Chapter 9: Who is Jesus of Nazareth?

"He asked his disciples, ‘Who do men say that I am?’ And they told him, ‘John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and others, one of the prophets? And he asked them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Peter answered him, ‘You are the Christ? " (Mark 8:27-29)

 

If we do not claim that Jesus is God, then how do we explain his importance? How do we interpret the fact of his centrality to our faith? What concepts or images do we use? Who then do we say that he is? Having rejected the title of "God the Son", it is appropriate to begin by examining the other commonly used traditional titles: Savior, Lord and Master, Son of God, Messiah, and Christ.

1. Savior of the World

But when Christ appeared as a high priest . . . he entered once for all into the Holy Place, taking not the blood of goats and calves but his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption. For if the sprinkling of defiled persons with the blood of goats and bulls and with the ashes of a heifer sanctifies for the purification of flesh, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify your conscience from dead works to serve the living God. (Hebrews 9:11-14)

This passage contains the combination of Jesus’ nature (as sinless) and role (as sacrifice) that is central to the traditional idea of Jesus as Savior: he was a person without sin, and by offering himself up in our place as a perfect sacrifice he has secured salvation for those who join themselves to him by faith. We are saved from sin and death by his blood, so he is our Savior.

We can see that this might make sense to someone brought up in the ancient Jewish tradition in which an unblemished animal was sacrificed to God to make atonement for the sins of the people, and in which the iniquities of Israel were all put on the head of a goat which was then driven out into the wilderness, taking the people’s sins with it. And certainly we are familiar with this view as a traditional Christian theme: Jesus died for our sins. He did this so that we might be forgiven and reconciled to God. The implication of this is that without Jesus’ death we could not be forgiven. Sometimes this is made explicit: God could not or would not forgive us until the blameless Jesus took our sins upon himself and suffered in our stead.

This may not make much sense to those of us who don’t sacrifice other living things to atone for our sins. Entirely aside from this, however, this view that Jesus is the Savior because he saved us from eternal punishment by dying for our sins is untenable for three reasons.

First and foremost, it gives us a repugnant and unchristian picture of God. If God demanded the death of an innocent and blameless person before forgiving anybody, if God turned away even from those who repented until someone else suffered for their sins, if God demanded the pain and blood of the cross before admitting anyone into right relationship . . . what kind of blood-thirsty, sadistic being would this be? This is not a God of love or even a God of justice. This is a picture of some demonic pagan deity, not the God whose love and forgiveness were preached by Jesus of Nazareth, who reached out first and foremost to those who were sinners.

Secondly, this idea of Jesus as Savior presents a despicable and unbiblical view of humankind. It maintains that as sinful men and women we are so fallen and degenerate and unworthy as to be totally without hope of reconciliation with God, unless God in a gracious act of divine imagination pretends that our sinfulness has disappeared, that it has somehow been removed by the execution of Jesus of Nazareth. (This, when you get right down to it, is the meaning of justification through grace.) Now, we must certainly admit that people are capable of great evil. But just as certainly, to think of people as worthless in the eyes of God is directly to contradict the insights of the great prophets, the teaching that "God so loved the world", and Jesus’ understanding of the great worth of each and every human being.

Thirdly, the idea that there could be no forgiveness until Jesus saved us by dying as a sacrifice on our behalf is contradicted by the simple fact that Jesus himself proclaimed forgiveness during his own lifetime. He didn’t tell people that they were forgiven "as of Passover the year after next or that they were worthless and without hope until the divine bloodlust had been satisfied. He simply said, "Your sins are forgiven?’ Right then and there. And I suspect he knew what he was about.

Now it is no doubt true that there are people who call Jesus "Savior" who do not think of him as substituting for us on the cross to propitiate a bloodthirsty deity. But for me the title of "Savior" is so tied up with a repugnant picture of God and with an unchristian view of humanity as totally worthless, that I just cannot accept this as a suitable title for Jesus of Nazareth.

2. Lord and Master

"Lord" and "master" are both terms that were widely used in society until recent centuries. Students would address teachers this way, slaves their owners, and servants their employers. Those of lower social status would address those of higher status this way, whether a serf to a local landowner or a duke to a king.

These titles have virtually disappeared from use in the modern democracies. I doubt that any American would ever call anyone "lord" or "master". So besides having a certain antiquarian charm, applying these titles to Jesus would have two benefits: it would attribute a unique status to Jesus, since we no longer use these of anyone else. And it would give us a little humility on our own part, which we must confess would do many of us Americans some good.

I have a trio of qualms, however, which prevents me from being comfortable with this pair of titles (and also from speaking of Jesus as "king"). The first qualm is based on our need to encourage our own servanthood. We can do this by lifting up and emphasizing the servanthood of Jesus. But we cannot emphasize his servanthood by calling him lord and master! These are titles which connote power and status and domination of others, not the loving gift of oneself for these others.

The second qualm has to do with how we think of ourselves if we call Jesus -- or anyone -- our lord and master. The implication of having a lord or master is that you must obey this person. You act out of obedience, with little or no real choice in the matter. To surrender your will in this way is to surrender your decision-making and so also your responsibility. But this we cannot do. In spite of all the hymns which laud the surrender of our wills to God, we ought to do what is right not just because some outside power makes us, but because of a decision on our own part to do so, because of inward conviction and principle and faith. (Is it just my imagination or do many people who call Jesus "lord and master" shy away from discussions with those of other views because -- acting in obedience to someone else’s interpretation of Jesus -- they have no reasoned convictions of their own?)

My third qualm has to do with the suitability of these two titles for our modern day and age. We think today in terms of democracy, while the Bible uses the imagery of tyranny (this is, after all, what we would call a ruling monarch). We think in terms of liberty, equality, representative government, popular elections, and office holders as public servants. The Bible often couches its message in the metaphor of kingship, hierarchy, obedience, masters and slaves.

Assuredly, we need to speak of the authority of Jesus of Nazareth. But it does not seem appropriate to speak of this as the authority of a "lord" or "master", imposed from above us and outside us. Rather we need a way of speaking of Jesus’ authority that recognizes that this authority is based on the position we give him in our internal value system. We need to give due credit to our part in giving him this authority, and so explain it in a way in keeping with our democratic heritage.

3. Son of God

I am rather fond of this title for Jesus. It has an amiable vagueness about it because of the wide range of meanings that have been given to it. "Son of God" can mean "God the Son", that is, the second person of the Trinity, God incarnate. It can also mean (as it is used at times in the New Testament) anyone who is a faithful follower of God. Or it can mean anything in between. Which is what most people seem to mean by it: to call Jesus the son of God is to say that he is somehow special, without specifying too precisely in just what way. So we can all happily agree that Jesus of Nazareth is the son of God, each of us with our own different idea of what this means.

However, while this gives us a vague common denominator which we can all use, by virtue of this same vagueness it isn’t much help in saying who Jesus is. Since we have chosen not to claim that Jesus is divine, it isn’t clear that being a son of God distinguishes him from a number of other people.

4. Messiah

This is the title that was recognized by his followers early on -- though probably not until after Easter -- as the determinative answer to the question, "Who is Jesus of Nazareth?" The other titles might be seen as appropriate, and they might contribute to the understanding of Jesus, but the Messiah is who he was. This became such an integral part of his identity that only a few decades after his death this Jewish title was used in its Greek translation -- Christ -- as part of Jesus’ proper name.

Identifying Jesus as the Messiah seems only natural to many of us. We have assimilated the common view that the whole of the Old Testament points to the coming of the Messiah, and that its predictions and expectations were completely and obviously fulfilled in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. This view, however, is overly simplistic on some points and just plain wrong on others.

For one thing, the Messiah was not the only person expected or hoped for by first century Jews. There were other titles available, other comings prophesied both in the Old Testament and more recently. Some looked for the coming of "the Son of Man", others for the return of Moses or Elijah, others for someone else altogether.

For another thing, those who did look for the Messiah expected a very different kind of person than Jesus of Nazareth. The Messiah was supposed to accomplish different things than Jesus did. The Messiah was not only to be the son (that is, descendent) of David. He was also to occupy the throne of David and re-establish David’s kingdom. For example, look at Chapters 9 and 11 of Isaiah. We tend to ignore certain parts of these when we read them around Christmas.

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be upon his shoulders . . . Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, upon the throne of David and over his kingdom. (Isaiah 9:6-7. Italics added.)

There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him . . . and he shalt smite the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked. (Isaiah II:1-2a, 4b. Italics added.)

And later in Chapter 11 it speaks of the return of all the Jews from foreign lands and their revenge on their neighbors.

Jesus, you recall, had neither throne nor government. He did not slay the wicked. He did not rally people to the battle cry of "liberty, empire and vengeance!" No wonder the vast majority of his contemporaries couldn’t accept him as the Messiah. He didn’t even drive out the Romans! Worse yet, he didn’t even hate them. And he ate with tax collectors!

The wonder isn’t that most people didn’t accept Jesus as the Messiah. The wonder is that his disciples decided that this is, after all, who he was. They were convinced that Jesus was beyond a doubt the one who was to come. If he didn’t meet people’s expectations, then these expectations were wrong. The reality of God’s messenger would naturally burst beyond the bounds of human expectation. And the disciples knew the impact of Jesus was so great that titles could not define him, but rather his reality would determine the true meaning of any titles used of him. So if the Messiah was pre-eminent among those who were prophesied, then Jesus must be the Messiah, giving new meaning to this title in his person and ministry1.

In spite of this conviction on the part of his disciples that Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah, this does not seem to me the most suitable identification for him. "Messiah" is a title with a long history that we cannot ignore. The "Son of David" was to be a king, a warrior, and triumphant in worldly terms. Jesus of Nazareth was none of these. Far too often we forget this. Whenever we identify him with the lordly and powerful of this world, whenever we think of him as king, we cloud our understanding of the man from Galilee whose greatness lay in his giving of himself and his being a servant to others.

5. The Christ

"Christ" is the Greek word used to translate the Hebrew word "Messiah". Nevertheless, it does not have the same connotation for us. Because in our translations of the Bible we find "Christ" only in the New Testament, we do not identify it with the Old Testament warrior-king. In fact, "Christ" became so closely identified with Jesus of Nazareth that it became in actual usage a part of his proper name. It has for most people no other meaning than to name this particular person2, though there may be an awareness that this part of his name means that there is something special about him.

"Christ" is also the title that gave us Christians our name. Because of this, and because of its unique association with Jesus, and because of the fact that it is relatively free of traditional meaning, this is the title that I choose to identify Jesus of Nazareth. He is the Christ.

I do not wish to call him Savior, Lord, Master, or Messiah. I do not find these to be appropriate or helpful. Instead, I acknowledge him to be the Christ. And I recognize that in so doing I am taking what had become in practice a name and am rehabilitating it as a title. I also freely admit that one of my reasons for doing this is that, because of a long lapse in its use as a title, "Christ" is more open than the others to being given new meaning.

I acknowledge Jesus of Nazareth to be the Christ. What do I mean by this? I do not mean that I believe him to be divine, or that he was without sin, or even that he was necessarily the wisest and best of all people. Rather, I define "the Christ" in a functional manner. That is, I identify Jesus as the Christ by the function or role that he plays for me. As long as he fulfills this function I don’t need to claim that he was born of a virgin or was specially chosen by God, that he healed the sick or was raised from the dead. I may believe one or more of these -- and in fact I probably do -- but they are not necessary in order to identify Jesus as the Christ.

When I say that Jesus is the Christ, I mean to claim that this person is the one through whom we as Christians focus our understanding and our faith. He is the one whose life and message are central to our understanding of God and reality, the one whose teaching gives direction to our lives, and the one whose example of love and right relation and concern for others informs our attitudes and actions.

In the next chapter I will explain how the identification of Jesus as the Christ through this functional interpretation is indisputable, sufficient, and even sacred.

 

Notes:

1. One interesting hypothesis as to how this particular title came to be attached to Jesus gives the credit to Pontius Pilate. Pilate, from what we know of him, was arrogant and hateful even for a Roman governor. Apparently in order to insult the Jews, he had a sign put on the cross that read "Jesus of Nazareth. King of the Jews". Now "King of the Jews" was a title identified with the Messiah, and since Jesus was crucified as the Messiah, this theory goes, his disciples concluded that he was raised as the Messiah.

2. This was not always the case. At one point early in Church history "Christ" was equated with the divine Logos, and there was some disagreement as to how this was related to the man Jesus. But this has long since ceased to be a common understanding.

Appendix B: Biblical Scholarship and the Resurrection: Did He or Didn’t He?

Anyone who wishes to propose a hypothesis for "what really happened" on Easter is taking on a difficult challenge. Besides the fact that this is an emotionally charged subject, we have no evidence except for accounts written down fifty or more years later by people who had a particular point to prove. Nevertheless over the past couple of decades "form criticism" has been able to learn much about the pre-Gospel sources that contributed to the New Testament, and scholars have put forth a number of hypotheses.

Let us state right here at the beginning that any hypothesis about the resurrection or the resurrection appearances must meet several criteria: (1) First, it must be consistent with the results of modern scholarship; (2) Second, if it is proposed as a conclusion based on the evidence, and not just as speculation, the evidence must in fact be persuasive enough to lead to this conclusion; (3) Third, it must be consistent with the Biblical evidence about the post-Easter Church; that is, it must explain the dramatic turnabout in the disciples and it must fir with the proclamation of the very early Church.

The purpose of this appendix, then, is to summarize the results of modern Biblical scholarship concerning the resurrection, to look at the conclusions reached by those whom I will call the "minimalists", and to evaluate their arguments and proposals.

Who are the minimalists? First of all, we must say that no serious exegetes propose that the resurrection accounts as we have them in the Gospels are accurate representations of events that took place two thousand years ago in Palestine. It is generally acknowledged that the post-Easter appearance narratives are the end result of much elaboration. Some would maintain that these accounts point to after-death appearances of Jesus to the disciples, the precise nature of which is lost to history. The minimalists are those who do not think that these narratives point to any analogous historical event, who maintain that in fact there were no post-mortem appearances of Jesus at all, no experiences of Jesus after his death by the apostles.

We need to note that these people are not necessarily enemies of the faith. Some of them are exegetes and theologians who after careful consideration have felt compelled to conclude that this is what the weight of the evidence points to. As representatives of the minimalists I will consider Edward Schillebeeckx’s Jesus: An Experiment in Christology (Crossroad Publishing Co., 1979), a long and weighty study of current New Testament scholarship, and Thomas Sheehan’s The First Coming: How the Kingdom of God Became Christianity (Random House, 1986), a more accessible argument based on the results of Schillebeeckx and a number of others. (Perhaps we should note a warning here, however, that another of Sheehan’s views -- that Jesus’ purpose was to end religion by preaching that God is in our midst -- is an idiosyncratic position not representative of modern scholarship. However, I confess a strong sympathy for what I see as his underlying purpose: to get people away from the teachings about Jesus and back to the teachings of Jesus.) Before we examine their arguments, though, we should remind ourselves of what the Gospel record is.

The Resurrection Appearances in the Gospels

All the Gospels agree that on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene, either alone (John) or with another woman named Mary (Matthew) or with her and also one or more other women (Mark and Luke), went out very early to the tomb and found that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance. They may have been taking spices with which to annoint the body (Mark and Luke). She (they) encountered either one angel (Matthew and Mark) or two (Luke and John). In the Synoptics the angel(s) tell them that Jesus has risen, and in Matthew and Mark that they should tell the disciples that Jesus is going before them to Galilee, where they will see him. Mark then says that the women "said nothing to anyone" -- and this is the end of what we have of the original version of this Gospel. (More on this later.)

Matthew alone mentions that guards had been posted at the tomb and that they were bribed to spread the story that Jesus’ disciples had stolen his body.

Then Jesus appeared to the women (Matthew) or apparently did not (Luke) as they went to tell the disciples, or else appeared to Mary Magdalene after she told Peter (John). The disciples either responded by going directly to Galilee where Jesus appeared to them once, though some still doubted (Matthew), or they experienced appearances of him in Jerusalem (Luke and John), perhaps not leaving for Galilee because they did not believe the women (Luke).

So only Luke and John report appearances to the apostles in Jerusalem. Luke tells of Jesus walking to Emmaus with two of his followers, who do not recognize him during the journey but only when he breaks bread with them, at which point he disappears. They return to Jerusalem and find the eleven gathered together, are told that Jesus has appeared to Simon, and then Jesus appears among them. He eats a piece of fish to prove that he isn’t a spirit, preaches to them, and then goes out with them to Bethany from where he ascends into heaven. (In the Book of Acts, though, Luke says that Jesus appeared among them for forty days.)

In John, Jesus also appears to the disciples, passing through locked doors, then appears again a week later to a group which this time includes Thomas, who previously doubted but now believes. Then John (unlike Luke) also includes a detailed account of an appearance in Galilee. Seven of the disciples were out fishing and were directed by a person on the beach to try on the other side of the boat, at which point they made a great haul of fish and realized that this person must be Jesus. Returning to the shore, "none of the disciples dared ask, ‘Who are you?’ They knew it was the Lord?’ (John 21:12) (This strikes one as a strange way to describe recognizing someone as familiar to them as Jesus). Then Jesus passed out bread and fish and gave instructions to Peter.

All of this, of course, leaves one puzzled. Did he appear to the women or not? Did he appear to the disciples only in Galilee, only in Jerusalem, or in both? Why do the disciples have trouble recognizing him at times? Why does Mark mention no appearances at all? And why are we told nothing about the specifics of his appearance to Simon Peter when this is generally credited with being the formative event of Christianity?

While the defenders of a resurrection can point to a unanimity that Mary Magdalene discovered an empty tomb and (including Mark by inference) that Jesus appeared to the apostles, those who argue against it can point to all these inconsistencies. And while some discrepancies should perhaps be expected in descriptions of very unusual events that were written down in the form we have them some fifty years after these events, this can hardly serve as an argument for their accuracy.

At this point we will look at the arguments based on (1) the empty tomb; (2) the absence of appearance narratives in Mark; (3) the testimony of Paul; and (4) the evidence of the oral traditions. We will attempt to evaluate the various arguments as we proceed, before summarizing the evidence and then examining the hypotheses put forward by the minimalists.

1. The Empty Tomb

Even the minimalists grant there may very well be a historical basis to the account of the discovery of the empty tomb. There seem to be two separate traditions that point to Jesus’ body being put in a grave by Joseph of Arimathea. If it were a new tomb (Matthew, Luke and John) this would have met the requirements of Jewish law that the body of one who had been hanged on a tree not be buried with anyone else. Even Sheehan admits (p. 148) that the women may have seen where this was and that Mary Magdalene (either alone or with other women) visited the tomb early on Sunday morning and found the stone rolled away and the tomb empty. Schillebeeckx further acknowledges what is to me the obvious conclusion about Matthew’s story about the guards being bribed: if Matthew is refuting a story that Jesus’ body was stolen, then even the Church’s enemies who spread this story acknowledged that the tomb was empty.

But it is generally accepted that an empty tomb didn’t prove anything. It certainly didn’t prove or even imply a resurrection in first century Palestine. The picture of Mary weeping outside the tomb because "they have taken away my Lord" is the kind of reaction one would expect. In fact, the disappearance of the body wasn’t even necessary for a resurrection according to many of the contemporary ideas.

Some scholars suggest that the account of the empty tomb was passed down by the early Christian community in Jerusalem, who may have known the location of the tomb and used it as the focal point in periodic commemorations, perhaps as a shrine. It is further suggested that the empty tomb was not even originally connected with the appearance narratives. Sheehan uses this to argue that Mark knew about the empty tomb but not about the appearances (see below), and that Paul may not have known of the empty tomb.

There is an interesting aspect to the minimalists’ argument here. Because the empty tomb is the most historically defensible element of the resurrection narratives, they point out all the reasons why this would not imply a resurrection. But this also deprives them of one anticipated hypothesis -- that the fact of the empty tomb gave rise to the appearance stories -- and it also explains very well why Paul would not bother to mention it when he had resurrection appearances to point to. It also corroborates the reactions related in the Gospel accounts.

Meanwhile we are left with no answer as to who rolled the stone away and why the body was missing. Did Joseph change his mind and want his tomb back? Did grave robbers or enemies of Jesus steal the body? Did his disciples? (This seems unlikely as it seems to have been only the women who knew where it was.) We shall never know. But since an empty grave does not a resurrection make, it doesn’t really matter.

2. The Gospel of Mark: No Appearances?

It is generally accepted that Mark 16:8 is the end of what we have of the original version of this Gospel and that verses 9 to 20 were added sometime in the middle of the second century AD to compensate for the lack of appearance accounts. It is also generally accepted that Mark is the oldest of the Gospels, dating from around 70 AD. Sheehan argues that the lack of resurrection appearances in the oldest Gospel indicates that in fact there were no resurrection appearances (pp. 98, 131 -- 146). That is, the stories in the later Gospels (15 -- 25 years later) are not just accounts that have become more specific, more physical and more elaborate over the years (which all scholars would admit), but they are in fact mythical stories not based on real events at all. While we cannot prove this one way or the other, there are several serious problems in arguing this based on Mark.

First of all, even though it is the oldest ending we have, we cannot be sure that 16:8 was the original ending of the Gospel of Mark. The majority opinion seems now to be that it was. I suppose one might ask, how does one lose the end of a book (or scroll)? However, I can see some strengths in the persistent minority view that what we have is not the original ending of Mark: even for a Gospel that tends to be abrupt in nature, the ending is very abrupt. The women told no one? It ends that way? It doesn’t make sense. And as for losing the end of a book -- I have done this myself, and with bound books, so I am sure that it is possible to lose the last piece of a scroll. (But see Schillebeeckx’s argument below and Sheehan’s on narrative structure.) In any case, one must be somewhat tentative in making conclusions based on the end of a Gospel that may not have been its end. We shall never know.

Second, Schillebeeckx argues that the reason that Mark mentions no resurrection appearances is not that he wasn’t aware of them, but rather because they didn’t fit with his theology. "If the assertion is correct that in associating exaltation with Parousia (thus not with resurrection) Mark does not see the celestial Jesus as presently operative, but affirms the complete absence of Jesus from his sorrowing and suffering Church, it then becomes possible to understand his not accepting the tradition of Jesus appearances: ‘appearing’ is what Jesus will do at the Parousia, not before" (p. 418). Thus, "he is going before you to Galilee" (Mark 16:7) does not in this understanding refer to a resurrection appearance (either implied or in a missing original ending), but rather to the Second Coming. If this is the correct interpretation of Mark then he may very well have been aware of resurrection appearance accounts.

Third, we have the insightful study of the narrative done by Sheehan himself. He points out that "the rhetorical structure of this narrative is calculated to hold the reader within the tale and, from within the tale, to confront the reader with the possibility of believing in the resurrection. The narrative effects that purpose in part by allowing the listener to understand more than the subjects of the story do. . . . It would seem, then, that the story is confronting you with a decision and inviting you to do precisely what the women did not do: to believe that Jesus has been raised rather than to flee in confusion." (p. 141)

This may explain how 16:8 could have been the original ending of Mark, but it also points directly to a shared knowledge of the resurrection and so by direct implication to the resurrection appearances. The empty tomb was not enough. Therefore the readers, who know this was not the end of it, are indeed impelled back to their own faith and their knowledge: "we know what happened next, and why this was not the end of it!", they say to themselves.

Sheehan, however, conjectures that the pre-Marcan oral version of this account was "content to leave the question unanswered" (p. 145) as to where belief in the resurrection came from. But this is to ask us to believe that Jesus’ followers in Jerusalem didn’t know about the appearances -- with Simon Peter in their midst for a while? And Sheehan also claims that "it is clear that the narrative does indeed point beyond itself" -- not, however, to an alleged happening in the past, since "the story’s purpose is precisely to show that such past ‘events’ do not bring about faith" (p. 144). But is not the opposite clear? The story’s point may be to show that the specific past event of the empty tomb did not bring about faith. But it then very clearly forces us to ask ourselves, "If the women said nothing to anybody, then how do we know he was raised? Then what happened next to change this, for here we are being told about it? What event transpired?" This is what the structure of the narrative impels us to do.

The minimalists could use Mark to argue against any resurrection appearances in Jerusalem, since he points to Galilee if he indeed implies this kind of appearance. In this understanding, Mark may have the women be silent either to explain why the apostles hadn’t heard of the empty tomb, or more likely, to emphasize that the empty tomb was not enough, that something else needed to happen. However, we must remember Schillebeeckx’s argument that Mark simply wasn’t going to admit resurrection appearances, no matter how many he knew of. (One also can’t help but wonder -- if Mark is so careful to play down any causative role of the empty tomb, are we perhaps being too naive in agreeing that it played no role in belief in Jesus’ resurrection?)

Fourth, the final clincher against using Mark to argue that the appearance accounts were not known at the time of this earliest Gospel is the simple fact that Paul, writing two decades before Mark, makes specific mention of resurrection appearances. Not only that, Paul quotes what is recognized to be an earlier creed in I Corinthians 15:3 -- 5: "For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received, that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas [Peter], then to the twelve?’ He then goes on to mention appearances to more than five hundred brethren, to James, and then to all the apostles (which may be part of the creed passed on to him or else may be Paul’s own addition) before adding "Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared to me." (15:8)

So there can be no doubt that resurrection appearances were known of by about 55 AD, at least fifteen to twenty years before Mark was written. If this creed was passed on to Paul near the time of his conversion then we are talking about a possible dating as early as 32- 34 AD. only a couple of years after Jesus’ death.

But there are a number of questions about Paul’s testimony and the conclusions that can be drawn from it. We will turn now to consider this.

3. Paul’s Testimony

"He was raised on the third day . . . and . . . he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve." (I Corinthians 15:4)

To judge from Paul’s early formulations of faith, then, the raising of Jesus from the dead has no chronological date or geographical location ascribed to it and no connection with an empty tomb. In fact, the raising of Jesus seems to be no event at all, but only an expression of what Simon had experienced in Galilee. And as regards the appearance to Simon, the text in First Corinthians, upon closer examination, calls into question the notions (1) that such an appearance was an ‘event’ that occurred after Jesus had physically left his tomb and (2) that Jesus was made manifest to Simon in any visible or tangible way. (Sheehan, p. 117-118)

On what basis does Sheehan make these claims, and how persuasive are the arguments that he and other minimalists put forth in regard to Paul? We will look at (A) the question of chronology (does "the third day" mean "the third day"?); (B) the accounts in the Book of Acts of Jesus’ appearance to Paul; (C) inferences from these accounts about the resurrection appearances; (D) Schillebeeckx’s view on Paul’s relation to the classical "conversion model"; and (E) inferences as to location and "event".

(A) Paul’s Chronology: Does "The Third Day" Mean "The Third Day"?

Paul says (quoting a creed) that Jesus "was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures". (I Cor. 15:4). Both Sheehan (p. 112) and Schillebeeckx (pp. 526-532) argue strenuously that Paul did not mean by this that Jesus was raised on a particular day which happened to be the first day of the week. This is one of the few areas in which it seems apparent that the minimalists have let their conclusions determine their assessment of the evidence instead of the other way around, but we will examine their arguments.

Sheehan supports his assertion only by assertion and by reference to the conclusions of several exegetes, so we must examine Schillebeeckx to discover the line of reasoning here. He points out first that the Gospel Easter narratives never mention "the third day", but always "the first day of the week", even when elsewhere these Gospels include earlier predictions of a rising on the third day. Therefore, he concludes, these were two different traditions.

But does that mean they don’t refer to the same day? Schillebeeckx argues that "on the third day" doesn’t refer to a particular day at all. He points out that in Jewish tradition "the third day" had special significance. It was the decisive and critical day, "the day of important, salvific events or of sudden overwhelming calamity" (p. 259). It indicates a decisive event after a short period of time. "On the third day" is a scriptural term, and may have been used by Jesus as part of his self-understanding. Thus, he says, to say that Jesus was raised "on the third day" affirms that God’s rule has come in Jesus (p. 531) and "is charged with immense salvific implications. It tells us nothing about a chronological dating of the resurrection" (p. 532). Sheehan even states that it "took place outside space and time" (p. 112), an argument often used by defenders of the resurrection to shield it from historical inquiry!

