Toward a Fuller Reading of the Scriptures

Calvin told us that Scripture is the Word of God when it points to Christ. Such an idea is a proper hermeneutic in that it rightly places Jesus at the center of the narrative, using Jesus as the interpretive matrix through which to read the Scriptures. This helps us to determine God’s self-revelation from human distortions of God, attempts to make God ours, rather than recognizing that we belong to God. But this is not all that is necessary to understand the Bible. Reading the Bible, we can plainly see that there exist multiple genres of the written word. Paul writes in prose; Acts, the Gospels, and much of the OT are written in narrative form; the Psalms, Proverbs, Song of Solomon, and Ecclesiastes are wisdom sayings and poems. We also have apocalyptic writings which are shrouded in symbolism and mystery, which is appropriate and necessary given their subversive nature. And even these are not clear cut, as the Gospels contain poems and parables, and so on. Additionally, we have the difference of context to consider. Ancient biographies were not structured as contemporary biographies are. They were not the empty recital of fact, but contained what we would call myths or legends as ways of communicating truth. Such a means was necessary given that, like the apocalyptic, the Gospels contained much that was subversive to the dominant religious and political climate. In a certain sense, the Gospels needed to be hard to understand in order to help secure the safety of the original communities from enemies.¹

In that some parts of the Bible were written in “coded” language, the community’s knowledge was imperative for rightly reading the Scriptures. Such knowledge is now lost to us. There are many points where we might have strayed. Perhaps it was when Constantine incorporated Christianity into the Empire, perhaps it was when the Church became more gentile than Jew, perhaps it was even when Jesus died, leaving the disciples to muddle his message. However, contemporary means of reconstructing the past have helped us immensely to gather a clearer picture of the early church community and its life. With all that is known it seems still that much knowledge has been lost when it comes to rightly reading the Bible.

Regardless, how we read the Scriptures contemporarily does not represent the only way or even the best way to do so. To say that each person is his own interpreter and the text is clear is simply untrue. If the text was that clear we wouldn’t have so many different interpretations. There is probably not a single interpretation that can exhaust the meaning of the text. If we confess the Bible to be inspired, despite its failings, we believe it to express who God is and contain God’s self-revelation. This means that the text is as full as God is, virtually inexhaustible. This is seen in the early readings of the Church. Historically, the Church understood the text as having multiple senses. It had an allegorical or symbolic sense, a literal or historical sense, and a tropological or moral sense, for example. In such readings, dating back to Origen in the 2^nd century, the literal sense was always the least important. This is important because it demonstrates that symbolic readings find a deep affinity with the historical Church, even though our readings will be different. For example, I would argue that significant parts of the OT are to be understood as symbolic stories meant to communicate certain truths. The issue is not whether something is symbolic or true, but whether the truth communicated takes the form of history or allegory.

Such readings do not endanger the Scriptures, for even in a historical reading, the meaning is found in and derived from the symbols. An allegorical readings simply asserts that the symbols were meant to be understood as symbols, rather than history, and that it is in the Church’s best interests—for the sake of its credibility, and its intellectual and spiritual life—to affirm rather than deny such readings. The discipline comes in determining which parts of the overall narrative are to be understood as parabolic rather than having actually occurred. This is where the sciences of history, textual criticism, and archeology, among others, come into play. Such tools can help us determine how to read the Scriptures. However, the traditions of the Church and its readings are the primary means of determining how the Bible is to be read. This does not mean that we can never disagree with those from the past, simply that we heed their input as wise voices from the Church’s life. We ought to give their voices a say in the life of the Church, which is, as G.K. Chesterton described it, a “democracy of the dead.”

1 Early churches had “gatekeepers” at the entrances of house church meetings who functioned as bouncers in order to guarantee the safety of believers who risked their lives to gather.

The Soul and the Resurrection

While doing some research on the relationship between science and religion, I came across John Polkinghorne, a physicist and Anglican Priest. Like me, he does not believe in a disembodied soul or a resurrection of one’s actual body, in terms of the same cells or matter that currently constitute us. I came to this conclusion quite some time ago, but this is my first attempt to articulate it in written form.

