Tag Archives: jesus

Let’s Talk About Hell

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Recently I posted the following on social media:

I’m a Christian, a follower of Jesus. Of course I believe in hell.

But do I believe in a post-mortem lake of fire where people are tortured eternally for not believing the right things? Absolutely not. That’s utterly unchristian and foreign to the way of Jesus.

But I was being tricksy.

I was intentionally trying to get a reaction from both the “fundamentalists” and the “progressives.” Christian fundamentalists, of course, believe exactly what I deny in the second part, and they think this belief is the historically orthodox, biblical, properly Christian understanding of hell (it isn’t). And Christian progressives—or at least the most progressive of progressives—don’t believe in any kind of hell at all. Some ultra-progressives don’t even have any place for sin in their theological framework.

But it’s really hard to be a “follower of Jesus” in any meaningful way and deny the reality of hell. After all, Jesus talks about it quite a bit in the Gospels, mostly as gehenna, and given the location of that concept historically—and even geographically—it’s quite likely this memory accurately reflects the historical Jesus of Nazareth.

This is not hell.

But there’s also nothing in Jesus’ teaching in the Gospels that supports the idea that God sends people to a place of eternal torture because they don’t believe the right things about Jesus or God or salvation. In spite of the prooftexts that some might trot out.

So what do I think about hell? A few thoughts.

First, for Jesus in the Gospels, “hell” is pretty consistently for those who abuse their power by harming those who have less power.

A few examples:

“If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell” (Matt 5:28-29).

This ⬆️ is for men who lust after women—in a patriarchal culture where men have power over women and women have little power over men. It’s telling, then, that Jesus doesn’t command women to “dress modestly”; rather, he calls out men for their objectification and sexualization of women’s bodies.

“If your hand or your foot causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life maimed or lame than to have two hands or two feet and to be thrown into the eternal fire. And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into the hell of fire” (Matt 18-8-9).

This ⬆️ is for those who cause children to “stumble”—probably at least a reference to keeping children from coming to Jesus, though possibly a more sinister reference to child abuse. Either way, it’s an abuse of power over those without power, again in a patriarchal culture where men were at the top of the heap and children among those at the bottom.

“The rich man also died and was buried. In hell, where he was being tormented, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side” (Luke 16:23).

This ⬆️ is Jesus’ story of the rich man and Lazarus—and the rich man is in hell (here “Hades,” the realm of the dead) because he had refused to help the poor man at his gates. “Woe to you rich,” Jesus has already warned in Luke’s Gospel, “for you have received your consolation. Who to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.” (6:24-25).

“Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ And these will go away into eternal punishment but the righteous into eternal life” (Matt 25:45-46).

This ⬆️ is Jesus’ story of the sheep and the goats—and the “goats” who go to “eternal punishment” are those who have the means to care for the poor, the stranger, the sick, and the imprisoned, and yet they refuse to do so.

You get the idea.

Second, for Jesus in the Gospels, “hell” is most often a translation of the word gehenna—and for those instances where that’s not the case, the idea of gehenna is probably not far away.

I’ve got a separate blog post on this, but here’s the executive summary.

Gehenna is a reference to the Valley of Hinnom, a literal valley on the south side of Old Jerusalem. It was the place where, at particularly horrible times in ancient Israel, children were burned in sacrifice to other gods—epitomizing the depths of injustice present in Israelite society at the time. These “fires of gehenna” were not lit by God but by people with power pursuing idolatry and injustice. Yet God warned that one day this valley would burn with the corpses of these violent powers-that-be, when the Babylonian empire came a-conquering. And so gehenna came to be a symbol of God “turning the tables” on abusers of power, abusers of the powerless.

Are you seeing a theme?

This is also not hell.

Third, for Jesus in the Gospels, even this “hell-as-gehenna, as a just punishment for abusers of power over others” probably involves some good ol’-fashioned symbolism and hyperbole.

As a teacher of wisdom, Jesus was not averse to hyperbole. Right in the context of the first example above you’ve got exaggeration for effect: eyes being gouged out and hands being cut off. And as an apocalyptic prophet, he was not averse to apocalyptic-prophetic imagery, which was highly symbolic. Beasts are not literal beasts, multiple heads are not literal heads, and “eternal fires of hell” are neither literal fires, nor literally without end.

Don’t misunderstand: neither hyperbole nor symbolism mean that the thing they are describing is “not real” or “not true.” Rather, they are telling the truth, but telling it slant, to borrow from Emily Dickinson.

The hyperbole and vivid imagery catch your attention. They tell you, “This is important, listen up!” They point to some very real truths—in this case how much God hates it when people abuse their power and harm those under their power, and that one day these abusers will face the consequences. But it’s not in a literal lake of fire, being eternally tormented.

I would say that, generally, this understanding of “hell” holds true for later, similar descriptions of “hell” in the New Testament, where the word gehenna is not directly used. Regardless, this is what “hell” meant for Jesus.

So yes, as a follower of Jesus I believe in hell. And, like Jesus, I say woe to you who are abusing your wealth and power, causing harm to those without wealth and power—you’ve got a hellish time coming your way, whatever that might look like. For the sake of those you are harming—and your own sake—turn from your wicked ways, make restitution to those you have harmed, and follow Jesus in his way of love.

What is Christian nationalism? And why is it a problem?

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There’s a lot of discussion about Christian nationalism these days, and a lot of people are unsure what to make of it, or even what Christian nationalism (CN) is. Some thoughts on what it is and why it’s a problem…

Let’s start with “nationalism.” Encyclopaedia Britannica gets it nicely: “Nationalism is an ideology that emphasizes loyalty, devotion, or allegiance to a nation or nation-state and holds that such obligations outweigh other individual or group interests.” Nationalism is not just patriotism; it’s an elevation of the nation-state to a place of high allegiance, often with a sense of the nation’s superiority over others.

“Christian” nationalism adds the expectation that the nation reflect specific values deemed to be Christian, in its constitution, laws, policies, and so on. Typically it means that these things should be based on biblical laws or teachings, especially the Ten Commandments.

Christian nationalism thus holds the expectation that Christianity be privileged in some way, perhaps even adopted as the state religion. In more extreme forms, CN includes ideas like requiring high-ranking government officials to be Christian or expecting immigrants to adopt Christianity.

If this is hard to imagine, just replace “Christian” with “Islamic” or “Jewish,” and imagine Islamic or Jewish nationalism as the guiding ideology for a nation-state.