There are two problems with the minimalist position here. First, like Bultmann, they show a lack of appreciation for the flexibility of language (see Chapter 4). It is quite possible for a phrase to connote a great and decisive day and also to denote a specific date. Consider, for example, "Independence Day" -- for citizens of the United States this means the signing of our Declaration of Independence, the victorious struggle for freedom and the beginning of the noble experiment of democracy; it also means fireworks and family picnics and a long weekend. But it also means, with no doubt whatsoever, the fourth day in the month of July in the year 1776. So even if Paul, and the creed he quotes, use "on the third day" to mean a great and decisive day, no one can show any reason to doubt that they also meant to pinpoint a particular day shortly after the crucifixion.

Second, one feels compelled to ask whether the minimalists are claiming that Paul and the Gospel writers couldn’t count. "On the third day" -- not the third day after -- does happen to be the first day of the week when they went to the tomb. And in fact one can see very clearly in Matthew’s version of the predictions of the Passion that he could count and that he has changed Mark’s "after three days" to his own "on the third day" in order that this would correctly designate the first day of the week. So for Matthew (and Luke), who were much closer to the thoughts of the early creeds than you or I or the minimalists, "on the third day" did refer to a particular chronology. Otherwise, they would have left Mark’s wording unchanged, which in Matthew’s case would have fit better with his reference to Jonah. One of the problems here was to get "in accordance with the Scriptures" to be compatible with the chronology that they knew. Mark apparently gives preference to the Scriptures, perhaps with Jonah in mind (who was in the belly of the whale three days and nights before being rescued). Either that or we must admit that Mark -- unlike Matthew and Luke -- is not concerned with chronology. But since these latter two never even allude to Hosea 6:2 ("on the third day he will raise us up"), and since Matthew would otherwise have remained consistent with the "after three days" of Jonah, we must stay with our conclusion that it was precisely their concern with chronology that caused them to say "on the third day" instead of "after three days". To deny that any concern of this type is reflected in Paul’s use of this same phrase is to make a conclusion which there is no rational basis to make.

Meanwhile, of course, the point could be raised that what happened on the third day was the discovery of the empty tomb. The resurrection itself is not dated in the Gospels. Rightly or wrongly, Matthew and Luke seem to assume that if it had happened sooner the disciples would have heard about it sooner, or they simply fall into the common human habit of equating an event with our knowledge of it.

Jesus’ Appearance to Paul: The Accounts in Acts

All Paul says in I Corinthians (and elsewhere) is that Jesus appeared to him. To get any details about this appearance we have to turn to the Book of Acts, where accounts are found in Chapters 9, 22, and 26.

The account in Acts 9 relates that as Paul was on his way to Damascus to continue his persecution of the early Christians, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him, he fell to the ground, and heard a voice saying, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?" "Who are you, Lord", asked Paul, and he was answered, "I am Jesus whom you are persecuting?’ He was then told to go into the city where he would be told what to do. (Acts 9:3 -- 5)

A virtually identical account is attributed to Paul himself in Acts 22. In both accounts he was led into Damascus blind. The only difference is that in the first account Paul’s companions heard the voice but saw no one, and in the second they saw the light but could not hear the voice. (We ought to note that in Acts 9 it doesn’t say they didn’t see the light, but that they saw "no one".)

The third account is related by Paul as part of his speech to King Agrippa in Acts 26. Again, he says he saw a light -- "a light from heaven, brighter than the sun" (26:13) -- and he and his companions fell to the ground, and he heard Jesus’ voice. There is no mention of blindness, though this would be a not unusual temporary effect of a light brighter than the sun, and he was given his commission to bear witness to the Gentiles right then and there.

Now, we must ask: since these accounts were not written down by Luke (the author of Acts) until about fifty years after the event they describe, should they be treated as any more accurate than the resurrection appearance accounts in the Gospels? In spite of the similar distance in time, exegetes give much more credence to these accounts of Paul’s experience, for some obvious and not-so-obvious reasons. What is obvious is that these accounts in Acts are much less elaborate -- there are no physical appearances of Jesus, for instance -- and much more consistent. In addition, Schillebeeckx argues that we have two separate traditions represented here and that the account in Acts 26 is somewhat contrary to Luke’s own viewpoint, so that it probably represents "an already extant, authentic Pauline tradition" (p. 377). So perhaps we can conclude that Paul himself related his experience in terms such as those found in Acts.

(C) Jesus’ Appearance to Paul: Like the Easter Appearances?

Here is the crux of the argument from Paul. In Paul’s own words he links Jesus’ appearance to him with the Easter appearances to Peter and the twelve (actually the eleven). In Acts we have accounts of this appearance which may go back to Paul himself which make it clear that this appearance of Jesus was not an "appearance" as we would think of it. (There certainly is no reason to think that Paul claimed a more physical apparition than described in Acts; these accounts tend to grow in the telling, not diminish.) So if the appearances to Peter and the eleven were like the appearance to Paul, as Paul seems to imply, then we can infer that the Easter appearances were not "appearances" at all. The minimalists then go on to conclude that there was no "event" or at least no experience of Jesus. We must now examine this argument.

First, we have to acknowledge that in accepting the description of Paul’s experience in Acts we must do so with some tentativeness. It is at least possible that Luke, in telling the story, has exaggerated the difference between the Damascus event and the resurrection appearances in his Gospel in order to maintain a distinction between the original apostles and Paul. (But see Schillebeeckx, below.)

Second, even if we accept the accounts in Acts, it is quite possible that Paul exaggerated the similarity between the appearance to him and the appearance to the apostles in order to authenticate his claim to be also an apostle, one called independently by Jesus. Certainly this is an underlying theme of Paul’s. Did it have no effect on his claim for a similar experience of Jesus?

But suppose we grant that Paul is correct in implying that the other appearances were similar in nature to his. After all, he met Peter and others who had experienced these, and no doubt heard about what had happened. And Schillebeeckx argues that Luke presents the Acts 26 version of the appearance to Paul as "really an Easter" appearance of Christ, in the same sense as the formal, official appearances of Christ to Peter and the Eleven" (p. 377). So let us grant that Paul not only claimed but was indeed correct in claiming that his appearances and the Easter appearances were similar -- we need to ask, similar in what way? Surely Paul means to say that in both cases they experienced the risen Jesus and that in both they received their official charge as apostles. But on what basis can we assume that Paul meant to claim any more similarity than that? It is indeed possible that Paul meant to imply that Peter, also, saw a bright light and heard Jesus’ voice speaking to him. But this is only one possible hypothesis which could be affixed to this chain of tentative conclusions. If we proceed any further we must recognize that we are well into the realm of speculation.

(D) Further Speculation: Paul’s Conversion

Let us grant for the sake of argument that Acts is accurate, that Paul is correct, and that Paul meant to imply that the Easter appearances were similar to his in content as well as in function. This could explain the uncertainty and doubt of some of the disciples and the fact that they did not recognize Jesus at first. However, this would still constitute an experience of the risen Christ of such force that it would also explain the dramatic turnabout of the disciples and the content of their preaching. The minimalists, however, wish to take us further.

Schillebeeckx says that in Judaism conversion was often called illumination and was "represented by what has become the classic model of a ‘conversion vision: the individual concerned is suddenly confronted with a brilliant light and hears a voice" (p. 383). He may be right, but he does not support this assertion with any references. It is true, as he notes, that Paul may have viewed conversion as enlightenment just as we often do, as "seeing the light". I see no reason that Paul should have taken that any more literally than you or I, but Schillebeeckx proposes that what we have in Acts 9 is Paul’s conversion "expressed in the model of a conversion vision" (p. 384).

Schillebeeckx’s conjecture, then, is that what Paul experienced was a conversion, that this was expressed as a "conversion vision" (even though, he implies, Paul really didn’t experience Jesus), and that this evolved into the "Easter appearance" type of account in Acts 26. (This in spite of the fact that Schillebeeckx says that Acts 26 represents an older tradition than Acts 9 [p. 377].) You will have to judge for yourself whether it is reasonable to conjecture that Paul would relate his conversion, his experience of "seeing" that Jesus is the Christ, as an "appearance" to him of the risen Jesus. If this seems reasonable to you, then you have no good reason not to go along with Schillebeeckx’s next hypothesis: that this is also what happened to Peter and the eleven. They had a conversion experience. "Jesus was [not] made manifest to Simon in any visible or tangible way" (Sheehan, p. 118). We will consider this hypothesis again below and examine whether it satisfies the criteria that we set out at the beginning, in particular the need to explain the turnabout of Jesus’ disciples after the crucifixion and the content of their message.

Schillebeeckx would have a stronger argument if there were an established cultural tradition of a specific type of conversion experience such as can be found in certain Christian denominations, particularly in "evangelical" sects and in the southern United States. People growing up in these churches are taught to expect a "born again" experience that makes them really Christians. As a consequence they tend to have these experiences. But I know of no information that would lead us to believe that a faithful Jew of the first century would have been prepared to have such an experience.

(E) Location and Event

We have not yet addressed Sheehan’s contentions that we can conclude from Paul that the resurrection had no geographical location or connection with the empty tomb, and that neither the resurrection nor the appearances were "events". First, as we noted previously, there was no reason for Paul to mention an empty tomb that -- as everybody agrees -- meant nothing one way or the other about a resurrection. Second, Paul gives us no hint whatsoever as to his thoughts about the location of the resurrection, either where or whether. He may well have thought he didn’t need to, that people knew.

Third, while he does not directly address the question of whether the resurrection itself was an event, this is so curious a question that I would not expect him (or anyone) to address it unless this question were directly posed to them. And if the accounts in Acts are at all correct, Paul certainly considered the appearance to him to be an event that happened at a certain time in a certain location on the road to Damascus.

4. The Oral Tradition: Early Christologies

We noted earlier that form criticism attempts to go back behind the Gospels and the letters to infer the earlier traditions and strands. Some scholars who use this method believe they can discern four early Christologies. We must point out that these are very early indeed, antedating not only Paul’s letters (just over two decades after the crucifixion), but also antedating a consensus on the creed which was received by Paul (cf. I Cor. 15:3-5) -- and if Paul converted in 32-34 AD or shortly after, would one not think that this creed was delivered to him reasonably close to this time? So if in fact the form critics can discern Christologies that existed before this, what they have given us is a window on the turmoil of the first few months and years right after the crucifixion, as Jesus’ early followers were struggling to find ways to explain what had happened. (To be fair: it is possible that Paul received this creed later, or that it did not yet represent the consensus view, but both of these seem unlikely to me.)

With this in mind, let us examine what Schillebeeckx has to say about these earliest creeds:

Of four ancient credal strands . . . only the various Easter Christologies make Jesus’ resurrection explicitly an object of Christian proclamation; in the other three early Christian creeds the resurrection is at any rate not an object of kerygma. This is broadly admitted by a good many scholars, but with the proviso: the resurrection is of course presupposed; yet not a single argument is ever advanced for this; it is simply postulated (apparently on the strength of the resurrection kerygma present everywhere in the New Testament, which is indeed the unitive factor of the canonical New Testament). But it is another question whether for some Jewish Christians the resurrection was not a "second thought", which proved the best way to make explicit an earlier spontaneous experience, without their initially having done so. (p. 396)

While on the one hand we need to recognize the tentativeness of any conclusions about these very early pre-Gospel strands, on the other hand we do not wish to underestimate the work of the form critics. They have indeed accomplished a great deal. So let us grant Schillebeeckx his point, at least for the sake of argument. Let us suppose that not all of the earliest Christians explained the Easter experience(s) by concluding that Jesus had been raised. Some may well have thought in terms of exaltation: Jesus had been exalted to God, by God.

What implications would this have for the Easter appearances? It would mean that those aspects of the Gospel accounts which make it so clear that this was a resurrection (and not something else) were probably later additions and elaborations -- but we had already concluded this anyway. Take away the angel(s) who said he was raised, Jesus’ exposition on the way to Emmaus on how a resurrection was according to the Scriptures (and his earlier predictions of the resurrection), the ascension into heaven, perhaps the eating of fish and showing of his wounds. We are still left with some pretty unusual appearances: to Mary, to Simon, to the eleven (though with fewer details). Since there was no universal expectation of an immediate resurrection, it would not be at all surprising if an experience of Jesus’ presence after the crucifixion were interpreted in some cases as an "exaltation" instead.

But I cannot see how it bears on our interpretation of the Easter event either way. Whether those who experienced this interpreted it first as a Jesus raised by God or as a Jesus exalted by God, in either case this is to make a remarkable claim: Jesus, who was dead and buried, made himself known to them! If this is indeed what happened, it would be surprising if they had not had some difficulty in interpreting this!

And in any case, as Schillebeeckx himself points out, "early Christian local churches did nevertheless all have an experience of Easter, that is, knew the reality which other churches explicitly referred to as ‘resurrection’." (p. 396) And the general adoption of this explanation for what had happened, of the name of "resurrection" for this reality, took place very early on -- as Schillebeeckx also says -- "precisely because it so aptly articulated" the reality. (p. 396)

In conclusion, then, while there may have been some early Christologies that interpreted the Easter experience as "exaltation" instead of "resurrection", this would not be a surprising response to "appearances" of Jesus after the crucifixion, and so does not address the nature or the probability of these appearances nor the question of whether the exaltation interpretation somehow evolved separately from the appearance traditions. Furthermore, within a very few years, those local groups who began with the "exaltation" interpretation had joined the consensus behind "resurrection".

Summary

The minimalist case that there were no resurrection appearances, and in fact no post-crucifixion experiences of Jesus at all, rests on several lines of argument. But the strength of these arguments must be determined by examining each of them separately, not by lumping them together as if that would overcome any weaknesses. At this point we will review the evidence:

(1) The Gospel accounts of the resurrection appearances are confused and contradictory. In addition, elements such as angels, teaching by Jesus, and his physicalness appear certain to be myth.

(2) There is, however, a general agreement in the Gospels on the empty tomb and on appearance(s) to Simon Peter and a group of apostles.

(3) The "empty tomb" may have originally been an independent tradition, but seems to imply nothing about a resurrection.

(4) If we have the original end of the Gospel of Mark in 16:8 -- of which we cannot be sure -- then Mark did not include an account of any appearances. But this may be a result of Mark’s theology (Schillebeeckx), or Mark may assume the reader’s knowledge of appearances (narrative structure). In any case the appearances were certainly known much before Mark, in a creed made known to Paul. So we can draw no conclusions here.

(5) Some doubt has been expressed whether the creed quoted by Paul meant "on the third day" to be a chronological reference to an event. This argument is not credible, however. Even if it were, there is no reason adduced to think that Paul did not think of the appearances as events that happened in a particular time and place.

(6) Form criticism has discerned evidence of four different early Christologies, only one of which seems to have included "resurrection". But no argument can be made from an "exaltation" interpretation of the Easter experience that it did not involve appearances of Jesus, and within a short time the adherents of "exaltation" had subscribed to resurrection as the proper interpretation.

(7) Finally, this leaves Luke’s account in Acts of a Jesus appearance to Paul (which may have originated with Paul himself), and Paul’s classifying this with the appearances to Peter and the eleven. If we grant that Paul meant to claim a similarity in the nature of the appearance, and that he was correct in doing so -- both of which are far from certain -- then we have here the first evidence that addresses the nature of the resurrection appearances, aside from the unbelievability of the Gospel accounts themselves. But even if we acknowledge our tentativeness here, what sort of conclusions can we make? We will look at the minimalist proposals, at whether they are inferable from Paul, and then at whether they meet the criteria we adopted at the beginning of this appendix.

The Minimalist Hypothesis

Perhaps we should call this the "minimalist hypotheses", for Schillebeeckx and Sheehan present somewhat different proposals as to what likely constituted the Easter experience for Simon Peter. Neither of them allows for actual resurrection appearances, but Sheehan is rather more minimalist than Schillebeeckx. He begins by allowing for an ecstatic vision:

In his despair, when he felt like a drowning man pulled to the bottom of the sea, the Father’s forgiveness, the gift of the future which was God himself, had swept him up again and undone his doubts. Simon ‘saw’ -- God revealed it to him in an ecstatic vision -- that the Father had taken his prophet into the eschatological future and had appointed him the Son of Man. (p. 105 -- italics Sheehan’s)

But then Sheehan begins to back away from the idea of a vision: "It was an experience that could have been as dramatic as an ecstatic vision, or as ordinary as reflecting on the meaning of Jesus." (p. 108)

And two chapters later he completes his denial of a special experience by Simon:

After his failure, Simon ‘turned again’. He did see Jesus again -- but only in the sense of remembering, re-seeing, the present-future that Jesus, by living out his hope, had once become. (p. 124)

What Simon experienced -- both before and after Jesus’ death -- was not a ‘vision’ but an insight into how to live. (p. 124-125)

But Sheehan has now gone from an experience -- an ecstatic vision -- that he could have argued was paralleled by what actually happened to Paul, to a remembering or an insight, to nothing dramatic at all. Whatever else you may say about the appearance to Paul, it was certainly dramatic, for Paul could name the time and place of this event that caused (or was) his conversion. So Sheehan has gone beyond arguing from the evidence to simply stating his own hypothesis: Simon remembered. Sheehan, of course, is free to do this, but we will see below it does not meet the requirements we set for a credible hypothesis, besides not being consistent with Paul.

Schillebeeckx, on the other hand, agrees with us that "something happened". After Jesus’ death and the disciples’ loss of nerve and before we find these disciples "boldly and confidently proclaiming that Jesus was to return to judge the world or had risen from the dead . . . something must surely have happened to make this transformation at any rate psychologically intelligible?" (p. 380) "That the New Testament bases itself on specific experiences after Jesus’ death (however they might be interpreted) seems to me, on the strength of the foregoing analysis, undeniable." (p. 394)

What does Schillebeeckx then propose as these specific experiences? He follows his argument from Paul: that Acts 26 is an "Easter appearance", that this developed from the account in Acts 9 and 22 which is a "conversion vision", and that what lay behind this was Paul’s conversion experience, expressed here according to the classic model. So he proposes the same scenario for the disciples: conversion experiences that later, over time, developed into the official resurrection appearances that we have in the Gospels:

These disciples did of course come to realize -- in a process of repentance and conversion which it is no longer possible to reconstruct on a historical basis -- something about their experience of disclosure that had taken them by storm: their ‘recognition’ and ‘acknowledgment’ of Jesus in the totality of his life. This is what I call the ‘Easter experience’ . . . And then we may indeed say: at that juncture there dawns the experience of their really seeing Jesus at last. (p. 387)

This is at least arguably consistent with the evidence from the appearance to Paul. And it certainly avoids the problems of the Gospel accounts and the demands that we believe in the supernatural appearances of a dead man. It is also consistent with the results of modem scholarship.

But it there not something missing? Does it meet our other criteria? Is this persuasively consistent with Paul? And does it explain the dramatic turnabout of the disciples and the content of their proclamation?

The Argument from Paul (Again)

Is it credible to argue that a process of conversion is what Paul alludes to in I Corinthians 15? We can infer that Paul himself would disagree. Whether "appearance" means "visual" or not, it certainly refers to the intrusion of something outside oneself. Schillebeeckx himself says "The four differentiated instances in I Cor. 15 relate to Jesus; what is called the ‘appearing’, therefore, is obviously not to be characterized as an occurrence deriving merely from human psychology; on the contrary, it is described as an initiative of Jesus himself." (p. 347)

A further problem with Schillebeeckx’s hypothesis that in Acts we see an Easter appearance account develop from a conversion experience account (aside from this problematic interpretation itself) is that Schillebeeckx himself recognizes that Acts 26 is based on an older tradition, not a more recent one.

Therefore, neither Schillebeeckx nor Sheehan can support their own hypothesis with an argument based on Paul. The most we can say based on I Corinthians 15 in conjunction with Acts is that the earliest accounts of the resurrection appearances may very well have been less explicit and elaborate than the present ones in the Gospels (which we had already assumed), and were perhaps analogous to the accounts of Paul’s experience on the road to Damascus as we find them in the Book of Acts.

How Do We Explain the Conversion and the Content?

We said at the beginning of this appendix that any hypothesis about the resurrection appearances, besides being consistent with modern scholarship and arguable from the evidence, must also explain the dramatic turnaround in the disciples and the content of their preaching. By postulating that the Easter experience of the disciples was the conversion process, how does Schillebeeckx explain this conversion? That is the big gap that I see in Schillebeeckx’s hypothesis (and of course also in Sheehan’s even more minimalist proposal). The question is, "what happened after Jesus’ death and before the conversion that we see evidenced in the bold and joyous preaching of the disciples? What brought about this conversion?" To this question, Schillebeeckx can only answer: the conversion itself. Under the circumstances, in the wake of a crucified, dead and buried -- and apparently failed -- prophet, Schillebeeckx’s answer does not meet his own requirement of making this transition "psychologically intelligible". I cannot avoid the conclusion here that something else had to happen to occasion this conversion.

What was this something? And what hypothesis would explain the content of the post-Easter preaching of the disciples? Even Sheehan points out that there was a dramatic shift between the content of Jesus’ preaching and that of the disciples shortly after Easter. As Sheehan puts it, "Simon and the first believers . . . focused not on Jesus’ way of living but on Jesus himself?’ (p. 125) The content of their preaching was an exalted or raised Jesus, one who was not defeated on the cross but who was instead victorious.

What could the "something" be that not only brought about the turnaround in Jesus’ disciples -- for surely something happened to do this -- but which also changed the content of the proclamation from the message of Jesus to the message about Jesus, the message that he was triumphant, was exalted and/or raised from the dead? Is not the answer obvious? Only a modern minimalist over-reaction against the resurrection accounts could prevent us from seeing this: Simon Peter and the apostles experienced something that they could -- and did -- understand as the presence of Jesus.

What was this something? I don’t know. Certainly we owe a debt to form criticism and the minimalists for pointing out that this experience was probably more akin to the accounts in Acts of Paul’s experience than to the appearance accounts in the Gospels. (This would also explain the attendant confusion and doubt mentioned in the Gospels.) But the evidence does not allow us to agree with the minimalist thesis that nothing extraordinary happened. It is clear that something very extraordinary did happen to propel the apostles and to transform the content of their proclamation. Other than that it signified Jesus’ presence and so his resurrection to his disciples, I doubt we shall ever know the nature of what it was that transpired -- but, as we concluded in Chapter 6, whatever it was is not of theological significance to us today.

Appendix A: The Canon, the Christ and the Historical Jesus

Since early in the Church’s history the Old and New Testament have been recognized as its "Canon", as authoritative over all other writings, beliefs and opinions. But in recent decades there has been an increasing tendency to try to go behind this, to reconstruct the traditions and writings as they existed before they were incorporated into the Bible in their present form. This has been encouraged by our knowledge of the different sources of the Bible, by the development of form criticism and its insights and speculations into the early stages of the formation of the Gospels, by questions about the "original" intent of passages before they were set in their present literary context, by questions of "what really happened", and by the attempt to unravel diverse strands of tradition in both Old and New Testaments. This has proceeded to such an extent that it too often seems as if the only alternative to a Scripture that is inerrant, and so not subject to this sort of analytic study, is a Scripture that is so analyzed and picked apart that there is no Scripture left.

Of late a movement has begun to correct this situation. Foremost in this campaign to consider the Scriptures as subject to modern critical analysis but at the same time to treat them as canon is Brevard Childs, professor of Old Testament at Yale. In fact he so strongly feels the need to press his point that he has crossed over into the field of New Testament studies to wage his campaign there as well.1 And indeed Childs has performed a valuable and needed service in reminding us that what we have now is not just individual passages, nor is it just the "books" which as larger units give the individual pieces a place in the larger narrative. What we have now is canon, a body of work recognized as authoritative Scripture in its present complete form. This is a much needed corrective to those who have adopted the historical/critical method not only as a tool but also as their principle of interpretation (or "hermeneutic principle", in theological jargon). That is, some scholars have interpreted passages of the Scripture as we have it by speculating about their origin in oral tradition or by separating them into various earlier strands. But we cannot interpret a present literary passage by showing what it (perhaps) once was. Nor can we take an individual verse or story or "pericope" in isolation. The canon gives these a place in the whole, often balancing them with other elements. And the canon as we have it does not consist of separate historical strands but of the whole of the Bible as it now stands.

But as necessary and salutary as this movement is, this "canonical approach" in turn occasions some very basic questions itself. Childs and the others who promote this approach begin by assuming the fact of the canon. The Church has indeed recognized this particular body of writings as sacred and authoritative, not to be added to or subtracted from or tinkered with. And many people have had this recognition of the Bible’s sacred authority confirmed when their faith was confirmed in their lives.

But we can no longer take this attitude for granted. Even many of those within the faith no longer recognize the whole Bible as authoritative (and even those inerrantists who claim to do this do not do it in fact). It is no longer sufficient to say that because the Church of eighteen or nineteen centuries ago decided that these writings are canon, therefore they are authoritative for us today. We must have more of a reason than this.

This may be due in part to our own democratic traditions. But other factors also give rise to our questioning. Those who established the canon had a common sense different from ours and viewed the Scriptures in a different way. We no longer recognize the apostolic authorship of the Gospels or believe that Moses wrote the Pentateuch; we no longer maintain the doctrine of inerrancy. We are much more aware of the differences among the Gospels, of the influence of editors and the early Church, of the various traditions and literary relationships. So it seems all the more difficult to accept the Bible as authoritative just because somebody -- tradition or the early Church -- says so, when in fact these somebodies did not know as much about the Bible’s history and background and diverse elements as we do today.

So we recognize the importance of the canonical approach of Childs and others, with its question of "since this is canon, how do we go about interpreting it?" But before this question can even be addressed we have to ask first whether we do in fact accept the Bible as authoritative canon; and if so, why; and if so, do we accept the whole or parts of it; and if parts of it, which parts, and why?

Why the Bible?

In Chapter 13 we explored the question of "Why Jesus of Nazareth?" We concluded that there are several reasons that could be used to support an argument for choosing Jesus as our compass, for granting him a sacred role as meaning-giver: first, we are not aware of any especially good alternatives; second, his ability to serve in this role has been confirmed in many faithful lives; and third, in choosing him we align ourselves with a compass which is in the public domain, and as such our interpretation is subject to the correction of tradition and public debate. The importance of this in avoiding proprietary religions and perverse, demonic, idiosyncratic interpretations should not be underestimated.

We need also to remember, however, that while these three reasons demonstrate that it makes sense to choose Jesus as our compass, in the final analysis this choice is not one that is reasoned out. It is a question of meaning and value, a choice that each of us must make for ourselves, one that we can make only if we find in Jesus of Nazareth a key to value and to truth that is confirmed in our lives.

The question of "Why the Bible?" can be answered in very much the same way. We can adduce arguments as to why it makes sense to recognize the authority of the Bible -- many others have accepted its authority; this approach can give direction to our lives; etc. -- but it is ultimately a question of meaning and value. The difficult problem here is in the relationship between choosing Jesus as our focus and recognizing the authority of the Bible. Many people do not even recognize this as a problem: surely if we grant the sacred authority of meaning-giver to Jesus then we must also recognize the authority of the book which tells his story!

But the message of Jesus does not agree with all the parts of the Bible, particularly with some of the harsh understandings of God expressed in the Old Testament and implicit in some of its laws. And as we have seen, even in the New Testament there are sayings attributed to Jesus which very probably do not originate with him and there are interpretations of him which are not consistent with what he taught. We have to choose: is our primary authority the Bible? Or is it Jesus of Nazareth? (Those who think they treat the two as one unified authority generally do this by reinterpreting all contradictory passages to fit with their understanding of Jesus. But since not all parts of the Bible fit with Jesus’ message as they stand, this involves a definite subordination of some passages of Scripture. Jesus Christ is in fact the primary authority for these people.)

So the choice is either to recognize the Bible as primary authority, and Jesus of Nazareth as just one aspect of it along with Moses and the prophets and the many Old Testament laws not specifically superceded in the New, or to recognize Jesus of Nazareth as primary authority. We have repeatedly made the point that to be Christian means to choose Jesus of Nazareth as our compass, our focus. His life and message must be our primary sacred authority.

And if Jesus of Nazareth is the primary authority, the epitome of the sacred for us, then the sacredness of the Bible (as we point out in Chapters 10 and 19) is derivative from the sacredness of Jesus in his role as the Christ. What does this mean for the question of canonicity, that is, the Bible’s status as canon?

