Tag Archives: jesus

The Sermon on the Mount, Twitter Edition

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James Tissot, Jésus enseigne le peuple près de la mer

I’ve just been reflecting on the year-long sermon series I did last year at our church on Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount, that wonderful collection of some of Jesus’ core kingdom teachings. It was a series in three parts: the first part walking through “The Beatitudes,” the blessings that open the Sermon; the second part reflecting on the central section of the Sermon as “Lessons in the Way of Love”; and the third part reflecting on certain “spiritual practices” that Jesus refers to in the second half of the Sermon, which I called “Habits of Holy Love.”

Along the way I created some pithy sayings to summarize some of my thoughts on the Sermon on the Mount. All of them are “tweetable,” able to post in a single Twitter [now X] update; some of those I even tweeted along the way. Here they are all collected together.

The Beatitudes

Our encounters with God begin with blessing. “Blessed are…” “Fear not…” “Peace be with you.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

Jesus’ most demanding moral teaching is grounded in grace, founded on mercy. “Blessed are…” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

God’s blessing—favour and flourishing—is for those who need it, and know they need it. “…the poor in spirit.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

All who know true “poverty in spirit”—God’s vision of a flourishing creation was conceived with you in mind. #sermononthemount #beatitudes

“Happy” are those who mourn? No, but “blessed”—favoured by God now, sure to flourish one day. #sermononthemount #beatitudes

All who grieve with humanity and all creation over sin and death—you will be comforted. “…those who mourn.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

Lament in the way of the Psalms, in the way of Jesus, is a powerful salve for suffering. “…those who mourn.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

The downtrodden, the stamped-upon, the pressed-into-the-earth—one day that earth will be yours. “…the meek.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

“The meek” is not only a “who” it is a “how”—we inherit the earth thru gentle humility not violent aggression. #sermononthemount #beatitudes

“They will inherit the earth”=“theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (“Your kingdom come on earth as in heaven.”) #sermononthemount #beatitudes

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for *justice*, for they will be filled.” #kingdomrighteousness #sermononthemount #beatitudes

God’s kingdom “righteousness” = justice = equity = flourishing for all “…hunger and thirst for justice.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

All you persistent, relentless, come-hell-or-high-water justice-seekers—don’t give up! Justice is coming! #sermononthemount #beatitudes

“Justice is what love looks like in public.” – Cornel West “…those who hunger and thirst for justice.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” – MLK et al “…they will be filled.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

Be merciful—show compassion and kindness, give and forgive—and others (including God) will return the favour. #sermononthemount #beatitudes

(Of course, God is the one who does this first—“Be merciful just as God is merciful.” Welcome to the mysteries of mercy multiplied.)

“Be merciful just as God is merciful.” In other words “love enemies, give, don’t judge, forgive” (Lk 6:35-38). #sermononthemount #beatitudes

Impurity is not contagious; mercy is. It spreads, and expands, and returns to us. Mercy is the new holiness. #sermononthemount #beatitudes

“Go and learn what this means: I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” – Jesus “…blessed are the merciful.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

“Blest the pure in heart”—clean from the inside out, not whitewashed tombs who speak holiness but harm others. #sermononthemount #beatitudes

Those who pursue not an outward purity that excludes, but a purity from within that loves—these will see God. #sermononthemount #beatitudes

Want to see God? Know you are beloved by God, and live in God’s love with others. “…pure in heart.” 1Jn3-4 #sermononthemount #beatitudes

God’s favour is upon the peacemakers—not the vengeance-seekers, sword-wielders, and warmongers. #upsidedownkingdom #sermononthemount #beatitudes #peaceweek

You who pray and work for a world in which all can flourish together with God, others, and all creation—you are God’s blessed child. “…the peacemakers.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes #peaceweek

You say you are “born again,” “born of God,” yet justify violence and violate justice? Here’s who God calls “my child”: peacemakers. #sermononthemount #beatitudes #peaceweek

“Persecuted for righteousness” does not mean “opposed for being a jerk.” Jesus isn’t a jerk. Be like Jesus. #sermononthemount #beatitudes

“Persecuted for righteousness” doesn’t mean “persecuted for being right, for believing the right things.” It means “persecuted for doing right by others, for making wrongs right.” Doing justice, in other words. #sermononthemount #beatitudes

If you follow Jesus’ kingdom way of seeking justice and rejecting violence and loving enemies and eating with sinners and forgiving freely and healing indiscriminately—you will make enemies. More people to love. “…persecuted for righteousness.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

If you’re working toward greater justice and peace in the world and people oppose you, even seek to harm you—don’t be surprised. That’s what happens to prophets. “…persecuted for righteousness.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

God’s reign of justice and peace and flourishing life come from heaven to earth—this is for all who are poor in spirit, mourning, meek, seeking justice, merciful, pure in heart, peacemakers, persecuted for justice. “…theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” #sermononthemount #beatitudes

The Way of Love

Jesus gives us a new Law, a Law which is really a Way, a way of life, the way of love. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

In the way of love, the ends do not justify the means. The means (love) are the ends (love) in the process of becoming. – Zahnd et al #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love is concerned not just with external actions, but with the internal roots of those actions. The way of love nurtures our God-given desires, rightly ordered around faithful devotion to God and compassionate care for others. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love attends to our own hostility toward others. The way of love also pays attention to others’ grievances against us. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love seeks to rectify wrongs and reconcile with others. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love doesn’t treat others as objects to possess, or things that exist to satisfy our desires. The way of love treats all others as persons created in God’s image and loved by God. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love takes our own sin seriously, all the ways we harm others through our attitudes, words, and actions. The way of love doesn’t force others to live a certain way in order to keep us from sinning. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love resists evil and injustice, but not through retaliation or retribution. The way of love unmasks evil by doing good; it overpowers evil through love. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love is the way of forgiveness, of kindness, of blessing—even toward those who oppose us or seek to harm us. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love is never the way of violence. The way of violence is never the way of love. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love nurtures simple sincerity with God and others. It encourages mutual vulnerability with others before God. There is no place for pride or need for deceit in the way of love, including spiritual pride and religious manipulation. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love is the way of justice for all, including (and even especially) economic justice. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

The way of love trusts in God for daily needs, and gives out of that daily bread to others who have need. The way of love is the way of generous simplicity. #sermononthemount #lawoflove

Habits of Holy Love

Prayer centers us on God, our personal, loving Creator, the Mothering Father of us all. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