So much for what it is. What’s wrong with it? Well, there are several problems with nationalism generally and Christian nationalism in particular. Here are a few…

First, nationalism’s elevation of the nation-state and the sense of the nation’s superiority can lead to interventionist, even expansionist, policies, resulting in increased violence world-wide and (ironically) less security at home.

Now, nationalism is an inherently isolationist ideology. It sees “globalism”—nation-states working together in a way that is perceived to erase national identities—as a threat. However, nationalism can become expansionist. The nation can seek to impose its values on other nations through cultural, economic, military, or other means. This is when nationalism becomes imperialism. Think 400 years of colonization by western European nation-states. Or Russian expansionism now in Ukraine. Or most US foreign policy since WWII.

Second, when this nationalism conflates the nation-state with a particular person, you get cult-like authoritarian regimes, even under the guise of “democracy.” Think Nazi Germany, or Putin’s Russia, or MAGA America. Combine with the previous, and you get war. Even world wars.

Third, an obvious problem with Christian nationalism is this: which Christianity? Inevitably it is a conservative version, mirroring nationalism’s expectation of allegiance and its sense of superiority. Literalist in its reading of Scripture and fundamentalist in its outlook.

And white. And patriarchal. This also needs to be said: Christian nationalism is a white, patriarchalist movement. It’s an attempt to re-create a lost society, a golden era of 1950s white, “family values” suburbia. Think “Leave it to Beaver,” but with more overt Christianity.

But this is only one slice of Christianity, and a relatively recent one at that. Christianity originated on the margins; anything like Christian nationalism was unthinkable for its first 300 years. The “kingdom” Jesus envisioned is “not of this world”: it’s not a political entity, a nation-state.

And the Christianity that grew from Jesus wasn’t white, and it wasn’t patriarchal. Following Jesus’ way, early Christianity was intercultural and egalitarian, sometimes even radically so.

Finally, Christian nationalism seeks to impose religious values on others who do not share those values, even requiring them to live contrary to their own religious (or non-religious) values. Which, of course, is a problem if the nation is striving to be a democracy.

Note: the problem is not having different values, or seeking to persuade others to share one’s values, or even seeking to establish laws for the common good on the basis of one’s values. All this is fundamental to democracy.

The problem is not even that sometimes we have to agree to things deemed to be for the common good which go against our personal values. Again, democracy. Or just, “living together.”

No, the problem is the imposition of one’s values on others, requiring them through a use of power to abide by or even adopt those values themselves, and especially without striving through dialogue, debate, and compromise to determine a “common good.” This is not democracy.

This is also not many Christians’ understanding of Christianity. Jesus didn’t impose. He didn’t coerce. He didn’t use power to make people follow his way. The opposite, in fact.

Jesus gave up his power, he gave up his privilege, in order to serve others, to meet their deepest needs, to love them. This is Philippians 2. This is the Gospels. This is the gospel.

And this is authentic, historic Christianity.

© Michael W. Pahl

Why (and How) Do I Trust the Gospels?

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Although I don’t believe in Scripture’s inerrancy, I do believe in its inspiration, that God “breathed into” the ancient writings that comprise the anthology we Christians call Scripture, enlivening them to make them “useful” for teaching and training us in God’s ways, the way of Jesus (2 Tim 3:15-17). And although I have spoken out against fundagelical “bibliolatry” (venerating the Bible in the place of God, acting as if the Bible and not Jesus is Lord), it is certainly true that, as I’ve also said, we need to “read the Bible to follow Jesus.”

But how do I fit this all together? If the biblical writings—and the Gospels in particular—are not inerrant, how are they reliable for teaching us about Jesus and his way?

Here’s how I make sense of this.

I agree with scholars who determine that the Gospels are a form of ancient biography (bios), along the lines of those by Suetonius or Plutarch. These bioi are similar to modern biographies in that they tell the story of a historical person of some significance. Like modern biographies, bioi rely on prior sources for the story they create: written sources, oral traditions, and personal testimony.

Of course, ancient biographers didn’t have the advantages of their modern counterparts—video and audio recordings, extensive libraries and archives, the internet. They worked with the sources they had, which often wasn’t much. Because of this, ancient biographers felt freedom to paraphrase or expand or summarize their sources, and even fill in gaps with their own creations. In fact, rhetorical education of the day provided opportunities to practice this.

Ancient biographers included fantastical elements like cosmic portents at the subject’s birth or death, or miracles performed by the person or because of their presence. Some of these may have been prompted by an actual event of some kind (not necessarily “supernatural” or “miraculous”), but these were seen as signs of the person’s significance regardless of whether or not they actually happened as described. And ancient biographers were unconcerned with an accurate order of events or even necessarily providing what we might today consider basic biographical information.

In short, an ancient bios was a story about a historical person deemed to have public significance, using prior sources but with freedom to “play with” those sources, in order to enlighten the reader about the person’s significance and encourage the reader to learn from their life and characteristic ideas.

This is the canonical Gospels. This understanding of the Gospels itself suggests that Jesus was a historical person and that the Gospels reflect a variety of sources, however much each of the Gospel authors “played with” those sources to portray Jesus in a particular way. And this in turn prompts me to read them through two different sets of lenses.

The first set of lenses is a critical historical one: I read through the Gospels (and other sources) to learn who Jesus was as a person in history.

Now, this is a whole blog post in itself (a book, really, or a set of them). But in summary, I think Jesus of Nazareth would have seen himself as a prophet, sort of a cross between Elijah/Elisha and Isaiah. More specifically, and roughly in line with a wide cross-section of historical Jesus scholars, I think that:

  • Jesus of Nazareth announced that Isaiah’s promised “reign of God” was imminent—God’s reign of true justice and lasting peace on earth, bringing flourishing life for God’s people and all creation, in contrast to the “kingdoms” of this world.
  • Jesus gathered disciples and taught them his interpretation of the Torah, focusing moral obligations around loving God pre-eminently by loving others, including neighbours, strangers, and enemies.
  • Influenced by Isaiah’s “peaceable kingdom” visions, Jesus taught and lived out a form of nonviolent resistance to evil oppressors.
  • Jesus, like Elijah and Elisha, paid special attention to the poor, widows, children, and others impoverished in power.
  • Jesus shared meals with those deemed “sinners” as well as the religiously powerful.
  • Jesus, following Elijah’s/Elisha’s footsteps, became known as a healer (whether or not these healings were miraculous, Jesus’ reputation as a healer is one thing even ancient non-Christian references to Jesus highlight).
  • At some point, Jesus began to take on a messianic mantle, presenting himself as Isaiah’s “servant” who would bring about God’s reign in its fullness (note: “messiah” does not in itself imply “deity”).
  • Jesus lived and taught these things in such a way that he was deemed an enemy of powerful people, including the Roman state, and so was crucified.