The fact that its sacredness is derivative constitutes no argument against the Scripture as canon. Literature is always derivative, is always distinct from the reality to which it points. The Gospels were recognized as canonical in the first place because they witnessed to something else: to Jesus the Christ. So the Scriptures have a recognized sacred authority, a canonicity, based on their close association with the sacredness of the Christ. So when we acknowledge that as Christians we recognize primary authority in the Christ, this implies a derivative sacredness in the Bible that makes it our most sacred literature, and thus our canon. But at the same time this recognition of Jesus the Christ as our primary authority sets a limit to the authority of Scripture that raises questions about canonicity. Since it is the life and teachings of Jesus of Nazareth that are our compass, that by their presence in the Gospels and their relationship to the rest of Scripture give sacredness and canonicity to the Bible for us -- what does this mean for those passages which are in conflict with Jesus’ teachings and those which are merely irrelevant to his message and apparently unrelated?

Jesus as the Christ: Hermeneutic Principle or Canonical Principle?

Our first option is to adopt the message of Jesus as our hermeneutic principle -- that is, the principle by which we interpret the Scriptures. This is essentially the approach used by those people we mentioned above who see no conflict between the Bible as a whole and Jesus’ teachings, except that here we recognize the conflicts and consciously try to interpret them away. Certainly there are places where this must be tempting: the ten plagues visited on Egypt by God because God had hardened Pharaoh’s heart, the "holy war" instructions to Joshua to kill all the inhabitants of Jericho and Ai, and other passages that reflect an understanding of God that is certainly not consistent with the God of love taught by Jesus of Nazareth. With a Christocentric hermeneutic we would somehow interpret these passages to render them consistent with Jesus’ message, so that they reflect a God of love and not a God of vengeance and retribution.

There are, however, two serious problems to such an approach: First, it is difficult to see how some of these passages could possibly be interpreted in a way that is in keeping with Jesus of Nazareth; and second, even if this could be done, the process would necessarily do damage to the original intent and to the established scriptural meaning of these passages. We would be reinterpreting them so radically as to show no respect for their meaning or their context. I for one view this as a dishonest and unacceptable method of interpretation.

If we are to take seriously the fact that the sacredness of the Bible is derived from the sacred function of Jesus as the Christ, and if we cannot use Jesus’ message as our hermeneutic principle to interpret everything in the Bible, then our only other option is to use Jesus’ message as our canonical principle. We cannot and need not reinterpret everything in the Scriptures to agree with Jesus, which is what would be required if we claimed the Christ as our principle of interpretation. But we can and must use the Christ as our principle of canonicity: not to make everything agree with his message, but to rule as authoritative (canonical) those portions which agree and to rule as unauthoritative (noncanonical) those portions which are inconsistent with his teachings. We do not interpret the ten plagues in a way that enables them to fit with a loving God; instead we say that our belief in a loving God as understood through Jesus the Christ renders the ten plagues without authority for us.

If the canonicity of the Scriptures depends on Jesus’ role as compass for us, on the fact that they contain the writings which gave us this compass, then it would follow that only those portions of the Bible that contain, support, cohere to or elaborate on this compass can in fact be granted the authoritative status of canon. Canonicity depends on a positive relationship to the Christ. Therefore those portions of Scripture which are not so related cannot be recognized as canonical. The Bible is not a monolith, and recognizing canonicity in one part does not automatically imbue the rest of it with this status.

We could then say that those parts of the Old Testament which show a primitive misunderstanding of God are just that: primitive misunderstandings that do not have canonical authority for us. But we also might find much of the Old Testament included as canonical. After all, it was the Scripture for Jesus; he grew out of this tradition and saw himself in continuity with the law and the prophets. There is much in these books that constitutes the foundation on which he built: the story of this people’s search for understanding of God and the notable calls for justice and righteousness. Other parts of the Old Testament need to be retained as historical and literary background -- but this needn’t make them canonical.

Of course, the New Testament is not exempt from this same kind of examination. It is doubtful that all the theologizing in Hebrews, the remarks by Paul about women and slaves, or the apocalyptic horrors of Revelation will be found to be consistent with Jesus’ message.

Even now I can hear outraged voices protesting that this is profaning the sacred. But it is not. If the principle that makes these writings canon for us -- the message of Jesus the Christ -- also rules out certain writings which we have considered "Scripture", this is not to profane the sacred but to uphold it, to defend it. To say that God really did slay the firstborn in Egypt and really did need the blood of an innocent victim on the cross before we could be forgiven -- in direct contradiction to the teachings of Jesus -- this would be to profane the sacred.

And in reality, most of us already proclaim a lack of canonicity of certain Biblical passages in the way we treat them. When we confront the ten plagues or the massacre at Jericho or the laws in Leviticus we may find them to be of historical interest. But we do not say that God actually did these or ordered these. We do not treat them as authoritative.

But then what do we do with the Bible? Go at it with scissors? Recognize a reduced portion as canon and put the remainder in a much-enlarged appendix with the Apocrypha? This is the direction in which this reasoning seems to lead us, but the dangers of this are both obvious and overwhelming. We would end up with a fractured canon, with bits and pieces taken out of their Scriptural context, with a different body of canon for each theological point of view, and with those portions of Scripture which we find uncomfortable not only ignored but disposed of altogether.

The Canon and the Canonical

There is an alternative to this which both recognizes Jesus of Nazareth as our canonical principle and yet also preserves the canon intact. This is to recognize the Bible as it stands, Old and New Testaments, as our canon, but to recognize that only portions of it are in fact canonical.

What does this mean? How can the whole be "canon" but only parts be "canonical"?

The whole of the Bible is "canon" in the traditional sense that it constitutes our sacred Scriptures. It cannot be added to or subtracted from. It is that body of writings which contains the message of Jesus of Nazareth, who fills for us the sacred role of the Christ.

But not all of these Scriptures are "canonical" in the sense of being authoritative for us. The canon carries within it the principle that makes it sacred for us -- the meaning-giving testimony of Jesus, which we as Christians recognize as primary authority. Therefore, to be true to this principle within the canon, we must consider as non-canonical (i.e., non-authoritative) those portions of the canon which are not in keeping with it.

In fact we find that this is what w~ do. Once we have grasped Jesus’ message of God’s love, those Biblical passages about divine plagues or holy war or retribution or sexist customs lose their authority for us. They do not cohere. They do not fit with our compass.

Yet we do not excise these passages from our Bibles. Why not? What sense does it make to have a canon that is not canonical in all its parts?

First, because there is a sense here in which the whole is greater than its parts. The search by the Hebrews for a true understanding of God, from Abraham to Egypt, from the Promised Land to exile, witnesses as a whole to the love of God and to the requirement for justice on our part, and forms the matrix out of which Jesus’ teachings developed.

Second, and perhaps more important, because to keep as part of our canon those passages which we do not consider canonical (in the sense of authoritative) establishes a persistent healthy tension. We are not able to dismiss out of hand those passages we do not like. We are not able to erase them or put them away somewhere. They are there, demanding our attention, demanding to be dealt with. Thus each generation, each new interpretation, perhaps each person, must confront these passages as a part of the canon, must consider whether they are authoritative, and must give good reasons if they conclude that a passage is not.

This tension of having passages in our canon which are not canonical, which demand by their very presence a reconsideration of their authority, is a healthy tension precisely because it is uncomfortable. We cannot dismiss certain passages just because of personal idiosyncracies without having to face them again. And truths that we cannot see because our society’s prejudices get in the way are able to keep confronting us until they get through. Thus, for instance, Paul’s apparent support of slavery lost its authority for us only after eighteen centuries and seventy or so generations, as the full implications of Jesus’ message of the worth of each human being finally sank in and became authoritative instead (at least with regard to slavery). Similarly European missionaries brought to other lands a Scripture which contained concepts of justice that eventually undermined European imperialism. No doubt our descendents will look back and wonder why we could not see the obvious implications of certain passages in regard to peace or justice or charity.

A Canon Within the Canon?

Do we then have a canon within the canon? Of course we do. Everybody does, though not everybody admits it. We cannot make sense of the Bible without a principle of interpretation, without a decision about hierarchy or priority within the Scriptures. Even Childs admits that "much of the debate over a canon-within-the-canon has been misplaced. The issue at stake is not whether one needs material criteria by which to interpret the whole, but rather what is the nature of the criteria."2 The important step here is to spell out one’s criteria and then to be consistent with them.

Of course there are many people who take the approach that the whole Bible is literally true, making it impossible to give priority to any portion of it. We considered the problems associated with this approach in Chapter 2. The additional point can be made that to the extent these people do in fact treat the whole Bible as equally sacred, they are using the whole of Scripture as their compass instead of Jesus of Nazareth. And if they also claim priority for him, which many do, they then create an interesting problem of interpretation which it is fascinating (when it is not painful) to watch them try to deal with.

The Historical Jesus

We have said that we have Jesus of Nazareth as our compass and not the whole of the Bible. We need to be more specific about this. Do we mean the picture of Jesus presented in the four Gospels? Or do we mean a "historical Jesus" which we can develop as a result of historical critical study of these Gospels? Or something else which is somehow in between, perhaps as in Chapter 5 where we ruled out only particular types of passages from the Synoptics and accepted only congruent passages from the Gospel of John?

There are problems with each of these. An unquestioning acceptance of everything the New Testament says about Jesus yields us a picture of Jesus that suffers from internal inconsistencies, that is clearly in a few places a construct of the needs of the early Church, and that will not stand historical critical scrutiny. On the other hand, attempts to construct a picture of the historical Jesus have been fraught with personal biases to the extent that Jesus the first century Palestinian often comes out resembling nothing so much as the ideal nineteenth century European liberal or twentieth century American conservative or twenty-first century third world radical, depending upon who is constructing this "historical" picture.

Another more recent problem with this approach is that the tools and techniques used by modern critical scholars to arrive at a historical construct are specifically designed to weed out teachings by or about Jesus that might be attributable to someone else, that might have originated with the early Church or the Gospel editors or contemporary Judaism. The "principle of discontinuity" thus recognizes as teachings of Jesus only those sayings which are "discontinuous" with the Judaism of his day and with the apparent interests and needs of the early Church. The whole problem with this, of course, is that while it may work well at showing us the irreducible core that was absolutely unique to Jesus, it can in no way give us a balanced picture of him. Every individual shares a great deal in common with his or her culture, with their predecessors and with those who follow. This would be especially true for an individual who exemplified the best in their cultural tradition in addition to developing some new insights, and who then passed on both old and new through a movement they started. To say that the only historical or important aspects of this person are those which are not inherited from the past and which did not meet the needs of their followers, would be patently absurd. To try to draw any sort of picture of this person without these common traits and ideas would give us so minimalist a portrait as to be useless at best and misleading at worst.

So if we can neither accept the whole Biblical testimony about Jesus nor reject most of it to construct our own "historical Jesus", this leaves us again the uncomfortable but honest middle. On the one hand, as we have seen, there are some apparent intrusions in the testimony by the early Church, by the conclusions of hindsight, and by the theology of John and others, that cannot be glossed over. On the other hand, within certain acknowledged limits we have a generally accurate representation of the teachings and actions of Jesus of Nazareth. There will be a constant tension at the edges of the picture: does a particular saying represent too neatly the needs of the early Church? Did Jesus in fact take this particular stand on this particular issue? Is it consistent with the rest of the picture?

This is as it should be as we continue to try to refine and improve our understanding of Jesus. But unclear details on the edge of the picture in no way affect the clear central image.

The Historical Jesus and the Christ

We have eschewed the traditional quest for the historical Jesus, with its tendencies to wander far afield from the text and to turn Jesus into a person after the interpreter’s own heart. I suspect that it is nonetheless evident that we have in fact adopted a different form of the historical Jesus, the Jesus of Nazareth that appears in and through that portion of the Gospels that we have no good reason to doubt. It is this picture which confronts us powerfully with the choice for or against God and love, this understanding which serves as our focus, our compass, our Christ.

Yet there is a limit to how closely we can identify the historical person Jesus of Nazareth with the Christ, for two reasons: first, there is much we do not know about the historical person, and clearly it is not necessary to know this or to include this in the understanding that serves as "the Christ" for us. It is his message with which we are concerned, his message of the love of God and love for neighbors as expressed in the way he taught and in the way he lived. It is this aspect of the historical Jesus of Nazareth that functions as the Christ for us.

Second, for many people a picture of Jesus that includes unhistorical and mythical elements has served as their compass, has functioned as the Christ to bring them into right relationship with God and neighbor. We cannot say that this is not a valid picture of the Christ for them (see Chapter 8 on the validity of religious beliefs). But we can say that it is an unhistorical picture of Jesus of Nazareth, and since we are aware of this, and since we cannot violate our own common sense, this unhistorical and mythical picture will not work for us.

Jesus of Nazareth as portrayed in the Synoptic Gospels, with the qualifications noted above, can function as the Christ for us. He challenges us to accept or reject the message. If we accept the message, if we focus our understanding of God and life around this message, if we live toward God and in right relationship with others with Jesus as our compass, then for us he is indeed the Christ.

 

Notes:

1. See Brevard S. Childs, The New Testament as Canon: An Introduction (Fortress Press, 1984), and Old Testament Theology in a Canonical Context (1985), and Introduction to the Old Testament as canon (1979). (1 have one quibble: Childs’ writings are not as accessible as one might wish to the non-specialist, a problem which I know he can overcome from my own experience with one of his lecture courses.)

2. Childs, The New Testament as Canon: An Introduction, p. 42.

Appendices

The two appendices are somewhat more technical in nature. Appendix A is on the canon, the Christ, and the historical Jesus, in which we consider how the authority of the Bible is related to the authority of Jesus. I argue that Jesus the Christ must serve as our "canonical principle’ by which we decide which parts of the Bible are authoritative for us today.

In Appendix B, I examine some of the current scholarly opinions about the nature of the resurrection, weighing carefully the arguments of those who I call the "minimalists’ who maintain that nothing extraordinary happened. How persuasive is their reasoning?

Chapter 19: A New Spirituality: The Sacred, Worship, Prayer, Work, The Church, and Where We Go From Here

"Whither shall I go from thy spirit? And whither shall I flee from thy presence?" "The earth is full of the steadfast love of the Lord." (Psalm 139:7, 33:5)

 

We have covered a lot of ground in this book. We have seen that because of the change in our common sense over the last twenty centuries we find a number of traditional Christian views to be inadequate and no longer tenable: Biblical literalism, the idea of a God who goes "zap", the religious significance of miracles, and such doctrines as the Incarnation, the Trinity, and the sin and salvation complex. Perhaps more surprisingly, we have also seen that many of these traditional views are also incompatible with a proper understanding of our faith, with the love of God as preached by Jesus Christ.

But we have done more than lust work at the demolition of traditional ideas. We have also suggested interpretations that are consistent with our modern common sense, with our understanding of how the world works and with our understanding of the physical sciences -- interpretations that are also consistent with our faith. Thus we have suggested appropriate ways of talking about God, and a way of understanding Jesus the Christ in a functional manner, and ways of reinterpreting Christian Myth. We have done this in ways that address our deepest need, that for meaning in our lives. We have further pointed out the crucial difference between faith and doctrine and have examined the impact that our faith must have on our lives; on our character, on the way we live and the way we treat other people, on the way we deal with money, and on our economic system.

Throughout all this we have emphasized the need for integrity: a moral integrity that holds us to our principles in all areas of life. We must come to understand that if we sell out our selves we have lost the only thing that is truly ours. This integrity can be understood as right relation with oneself. We who profess Christianity have further grasped that this can only exist fully in partnership with right relationship with God and with others in line with the teachings of Jesus the Christ.

But integrity also includes intellectual integrity: an honesty with ourselves that includes a demand for consistency throughout the different areas of our life. We do not believe one thing in church and another in science class and another in our business. We do not deny our heart for the sake of our head, nor vice versa.

And in fact in the course of this book we have seen how we can develop a theology (which is an explanation of our religion, a conceptualization of that which gives real meaning to our lives) that is consistent with both our faith and our common sense. What we have done is to point towards the development of a new spirituality, one that is not restricted to "sacred" buildings or to one hour a week, one which rather encompasses all of reality. In this final chapter we will consider the nature of spirituality, the sacred, the role of worship, different forms of prayer, the integration of our work world into our faith, the nature and purpose of the Church, and where we go from here. These discussions will of necessity be brief, but it is my hope that they will nevertheless provide an adequate overview and point the way for further development of these ideas.

1. What Is Spirituality?

We must begin with the question of "what is spirituality?" It might be defined as the awareness of God and the recognition of the sacred in our life. It includes the understanding that our quest for meaning is our most important task in life and that this cannot be satisfied with shallow answers, cannot be fulfilled with possessions or status or wealth. Spirituality therefore means that our awareness of the sacred and our drive for meaning have an impact on our lives, on the choices we make and the way we live. We sensitize ourselves to the pull of God and try to align ourselves with this pull. If our spirituality is real it pervades all aspects of our life.

We have said that we need a "new" spirituality. This is because the traditional models are based on a theology that does not and cannot fit with our common sense (and all too often does not and cannot fit with our faith). Even if we were able to suspend our common sense in the area of religion in order to buy into this traditional theology -- something which many people have felt forced to do because they saw no good alternatives -- we would then have a spirituality that is unable to adequately fulfill its role. Because it is incompatible with our understanding of the world it is unable to inform the rest of our life. It is restricted to a sheltered corner, walled off and protected from reality.

Therefore a spirituality that is worthy of the name -- one that is able to address and inform all the areas of our life -- must be founded on a theology that is consistent with the common sense that undergirds all these different areas. The main purpose of this book has been to propose just such a theology so that we now have the foundation we need for this new spirituality.

We accept our modern common sense. We accept and even embrace the discoveries of modern science. But we do not stop there, and we do not postulate a God who is in conflict with these. Instead, we see God as greater, as including this scientific understanding of the universe. God includes and transcends the physical universe as we know it. This physical universe itself works as a result of such an improbably fine balance of forces as to be cause for wonder at the very least; it is certainly congruent with our conception of God. Furthermore, we see this God, we feel this God, in and through the processes of this universe, coaxing us and pulling us to love and to wholeness.

Spirituality is the recognition of this dimension of the universe, the recognition that God is the context within which we live out our lives. But spirituality is more; mere recognition, mere cognitive awareness, of this dimension is not enough. Besides a sensitivity to this dimension, spirituality also includes an aligning of one’s life with it, a directing of one’s self towards God in the way one lives. When this is given its focus and direction by Jesus of Nazareth then it is Christian spirituality.

2. The Sacred

The sacred1 has often been thought of as that which is set apart because of a special closeness to God. But how can that be if God pervades the universe and the world around us, if God is the context for the whole of our lives? We cannot confine God to a particular mountain top or building or one hour a week. There is nothing we do that is not in the presence of God.

In Chapter 10 we did in fact describe the sacred as that which is special and set apart, that which is beyond question, that which is of such value that it inspires awe and reverence. But sacred things are not set apart because they are somehow closer to God. Rather, the sacred is that aspect of the world, those elements in it, that point towards God, that help us to become aware of God and to direct our lives towards God. There is nothing in the universe that is intrinsically more sacred than anything else. To be sacred, a person or place or thing must be sacred to somebody. That which points us to God, that which emphasizes God’s presence and makes clear God’s love and reminds us of our need to respond to God -- this is what is sacred to us. It is that which yields our deepest meaning to us, whether person, place, event or writings.

If we are Christians, if we are among those who try to order their lives according to the understanding of God, of love, of value and of true victory given in the life and teachings of Jesus of Nazareth, then we proclaim Jesus as the Christ: it is he who serves as the compass or focus for the meaning of our lives. And thus Jesus the Christ is for us the epitome of the sacred.

Certainly there are other people or places or things or times that are also sacred to us. Many of these are derivative from the sacredness of the Christ, associated with worship or meaning to which he is the central direction-giver. Included among these might be those parts of the New Testament other than the Gospels which are consistent with Jesus’ teachings; other Christian writings; Christian places of worship or songs and prayers used in this worship; the sacraments; perhaps the life of a Christian we know or read about who exemplifies for us the way Jesus told us to live.

But there may also be other places or teachers sacred to us that are best described as auxiliary rather than derivative. That is, they have no particular connection with Jesus of Nazareth, so if we are Christians they must play a subordinate role, one that complements his role as central meaning-giver and direction-pointer. They point independently in the same direction as the Christ, much as we might use landmarks to complement our compass reading. If they assist our primary guide in pointing to the one God who is in all creation and who is pulling us to love, then they are auxiliary sacred for us. Such things might be included here as natural theology (the making of inferences about God from a study of the natural world); the teachings of other great religions -- again, to the extent they are compatible; or even the Old Testament prophets, depending on how you view their relationship to Jesus.

So we see that "sacred" is not an independent characteristic of any person, place or thing. It is a relational concept. As we have said, to be sacred something must be sacred to somebody. It must help point them to God. And the sacred includes a variety of persons and things, writings and events, though necessarily of a quite limited number for any one person. For us as Christians the role of Jesus the Christ makes him the epitome of the sacred, but we also have other places and people whose sacredness is derivative from his and additional sacred things which are auxiliary to him.

Every one of these sacred persons or objects or events performs the same role for us: they are particular bits of reality that point to the God who is through all reality. They remind us that the whole world is full of the presence of God and that our lives are lived in this presence. Not just a portion of our lives, not just in certain times and places, but our whole lives.

3. Worship

Worship, whether public or private, involves the highlighting of the sacred and the reinforcement of spirituality. As a public activity worship also involves a reaffirmation of group identity, through shared creeds, hymns, and prayers and also through the reinforcement of human fellowship. The purpose of worship is not generally to give new information to people -- after all, much the same group of people gathers regularly. In some cases worship can yield new insights as it helps people to gain a deeper understanding of religious truths. But more often it serves to remind us of what we already know and to encourage us to act accordingly. In our case, it reminds us of the presence of God in which our lives are lived, of our acceptance by God, of the pull of God towards love and wholeness, and of the direction to God pointed out by Jesus the Christ. Worship encourages us to live up to the commitment we have made (and are reminded of) to live according to Jesus’ teachings.

If we are to worship privately then we must find ways to perform these functions for ourselves, by ourselves. While this is possible at times, private worship is best considered as an auxiliary to public worship; as such, it needn’t fulfill the whole range of purpose that public worship does, but can be satisfied with lifting up one or two aspects. Private worship as a substitute for public worship is suspect and in grave danger of being one-dimensional. Not nearly as many people worship alone as say they do; even less do it well, and even in these cases it seldom (if ever) can suffice as a substitute for public worship. This is true even if one participates through radio or television in a public worship service. There is just no substitute for sharing the physical presence of other imperfect human beings who are also trying to be faithful, for we are called to support and encourage and love one another.

Another function of worship, whether public or private, is to evoke awe and wonder and to promote the attitude of worship as an appropriate response to God. Awe and wonder may be evoked by a number of facets of the universe -- the sacred, beauty, the world, life itself -- as well as by worship. But worship itself is appropriate only for God. We must remember that while the sacred may help us to worship God, we do not worship the sacred, but only God.

In the same way that the sacred points to the God who is in all reality, so worship -- while it may be something we do in a separate time and place dedicated to this particular purpose -- must point to a life that is lived towards that which we worship. The worship experience cannot be disconnected from the rest of our life. Rather it must be an epitomizing, a lifting up and making explicit, of the pattern that is present in all our places and times. So if our worship is successful and our life is successful, our life will take on the same pattern as our worship, the pattern of living towards God.

4. Prayer

If has long been recognized that people come in a broad range of personality types, that people approach the world and interact with others in different ways. In the past century this observation has become more refined. Perhaps the best known classification comes from four basic dichotomies noted by Carl Jung and further developed into a grid of sixteen different personality types according to whether one is extraverted or introverted, sensing or intuitive, thinking or feeling, and judging or perceptive.2

For each of these sixteen "types" there has been developed a description of how people of this type interact with others, what they enjoy, what kind of occupations they do well in, and so on, even what style of worship they find meaningful.

But all this is ignored or forgotten when it comes to prayer. For when it comes to prayer there is an apparently irresistible urge to proclaim that a particular method or style is the way -- the one and only really right way -- to pray. For everybody. It must be that either our way of praying is so closely tied to our own personality needs that we cannot conceive of another way, or else that our way of praying is so important to us that we cannot bear the challenge of any alternatives. But in fact there is no one right way to pray.

For one thing, there are several different styles of prayer: corporate and individual, spoken and silent, set written traditional prayers and "free" prayers. Consider just this last pair: some people find prayers written by others to be meaningless for them, and find traditional prayers to become empty with repetition so that they are nothing but noise or, at best, pleasing sounds with no significance. Other people find that these same prayers focus their minds for them and contain a beauty of form and meaning that lift their hearts towards God. The important thing to say is that this is fine. There’s nothing wrong with either group of people. They are different people. Why shouldn’t they respond to different models of prayer? So we must expect differences in the way we pray just as we expect differences in our favorite hymns.

But still, even if we grant that different people should expect to use different styles of prayer, there are some important questions about prayer in general. What are we doing when we pray? What is its purpose? What is it supposed to accomplish? Does it make any sense to tell things to a God who already knows everything? Or to ask things of a God who doesn’t go "zap", who isn’t a specific interventionist? Or to give thanks to a God who didn’t take any particular steps to bring about the specific things for which we are thankful?

To begin with, we do not think of prayer as communicating particular bits of information to God. God already knows. Rather than communicating, we are communing with God. The purpose of prayer is to put ourselves in touch with the God who is in all and through all, to reaffirm our own identities by confirming the meaning in our lives, and to verify whether we are living in the proper direction.

What about petitionary prayer, asking for help? If God isn’t going to respond by making sure we win the lottery or by effecting a miracle cure then what can be the purpose in this? Well, if you want a God to pray to who will give you a red bicycle for Christmas or solve all your problems for you, what you’re looking for is magic. God doesn’t work this way. But petitionary prayer nevertheless accomplishes several important steps for us. In the first place, praying for God’s help reminds us that we are not in control of the world or even of our own life, while reminding us that we are living in the presence of an infinite and eternal being. Besides being humbling -- something that many of us need from time to time -- this also helps us to take the first step toward solving a problem, namely that of admitting that we indeed have a problem and need help, even if we admit this only to God for now. And it also can accomplish the important step of putting our life and our troubles in proper perspective.

Furthermore, in praying for God’s help in dealing with a certain situation or problem, we cannot help but consider God’s will for us. If we pray with the right attitude, if we bring willingness to "listen" for an answer, this will make us more sensitive to the pull of God so we in fact may get an "answer" by becoming aware of the direction in which we need to go to live towards God. And lastly, this whole process prepares us to face our problems and to deal with them in the most constructive way by properly grounding us and focusing us and even energizing us.

But what about intercessory prayer, in which we pray for help for others? Will our interceding on their behalf with God lead to God’s interceding on their behalf in the world? No. We must be consistent with our earlier conclusions about how God does and doesn’t act. We are not dealing with magic when it comes to others any more than in praying for ourselves.

But what, then? What good does it do those for whom we pray for us to become better grounded and focused in prayer?

We cannot deny that there are some real possible benefits here. To the extent that our prayers do put us in better touch with the will of God, and to the extent that we are a part of the situation in which those for whom we pray find themselves, this can lead us to participate in some real improvements for them. And to the extent that we are serious in our prayers for justice or peace or healing for others we become allies with God in the struggle for these, and we proceed from prayer to right action. (Prayer is not meant to be in lieu of action.)

Certainly these are not inconsequential. They may at times prove to be decisive. But the fact is that in intercessory prayer we aren’t praying for us to help the other person; we pray for God to help them. I must repeat: the conviction that God does not work as a specific interventionist requires us to conclude that God does not respond in this way. God is not a genie in a bottle who responds to the magic words. Nevertheless, I must admit to an uncertainty here. My understanding of the pull of God and the connections of this world causes me to wonder whether indeed there isn’t more to it than this, more that can be said, more that can be experienced. Certainly intercessory prayer doesn’t hurt: it can help you, it can help you help the one for whom you pray, and it may even do more.