When we pray we are not merely praying to someone who is like us, only bigger and better; we are praying to God, the one in whom and through whom and for whom we exist. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

God’s will for all things is flourishing life, a life filled with love and peace—and this is exactly what God’s kingdom is all about. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

God’s goal is not to provide us an escape from earth down here to heaven up there. Rather God’s goal is to bring heaven down to earth—and God invites us to participate in the process. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

Provision, forgiveness, and protection—these are kingdom matters, wrapped up in God. And these are not just for each of us individually, but for us collectively, as Jesus’ followers and as a human race. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

“Give us this day our daily bread”: Trust in God for just what you need, no more, just when you need it, not before. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth”: Don’t accumulate things; do good deeds. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

“Be on your guard against all kinds of greed”: True life is not about having lots of stuff. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

“Seek first the kingdom of God”: Show allegiance to God and God’s way of justice, and God will take care of you. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

“Love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return”: Be like God, and give generously to everyone—even beggars, thieves, and enemies! #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

Forgiveness is a necessary part of the very fabric of the universe; it should be as ordinary as breathing, as everyday as eating and drinking. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

We are bound together by the sin that has occurred between us, creating a chain of debt; only forgiveness can break this chain. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

The simple yet necessary liturgy of forgiveness: “I was wrong. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”—and in response—“I forgive you.” #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

Underlying Jesus’ call to faith are these truths: “You are valuable to God. God knows what you need. God will take care of you.” #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

“Humble faith” in the way of Jesus involves both personal trust in God and personal commitment to God’s way. There is a “rest” in faith—resting in God’s love and care—but there is also a “pursuit”—pursuing God’s kingdom vision. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

Persistent prayer. Generous simplicity. Merciful forgiveness. Humble faith. These are not merely the way to become more like Jesus, the way God’s kingdom comes about on earth—they are in fact what Christlikeness and God’s kingdom are all about. #sermononthemount #habitsoflove

© Michael W. Pahl

On Giving to Your Local Church

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The Christmas season is often called “the season of giving.” Those of us who follow this tradition, whether Christian or not, give and receive gifts this time of year. For some Christians, this includes giving a little extra to their local church—an especially helpful gift at a time of year when many churches are struggling to meet their budgets.

Giving to local churches has declined in recent decades. To a certain extent this has simply followed the similar decline in membership and attendance, but there are other reasons also. Fewer people are donating to charity than in the past, and, when they do give, their donations are going to a wider variety of causes and organizations.

This is not all bad. Large, cause-specific organizations like MCC or MDS can do things that a local church or even church conference cannot do. But this does raise a question: Why should Christians give to their local church at all?

The New Testament has quite a bit to say about money, including giving within the local gathering of believers, the local church.

In stark contrast to the Old Testament expectation based on the Law of Moses, the New Testament ideal is not a “tithe,” everyone giving a set percentage of their income (say, 10%), but rather “generous giving according to one’s means” (e.g. 2 Cor 8:9-15). This frees those who have little from the burden of giving a tithe they cannot afford, a tithe that can leave them without enough for their own necessities. It also frees those who have much to give more than a mere 10% when they can certainly afford to do so.

The New Testament describes at least two broad reasons for giving within the context of the local church.

The earliest Christians gave to support the preaching and teaching ministry of the church. “Let the elders who rule well be considered worthy of double honour [that is, respect plus remuneration], especially those who labor in preaching and teaching” (1 Tim 5:17). This was based on the teaching of Jesus that “the laborer deserves to be paid” (Luke 10:7; 1 Tim 5:18); or, as Paul puts it, “the Lord commanded that those who proclaim the gospel should get their living by the gospel” (1 Cor 9:4-14).

The earliest Christians also gave to help those in material need, both those within the church and those beyond it. Within the local congregation this was predominantly widows, who were some of the most economically vulnerable people in society (Acts 6:1-6; 1 Tim 5:3-16). Beyond the local congregation this was “the poor” more generally, including poor believers in other places (e.g. Gal 2:10; 2 Cor 8-10).

The goal of this giving was what might be called “essential economic equity”: to ensure that everyone had their basic material needs met, their “daily bread” (Matt 6:11). “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise,” Jesus taught (Luke 3:11; cf. Jas 2:15-17; 1 John 3:17). And Paul adds: “As it is written, ‘The one who had much did not have too much, and the one who had little did not have too little’” (2 Cor 8:15).

The motive for this giving? Following the teaching and example of Jesus. “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing,” said Jesus (Matt 25:31-46). “You know the generous act of our Lord Jesus Christ,” states Paul, “that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich” (2 Cor 8:9).

Things have evolved since the New Testament era. Now most churches have full budgets that include everything from church facilities to staff salaries to programs in education and outreach and more. That’s some ways away from small gatherings of believers pooling their money to pay the elder teaching on a given Lord’s Day, or to provide food for the widows and orphans among them without family support.

Still, the New Testament teachings on local church giving can guide us today. They should prompt us to ask some probing questions of ourselves as churches and as individual Christians.

  • To what extent do our church budgets reflect the core ministries of the church? Do they support the teaching of Scripture and the preaching of the gospel? Do they assist those in material and spiritual need, both within the church and beyond it? If not, what needs to change?
  • Am I truly giving generously according to my means? If my basic needs are met through my income, can I give more than I already am?
  • Do I really value my church’s preaching and teaching ministries, enough to show it not only through my attendance at worship services, Bible studies, and Sunday school, but also through my financial support?
  • Do I really need that [insert first-world comfort item here], when there are people in the world, even right in my church and community, who are struggling simply to feed and clothe and house themselves and their families, or to find purpose in life and connection to God within a caring community?

“Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. And God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work.” (2 Cor 9:7-8)

© Michael W. Pahl

On Being—and Doing—Church

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There are many good New Testament passages one can explore to envision what the church should be and do: Romans 12-15, 1 Corinthians 12-14, and Ephesians 4-5 are all good options, among others. Still, when I think about the church there’s one specific verse that always seems to come to mind first:

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. (Acts 2:42)

To me this description of the first Jesus followers on the day of Pentecost nicely sums up what it means for us as Christians to “be the church,” to “do church” together.

As the church we are “devoted” to certain things. These are the things that we commit ourselves to, that we are centred on as a church—which is a way of saying that there are lots of other things, maybe even some good things, that aren’t so central, that we’re not as devoted to. There are lots of things we can be and do as a church, but these things are at the heart of them all.