There’s more to this “Jesus as prophet” picture one gets through critical historical means, some of which is troubling (e.g. his anti-“family values” teachings) and some of which was wrong (e.g. predicting the fulfilment of God’s reign within a generation). But I do find this Jesus of Nazareth compelling—enough to read the Gospels through a second set of lenses.

This second set of lenses is a historical-theological one: I read the Gospels to learn how each of them interpreted the stories and traditions of Jesus they had inherited to understand Jesus for their own time.

This is another blog post (or book, or book series), but here are a few summary thoughts. In general, each of the Gospels emphasizes different aspects of Jesus of Nazareth, and in some respects they highlight those aspects beyond what I imagine Jesus himself would have found comfortable.

  • Mark highlights Jesus as the “messianic servant” of Isaiah, especially emphasizing Jesus’ suffering and death as critical for understanding Jesus’ messianic identity and the nature of God’s reign.
  • Matthew builds on Mark, but also highlights Jesus as the “messianic teacher” who authoritatively interprets Torah for his followers in the messianic age.
  • Luke builds on (and to an extent critiques) Mark and Matthew, but highlights Jesus as “messianic peacemaker” who shows the way of peace and brings about inclusion for the marginalized and justice for the oppressed.
  • John mostly (but not entirely) ignores Mark, Matthew, and Luke, and highlights Jesus as “divine messiah” who reveals God to the world and draws the world to God.

The Gospel authors, then, use the genre of ancient bioi to present their portraits of Jesus. They “play with” their sources—paraphrasing, expanding, summarizing, re-ordering, and embellishing them, but still relying on them—to present a particular angle on Jesus of Nazareth, to enlighten their readers about what Jesus said and did and why he is significant.

This also means the cosmic portents they describe at Jesus’ birth and death highlight Jesus as true messianic king in contrast to the line of Caesars. The healing miracles show him to be a true prophet like Elijah and Elisha. The nature miracles point to his divine mission or even, in the case of John’s Gospel, his divine origin. Whether or not those things actually happened is less important than what they signify.

Here’s the thing for me: I not only find the historical Jesus of Nazareth to be a compelling person, I find the canonical Gospels’ bioi of Jesus to be compelling interpretations of Jesus’ life and teaching and larger significance. And this—along with other factors such as my own spiritual experience—compels me to believe in Jesus as Messiah bringing about God’s reign on earth, as Lord owning our allegiance above all other powers of this world, as Saviour bringing about justice and peace and flourishing life for all, and even as God incarnate revealing God as God truly is.

Will this convince others? I don’t presume to think so. All I can say is, along with the late Rachel Held Evans, “The story of Jesus is the story I’m willing to risk being wrong about.”

———————-

There’s a massive amount of scholarly literature on the Gospels and Jesus. The following are just a few examples, including both more technical volumes and more popular works.

The classic study of the canonical Gospels as ancient biographies is Richard A. Burridge, What Are the Gospels? A Comparison with Graeco-Roman Biography (3rd ed.; Baylor University Press, 2020).

The best works on the relationship of the Gospels to each other are E. P. Sanders and Margaret Davies, Studying the Synoptic Gospels (Trinity Press, 1989); Mark Goodacre, The Synoptic Problem: A Way through the Maze (T&T Clark, 2001); Mark Goodacre, The Case Against Q: Studies in Markan Priority and the Synoptic Problem (Trinity Press, 2002); Mark Goodacre, Thomas and the Gospels: The Case for Thomas’s Familiarity with the Synoptics (Eerdmans, 2012).

Good representative works on the historical Jesus reflecting a cross-section of author backgrounds and perspectives: E. P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (Fortress, 1985); John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (5 vols.; Doubleday, 1991-2016); E. P. Sanders, The Historical Figure of Jesus (Penguin, 1993); N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Fortress, 1996); Dale C. Allison, Jesus of Nazareth: Millenarian Prophet (Fortress, 1998); Bart D. Ehrman, Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millennium (Oxford University Press, 1999); Paula Fredriksen, Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews: A Jewish Life and the Emergence of Christianity (Vintage, 1999); Dale C. Allison, Constructing Jesus: Memory, Imagination, and History (Baker, 2010); N. T. Wright, Simply Jesus: A New Vision of Who He Was, What He Did, and Why He Matters (HarperOne, 2011); Anthony Le Donne, Historical Jesus: What Can We Know and How Can We Know It? (Eerdmans, 2011); Helen K. Bond, The Historical Jesus: A Guide for the Perplexed (T&T Clark, 2012).

© Michael W. Pahl

Whose side are you on?

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In Joshua 5, we come across one of those wonderfully strange biblical stories that shakes our preconceptions and leaves us with more questions than answers.

Israel is encamped at Gilgal, preparing to besiege Jericho at God’s command—so they firmly believe. Suddenly Joshua sees a man whom he does not recognize standing in front of him, sword drawn.

“Whose side are you on?” Joshua asks. A reasonable question in the circumstances.

“Neither,” the man replies. “I have come as commander of God’s armies.”

Wait a second. Isn’t God on Israel’s side? God has delivered them from slavery in Egypt, covenanted with them at Sinai and led them to the Promised Land. If God is not on Israel’s side, who is?

As I write this, modern-day Israel’s armies are besieging and bombing Gaza, preparing to root out the Palestinian terrorist group Hamas. This is a response to Hamas’ horrific rampage of violence, slaughtering and kidnapping Israeli civilians. To this point, over 1,300 Israelis have been killed by Hamas. In response, over 1,500 Palestinians, nearly half of them children, have been killed by Israel.

Here in Canada we as Christians are asked, “Whose side are you on?” A reasonable question in the circumstances. How should we respond?

The way of Jesus helps guide us to an answer. In a world of complex and thorny questions, an increasingly polarized world where we are urged to take sides for and against, Jesus’ way provides the nuance we need and the moral clarity we require.

