An Apostle and Two Bishops

 Many Christians today hold to “Sola Scriptura” — the idea that the Bible alone contains everything we need to know about our faith. But when you look closely at early Christian history, that assumption becomes much harder to maintain.

For one thing, the Bible as we know it didn’t exist as a bound collection until the late fourth century. And even then, the version many Protestants use today is actually shorter than the canon affirmed by the early Church.

But even more importantly, the Bible itself never teaches “Bible alone.”

What opened my eyes was a simple historical story — one that involves the Apostle John, the last of the Twelve to die, and two bishops who lived and worked within John’s lifetime: Clement of Rome and Ignatius of Antioch. These men didn’t just know about John. They knew him. They ministered in the same world he did.

And what they reveal about the early Church surprised me.

Ignatius was a disciple — a mentee — of the Apostle John during the years John ministered in Ephesus and throughout Asia Minor. This was the region of the seven churches addressed in the opening chapters of the Book of Revelation. Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea formed a tight network of Christian communities connected by well‑traveled Roman trade routes.

One of those major routes ran directly between Ephesus and Antioch. In the early Church, it was common for the apostles to ordain and appoint bishops and elders not only in their own cities, but also in other regions that needed leadership. Paul instructs Timothy to “appoint elders in every city,” showing that this authority extended to those whom the apostles themselves had ordained.

Because of this, it was not unusual for a leader trained in one city to be sent to another. When a major Christian center needed a bishop, the apostles or their closest associates often appointed someone from outside the city — someone they trusted, someone formed in the apostolic tradition.

Early Christian tradition holds that Ignatius, shaped by John’s ministry in Asia Minor, was appointed to serve as the bishop of Antioch — one of the most important sees in the ancient world and the first place believers were called “Christians.”

Antioch was the third largest city in the Roman Empire. To be bishop there was a big deal. It would be like being Archbishop of Canterbury or rector of the National Cathedral. To compare it to evangelical life, it would be like becoming pastor of the First Baptist Church of Dallas. Ignatius stepped into a very influential role.

Ignatius wasn’t a small‑town pastor. He stepped into one of the most prominent and respected roles in the entire Christian world.

At the same time, Clement, the author of 1 Clement, the first letter of Clement to the Corinthians, had become bishop of Rome. John would have still been alive when Clement became bishop of Rome.

Two things about this story intrigue me. First of all, when the churches had conflict, they appealed to Clement, not John, to settle their disuputes, and John never tried to pull rank on Clement and assert that he was an apostle but Clement was not. Evidently even John saw Clement, who held the bishop's seat once held by Peter, as at least an equal, and I think, because it was Peter's seat that Clement occupied, John actually deferred to Clement's authority, even though John was "the beloved disciple."

In Antioch, Ignatius developed into a major Christian leader in his own right. Other churches sought his counsel, and he left behind a remarkable collection of letters — nearly as many as St. Paul — written as he was being taken to Rome for execution. Among these is a letter addressed to the church in Rome itself.

What’s striking is the contrast in tone. When Ignatius writes to the churches in Asia Minor, he speaks with the confidence of a bishop: he rebukes, corrects, instructs, and commands. But when he writes to Rome, everything changes. His tone becomes deferential, almost reverent. He praises the Roman church as one that “has never envied anyone” and “has taught others,” acknowledging a status that no other church possessed.

Remember: Ignatius was bishop of Antioch, one of the most important sees in the ancient world — the first place believers were called Christians. If anyone could have said, “Rome, you should listen to us; we were Christians before you were,” it was Ignatius. But he never says anything of the sort.

Why? Because Ignatius understood apostolic succession. He knew that Rome was the see of Peter, and that the bishop of Rome was Peter’s successor. That alone gave Rome a unique authority in the early Church — an authority Ignatius recognized and respected.

And this is not happening centuries later. Ignatius is writing in the first decade of the second century, only a few years after the Apostle John’s death. His ministry in Antioch overlapped with both the final years of John’s life and the tenure of Clement as bishop of Rome. Ignatius knew the apostolic world firsthand, and he still wrote to Rome with a deference he showed to no other church.

The “Bible only” background I grew up with made sure I never heard any of this. In the circles I knew, church history simply wasn’t considered relevant. Looking back, that’s unfortunate, because it takes even the Bible out of its own historical context. It also ignores the long and careful process by which the Scriptures were recognized and canonized — a process that took more than three centuries. Instead, the Bible was treated almost as if it had dropped out of the sky fully formed, the way the Book of Mormon is claimed to have appeared.

The result is a version of Christianity that produces many saintly, loving, committed people — people I deeply respect — but who often have no idea of the true riches of their own heritage. They inherit the Scriptures without ever seeing the living, breathing Church that preserved them, interpreted them, and handed them down.

I liken this to something that happened to me personally. Back in 1998, when I was still a Quaker pastor in Iowa, my dad had a heart attack and underwent a second double bypass. We drove from Iowa to West Virginia to be with him as he recovered. While we were there, my dad kept noticing a woman coming in and out of a room across the hall who looked strangely familiar.

One day he stopped her and said, “You look just like my aunt.”

