certain about God’s existence. Yet we (Christians) believe that God is here and that he is not silent. Here are a few reasons why:

Design – When we consider the brilliant and complex design of our world, we believe it makes most sense to believe in an intelligent designer. (FYI, this is different from the specific position in modern scientific debates called “Intelligent Design”.)

First cause / Final explanation – If you continually ask the question Why? or How? of our world, eventually you must answer either ‘God’ or ‘That’s just the way things are.’ We think it probable that God is the first cause, rather than mere chance.

Moral conviction – While it is certainly true that morality differs among different cultures, there is always some sort of moral expectations among human beings. Something is seen as right (or commendable) and something is seen as wrong (or punishable). We think that ‘moral law’ implies a ‘moral lawgiver’ (even if we don’t think those terms best describe God or what God asks of us).

Spirituality – Throughout history, the majority of human persons and societies have sought some form of spiritual or transcendent experience. Either 99% of human beings are stupid and/or deceived (and/or not 'scientific' enough to believe that science can and must explain everything), or there is some reality beyond us that calls out to us.

Beauty and goodness – Much is made of the problem of evil and suffering, but we think that the opposite question is equally powerful and problematic for those who deny God’s existence: Why is there so much beauty and goodness in the world? How do you explain the way we feel when we stand on top of a mountain, or what we experience in authentic friendship or romance, or when people selflessly sacrifice on others’ behalf? Of course there are many possible explanations, but once again, we think the one with God in it seems most likely.

Jesus’ resurrection – Most importantly, we believe that Jesus was raised from the dead, and this would not be possible if God didn’t exist. God raised Jesus from the dead, which validates this story about God as the true story about God. The story of Jesus’ resurrection is unexplainable apart from the reality of God. (I realize there are many who deny the resurrection and thus consider this point null and void, but I simply disagree. If anyone wants to know why feel free to ask, and I'll try to eventually present a case (though it might be a while).)

We should note that the Bible never tries to prove God’s existence to us. The Bible simply assumes we’ll believe in some form or idea of god or gods, and it tells us a story of the One it claims to be the True God. It ignores the question, ‘Is there a God?’ in favor of the question, ‘What is God really like?’ The difference between our world and theirs is that we can believe in, for instance, the value and authority of democracy or individual autonomy (freedom), and yet separate these beliefs from any talk of 'God.' Biblically, these things simply are our gods, and we are all idolaters. In other words, from a biblical perspective, idolatry is much more interesting than atheism, because atheism is simply a disguised form of idolatry (since, once again, all people give allegiance to something, even if only themselves or their own human reason / opinions).
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(This is the first of eight posts in which I’ll answers questions that come up often in our church.)

We'll start with a question that seems foundational to many people: How do we know God exists? I'll offer my thoughts in two entries.

First we have to acknowledge that we don’t know for sure that God exists, any more than we know for sure that he doesn’t. Absolute certainty about whether God exists or not is impossible.

Some people might say God doesn’t exist because God’s existence can’t be proven “scientifically.” But if anything like what we mean by the word “God” does exist, there is no way science could answer the question one way or another. Others might say that God has to exist because we’ve experienced him; but there is no way to know for sure that our experience matches the reality we’re claiming is behind it.

It is impossible for us to find a place or perspective from which we can look down and determine God's existence either way. This would only be possible if God were below us, which would make him something other than God.

Instead of certainty, we are dealing with degrees of probability. Those who affirm and deny God’s existence are looking at the world, gathering information, and making an educated evaluation – a guess really – about the best explanation for what they see. Some think the world is best explained by the existence of a God. Others think the opposite. But neither position is inherently more logical, and both involve faith – a risky commitment we each have to make given our limited knowledge and perspective.

Within this, there are many reasons I think it more likely that God exists than that he doesn’t. I will post them tomorrow.
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Second (see below), I've been thinking lots lately about the significance of confessing Jesus as "fully God, fully man." For a long time I haven't given much weight to such theological affirmations (scary, I know), because I could not see how they mattered or were essential to the Scriptural gospel. I wrote them off as fourth century Greekified aberrations from (or at least unnecessary formulations of) New Testament truth. But thanks to some suggestions from I don't remember where, I came to see that confessing this means that Jesus becomes determinative for our portrait of true divinity and our paradigm of true humanity.