Jesus, I’m convinced, would give the same answer as the commander of God’s armies gave to Joshua—but still with a strong sense of standing with particular people. For Jesus does take a side. It’s just that the side he takes doesn’t necessarily match up with the binary choices we create.

In the Gospels, we never see Jesus taking the side of a political faction or a nation-state, certainly not one armed and ready for slaughter. Rather, Jesus is consistently on the side of people—real, living, flesh-and-blood people, especially those considered by the world to be “last” or “least” or “lost” (Jesus’ words).

Jesus stands on the side of the broken sinner, ready to repent, and offers forgiveness. Jesus stands on the side of the indebted poor, exploited by wealthy landowners, and offers good news.

Jesus stands on the side of the oppressed, occupied by a foreign power, and offers the earth. Jesus stands on the side of the sick and disabled, physically and financially dependent, and offers healing.

James Tissot, The Healing of Ten Lepers

Jesus stands on the side of the widow in her economic distress, the children ignored and powerless, the foreigner in an unfamiliar land, the leper outcast and feared by society, the humble faithful under the thumb of powerful religious leaders, the woman easily divorced by her husband to be left in shame and poverty, the insurgent hanging on a Roman cross, crying out for mercy.

In other words, Jesus consistently stands with the vulnerable-to-harm and the impoverished-in-power, those cast out and pressed down, those too easily and too often crushed and broken.

But for Jesus this does not create categories of people whom he supports (or opposes) as a block, blindly and without question. Again, Jesus stands on the side of real, living, flesh-and-blood people.

While standing with his fellow Jews under Rome’s occupation, he shows grace to a Roman centurion, healing his servant, and calls his compatriots to love their Roman enemies. While standing with the humble faithful under the thumb of some powerful religious leaders, he meets with one of these leaders by night, urging this seeker to be born again to see God’s reign of justice and peace and life.

This is the nuance we need to navigate a complex world. This is the moral clarity we require to enable us to know when, and with whom, and how to take a stand—and with whom to sit and share a meal.

We find Jesus in the “least of these”—the naked, the hungry, the stranger, the imprisoned, Israelis slaughtered by Hamas and Palestinians displaced and occupied and bombed by Israel—and there we stand, with Jesus. We see God’s image in the person right in front of us, regardless of their affiliation or allegiance, and there we sit with them, in grace.

Published in Canadian Mennonite 27, no. 21 (2023).

© Michael W. Pahl

Jesus Wasn’t “Family Values”

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The iconic Cleaver family

I am what they call a “family man,” committed to my wife and children. I love my wife, I love my family. I love families. Nothing brings a smile to my face quite like watching families (especially young families) just being a family together—except for being with my own family being a family together.

What’s more, my thoughts and feelings about the significance of marriage relationships and the importance of families are grounded firmly in my understanding and experience of Christian Scripture and the way of Jesus. Devoted faithfulness, holy love, persevering hope—marriage and family can give powerful witness to these and other core Christian virtues.

Nevertheless, none of that keeps me from acknowledging a few difficult realities.

For example, the Genesis creation stories are not as clear cut on marriage and family matters as we might like. Yes, these stories highlight how marriage relationships can fulfill the human need for biological procreation, how they can satisfy our innate need for human companionship, and how a marriage forms a new kinship group within society. These stories also underscore the inherent equality of “male and female” before God, sharing the dignity and responsibility of all humankind “in God’s image.”

However, there’s the fascinating fact that in the first creation story adam is said to include both “male and female” (Gen 1:27; see also 5:2), and the intriguing possibility that the second creation story is describing the creation of a non-gender-specified adam who is only gender-specified once the second human is built from the first (that’s when ish, “man,” and ishah, “woman,” are explicitly mentioned). I know, weird, eh?

And then there are all the ways even the “sure teachings” I’ve highlighted above fray at the edges as soon as you stretch them a little. These stories can’t be teaching that only procreative marriages are valid—what about couples unable to conceive? They can’t mean that marriage is the only way our innate need for companionship can be fulfilled—what about celibate singles? They can’t require that “male and female” be some absolute binary—what about intersex persons? Childless couples, celibate singles, “eunuchs from birth”—these were all known in the ancient world.

Or, for example, “biblical marriage” and the “biblical family” were not what we think of when we hear those phrases. We can tend to think of “marriage” as a relationship built around the love of two people for one another, and “family” as a nuclear family of one father, one mother, and their biological children.

However, most of the biblical depictions of marriage either assume or describe an adult man marrying a post-pubescent girl as arranged by the man or his father with the girl’s father, in large part to provide some economic or other pragmatic advantage for these men. We’re not talking Christian romance novels here.

Not the iconic Cleaver family

And most of the biblical depictions of family think of it more in terms of “household”: not just dad and mom and kids, but maybe also grandma, maybe a single uncle or aunt, maybe orphaned cousins, and, if dad were wealthy enough, maybe a few slaves and their kids (and in Old Testament days, maybe an additional mom, or concubine, or two or three, why not—and their kids). No, this isn’t “Leave It to Beaver.”

And then we get to Jesus, who was more disruptive than supportive of “traditional marriage” and “family values.” Sure, Jesus sides with the stricter interpretation of Jewish Law in his day when it comes to divorce and remarriage. And yes, Jesus speaks out not just against adultery but even against men lusting after a woman who is not their wife.

However, Jesus’ “No divorce except in adultery—and no remarriage!” was geared at least in part to protect women in a strongly patriarchal culture from being abandoned by men without provision for their welfare. And his “No lust!” put the onus on men to control their sexual desires—not women to restrict their dress or their actions. This is patriarchy put on notice.

Then there is a lengthy list of other things Jesus was and said and did that are often ignored in discussions of “Jesus and marriage/family.” In a marriage-dominated culture, Jesus was single and celibate. He encouraged others to be single and celibate instead of getting married—if they could hack it. As a single man he caused tongues to wag because of his close relationships with women. When his mom and siblings came to visit, he feigned indifference, saying his faithful disciples were his true mothers and brothers and sisters. Then there’s that bit about “hating your father and mother and wife and children” to follow Jesus. And that other bit about “follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead”—to the disciple who wanted to bury his father first.

Topping all this off is Jesus’ uncomfortable conviction that people will “neither marry nor be given in marriage” in the resurrection age. Echoes of Genesis, with its potentially androgynous original Adam? Maybe, but at the very least it’s patriarchy overturned—“marrying” was the dominant male role, “being given in marriage” the submissive female, and Levirate marriage (which the Sadducees were referencing) was all about keeping the male line going. No marriage = no male-dominated society.