She asked, “Who is your aunt?”

Dad told her: “Emmy Scarbro.”

To his surprise, the woman replied, “That’s because Emmy is my half‑sister.”

My dad’s maternal grandfather had left his wife and seven or eight children — something that caused deep resentment in my grandmother — and had run off with a younger woman, with whom he had another large family. This woman in the hospital was one of those children. She had a family tree we had never seen.

It turns out my ancestors were Quakers, though I grew up Baptist. I had heard of the Scarborough–Haworth genealogical line in Quaker history, but I had no idea I was part of it. When the Scarboroughs came to Appalachia, the name was shortened to Scarbro, and somewhere along the way, that whole heritage was lost to us.

I had a lineage I didn’t know I had.

And that’s exactly how it is for many “Bible only” Christians. They are sincere, devout, loving people — but they often have no idea of the deep, rich heritage that belongs to them. A heritage that includes Ignatius, Clement, Polycarp, the Didache, the early councils, the canonization of Scripture, and the living tradition of the Church that shaped the very Bible they cherish.

When I first began learning all of this almost twenty years ago — and now having been Catholic for nearly fifteen — it changed my life. I began to see that Jesus really did appoint Peter as the shepherd of the entire Church, and that it makes sense that the unique role Jesus gave to Peter would be handed on to his successors. Not a role of domination, but of love, unity, and pastoral care.

And what struck me most was this: even before all twelve apostles had died, the early Church already recognized this. They didn’t use the word “pope,” but they clearly understood that the bishop of Rome carried the authority of Peter’s office. John deferred to Clement. Ignatius deferred to Rome. The pattern was already there.

Today, Pope Leo is the 267th bishop of Rome. We know every name in that line all the way back to Peter himself. That continuity — that living thread — was the single biggest piece that convinced me I had to become Catholic.

Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it. The realization was strong, clear, and deeply moving. I knew what I had to do.

I became Catholic.

I believe that even today the pope — our Pope Leo — is a shepherd and pastor for all Christians, even for those who do not acknowledge his authority.

My Orthodox friends often say that the pope should be “first among equals.” I have no problem with that. Some popes have emphasized the “first.” Francis and Leo have emphasized the “equals.” Both matter.

Part of why this resonates with me is because of something very personal. I spent ten years in a cult where the leader claimed spiritual authority over every detail of people’s lives — who they should marry, where they should go to college, even where they should live. He claimed to have more authority than the pope. That kind of control leaves deep wounds.

But the pope is not a commanding officer. He is a shepherd. And I believe Pope Leo feels a genuine pastoral concern for all Christians, not just Catholics. People have asked me why, after being in such an abusive church group, I would ever become Catholic. My answer is simple: the pope and the bishops are nothing like that. Their counsel is general, not intrusive. They guide; they do not micromanage. They teach; they do not dominate.

I don’t agree with the Church on every issue. But I recognize the shepherd.

It also occurs to me that the early bishops of Rome exercised authority well beyond the boundaries of their own local church. This is significant, because it undercuts the later Orthodox argument that no bishop has authority outside his own see. The early Church simply did not operate as a collection of independent, autocephalous communities.

We see this clearly in the first century, when the church in Corinth appealed to Clement of Rome — not to the Apostle John, who was still alive — to resolve their internal conflict. Clement intervened decisively, and his letter was received with obedience and preserved as Scripture in some early communities. That alone shows that Rome’s authority was recognized far beyond its own city.

The church in Corinth appealed to Clement of Rome — not to the Apostle John, who was still alive — to resolve their internal conflict. And yet both Corinth and John were located in what is now considered Orthodox territory.

And this pattern continued. In the second and third centuries, the bishops of Rome intervened in disputes in Asia Minor, Syria, and North Africa — regions that today belong to the Orthodox world. Whatever one thinks about later developments, the historical record shows that the early Church did not see the bishop of Rome as merely “first among equals” in a ceremonial sense. His voice carried real weight, and churches far from Rome recognized it.

Some of the very places where Rome once exercised this pastoral authority are now part of the Orthodox communion. The idea that each bishop was completely independent simply doesn’t match the earliest evidence.

What kind of sword?

As the US wages war in Iran, I have been thinking about the things I have written and said over the past 43 years advocating for complete Christian pacifism, and about the well-meaning pushback I get from Christian friends.  One of the Scripture passages people use to tell me I am wrong is found in Luke 22:

35 He said to them, “When I sent you out without a purse, bag, or sandals, did you lack anything?” They said, “No, not a thing.” 36 He said to them, “But now, the one who has a purse must take it, and likewise a bag. And the one who has no sword must sell his cloak and buy one. 37 For I tell you, this scripture must be fulfilled in me, ‘And he was counted among the lawless’; and indeed what is written about me is being fulfilled.” 38 They said, “Lord, look, here are two swords.” He replied, “It is enough.”  (NRSVCE)

The comment in verse 36 is the one people throw out, suggesting Jesus is saying they should arm themselves. I think that is not the case.  Let's look at this verse.