First and foremost, we are devoted to learning and living the way of Jesus as taught by his Apostles: “the apostles’ teaching.” This means we commit ourselves to studying the Christian Scriptures, and in particular the New Testament where we find “the apostles’ teaching,” in order to learn about Jesus and his way of love. As we faithfully follow Jesus in his way of love, God’s justice and peace and flourishing life (“God’s kingdom,” or “salvation”) is manifest in and among and through us.

We are also devoted to the community of fellow Jesus followers, the common life we share together: “the fellowship.” This means we commit ourselves to one another within the church, to each other’s wellbeing, to caring for one another and helping to meet one another’s needs. At bottom this is because, in the midst of our diversity, we hold the absolute essentials in common: everything we are and do centres around Jesus and his way of love.

We are devoted to gathering together in worship and hospitality: “the breaking of bread.” This means we commit ourselves to “breaking bread” together around the Lord’s Table, along with other acts of worship (symbols, stories, songs) that likewise orient us around the central story of Jesus. This also means we commit ourselves to “breaking bread” together in our homes, following Jesus’ example of radical hospitality for all—not only friends and family, but also sinners and strangers, outcasts and enemies.

And we are devoted to regular times of prayer together: “the prayers.” This means we not only pray as individuals as an act of private devotion, but we also gather together regularly to pray: to meditate on who God is and what God has done for us, to praise and thank God for these good gifts, to confess our sins to God and accept God’s forgiveness, and to entreat God to move among us and through us in the world.

Jan Richardson, The Best Supper

For many Christians, this is not the church they envision. Or, perhaps more accurately, they might nod in agreement with this vision of church in theory, but in practice they are either not fully devoted to these things, or they are devoted to other things above these things.

Many Christians envision a church that has lots of programs—especially programs aimed at their particular demographic. These programs are not bad in themselves, of course, and they can in fact be wonderful ways of expressing and nurturing the devotion Acts 2:42 describes.

The problem comes when people want programs that have little if anything to do with that fourfold devotion—they really want a social club with a religious veneer, which they can participate in at their convenience and for their pleasure. Fine, but that’s not a church.

Many Christians envision a church filled with people, often recalling a bygone era of buzzing foyers and bursting sanctuaries. There’s nothing wrong this either—Acts 2 itself describes large numbers of people joining the Jesus movement and participating in new Jesus communities. However, a preoccupation with numbers can be problematic for at least a couple of reasons.

First, many Christians want the large numbers without having to devote themselves to studying the Scriptures and learning the way of Jesus, gathering together regularly for Jesus-centred worship and prayer, and showing radical hospitality in the way of Jesus. It’s ironic—though not terribly surprising—that the Christians who are most critical of “the way things are being done” at church are often the ones who don’t attend Bible studies and prayer meetings and only show up for Sunday worship once or twice a month.

Second, many Christians have bought into a “free market” notion of church. We are competing with other churches for “market share.” We need to produce a good church “product” in order to attract Christians, our “buyers.” If people don’t like our product they’ll go find another “seller,” another church with a better product: high quality music in a style they enjoy, interesting preaching that increases their happiness through moderate self-improvement, vibrant programs catering to their particular demographic, et cetera. So, if we want to increase our market share (i.e. “grow our church”) we need to produce a better product.

Not only is this view of the church thoroughly unbiblical, it’s also unethical—it’s church growth through sheep-stealing, not sheep-finding.

Programs and numbers, then, while being potentially good things, are not central to being and doing church. What is central is this: devotion to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers.

Lest anyone think I’m being too idealistic, raising a bar too high for the church in the real world, let me add this: Jesus welcomes all to his table, whatever the level of their devotion. Jesus in his way of love stands at the centre of the church like a bonfire on a cold night, drawing people in by its warmth and light. Some gather close around the fire, freely sharing their songs and stories, bread and wine. Others stay back in the shadows, content to listen and observe. Some drift in and out.

However, while the level of devotion varies among Christians and even changes throughout our lives, the things we are devoted to remain the same: not programs and numbers, not pleasurable music or comfortable teaching or enjoyable socializing, not even correct doctrine or proper behaviour or rituals done right, but learning and living the way of Jesus together, gathering in worship and prayer, in radical hospitality and mutual care, all of this in love.

Anything less—and anything else—is simply not church.

But a church that looks like this? It’s what the world—and we ourselves—desperately need: a living embodiment of God’s kingdom vision of justice, peace, and flourishing life for all.

Jesus Fulfills the Law—in Love

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You don’t have to read far into Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount to hear this astounding claim by Jesus:

Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished. (Matt 5:17-18)

Jesus’ warning that follows is just as astounding:

Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. (Matt 5:19)

It’s no wonder many Christians have insisted that we must obey the Old Testament Law. These are strong words!

But what did Jesus mean when he says, “I did not come to abolish the Law but to fulfill it?”

We get an answer by following the most basic principle of good interpretation: Keep reading.

When we keep reading, for instance, we discover that Jesus can’t mean we’re supposed to literally obey every commandment in the Law. How do we know this? Because immediately after this Jesus reinterprets some Old Testament laws, and even outright overturns some of them.

I’m talking about all the “You’ve heard it said…but I say to you” teachings that follow in Matthew 5. The “you’ve heard it said” each time is a reference to an Old Testament command; the “but I say to you” is Jesus’ new interpretation of that command.

So, for example, the Law of Moses says: “You shall not murder.” But Jesus says: “Do not even harbor anger in your heart against another person.”

Or, the Law of Moses says: “You shall not commit adultery.” But Jesus says: “Do not even nurture lust for another woman in your heart.”

And on it goes, until we get to the last two. The Law of Moses commanded a form of retributive justice, a principle of “proportional retaliation,” for any violent act committed: whatever the offender did to someone, they were to have that very thing done to them. The full commandment in Deuteronomy 19 is this: “Show no pity: life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot” (19:21).

And, while the Law of Moses in fact commands kindness for one’s everyday enemies, it does direct the Israelites more than once to annihilate their enemies in battle. The promise of Leviticus 26:7 sums this up: “You shall give chase to your enemies, and they shall fall before you by the sword.”

These commands of the Law, Jesus doesn’t just reinterpret. Jesus outright overturns them. No retribution of any kind is allowed. No violence of any kind is permitted. “Do not retaliate against an evil person,” Jesus says. “Love your enemies.”