No, Jesus wasn’t “family values.” He was “kingdom values,” centred not on kith and kin but on kingdom—God’s kingdom, God’s vision of justice and peace and flourishing life for all, not just families and the tribes that emerge from them.

Also not the iconic Cleaver family

The Apostle Paul doesn’t teach any differently. In fact, he’s right in line with Jesus if you focus on the letters most scholars believe Paul directly authorized. Paul, too, was single, and he viewed singleness as preferable to marriage. He frequently referred to God as “Father” and fellow believers as his “brothers and sisters,” while leaving no unambiguous reference to his own biological family. His teaching on divorce and remarriage is an extension of Jesus’, including the anti-patriarchal overtones.

Even Jesus’ idea that there will be no marrying or being given in marriage in the resurrection is there in Paul—that’s the essence of Galatians 3:28. In this passage Paul apparently quotes Genesis 1’s “male and female” when he says, “there is…no longer ‘male and female,’ for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” The resurrection age has arrived with the resurrected Christ, so now “in Christ” conventional—and even, it seems, creational—gender distinctions are irrelevant.

These radical ideas carried on into the early centuries of the church. For most early Christians, celibacy remained the ideal (even if they didn’t attain it themselves) and the church was God’s true family. For some, distinctive gender roles, at least within the church, were a relic of a bygone era. A few Jesus-followers even connected Jesus and Paul on this, passing around a saying of Jesus that “the kingdom of God would come” when “there is neither male nor female.”

However, not everyone could handle this. The Roman Empire certainly couldn’t—they, not the Christians, were the original guardians of “traditional family values.” These Christian teachings on marriage and family were seen by the powers-that-be as potentially subversive, even destabilizing for society (sound familiar?).

This led some early Christians to reassure their lords and neighbours that Christians were indeed pro-marriage, pro-familia. That’s the motivation for the so-called “household codes” in the New Testament, those passages that instruct wives, children, and slaves on how they were to relate to the pater familias, the patriarch of the proper Roman household. Yet even these capitulations to traditional Roman marriage and Roman family values were sometimes laced with subtle subversion. Imagine, the patriarch of the family being instructed at all in household matters, let alone having to love his wife and treat his slaves fairly!

What’s my point in all this? It’s not to mock the Bible, or to denigrate marriage and family—may it never be! That’s why I began this article the way I did (go back and start over if you need to). Rather, my point in all this is really three points.

First, we don’t do anyone any favours when we minimize the complexity and challenge of the Bible on marriage and family. The Bible’s teachings on these things are not uniform, and neither are they clear or simple. They’re certainly not easy. There are difficult laws and stories and teachings in the collection of ancient writings we call the Bible that do not fit neatly into our modern, western, nostalgia-for-white-1950s-suburbia way of thinking about marriage and family. If we want to take our Bibles seriously we must face up to this fact.

Which leads right to my second point: we need to be careful not to assume our understanding of marriage or family is the right one. The range of perspectives and practices on marriage and family throughout Israelite, Jewish, and Christian history is astounding. Polygamy, concubinage, monogamy, celibacy. Other-sex, same-sex, no-sex covenants. Households with slaves, extended families, nuclear families, adoptive families, single-parent families. Patriarchal, egalitarian.

All these and more have been represented among God’s people through history to today, all of them justified by divine revelation or human tradition or simple necessity. This doesn’t mean anything goes for Christians thinking about marriage and family. It means that a Christian perspective on marriage or family is not going to be determined by a facile appeal to Scripture or history.

Which then leads to a third point: it’s simply wrong to elevate marriage or family at all—let alone some specific idea of marriage or family—to the status of “essential Christian teaching” or a “gospel issue” or the like. I hear people say things like, “The Bible begins in Genesis with a marriage and ends in Revelation with a marriage, and that is why the nature of marriage is fundamental to our story as well,” and my first thought is, “But we follow as Lord an unmarried man who encouraged celibacy and taught that there would be no marriage in God’s good future.” Seriously, ponder that.

There’s a reason none of the New Testament gospel summaries or early Christian rules of faith or creeds said anything about marriage or family or even sexuality: these, like all dimensions of human existence, are impacted by the gospel, but they are not the gospel.

Here’s the thing: The crucial question of Christianity is not and never has been, “What do you think about marriage?” but Jesus’ question, “Who do you say that I am?” The central call of Christianity is not and never has been, “Stand up for traditional family values!” but Jesus’ call, “Come, follow me.”

This Bible-believing family man fears we’re confusing these things, conflating them, and thus badly missing the point of it all.

© Michael W. Pahl

In which I talk about politics, with fear and trepidation*

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As a follower of Jesus, I don’t much care who the ruling party is. Prime ministers and premiers come and go, but Jesus is still Lord—which means that no matter who rules on earth, I am still called to love God by loving my neighbour as if their needs were my own. I’m still called to love my enemies, welcome the stranger, heal the sick, free the captive, forgive debts, care for those considered “least,” bring good news to the poor, and warn the rich and powerful of the woes that will befall them. This is politics according to Jesus.

But politics according to Jesus does intersect with the politics of the world. When Jesus proclaimed the “kingdom of God,” he was claiming an alternative vision to the kingdoms of the world. When he brought “good news to the poor,” he was declaring a very different “good news” than that claimed by the Roman Empire. And all that Jesus-y stuff I listed in the previous paragraph? That’s the stuff that our politics—the ordering of society, collectively making decisions—is concerned with.

Health care. Immigration. Economic wellbeing. Creating a just society. Politics according to Jesus intersects with all these things and more.

So, while I don’t much care who the ruling party is, I do care about all these things. When a ruling party—or, in an election, a possible ruling party—makes policies or promises that ultimately work against these things (however much they appear like short-term fixes), I cannot support them, and at times I must even speak against them.

Which is why I cannot in good conscience, as a follower of Jesus, support parties on the conservative side of the spectrum in Canada, at least as they are currently operating.

Conservative politics has changed in Canada. I remember when conservative parties in Canada assumed universal health care as a fundamental, necessary good. I remember when they promoted more open immigration. I remember when they taxed wealthy corporations at higher rates than even liberal governments do now in order to provide the social services Canadians need.

I remember when conservatives spoke of the common good at least as often as they spoke of individual liberties.