That is, believing that Jesus was fully God means that any picture of "God" that isn't congruent with Jesus is not (faithfully) describing the One True God. (In my estimation, this would include the Calvinist God, as well as the God who can't allow sinful people into his presence, or who must punish people even though he doesn't want to.)

Moreover, believing that Jesus was fully human means that his whole life is a model of what it means to be truly and faithfully human. We should therefore pattern our entire lives after his life - including the so-called public or political parts - which I of course think means renouncing the use of violence even in defense of justice (among many other things).

In addition to confirming the convictions that were already developing in me, Carter highlighted a totally new thought for me in this regard. It is often said that Nicene Christology (i.e. Christ as fully God and fully man) is more Greek than Hebrew in that it separates thinking about Jesus from the actual Christ of history. That may in some ways have been the case, but Carter argues the opposite: by affirming that it was in the form of a fully human life that God embodied Godself, we can never separate our thinking of God from the specific life of this Jew from Nazareth. (This is important because otherwise Jesus becomes part of some "god" totally disconnected from us and our real lives.) Taken this way, Nicene Christology, at least in theory though often not in practice, totally affirms and protects the humanness and thus the Jewishness of our Messiah-Savior-Lord.

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Hello friends. This post is for everyone, so keep reading. (TAS, I'll try to keep it short :) .) I'm spending the week down in San Diego for the National Pastors Convention, and so far it has been enjoyable. I'm thinking that rather than posting on everything I'm doing as part of the conference, I'll throw up some central insights after the thing is over. So for now, I'd like to ask you all a question. A few weeks ago I asked a question about starting a Muslim school that generated a lot of responses. Thanks for that! I learned a few things from that. One, more people visit the blog than I realized. Two, people are willing to participate if you ask them. Three, most people will be done after one (or two) comments at the most. So here's what I'm thinking. I'm planning on asking a "question of the month" for a while. This is the one time I ask you to seriously consider throwing in your two cents. You don't have to, of course. But I'd love for you to.

This month's question came out of reading a book called Courageous Leadership. Rather than offering a long critique of what I did and didn't like, I thought I'd do something the book encouraged. Hybels (the author) encourages readers to figure out what their own core beliefs actually are. Not what are they supposed to be. Not can you quote this passage or that creed. Not what's your favorite traditional Christian doctrine. But really, on a daily basis, what governs and guides you more than anything else. For example, one of your core beliefs might be, "People should follow the rules." This might come out in your intolerance for truant students or illegal driving maneuvers or any number of ways. Perhaps one of your core beliefs might be, "Everyone matters to God" or "Knowledge is only helpful if it's practical." It could be anything. I know this is a tough question and that I have the unfair advantage of having thought about it for a while, but I really encourage you all to try and determine your core beliefs. (By the way, we might not like one of our core beliefs, so don't necessarily think in terms of "good things to believe" but what you actually do believe. Also by the way, you can put as few or as many as you want.)

I know this may take some of you a while, which is fine. I'll wait. But I encourage you to try and put something down on paper (or on a comment, as it were) as soon as you can. Okay, without any more delay, let's go for it.

Here are my core beliefs:
( Read more )

Today I want to resume my posting of The Source, which I began a couple of weeks ago. I don't think I'll post the last two entries of week one, but I should say a note about them because I allude to them in today's entry. They were a two part "sinventory" in which I described the traditional seven deadly sins and listed many questions designed to make us face the reality of these sins in our own life. It's a pretty brutal exercise! Anyhow, here are the previous posts in this series:

Week 1, Day 1 - Forbidden Fruit

Week 1, Day 2 - Spiraling Downward

And here is the latest entry, which begins a week I spent exloring the atonement.
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I have been extremely excited about this week’s Source for a long time. Why? Because we are spending the week talking about one of the most important topics in the world. We will be exploring the significance of Jesus’ death and resurrection. We’ll be asking why this event matters, discussing what difference it makes.*

So let’s get started. I’ll begin with a confession. People are funny to me, especially when it comes to what we’re specifically talking about today: guilt and shame.