As for prayers of thanksgiving: if God did not specifically cause us to be fed or clothed or housed or otherwise fortunate, for what should we be giving thanks? First of all, for a universe constructed in such a way as to make all these things possible. For creation itself; for life itself. Second, we give thanks to God for the pull to wholeness and goodness which results in so many particular concrete instances of good. And third, we give thanks not in order that God will know that we are thankful but precisely in order to make ourselves thankful: to help ourselves realize not only how lucky we are in comparison to so many others (which is part of it), but how fortunate we are just to be in this world; to help us appreciate the many blessings which each and every one of us enjoys; to rekindle in us the sense of wonder and awe and gratitude in response to all that we so often and so cavalierly take for granted.

So indeed these different types of prayer have purposes and meaning and can play an important role in our spirituality. And certainly there are other kinds of prayer that can have meaning for us: prayers for guidance, prayers of praise, prayers whose goal is meditation on God or a feeling of union with God.

But we must remember our differences. Just because a particular type of prayer can be an important part of our spirituality, and in fact is for some people, doesn’t mean that it must be for everybody. And this brings us to another problem that is a hindrance to many people, not just in regard to a particular kind of prayer but in regard to the whole idea of prayer in general. This is the traditional idea of prayer as withdrawal from the world, as time set apart from our normal activities. Now it is true that we all need times of withdrawal, times of quiet and meditation, of solitude and reflection. (Those who do not recognize this probably need such times more than anybody.) But such times, as needful as they are, are not necessarily any more sacred or any more prayerful than other times. What we have here again is the error of making normative a particular style of prayer. John A. T. Robinson observes that "Our traditional forms of spirituality have been adapted from the monasteries for the millions,"3 which doesn’t make a lot of sense. The lives of most of us do not resemble those of monks. Robinson admits that he is one of those who never had much luck at praying in the set aside "empty spaces". Too often they simply remained empty. But in his activity, in his busy involvement with people, he found the addressing of God and the communion with God that we call prayer: "My own experience is that I am really praying for people, agonizing with God for them, precisely as I meet them and really give my soul to them."4

Surely Robinson makes a valid point here. We can fulfill the functions of prayer in our activity as well as in our "empty spaces". In our caring, our hospitality, our struggling along with others to find love and to do what is right, we can and must seek the guidance of God, trying to better sense God’s pull; we can and must intercede on behalf of others, give praise and thanks to God, and try to focus our lives on living towards God. Since people are different, there is no one way of doing these that is right for everyone. Some will benefit greatly from traditional, set-apart prayer; others will do better at -- and benefit more from -- prayer as an aspect of their activity. Each of us must use that form that works for us. But shouldn’t we all be trying to live in such a way that our whole lives can be offered to God as prayer?

5. Work

Work? What has work to do with the sacred and worship and prayer? The fact that this question can even be asked is good evidence of the problem we have had with a constricted spirituality. But in fact our spirituality cannot be limited to certain times and places. The sacred is special to us, but it points to the God who is in all places and times. Worship and prayer may take place in a time set apart, but they cannot be a serious endeavor on our part unless they give direction to the whole of our lives. And the place where this has been the most problematic is the arena of work. How does our faith impact on what we do to earn a living? How does our spirituality inform and give meaning to the hours and days and months and years we spend in our occupation?

You can relax: I’m not going to tell you that you ought to like the fact that you have to work, or that every bar of soap you sell or widget you make should give you a sense of fulfillment or should be understood as for the glory of God. Not that this would be bad; it just strikes me as unlikely. But apparently -- judging from surveys -- a majority of us actually do like what we do for a living. This is certainly something to strive for. And fulfillment in one’s job is not only a hoped for satisfaction; it is a condition that employers need to work hard at bringing about through the sharing of planning and responsibility, for the sake of productivity and quality as well as for the sake of employees. But many workers still don’t have this sense of fulfillment, and even those who do may not like the obligation of doing what they do to earn a living. I don’t like having to work -- why should you?

Of course there are some good points to the necessity of work. Civilization did not develop on this earth where the living was easy. Civilization developed where people were challenged, where they had to work together to bring food out of the ground, where without irrigation the earth would bring forth nothing. Certainly there is some analogy here to our lives as individuals. How many of us would cope well in character and accomplishment with not having to work? Some would, of course; but many would not. Many in those circumstances do not. Furthermore, much material progress is engendered by the necessity of work. But this still doesn’t mean that we like having to do it.

Not only do the vast majority of us have to work for a living, but what we do in the course of our jobs is generally not up to us. It is determined by our bosses or by our customers or by necessity. And we need to do well enough at these tasks imposed upon us to support ourselves and our families. How can our faith, our spirituality, inform our decisions and our actions on the job?

The need for integrity comes up again. We must act in ways that are consistent with our principles. In the first place this puts a negative limit on what we can do. As followers of Jesus Christ we simply cannot engage in dishonest or deceitful practices. We cannot participate in any activity that may cause harm to others, such as producing or selling an unsafe product or dumping toxic wastes. We cannot cheat on our customers or even our competitors (though certainly we need to make a decent profit from the former and we can work like the dickens to outsell the latter). If we are given the option to make more money by going against our principles in any of these ways we must say, "No." Or else we must choose the money, in so doing deciding that we are not going to be Christians after all .

We can be thankful that we live in a country which has legally mandated respect for the rights of workers. We have substantial protection against dismissal for refusal to violate the law and for refusal to go against our consciences, and substantial legal recourse if this does occur. But the time still may come when we have to choose between our livelihood and our faith. This is a painful and difficult choice which we may hope never to face. But if we believe what we say we do, is it not also a clear choice?

This refusal to participate in unethical practices, while an important part of our faith and our integrity, is only a negative limit. Our spirituality means more than this. It recognizes that all of our life is lived in the presence of God. We are called upon to nurture the best in others, to show hospitality and acceptance, to put ourselves in right relation with others through caring and sharing. This doesn’t mean accepting less than satisfactory performance from someone else: we must expect others, just as ourselves, to do their best and to contribute their efforts to the success of the enterprise. We have a right to expect -- but we must also foster and enable -- others to do their jobs adequately and competently.

But in the context of these minimum requirements we can and must add more. We must add the positive elements that come from our faith. At first sight this may seem difficult. We may not see how our responsibilities and routine tasks are at all connected with our faith, whether it be making parts on a production line or totaling numbers and billing customers, whether it be keying data into a computer or serving up hamburgers, selling real estate or planning the next step in company expansion. Quite often, except for the calling to do our job to the best of our ability and to do it honestly and ethically, the specific tasks of our job may not have much to do with our faith. Much that we do is religiously neutral. Whether we meet our production quota or design a better widget or cook a better hamburger may be important to us but matters to very few others. Only a few people are so fortunate as to do as part of their job something which has a positive impact on others.

But the rest of us still have the opportunity to make an impact -- often a very big impact -- on the lives of others. For most of us our daily work involves innumerable contacts with other people. It is impressive to see how an otherwise enjoyable job can be made miserable by the pettiness and immaturity of a few people -- in fact, by just one person if he or she is good at it, or is the boss. But it is also impressive to note how an otherwise humdrum or tedious job can be made bearable, enjoyable, and even a place for growth when people of good will act cheerfully, courteously, kindly and caringly toward one another.

Courtesy is a good place to start, courtesy along with cheerfulness. You don’t feel cheerful? That has nothing to do with it. Cheerfulness is a way of acting, not a feeling. We can make our part of any interactions pleasant and polite. And this is not just a matter of propriety or social etiquette. Rather it is an important ethical and religious question: what kind of environment do we create for our co-workers? What kind of atmosphere do we help make in which other people spend two thousand hours each year? By having respect for others, by cheerful courtesy, we can at least make our part of this environment a pleasant corner in which others feel built up instead of put down, sheltered instead of battered.

This means, too, refusing to take part in the all-too-common gossip and back-biting. Complaints about someone else -- which so often are directed to everyone except that individual -- must be shared, in private, with the person concerned. Certainly confrontation may be necessary at times -- but it can be done as discreetly and lovingly as possible.

And we can do more. We can care about these people and not treat them simply as animate machinery that we use as needed to get our own jobs done. We can care about them as people: people who have families, people who have unguessed talents and interest, people who feel lonely or anxious or unfulfilled. We can rejoice in their triumphs and commiserate in their sorrows, whether these happen on or off the job. We can encourage growth by the way we interact with people -- growth in maturity, growth in spiritual wisdom, growth towards God.

We may not be able to choose the tasks we do to earn our living, but we can choose how we treat other people. Does this seem small and unimportant? If you think so then you are part of the problem in this society. You had better go ask the people who come home and snarl at their spouse and children because of how they’ve been made to feel, or the people who suffer silently while stress mounts and ulcers and high blood pressure take their toll. The fact is that we can make our places of employment -- where we spend more waking time than any place else -- into environments that tear people down or that build people up. The cost of working in a place that tears us down is immense. But if we do not leave our faith at the front door of our workplace we each have substantial opportunity -- and substantial responsibility -- to contribute to the creation of an environment that builds others up, that reflects right relationship, and that will build up ourselves in the process.

6. The Church

We have seen that our spirituality is informed by the sacred and by worship, but that it cannot be limited to these arenas and that in fact our spirituality is directed by these into the whole of our life, to the God in whose presence we always are. Given the broad role and all-inclusive realm of spirituality, we need to ask: what is the Church? What is its purpose?

First, a preliminary note: by Church with a capital "C" I do not mean any one particular organization. Rather I mean the totality of all those groups and organizations that function self-consciously as Christian churches. (The fact that there are some organizations about which it is questionable whether they function as Christian churches is beyond the purview of this discussion.)

The Church is, of course, a human institution. As such, it has both the strengths and weaknesses that you would expect. It suffers at times from inertia and an unwillingness to change, from internal power struggles, from putting its self-preservation ahead of its mission, from the abuse of worldly power, from misinterpretation and misunderstanding, from persecution by others and (far worse) persecution of others. But it also has the ability to endure through the ups and downs of history and the comings and goings of individuals, to teach the message of Jesus to generation after generation, to inspire countless men and women to perform deeds of love and mercy, and even with all its failings is able to help a certain number of people choose to really focus their lives on love of God and love of others in accordance with Jesus of Nazareth.

What is the purpose, the function, of the Church? It proclaims that it is the Church of Jesus Christ. This must be the primary determinant of what it is about. It claims to be the body of Christ in the world today, that Jesus the Christ is its head. If this is to mean anything at all significant then the purpose of the Church must be to encourage people to adopt Jesus of Nazareth as the compass for their lives. It does this in a variety of ways: by teaching about Jesus of Nazareth; by teaching and preaching his values and his understanding of God; by providing regular reminders of these values which are so different from those promoted by Madison Avenue and the American Dream; by helping people experience the sacred in a way that reinforces the sacred meaning-giving role of these values; by providing an arena in which people can lend mutual support to each other in trying to live out a life based on these values; and by setting an example in the way the Church itself acts and treats people and deals with issues.

This is what it means to be the Church: enabling and leading people to follow Jesus Christ, not in their words alone but by living towards God, by putting Jesus’ message at the center of their lives. At their best, individual churches can encourage the kind of small groups that can give us some of the benefits of the "radical response" discussed in Chapter 17 without the accompanying drawbacks. Caring groups can meet regularly to share, to create community with one another, to discuss how members are doing in their own struggles to be faithful, to make sure that each one takes the questions of faith seriously. People can be held lovingly accountable to one another as an aid and encouragement on this journey we call life,5 as well as supported during the difficult times that we all have.

Of course the Church must also embody Jesus’ message in its own life. In worship, in structure, in mission and in day to day activities it must show what it means to have Jesus’ teachings as compass and focus. In every way it knows how the Church must stress the sacred importance not only of God but also of serving God in the right way -- a way that stands in opposition to so much we are taught by our society which sometimes pretends to be Christian.

This will mean involvement in both personal evangelism and social justice. Sometimes it will lead to numerical increase and "success" in worldly terms, but sometimes it will mean taking unpopular stands and sacrificing this "success." But the Church’s role is not to be successful. It is to be faithful. Indeed, being faithful is its only true success.

7. Where Do We Go From Here?

The purpose of this book has been to show that we do not need to adopt all of the traditional Christian concepts and beliefs in order to be Christian, to propose some alternatives in keeping with our faith and our modern common sense, and to make the point that being a Christian has more to do with living a certain way than with believing certain doctrines. Where do we go from here?

The purpose in doing all this is to enable each and every one of us to confront the message of Jesus of Nazareth. This needs to be our first step: to confront the message that the true meaning in life is found in loving God and in loving others, that the only true success is a life lived faithfully. We must face his challenge to not only believe this but to live this, to live our lives towards God.

Only you can decide whether you will accept this challenge or reject it. Do not consider it lightly. It is not a path of comfort and complacency. There is much at stake for you either way.

For those of us who have decided to try to live our lives towards God with Jesus as our focus, we can insist on our right and our obligation to develop a theology that makes sense to us and that is faithful to the message of the Christ. We must try to make our families, our churches, our communities, and even our world the kind of places they ought to be. We need to live responsibly, to put ourselves in right relationship with our selves, our neighbors, and our God. And we will find in this a joy, a freedom, and a wholeness of self that is unobtainable in any other way.

And now we need to get on with it. There is much to be done.

 

Notes:

1. For the purpose of this discussion I am considering "holy" to be synonymous with "sacred".

2. These types are best developed and most used in conjunction with the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator Test. See Isabel Briggs Myers, Introduction to Type (Palo Alto, California: Consulting Psychologists Press, 1976), and other material from this publisher.

3. John A. T. Robinson. Honest to God (The Westminster Press, 1963) p. 92. See pp. 91-104.

4. Ibid., p. 99.

5. A number of churches have fine programs along this line, but I am particularly impressed by the Covenant Discipleship groups recently being developed in the United Methodist Church. (See David Watson’s Accountable Discipleship [Nashville: Discipleship Resources. 1984.])

Chapter 18: The Economic System

"Thus says the Lord: for three transgressions of Israel, and for four, I will not revoke the punishment; because they sell the righteous for silver, (and) trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth? (Amos 2:6 -- 7)

 

In addressing the question of how we as Christians relate to wealth we must also consider the economic system itself. A lot has been written about the morality of economic systems, much of it pure bunk. There has long been a conviction in certain political and theological circles that capitalism itself as a system is to blame for much of the injustice, oppression and poverty in the world. This point of view periodically gains strength before undergoing a counterattack from those who claim that capitalism is ordained by our faith and blessed by God. Both of these views on capitalism, of course, are matched by complementary positive and negative attitudes about socialism. And all of these convictions about a particular economic system being the bane or blessing of the world involve immense oversimplification and misunderstanding. I will argue that we need to re-think and refine the distinctions we make between economic systems and also that systems do not absolve individuals of moral responsibility.

The role of any economic system is to meet the two challenges of production and distribution. The strength of capitalism is unquestionably in the production of goods and services; the attractiveness of socialism lies in its approach to their distribution. But what do we mean by these two terms, capitalism and socialism? Broadly speaking, capitalism is the economic system in which the means of production and distribution are owned by individuals and/or by non-governmental corporations, and in which production and marketing decisions are made by these individuals and corporations. Socialism is the economic system in which the means of production and distribution are owned by the state, which decides through central planning what is to be produced and how it is to be distributed. (In theory it is to be the workers who own the means of production, but so far it has always turned out to be the state.) However, there are vast differences within each of these two categories between economic systems that are nominally grouped together, greater differences than there are between some systems that we place on opposite sides of the capitalism/socialism dividing line. We will take a look at these differences below. But first we well begin by examining the case against capitalism.

The Case Against Capitalism

We have discussed the difficult challenge of living faithfully in an affluent capitalist system, and we cannot ignore the charge that this system itself is sinful. The case against capitalism rests on (1) the motivation upon which capitalism is based, and (2) the observable results of capitalism.

First, the motivation: capitalism is based on each individual earning what they can for themselves through their own efforts. It cannot be denied that this is essentially selfish. It is the profit motive that fuels the system, and this system depends on competition for its efficiencies. Compared to this, does not the socialist premise of cooperation, of working together for the common good and seeing that everyone is taken care of, seem preferable? Second, the results: in a number of capitalist countries there is a vast disparity between the wealthy elite and the poverty-stricken masses. Even in the United States of America there are notable differences between owners and workers. Can we justify this? Let us look at each of these in turn.

(1) "Capitalism is based on selfishness"

Some defenders of capitalism try to deny this. This is silly. It is obvious to all of us that capitalism is indeed based on each of us looking out for our own self-interest. We must admit that this is true. But is this wrong? Does pointing this out constitute a criticism of the system? Only if it is a practical or moral weakness for a human economic system to be based on selfishness. I am not at all convinced that it is, provided that steps are taken to alleviate any unjust hardships brought about by this.

Let me spell out my assumptions here: first, that an economic system is not an end in itself but a tool for reaching certain ends; second, that the first purpose of an economic system is to encourage adequate and efficient production, without which there is nothing to distribute; and third, that this system should also promote (or at least be conducive to) certain socio-political goals, among which are freedom, equality of opportunity, and the provision of basic necessities for those unable to provide for themselves. Therefore, if a capitalist economic system meets these goals -- and I will argue that some do and some don’t -- then it meets our goals for an economic system, in which case it makes no sense to complain because it is based on selfishness.

Furthermore, if we grant that people are concerned first and foremost with their own well-being -- for which there is ample evidence in the world and ample precedent in Christian theology -- then capitalism is only being practical in appealing to this. People are motivated by self-interest. We work harder and produce more when we realize some benefit from this ourselves. There is nothing demonic about this. And even if we wish we were different, we aren’t -- this is human nature. Is there anything wrong with an economic system being realistic and practical? Might it not function better if it is?

But, say the critics, capitalism encourages our selfishness and promotes competition over cooperation. This is a serious accusation that deserves careful consideration.

To begin with, it must be stated again that so far as I can determine, selfishness is indeed a predisposition of the species. It is not caused by capitalism. Capitalism does allow more freedom for selfishness and more opportunity for the acquisitive, but some capitalistic systems also allow more freedom and opportunity for everything else as well. But does capitalism encourage this selfishness?

If we are honest we must say that what encourages this selfishness and acquisitiveness is us. You and me. It is our "American Dream", the pursuit of materialistic possessions as our goal in life. It is our turning our backs on God and on faith and depending instead on worldly well-being for our meaning in life. For us to blame "the system" is a cop-out. For us to blame capitalism while we live for ourselves alone is to compound our sin of selfishness with the hypocrisy of denying responsibility. Pogo was right: "We have met the enemy and he is us."

Having said that, however, we must also admit that capitalism has produced the affluence that results in more and more temptations to us. But this is because capitalism has succeeded in its primary purpose as an economic system, that of production. Certainly a successful consumer-oriented economy encourages us to want things for ourselves. But do we blame it for its success? Ought not the question to be: "Can we as a society establish a way to complement capitalism’s success in production with a just distribution? And are we as a society up to the moral challenge of the temptations of materialism?" Indeed, these are the questions. They remain to be answered.

As for competition, capitalism -- or at least "free enterprise" capitalism (see below) -- certainly encourages this. But is this bad? Yes and no. Competition for business should and does encourage efficiency, innovation, improvement in products and services, and lower prices. These are certainly results to be desired. But competition also encourages an array of unethical practices to gain business and to make profits. Again, the question is whether we can sufficiently discourage the bad results while we benefit from the good results.

(2)"Capitalism is responsible for the vast disparity between the rich elite and the poor masses, and so is responsible for much injustice and suffering in the world."

It is true that such disparities exist, in some places to a shocking and indefensible degree. It is also true that some of these places have economic systems which are called capitalist. Before we blame capitalism as such, however, we need to look at the differences between various types of capitalism and to see whether there is a particular variant of it that may be involved.

A Typology of Capitalism

We need a way to categorize capitalist systems that takes into account those differences which are relevant to our discussion. We can do this by setting up three pairs, or "dichotomies", to consider three different aspects of any given system. Each dichotomy contains two opposing types, and while there are intergrades in the real world, this method will allow us to point out the most important distinctions. The three dichotomies are: (i) elite vs. free enterprise capitalism; (ii) democratic vs. despotic capitalism; and (iii) responsible vs. irresponsible capitalism.

(i) Elite vs. free enterprise capitalism: this first dichotomy has to do with whether the system actually functions as an open competitive marketplace. On the one side is elite capitalism, in which a few families or individuals own a large percentage of the wealth, there is a consequent absence of a large middle class, and control of the economic system is by the elite. (Not surprisingly, such systems are often also "despotic" as defined below.)

The second type in this first dichotomy is free enterprise capitalism. This is characterized by competition for the marketplace which is open to anyone who can produce the goods and services, unhindered by government subsidy, monopoly, or other interference with competition.1 For a system actually to function as free enterprise capitalism there must be opportunity for individuals in the general populace to obtain education and also to obtain access to capital and resources for new ventures. Without these there is no real access to the marketplace. Free enterprise capitalism depends on actual competition or at least the real potential for it. In elite capitalism, where a small group of families may control the vast majority of land, capital, or other resources, this openness to competition is seen as a threat and is not present.

Thus the competition and the "efficiencies of the marketplace" that are often thought of as intrinsic to capitalism are in fact present only in free enterprise capitalism and not in elite capitalism. There are many who would define capitalism as necessarily involving free enterprise and competition. If we accept this argument then we have to say that elite capitalism is in fact not capitalism at all. Instead it must be categorized with feudalism, a system to which it is in fact much closer than it is to other variants of capitalism. (This distinction should be helpful in foreign policy decisions. It is not enough to know we are supporting a non-socialist economy. Is it free enterprise? Or feudalism?)

(ii) Democratic vs. despotic capitalism: this second dichotomy is not concerned with the economic system per se but with the political system with which it cohabitates. The question here is, to whom does the government answer? Who’s in charge? Who determines what rules shall govern the society and its economic system?

Democratic capitalism is characterized by a functioning, representative government -- that is, it is governed by individuals who are chosen by the populace in free and fair elections and who are then able to freely legislate and enforce such laws and rules as they deem proper. Despotic capitalism, on the other hand, is characterized by control of the government by an individual or a relatively small group such as military junta, an aristocracy or elite class, or a minority political party. It is important to note the political basis of an economic system as one of our basic dichotomies because there is a very real difference in the foundation of a capitalism in which the rules governing the system are determined by a few -- rules concerning wages, monopolies, taxation, use of natural resources, government benefits, etc. -- and one in which these rules are determined by representatives who are chosen by the general populace.

(iii) Responsible vs. irresponsible capitalism: any economic system is going to have drawbacks and negative effects. They all have social costs. This third dichotomy is concerned with whether a society takes steps to offset these negative effects. To the extent that it does we can call it responsible. To the extent that it does not address the known social costs of its economic system, it is irresponsible.

A capitalist economic system can encourage initiative, efficiency, production, freedom, self-sufficiency and the accumulation of wealth. A society may choose capitalism for these reasons. But when it does, it is also choosing a system which leaves some people unable to provide for themselves, whether for reasons of disability, age, industrial dislocation, lack of marketable skills, etc. For a system to be responsible capitalism, it must include mechanisms that either enable these individuals to provide for themselves or else provide basic necessities and decencies for them. These mechanisms may include such methods as unemployment Insurance, retirement and disability benefits, and anti-poverty health and welfare programs. What these various programs do is redistribute the wealth created by a capitalistic system in order to compensate those in the society who are unable to gain an adequate measure of this wealth on their own.

For an economic system to be responsible it is also necessary that it include adequate public health and safety regulations to ensure that industrial practices do not endanger employees or the present or future public welfare, and also that it provide adequate protection of the natural environment. To the extent that a society has adopted capitalism but has not put into place these measures to protect its public and to provide for those in need, this is an economic system that can only be called irresponsible capitalism.

By now it is obvious that there can be vast differences among economic systems that are all categorized as "capitalist." The difference between one that is elite, despotic, and irresponsible and one that is free enterprise, democratic and responsible is so great as to make one wonder how they can be lumped together in any meaningful way.

We began this section with the question of whether capitalism is to blame for the unjustifiable disparity that is found in some societies between the wealth of a few and the poverty of the masses. It cannot be denied that the particular economic system in these societies at least made this disparity possible. It is much more problematic as to whether these economic systems ought rightly to be considered capitalist. But even if they were, given the great differences between capitalist systems, it does not seem reasonable to blame capitalism in general if a particular type of capitalist system encourages gross inequities.

But are not poverty and injustice present even in the best of capitalist systems? And are there not in all cases large disparities between the wealth of the owners and that of the workers?

We must admit that there are. But there are problems with every economic system devised by human beings. What we need to do is to compare the benefits and problems of actual, feasible economic systems. It serves no purpose to compare a real system -- whether capitalist or socialist -- with the imaginary perfection of a system which has never existed (and which never will in any manner resembling perfection).

So: yes, we must admit that capitalism does indeed permit some individuals to get very rich and others to be poor, and that even in a responsible capitalist system that ameliorates the effects of poverty this disparity exists. But we also need to remember that we said the goal of an economic system is to provide equality of opportunity, not equality itself. There will always be differences in wealth and lifestyle. The question is, does responsible, free enterprise capitalism provide sufficient equality of opportunity? And how does it compare with the alternatives?

The Case Against Socialism

We have examined a couple of the popular arguments against capitalism. Now we must take a look at socialism. I have said that we must compare real and imperfect economic systems with each other, not with imaginary perfect systems. What is the reality of socialism, and what are its advantages and disadvantages?

In theory, socialism is the ownership of the means of production and distribution by "the workers" or the people. In practice, however, socialism means ownership by the state, which may or may not represent the people. The attractiveness of socialism lies in its approach to distribution, as opposed to its effectiveness at production, and in its stated underlying principles -- that is, socialism is not supposed to be based on our self-interest but on the principles of providing for everyone, of distributing the wealth in an equitable manner.

There are two principal types of socialism: "full socialism" in which the state owns all (or the vast majority) of business and industry and controls production and marketing decisions through central planning; and "partial socialism", in which the state owns major businesses deemed to be essential to the national good, and/or subsidizes certain industries to save them from the impact of competition, and provides certain goods and services deemed to be essential at reduced or no cost, but still allows major sectors of the economy to operate as free enterprise capitalism. Both types of socialism can point to accomplishments which include (1) a vast improvement in education and health care for the general populace, to the point where the education and medical care of the poor is in some cases better than that available to them even in advanced capitalist countries; and (2) a reduction in the disparity between the poor and the rich, through supplying goods and services to the poor and also through elimination or heavy taxation of the rich.

While their accomplishments may be similar, however, the negative aspects of these two types of socialism are drastically different. Full socialist economies, without exception, involve governments that are undemocratic -- "despotic", according to our earlier definition. They are all Marxist and outside of Africa they are all communist. The social cost of their party-dominated political tyranny is immense: control of information, censorship, suppression of dissent and debate, and prison and exile for those who speak out in unapproved ways. Full socialist countries match the despotic feudalisms in tyranny while surpassing them in social services but also in the thoroughness of their suppression.

As an economic system the weakness of full socialism is merely that it doesn’t work very well at what it is supposed to do. Central planning and the lack of incentive have produced agricultural shortfalls, industrial mismanagement, shoddy products, permanent shortages in housing and consumer goods, economic collapse staved off only by Western credit, and a shockingly low standard of living in what are supposed to be modern industrial nations. These results have become so evident that even the leaders of China and the Soviet Union have acknowledged them and are currently involved in efforts to institute some of the efficiencies of partial socialism or even of capitalism. Since they are attempting to do this without renouncing their Marxist principles and without giving up the political tyranny of the party it will be interesting to see what develops here, for it seems likely they will get either less economic reform than they want or more political reform than they want.

Partial socialism is a very different matter. In the first place, economic systems which are partial socialist can and do exist in functioning democracies. And they do permit many of the efficiencies of free enterprise in large sectors of the economy and so tend to have a better standard of living than comparable countries which are full socialist. Their primary weaknesses as economic systems are (1) that subsidization of major sectors of the economy (either through ownership or subsidy) encourages inefficiency and discourages the moving of resources into new areas that may be more productive, and (2) that the high tax rate necessary to provide substantial governmental services and subsidies reduces incentive. Together these two create a real danger of inefficiency and stagnation. We need to be aware that this is not just a nuisance: if it is unchecked it can result in economic collapse.

Capitalism vs. Socialism?