And this, to me, is the tragedy of conservative politics in Canada: it has lost its moral compass, while still claiming the moral high ground. It claims the high ground of personal ethics and public safety, but the ground it stands on is a fundamentally selfish position. It looks out for its own needs and the needs of those who are “like me.” It does not seek to love its neighbour as if the needs of the neighbour—or stranger, or poor, or sick, or “least”—were as their own.

Liberal or progressive politics in Canada is not free of critique, to be sure. Small l-liberal parties in Canada can tend to follow social trends too easily and too quickly. They can tend toward empty talk, speaking about the kinds of things noted above but doing little to actually move on them. Nevertheless, a principled, motivated liberal or progressive party in Canada is more likely to move Canadian society toward the kinds of things Jesus was concerned about than any of the more conservative parties in Canada, at least as things currently stand.

As I vote, and otherwise act as a citizen of Canada, I do so as a follower of Jesus. And so the question I ask myself is not, “Which candidate/party will make my life better?” It’s “Which candidate/party most closely aligns with these expressions of the reign of God?”

Loving neighbours, loving enemies, welcoming strangers, freeing captives, forgiving debts, healing the sick, caring for those considered “least,” bringing good news for the poor, warning woes on the rich and powerful—these are what it means to claim Jesus as Lord, these are what the reign of God is about, these are the politics of Jesus.

*To be clear, these views are my own and I am neither endorsing nor opposing any particular party or candidate.

What Is Love?

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What is love?

In our world, “love” can mean anything from attachment to admiration, from affection to attraction. For some, “love” is a painful word, carrying the trauma of past abuse.

Christians talk a lot about love, but we all know Christians whose “love” doesn’t look much like Jesus. What is Jesus’ way of love?

Jesus says the greatest commandment in the Torah is to “love God”—a command that has been used to justify all kinds of things. But Jesus pairs “love God” with “love your neighbour”: we show our love for God most purely when we love our neighbour as if their needs were our own.

And then Jesus goes on to define our neighbour not only as “those who are with us, those who are like us,” but as anyone we come across in need, even if they are “stranger” and “other.” Indeed, we may be surprised to learn that the “other” often shows neighbour love to us.

But Jesus pushes this further, commanding us to “love your enemies“—not simply those who disagree with us, but those who actively oppose us, even wishing us harm. We do this, Jesus says, by treating them with kindness even as we nonviolently resist the evil they perpetuate.

Love in the way of Jesus is open-armed and open-handed. It approaches another person as a child of the Creator, welcoming them in peace. It is generous with others, especially those who have a need we can meet. Their needs are as our needs.

Love in the way of Jesus, then, pays special attention to those who are considered “least” or “lost” or “last” in this world: the poor, the sick, the outcast. It seeks out these beloved children of God. It stands with them even in suffering, even in shame, even unto death.

Love in the way of Jesus is attachment, it is affection. It is all that is good in the love that we know in the world. But it is also action, an active, dedicated compassion on behalf of the other, for their good and for the common good.

Love in the way of Jesus, then, leads to the pursuit of justice—especially on behalf of the poor, the widow, the stranger, the outcast, the sick, all those most vulnerable to harm by the powers-that-be. As Cornel West says, “Justice is what love looks like in public.”

© Michael W. Pahl

Following Christ into Catastrophe

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We seem to be constantly on the verge of impending catastrophe. COVID. Climate change. The collapse of Twitter.

That last example is a bit tongue-in-cheek, but there’s some truth in it. The collapse of Twitter (if it happens) would have significant negative impact on some people’s livelihoods, health supports, advocacy networks, and more. But it’s also true in a different way: the way people are responding to Twitter’s demise reveals some of the social dynamics at play in the larger catastrophes we face.

It seems to me there are two unhelpful responses to these catastrophes.

One is to get swept up in the tidal wave of fear and despair—the hysteria—that accompanies any perceived catastrophe. There is even a kind of “culture of catastrophe” at work in some segments of society, where our way of being in the world, even our identity in society, is determined in relation to whatever the current catastrophe is. We are required always to be in a heightened state of anxiety and urgent action—a sure-fire recipe for mental ill health and societal conflict.

The other unhelpful response, though, is to downplay or even ignore the seriousness of the problem. Catastrophes do happen. To suggest otherwise is to be naïve, or even to betray our historical or geographical privilege. Catastrophes have happened in history, and they are happening around the world. COVID and climate change are real problems. Injustice and inequity, bigotry and violence, disease and disaster, in all their forms, are real problems.

So what should we do? In particular, how should we as Christians follow Christ into catastrophe?

Well, we have some good guidance from Jesus himself in the Gospels. After all, Jesus predicted a catastrophe, and gave instructions for his followers on how to walk in that catastrophe. Let’s give a glance at Jesus’ “Apocalyptic Discourse” (yes, that’s what scholars call it) in Matthew’s Gospel.

David Roberts, The Siege and Destruction of Jerusalem, Wikimedia Commons

In Matthew 24-25, Jesus describes the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, a catastrophe which happened roughly 40 years after Jesus. (For a few historical-critical thoughts on this, see below.*) Jesus sets this catastrophe in the context of even wider catastrophes: wars, natural disasters, famines, plagues, and the like. And then Jesus gives some guidance for his followers on how they should walk into those catastrophes.

One word of guidance from Jesus is especially highlighted through chapter 24, summed up in this phrase: watch and pray.

“Stay awake,” Jesus says, be watchful. Be aware of what is going on, pay attention to the things that are happening and what they mean. Be ready for God’s deliverance when it comes. And pray. Pray as Jesus taught us (Matt 6:9-13). Trust in our loving God for our daily bread. Pray for salvation from the time of trial and deliverance from evil. Hope in God’s good future on the far side of the apocalypse.

Take seriously what’s going on. But don’t get caught up in the hysteria; don’t get swept up in the fear and despair. Don’t let the unfolding catastrophe determine your way of being in the world, your identity in the world. Watch and pray.

Another word of guidance is especially bought home in chapter 25, summed up this way: care for “the least” among us as the worst unfolds around us.

Jesus calls his followers to use what God has given us to invest into God’s kingdom, God’s reign of justice and peace and life. Feed the hungry, Jesus says, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, heal the sick, care for the imprisoned. In other words, continue to “seek first God’s reign and God’s justice” (Matt 6:33).