If we keep reading some more, all the way through Matthew’s Gospel, we also find that this isn’t the only place that Jesus talks about “the Law and the Prophets.” That’s a clue, by the way. Jesus doesn’t just fulfill the Law, but the Law and the Prophets. All the Jewish Scriptures find their completion in Jesus. All the biblical threads of God’s ways in the world and God’s will for us, all these are woven together in Jesus.

The next reference to “the Law and the Prophets” is also in the Sermon on the Mount. In fact, the Sermon is framed by these two uses of “the Law and the Prophets”: our passage near the beginning, introducing the main part of the Sermon, and the next one near the end, as the Sermon is wrapping up.

And what is this summing-up reference to “the Law and the Prophets”? It’s something we all know, the famous Golden Rule: “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the Law and the Prophets” (Matt 7:12).

Doing for others what you would like done for you is the Law and the Prophets—it’s what the Bible is all about. Turning outside of ourselves and looking to others, treating others with the same respect, compassion, kindness, and care that we would like to receive—this fulfills all our obligations under God.

If we keep reading through Matthew’s Gospel, we come to another significant time Jesus talks about “the Law and the Prophets.” It’s in Matthew 22, Jesus’ response to the question, “Teacher, which commandment in the Law is the greatest?”

We all know Jesus’ answer—it’s the Great Commandments:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets. (Matt 22:36-40)

Love—devoted love for God and others—is what the Law and the Prophets are all about. Everything—all God’s ways in the world, all God’s will for us—hangs on these two commandments: love God and love others.

Or, in other words, love is the fulfillment of the Law.

Other early Christians got the message. The Apostle Paul sums this up as neatly as any of them, in Romans 13:8-10:

Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the Law. The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet”; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the Law.

Jesus oriented his life around love—not holiness, not purity, not strength or power, not truth or even wisdom, not even justice or peace. He oriented his life around love: devoted love for God and devoted love for others. And in doing so, Jesus demonstrated true holiness and purity, he showed true strength and power, he revealed true wisdom, he carved out the path toward true justice and peace.

In other words, all the things the Law pointed to—holiness, purity, wisdom, truth, mercy, justice, peace—Jesus fulfilled them all in love.

And likewise, when we orient our life around love, we too fulfill the Law. If we orient our life around striving for holiness or spotless purity, we will miss the fullness of God’s will for us. If we orient our life around some pure search for truth, we will miss the fullness of God’s will for us. If we orient our life around a relentless quest for justice, or even peace, we will miss the fullness of God’s will for us.

But when we orient our life around love in the way of Jesus—devoted love for God expressed in devoted love for others—then we discover true holiness and purity, true strength and wisdom, true justice and peace along the way.

I know, I know. Love can seem like a pretty flimsy foundation for a life of holiness, or for the pursuit of truth, or for producing peaceful and just societies. But this is what Jesus teaches, and the rest of the New Testament confirms it for us.

The question is, do we really believe it? Are we willing to put it into practice? Relentlessly, persistently, above all else, seeking to love God and others?

© Michael W. Pahl

Bishop Curry, Luke and Acts, and “Christianity Lite”

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There was a lot of buzz this past weekend about the wedding of Meghan Markle and Prince Harry, now the Duchess and Duke of Sussex. And a good bit of that buzz was about the sermon by Bishop Michael Curry, presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church.

Responses to Bishop Curry’s sermon have ranged from astonishment to amusement, from enthusiastic applause to sharp criticism. Some of that criticism has come from Christians, including a former chaplain to Her Majesty the Queen who claimed that Bishop Curry’s sermon represented a watered down version of Christianity, a kind of “Christianity Lite.” The specific critiques are diverse, but in general they seem to boil down to three things: there was too much love, too much social justice, and not enough cross.

However, if this is “Christianity Lite”—showing compassionate love for all including the unrighteous and unrepentant, seeking equitable justice for all and especially the vulnerable and marginalized and oppressed, and all this without a strong penal substitutionary view of Jesus’ death—then Luke the Evangelist, author of a good 27% of our New Testament, is also implicated.

Yep: Luke and Acts are also “Christianity Lite.”

Consider the cross.

Like Bishop Curry in his sermon, Luke does in fact mention Jesus’ death—dozens of times in the Gospel and Acts. What’s more, Jesus’ death is mentioned at significant points in Luke’s accounts of Jesus and the Apostles: in the Gospel’s creed-like “passion predictions” taken up from Mark’s Gospel, anticipating Jesus’ death yet to come; in the Gospel’s “passion narrative,” as rich in meaning as that of any of the Gospels; and in Acts’ several “evangelistic speeches,” where the saving message about Jesus is proclaimed to those who don’t yet believe. In other words, as with Bishop Curry, the cross is pretty important to Luke’s theology.

However, the cross isn’t talked about by Luke in the way at least some of Bishop Curry’s detractors call for. There’s no “You’re a sinner and you’re going to hell, but—good news!—Jesus has died to pay the penalty for your sins” in Luke or Acts—not even in the Apostles’ evangelistic speeches. In fact, “penal substitution” is entirely absent from Luke’s presentation of Jesus’ death—there is nothing in Luke or Acts indicating that Jesus is punished on the cross for our sins, paying a penalty that should be ours to pay.

For Luke, that “Christ died for our sins” means that “Christ died because of our sins,” and “Christ died to show us the way out of our sins.”

The most common interpretation of Jesus’ death by Luke is this stark contrast: human powers have killed Jesus, but God has raised Jesus from the dead. This idea is found in both the Gospel and Acts, explicitly and repeatedly. This refrain fits a Christus victor view of atonement: God has resurrected the crucified Jesus, thus declaring him to be Lord over all powers. The necessary response? Repentance of our collaboration with the evil powers of this world—rulers and idols alike—and walking in the Way in full allegiance to Jesus, Messiah and Lord. And this, of course, is where the gospel preaching of Acts always goes.

The next most common interpretation of Jesus’ death in Luke-Acts is that of Jesus as example to follow: Jesus has taught the way of nonviolent, self-giving love for both neighbours and enemies, and in his own suffering and death he exemplifies this teaching. This is “the way of peace” anticipated by John the Baptist’s father. These are “the things that make for peace” that Jesus laments the people of Jerusalem have missed. Jesus’ followers are to “deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow him” in these very ways—following Jesus in bringing about peace through nonviolent, self-giving love.

That’s the cross in Luke’s writings—unlikely to pass inspection from at least some of Bishop Curry’s critics. How about love?

Luke’s Gospel, of course, has the same key references to love found in Mark’s Gospel (which Luke almost certainly used) and Matthew’s (which Luke probably used). Love as the Greatest Commandment that sums up the whole Law of Moses: loving God with our whole being, and loving our neighbour as ourselves. Love of enemy as a distinctive hallmark of Jesus-followers.