Every single one of us hates admitting guilt; we work hard – at times even bending the truth – to protect our innocence (or at least the idea of our innocence). If guilt is the fact that we’ve done something deserving of punishment, much of our energy is spent proving that (a) we didn’t do it, or (b) we had good, justifiable reasons for doing it. In other words, our explanations for being caught red-handed range from “I didn’t hang my sister’s baby-doll from the ceiling fan” to “I only did it because she wanted to play house instead of baseball.”

We hate feeling guilty, being guilty, and so we deny or rationalize our behavior. We do the same with shame; it’s like we think we can make it go away simply by ignoring or denying it. If guilt has to do with what we do, shame relates to who we are. Shame is the sense that something is not okay with me, the sense that I am not as I should be. If guilt is about having failed at something, shame refers to the deep sense that I am at my core a failure.

So why do I think all this is funny? Well, I think it’s funny because even though we deny our guilt and hide our shame, we secretly seek ways to massage them through the stories of others. For instance, psychologists and film analysts tell us that there is more to watching movies than mere entertainment. We watch movies, among other reasons, in order to give vent to emotions, fears, and feelings within ourselves. We like epics because we want to feel heroic; we like romantic films because we want to fall in love. There is something about seeing these human realities played out on a screen that enables us to express our feelings in a way that carries none of the dangers of authentic heroism, much less love.

Unfortunately, the same is true with guilt. For instance, we like to watch movies with “bad guys” and “good guys.” You’d think we love these because we identify with the good guys, and this is true to some degree. Some would argue, however, that watching “bad guys” allows us to release some of the pent up aggression, hatred, bitterness, resentment, and violence within us. Often without knowing it, part of us relates in some way to these characters. And since these characters usually die at the end of the film, it becomes a way for us to symbolically “kill” that part of ourselves that we hate the most – the part that makes us feel guilty and shameful.

So why the long homily on film psychology? What does this have to do with Jesus’ death and resurrection?

Everything, I would argue. This simple example from everyday life, from a central ritual of our culture, reveals something true about each of us: we do feel guilt; we are aware of our shame. Whether due to past mistakes or present habits, we can’t shake the sense that we are not okay.

And it’s true. We’re not. If you participated in last week’s Source, you’re probably still reeling from all the ugly things you learned about yourself. I know I am. It’s not easy coming to terms with the fact that I am at times envious, lustful, greedy, slothful, gluttonous, angry, and prideful. Notice that I can’t even say this without the little phrase at times. To put it in stark terms, I can’t bear the weight of my own sin. It feels weird to say that, not least because of one of our culture’s core convictions (which we should know by now is merely a cover-up job): “I’m okay, you’re okay.” I’m not okay, and you’re not either. I wish we were, but we’re not. Some of us may be better than others, but “we alike are all under sin” (Romans 3.9).

And as I pointed out last week, if it is true that there is a God who created all things, and if this God has a sense of justice and a desire to judge evil and reward good, he would be right to condemn us.

I’m reminded of words from King David’s poem in Psalm 51 (right after a string of stupidly sinful moves): “Against you, you only, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight; so you are right in your verdict, and justified when you judge.”

God put us here to love and care for one another, so when we injure and insult and take advantage of people, God takes it personally. God asked us to be co-creators with him, to watch over and care for the rest of the created world – waters, trees, animals, air, and all the rest – and when we exploit these things for our own selfish purposes God is not pleased. God made us to love him and to live with him in an interactive relationship, and when we refuse to allow God into our lives, God is rightfully angry.

You would be too. I know I would be. And I’m part of the problem.

A problem that God has overcome in Jesus. Finally comes the point, right? And it is good news, for it is the message that God has self-sacrificially entered into human history – into the depths of our pain – and has taken upon himself our guilt and shame.

I certainly can’t say it any better than Scripture:

God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

God made him who knew no sin to become sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.

Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us.

God forgave us all our sins, having canceled the charge of our legal indebtedness, which stood against us and condemned us; he has taken it away, nailing it to the cross.

For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God.