Don’t give up on this world; and especially, don’t give up on those among us most vulnerable to harm by evil forces in times of trial. Care for “the least” among us as the worst unfolds around us.

Some of us as Christians are good at not getting caught up in the hysteria of COVID or climate change or any other impending catastrophe. But then we’re often not as good at being aware of the reality of the problems, or at focusing on the most vulnerable through those problems, and those vulnerable people get harmed.

Others of us are good at being aware of the problems and, sometimes at least, centering the most vulnerable in the midst of those problems. But then we’re often not as good at prayerfully trusting in God for our present, or prayerfully hoping in God for the future, and we walk in unhealthy anxiety and inflame conflict with others who are not our enemies.

May we take Jesus’ words to heart, and follow Christ into the catastrophes of our time, walking always in faith, hope, and love, especially for those most often deemed least in our world.

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*Here’s my take on the Synoptic apocalyptic discourses. There’s such a strong memory of Jesus’ predicting a future calamitous end, and even specifically the destruction of the Jerusalem Temple, that I think it likely Jesus did indeed predict this. That memory is preserved not just in all four Gospels (Matt 24; Mark 13; Luke 21; John 2) but also in other NT passages (e.g. 1 Thess 4-5). And there were certainly enough signs in Jesus’ day that things were not going to end well for the Jewish people in their struggle against Roman imperial power. A Temple destruction in some not-too-distant future was also on the minds of others (see accounts in Josephus).

I also think it likely that Jesus believed the end of the age and the dawn of the coming age, the fullness of the reign of God, would come at the time of the Temple’s destruction. In this Jesus was wrong. However, the Gospel authors, all writing after the Temple’s destruction in 70 CE (Mark as a possible exception to this), still saw value in Jesus’ words. Yes, they embellished Jesus’ predictions to make them fit more directly with recent historical events (especially Luke in Luke 21:20-24), but they didn’t substantially change the tradition they had received (so they believed) from Jesus. Why is that?

One reason, I think, is simply that it confirmed Jesus as a prophet. He had predicted the Temple’s destruction, and look, it happened. But I think there’s another reason: they saw in Jesus’ words continuing guidance for them in the midst of the wider “catastrophes” he highlighted. Wars, natural disasters, famines, and plagues continued, along with false prophets and false messiahs and opposition and even persecution of Jesus’ followers. While Jesus’ return and the fulfillment of God’s reign was transferred to some unknown future, we still live in this “time between the times” where all these calamitous events take place. We need Jesus’ guidance on how to live in these ongoing days of evil.

My Faith Story

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On September 4, 2022, I shared my faith story with my congregation as part of the process of transferring my membership from my previous congregation. Here is what I shared.

If I were to sum up my faith journey in a phrase, it might be this: “Pursuing Jesus who first found me.”

I grew up in a conservative evangelical environment, nominally Anabaptist. I knew my Bible. I knew about Jesus. But I didn’t know Jesus.

In my university days I went on a spiritual quest. I checked out other religions—Hinduism and Buddhism fascinated me for a while. I actively participated in a different church every year of university: Pentecostal, United Church, Lutheran, Baptist. I was baptized in that Baptist church.

Along the way I had a profound spiritual experience that pushed me back to the Bible. I read it like I’d never read it before, in huge chunks: all of Isaiah in one sitting, all of Luke and Acts in another, all of Genesis in a morning, all of John in an afternoon, Romans before bed. I gorged on Scripture.

And that’s how I first met Jesus. I read the Bible and I found Jesus. Or rather, Jesus found me, and I’ve pursued him ever since.

Later, when I was teaching through the New Testament at a small Christian college and working on my Ph.D., I had an epiphany: this Jesus-centred reading of Scripture had made me into an Anabaptist. By reading the Bible to follow Jesus I had become committed to Jesus’ way of nonviolence, his way of just peace, his way of community, his way of love.

And so, when I left this nondenominational college to move into pastoral ministry, it made sense to serve in a Mennonite congregation, one that was thoroughly Anabaptist.

That was 13 years ago, and our journey since then has brought us from Alberta to Ohio to Manitoba, and now into my current role as Executive Minister of Mennonite Church Manitoba, and member of Home Street Mennonite Church. I’m grateful for this congregation, for its commitment to pursue Jesus who first found us.

Last week Ingrid shared about developing a centred-set approach to church instead of a bounded-set approach. I’ve also taught that concept since first coming across missionary anthropologist Paul Hiebert’s use of this idea. And this, to me, is at the centre of this thing we call “Christianity,” and this thing we call “church”: Jesus, and Jesus’ way of love.

Jesus of Nazareth, crucified Messiah and resurrected Lord, and Jesus’ way of devotion for God expressed through compassion for others, especially those the world deems “last,” “least,” or “lost.”

We gather around Jesus and his way of love like people gathering around a bonfire on a cold, dark night. We draw close to Jesus and his love for light and warmth, and as we do so we find ourselves drawing closer to each other.

Around this fire we tell our stories, we sing our songs, we pray our prayers, we share our bread and wine. And we commit ourselves to following Jesus and his way of love as we go out into the world, carrying our candles lit with the fire of Jesus’ love.

As we go we proclaim the greatest revelation Jesus has given us: God is love. We should know this from Scripture, we should know this from observing creation around us, but in Jesus this is confirmed and clarified: God is love.

God always loves. God cannot not love. Everything God does is motivated by love and enacted in love. This means that anything we experience that is not of love is not of God. God is not the author of evil or suffering or harm.

Love is the essence of God in a way that God’s other attributes are not. God’s holiness is a holy love. God’s justice is a just love. God’s wisdom is a wise love. God’s power is a powerful love.

All is being moved by love towards God’s good purposes. Love is stronger than injustice or violence. Love is stronger than every other power. Love is stronger than death. In the end, love will win, and all will be well.

Jesus, and Jesus’ way of love, pointing us to the God who is love.

This is indeed good news.

Polarization and the Way of Jesus

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Ask pastors and church leaders what their greatest concerns are in these latter days, and one of the words that will float to the top is “polarization.”

There’s little doubt that our society has become more polarized, more afflicted by extremes, less attuned to compromise and middle ground. And the church has followed suit, as it often does, sometimes even leading the way. The political partisanship and the culture clash of left versus right has permeated our congregations and denominations.

Any follower of Jesus worth their salt and light who wants to address polarization is faced with two conflicting beliefs.