But Luke also blends in a good-sized helping of other sayings and stories of Jesus about love.

Ferdinand Hodler, The Good Samaritan

It is Luke’s Gospel that fleshes out love of neighbour by telling the story of the Good Samaritan—shockingly making a despised foreigner the epitome of neighbour love. It is Luke’s Gospel that has all three stories of lostness: the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son. In this last story the father’s love for his prodigal son is particularly scandalous: generous from start to finish, watching for the prodigal and running for him without care for propriety, welcoming him home without any amends made or demanded.

Luke’s Gospel has more than the normal quota of stories of Jesus healing people and sharing meals with them, crossing bounds of purity and propriety to do so. He also tells his share of stories about Jesus forgiving sins on God’s behalf—sometimes in response to repentance, sometimes not. And it is Luke’s Gospel (or some manuscripts of it) that has Jesus calling on God to forgive his executioners even as he hangs on the cross, even while they remain ignorant of their heinous sin.

I suspect, then, that Luke’s Gospel has far too much emphasis on love for some—which brings us right to social justice.

One of the strangest criticisms of Bishop Curry’s sermon I’ve seen is that it focused too much on things like racial justice and poverty and the like. The thinking goes like this: the goal of Jesus’ ministry was to bring people into “the kingdom of heaven” (by which is meant simply “heaven,” or “an eternal, spiritual afterlife with God”). His ministry was “spiritual,” not “political”—and, in any case, things like sexism or racism or poverty aren’t really going to change in this world (you know, “the poor you will always have with you”).

But Luke the Evangelist will have none of this.

Leave aside the fact that “kingdom of heaven” is parallel to “kingdom of God,” and that the Jewish expectation of “God’s kingdom” was very much a this-earthly reality. Leave aside the fact that “give to Caesar that which belongs to Caesar and give to God that which belongs to God” would make any devout Jew think, “the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it.” And leave aside the fact that “the poor you will always have with you” is an allusion to Deuteronomy 15:11 where Moses is in fact urging generosity toward the poor.

Quite apart from these things, Luke’s Gospel is explicit in promoting what we today call “social justice,” even specifically along the lines of sex, race, and economics. There’s far too much to mention, so let’s just consider the issue of poverty.

James Tissot, Le magnificat

It is Luke’s Gospel that has Mary sing these words in anticipation of Jesus’ birth: “The Lord has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

It is Luke that makes Isaiah 61 into Jesus’ personal mission statement: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (in other words, Jubilee—look it up).

It is Luke that presents Jesus’ beatitudes this way: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled.” And he includes some accompanying woes in case we’re tempted to spiritualize this: “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry.” And just to hammer this home, these are among his following words: “Give to everyone who begs from you.”

It is Luke’s Gospel that says, “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.” It is Luke that tells the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus, making sure his hearers know the rich man was being judged for his callous disregard of poor Lazarus at his very gate. It is Luke that tells the story of Zacchaeus, declaring, once Zacchaeus had promised to give half his wealth to the poor and make restitution to any he had defrauded, that “Today salvation has come to this house.”

It is Luke that tells of the early Christians selling their property and giving to the poor among them, even holding all their possessions in common. It is Luke that describes the Apostles’ concern for widows in need, ensuring all received sufficient help regardless of cultural background. It is Luke that mentions the concern of believers in Antioch to provide aid for the poor in Jerusalem affected by famine.

If this is “Christianity Lite”—showing compassionate love for all including the unrighteous and unrepentant, seeking equitable justice for all and especially the vulnerable and marginalized and oppressed, and all this without a strong penal substitutionary view of Jesus’ death—then it’s not just Bishop Curry who is guilty of it. That’s Luke the Evangelist implicated as well, and—at least according to Luke—even Jesus himself.

Not bad company, I’d say.

© Michael W. Pahl

Not the Gospel

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Last week our kids took the dogs for a walk (bless them). Along the way they encountered a couple of friendly folks handing out free fire insurance and a ticket to heaven, otherwise known as a “gospel tract.”

Not the gospel.

You know what I mean. Maybe you’ve had someone stop by your house with a “gospel tract,” or you’ve seen one left on a restaurant table or in a public bathroom (yes, people do that). Maybe you’ve even handed them out yourself at some point (full disclosure: I have).

A “gospel tract” is a small pamphlet that tells people how to get to heaven. There are many different versions, but that’s the gist of it. They offer, as I said above, a kind of “fire insurance and a ticket to heaven”—salvation from eternal torture in hell, to eternal bliss with God beyond this earthly life.

The tract my kids brought home is entitled, “Heaven: How Do I Get There?” It assures its reader that they can “KNOW how to get to Heaven” based on “the very Word of God,” by which is meant the Bible. Quoting Bible verses, then, the tract proceeds to outline the gospel in four points: i) “We are all sinners.” ii) “There is a penalty for our sin,” described as “death in Hell.” iii) “Jesus Christ paid that penalty for us.” And, iv) “Trust and take Jesus as your personal Saviour.” The tract then gives a prayer the reader can pray, affirming these four things, and it declares that if you have prayed this prayer “You will go to Heaven, not by what man teaches, but by God’s Word.”

It’s a nice tract: attractive, simple, clear, and confident. There’s only one problem with it: it doesn’t actually present the gospel. This “gospel tract” my kids brought home is, in fact, not the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Now, this is a bit of a touchy topic. Most Christians likely believe some form of the message found in this “gospel tract”: we all sin, and so we all deserve God’s penalty for our sin; but Jesus has died to pay the penalty for our sin and so, if we believe this, we will go to heaven when we die. Even more, most Christians likely believe this “gospel” is clearly taught in the Bible, and that it is at the heart of what it means to be a Christian. So, when someone questions this, accusations of “rejecting the Bible” and “denying the gospel” and “not believing in heaven” and “not believing in Jesus” and “not being a true Christian” fly fast and furious.

That is ironic, and terribly tragic, given that it is actually the “gospel” of these “gospel tracts” that is not the biblical gospel.

I’d encourage anyone who doubts this to do some simple Bible study. Go to all the places in the New Testament where “gospel” or “good news” is mentioned, and read around those verses to see how this “gospel” is described. Then read through the evangelistic speeches in the book of Acts, all those places where the Apostles preach a message of salvation to people. Take some notes on what the gospel is, what the message of salvation is, what is included—and not included—in the true “gospel of Jesus Christ.”