When considering economic systems the question has too often been put in terms of capitalism vs. socialism. But as we have seen, the differences within each of these broad categories are such as to make the distinction between the two well-nigh useless except for propagandist arguments intended to produce heat rather than light. The similarities between democratic/free enterprise/responsible capitalism and democratic/partial socialism are so strong that it is hard to say where socialistic capitalism ends and capitalistic socialism begins. If one looks at the world it is clear that the big differences are not between these two, but between these as a group on the one hand and despotic elite capitalism grouped with despotic full socialism on the other hand. Thus the big difference is not between the United States and Great Britain, for instance, but between the U.S.A. and the U.K. on one hand and countries such as certain feudalistic Latin American ones grouped with communist eastern European ones on the other hand.

It is a sad fact that too often when we have been called upon to "defend democracy" we have in fact been defending one kind of despotism against another. The only reason a despotic capitalism should be preferred over a despotic socialism is that the former usually isn’t as good at despotism and is somewhat less difficult to change. An elite/despotic/ irresponsible capitalism (which might better be called feudalism) needs to be changed not only because of the evil it causes in itself, but also because of the even more intransigent evil it will lead to if it is not reformed. The unfortunate aspect of socialist revolutions is not that they destroy a "capitalist" system. This particular kind of capitalism or feudalism -- one that allows so much human suffering as to engender rebellion, one that refuses to reform itself -- deserves and needs to be destroyed. The unfortunate aspect is that all too often people exchange despotic capitalist poverty for despotic socialist poverty.

My personal belief is that democratic, free enterprise capitalism can provide a higher standard of living and more freedom than the socialist alternatives and can still be responsible in providing for those who are unable to provide for themselves. The problem is that it is extremely difficult to move from feudalism to democratic responsible capitalism. The reason for this should come as no surprise: it is plain old-fashioned selfishness. Those who have the power and wealth generally want to keep it, even if it is more than they could possibly need. So those who have the power to change the system all too often choose not to, trying to hang on to everything instead of promoting peaceful reform that would still leave them well-off and comfortable, all too often forestalling peaceful reform altogether. If the evolution to a decent capitalism is thus prevented we need to keep in mind that at least some variants of socialism would be considerably preferable to the status quo. (One has to wonder why there has not been more encouragement of democratic capitalist rebellions against feudalism. Have we so forgotten our own rebellious origins that any such enterprise is now seen as Marxist?)

To repeat: a cursory look at the nations of the world makes it clear that the important differences in social responsibility and freedom are between the democratic types (of both capitalist and socialist economic system) and the despotic types, not between capitalism and socialism as such. Therefore, if we as Christians are going to work to improve the systems in which people live -- as indeed we must -- then we need to avoid promoting or condemning capitalism or socialism as such. We need rather to oppose and to try to change those systems of both kinds which oppress and dehumanize, to recognize the strengths of the best systems of both kinds, and to help find ways to eliminate the inequities and ameliorate the injustices that exist in even the best of socialist and capitalist systems.

The Challenge to Capitalism

I have said that free enterprise/democratic/responsible capitalism can provide more freedom and a better standard of living -- even for those who are unable to provide for themselves -- than can socialism. The big question, however, is not one of ability. It is one of will. The question is whether we will be responsible, whether we can be capitalists without losing our moral fiber and our very souls.

This is the challenge to those of us who profess to follow the Christ while living in and enjoying the fruits of a capitalist system. This challenge presents itself in the form of three dangers: (1) the danger of a growing disparity between economic classes; (2) the danger of materialism, of the rewards of the economic system becoming the goals and values of society; and (3) the danger of a selfish pseudo-individualism that evades individual moral responsibility.

Danger Number One: Class Division

We must be concerned about the possibility of serious and permanent class divisions developing in our society. This could happen along the traditional lines between owners and workers, and could also develop between what we might call the comfortable and the marginal. We will take a look at both of these.

Several very important changes have taken place since socialism developed in response to the inequities of a capitalist system that allowed owners of industries to get rich while their employees worked long hours in often unsafe conditions for low pay with no health or retirement benefits. First of all, the government has responded to justifiable public concern over the years with the enactment of legislation governing child labor, minimum wage, health and safety conditions, overtime pay, and other labor practices. Second, the right to collective bargaining has been enshrined in law, and the results of these contract negotiations worked in combination with the supremacy and prosperity of American heavy industry in the mid-twentieth century to produce a previously undreamt of affluence for skilled laborers.

Third, it is no longer clear in many cases just who the owners are, with millions of shares of stock being held by the public, many by individuals but also many by pension funds, insurance companies and other investment concerns.

So, for these and other reasons, we do not now often see our society as one divided into wealthy exploiting owners and poor exploited workers.

We have also had a chance to see the reality of socialism. It does not, after all, offer an alternative to working for someone else. The difference is that in socialism the "someone else" is the state, which has the ability to be as enlightened or as despotic as any private owner, although if you don’t get along with your employer it’s harder to find a new one. It might also be noted that there are a whole set of special conditions involved when one tries to do collective bargaining with a prime minister or a general.

Nevertheless, in spite of the great advances made by workers and in spite of having seen that socialism cannot offer them a worker’s utopia or even an alternative to working for someone else, we must take note that there are still a couple of very troubling aspects to the division between owners and workers. The first problem is one of attitude: even though owners are dependent on workers’ labor, and the workers are dependent on the owners’ capital and initiative, too often both sides view their relationship as adversarial. Those companies in which their interdependence is recognized and in which people are treated with respect tend to do better for both owners and workers in the long run. The fact that this mutual respect is not as common in the United States as it ought to be remains an important underlying cause of our problems with productivity and foreign competition.

The second problem is not one of attitude but is rather a glaring and dangerous disparity that we act as if we are blind to.2 When our nation began there existed an economic democracy and equal opportunity because of the high value of labor and the availability of land for those willing to work it. This was a unique historical combination, both elements of which have long since disappeared. The industrial revolution devalued the real worth of labor and increased the productive capacity of capital. Capital is now much more important to producing wealth than is labor. A 1985 study reported that according to the Federal Reserve Board only two percent of all U.S. families Own "20 percent of all residential property, 30 percent of all liquid assets, 33 percent of all business property, 39 percent of all bonds, 20 percent of all stocks, and 71 percent of all tax-free financial holdings".3 It can be argued that the ownership of such vast portions of our capital by so few threatens our democratic system. It certainly makes for very unequal opportunity.

But what can be done? Would I advocate a socialist approach to redistribution of capital? On the contrary, I recommend a very capitalist approach to addressing this problem. Worker ownership of whole companies or of significant amounts of stock is a real and proven possibility, with established financing vehicles and enabling federal legislation. The details involved are beyond the scope of this book, but suffice it to say that the mechanisms are in place

Some observers of the American scene would go so far as to say that we do not now have a democratic/capitalist economy but rather a plutocratic/capitalist economy. This claim is well presented by Louis and Patricia Kelso in Democracy and Economic Power,4 in which the Kelsos argue that because of the disparities in capital ownership we do not now have the equality of opportunity necessary for free enterprise capitalism, or economic (in addition to political) democracy. They argue cogently that worker ownership plans would tremendously increase our productivity and prosperity and can be brought about through methods that have already proven successful in a number of corporations.2 Additionally, they propose a number of other ways to distribute our wealth through innovative, capitalist methods. I strongly recommend this little book to everyone. Whether or not we agree with their answers, if we are to create a better economic system and avoid a serious class division we need to confront and respond to this and similar analyses of our current problems. Certainly the Kelsos’ proposals are provocative enough to spur us to find new ways of addressing our situation within a capitalist framework.

The other class division that threatens our society is a division between what we might call the comfortable and the marginal. The "comfortable" include most of our workers, the large middle class -- those who have sufficient resources to afford decent housing, a new (or recent vintage) automobile every so often, occasional vacation trips, and numerous little amenities around the home. These people are also likely to be covered by health insurance and a retirement plan at work In most cases they work hard for what they have, but at least they have something to show for it: security and decencies and a lifestyle beyond the wildest imagination of their grandparents. Most of us are in the comfortable middle class, even if maintaining this comfort causes us great anxiety.

The "marginal", on the other hand, are in a different situation. They cannot afford their own house -- at least not one that you or I would consider livable -- and maybe not even a decent apartment. They are either underemployed or unemployed, continually on the economic fringe, perhaps unable even to feed their families without government assistance.

The challenge of equipping and training those on government assistance is an old challenge which we have yet to meet. We seem unable to move beyond ideology of the left and the right to find out what works, and our political lack of will is condemning yet another generation to hopelessness and poverty. We must not let this happen

A newer challenge is the increasing number of people with jobs who fall below the poverty level. While there is (as always) some disagreement about the meaning of the statistics, it seems clear that the shift from traditionally unionized and higher-paying manufacturing jobs to lower-paying service industry jobs is a contributing factor to this. Whatever the complex of reasons, there are more families than before in which one or even both parents work full-time and yet they still remain financially marginal. And this situation is exacerbated by the fact that these people who are least able to afford medical bills or to set aside money for retirement are also the least likely to be covered by health insurance and retirement plans.

We must not let our society become one in which a relatively few professional, technical and managerial workers are well rewarded while the many struggle on the economic fringes, just as we cannot let our society become one in which wealth is so concentrated in the hands of a few that we lose our equal opportunity. We must confront both aspects of this problem with all the ingenuity and commitment we have, otherwise our capitalism will cease to be democratic, will cease to provide opportunity, will cease to be a supportable and defensible economic system.

Danger Number Two: Materialism

When our economic system is based on the incentive of material reward, and works well because of this, it also brings a great spiritual danger. There is a real danger that we might come to equate success in the economic system with a successful life, that we might come to identify the material rewards of the system as our goal in life and the source of meaning for us. In fact it is readily apparent in the lives around us that many people in our society have already made this grievous misidentification. And we in the churches have not done enough to make clear the difference between economic success and success as a human being.

I have already dealt at some length with this problem of money in Chapter 17. We need to understand that we cannot serve God and Mammon, that to set economic reward as our goal in life is to fail as a Christian and a human being.

Danger Number Three: Selfish Pseudo-Individualism

Individualism that is informed by integrity and compassion offers one of the great hopes of humanity, giving us the prophets and critics and dreamers which we so badly need, and giving us also the hope that some brave souls will lead us where we ought to go. However, an individualism guided instead by a desire for material gain and emotional ease is nothing more than selfishness -- a heartless, sinful selfishness that exacerbates the dangers of division and materialism, eats away at the moral fiber of our society and threatens to destroy the fabric that holds us together. This is the kind of individualism that appeals to our great religious and political principles in name while turning its back on them in fact.

Individualism can be responsible. It can lead people to be concerned with the ethical implications of their actions and to accept responsibility for what they do. It can give us the ability not to go along with others just for the sake of going along, and so allow us to base our actions on what is right and what is wrong. It enables us to realize that our actions as individuals do affect others, that we as individuals can and must do our part.

On the other hand there is that selfishness which masquerades as individualism. In order to look out for themselves, this "individualism" leads people to go along with the crowd, or to acquiesce in the questionable practices of family, employer, or community. In the name of necessity, or security, or advancement, or just out of cowardice, these people abrogate their individual responsibility and take part in questionable or immoral or illegal activities because they are following orders, or because business demands it, or because if they don’t somebody else will, or because it’s the only way to get that extra dollar, or because it’s simply easier.

And this is often done in the name of individualism, of "looking out for number one". In fact this "individualism" actually surrenders individual responsibility, giving it up to superiors or to society or to "the system" or to whoever we see as our peer group. It is a pernicious pseudo-individualism. To call it individualism is just a way of dressing up our base selfishness in high-sounding phrases.

When it comes to sharing of our own good fortune with others who are in great need, this selfishness continues to try to sound like individualism: "I take care of myself; others ought to do the same." But this is just a further evasion of personal responsibility. All of us have benefited from our education or our upbringing or our innate abilities (for which we can take no credit). Those of use who have received any measure of success have in fact benefited from our economic system, and we who benefit from a system have a personal responsibility to assist those who are unable to benefit from it. And we who are fortunate have a responsibility to assist those who are not. No amount of posturing about other individuals’ responsibilities can remove our own responsibility here.

So in fact this pseudo-individualism -- really selfishness masquerading as individualism -- evades individual responsibility and by so doing sacrifices individual integrity. And in giving up individual integrity -- whether for popularity or monetary gain or whatever -- it gives up its right to claim to be individualism. It is after all nothing more than selfishness, the "antichrist" to real individualism.

There is an all-too-prevalent attitude which encourages this pseudo-individualistic abdication of responsibility: the blaming of individual or corporate actions on "the system." This is done both by some who oppose the particular system and by some who support the system but oppose individual responsibility.

Now it is of course true that any "system", any society or culture, will encourage certain ways of acting, both good and bad. It is true that some systems produce such horrendously ill effects that we are obligated to try to change them. It is also true that we must work hard to ensure that the laws which govern our own system protect the public health and welfare and provide aid for those who cannot make it on their own. Nevertheless, while this concern about systemic effects is absolutely necessary, in very many cases to blame "the system" is both whitewash and hogwash.

Decisions are made and carried out by individual human beings, acting alone or in groups. Whether it is a technician or company president, janitor or engineer, sales team or board of directors, each of the individuals involved is responsible for his or her actions to God. If any of these people make or carry out a decision to cheat or to steal or to pollute or to do something that threatens health or safety or the public good, they cannot escape their own personal moral responsibility by pointing to the corporate structure or the capitalist system. Those individuals are not robots; they have a choice. Those who choose loyalty to money or security over loyalty to God have sinned. They are personally culpable. It is time we quit excusing individuals because of "the system". The sooner we do, the sooner "the system" will quit producing some of its bad results which are after all nothing other than the cumulative effect of individual actions.6

These are the dangers that constitute the challenge to democratic capitalism: class division resulting from an inequitable distribution of our society’s wealth; the spiritual emptiness of materialism; and the selfish pseudo-individualism that avoids personal responsibility. The challenge is not to an impersonal system. The challenge is to us -- to you and me -- the individual citizens who make up this system. Through our individual decisions on how to live, what to spend our money on, who to vote for and which policies to advocate, we will determine the nature of this society. We can’t blame it on a central planning committee or a ruling elite. It’s up to us.

If we accept our individual moral responsibility, if we are careful about how we use our money and how we share it, and if we make sure to extend our caring about others to our political and economic system, then we will be able to make this a capitalist economy that does what it ought to. But this will not be easy It requires hard work. It means attentiveness and diligence and an openness to new ideas and new methods, for we must find ways to open the system to all.

If we are self-centered, if we act out of concern only for our own wealth and privileges, if we do not share as individuals and as a society, then we are sinful. And not only that, but we will find that we stand in risk of losing this system which we claim to value so highly. If this comes to pass -- if we lose our capitalism and our freedom because we could not (or would not) make it work for the benefit of all, because it collapsed under the strain of class division and materialism and unrestrained selfishness -- then we will have no one to blame but ourselves.

 

Notes:

1. Regulations establishing such things as a minimum wage, safety standards and pollution controls apply equally to all parties and thus do not interfere with competition.

2. I am indebted for the background to these three paragraphs to Louis O. Kelso and Patricia Hetter Kelso, Democracy and Economic Power: Extending the ESOP Revolution (Ballinger Publishing Company, 1986).

3. Grey Matter, "Auditing American Affluence: Are We Really Getting Richer?" (New York: Grey Advertising, 1985), pp. 5 -- 6. (Quoted by Kelso and Kelso).

4. Kelso and Kelso, Op. Cit.

5. We refer to true worker ownership with advise and consent powers, not the pseudo-ownership plans sometimes used to facilitate management buy-outs of corporations.

6. We can take some comfort at the fact that finally, toward the end of the twentieth century, prosecutors have begun applying criminal statutes to corporate officers who make decisions that (for instance) cause death or injury to a worker or to the public, and charges brought against these individuals include manslaughter and homicide charges. This should have a salutary impact on people recognizing their individual responsibility.

Chapter 17: Possessions and the Use of Money

"No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon." (Matthew 6:24)

 

In Chapter 16 we looked at the themes of a Christian life and at how such a life is oriented towards God and neighbor. There is, however, one god in particular that competes for our loyalty with a great deal of success. This god named Mammon -- money or wealth -- commands the devotion of so many in our society that we need to ask how we as Christians can deal with a pagan god whose worship seems institutionalized in our very economic system. If we are to live faithfully and in right relationship, what does this mean for our participation in the middle class of a capitalist society? In this chapter we will look at our approach as individuals to possessions and the use of money, and then in Chapter 18 we will consider the economic system itself.

But first this note: I am not saying that how we use our money is more important than how we use our time and our talents. Certainly how we use these is crucial. But our time and talents often follow our treasure. (I have often heard it said that it’s easier for people to give money to a project than time, but I have never seen the resulting flood of funds that this would lead one to expect.)

We do need to be as careful in how we use our time and talents as in how we use our money. This understanding is implicit in the discussion that follows.

But it is with regard to money and property that the apparent values of our society most obviously conflict with the values of Christianity. This difference in values must be seriously confronted by anyone who has decided to try to live as a Christian. An individual is considered a success by our society if they earn a lot of money, gain power and influence, and/or accumulate valuable possessions. On the other hand, an individual is successful at living as a Christian if they live for others; if they are oriented towards sharing (not gaining for themselves), towards people (not things), towards values (not status or public opinion); if they are concerned first and foremost about living in right relationship.

Since this faith orientation is incompatible with the direction and the singleness of purpose usually necessary to acquire significant wealth, it is uncommon for serious Christians to be rich (by American standards -- are we not all rich in comparison to most of the world?). But this problem confronts all of us, not just the wealthy. The serious Christian cannot wholeheartedly buy into the "American Dream".

And is there any such thing as an "unserious" Christian, a Christian who is not serious about his or her faith? How could there be? Only if we acknowledged as Christian all those people who say they "believe" but do not live accordingly. But to call these people Christians is to make a mockery of the word, a mockery of faith and commitment and Jesus Christ.

This is not necessarily to condemn those who do not live as Christians (except -- if they claim to be Christians -- as hypocrites). Going against the accepted values of society, especially when it means turning away from material rewards, is a difficult thing to do. We should not expect that a large percentage of people will do this, and those who do not, need not be thought of as immoral or inferior in any way. There are many fine human beings among them. But if they place pursuit of the American dream above living faithfully then they simply aren’t Christians.

This being the case, how then does a middle class American live as a Christian?

I do not ask this as a trivial question. I am myself a child of the great American middle class, and I love it dearly. It is, as a whole, the best-educated, most civic-minded, most tolerant and charitable majority of any society anywhere. Yet I have struggled long and hard with the question of whether it is possible to be a member of this class and at the same time to be a Christian.

It comes down to the age-old challenge of being in the world but not of it. We can live as Christians in this world and therefore as members of a particular socio-economic class as long as we do not automatically accept its values and standards. We must judge these by a higher standard, accepting what is good and loving and rejecting what is not.

This may sound difficult. At least at first, it is even harder than that.

The values of the middle class by which we must beware being seduced include the presumption that we have a right to aspire to a certain level of material prosperity, and that this prosperity will (and ought to be) our primary goal, and will (and ought to) show itself in a certain level of material possessions. For example, we must recognize and challenge the all-too-common presumption that the higher paying job is necessarily better. (This presumption is in fact being challenged by many people who are placing more emphasis on job satisfaction and lifestyle, but this is all too often merely a reorientation of our selfishness from one kind of satisfaction to another.) We must also challenge the presumption in ourselves that if we earn enough money we have the right -- some probably feel it a middle class duty -- to provide ourselves with a large house, new car, nice furniture, more new clothes, vacations trips, TV, appliances, the newest electronic gadgets, and so on ad clutterum.

Where is it written that it is our duty to provide ourselves and our families with the best homes and all the possessions we can afford -- or maybe can’t afford? It is written in the advertisements that confront us constantly in newspapers and magazines, on radio and television. It is spoken in the actions of so many around us. It is shouted out in the lives of those who cannot find security or acceptance within themselves and so seek it in status and possessions.

Don’t we have the right to spend our own hard-earned money as we please? When the price of a new suit will immunize a thousand children, when the money we would spend on a new television or a fancier vacation would feed a starving village for a week, when the down payment on a new car would dig a new well and provide new life and hope -- do we have this right?

What do we have the right to provide for ourselves? Certainly food, clothing, shelter and other basic necessities. Enough and nutritious food, good clothing and a decent place to live. And certainly we ought to be able to enjoy the world, to partake of the pleasures of recreation and hobbies, of sports and culture. But how much is necessity and how much is luxury? How much is helpful? To how much do we have a right?

In answering these questions there is a temptation to go to one of two extremes: asceticism on the one hand or self-indulgence on the other. While both of these are dangerous in their one-sided approach to the material world, the former will hardly strike the disinterested observer as much of a threat to the American middle class. As for the latter, however -- what could be a more natural excess for a class of people which defines itself primarily by reference to monetary earnings and material possessions?

How do we find the responsible middle ground? For that matter, does the responsible answer lie in the middle?

Thoughtful Christians (as well as others) will agree that there is a limit to the luxuries which we can in good faith bestow upon ourselves while others less fortunate than ourselves are in serious want. But where, and how, do you draw the line?

There are three questions that will help us to address this: (1) What is necessary and what is luxury? (2) What do we owe our own families? (3) What, then, would constitute a faithful approach to the use of our hard-earned money?

1. What Is Necessary?

In order to appreciate the huge amount of money that we spend on luxuries for ourselves, either on "things" or on enjoyment, we need to take a hard look at just how much -- or rather how little -- is truly necessary.

We need enough food to keep us going, clothes to cover us, shelter from the elements. A strict constructionist might point out that we would have what is strictly necessary if we had a room (or a small apartment in the case of a family), a change of clothes (and a warm coat up north), and if we ate 1500 to 2000 calories per day (the American average is 3200). How miserable such an existence would seem to most of us! Yet how much better off than a large percentage of the world’s population we would be!

I am not suggesting that we limit our lifestyles to this level, although many of us would be better off spiritually and emotionally if we did, and many others of us may need to do something like this to free ourselves from captivity to the gods of consumerism. I am suggesting that we keep in mind how little is actually physically necessary as we establish in our own minds our own level of "necessities". Surely we do not need to consider everything above this physical minimum to be a luxury. But just as surely we had better not buy into what our society tries to tell us is necessary, and keeping in mind the low level of strictly physical necessity should help us in this regard.

2. What Do We Owe Our Families?

What do we owe our families, our spouses and children? We owe them a decent and safe home, a healthy environment, a good education and an atmosphere of love and discipline. The most important thing that we can do as parents is to prepare our children to live meaningful, productive lives. But by "productive" I do not mean producing material goods or wealth, but rather productive in the sense of being effective, of pursuing and reaching goals in keeping with our deepest values. What our children need in order to be able to lead this kind of life is a feeling of self-worth, the ability to think for themselves and make decisions, and the underlying values to guide these decisions and give meaning to their lives.

Too often we think that what we should do for our children is to make them happy. And too often we think that the way to do this is to buy them things: things that are pretty, things that are fun, things that snap and pop and whir and race and entertain -- until we have taught our children that the purpose of life is to be happy and that being happy means having pleasure or being entertained. Someone who is oriented this way will go through life always lacking the deeper inner contentment which "entertainment" cannot give, seeking value in things and in pleasure, and never finding true happiness.

Happiness itself is not the goal. Happiness is a by-product of having meaning in our lives. For children, this requires a loving and secure home. For adults -- which our children will become -- this requires values that transcend pleasure and possessions, values that give meaning to our actions and our relationships and our whole way of life.

If, then, our most important task as parents is to impart these values -- Christian values if we are Christians -- we must ask ourselves whether it’s more important to buy that new car or sofa or refrigerator or suit or toy or thing-a-ma-jig (for us or for our children), or whether it is not more important to make do without this and share out of our resources with the poor and the hungry, the persecuted and the refugees and the homeless. Which course of action is more likely to teach the values we want to pass on?

The same reasoning applies to spouses. We need to encourage each other not to seek shallow pleasures, but to grow and to mature and to live up to our highest values and greatest potentials. Too often in marriages there is the real temptation of settling on the lowest common denominator or of going along with our mate instead of our conscience in order to keep the peace. We should not sacrifice our integrity this way. Neither should we try to buy each other’s favor or please each other with an excess of "things", which is another great temptation. Instead, it is much more important that we help our spouse to be the person he or she should be -- by helping each other become mature, loving Christians, realizing our fullest human potential, becoming what we can and ought to be.

3. What Constitutes the Faithful Use of Money?

In light of all this, what is the faithful Christian approach to the use of money? There are two general approaches open to us, each with its advantages and disadvantages, but each representing a legitimate Christian option. We can call these two responses: (A) the radical response, and (B) the uncomfortable middle.

(A) The Radical Response

By calling this the "radical response" I don’t mean that it is better or worse, nor do I mean that those who follow it are more radically Christian. I simply mean that this approach seems more radical, more extreme, in its departure from the normal pattern of life in our society.

This approach to money and possessions (and life in general) has the advantage that it seriously confronts some important facts about our world: (1) that there is a great inequity in the distribution of wealth in the world, with a relative few enjoying great wealth while a great many remain trapped in abject poverty; (2) that many people in our own affluent society are psychologically trapped by material things to the point that these things come between them and God; (3) that many of those who are suffering from severe want could be helped with the money that we would otherwise use on non-essential things for ourselves; and (4) that we are called by God to be in community with each other, across divisions of race and nation and class.

The radical response to these facts is to restrict our own consumption of goods and services, our own material standard of living, either in order to share more of our wealth with those in need, or in order to serve God better by using our time to work for justice and peace or by sharing the lot of the poor. (The more we share their lot of poverty, of course, the less we are able to help in material ways.) This decision to restrict or reduce our standard of living means a conscious decision to forego many of the common aspirations of our middle class, whether in terms of possessions, travel, social status, or security.

This may sound either scary or appealing, or both. It certainly takes God’s call seriously. But we need to be aware of several drawbacks or dangers to the radical response.

The first danger is that, with its strong appeal to the sense of the dramatic and the romantic, the radical response may attract individuals who see the world in black and white, who may then see themselves as "holier than thou" because they make do without new furniture or red meat or homogenized peanut butter. It may be that these people are in fact hiding from complexity. On the other hand, maybe they recognize that they need to do this in their own lives in order to be faithful. But there remains a danger of self-righteousness. Certainly it must be tempting to look at all you’re doing without, especially in comparison to much of our affluent society, and to feel that you are better, that you have demonstrated your faith and devotion -- maybe even to feel you have done your part. Besides leading to a sinful pride, this can also lead you to miss the point entirely. The point is right relationship. So the question is not, "What are you doing without?" The question is, "What are you doing for the rest of the world?"1

A second danger is inherent in one of the strategies commonly used in the radical response: living in community in the sense of shared or communal living. This involves the sharing of living space and resources in order to reduce one’s personal living expenses and/or to free up more individual time and energy for mission of one kind or another and/or to provide mutual support in living a more person-centered and God-centered life. Often the avowed purpose includes all three of these, and there is much about living in community in this way that is very attractive. But there is an inherent danger in this approach which derives from the fact that human nature makes it difficult for a group of people to share money and meals and chores and living space equitably and harmoniously, particularly if they try to do this in a democratic way. (Perhaps this is one reason why monasteries are so strong on structure and obedience.) So it is not unusual for an immense amount of time and effort to be needed just to keep the cooperative venture going. Quite often a great investment of energy must be made just to decide who is responsible for what -- who does the dishes and takes out the trash -- and to deal with all the human interrelationship problems that can sometimes just be endured from 9 to 5 but which must be resolved if we are to be in community together. And a natural result of this is that no one in the community has any energy to deal with anything else, so instead of having a ministry to anybody else the venture becomes so inward-looking that it has no impact on the rest of the world.

A third problem with the radical approach is that it is essentially an option only for the relatively affluent. You can’t give up something you never had, or make a virtue of doing without something that was never a possibility for you. There are many people in our society who are struggling hard just to remain at a very moderate standard of living. The danger is that some advocates might promote voluntary poverty or near-poverty as the Christian option while in reality we need to be working as a society to help people work themselves out of poverty. In fact voluntary poverty remains a luxury available only to the well-to-do, who always seem to have the personal resources and abilities to get back out of it if they should change their minds.