(Rom 5.7-8; 2 Cor 5.21; Gal 3.13; Col 2.13-14; 1Pet 3.18)

The good news of Jesus’ death and resurrection starts here: when we are at our worst, God is at his best. Because of what God has done in Jesus the Messiah, taking upon himself the consequences of our ugliness and sin, we are forgiven. As Paul puts it, “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Rom 8.1). We are no longer defined by past mistakes or present weaknesses, but instead by the radical love of the God who suffered and died on our behalf. Our core identity is found in that we are the people for whom God has demonstrated this outrageous love.

The truest and most fundamental fact about each of us is that we are deeply loved by God. The next step on the path of freedom is trusting in this love. We must trust that God is not angry with us – that he has picked us up off the ground and cleansed us, that he is behind us, with us, for us.

“Father, ‘love’ is such a cheap word for us. We use it to talk about food and sports and hobbies. But your love is so deep; you fill this word with meaning – the meaning it’s supposed to have. You suffered on our behalf. You took upon yourself the pain that we should have had to bear, that I should have had to bear. There was no reason for you to do what you did. You would have been right to let us tear ourselves apart. But you didn’t. Instead you let us tear you apart, let us hang you on a cross to die as a criminal. Why, God? Why should such bad things happen to such a good God? I guess I know the answer: because you love us. Because you are love. You experienced the worst this world has to offer so that we might be forgiven, so that we might be free from guilt and shame. I don’t know how to trust this kind of love, but I’m trying. Help me let you love us. Help me let you love me. Amen.”

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*NOTE: I realize that I referred to his death and resurrection as one event. This was not an accident; one does not make sense without the other. It’s kind of like talking about “the founding of our country” or “our wedding”; there are numerous events within these larger umbrellas, but only together can they be fully comprehended

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Here is the second entry of The Source for our Finding Freedom series.
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In various places the Bible describes humanity’s universal spiral down the path of sinfulness and corruption. Immediately after yesterday’s story, for example, the book of Genesis continues by cataloging the increasing evil of people not unlike you and me. First we read a story about two brothers – Cain and Abel – and their two different offerings to God. One winds up envying the other and instead of working through their differences, he takes him to a field and kills him right then and there (Gen 4.1-8). Voila! A story about two brothers becomes the story of the first murder. Then things get even worse; while Cain showed at least a little remorse over his actions (or rather their consequence), his grandson Lamech actually bragged about his murderous acts of vengeance (4.23-24). Soon the world gets to a point where “every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time” (6.5). In fact, things get so bad that God even regrets creating us!

That’s right – God regrets the fact that he created anything at all!

The story continues from here, but I’ll let you read it on your own. Today I want to guide you to another one of Scripture’s portraits of a world gone horribly wrong. It can be found towards the beginning of Paul’s letter to the Romans, starting in Romans 1.18 and leading up to 2.11. (Paul continues, but we’ll stop here for today.) Take a few moments and read it now.

Interesting, isn't it?

What Paul is doing here is attempting to convince all his readers – especially those who think they’re better than the bad people – that they are caught in the trap of sin and desperately need someone to pull them out. Notice how he goes about this.

First, he points out that everyone on the planet, simply by virtue of observing certain things about our world – the majesty of mountains and waterfalls, for example, or the complexity and togetherness of the universe, should have enough basic information to know that God is real and God should be obeyed. But, alas, we choose to suppress this knowledge, trading in the One True God for bland substitutes. Alluding not only to the story of Adam and Eve but also some Old Testament texts about idolatry, Paul says humankind has refused to honor God as God and has instead bowed down to parts of the created world: the sun, moon, and stars; or in our sophisticated age, pieces of numbered green paper, the human body, and weapons of mutual destruction.

As a result of this, Paul says that God has basically allowed us to go our own way. Instead of wiping out humanity like he did in the days of Noah, he has (or had, before he sent Jesus) to some degree left us to ourselves.

And left to ourselves, we’ve made more and more a mess of things. We trade in God’s good gifts for cheap substitutes, taking pains to do things opposite of the way God intended. Paul talks about what we call “homosexuality” not to argue that it is a worse sin than others (he reserves harder words for self-righteousness), but because he finds there a graphic portrayal of the reversal we have all participated in – the reversal of trading in God’s way for our own way, for my way.