If you do that, here are just two of the surprising things you’ll discover.

First, the gospel is not about us leaving earth and escaping hell and going to heaven. It’s about God’s kingdom coming near, God’s reign of justice and peace and life being established on earth. None of the New Testament descriptions of the gospel even mentions “hell,” and any time “heaven” is mentioned it’s talking about blessings coming from heaven to earth.

Mark’s Gospel says this quite directly: “Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the gospel of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the gospel.’” In the Lord’s Prayer Jesus states what this “come near” means: it means God’s kingdom coming “on earth.” This was the Jewish expectation of God’s kingdom: however the reign of God would come about, it would come about on earth, bringing true justice and lasting peace and flourishing life. This was in fact the “gospel” promised by the Prophet Isaiah: that God would come and establish God’s reign on earth, a reign of liberation for the captives and justice for the oppressed.

Also not the gospel.

In various ways the rest of the New Testament affirms this. Every time Jesus is called “Christ” or “Messiah,” for example, it is like a mini-statement of faith: Jesus is the promised king bringing in God’s kingdom on earth. To say that the gospel is a story about “Jesus Christ” means that God’s kingdom is brought about on earth through Jesus’ whole life and ministry. To say that “Christ died for our sins,” or to “preach Christ crucified,” means that God’s kingdom is brought about on earth through Jesus’ death. To say that “Christ was raised on the third day,” that by resurrecting him from the dead “God has made this Jesus both Lord and Messiah,” means that God’s kingdom is brought about on earth through Jesus’ resurrection.

This leads right into the second thing: the gospel doesn’t just focus on Jesus’ death, but as much or more on Jesus’ resurrection. In fact, the gospel encompasses Jesus’ whole life and ministry. There are only a couple of places in the New Testament where Jesus’ death is the sole focus of the gospel being described. Most often there are other things about Jesus also mentioned, and sometimes Jesus’ death isn’t even in the picture.

Jesus’ lineage, being in the family line of David, is gospel—because it gives credence to the claim that he is indeed the promised Messiah come to establish God’s kingdom on earth. Jesus’ teaching is gospel—because it teaches how we can participate in bringing about justice and peace on earth. Jesus’ miracles are gospel—because they are signs that God’s kingdom has come near, bringing flourishing life where there was none before.

Jesus’ suffering and crucifixion are gospel—because by bearing the sins of others and resisting evil powers nonviolently, even out of love, even unto death, Jesus has overcome those powers and delivered us from sin. Jesus’ resurrection and exaltation are gospel—because they are God’s declaration that Jesus is indeed the Messiah bringing about God’s kingdom through self-giving love, that he is even the true Lord over all, including any and all powers of this world.

So, when we make the gospel about leaving earth and escaping hell and going to heaven, we are proclaiming a false gospel. When we focus our attention solely on Jesus’ death in a way that doesn’t mesh with Jesus’ life, teachings, and especially his resurrection, we are proclaiming a false gospel. Sounds harsh, I know, but these popular understandings of the gospel are simply not biblical. They are not the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Yes, the Bible emphasizes that sin is a reality—all those ways we cause harm through our attitudes, words, and actions. And yes, the Bible underscores that when we sin there are consequences—we experience “death,” all that is not-life, including guilt and shame and hostility and pain and even physical death. And so, yes, the Bible points us to the need to be “saved” from our sins, delivered from our harmful ways. But the gospel is not merely a private transaction between me and God, the problem solved by praying a prayer.

And yes, the Bible teaches that Jesus’ death on a cross was “for us,” “for our sins.” But Jesus’ death is not the whole of the gospel, and when that is divorced from the larger story of Jesus the Messiah bringing in God’s kingdom on earth, we can even end up with a distortion of the gospel.

And yes, the Bible assures believers that we will be “with the Lord” after death. But that is not the gospel. In fact, it’s not even the end of the story: the New Testament affirms that at the end of all things we will be resurrected to a transformed bodily existence on a renewed earth. In the end, heaven, in all its fullness, will come to earth.

All this has made me wonder: what might a true “gospel tract” look like, one that is based on the gospel as proclaimed by Jesus and his Apostles in the Bible?

[Update: Here’s a follow-up post on creating a gospel tract, and here’s the tract I’ve created!]

#MLK50

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It was 50 years ago today that the “shot rang out in the Memphis sky,” and Martin Luther King, Jr., was assassinated.

Growing up in the ’70s and ’80s, I learned about MLK, of course, but growing up in Canada I didn’t learn a lot. And coming of age in the early ’90s as a white Evangelical, what I did learn was that Martin Luther King was one of those “iffy” Christians, one of those “social justice” Christians who didn’t preach the true gospel and whose salvation status was uncertain.

My perspective has changed a great deal in the last 25 years, of course, and over the last 10 years I have deliberately engaged MLK’s writing and preaching, learning from his life and legacy. He was a flawed man, no question, but he was just as certainly one of the great lights of the twentieth century, even of all human history.

Martin Luther King, Jr., has appeared in my preaching several times over the past few years. Here are the times he also made it into my blogging. Rest in peace, MLK, until the coming of our Lord and the renewal of all things, and the dream is fully realized.

Fifteen Lessons I Learned (or Learned Again) in Teaching on the Cross this Lent

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Through Lent this year I taught a Bible study on “The Meaning of the Cross.” We packed a lot into four weeks! We talked about crucifixion in the ancient world and the specific circumstances surrounding Jesus’ execution on a Roman cross. We talked about the theological puzzle this created for the early Christians (“Christ crucified by humans, yet raised from the dead by God—what?!”). We talked about various explanations Christians have given through history of the saving significance of Jesus’ death (“atonement models” or “theories”). This included a particular focus on (and critique of) the dominant model in modern western Protestant circles, Penal Substitution—that on the cross Jesus took our place, taking God’s punishment for our sin and appeasing God’s wrath against us for our sin.

I may create some posts from all this down the road, we’ll see. For now, though, here are fifteen lessons I learned (or learned again) in teaching on the cross through Lent:

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #1: All atonement metaphors and models reflect the culture in which they were developed. Yes, this includes Penal Substitution. Yes, it also includes recent nonviolent models. It even includes biblical metaphors.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #2: How we understand the problem determines how we understand the solution. In the NT the root problem is not “hell” or “guilt” but “sin,” all the ways we harm others/creation. The solution? Rescue from harm, restoration to wholeness.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #3: In the OT there are many bases for God’s forgiveness of sins/appeasement of God’s wrath: remorse (Ps 32), persuasion (Num 14), repentance (Jon 3), animal sacrifice (Lev 4-6), and even killing someone with proper zeal (Num 25).