First of all, the soul and a bodily resurrection are two separate and contradictory systems, two different views of the afterlife. The first, is a more Greek derived system that saw matter is more prison-like, unreal, or to be transcended. Such dualism still influences many Christians today. The latter affirmed the the necessary materiality of life. Good or bad, this is what we are. It didn’t depend on lofty views of ideals or forms. We live, we die, and God will faithfully restore our lives and communities in a time of redemption that includes, but is not limited to, political freedom. Being a believer in the resurrection of Christ, I naturally gravitated toward the resurrection, but if the resurrection is true, why bother with a soul that survives death and floats around in some temporary place while it waits for the body to be restored? I suppose purgatory might suffice as an explanation, but purgatory strikes me as a rather inane idea. It is too guilt-ridden and ecclesio-centric.

I would propose that if we are indeed bodies, and are so essentially, we do not need souls that inhabit our bodies (what would said souls do anyway?), nor that survive death. If God grants us new bodily life, why bother with souls? I simply see no reason for both a soul that survives death and the resurrection as well.

So, if we stick with the resurrection, is it the same bones, flesh, and everything else that is given life again? No, I don’t think so. Why not? Think of it this way: we never lose water. The water we are drinking now could be the water Jesus was baptized in. Water never disappears, it just changes locations, and sometimes forms, but it is never lost. Matter is the same (yes, I know, water is matter too). It can’t be created or destroyed (not by us at least, perhaps by God). Our cells are created using matter from a mother and father, which is supplemented by nutrients, which are also matter. We then grow by ingesting more matter, and then, eventually, we die. Our bodies decompose and give nutrients to the earth, feeding plants, which are eaten by animals, whether human or deer or whatever. There is an overlapping of matter. to say that the exact matter, the same cells I am now will be resurrected is naive, even if my example of the cycle of life is in need of some fine tuning.

So if we are not resurrected cell for cell, then what happens?  Like Polkinghorne, I believe in reconstitution. We will be made again. But wouldn’t that just be a copy since it isn’t the same cells? We replace our cells constantly. In fact, those of us who are adults remembering things when we were children should note that we do not share a single cell in common with ourselves at the time of our memory. They’ve all been replaced. And yet here we are. Despite having all new cells, we remember. It was still our experience. How does this work? How do we retain memories if we’ve been completely replaced? I don’t know. It doesn’t seem likely that we would ever be able to know such a thing, though I am clearly no scientist. Nonetheless, our selfhood does not depend on cellular continuity. What does it depend on? That’s a good question.

Virtuous Pagans

Gandhi was a good man. He certainly may have had his flaws, but he provided an example of what a life lived openly for the benefit of others looks like. He, of course, is not the only example, but he is an example nonetheless. Yet, despite his deep love and the goodness he brought about, many Christians would condemn him to hell. They need not. Though contemporary Christians practice rigid exclusivism, it was not always so. Justin Martyr, for example, writing in the second century, even called the ancient Greek Philosophers Christians because they lived reasonable lives. While we should not necessarily call them Christians, Justin's general line of thinking is both accessible and applicable.

If God is the Source of all Goodness through which all kinds of goodness originate, then nothing good either is or occurs apart from God. This is something I believe all Christians can agree on. How this can be applied is much more controversial. This means that there is no virtue apart from God, and that, therefore, the virtuous, whether pagan, atheist, or agnostic, participate in God through living virtuously, as Paul says in Romans 2. This does not mean that virtue causes one to participate in God, but because one cannot be separated from God by the nature of their very existence--since we exist in God, and God through us--virtue is what occurs when we either consciously or unconsciously assent to the Goodness that God is. When we seek Goodness, we find God, even if we don't acknowledge God as such.

What does this mean? God does not belong to the Church alone. Though I would maintain that the Christian faith is unique in that it is founded upon the teachings and life of the One we believe is God come to us (Emanuel), this same God that became Jesus was not devoid of work elsewhere. Both the Psalms and the New Testament witness to the idea of God's revelation in nature—a nature common to us all no matter which part of earth we may reside in. This makes sense if Christ truly is the Logos/Sophia, the wisdom of God, the reason or rationale behind the universe, and the ordering principle of creation. If God is the Source of reason and wisdom (both of which are forms of goodness), then no reason or wisdom is spoken or thought apart from God. Searching the scriptures of other religious traditions, this should become clear. There is much overlap, such as the Golden rule. This is not to say that all revelation is equal. It certainly is not. But to say that certain theological ideas are mistaken, unclear, or even distorted is different than saying that a religious tradition is devoid of God or even founded by demons. While there may in fact be demonically inspired rituals, any ideals that contribute to love, peace, and justice should be attributed to God and God's Spirit working through people to make God''s kingdom a reality. This doesn't mean that the Spirit's words aren't misunderstood at times. They certainly are. The Church's life, unfortunately, is full of such mistakes.