In a sense, God has given us what we wanted – absolute freedom to “follow our hearts” wherever they may lead – and we’ve merely ripped ourselves apart. The late nineteenth century was brimming with hope for “progress” and the social evolution of humankind, but on the other side of two world wars, genocide, an ever-widening gap between rich and poor, and the threat of global nuclear disaster, we should humbly admit that left to our own desires and devices, we human beings aren’t so good at running the world after all.

What I find so interesting about the end of chapter one, where Paul lists all sorts of sins and evils, is how all-encompassing are his examples: everything from murder and inventing new evils to gossip and disobeying our parents. I think this is Paul’s way of saying, “We’re all in this together. Each of us has helped make this mess; each of us contributes to it every day. No one is exempt.”

Lest his point has gone unheard, he begins chapter two by addressing all of us who read the previous analysis and say, “Yeah, those bad people sure are really bad, aren’t they! You get ‘em, Paul. You tell ‘em. That’s just what we need is a straight-shooter willing to stand up for values and morality.” To those of us who walk away from this passage and point the finger, Paul says quite pointedly, “You have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge another, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things” (2.1).

Now Paul is not ignorant enough to think that everyone who slanders or is arrogant also engages in illicit sex and murder. But he is wise enough to acknowledge that no one person or community is pure and untainted; no nation or ethnicity or family or church can say in all truthfulness, “We are innocent.” No single individual can deny having contributed to the world’s brokenness and evil.

Once again, I feel funny talking about all this doom and gloom, but you know it’s true. You see the wickedness and pain in our world, and you sense the sin in your own heart. You know that all too frustratingly often, you and the people you love and respect become part of the problem more than the solution.

We’d like to be part of the solution (most of the time!), but it’s not as easy as just deciding and then moving forward. First of all, we are caught – as individuals and as a society – in patterns of thinking and living that keep us from doing what we know needs to be done. And secondly, we’ve alienated the One who alone can heal and restore the mess we’ve made.

These two things are probably close to what Paul had in mind when he summed up his argument, “We have made the charge that Jews and Gentiles alike are all under sin” (3.9). (For Paul, “Jews and Gentiles” means everyone.) Because of our collective sin, we’re trapped. And because of our sin, God would be right to judge and destroy us. Until we come to grips with this grim reality, until we are honest enough to acknowledge that we’d rather live our way that God’s way and that this preference is the core of what is wrong with the world, we’ll never be prepared to hear or receive what God has done to remedy our situation.

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One of my tasks here at Real Life is to write a weekly devotional tool to go along with our weekend messages. We call it The Source, and it is one of my favorite parts of the job. In February we are starting a new series called Finding Freedom, and I'll be writing The Source to go along with it, so I thought I'd post my entries here as I complete them. There are generally four per week, and keep in mind that these are designed for people who have very little knowledge of Scripture, theology, etc. For the first week we are focusing on the reality of sin.
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Forbidden Fruit (Genesis 3.1-13)

Everybody loves a good story. Stories are the stuff of real life. When words are put into the service of stories, they most truly correspond to our actual day-to-day experiences. Stories are how we live; stories are who we are. And stories invite us into themselves, asking us to spend time in another world – even if the world at first glance seems to be our own. Stories ask us to once again consider who we are, what is right and wrong with us, what we want, what we were made for. We love to read books and watch movies and meet new people in part because we love stories.

Are you at all surprised, then, that Scripture comes to us mostly in the form of stories? We are not only commanded to “Be brave and trust in God!” but are also told the story of David defeating Goliath. We are not merely informed that Jesus’ death saves us, but are also told stories about Jewish festivals and political corruption and knuckle-headed disciples and prayer gardens and Roman crosses.

When God wants to communicate with us, he often tells us stories.

And the great thing about the Bible – God’s gigantic storybook – is not only that it’s true, but that we are in it. Not by name, mind you, but we find ourselves on almost every page. We feel the emotions of Scripture’s characters and we see all sorts of parallels between their experiences and our own.