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #4: There are many different kinds of blood sacrifices in the OT. Several of them had nothing to do with sin—ritual purification, thanksgiving gift, and covenant ratification, for instance.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #5: *God did not kill Jesus.* In fact, the NT consistently, emphatically declares that *humans* killed Jesus—*God* raised Jesus from the dead.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #6: Rarely if ever does the NT clearly, directly say that Jesus’ death satisfied God’s wrath, or took our punishment, or paid our penalty. One might develop a model that logically requires this, but it’s not stated.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #7: The gospel preaching of Acts describes Jesus’ death as something humans did to Jesus, not something Jesus did for us. Forgiveness of sins in Acts is dependent on our repentance, and is based on Jesus’ exaltation not his death.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #8: The gospel tradition of 1 Cor 15:3-4, including “Christ died for our sins,” was a kind of “preaching summary” of the apostolic gospel—not a full-blown theology of salvation.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #9: In the NT Jesus’ death “for us” or “for our sins” most often simply means “for our benefit” or “in relation to our sins.” Anything more is implied from its context—or read into from our context.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #10: The NT uses many different metaphors to describe Jesus’ death. All of them relate Jesus’ death to “our sins” in some way. Most of them, however, don’t do this in a “sacrifice for sins” kind of way.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #11: The Gospels don’t give much basis for Penal Substitution: Jesus rejected lethal violence and punitive justice, he agreed with the prophetic critique of blood sacrifice, and he forgave sins freely on God’s behalf—even his own murder!

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #12: Some Jews in Jesus’ day disputed the legitimacy of the Temple and its sacrifices. All Jews soon after Jesus’ day saw repentance and acts of mercy as “atoning,” no blood sacrifice required. Jesus fits right within this context.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #13: The dominant metaphors used by Jesus in the Gospels for interpreting his death were related to liberation from oppressive powers (Passover, Exodus, “ransom/redemption,” “new covenant”).

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #14: The dominant imagery used by Jesus in the Gospels for applying his death is “identification/participation”: Jesus stands with the sinned-against, and Jesus calls us to follow him in taking up our cross.

Lessons (re)learned in teaching on the cross #15: The dominant interpretation of Jesus’ death in the NT is that it is a revelation of love: it shows God’s (and Jesus’) love for us, and it compels us to respond with love for God and for others—neighbours, strangers, even enemies.

How to put this all together? Check out a couple of other posts of mine on the cross: “The Foolishness of the Cross” and “Atonement and God’s Wrath.”

© Michael W. Pahl

“I Desire Mercy, Not Sacrifice”

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Jesus says, “Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’”

Okay, Jesus. I’ll take you up on that. I’ll go to the prophet Hosea to learn this—after all, that’s where this quote comes from.

There’s ancient Israel awash in idolatry and injustice, yet trusting in her religious rituals—prescribed by God in the Law, no less!—to maintain her standing before God. But God would rather have his people living in simple chesed—“steadfast love,” “lovingkindness,” “mercy”: devotion to God and compassion for others—than have them do all the prescribed rituals of the Law put together.

Okay, Jesus, I’m good with that. In fact, I’d love to be free from feeling obligated to do religion in just the right way. I’d love to be free to do religion in a way that’s free, you know? I’d love to be free to do religion in a way that focuses on the stuff that really matters, like “doing justice and loving mercy and walking humbly with God.”

“Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’”

But, I just… Oh, okay. I’ll go deeper. Let me check out the context of your teaching, why you said what you said when you said it.

Isaac Cigoli, The Sacrifice of Isaac

There you are, eating with sinners, and the Really Religious don’t like it. Their concern is about holiness, about maintaining purity—the prescribed “sacrifice” according to the Law. But your concern is about “mercy,” about showing compassion—this is the greater pursuit, God’s greater desire.

Of course, you don’t neglect the reality of sin—you call all sinners to repentance—but you turn “sin” on its head: excluding the marginalized, and especially justifying this by appeals to “holiness” before God, is the greater sin. Purity plus power so easily turns to bigotry and exclusion.

Okay, Jesus, that’s hard, but I think I can do that. I can try to be attentive to those on the fringes, especially those my community labels “sinners.”

“Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’”

But, didn’t I just…? Okay, okay, Jesus. I’ll go still further. After all, there is that other time you said these words.

Your disciples pluck and eat grain on the Sabbath. You heal on the Sabbath. The Really Religious get on your case once again. This time, though, they’re putting the letter of the Law—strict Sabbath observance, that is, “sacrifice”—ahead of its spirit—“mercy.” As the Son of Man, The Human, you are Lord over the Sabbath Law. The Sabbath, you say, was made for humans, not humans for the Sabbath. And so you prioritize the Law’s spirit of mercy over its rigid observance.

Okay, Jesus, I’m pretty sure I can do this. It can be hard to discern the spirit of biblical teaching, harder still to discern the Spirit behind the biblical teaching. But when in doubt, choose mercy—that’s a good guideline right there.

“Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’”

There’s still more to this? I don’t doubt that anymore—you do seem to have a way of saying simple things that aren’t so simple once you start really thinking about them!

“I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” What other “sacrifice” might you mean? More than just the Law-prescribed offerings, or the right religious rituals? More than just living by the letter of the Law?

Oh, yes. There’s you. You gave your own life as a sacrifice. But if you did this, what does it mean to say you—or God, for whom you speak—does not desire sacrifice?

Oh, I see. You mean, no sacrifice of anyone, anytime, in any way.

Your self-giving sacrifice was an end to all sacrifice—not just animal sacrifice, not just religious offerings, but all the ways in which we sacrifice a life to gain the favour of the gods or to create favourable circumstances for ourselves.

No sacrifice, then. No daughters and sons sacrificed in war for The Nation or The Wealthy Few. No condemned prisoners sacrificed eye-for-eye and life-for-life. No brown people sacrificed over there, or right here, to maintain “peace” or satisfy “justice” or fill our White Man’s craving for land and cotton and oil.

No sacrifice. No women suffering abuse while the church keeps silent, all to maintain the church’s (and men’s) reputation and power. No children murdered in school on the altar to the twin gods Gun and Mammon. No LGBTQ folks scapegoated so straight folks don’t have to deal with their own sin. No unborn children pulled from the womb so close to seeing the light of life, and no pregnant women cast out into the wilderness bearing the burden of responsibility for their child.