So what does this ultimately mean for the Christian concept of soteriology? It means that God is more gracious than we are. Though spiritual healing and eternal life are only available through Christ, Christ is present in more than Jesus. And though Jesus is the highest form of the revelation of God, there are still things to be learned from other faith traditions, and even non-traditions as we encounter people who do not hold to an overarching system of spirituality or morality, and yet still maintain the highest moral standards. Where there is love, God's purposes and plans are coming to fruition. Where there is love God is at work, and people are responding to God's call, even if they are unaware that such a call is being made.

Moving Beyond Penal Models of Atonement

Nearly all fundamentalists and Evangelicals believe in a model of atonement whereby Jesus made an exchange with God for us. The exchange looks something like this. God has to punish us because retributive justice is God’s nature, but God also wants to forgive us because God loves us. in order to satisfy the conditions of God’s love and of God’s justice, God orchestrates the death of Jesus—the one for the many. God pours his wrath upon Jesus, who acts as a guilt offering. When we become Christians, then, are sins are forgiven because they have already been punished God’s punishment of Jesus.

This should raise many concerns. First of all, God is divided amidst God’s self. Does God want to forgive or punish? It can’t be both ways. If we forgive, we don’t punish. If a transgression is punished it is not forgiven. If we do adopt this model, we can’t say that God forgives sin. What we say instead is that Jesus made satisfaction for the sins of humanity. But how can we say that God is love if this is the case. Certainly love entails forgiveness, the scriptures state this clearly. but if penal models of atonement are true, then God does not forgive sin.

There are also ontological problems with the model. It leads to an unforgiving Father God demanding “justice” and a forgiving son pleading for mercy for his friends. How does that work with the Trinity? God is of one will, not a divided will. Either father and Son both want forgiveness or they both want punishment. You can’t have it both ways; the result is nonsense.

The problem is that an obscure passage from Leviticus is read into the passion story. It states that there is no forgiveness apart from the shedding of blood. However, Jesus explicitly forgave twp people in the NT apart from the shedding of blood! John the Baptist also baptized with a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins? Wait, what’s that? repentance is the condition of forgiveness? But that undercuts all the metaphysical nonsense that makes the Incarnation necessary. A God/man had to die to forgive sins! No. In fact no one had to die, God simply had to proclaim forgiveness. That’s it. Of course, we have to do what’s right and make amends with those we’ve wronged. But there are no ontological magic tricks that make us “in” and others “out.”

Jesus didn’t die to make it possible for God to forgive sins. Such logic is a farce. Jesus died because he challenged the religious and political structures of his day. This made him dangerous. He knew that. He knew the people would revolt and make him king if he let them, and then the Romans would crush the revolt, as they did in 70 CE and again in 135 CE. Jesus dies because he proclaimed a radical and liberating kingdom that exists independent of institutions or borders or earthly kings. This certainly would have angered the earthly kings enough to have him done away with. God did not orchestrate Jesus death, but gave Jesus the courage to pursue his mission, to proclaim God’s kingdom. It is in this sense, and this sense only, that God desired that Jesus die. The mission required it. Not because of ontology, but because of the risks of peacefully challenging violent enemies.

When we understand Jesus’ life within a framework of non-violence, it takes on new depth. True love requires non-violence. If we love neighbors and enemies, there is no one to hate. And if there is no one to hate, there is no one to kill. The embodiment of such love is at-one-ment. When we seek to love all, just as God loves all, then we are at one with God. Otherwise, we are liars. For whoever does not love his brothers and sisters, whom we can see, cannot love God, whom we cannot see.