And this is wonderful. It’s exciting to find ourselves in the Bible.

Sometimes.

The problem is that we aren’t only there in the good times, the exciting times, the times when we can feel proud of our faith or courage or love. We’re also there in the foolish decisions and repeated mistakes, the idolatry and hatred, the selfishness and greed. As one writer put it, “Finding ourselves in this book is most pleasant, flattering even; and then we find that the book is not written to flatter us, but to involve us in a reality – God’s reality – that doesn’t cater to our fantasies of ourselves.”

In other words, we find ourselves not only in the holy moments, but in the sinful ones as well. Consider, for example, the fairly well-known story of Adam and Eve eating the “forbidden fruit.” Go ahead and read the story now; it’s found in Genesis 3 (probably on the second page of your Bible).

When you read this story, what do you notice? What do you see? What questions do you find yourself asking?

There are all sorts of questions that the text doesn’t answer: Where does the serpent come from? How does it talk? Why does God not want them to eat from this tree?

But there are other questions, perhaps more important ones, that are answered for us; in particular, the story helps us reflect on why Eve chose – and the rest of us choose – to distrust and disobey God.

Think about it. The story tells us about a woman and a man who were tempted to do something they knew God didn’t want them to do. To the best of their knowledge God had given them everything they needed for health and happiness, but they chose to disobey God anyway. Why? Why did they listen to the serpent? Why did they do the one thing God explicitly told them not to do?

We are given two answers to this question. On the surface, they eat the fruit because it looks appealing. It was “good for food and pleasing to the eye.” They ate it because they wanted to eat it, because it looked good. But the deeper reason is that they hoped it would make them equal to God. They would become “like God” – wise, in the know, in control.

Does any of this sound familiar? Is this not our story in typical form? We know the good we ought to do, but we don’t do it. Why? Well, because we want to do something else, or so we tell ourselves. I want this, or that looks desirable, so I grab at it. I’m a free person and I can do what I want. So we seek power and success, use other people to get what we want, engage in unhealthy and immoral relationships, etc. But the deeper reason is that if I pass by this opportunity, if I say no to this temptation, I fear I will miss out on what matters most in life. I fear that if I go God’s way, I won’t truly get to live. We just can’t trust God, so we take things into our own hands. I want to be in control. I want to be like God.

What lies at the root of Eve and Adam’s sin, as well as our own, is the failure to trust that God is out to do us good, that he has our best interests in mind, that he loves us. But contrary to what the little voices (serpents included) might tell us, God is not a cosmic killjoy; he is not out to ruin our lives. He is the powerful, wise, and loving creator of all that is, and he is for us.

Eve chose not to trust God, Adam followed suit, and the rest of us aren’t far behind. And so we all feel shame, and we cover our nakedness with fig leaves, our deep pain with fake smiles, makeup, and machismo. And we all feel guilt, so we hide from God. We are afraid of him, because he knows; we know he knows, and we’re afraid. So we hide behind our jobs, our salaries, our addictions, our relationships, our weapons, our possessions, our families, our zeal.

And in the process of seeking life our way, we find death. In the very act of seeking our own good, we have together ruined not only ourselves but our entire world. Now creation is cursed and work is hard and child-bearing is even more painful and our relationships are marked by power-struggles and domination rather than cooperation and love (Gen 3.14-24).

I hate to start the Finding Freedom adventure on such a negative note, but if we don’t face reality we will never be free. And the reality is that all of us have made choices that we thought would lead to freedom and life but instead have led to bondage and destruction. Our world is broken. We are broken. And we long to be free.

“Father, as we seek the freedom that is found in you, help us to be honest with ourselves about how bad our situation really is. Help us to see ourselves in Adam and Eve. Help us to remember when we’ve turned away from you, repent of our past and present foolishness, and return to your open arms with gratitude and tears. We’re sorry, God. We’re sorry that we didn’t and don’t trust you, that we can’t seem to believe that you love us and seek our good. We are sorry that we’re so often part of the world’s problem rather than its solution. We thank you that that the story goes on – that this story, which is true of every single one of us, which is true of me – is not the last story or not the last word. We thank you that your word of curse has been followed by a word of grace, and we pray that you will give us strength to hear them both. We love you, and we pray in Jesus name. Amen.”