Finally, since one of the purposes of the radical response is to share more of our material resources with others, we run into a fourth drawback. Christianity has always recognized that self-interest is a strong motivator for us human beings, that selfishness is hard to overcome. The fact is that there are very few human beings who will work as hard to earn money for someone else as they will to earn it for themselves, or who will work as hard to earn $10,000 for themselves and $10,000 for others as they will to earn $20,000 for themselves. Therefore, if we simplify our lifestyle and reduce our needs as part of the radical response, it seems likely that this reduction in needs will be followed by a reduction in income. The result, and the fourth drawback, is that those opting for a simpler lifestyle or a "Christian community" may very well end up with less disposable income to share with those in need.

Of course, our gifts to the cause of God cannot be measured only in Terms of money. If we change our job and earn less and so have less to give others, we may more than make up for this by devoting our time and energy to the poor and the hungry, by campaigning for peace and justice. That is, if we don’t succumb to the second danger above and get so absorbed in the internal workings and personal relationships that we have no time or energy left for the rest of the world.

These four drawbacks represent a real danger involved in the radical response. Those who choose this approach must beware lest they end up as self-centered and self-righteous communities of upper middle class people playing at being poor, preoccupied with their own problems and contributing little or nothing to helping others or to resolving the world’s problems.

In spite of this danger, however, this radical response must be recognized as a viable and important Christian alternative. It is viable because these temptations and drawbacks can be overcome with wisdom and persistence and hard work. And it is important because the people who choose this option are at least confronting the important issues, are at least asking the right questions.

It is also important, even if it appeals to only a few, because it serves as a valuable and maybe necessary reminder to the rest of us. Those of us who are struggling not to be owned by our possessions at the same time we are struggling to be able to buy more or newer or better things for ourselves need the example of people who simply do without these things -- by choice! -- as a reminder of how unimportant they really are. We need to see people around us who are free of the slavery to worldly goods, who find meaning and satisfaction without them, who challenge our middle class stereotypes and assumptions and values.

The drawbacks and dangers of the radical response can be overcome, if with difficulty, and those who respond to the gospel in this way have the great advantage that they are taking their faith seriously. Is this true of the rest of us? This is the great challenge to those of us who remain members of the affluent society, those of us who are unable or unwilling to make the sacrifices or the great change in lifestyle of the radical response: are we able to be serious about our faith? Is there a way in which we can be faithful? This is an important question, because if the answer is "no" then the radical response is in fact the only viable option for Christians.

(B) The Uncomfortable Middle

For this to be a Christian alternative we must make several assumptions: (1) that the world is good and is to be enjoyed, and that there is nothing intrinsically wrong with enjoying travel or fine food or nice furnishings or an attractive home; (2) that the important question is not what we are doing without but what we are doing to help others; that is, the goal is not in itself to lower our own standard of living but to live for others (which we may or may not be able to do without a reduction in our own material standard of living); (3) that many people can be challenged and inspired to follow this alternative who would never adopt the radical response; and (4) that individuals following this response can accomplish a lot of concrete good in the world.

But all this is nothing more than a fatuous rationalization for a selfish way of life if we do not have a commitment above all to live faithfully, to deal with the challenge of right relationship with God and neighbor. All this is empty if we do not take seriously the call of Christ and the needs of our fellow human beings.

How do we do this? How do we live comfortably -- by which I mean no more than enjoying a lifestyle typical of the American middle class, which compared to most of the world is very comfortable indeed -- and also take seriously the needs of our neighbors?

Probably the most important element here is seriousness of intent. There are various strategies that can be adopted regarding the use of money, but first you must be willing to accept the fact that all that you have is ultimately God’s, that there are alternative uses for your money, that your decision on how to spend $100 can literally be a life or death decision for a starving child half a world away. Without this seriousness of intent, without this willingness to struggle with the question of what discipleship means, we cannot hope to discover what our faith means to our way of life -- which means we cannot hope to be faithful.

Once you have this seriousness you may not absolutely need a system for the use of your money. On the other hand, to avoid a constant succession of agonizing decisions, for the sake of consistency, and to keep ourselves honest and faithful in the face of constant temptation, a standard or system seems called for. No one standard is right for everyone, for our circumstances vary a great deal. But there are several ways of developing an appropriate standard which would apply to any one of us.

One way of doing this is simply to set a dollar figure, a certain amount per week or per month, that you give to church and charities. This amount should be more than you think you can easily do. There are too many people who put their dollar in the collection plate every week (or whenever they go to church every month or so) and think that takes care of that. I cannot recommend this particular method of setting a standard for anyone above the poverty level because it is too easy for us to be satisfied with doing too little.

A second method, long advocated and practiced by many Christians, is to give a certain percentage of your gross income. The traditional norm for this is "tithing", or giving 10% of your income to the church, but nowadays this needs to be treated more flexibly in two regards: first, the percentage that you give can be shared with more than just the local church, and perhaps should be. There are many individuals in need of help and many organizations doing God’s work and it is not inappropriate for some of our giving to go directly to these other ministries.2 Second, ten percent is often not a realistic figure. For individuals earning the minimum wage, who have to feed and clothe and house themselves just like the rest of us, ten percent is often unrealistically high. For many Americans, whose earnings are several times the minimum wage, ten percent may be unrealistically low. The responsible and faithful level for our own situation is something that we must each prayerfully decide.

A third method for determining how much you ought to be sharing with the rest of the world is based not on a percentage of income nor on how many (or few) dollars you feel you can spare each week, but instead on your own needs and your own use of money. The idea here is to keep track of what you need to provide yourself with necessities, the assumption being that what you have left over to spend on luxuries for yourself ought to be shared in some meaningful way with those who lack even basic necessities. (This can be combined with either of the first two methods to give a balanced approach.)

This method requires a good measure of real honesty with yourself as to what constitutes a necessity. In fact, judging from all the luxuries that people seem to feel they need, it must require an uncommon amount of honesty. A house in good repair and large enough for your family, with furniture in good condition, would qualify as a necessity (or as a necessary decency) for almost all of us. A house with extra rooms for everybody’s hobbies or with furnishings that look like a Good Housekeeping centerfold is a luxury. A motor vehicle in good working order and a stove and refrigerator are necessities for most of us. A new car, new appliances and many household gadgets are luxuries. Time off from work and time to be with your family is a necessity; vacation trips and nice meals in restaurants are luxuries. We must keep in mind that wanting something very badly or feeling a great need for it does not make it a necessity.

Once we have exercised the necessary discipline to thoughtfully challenge ourselves and establish a fair and faithful standard of what is truly necessary for us, the next steps are to follow this to its logical conclusion and then to take this conclusion to heart: once we have what is necessary, anything else is unnecessary, is a luxury. Yet while we spend money on luxuries for ourselves so many others lack even basic physical necessities. Can we do this? How do we deal faithfully with this situation?

Some of those who follow the radical response would say that we cannot indulge in any luxuries for ourselves while our neighbors (wherever they may be) are suffering. While such intense commitment and self-sacrifice as this may be admirable and in many ways appealing, it also smacks of asceticism and supererogation. It is also unlikely to attract adherents. And furthermore, we do have a right to enjoy life, to taste and see the uplifting pleasures of God’s world. A standard of morality that recognizes this while it calls us to be faithful just might succeed.

So, once we have provided ourselves with the basic necessities, we need to balance our spending on luxuries for ourselves with spending on necessities for others. Once we have what we truly need we should use our money to buy what we don’t need only if this is accompanied or preceded by using some of our money on behalf of others who need so much. This is a clear implication of our Christian faith.

But how do we set the proportion? This is a difficult and important decision. How do we set the proportion between what we spend on luxuries for ourselves and what we spend on necessities for the rest of the world? Is it unreasonable to expect that we spend as much on food and medical care and justice for the whole rest of the world as we do on luxuries for ourselves? I think not. For some, because of unusual circumstances, this may be too high a proportion. For those who can afford whatever they want this may be too low. For many it would make sense to give a certain percentage each week and then match what we spend on luxuries with additional giving.

What about money that is put into savings and investments instead of into luxuries? Money put aside for purchases in the not-too-far-distant future can appropriately be shared either when it is saved or when it is spent. But what about people who prefer to add to their own wealth instead of spending? Surely this, too, must be shared to the extent it surpasses our own needs. But what about all those of us who are trying to save up enough to be secure in our old age? Are there not also limits to how much we can in good conscience lay up for ourselves?

There are two separate but related questions here, one about security and one about wealth: (1) To what extent does living faithfully allow for storing up treasures on earth for our own future security? And (2) is it possible to accumulate or keep great wealth and also to live a faithful life?

The answer to both is, only in so far as this security or wealth is a means and not an end, only in so far as it is a means to living faithfully. We will look at what this means in each case.

(1) Security: "Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow?’ But we are anxious about tomorrow! Is this sinful? Perhaps this anxiety is the wages of sin, the result of an unhealthy attachment to things and to our own comfort and to our own selfish desires for the future.

But there is also something else at work here. Our society is not the same as that of first century Palestine, where families were close-knit and stable and elders were respected and those few who lived to a ripe old age could count on living out their years as an honored member of an extended family. A good majority of us now live past the Biblical goal of three-score and ten. Our children live in their own homes, often far away, and we don’t want to have to live with them or they with us ("What? Give up my home?") even if we could get along for more than a short visit. Nor do they have the resources to support us.

In this different kind of society it is irresponsible for us not to plan ahead, not to figure out how we are going to make ends meet, not to plan for retirement. The cyclical ravages of inflation, the doubts about the future of Social Security and the continuing escalation of health care costs must cause at least occasional anxiety for any prudent person. To dismiss this by saying that God will take care of you is really to say that someone else will provide for your needs, that you are planning on luck or on being a burden to society (or to some group or individual), and that you are planning not only on not being able to help the poor but on taking resources yourself that otherwise could have gone to help others.

Nevertheless, if it is responsible and faithful to arrange it so we can take care of ourselves, there are definite limits to the extent we can faithfully go in this effort. Again, the question is: Who are we serving? Ourselves? Mammon? Or God? Even as we plan for our future security this must not be an end in itself but a means to allow us to continue living a life that is active, helpful and caring for others. And again, a certain balance is required. We cannot just pile up assets for ourselves while others are in need.

The more secure our own future is, the greater the proportion of our wealth in excess of our necessities we need to share. If we own our own home (and will have it paid for), if we have vested rights in a good pension plan or have significant investments, then we need to give much more to others than if this were not the case. But even if our future is uncertain we cannot invest all of our resources in our own security, for that would be to build our own well-being on sins of omission, on the suffering of others that we could have alleviated and didn’t.

(2) Wealth: "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." (Mark. 10:25) While Jesus does then allow that "all things are possible with God", it is evident that he considered a rich man or woman’s entry into the kingdom to be rather unlikely and very difficult. This is not so much a judgment upon the rich as it is a recognition of human nature. We humans are always tempted to serve ourselves instead of others, to put our trust in ourselves and our possessions instead of in God. Those who are wealthy simply have that much more temptation: privileges to protect, comfort to be seduced by, power to put faith in, wealth to serve and worship. How strong must be the soul who would be faithful in the face of this!

Can you be wealthy and also faithful? Yes, if you serve God first. But this may mean that you can’t stay wealthy. And certainly faithfulness is more difficult when you have so many glittering gods clamoring for your devotion.

You can be wealthy and faithful the same way you can be talented and faithful or intelligent and faithful or famous or beautiful or popular and faithful. To be faithful you must serve God with your talent or your intelligence or your fame or beauty or popularity. To be faithful, the wealthy must serve God with their wealth.

How do you do this? How do you serve God with your wealth? This should be obvious: by using it to help others in need. You can do this by giving to the poor and the hungry (or other worthwhile causes) all that you have in excess of what you need for a moderate middle class lifestyle. In principle, you can also do this by holding on to your wealth and using it to help the poor and powerless or to accomplish other good. We must ask under what circumstances this could be justified.

Hanging on to great wealth is justified only when it is done in order to help others. That is not the same thing as doing some good in order to justify to yourself your holding on to your wealth. It does not mean giving a few thousand to charity when you are worth a million. Nor does it mean retaining ownership of a business and justifying it by the fact that you provide jobs for people if your successor would do the same.

Hanging on to substantial wealth can be justified only if you can accomplish at least as much good by hanging on to it as by giving the whole lot to a relief agency that would use it to fight hunger or to a scholarship fund for the underprivileged or to similar good causes. But it seems quite unlikely that an individual could in fact do as much good as this for the world by keeping his or her wealth to themselves. So the argument usually comes down to this: we just don’t want to let go. "It’s mine, dammit! It’s my money, my property, and I earned it or inherited it fair and square. It belongs to me, and I’m going to keep it, because it’s mine and I want it!"

Whatever our stated rationale, this is almost always the real reason we hang on to our wealth: we’re selfish. And surely it is our legal right to keep it all to ourselves. But just as surely it is not faithful. When we just won’t let go or can’t let go, we are being sinful, grasping and hoarding. We are worshipping Mammon.

We need to say that it is possible for an individual to have faithful reasons for hanging on to substantial wealth: if, for instance, that person uses ownership in a business to pursue policies with important benefits to society, or is able to provide jobs for people that no one else would hire, or is able because of keeping their wealth to accomplish some unique and valuable good that at least equals the good that could be realized if this wealth were wisely given away. Another possibility is that an individual could give away the income produced by their wealth on an annual basis as wisely as anyone else. However, while there is something to be said for avoiding the bureaucracy of agencies and foundations, there is also something to be said for making use of their expertise. Furthermore, income taxes may mean that a significantly smaller amount is available for giving if the income is an individual’s than if it is a tax-exempt organization’s.

The biggest problem, though, is that it is just so extremely difficult for a human being to hold on to wealth with one hand and give away most of the proceeds with the other. With rare exceptions the temptation to indulge ourselves and the drive to amass more for ourselves is just too great. In fact it is almost never the case that we can accomplish as much good by hanging on to wealth in excess of our needs as we can by giving it away. We would like to think that we can because we don’t want to give up the power and prestige and prerogatives of being wealthy. It’s simply too nice being rich to want to give it up. So we buy fancy cars and travel first class and build mansions for ourselves and furnish them with luxuries to satisfy our whims while our neighbors on this planet live in shacks and struggle against oppression and watch their children die young from lack of food and medical care. It is not enough to say, "Ah well, the world is an imperfect place." We who would be faithful must do what we can in the name of the Christ. If we have the resources to help others but do not, if instead we keep our fists tightly closed on what is "ours" then we have turned our backs not only on the least of these our brethren but also on God.

We have now considered several methodologies for arriving at a standard of what we must share of our own with the rest of the world if we are to remain a part of the middle class of an affluent society and still be faithful. Which particular approach we follow is not nearly as important as the need for us to faithfully confront the fact of our own good fortune and others’ misfortune, and to share of what we have in a significant way.

In some ways this is more difficult than following the radical response which we considered earlier. It is more difficult because the temptation is stronger to follow the gods of gold and silver, to keep up with the Joneses, and to buy into society’s definition of success. It is more difficult because those who follow the radical response are at least asking the right questions, and sometimes the rest of us don’t even question. It is more difficult because living faithfully in the middle class requires constant attention and will power. This is to be expected, though, when you dwell in enemy territory, or at best in no man’s land. This is why I call this option the uncomfortable middle.

Of course, living in gray is always more difficult than living in black and white. But most of the regions inhabited by human beings are gray, and if we are to reach them we must have a gospel and an ethic that can withstand the lack of easy answers. So even though trying to live faithfully as part of an affluent society, with all the temptations this entails, is in some ways more difficult and more uncomfortable than living the radical response, it does have several important advantages:

(1) First, it is possible. It is possible not only in a theoretical sense and not only for a few, but it presents itself as a real chooseable possibility to many people who could never see the radical response as a live option. It confronts people with the challenge of living faithfully right where they are.

(2) Second, it can accomplish a lot of good in the world. Those who are well off have more resources to share with those who are suffering from poverty or disease, hunger or injustice. God expects more from the affluent middle class: "To whom much has been given, of him will much be required?’ (Luke 22:48) It is all well and good to identify with the poor by joining them, but the poor need more than to have their ranks swollen by children of the middle class who, being poor by choice, will never know the real ravages of poverty. This is not to say that people following the radical response cannot play an important and valuable role. Indeed they can. But the hungry need food and the sick need medical care and the homeless need shelter, and all of these cost money -- money that a faithful and sharing middle class could provide a good measure of, certainly enough to do a lot of concrete good.

(3) Third, if our society is to change for the better, this will come from a change in the people who influence our political policies and make our economic decisions. This change will not happen if every Christian who decides to take their faith seriously thereupon drops out of "the system." It will only happen if the men and women inhabiting the great gray area of every day life, in our homes and shops and factories, in boardrooms and legislative halls, work at living faithfully in all aspects of their lives right where they are. The uncomfortable middle course is the way in which they can do this.

This chapter has dealt specifically with the use of money. But, we need to remember the truth of Jesus’ saying in Matthew 6:21: "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." If we are giving significantly of our own money to combat hunger or poverty or injustice we are very likely to become interested enough in these efforts to invest some time and energy in them, to work with individuals and to become involved in policy debates and to confront the economic system.

And -- since policy and structure do matter -- it is time for us to proceed from our own personal use of money to an examination of economic systems.

 

Notes:

1. There are those who strongly disagree with this position, who maintain that God sides with the poor and therefore if we are to side with God we must be among the poor, or who maintain that what matters for our own soul is how much we sacrifice. Along these lines, for example, see Jim Wallis, The Call to Conversion (Harper and Row, 1981).

2. I should like to point out that denominational and inter-church agencies have by far the best track record on keeping overhead costs down and can often deliver one hundred percent of your donations to the cause for which they are given.

Chapter 16: The Stumbling Block: Living The Faith

"We preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles." (I Corinthians 1:23)

 

I preach a common sense approach to doctrine. I deny the need to believe in the traditional concepts of original sin, salvation, miracles and the Incarnation. Have I simply thrown out all the difficult parts of Christianity? Does this make Christian faith "reasonable" to our modern society?

No, it does not. In fact, all we have done is to remove a lesser stumbling block precisely in order that people can confront the greater one: living the faith.

The lesser stumbling block has been thrust aside by our modern common sense. The greater stumbling block stands intact and confronts our understanding of what is important in life. The distinction between these two is the same as the distinction made between doctrine and faith in Chapter 8. It is the distinction between logic and meaning, between reasoning and values, between head and heart.

The head is concerned with understanding, with making sense of things. Doctrine is the way in which the head explains the heart to other heads. Since we have a modern world-view our doctrine must be consistent with this view. Our theology must be coherent and understandable and reasonable to other heads that share our common sense. Otherwise our explanation becomes a stumbling block in itself.

It is the head’s job to understand and explain, but the head must be given direction by the heart. It is this heart-given direction -- or faith -- that the head must render understandable. If it doesn’t, then the values and meaning that we live by will not be able to get through the other person’s head to their heart. And what we want is for these values to be confronted by the other person’s heart. We want others to be able to make the all-important choice to live for love or against love, towards God or away from God.

But if the challenge to make this choice is put in concepts that cause the other person’s head to balk, their heart will never even face this choice. So it is precisely to allow people to confront this greater stumbling block, precisely to enable the heart to confront this all-important choice, that our doctrine must make sense. It would be tragic if the lesser stumbling block to the head prevented the heart’s confrontation of the great stumbling block.

So our doctrine must be reasonable. But the great stumbling block cannot be made reasonable. The choice for or against Christian faith, the choice of how to live our lives, is not a matter of reasonableness.

This is true for two reasons: first, because this choice is not based on reason, but is based instead on value. And basic value is felt, not reasoned.

Second, because the choice to live towards God and (therefore) away from material success and security, away from selfishness, away from what is easy and popular, will never seem reasonable or even possible to anyone who finds their value in success and security and popularity. Christian faith cannot be made "reasonable" to those who accept the dominant view of our culture. Those who define success in material terms, those who see the goal of life as attaining possessions or status or even happiness, will find the teachings of the Christ to be both folly and a stumbling block. Living for others is clearly unreasonable to these people.

But this is the call. This is the great choice we must make with our lives. And this is why it is such a stumbling block: we are not called to think Christianity or to talk it or to believe it, all of which we could do while serving other gods in our daily lives. We are called to live it. We are called to live Christianity, for living towards God with Jesus of Nazareth as our guide is what it means to be Christian.

In the next chapter we will look at some specific questions about what it means to live as Christians with regard to possessions and the use of money. In this chapter we will take a broad look at what it means to live this choice by considering the themes of the Christian life.

Themes of the Christian Life

I will not pretend that I can exhaustively define the Christian life or that a satisfactory description of it can be given in one chapter. Nevertheless, we can usefully point out some characteristics or "themes" which mark the Christian life. I am not going to use "love" as a separate theme, for two reasons. First, because this word is so misused and misunderstood and has such different meanings for different people. And second, because these other themes can be understood as an elaboration of what Christian love and faith entail.

We will be looking at three clusters of themes: (I) acceptance; (II) right relationship; and (III) perspective and passion.

I. Acceptance

The message of God’s acceptance of us -- yes, even you, and yes, even me, imperfect creatures though we are -- is central to the Christian message. We in turn need to accept this acceptance, which means also accepting ourselves so that we are then able to accept others. This self-acceptance and other-acceptance find expression as inner strength, gentleness, tolerance, hospitality and other similar attributes.

Self-Acceptance: Source of Compassion and Strength

So much of what is desirable in a person’s character depends on self-acceptance and a sense of worth. This generally grows from a sense of being loved and valued, a feeling that ought to be imparted by every parent to every child. But (may God forgive us!) it isn’t, and so it often has to originate from elsewhere. But whether or not it originates early in the family, it needs to be reinforced later from elsewhere. Certainly we will continue to value other people’s opinions, but if we are to be mature and responsible adults we must arrive at that point where our own feeling of self-worth is not determined by the opinions of those around us.

I will not claim that there is only one way to arrive at this point. It is possible that different people may travel different routes to becoming comfortable with themselves. But there is one way that is at the very heart of the message of Jesus Christ: the good news that God loves us, just as we are, and that this love is available to us if we only turn to God and accept it.

This doesn’t mean that we are perfect the way we are or that we’re always right. It doesn’t mean that we don’t have to change or grow or struggle. What it means is that God loves us in spite of all our imperfections, that we are valued by God as the individuals we are. This is what gives us the strength and the courage so that we can struggle and grow. If the God of all creation finds us worthy of love then we can accept ourselves and discover that we are worth improving.1

There are, no doubt, many Christians with a sense of self-worth who do not attribute this to the knowledge that God loves them. We don’t go around saying to ourselves, "God loves me, so therefore I’m OK?’ When I examine my own feelings of self-worth and self-acceptance I attribute them to a variety of factors: family and friends, times of success, times of suffering (which have probably been more important than times of success in this regard), introspection, and simply living through a certain number of years and experiences.

Nevertheless, there is an important element that remains over and apart from all of these that is not dependent on any particular person or event. This is the feeling that I am on good terms with the universe, that I am accepted by and am at peace with that which is, that I belong here and am grounded here in such a way that I can offer hospitality to others.

How do I explain this? I am embarrassed to admit that prior to this I hadn’t tried to. But now, as I examine it, I cannot separate this feeling from my faith. To do so would be dishonest. For as near as I can fathom it out, it is based on the knowledge deep inside that I am accepted and valued and loved by that which is in all and through all reality: God.

The self-acceptance which results from this sense of being accepted is what makes it possible for us to be accepting of others in turn. Once our own self-worth is not dependent upon being better than others or on being admired by others or on winning over others in one way or another, then we are able to accept other persons and accept them for who they really are. We are able to offer what Henri Nouwen calls "hospitality": a space in our lives where other people can feel at home, where they are given room to be themselves.2

This self-acceptance also provides the inner security and strength that make possible two traits which are often thought of as opposites: gentleness towards others, and strength or steadfastness in conflict.

By "gentleness" I do not mean just refraining from physical violence. There is much more to gentleness than this. It also means a strict avoidance of mental/emotional violence, a healing of wounded psyches, a nurturing of the dreams and abilities and feelings of worth of others. Gentleness is a positive way of showing our love to those all around us. The insecure person is too concerned with justifying their own worth to be able to nurture others in this way.

The secure person can also be gentle in the sense of turning the other cheek, of admitting that the other person might be right, of giving in when only pride (and not principle) is at stake. It takes a strong person to be gentle in this way, a person who depends for their sense of self-worth not on other people but on God. The bully mistakes this gentleness for weakness, for he or she is a weak person who feels a need to prove precisely what they are so unsure of, and never can prove: their own personal worth. A weak person such as this can’t afford to compromise or give in because their personal worth is felt to be at stake. A strong person, secure in their acceptance so that their self-worth is not at stake in the ups and downs of daily life, can afford to yield, compromise, give in.

On the reverse side of this same coin from gentleness is steadfastness and what is sometimes called courage. The person who is secure in their acceptance is much more able to hold to their principles (as opposed to their pride) in the face of the opposition and displeasure of others. Now, this must not be confused with the desperate, irrational clinging to a position by the insecure person who always has to be right. It should also be noted that in many (but not all) cases, once a majority decision has been reached it ought to be supported as such. It should further be said that steadfastness is not always easy or painless. But the ability to stand by our principles in conflict and public debate -- even when difficult and painful -- is an important one, and is more likely if you are comfortable with your acceptance, if your self-worth depends on a power far greater than the squabbling mortals around you.

Recognizing that God loves us and accepting this love, which is to respond affirmatively to the good news of Jesus the Christ, is a central mark or theme of the Christian life. And while on the one hand this self-acceptance is one of the rewards of the Christian life, on the other hand it is the prerequisite for many of the characteristics which we as Christians ought to have in our personal lives: tolerance, gentleness, hospitality, the nurturing of others and inner strength. These traits should be in evidence as we deal with our families, our friends, our colleagues, employees and employers, and our brothers and sisters the other children of God wheresoever we come into contact with them.

II. Right Relationship: with Self, with God, with Others

Regardless of how secure or insecure we may feel, we are called to be in "right relationship", the term which encompasses our second family of themes. This used to be called "righteousness", but this word has been ill-treated in its usage so that it now conjures up images of selfrighteousness or indignation or someone striving for saintliness by avoiding the real world.

However, we are called to be "right" not by ourselves, but in relationship to the world. We are called by God to put ourselves in right relationship with ourselves, with God, and with others. This is not a chronological sequence. In fact the three are interdependent and we cannot do any one of them without the other two.

IIA. Right Relationship with Self: Integrity

If we are not in right relationship with our self we cannot put ourself in right relationship with anyone else. Right relationship with our self is best described as integrity.

Integrity means a consistency of principles and a wholeness of self. This works out best if we -- like Jesus -- have a moral code that is not a rigid set of rules but rather one that consists of a few basic principles that allow us to work out the best expression of love in each situation.

Integrity means that the principles and values that are a part of our self are not for sale. Humans are tempted to sell out for monetary gain, for employment opportunities or other personal advancement, for popularity, in order to avoid conflict, in awe of authority, or out of ambition or insecurity or greed or lust or fear, and so on through the whole range of selfish human desires and motivations. Integrity means being true to ourselves and our commitments in the face of all of these, which in turn requires that we be honest with ourselves about what we are doing and why.

All too often, of course, our choices are not this simple. Sometimes we have to choose between commitments. For instance, we may have to choose between a commitment not to work for an employer who produces products which we consider to be unsafe, and a commitment to provide for our family. And on the one hand we find it hard to condemn someone who refuses to place their personal purity above the well-being of their loved ones, but on the other hand we must ask whether there are not more important things to give our families than material well-being, things such as spiritual values and integrity.

But the fact remains that many times our choices are not between two commitments or principles but between a principle and a desire. Desires are normal, of course. It is only human to have them. And desires can be noble and altruistic, but they can also be selfish and base. And they can be very strong.

If we are able to be honest with ourselves -- a very helpful if not exceedingly popular habit -- then we should be able to discern which of our desires are selfish, which are contrary to our own principles. Integrity means being true to these principles that we have made our own and not denying our own self for some other thing that we want. It means not acting or speaking in a way we don’t believe is right, not for popularity with peers or for success on the job or for acceptance by a church.