Post-Partisan Faith

Christians seem to be extremely partisan, more so than other religious groups. I recently saw a report on Fox News where the commentators expressed their concern about Obama’s supporters elevating him to the status of savior. I find this a bit ironic since many of Bush’s supporters claim that he was placed their by God. Bush was God’s chosen vessel in their eyes. That should be much more concerning. I’ve never claimed that God chose Obama, nor do I know anyone else who has. I do think he is a genuinely good guy who is trying to do what is right, rather than just playing the God card. It seems the former president did just that. He and his constituents used Christians in order to increase their power. It didn’t turn out so well. We ended up with two ongoing wars (Did God tell Bush to start those two? If so, God hasn’t read the sermon on the Mount.), and a ruined economy.
The solution to the alliance of the North American Protestant Church with the right cannot be fixed by younger generations of Christians allying ourselves with the left. We can work with all people and groups with common goals. This means we may work with both parties on different issues. Christians should join liberals and radicals in the streets to protest war. We should join libertarians when the government oversteps it’s boundaries. We should join conservatives in protecting the unborn. In other ways, we should join with feminists in asserting the equal rights of both sexes. We should join with labor unions, and even socialists and communists if need be, in asserting workers’ rights. We should join with hippies and deep ecologists to protect the environment. We rarely do such things, however. Instead, we focus internally and embrace a gospel of selfishness, wealth, and apathy. We shut out the “evil” world and pray for God’s judgment. How stupid we are!
Where is love if we shut the world out? How can we proclaim the victory of God in Christ if we know no one outside our church? How can we claim anything that can be legitimately called salvation if it’s all about us? Jesus never taught selfishness. We certainly didn’t tell us to shut ourselves off from the world. He enjoyed the company of whores, traitors, bastards, outcasts, and lepers. The church has become no better than those who opposed Jesus’ message. We have sold out. WE have become the enemies of God in our arrogance and hatred. For as I John tells us if we cannot love our neighbors, how can we love God?

What the Church Can Learn from the Justice League

In the amazingly well done cartoon “Justice League Unlimited,” there is an episode where the Justice League saves several small towns from an alien weapon. Ultimately undoing it from the inside, they attempt to buy some time by using a large laser cannon to create a barrier between the expanding alien weapon and the towns in danger. After defeating the alien technology, the United States army keeps the weapon, in case they ever need to use it against the Justice League. Why because the Justice League is a loose cannon. True, they only do good, but they do not hold a strict allegiance to the United States government. This makes them dangerous.
The Church would do good to remember its roots. It was originally a small persecuted movement within the Roman Empire, only doing good as it spread among women and slaves, but a threat to the Pax Romana, a peace dependent upon predatory violence and exploitation. How legitimate is the peace that America is trying to secure? Is the means by which it does so contrary to God’s kingdom? What kind of allegiance, if any, can Christians have to a government that demands unquestioning obedience to its arbitrary mission. Doesn’t the Church’s ecumenical and universal nature transcend national allegiances? The Church should take a lesson from the Justice League. We work for God’s good, which means the good of the world, not the petty interests and power plays of nation-states. Christians must remain independent of such claims. We must be, in a sense, anarchists.

The Irony of My Universalism

My journey toward universalism is a bit ironic, I think. I first began to flirt with the idea in grad school while studying Paul. Reading E.P. Sanders and N.T. Wright gave me a wholly different understanding of covenant. Reading Paul, especially Romans gave me an understanding of God’s grace that was, in fact, gracious. At that point, I rejected the idea of hell all together. God’s faithfulness to us was greater than humanity’s unfaithfulness.
Later on, as I struggled with the idea of evil, I rejected universalism in favor of annhilitionism. I took a more material view of it. Some understand it to mean that the unrepentant suffer in hell for a while and are finally destroyed. I took it to mean that they just die, but the those who commit themselves to God’s ways are raised up in the resurrection.
After the death of my brother, I began to see that God’s love is greater than our baggage. My brother was a sinner, he was steeped in it. Despite that, despite choices for which some might label him “wicked,” my family and I still loved him. Despite the fact that he took his own life, we still deeply cared for him and would have done anything to bring him back to us. I began to see that if we cared about my “wicked” brother, if we did not reject him, if we loved him without condition, how much more did God love him? How much more was God’s love for him unconditional. And so I was a universalist again. Though it was not purposeful (my parents are not universalists) this is the greatest lesson they have taught me.
At this point, I still rejected hell and so discarded the parts of the Bible that mentioned it, while emphasizing the parts of the Bible that talked about God’s love. I didn’t think I could reconcile the two. However, when I began reading some books about the subject I discovered that many Christian Universalists do believe in hell. They just believe that it is temporary and purgatorial in nature. Furthermore, they made a strong biblical case for their belief. The irony of the position I now find myself in is that as a universalist I am now more orthodox and more biblical than I was when I wasn’t a universalist. My universalism is a matter of being more conservative, not more liberal. And I find myself in good company. Origen, Clement, Ambrose, Gregory of Nyssa, Hans Urs Von Balthasaar, Karl Barth, and many more throughout the Church’s history have been universalists. Into the 5th century it was actually pretty common. Strange now how it’s considered heresy while the idea of a loving God condemning billions of people to hell, most on a technicality, is considered true and good. What perverse morality. Thank God it isn’t true.