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This is a shout out to all those (ah-hem, Thom and Tyson) who said I have nothing to say :) ... In other words, this post is long (and I'm only getting started). (Actually, I'm not sure that it's longer than the previous one, but it has more footnotes, which has to count for something.) Contentwise, it is an analysis of what the apostle Paul meant by the word "gospel" (or in Greek, euangelion). I'd love to hear any thoughts you have about all this!
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Paul reserved his harshest words for those whom he perceived to be polluting the one true gospel, calling down anathema on anyone—even an angel of God, even himself—who perverted its basic message. Yes, Paul took his gospel very seriously, and he would certainly demand that we do the same. Unfortunately, taking him seriously is easier than understanding what exactly he said. That “the gospel” was central to Paul’s life and thought is clear, but his gospel has rightly been compared to a chameleon: “It changes colour and shape according to the background against which it is set.”[1] It may be true that “euangelion is not a consistent and clearly definable term which we can express in a brief formula.”[2] Nevertheless, it is to this question that the present essay aims to propose an answer: What is the gospel according to Paul? The format will be as follows: In section one I will briefly examine the background(s) for Paul’s use of the terms euangelion and euangelizesthai, after which I will set out the basic elements of Paul’s gospel in section two. I will then attempt to put together the pieces and offer a satisfactory articulation of the gospel as Paul conceived it.

I. Background
Where did Paul get the word euangelion and its cognates and why did he use them in the ways that he did? In both Classical Greek and the Septuagint the word generally referred to (1) a message of victory or success (in both political and private affairs), and (2) the rewards or benefits received by the messenger.[3] By Paul’s day, however, the word had acquired more specific connotations. On the one hand, the word was employed by the growing cult of Caesar. As Ulrich Becker notes, “In the [imperial cult] news of the divine ruler’s birth, coming of age, or enthronement, and also his speeches, decrees and acts are glad tidings which bring long hoped-for fulfillment to the longings of the world for happiness and peace.”[4] Many Pauline scholars have argued that this provides the primary background for Paul’s use of the terms.[5]

On the other hand, some hold that Paul must be understood not against the backdrop of Roman politics, but against the promises in Isaiah about God coming to save Israel and set her free (Isaiah 40.9; 57.2; 60.6; 61.1). As James Dunn points out, “A tradition of using Isa. 52.7 and 61.1 in exposition of the gospel evidently developed quite quickly in earliest Christianity, as Paul’s own quotation of Isa. 52.7 in Rom. 10.15 confirms.”[6]
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Below is a paper I wrote for a Church History class on Anselm's view of the atonement (the significance of Jesus' death and resurrection). Anselm's is one of the most influential and least understood views of the atonement, and I have been participating in various discussions about atonement lately where he has come up, so I thought I'd post this. It is pretty long for a blog post, and may be a bit too academic for some, but I think it is clear and helpful. The main body of the paper is divided into three sections: exposition, evaluation, and significance. As always, I welcome your thoughts and critiques.
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Few thinkers loom as large over the landscape of Western Christian thought as Anselm, the Italian monk turned English archbishop who lived at the turn of the 12th century. His early years proved trying in that his father refused to bless his desire to enter a monastery. Leaving home shortly after his mother’s death, he soon became a monk in the Benedictine Abbey of Bec. Here he familiarized himself above all with Scripture, as well as the teachings of early fathers—especially Augustine, whose thought he took up and carried further in many of his works. Anselm was later named prior at Bec, and eventually its abbot. In 1093, he was consecrated as Archbishop of Canterbury, which time was marked by refusals to compromise with the demands of English rulers, earning him not a small amount of time in exile. Over the course of these years as monk and archbishop he produced many writings.