Integrity does not require being loud or pretentious or obnoxious about this. It doesn’t mean being proud or hard to get along with. It just means being true to yourself, which you can do as gently as possible and as quietly as appropriate, but as steadfastly as necessary. The reason why it is worth bothering with all of this is that integrity is the only way you can be sure that you relate honestly to yourself, the only way to be sure that you have your self -- which is the only thing we really have in this life. And there will be times in your life and mine when this is more obvious than usual, when if we do not have integrity we will be lost even to ourselves.

IIB: Right Relationship with God: Faithfulness

God is reaching out to us with accepting love. Our response -- that which puts us in right relationship with God -- is faithfulness.

What does it mean to live faithfully? It certainly doesn’t mean we’re sinless or perfect. It doesn’t mean we have all the right answers and never make mistakes. To live faithfully means to live our lives above all and through all towards God, means that the dominant direction in our lives comes from our decision to take Jesus as our compass.

We can only succeed at living faithfully if this takes precedence over all of our other goals. Our other pursuits and objectives must be in line with -- and subordinate to -- this primary direction. It just doesn’t work any other way. If other goals lead us in a different direction then we have in fact made these goals more important than living towards God. Indeed, we are then worshipping other gods -- these other goals -- before the one God. Obviously this is not to live faithfully. We can only live faithfully if our lives are imbued with a thorough-going monotheism. As Jesus said, you cannot serve two masters. We must make sure that the master we serve, the God we live towards, is the one eternal God.

This doesn’t mean that there is no place in the faithful life for fun or recreation or simply goofing off, or for careful financial planning, or for working hard to attain personal goals. All of these are fine -- in fact they are commendable -- as long as they fit into the context of a life lived towards God, as long as they do not become direction-giving gods themselves.

It is difficult to keep these other pursuits and goals in proper perspective. After all, for most of us employment is exceedingly necessary and occupies most of our waking hours five or six days a week. Time with our family takes up most of the rest, and we may have difficulty squeezing in a couple of hours of recreation as the highlight of the week. And then besides these pressures of time there are also other enticements: who among us is immune to the thrill of achievement and recognition or to that of working for and buying that new possession?

So we find it difficult to keep these in proper perspective. But it is very important that we do. When the direction of our lives -- not our geographical location, but our inner direction -- is dictated by the compensation or prestige levels of employment, or by our dreams of a bigger house or new car or nice vacation trip or comfortable retirement, then we have chosen to place these first and God second, and the god we worship is not God. Not that a better job isn’t worth working for or a new house worth saving for. They can be. But these must take a back seat, must not be the driver, must fit in with our over-all goal of living faithfully.

Certainly we should strive to be successful -- but successful at what? This is the key question. It seems as if WC are all working hard to be successful in our business or in some avocation. But is it not more important to be successful at life?

For the Christian, a successful life must mean a life lived faithfully. It is very possible for us to be great successes in our profession or our hobby but to fail at life. Why else are there so many "successful" people with broken marriages and alienated children, who depend on drugs or alcohol or workahol because they can’t face their empty inner selves?

There is no greater failure than succeeding at the wrong thing. And it is this failure which most tempts us today: the failure of succeeding in worldly terms, a "success" that takes precedence over faithfulness, precedence over love, precedence over God, and so fails at the only endeavor that really counts -- life.

Right relationship with God means putting this relationship first among our goals, serving no other gods before God. This relationship informs and transforms all our other pursuits, ensuring that in all we do we are living towards God. By doing this we live faithfully and thus succeed at the one undertaking that matters.

IIC: Right Relationship with Others: Caring and Sharing

Putting ourselves in right relationship with God entails both right relationship with our selves -- integrity -- and right relationship with others, which is where we give concrete expression to our right relationship with God. This right relationship with others includes hospitality, compassion, nurturing and other similar qualities which I include under the heading of caring and sharing.

The first step in right relationship with other people is to care about them: to admit and to feel that it does matter what happens to them. Part of this is simple consideration, a recognition that other people have feelings, too, and desires and needs and dreams. For reasons beyond my ken -- if there is a reason for it -- some people either can’t or won’t break out of their own self-centeredness. All that matters to them is their own feelings, their own goals, their own efforts. Maybe this is all they can see!

I am told we all begin this way as infants, so seeing that other people matter involves a certain amount of growing up. But only enough to see that we are not after all the center of the universe, that our desires and ambitions have no more right to fulfillment than those of several billion other individual dreamers and workers.

This recognition that other people have hopes and hurts just as we ourselves do, and that these do matter, is only a first step. If this remains just an intellectual understanding on our part then we haven’t yet really gotten to caring about others For us to care about others, what happens to them must matter to us.

Now, obviously we cannot be intimately acquainted with the ups and downs of thousands of people. And obviously what happens to those closest to us is going to affect us the most. But we cannot put on blinders to keep us from knowing what goes on in the rest of the world. On the contrary, we have an obligation to keep ourselves informed. And even if we are not personally acquainted with people on the other side of the county or the other side of the globe, it must still matter to us if these our fellow human beings are suffering from hunger or disease or persecution or strife. If we care about them then to some extent we hurt at their hurt. Through empathy we share, although in a different way, in their suffering.

Once we care about others, the next step in right relationship is to care for them. This caring is done by sharing of ourselves with them. Sharing of our material wealth with those less fortunate is perhaps the way of sharing that we think of first. This is certainly an important way, one which we will address in the next chapter. But it is not the only way, and in some situations it is quite irrelevant. Sometimes what is important is just to be there, to share your time with your neighbor who is hurting or ill or lonely. Sometimes we need to share our "space", to allow people into our lives while still allowing them to be themselves, not forcing them into our mold. (This is "hospitality" in the sense we spoke of it earlier in the chapter.) And sometimes we need to get to work to change the conditions that cause their suffering.

We need also to care enough to try to discover who these "others" really are. This means sharing in another way: an openness to the ideas and insights and contributions that these people can bring to our lives, a willingness to receive and try to understand their experience and their wisdom.

Right relationship with other people, which is part of right relationship with God, means caring. And caring means sharing: a sharing of others’ burdens, a sharing of our own blessings, a sharing of our time and space, a sharing of our love and of our self.

III: Perspective and Passion

Right relationship has to do with the direction and content of our lives while perspective and passion have to do with the level-headedness and the intensity of our lives. Perspective and passion are more generally thought of as inhabiting opposite ends of the spectrum than as walking hand in hand, but both are marks of the Christian life.

By "perspective" I mean the realization that things will never be perfect In this world, that the ultimate good is unobtainable, that there is no such thing as a human cause or human institution without error and sinfulness, that only God deserves our ultimate loyalty. This perspective helps us not to see the world in the stark contrast of black and white, good and evil, but to see instead the many shades of gray. It enables us not to invest ultimate importance in any human endeavor, and so not to get discouraged when our efforts fail to bring in the kingdom of God.

Furthermore, if we don’t see everything in absolute terms of black and white we are then able to appreciate the very important differences between shades of gray, between different levels of imperfection. Rather than giving up when our hard work fails to result in perfection or to accomplish our goals, we are able to see that improvement in justice or compassion or social conditions can make a difference in the lives of our fellow human beings that really matters.

Our sense of perspective must include this understanding that the difference between degrees of imperfection can be crucially important. Otherwise it would be too easy to decide that since no human cause is without sin or deserving of our ultimate loyalty, since none will result in the perfect good, we may as well just sit back and sagely observe from an uninvolved distance the vain and foolish strivings of humanity. This is where Christian perspective joins hands with passion.

By "passion" I mean intense devotion to the cause of justice and righteousness. It is a zeal to bring about the conditions which ought to exist in the world, to strive to approach as closely as possible the unobtainable perfection, to argue and struggle for the right -- on behalf of others and on behalf of God as a natural outgrowth of being in right relation with them. We feel the hurts of our neighbors suffering from persecution or injustice or hunger. And we feel how contrary this is to what is called for by God and know we must do what we can to confront and to change the causes of these hurts.

Passion fuels our drive to reform the world. It is a necessary ingredient. But without perspective, passion is too likely to see the world in black and white, too likely to result in missing the achievable good by aiming without compromise at the unachievable perfect, too likely to produce unnecessary division and acrimony that can make progress more difficult.

So we need both passion and perspective in the Christian life. Our right relationship with others gives us the passion to bring about a better world. Out right relationship with God and our acceptance of God’s love give us the perspective that saves us from giving ultimate loyalty to any human cause, that perspective that keeps us going in an imperfect world.

These are the themes of a Christian life: acceptance of God’s acceptance of us; right-relationship with self, God and neighbor; and the balance of passion and perspective. It is important to note that these themes not only mark a life that succeeds in being faithful -- which is what it is all about -- but these are also the ingredients we need in our lives in order to achieve a deep sense of satisfaction and meaning, to experience joy in the wonders of the world, and -- dare I say it? -- to be happy.

Happiness is not something we can pursue in itself; it is not to be equated with entertainment or passing pleasures. Happiness is the result of a life that has purpose, goals and meaning. A deep, abiding peace and happiness can be ours if we succeed at life by living faithfully, by living towards God.

We will now proceed to explore what faithful living means with regard to possessions and the use of money.

 

Notes:

1. We have pointed out that much traditional theology maintains that we are not worthy of God’s love, but receive it in grace (if we believe) only because of Jesus’ sacrifice on our behalf. This is a perversion of Jesus’ message of God’s unconditional love that is there for us to turn to and accept.

2. Henri Nouwen, Reaching Out (Doubleday and Co.. 1975).

Chapter 15: Reconstruction: Christian Myth

"For you bring some strange things to our ears; we wish to know therefore what these things mean!’ (Acts 17:20)

 

In Chapter 14 we looked at the "sin and salvation" complex of traditional concepts. In this chapter we will look at the themes that deal with Jesus of Nazareth himself. Our primary question, however, will not be whether these themes fit with our common sense. We have already asked this of many of these, and it is clear that major portions of the Jesus story and its interpretations are simply incompatible with modem common sense. But in the story of Jesus we are dealing with more than just doctrine. We have here ideas and images that are central to the Christian faith itself. So the question for this chapter is, since some of the Jesus stories and concepts are so eminently incompatible with common sense -- what do we do with them?

The usual alternative to defending their literal truth is to ignore those particular stories we find incredible, shoving them like unwanted family skeletons into hidden closets and bolting the door with a fervent prayer that the lock will hold. We badly need to discover a way to disavow neither our common sense nor this large portion of the Jesus tradition. We need a way to use them both constructively in our faith.

There is a way to do this, but only if we dare to be bold, only if we can be different and creative in our approach. We need to take the most honest and most constructive option available to us: creation of the category of "Christian Myth". We do not mean this in the technical sense of any story referring to the supernatural (see Chapter 4, p. 44). This has already been done by scholars. What we mean here is myth in its everyday, nontechnical sense as understood by you and me: a story that is told as if it were literally true, but which is no longer accepted as factual, and which explains or symbolizes a belief or insight.

"Myth" in this sense has been applied before to the story of Jesus, but almost always by people who were trying to dismiss Jesus of Nazareth and undermine the Christian faith. These people saw it as a weapon against Christianity. What we are doing is to wrest this from the grasp of those who know not its proper use. We are claiming it for our own, using the concept of "Christian Myth" to mean something valuable and meaningful to us.

To classify a story or theme as Christian Myth is therefore not at all to dismiss it but rather to elevate it to a special status. In fact, the question of its historic accuracy is rendered irrelevant at the same time as we affirm the story’s meaning and value.

To qualify as Christian Myth a story must meet four criteria:

(1) It has a place in Christian tradition and was originally understood as factual;

(2) We no longer claim that it represents factual truth;

(3) It serves to exemplify or reinforce proper Christian belief, attitude, or action; and

(4) It can do this without being taken as literally true.

The majority of the elements that make up the Christian Mythology can be grouped in three broad clusters corresponding to the birth, the life, and the death of Jesus of Nazareth.(There are also other stories and themes from the Old and New Testaments that meet the criteria of Christian and can be constructively used in this way. We are limiting ourselves here primarily to the Jesus myths due to space limitations and due to the centrality of Jesus to our faith. ) The nativity cluster includes not only the supernatural and pseudohistorical events preceding and attending his birth (the annunciation, the virgin birth, the angels and shepherds and wisemen, the location in Bethlehem, etc.), but also the claims as to the nature of Jesus’ being and identity that are not in keeping with our common sense theology. The life and ministry cluster includes many of the miracle accounts, those prophecies and messianic claims which were quite apparently inserted by the early Church, and any claims as to the perfection or total sinlessness of Jesus as an individual. The death and resurrection cluster includes the theme of the atonement and various elements of the resurrection and of the post-resurrection appearances. After considering these three clusters, we will then look at a couple of other concepts that are ideal candidates for inclusion as Christian Myth.

It is important to note the obvious: major aspects of the story of Jesus cannot be included as Christian Myth for the simple reason that they are very probably true. These would be such things as the fact that Jesus was baptized by John, kept company with sinners, called disciples and chose twelve as a special group, performed some "faith healings", reached out to outcasts, entered Jerusalem in triumph, defied the authorities, was arrested and crucified, and was experienced afterwards by his disciples. Also not classifiable as myth is the most important thing about Jesus of Nazareth: his message. In fact, his message of God’s call and God’s love is the norm to which Christian Myth must conform.

But how do we relate the mythical to the non-mythical? How do we relate what we claim as Christian Myth to what we claim as historical fact?

To repeat: we are not setting up this category so that we can then ignore those stories that fit in it. But neither can we pretend that they don’t require to be treated any differently than anything else we say about Jesus. Neither of these is appropriate or helpful. Christian Myth must be treated differently precisely in order that we neither ignore nor dismiss it, precisely in order that we can claim its positive significance for us.

What then do we do? Do we need to create a different kind of "red letter edition" in which we print in red not the words of Jesus but instead all those passages that qualify as Christian Myth? Or do we need to do with the New Testament as is sometimes done with the Book of Daniel -- parts of it included in the text as canonical, parts of it relegated to an appendix of Apocrypha? No, this sort of thing is hardly necessary. And while something like this might be helpful in specialized teaching circumstances, in general such an approach would be unwarranted and unhealthy. We don’t need to go to such extremes. What we need to do is recognize that:

(1) The stories and themes about Jesus of Nazareth fall into two different categories, those which we claim as factual and those which we do not.

(2) Our beliefs about who Jesus was, his relationship to God and his role for us, must be based on the factual, as indeed our theology in general must be consistent with the factual.

(3) Once our theology and faith themes are established, those stories and themes about Jesus which we do not claim as factual, but which are consistent with our faith themes, can be used as Christian Myth to illustrate, illuminate, and emphasize these themes.

This is all neither terribly difficult nor very mysterious, as we shall see as we now proceed to look at some important parts of Christian Myth.

I. The Nativity Cluster

The nativity cluster of Christian Myth can be subdivided into the circumstances of the birth itself, the events announcing the birth, and the claims made about the nature and identity of this child.

IA. The Birth: Born of a Virgin in Bethlehem

Matthew and Luke agree that Jesus was born in Bethlehem of a virgin and was descended from David through a man who was not his father. Mark and John are either unaware of this or do not think it worthy of mention. Matthew and Luke do not agree on how it happened that Mary and Joseph were in Bethlehem for Jesus’ birth but later resided in Nazareth,2 or on how Joseph was descended from David.

How do we explain this? We must consider the circumstances of the followers of Jesus after his death. We can reasonably assume that they searched their Scriptures for any explanations that would help them understand this man who had had such an impact on their lives. Since they had come to believe him to be the Messiah they naturally gave great importance to those Old Testament passages traditionally identified as messianic prophecies. We need also to remember that these early Christians were human just as we are. Besides the established fact that legends have a way of springing up about great public figures, there must also have been an almost irresistible urge on the part of some to bolster the claim that Jesus was indeed the Messiah, especially since his behavior was m some ways most unmessianic (see p. 97).

Among the passages which were widely interpreted at the time as referring to the Messiah were II Samuel 8:12f and Isaiah 11:1, both of which say he will be a descendent of David; Isaiah 7:14, which in its Greek mistranslation says that a virgin shall bear a son (the original Hebrew says "young woman"); and Micah 5:2, which indicates that a ruler would be born in Bethlehem. Matthew and Luke -- written later than Mark’s Gospel and Paul’s letters -- tell us that Jesus fulfilled these prophecies (but as we said, have different explanations of how he fulfilled two of the three). Does it not seem likely that the conviction that Jesus was the Messiah gave rise to the belief that he fulfilled these prophecies, and not the other way around? Does it not seem likely that the prophecies occasioned these birth stories? If so, then what do we do with this part of the Jesus story?

What we do is affirm these aspects of the Jesus story as Christian Myth. This means we do not claim that Jesus of Nazareth was actually born in Bethlehem of a virgin (which is not the least bit important to his message). As myth, however, these elements of the story that claim this specialness for him serve to symbolize the Christian theme that Jesus of Nazareth is indeed "he who was to come" -- not in the sense that he fulfilled human expectations nor in the sense that this particular person was foreseen by any of the prophets, but rather in the sense that it is in this individual that we find the key to understanding God and God’s call, the key to meaning in our lives.

The virgin birth in Bethlehem as well as the descent from David, even if not taken as factual, serve to connect Jesus with the hundreds of years of seeking God in the Old Testament. They also serve to highlight the importance we give to Jesus and so draw attention to his message. If these parts of the story are not viewed as Christian Myth, however, but are claimed as true, then they distract from the message and in fact impede access to it for many people.

IB. Angels and Shepherds and Stars and Wisemen

We have here a combination of (1) events that are incompatible with our common sense, and (2) events that just don’t seem historically very likely. The former include an appearance by the heavenly host and a star that served as a trail guide. The latter, the merely improbable, include the resulting visits by the shepherds and the wisemen. We might also include in this category the trip to Bethlehem to be enrolled, the too-full inn and the birth in a stable.

Both of these kinds of events are peripheral to the message of Jesus but both can be appropriated as Christian Myth. I expect that the Sunday School Christmas play will continue to include angels and shepherds and crusty innkeepers and three wisemen who travel by camel and whose names are Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar. And rightfully so, for the purpose of these stories is not to tell us about angels and wisemen but to say something about Jesus of Nazareth. We can use these stories, as myth, to help us celebrate the good news of Christmas and to emphasize the point, "Hey! This is the Christ! Here is the message, the key!" Their use is analogous to the flourish of trumpets that introduces the protagonist in an old melodrama. And if adding some detail to the stories helps them to do this, so much the better -- as has happened with the wisemen, about whom Matthew tells us neither their number, nor their mode of travel, nor their names.

There are some additional points made by these stories as well. The wisemen’s recognition of kingship in a powerless infant, the angels’ choice of humble shepherds to whom to announce the news, Jesus’ birth as an outcast in a stable -- all these point to a very different kind of king, to a power and truth that transcend worldly power and the socially acceptable status quo. Here is a new and freeing message!

IC. Implications: What Child Is This?

We also include in the nativity cluster the ideas about Jesus’ special nature and origin. Such ideas range from the full-blown doctrine of the Incarnation to the pre-existent semi-deity in the prologue to John to the idea of Jesus being "sent".

What do we say about the Incarnation, the orthodox consensus about Jesus’ nature for all these centuries? We have discussed in Chapter 7 why we can no longer support this belief. Can we not, however, appropriate this as Christian Myth? We can, and the Incarnation then becomes a symbol that emphasizes in a beautiful way several important Christian themes: (1) that God is here with us, not in some far off dimension; (2) that God loves us so much as to come seeking us out; and (3) that God does not merely sympathize with us but rather shares in an important way in the human condition. We do not have to claim that the Incarnation is literally true in order for it to have meaning for us. As Christian Myth, without affronting our common sense, it can signify and help us to grasp these important truths.

II. The Life and Ministry Cluster

The life and ministry cluster of Christian Myth includes the miracle stories, prophecies and messianic claims erroneously attributed to Jesus, and claims of his perfection or sinlessness.

IIA. Miracles

The miracle stories are among the very first to come to mind when we speak of Christian Myth. But do they qualify? This is not an idle question, especially when Jesus himself rebuked those who sought a sign from him. We must see if miracle stories meet the four criteria we have established for Christian Myth.

The first two criteria are clearly met: miracle accounts are a part of Christian tradition, and we do not now claim that they are literally true. (The exception, again, is those faith healings which fit with the genre as we understand it today, and which we need not understand as miraculous).

The third criterion is that these stories serve "to reinforce or exemplify proper Christian belief, attitude, or action". This is not so clearly met. The miracles can signify different things to different people, not all of them appropriate. For instance, Jesus’ stilling of the storm or coming to his disciples across the water or multiplication of the loaves and fishes could all be taken to symbolize Jesus’ love and concern for the human fears and bodily needs of people. This would certainly meet this criterion. But these miracles might more readily be understood to symbolize things inconsistent with our common sense theology such as Jesus’ divinity or God’s willingness to interfere with natural law. Likewise they might be understood to symbolize things inconsistent with our Christian faith such as Jesus’ worldly kingship or material power and, therefore, to mean that the Christian message is about what we control instead of about whom and how we serve. The symbolism of magic and power is strong in the miracle accounts. Before they could meet the third criterion for Christian Myth they would have to be clearly reinterpreted so that they did in fact come to symbolize appropriate Christian themes. This could be done, but it would entail a lot of work.

The fourth criterion, that these accounts could symbolize these themes without being taken as literally true, is the key to helping us work on proper interpretation. When we make it clear that we do not in fact understand the miracle stories to be true (per criterion #2), that Jesus did not actually still the storm or walk on water, then the implications of magic or worldly power or divine intervention fade away. We can also understand that to Jesus’ contemporaries these stories would have entailed claims about his authority. But these miracles no longer have religious significance for us, and could not carry these claims if not seen as true. So again some real work is needed on reinterpretation of the miracles for them to have appropriate Christian symbolism.

Do the miracle stories, then, qualify as Christian Myth? I’m not sure that they presently do. But they can, if enough creative Christians do the necessary interpretive work on them.

IIB. Jesus’ Prophecies

Some of the sayings attributed to Jesus are thought by scholars to have very probably originated with the early Church and not with Jesus himself. In the next section we will consider his messianic claims, in this section his predictions of his crucifixion and resurrection.

There are three "predictions of the Passion", as they are called, in each of the first three Gospels ("passion" in the ancient sense of "martyrdom", meaning here the suffering and crucifixion of Jesus -- as in the medieval "Passion plays"). There is also Matthew’s version of the "sign of Jonah" saying (see Chapter 4, p. 49), as well as various references in John.

The first prediction follows "Peter’s confession" that Jesus is the Christ. Jesus responded with an admonition to tell no one and then told the disciples "that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised." (Matthew 16:21; cf. Mark 8:27f, Luke 9:18f.) This is echoed by the second prediction: "The son of man [that is, himself] is to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day!’ (Matthew 17:22-23; cf. Mark 9:31, Luke 9:44.) This is expanded in the third prediction: "Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem; and the son of man will be delivered to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn him to death, and deliver him to the Gentiles to be mocked and scourged and crucified, and will be raised on the third day!’ (Matthew 20:18- 19; cf. Mark 10:32-34, Luke 18:31-33.)

The attribution of these predictions to Jesus himself is extremely dubious. They are simply too specific and too detailed. They are too good to be true. No one has ever made such precisely accurate predictions before the fact.(The other example in the Bible of very precise predictions is in Daniel. Supposedly writing in the 6th century BC., he reports an astoundingly accurate vision of the rise and fall of Middle Eastern Kingdoms part way through the 2nd century BC. However, the book appears to have been written around 165 BC., on linguistic and other evidence – and prophecies for events this date were not fulfilled.) If Jesus had made these very specific predictions, how could the disciples possibly have remained unaware of what was to happen? Yet unaware they were, as is obvious both from the story of events and from remarks such as Luke 18:34: "But they understood none of these things; this saying was hid from them, and they did not grasp what was said!’ (cf. Luke 9:45, Mark 9:32.)

So the only reasonable conclusion is that Jesus did not in fact make these specific predictions. This is not to say that he might not have spoken in more general terms of danger and suffering. It seems quite likely that he did and that these general sayings were later given a more specific content by people who knew what actually transpired. (We can easily imagine the process: "Why, I bet he knew all along what would happen. He must have tried to tell us, and we just didn’t understand him. Don’t you think that’s what he meant, that day on the way to Jericho? Remember?")

But if these and the other notably accurate predictions of Jesus were the product not of his foresight but of somebody else’s hindsight, what then do we do with them? Can we use them constructively as Christian Myth? As with the miracle accounts, these prophecies obviously meet the first two criteria. So the question is: do they reinforce Christian themes, and can they do so without being taken as literally true?

The original function of these passages was twofold: to support the claim of Jesus’ special nature and authority, and to show that he knew what lay ahead and nevertheless stuck to his course. If these predictions were not actually his, however, they can no longer reinforce claims as to his special nature or his status as a seer. But they could not do this in any case, for this kind of prediction is irrelevant to our concerns about God and morality. They are not religiously significant.

But the predictions of the Passion can serve to reinforce Christian themes nonetheless. First, because they doubtless represent Jesus’ general awareness that he would be going into great danger. And he went anyway, in faith and in love. So the predictions illustrate how our values are more important than our fears; our faith is more important than preserving our own lives, which are limited anyway.

Second, even if these predictions were not uttered by Jesus they exemplify quite vividly a basic understanding of his: greatness does not mean comfort and ease and earthly power. They stand as statements that the Messiah, God’s chosen one, is chosen not for worldly glory but for suffering, not to rule but to serve. Along with Jesus’ actions, they rein-force the teaching that he or she who would be greatest must be the servant of all. Interpreted in this way they are a valuable part of the Christian Myth.

IIC. Messianic Consciousness

By "messianic consciousness’ we mean Jesus of Nazareth’s own awareness of being the Messiah. Did he in fact claim this title for himself?

This strikes most people as a preposterous question. How could Jesus not know he was the Messiah? How could he not have acknowledged and claimed this? Yet as inconceivable as it may seem, the question of his messianic consciousness is a very live one in scholarly circles.

The question is not whether Jesus considered himself to be a prophet conveying God’s message. This is apparent. The question is whether he considered himself to be that person whose coming was foretold as the Messiah. Since the Messiah was expected to re-establish the kingdom of David in keeping with the prophecies (see p. 97), and since Jesus was evidently not interested in worldly kingship or in driving out the Romans, this is a very good question.

Certainly Jesus did not claim to fill the messianic prophecies that speak of establishing a government or defeating Israel’s enemies (see Isaiah 9 and 11). And many scholars have concluded that he never claimed to be the Messiah at all, that all such statements were put into his mouth by the early Church. As Hans Kung puts it:

According to the Synoptic Gospels then ... Jesus never himself assumed the designation of Messiah or any other messianic title.

Probably Jesus did not describe himself as Son of David, Messiah (Christ) or Son of God (Son). It is also possible that he did not use the term "Son of Man" of himself, at least not in an unequivocally messianic sense for his own time.(Hans K¸ng, On Being a Christian, [Doubleday and Company, 1076], p. 288, 290.)

I am not quite as convinced as Kung and others that Jesus made no claims with messianic implications, in part because of the nature of his entry into Jerusalem (see Zechariah 9:9). But apparently his outright claims of being the Messiah are of dubious authenticity.

But this, then, qualifies these statements to be part of the Christian Myth, as long as they can promote Christian themes. They would not do this if we understood the claims to mean that Jesus was the messianic warrior-king. But neither we nor Jesus understand him to be this. We have, in fact, given a new meaning to the title of Messiah. Christians have understood it to mean the one sent from God -- the Son of God, or maybe God the Son -- the Savior. While we have not been able to buy into any of these titles in our common sense reconstruction, we do use the messianic title of "the Christ", redefined to mean the one through whose life and teachings we interpret God, the one through whom we find focus and meaning for our lives.

The important question regarding Jesus’ self-identity is not whether he identified himself with any particular title. None of the titles or expectations were adequate. The important question is what he understood himself to be doing and how he understood his relationship to God. Our position is that he did not understand himself to be fulfilling the role of Messiah as understood either by his contemporaries or by Christian tradition. But he certainly did claim to be the one who carried God’s message, the one through whom to interpret God.

Therefore, if we can view the messianic claims not as claims to be the heir of David or claims to be a divine Savior, but rather as symbols that point to the fact that we confess Jesus of Nazareth to be the Christ, then they can take their place as part of the Christian Myth.