On the one hand, we believe that Jesus came to heal divisions, to bring peace between people. Unity is one of our loftiest goals, a unity of the Spirit grounded in Jesus, a unity which does not erase diversity but celebrates it. Jesus “has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us,” so that he might “create in himself one new humanity…thus making peace” (Eph 2:14-15).

On the other hand, we believe that following Jesus sometimes provokes hostility, even revealing divisions. “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth?” Jesus asks his stunned disciples. “No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three” (Luke 12:51-53).

What does the division-healing, division-revealing Spirit of Jesus have to say to us today in our polarized world? Let me suggest one overarching thought that then needs some explanation.

Polarization is not our enemy; injustice and oppression is our enemy.

Let’s step back even further. In case we Jesus-followers need to be reminded of this fact, no human person is ultimately our enemy. “Our struggle is not against blood and flesh,” and “we do not wage war as the world does” with its “fleshly weapons” (Eph 6:12; 2 Cor 10:3-4).

This is Jesus’ Nonviolence 101. Humans may participate with the “spiritual forces of evil” in this world, and if so they need to be resisted, but ultimate they are not our enemy. God’s desire is for their redemption, and our redemption is bound up with theirs.

When it comes to how we treat individuals, then, we treat them as Jesus did: with compassion.

Here’s a striking contrast in the Gospels. Jesus speaks harsh, public words denouncing a group of people: woes to the rich oppressors, condemnations of unjust religious leaders (Luke 6:24-25; Matt 23). Yet he still shares meals with these people (Luke 7:36-50), and when he engages with individuals from among those groups he does so with deep compassion for them (John 3:1-15). Kindness is a fruit of the Spirit, after all.

However, don’t miss this fact: Jesus does not shy away from speaking strong words against powerful oppressors, even individually. In fact, all his teaching and his healings, his whole way of life, was a subversion of the values of those powerful oppressors. And this brought division in his wake. Ultimately, it led to his crucifixion by the powers that be.

Jesus was a polarizing figure. Yet he was driven by compassion toward all, a devoted love for God expressed in compassionate love for neighbour.

Jesus’ love for all, though, had an important corollary: a strong sense of justice.

Jesus’ compassion for the powerless, impoverished crowds drove him to heal freely, to teach freely about God’s role-reversing reign of justice come near (Matt 9:35-36). The love of God compelled him to follow in the footsteps of the Prophets: denouncing injustice and oppression, pronouncing God’s judgment on unjust oppressors, and proclaiming God’s good news to the poor and liberation for the oppressed (Luke 4:16-21).

The love of God drove Jesus to walk in solidarity with the poor, the enslaved, oppressed and conquered peoples, right to the symbolic heart of that oppression: a Roman cross.

Polarization is not our enemy; injustice and oppression is our enemy.

As Christians today we look at polarization and see it as the opposite of peace. Ultimately, yes. There will be no polarization in God’s peaceable kingdom.

However, the path of peace can sometimes run through polarization, because, as Jesus’ life and death remind us, there is no peace without justice. And confronting injustice to create true peace will bring division. It will. Jesus has told us so. Jesus’ life and death has proved it to be so.

Don’t misunderstand me, or worse, Jesus. We can create division by being “jerks for Jesus.” That’s not what Jesus is talking about. That’s not the way of Jesus.

James Tissot, The Sermon of the Beatitudes

But when we patiently, persistently, compassionately seek first God’s reign and God’s justice, we will encounter hostility. Jesus doesn’t call us to a persecution complex, seeing persecution behind every opposition. But make no mistake: those who “hunger and thirst for justice” will be “persecuted for justice’s sake” (Matt 5:6, 10).

Divisions will be revealed, sometimes gaping chasms of difference in values and goals and ways and means. These divisions will cut across family lines, as Jesus directly says, so we should not be surprised when they sometimes slice through our churches.

And when this happens, we cannot soft-pedal God’s desire for justice in order to create an artificial peace.

We Mennonites are especially prone to this, because in our veneration of peace we often strive to avoid conflict. Or we look for a middle-way compromise between two extremes, mistakenly calling this a “third way.” Thoughtful, empathetic compromise is certainly an important tool for simply getting along with each other in a diverse community. But neither Jesus nor Paul nor any other Apostle advocates for a middle-way compromise when injustice or oppression is on the table.

Polarization is not our enemy; injustice and oppression is our enemy.

To be more biblically precise, death is our enemy. Our sins of harm that create forms of death for others and our world, all the ways we cause harm or hinder well-being through our thoughts and words and actions, or inaction. Our systems and cultures of death that perpetuate these harms on a larger scale: economic inequity, corporate greed, militarism, colonialism, misogyny, racism, and more.

Death, we’re told, is the ultimate enemy, the “last enemy to be destroyed,” thrown deep into the fiery chasm from whence it came (1 Cor 15:26; Rev 20:14). Death is the enemy that Jesus relentlessly pursued in every healing, every teaching, every interaction with a death-struck person, right through his own death into resurrection life.

And this is our calling as followers of Jesus. This is what it means to be united in the Spirit of Christ, being one in the body of Christ, centred on Jesus. Christian unity is not a unity that merely tries to keep a group of people together regardless of what they value and how they live. Christian unity is being united in walking in the loving, life-giving way of Jesus by the living, life-giving Spirit of Jesus.

All are welcome in this family of God, yes and amen! But this means people who cannot fully welcome the ones our world doesn’t welcome—the impoverished, the marginalized, those most vulnerable to harm, those perpetually oppressed by the powers that be—people who cannot fully welcome these our world calls “least” and “last” can never be fully welcome themselves until they can do so.

When we are complicit in injustice and oppression, complicit in sins of harm and systems of death, Jesus calls us to repentance. And when we repent, when we turn from our death-dealing ways of harm and embrace God’s life-giving ways of compassion and justice, Jesus assures us of God’s forgiveness.

Polarization is not our enemy; injustice and oppression is our enemy.

I am as concerned as any church leader about polarization in our churches and in our society. But polarization itself is not the enemy anymore than flesh-and-blood people on the other side of our divides are the enemy.

I long for churches to be united in the Spirit of Christ to follow the way of Christ, being the body of Christ in the world, seeking first God’s justice-bringing, life-generating reign on earth. May we have wisdom to discern how best to speak and act to bring about this true unity in Christ, and the courage to do so—even if the path to that unity first reveals some deep divisions among us.