No sacrifice. No sacrifice, ever.

Only mercy. Only, and forever, mercy.

Blessed Are the Outliers

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Our lives in the modern west are greatly affected by statistics. Everything from medical research to political polling relies on statistical analysis. (I’m sure there’s a statistic out there somewhere to prove it.)

One of the realities of statistical analysis is something known as an “outlier.” An outlier is a data point, a recorded observation, that sits outside the mainstream of data. It’s an oddity, an anomaly.

This has nothing to do with coffee.

Say, for example, you’re conducting a poll to see what time of day people in your neighbourhood drink their coffee. Your survey gets 100 responses from coffee drinkers: 52 in the early morning, 28 in the mid-afternoon, 19 in evening after dinner—and 1 in the middle of the night, at 3 a.m. That one data point, that 3 a.m. coffee, is an outlier—it’s outside the mainstream.

What do you do with this outlier?

You might decide that the person probably made a mistake, incorrectly indicating “a.m.” instead of “p.m.” in their response. In that case, you determine the outlier doesn’t reflect reality, and you set it aside (though you might, in your head, include it among the mid-afternoon coffee drinkers).

Or, you might decide that there really is a person who likes a cup of coffee at 3 a.m., but that datum is still statistically irrelevant—it doesn’t reflect the norm. That’s especially helpful if you’re using this poll to start a coffee delivery business—there’s no way you’re getting up at 3 a.m. to bring a coffee to this one person (that is, if they even exist).

But let’s say you expand this research beyond your neighbourhood. The larger your data set, the more varied the responses—and the more outliers you’ll find. While the largest numbers might still clump together around early morning, mid-afternoon, and after dinner, you’d probably discover that there are people drinking coffee at all hours of the day. You might even discover that there is a coterie of 3 a.m. coffee drinkers you’d never considered—night shift workers needing that jolt of caffeine to keep going, perhaps.

This is another reality of statistical analysis: in order for data to be useful, it often needs to be aggregated, lumped together into larger, identifiable groups. It’s not all that useful in politics or marketing, for example, to focus on the individual or the outlier. Whether you’re selling legislation or LEGO, it’s the mainstream, the norm, the aggregate groups, that really matter.

Unfortunately, however, many Christians have bought into this notion, that “it’s the mainstream, the norm, the aggregate groups, that really matter.” I say “unfortunately” because that’s not the way of Jesus.

Jesus taught that God was the kind of shepherd who left the ninety-nine sheep to go searching for the one, wounded, lost sheep. He taught that in God’s economy the last one was just as important as the first. He held up the very least among us—the forgotten poor, the irrelevant outsider—as the one in whom we could see his reflection. Time after time he engaged the individual where they were at—a Samaritan woman, a Roman centurion, a Jewish leper, a man blind from birth, a high-ranking Pharisee, a rich young ruler, a “sinful woman”—their proximity to the aggregate norm irrelevant.

In other words, Jesus saw not just those who fit the norm. He saw the oddities, the anomalies, the statistically irrelevant.

Jesus saw the outliers—and loved them.

This isn’t the way many people think. It’s not the way many Christians think. We often determine the “norm”—both what’s “typical” and what’s “right”—based on aggregate data, and then we either ignore or dismiss all deviations from the norm, all those oddities or anomalies, all those outliers.

Take current debates over sexuality, for example.

We rightly determine that most people are born either biologically male or biologically female—but then we decide this means there are only biologically male or biologically female people. We either remain ignorant (willfully?) of the very existence of intersex persons or we dismiss them as anomalies, the result of sin affecting human genes.

Read this book.

But nothing can change the simple fact that somewhere around 15 out of every 1000 people are born neither fully or exclusively “male” nor fully or exclusively “female,” whether that’s hidden in their DNA or internal sex organs, or that’s obvious from external genitalia. And nothing can change the fact that each one of these persons is created in God’s image, and that they, too, are “fearfully and wonderfully made” by God.

Or, we correctly ascertain that most people are other-sex oriented, that most biologically male humans are sexually attracted to biologically female humans and vice versa—but then we decide this means other sexual orientations are unnatural and willful, even if the person never acts on that attraction. We either pretend gay Christians don’t exist or we dismiss them as anomalies, the result of sin affecting human desires.

But nothing can change the simple fact that through history and across cultures there has always been a small percentage of people, roughly 5-15% of any given human population, who are same- or bi-sex attracted. Nothing can change the fact that none of us, gay or straight, chooses our sexual orientation. And nothing can change the fact that lesbian, gay, and bisexual Christians do indeed exist—experiencing same-sex attraction, some choosing celibacy and others not, but all also experiencing the presence of God’s Spirit in their lives, shaping them toward Christlikeness.

This is just one example of the way Christians buy into the dominant cultural narrative of “natural normativity.” In this narrative there are observable norms in nature or society (what’s “typical”) that reflect God’s norms (what’s “right”). These norms can be determined by simple observation, even by statistical analysis, by aggregating the observed data into identifiable groups, even at times clear binaries. These norms of nature or society are then to be defended or even demanded as God’s clear will. All kinds of social distinctions, based on ethnicity, wealth, gender, class, and more, have been justified through human history by this narrative of “natural normativity.” (Did you know Aristotle believed some people were “slaves by nature”?)

As Christians we should be wary of this. Too often these norms don’t reflect real biblical values, let alone actual Christian values based on the gospel of Jesus Christ. Too often they merely reflect some idealized utopia a generation or two back, when everything was good and everyone was godly—even though that utopia never really existed. Too often these norms only reflect the power structures of a particular society—they’re good for the many, but not for the few, or they’re good for the powerful few, but not for the powerless many.

In so many ways in his own day, Jesus broke through the norms of nature and society, including those that were attributed to God. “Righteous” and “sinners,” men and women, Jew and Gentile, rich and poor—in each of these categories and more Jesus looked past the aggregate groups and engaged with individuals. Provocatively, even scandalously, Jesus went looking for the oddities, the anomalies, the outliers, and brought them into God’s flourishing life of holy love.

How about us as followers of this Jesus? Are we willing to look past the aggregate statistics to the individual person? Are we willing to engage each person regardless of how they fit with the “norm,” and see in them the image of God and the person of Jesus, and share the feast of God’s life and love together with them?

Blessed are the outliers, you might even say, for theirs is the kingdom of God.

© Michael W. Pahl