Anselm of Canterbury is probably best known for his arguments concerning the existence of God—especially what has come to be called the ontological argument. Though this essay explores other issues, his well-reasoned arguments for God’s existence reveal a primary characteristic of all his work, namely, the aim to explain by reason how the things he already believed made sense. This principle holds true for Cur Deus Homo (hereafter CDH), the book in which Anselm attempts to explain the rationale behind God’s chosen method for saving the world. Though not as well known, CDH arguably exceeds all his other works in terms of influence on later Christian thought. In this paper I will explore CDH’s central concept of Christ’s death as a satisfaction for sin against his own historical context. I will argue that by communicating the atonement using language and thought forms relevant to his own day, Anselm offers a helpful and yet limited account of the meaning and saving significance of Jesus’ death on the cross.

I. Exposition of Cur Deus Homo
The Latin title Cur Deus Homo may be translated “Why God Became Man” or perhaps “Why a God-Man?,” both of which illustrate his main goal of explaining according to logic the reason why God saved the world the way he did. In his own words, “For what reason or necessity did God become man and, as we believe and confess, by his death restore life to the world, when he could have done this through another person (angelic or human), or even by a sheer act of will?” (1.1). Upon this question the whole work reflects.
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A horrible tragedy took place this past week in Minnesota, where a bridge collapsed in rush-hour traffic, killing 13 people. Of course the first appropriate response to something like this is not to try and explain it, but rather to pray for those who were adversely affected. Events like this, however, eventually rightly turn our attention to what (if any) role God plays in such catastrophes. I recently came across two opposing perspectives on the nature of God's responsibility (the second piece was written in response to the first), and I think it would be very worthwhile to read both explanations. They are written by John Piper and Greg Boyd, both of whom formerly taught at Bethel University and both of whom pastor churches in the area. The two have vigorously debated various issues in the past, mostly having to do with the doctrine of God. Piper is a strict Calvinist and Boyd an open theist (if you don't recognize these terms, don't worry about it). It will be helpful to know that "Calvinism" (at least in its stricter forms) is the theological position that claims God is responsible for everything that takes place (including whether people choose to accept or reject God's offer of salvation). I am most certainly not a Calvinist, but I would love to hear your thoughts - Which do you find more convincing? What problems do you have with either (or both) view(s)? How would you have explained God's actions in this event before reading these pieces, and has your thinking changed at all?

John Piper: Putting My Daughter to Bed Two Hours After the Bridge Collapsed

Greg Boyd: Why the 35W Bridge Collapsed

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My friend Thom over at Semper Reformanda posted a list of "confessions," and while I was in class I decided to get in on the fun. He told me to post them here, so I did. I don't know who's out there and reading this, but give it a shot - it will be therapeutic and fun. Many of the topics I address are chosen in response to Thom's post, so reading his post will help you get why I chose some of them, though his is more "academic" than mine (he throws out more big words and names) and you don't really have to read it in order to understand mine. So without further ado, here are some confessions (with appropriate explanations) in no particular order.

I confess that if I had to pick a side in the debate on hell, I would choose conditionalism (annihilationism) over the traditional view. (This basically means that I don't think the Bible teaches that people who don't respond favorably to Jesus will "burn in hell" forever, but that there will be a judgment in accordance with degrees of evil committed, after which they will simply cease to exist. Sometime I'm going to lay out the arguments for each position on this blog, and explain in detail why I confess this. And yes I put this one first because it will grab your attention and make you keep reading. I hope you're not disappointed.)

I confess that I think feminism often fails because it isn't postmodern enough. (see first comment below)

I confess that I think it's problematic to begin theologizing from one's experience of being abused by abuses of a particular idea or system (i.e. male leadership). I confess that when I hear women point to painful experiences as proof that male headship is wrong/evil and that feminist theology must therefore be accepted, it sounds similar to people arguing that the "wars of religion" render Christianity incredible. (Which they don't, by the way, since the wars were all about emerging national identities, and the wise politicians knew that the only way to rally enough support was by using religious rhetoric (hmm). I may perhaps be overgeneralizing, but at the very least I can say for sure that the people leading and participating were not overly concerned with loyalty to the way of Jesus, and thus their actions say nothing about the credibility of Christianity. What is ironic is that what we are told to accept in their place - a politic based on the shared identity of a nation-state and consequential disregard for the well-being of other nations - is arguably what caused the wars in the first place.)

I confess that I too affirm the ordination of women.

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