IID. Jesus’ Perfection

The claims made of Jesus’ perfection or sinlessness constitute a fourth part of the life and ministry cluster of Christian Myth. In the New Testament we find Jesus referred to as "holy, blameless, unstained, separated from sinners, exalted above the heavens:’ (Hebrews 7:26) and as he "who knew no sin" (II Corinthians 5:21). Similar claims have been made about him ever since.

To people who saw Jesus as God incarnate and/or as the required unblemished sacrifice to atone for our sins, it may have been both necessary and believable that he was perfect. But for us it is neither. Whether by "perfect" we mean simply sinless, or whether we mean perfect in knowledge and love and judgment and other aspects as well, it is simply impossible for anyone who is human to be this. Being human means precisely that we are limited in our knowledge, that emotions affect our judgment, that we get tired and frustrated and depressed, and that we will not always overcome these imperfections to choose rightly.

Jesus of Nazareth was human. Therefore he was neither sinless nor perfect. We can ascribe claims of his perfection to a desire to make the point that he was "the one", whether "the one" was identified as the Son of God or God the Son, as Savior or the Lamb. But do claims of this sort have a place in Christian Myth? It comes down to the same two questions as before: do they reinforce Christian themes? Can they do so if not literally true?

These claims do not reinforce Christian values if they serve to emphasize the difference between ourselves and Jesus. If he was able to act with love and forgiveness because he was perfect and sinless, then why should we who are imperfect sinners think that we might be capable of the same sort of life? Why should we even try?

Only by recognizing that the claims of Jesus’ perfection are untrue can they serve to encourage Christian values. Perfection is not even an appropriate moral category, because it does not exist and certainly does not apply to human beings. But by using these claims to point to Jesus’ extreme goodness and love, a goodness and love which as his followers and fellow humans we can strive to attain, we can use them in a way that makes them appropriate for Christian Myth.

III. Death and Resurrection

The principal elements in the death and resurrection cluster of the Christian Myth are (A) his death as sacrifice and atonement, and (B) the "magical" elements of the resurrection stories.

IIIA. The Atonement

We have already made the point that the idea that God required the blood sacrifice of an innocent individual before forgiving our sins is awesomely unchristian. Atonement conceived of in this way has no place in Christian Myth or Christian anything else.

But there is an alternative understanding of atonement. The archaic and original meaning (which is refreshingly alive in some theological circles) is "at-one-ment", reconciliation. And instead of viewing the crucifixion as reconciling God to humanity -- for the Christian view is that God is always seeking us, reaching out to us -- we need to view it as reconciling humanity to God. So instead of the repugnant idea of the crucifixion as satisfaction of a divine blood thirst, we have instead a paradigm of self-sacrificing love for others, calling people to God and to right relation.

In this view Jesus’ ultimate act of love is not that of taking upon himself the sins of the world. As loving as that would be, it entails an unchristian view of God. Instead, his act of love is his doing that which was required to make known to us the true meaning of faith and of victory, of love and of life.

One might ask why Jesus’ death was necessary to accomplish this. After all, he had been preaching this message all along.

We must say that it was not necessary in any metaphysical or theological sense. It was not necessary to God’s plan or to our "salvation". It probably was inevitable that the forces of the status quo and oppression would see his liberating message as a threat and so act to silence him. And it was necessary for him then to take the only course of action that was faithful to his message, and this was the path to the cross.

The crucifixion stands as a triumph of faith and integrity and a triumph of the love for others that Jesus preached. This faith and integrity and love were not vanquished by worldly powers or diminished by death. Instead they rose in the face of death to their greatest heights.

The crucifixion, then, can serve as at-one-ment by showing people the nature of the love of God’s messenger and -- by inference -- the nature of the love of God. The crucifixion shows the real possibility of love, and so calls us to turn and accept God’s love. In this way it can reconcile us to God, and in this interpretation the atonement could qualify as Christian Myth.

I remain unsure whether "atonement" can sufficiently shed its classic unchristian connotations. I am also unsure -- if we are able to give it the proposed reinterpretation -- whether it would qualify as myth, for the atonement in the sense of reconciling us to God is certainly true. But if we do use the concept of atonement in our common sense Christianity it must be in this latter sense.

IIIB. The "Magical" Elements of the Resurrection Stories

The central element of the resurrection -- Jesus of Nazareth’s triumph over death -- does not qualify as Christian Myth for the simple reason that we claim it is true. We maintain that this person was in fact not brought to an end by his physical death on the cross. However, when it comes to the various resurrection stories it becomes difficult to make any claims about the specific nature of what actually happened.5 What is important, of course, is the reality to which these accounts bear witness. Having said this, certain elements of the story become candidates for Christian Myth: the appearance of angels, the miraculous rolling away of the stone, Jesus’ ability to pass through shut doors and also to ingest solid food, etc.

The question here is whether we need to claim the literal truth of any of these details in order to maintain the truth of the resurrection itself. If we do not claim the specifics of the angel or the stone or a post-resurrection Jesus that ate fish or showed nail holes or walked to Emmaus, then what is left to claim as the resurrection event?

What we claim is that the person of Jesus of Nazareth survived the death of his body on the cross and made himself known to some of his disciples. We do not claim to understand exactly what happened or how the disciples experienced it. As we pointed out in Chapter 6, we cannot claim great theological significance for this event, but we do claim that it occurred. This claim is not dependent on any of the details or supernatural manifestations. So we can use these aspects of the resurrection story as Christian Myth as long as we use them to point to and symbolize the Christian understanding that Jesus was victorious on the cross and survived death.

IV. Other

There are two other concepts in particular that do not fit neatly into one of the foregoing three clusters but which we need to consider as possibilities for Christian Myth. They are the devil and the Trinity.

IVA. The Devil

In the Bible we see a transition from "the accuser" in the Old Testament (which we too often render as the proper name "Satan") to the devil as tempter and personification of evil in the New Testament. (What we know as the traditional story about the devil, by the way, is best found in Milton’s Paradise Lost.) Today, however, we have no need to claim that evil is a personal being. While we do not claim that human beings are enslaved by sin, we are aware of the great capacity that humans have for evil as well as for good. We do not need the assistance of a devil to commit great sins; we do well enough at it on our own.

Can the devil be a part of the Christian Myth? Not if the story of the devil has the result that we blame someone else for our sins or that we view the world as a place where there is an ultimate force of evil. We believe in one God, not two -- not one good and one evil.

However, by making it clear that we do not mean these stories as literal truth we should minimize the likelihood of these results. If we can instead use the idea of the devil to symbolize that human beings are capable of evil, that we each have within us motives and impulses and temptations that can lead to evil and so must be held in check, then (but only then) the devil can be a part of Christian Myth.

IVB. The Trinity

Here is the centerpiece of orthodoxy: God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. We explored in some detail in Chapter Seven why we cannot accept the Incarnation, Jesus as God the Son. For similar reasons we cannot accept the broader concept of the triune God in the sense of three "persons" with one "substance". This idea is neither logical nor Biblical nor necessary nor particularly helpful. We do not claim the Trinity to be literally true in our common sense theology.

There are two possible ways that the Trinity might function as Christian Myth to symbolize Christian themes for us.

First, the Trinity has represented for many people the mystery of God, the fact that God is ultimately beyond our comprehension. (This is a virtue of the otherwise lamentable fact that the idea of the Trinity itself does not make sense.) Certainly we have to admit that a total understanding of God is beyond the grasp of our limited minds. The idea of the unknowability of God is a traditional one, and is especially strong in the Eastern Orthodox spiritual tradition.

But if we use the Trinity as myth to point to this unknowability of God, we must make clear that we are not claiming that God is in fact tripartite. In fact, we might do better to point to the unknowability of God by using concepts that do not affront our common sense -- and there are certainly enough unknowables (not lust unknowns, but unknowables) in the universe to do this. Or we could simply state that God is unknowable instead of using incomprehensible language of God to prove our point. Otherwise someone might think we are trying to say something about God instead of just pointing to God’s unknowability.

Second, the Trinity can symbolize for us the different aspects of God and the way we relate to God. God the Father represents the transcendent aspect of God: creator of the universe, beyond all that we know. The Holy Spirit represents the presence of God with us, God’s pulling and encouraging, the fact that God is the context within which we live. The Son, of course, represents Jesus the Christ, but we cannot call him "God the Son". He is not divine. So "the Son" does not represent an aspect of God, but is the one through whom we best understand God. "The Son", in fact, shows us what our relationship to God can be and should be. This understanding of the Trinity might be acceptable.

But a further problem here is the masculine imagery. Obviously, Jesus happened to be male, so in his case this is legitimate. But I can see no reason for enshrining the maleness of God as part of our orthodoxy, and to the extent that the Trinity supports a patriarchal society or sexism it is not in keeping with the Christian message and cannot be used.

It should be noted that throughout this book we have assiduously pursued the use of gender-free language in speaking of God. This is important, for certainly God is neither male nor female. If this avoidance of personal pronouns is found to be clumsy or fails to give a proper sense of God as a being who is related to us in a personal way, then certainly one is free to speak of God both as male and as female so long as these usages are understood to be metaphorical and not to be claiming gender for God, and so long as the male and female references are relatively balanced. (I recognize that there may be legitimate pastoral concerns about breaking with our traditional patriarchal images, but there are also legitimate pastoral concerns that join with a correct theology and proper symbolism to impel us to gender-neutral language.)

It is time now to move beyond theology to the Christian life.

 

Notes:

1. There are also other stories and themes from the Old and New Testaments that meet the criteria of Christian Myth and can be constructively used in this way. We are limiting ourselves here primarily to the Jesus myths due to space limitations and due to the centrality of Jesus to our faith.

2. In Matthew the wisemen find Jesus and his family living in a house in Bethlehem, from where they flee to Egypt, later to return to a different part of the country -- Nazareth. In Luke, Joseph and Mary already live in Nazareth and come to Bethlehem for the census.

3. The other best example in the Bible of very precise predictions is in Daniel. Supposedly writing in the 6th century BC., he reports an astoundingly accurate vision of the rise and fall of Middle Eastern kingdoms part way through the 2nd century BC. However, the book appears to have been written around 165 BC., on linguistic and other evidence -- and prophecies for events after this date were not fulfilled.

4.. Hans Kung, On Being A Christian, (Doubleday and Company, 1976), p. 288. 290.

5. See Appendix B for a consideration of the scholarly arguments.

Chapter 14: Reconstruction: Sin And Salvation

"What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" (Micah 6:8)

"The Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations." (Psalm 100:5)

 

Now that we have laid out our common sense theology and Christology it is time to consider the effects of these on traditional Christian themes. In this chapter we will look at those which can be grouped under the general heading of "sin and salvation".

I: Sin

Sin has generally been thought of in two different ways: as an action or as a condition. We will consider sin as a condition under the heading of "original sin" below. At this point we are concerned with sin in the sense of bad deeds.

What does it mean to call a human action a sin? To begin with we are saying that the action is morally wrong. And traditionally, it was to say that this action violated the will of God. This is what makes it a sin. To sin, then, meant betrayal of the God who loves you, the God who had "given his only son" on your behalf. Obviously, this added a degree of perniciousness: You not only have injured a fellow human being with your sin, but you have also transgressed against God Almighty. Furthermore, besides having an additional connotation of moral wrong, to sin was dangerous: it could wind you up in hell.

Nowadays, however, we are reluctant to take the step from calling an action morally wrong to calling it a sin.1 Why is this? There are several factors involved:

1. First, to call an act on the part of someone else a "sin" may be felt to imply an unattractive self-righteousness on our part. And a lot of us would rather be considered wishy-washy or even sinful rather than self-righteous. Self-righteousness, while sinful itself, is less socially acceptable than most other sins.

2. Second, to call a wrong action a "sin" is to bring in the religious dimension. Heaven forbid that we should cause our friends to think we’re religious, of all things! They would surely consider us to be some sort of fanatic.

3. Third, to call something a "sin" is to imply that we do in fact know what is right and what is wrong, and for some people this further Implies that we know the will of God in a particular situation. Both of these claims are very out of fashion in this day of no absolutes. Our resistance to such claims is further increased by the fact that those who are most likely to make them are equipped with nice, neat lists of what God disapproves of -- lists that generally reflect the bias of a certain class and culture and that show a special interest in sexual mores, lists that all too often cannot distinguish between minor personal failings and major injustices. We are justifiably suspicious of such lists.

4. Finally, the traditional connotations of "sin" cause it to be perceived as language that is simply too strong. "Sin" brings with it connotations of the sacred, of dealing with a superior moral law, of having transgressed against the Absolute, of having offended the one eternal God and put oneself at risk. This is heavy stuff for people who have gotten unused to dealing with the sacred as a part of their lives. It has become a foreign element to many, and (as with much that is alien and unfamiliar to us) it is feared.

Now the question is: given our present aversion to the use of the word sin for all these reasons, and given our common sense view of God which does not encompass the divine giving of specific commandments on stone tablets or otherwise -- what do we do with "sin"? What should we, what can we, mean by it? Or should we abandon it altogether? (The concept, I mean. I doubt we shall ever abandon the practice.)

No, we do not need to abandon the concept of sin. In fact, we must not abandon it. It makes the crucial point that our choices between right and wrong are not made in a vacuum. How we act, how we treat people, how we live, affects our relationship with the ultimate. We must not forget this.

But if we must keep (or resurrect) the concept of sin, how do we define it and how do we use it? To begin with, we state again that there is a right and a wrong. Even in complex situations there are generally some actions which clearly grow out of fear and hatred, and which lead to a continuation of the sad and vicious cycle of human unkindness. These are wrong. Likewise there are generally some actions which demonstrate a true concern for all involved, for love and justice, and which may lead to reconciliation and improvement. These are right.

And God, we have said, calls us into right relationship, calls us to do what is right. A sin, then, is an action that goes against this call. To give it a proper definition: a sin is an action by a mentally competent person that goes against or avoids the call of God to right relation.2

With this as the definition of sin, how do we use it? In fact, we find there are three important uses for the Christian concept of sin:

First, it gives us a way to say that morally wrong acts are just that: they are wrong. They are bad. They ought not to be done. The idea of "sin" carries with it this connotation and helps us to make a point which we are sometimes obligated to make. We do not need to make this point in those cases where a wrong has been acknowledged and repented of. Rather, it is when sins are socially acceptable, unrecognized, or a part of our cultural fabric that we need most to pronounce them as such.

Second, since sin carries with it the connotation of danger to the sinner, to identify certain actions as sins is to call attention in a strong way to the need for repentance and change for the good of the sinner. In order to do this we do not need to postulate a God standing in judgment and threatening damnation in response to particular acts. It fits better with our common sense to adopt a view not unlike that found in parts of the Old Testament: sin will have its harmful consequences for the person doing as well as for the person done to, not as a result of a special interventionist act of God but as a natural result of the sin itself. And a natural result of sin is a warping of our character.

What is at stake here in deciding between right and wrong is nothing less than the shape and the depth of our selves. We can carve our selves shallow and narrow and crooked by opting for the selfish and the vengeful and the wrong, by selling out our human integrity. Or we can hew a broad and solid foundation for our selves by making hard choices for the loving and the right. In deciding between right and wrong we are not only choosing what actions to take. We are choosing as well the shape and the nature of our only true possession, our self.

Third, when we say that a wrong act is a sin, even if we do not conceive of God as standing in judgment we are still pointing out that there is another dimension involved in our choices between right and wrong. When we make a moral decision we are also determining the nature of our relationship with God. It is not that God rewards or damns us in response: rather, it is we ourselves turning towards or turning away from God.

Because it is so vitally important to point out that doing the wrong thing is bad in the first place, is damaging to our selves, and harms our relationship with God, we can and must continue to speak about sin.

II: Original Sin

Now we must consider sin as a condition, the human tendency toward sinning that is traditionally called "original sin". This two-word phrase has more unchristian implications to it than any other I can think of -- a remarkable achievement for a concept that is such an integral part of Christian tradition. For theologians from Augustine to Luther (and all too many since) the concept of "original sin" has included the following tenets:

(1) That we are born in a state of sinfulness. That is, because of our human nature it is inevitable that we will in the course of our lives commit sins. Some theologians put it more strongly than this and say that we are born with a human nature such that, without the action of God’s grace, we are bound to be dominated by the motivations that lead to sinning.

(2) That this state of sin or tendency to commit sins is somehow or other our own fault. Even though we are born with it without anyone so much as asking our preference in the matter, it is our fault. It is certainly not God’s fault. After all, we were created by God in a state of perfection. And we blew it, thanks to Adam and Eve and the serpent. And the responsibility for our sinfulness is passed down to us along with the condition itself.

(3) That, being guilty of sinfulness in this way, we are therefore unworthy of God’s love, to the point that God could forgive us for this sinfulness -- and thereby save us from the damnation that would otherwise be its natural and deserved consequence -- only if someone free from this sinfulness were to offer himself or herself as a sacrifice in our stead and thus atone for our guilt.

(4)That in order for our forgiveness to be effected by this atonement we must "believe in" Jesus Christ, which allows God to pretend that we are not sinful after all. This is justification by faith, or by grace through faith.

The unchristian implications of these are:

(1) That we humans are in and of ourselves unworthy of God’s love.

(2) That a newborn infant is guilty of sinfulness and would presumably not qualify for salvation without a special act of grace.

(3) That however much good a person may do with their life, however much faith they may have, they still need God’s forgiveness in order to receive salvation, which God either could not or would not grant until Innocent blood was shed in the crucifixion.

(4) That God still cannot or will not grant this forgiveness unless a person believes in Jesus Christ; and therefore that it is a belief or doctrine that is necessary for salvation, not a life lived in love and faith.

These implications of the traditional idea of "original sin" stand in direct opposition to the whole of Jesus’ life and teaching. The God of Jesus Christ loved the world, sought out sinners, and forgave those who repented. Anyone who shares the Christian understanding of God cannot help but find these ideas -- humans as unworthy of God’s love, babies as evil, and God not forgiving anyone until innocent blood has been shed -- to be repugnant and blasphemous.

If the implications of the idea of "original sin" are absolutely unacceptable, what can we do with the concept itself? I fear that these traditional ramifications are so identified with the phrase "original sin" that there is no alternative but to heave it into the theological garbage dump.

However, connected with this concept is a pair of important Christian insights that need to be retained. They are much too important to lose sight of. The first of these is a well-developed appreciation for the finitude of each human being, for our imperfection and our separation from the eternal and the perfect. The second is the realization that humans are as a matter of fact capable of immense evil, not to mention an incredible number of entirely unnecessary petty cruelties.

These two insights certainly have the depth and the importance to stand on their own. There is no need to merge them with the rest of the complex that is associated with "original sin".

Furthermore, while we need to recognize the gravity of our human propensity to sin, we need to balance this with the recognition (demonstrated so vividly by Jesus of Nazareth) that each and every human being has the ability to turn to God and to do good, that each and every human being is intrinsically worthy of love. To speak of "original sin" without at the same time speaking of "original virtue" is to ignore precisely that potential that Jesus saw and reached for, precisely that aspect of humanity that is most relevant to the Christian message.( Matthew Fox addresses this in Original Blessing (Santa Fe: Bear and Company, 1983) in which he criticizes "fall/redemption spiritually" and proposes "creation spirituality", a fascinating blend of panentheism, feminism, ecology-awareness, and Medieval mystics such as Meister Eckhart and Hildegarde of Bingen. Unfortunately, he undergirds this positive approach to creation and spirituality with the ancient "Logos" Christology, thus basing it all on a divine and cosmic Christ.) If we ignore either the pull toward evil or the pull toward good we are holding a view that is unrealistic and will hamper our effectiveness in dealing with the real world.

To arrive at a balanced view we have to discard the traditional concept of "original sin". We need to replace it with a different concept, with a theme which is in keeping with the Christian message and which recognizes all our potential. We might say that humans have "bidirectional capabilities" or an "open orientation". However, I would prefer simply to say that human beings have within themselves the potential both for great evil and for great good. This observation, as simple as it is, constitutes one of the great basic understandings of Christianity, but is nonetheless disregarded in one way or another by great numbers of us.

III: Salvation

Is this not the central tenet of the Christian faith, that Jesus came and suffered "for us men and for our salvation"? Nevertheless, the traditional concept of salvation has serious problems. It is very closely associated with the unchristian ideas just noted under "original sin". We must ask whether it has a useful meaning independent of the ideas of human unworthiness and blood sacrifice.

First of all: what do we mean by "salvation"? In general, of course, it means being saved from something, from some danger or evil. Additionally, as a part of being saved from something, one must be saved to something else, to a different place or state of affairs. In Christian theology in particular salvation is from sin or from the penalties of sin. There is a double aspect: one is saved by being brought into a state of grace (or forgiveness or justification or even sanctification) instead of bondage to sin in this life, and by being brought into heaven instead of hell in the next life.

For both of these aspects we can and must find a better term than "salvation". We must use concepts and phrases that are not so identified with "blood of the lamb" theology, concepts that emphasize the positive instead of the negative. We will approach this task by looking at each of these two aspects of salvation in turn, in this life and in the afterlife, to see just what it is we wish to be saying.

IIIA: Salvation In This Life

In the case of salvation from bondage to sin in this life, what we want to stress is the good news -- the gospel -- that we do not have to be enslaved by our fear and hatred and selfishness, that we are in fact free to love, free to be kind and generous and even great of soul. We can best communicate this message not by emphasizing our need to be rescued from negative possibilities, but rather by emphasizing our potential for living in a loving and faithful way. So instead of speaking of "salvation" we ought rather to speak of living in right relationship, of faithfulness and commitment and love. It’s not so much that we need to be saved from sin as it is that we need to commit ourselves to a life of faith. (And truly we cannot do the first except by doing the second.) This is especially true in a society where the greatest temptation is not to murder or steal but is rather to orient your life toward your own self-satisfaction measured in terms of worldly success or possessions or pleasure.

"But:" challenges the traditionalist, "as weak and imperfect human beings we are incapable of doing the right thing and living the right way until we have been saved from the power of sin, whether you view this power emanating from within us or from Satan."

To which I say, "Horsefeathers!" I am weary of this calumny against humanity and against God. At the risk of being repetitious, however, I will respond in more detail.

First, as we said under "original sin", we are no more inhabited and owned by evil that we are by righteousness. Certainly we make mistakes, and sometimes do horrible things, but we do have the ability to choose between right and wrong. Otherwise there would not be as much good in the world as there is.

Second, we cannot be saved from "bondage to sin", we cannot avoid the habits and choices that lead to sin, except by opting for the good and striving to live faithfully. We cannot be saved from sin as a separate step before choosing to orient our lives towards the good.

Third, to treat humans as base prisoners of our own vice who need saving before we can try to live faithfully is to exaggerate the darkness, and is to encourage us simply to try to avoid evil instead of trying to live rightly and do good. This will not work! There are too many people on the moral sidelines who think they are living well just because they avoid specific acts of evil. Enough of this telling us to hide from the dark. On to light and life!

Our conclusion stands: we must replace the concept of salvation from sin in this life, and its negative and inadequate emphasis on avoidance, with the idea of living a faithful life. We must stress that this life of faith is a real possibility for us, is in fact the only possibility that yields meaning and wholeness and depth of character and right relation to God.

IIIB: Salvation In The Next Life

The other aspect of salvation is salvation from the "wages of sin", being saved from hell and admitted into heaven. The traditional understanding of this is that all humans need to be saved. Without divine intervention we would all as a matter of course end up in hell. But we could not be saved, except that Jesus Christ died for us, sacrificing his sinless and perfect self in our place. So now if we attach ourselves to this Jesus through faith, God will forgive us our sins and will attribute to us the sinlessness of this our Savior. Only thus is God able to welcome us into heaven.

Salvation, then, is a gift given graciously to the undeserving. No one deserves it since no one is perfect.

There are several real problems with this idea of salvation:

First, this reeks of the same repugnant attitudes as "original sin": that we are essentially evil and unworthy of love, and that God could only forgive us after being satisfied by innocent blood. These attitudes are incompatible with the message of the Christ.

Second, this idea of salvation depends on the double premise that (a) human beings who are without sin are deserving of heaven; and (b) there are no human beings without sin. Which is to say that heaven -- whether you think of it as a place or as a state of union with God -- was set up with rules that exclude all human beings to begin with. This certainly does not fit with the Christian view of God as one who is seeking out sinners in love, calling them to turn and come.

At this point the concept of "salvation" cannot be separated from these negative connotations which are so much a part of its tradition. These connotations are not only undesirable, they are untenable in the Christian faith. Therefore we must retire the term "salvation" from current use.

But if we do not use "salvation" to speak of the goal of Christians, of our eternal destiny, then what do we say instead? We need to ask, what is it that we wish to emphasize?

Again, instead of stressing the negative aspect ought we not rather to stress the positive? Instead of emphasizing "salvation from" that which we wish to avoid, ought we not rather to emphasize the reality that we are seeking?

So: what is our goal, and how do we attain it? Our goal is the same as we said above: to live faithfully and to orient our selves towards God. And if we are truly oriented towards God then it makes sense for our ultimate destiny to be the oneness with God which the death of our physical bodies makes possible. I do not pretend to know the nature of this oneness with God, nor the extent to which our individual identities are preserved, nor the quality of eternity. But if faith consists of the orienting of our lives towards God in this life, then it would seem natural for our selves to continue in this direction once they are released into the next life.

This brings us to the topics of judgment and grace.

IV: Judgment And Grace

The classical picture of judgment is that of an individual, his or her life finished, standing before God as their life is weighed in the balance, then receiving the fair judgment that determines his or her eternal fate. Of course only those who are forgiven, who are saved by their faith and by God’s grace, go on to heaven.

Surely, though, our tradition offers a much better image than that of God sitting in judgment on our earthly lives and then imposing a final destination as a separate interventionist act. Instead of this, we should emphasize our belief in the God who has accepted us, who loves us, who seeks us, who waits for us to turn and accept this love. This gives us the image of God holding open the door of reconciliation, waiting for us to respond and walk through. It is we who reject God, not the other way around.

This image better represents the gospel’s central motif of a reconciling God, and it also fits better with our common sense understanding of God being the context within which we live. There is no necessity for human perfection or for blood atonement. God’s forgiveness is extended at all times along with God’s love, available to us if we only repent and turn and accept this love. It is our choice as to whether we will live toward God or away from God. And if we truly set the direction of our souls toward God then we continue in this direction and are united with God after death.

Do we then (to use traditional language) "save ourselves"? Do we achieve heaven through our own good works? Certainly this would be contrary to the basic Christian understanding that it is God who gets us into heaven, not we ourselves.

But tradition also recognizes that it takes both parties, God and humans, to get us to heaven. It takes our faith as well as God’s grace. And this is what we are saying here. God’s grace is the constant pull on us. It is the encouragement to live in right relationship, a part of the world in which we live. God’s grace, God’s love, and God’s welcome for us all are already a feature of reality. When we respond to this by living in faith, by living towards God, this is not "saving ourselves" but is rather to provide our share of the necessary ingredients. God provides the call; we must provide the answer. God’s grace holds open the door; we must walk through it.

To conclude then: a life of faith, oriented towards loving God and loving neighbor, is what constitutes an affirmative response to God’s call. To set our selves on this course will naturally result in continuing on this path to God in the afterlife. We need not think of this as "salvation" from anything, and in fact because of the negative connotations of this word we should not use it. We need rather to stress the positive aspects of saying yes to God’s call: living in right relation, forming a noble self in a life of faith, learning truly to love our neighbors, experiencing this love in our hearts. This, not escape or salvation from anything, is the greatest purpose available to us.

 

Notes:

1. Thus Karl Menninger’s Whatever Became of Sin? (Hawthorn Books, 1973).

2. To satisfy the ethical philosopher, we can add the usual stipulations: that one acted according to reasonably expected consequences consistent with the available information, and that one made efforts to assure adequate information proportionate to the Importance of the potential effects.

3. Matthew Fox addresses this in Original Blessing (Santa Fe: Bear and Company, 1983), in which he criticizes "fall/redemption spirituality" and proposes creation spirituality", a fascinating blend of panentheism. feminism, ecology-awareness, and Medieval mystics such as Meister Eckhart and Hildegarde of Bingen. Unfortunately, he undergirds this positive approach to creation and spirituality with the ancient "Logos" Christology, thus basing it all on a divine and cosmic Christ.