The word for sword is μάχαιρα.  μάχαιρα means a dagger.  It is short, and is used for killing or fileting animals.  I get the impression what he is talking about is something like a fisherman's knife.  People might argue it is useful in self-defense. But it seems to me to be of limited use there and certainly would not be an instrument of warfare.  A military sword would be ῥομφαία. I think  it stands to reason Luke 22:36 does not sanction war.

Then he tells them the scripture must be fulfilled "he was counted among the lawless."  I think he is not talking about the disciples but about the Roman detachment which was coming for him.  I think he is saying let them buy swords. I don't think he meant for the disciples to do that.

The reason why I think that is in verse 38.  They tell him they have two swords, and he says, "It is enough."  The Greek there is ἱκανόν ἐστιν.  That can mean:

"It is enough."  Or, "It is sufficient."

I do not think this is what he meant though.  Two hunting or fishing knives are no match for a battalion. I don't think he is sanctioning the use of the μάχαιρα because when Peter uses one he rebukes him for it and restores the ear Peter had cut off. I really do not think this passage supports Christians bearing arms.  As Tertullian said, "When Jesus disarmed Peter, he disarmed every Christian."

ἱκανόν ἐστιν can also mean, "That's enough!"  Or "enough of this!"  Jesus  is really saying , "Cut it out."

Of all the translations on Bible Gateway it is about half and half.  Some opt for "It is enough" and some for "That's enough."  In The Message, Eugene Peterson went with,

They said, “Look, Master, two swords!” But he said, “Enough of that; no more sword talk!”

I think that is the right way to read this because when there is more than one possibility it makes sense to go with the one most consistent with what else we know that person, in this case Jesus himself, said.

I do not think  this passage sanctions taking up arms.

A Sermon on the Good Samaritan

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

                                                            Luke 10:25-37 NRSV

 I found it difficult to resist putting two sermons on this Gospel passage in the same volume.

Shortly before he died last March, Pope Francis had a rather interesting exchange of ideas with Vice-President J.D. Vance.  The vice-president, like me, is a convert to Catholicism.  Unlike me, the vice-president was not theologically trained prior to his conversion.  I believe it is easy for persons in any Christian tradition to pontificate (pardon the pun) on things which they are not skilled enough to correctly opine upon.

Vance was speaking about the Catholic principle of ordo amoris, the order of love.  He said the order of love was like moving out from the center of a concentric circle, starting with family and friends and then moving to those geographically near you and finally, what love is left over goes to those farthest from you.

The pope was nonplussed about this.  Francis’ reply was that if you want to understand ordo amoris, look at the Good Samaritan.

The whole point of Jesus’ telling this story is to answer a question.  When speaking of the two great commandments, to love God with all our hearts, and to love our neighbor as ourselves, Jesus is asked “And who is my neighbor?”

Now I have preached before that we are the man left on the road to die and Jesus is the Good Samaritan who comes along and finds us and nurtures and cares for us and brings us back to health.  I do believe that is an appropriate interpretation of the parable.

But there are other ways to look at it.  One of the areas where I believe this story can be helpful is as a confessing church bears witness in response to the apostasy known as Christian nationalism. 

Jesus gives us these two great commandments:

First, Love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind.

Second, love your neighbor as yourself.

In telling the story, Jesus chooses a character most Jews of his time would have found cringeworthy, as the person who brings God’s grace and love to the person in need.  I think that is something we need to ponder.

The neighbor is the one unlike us!

The misguided idea of ordo amoris which Vance offered misses the point and I believe that is why Francis pointed us toward the Good Samaritan as the way to understand how God orders love.  I believe if Jesus would tell this story in 21^st century  America, it would sound very different from how Luke records it for us here.

The Samaritan would be a woman. The Samaritan would be a person of color. The Samaritan would be trans. The Samaritan would be gay or lesbian or bisexual. The Samaritan would be an immigrant, probably an undocumented immigrant. The Samaritan would be an addict. The Samaritan would be someone who is living with someone but is not married to them. The Samaritan would be disabled. The Samaritan would be on welfare. The Samaritan would have a bunch of tattoos and piercings. Maybe the Samaritan would be in a motorcycle club. The Samaritan would not be a Christian. It would take those kinds of descriptions for the story to have the impact on American hearers that the Samaritan had at the time Jesus told the story.

Instead of seeing love as beginning at the center of the circle, what happens if we see it as beginning at the periphery and luring us to the center?  I think of how Jesus spoke of the king who sent his servants to the highways and byways to bring people to the Feast.  What if, coming from the center, God’s love reaches all the way to the farthest point and draws people along as that love moves back to the center. In Psalm 139, the Psalmist speaks of God’s hand finding us even if we settle at the farthest end of the sea.

Quaker writers like Douglas Steere and Thomas Kelly speak of living life from the center.  That center is the place where the human encounters the divine.  That is the place where God finds us and draws us into intimate communion with the holy.  It is also the place where we find our commission to go into all the world.  Kelly spoke of how God takes love of the world out of us and then hurls love for the world into our hearts.  We are in many ways the bread God casts upon the waters.  It will return to God again.

But here is an important piece, God is trying to bring everyone along.  We do not always cooperate.  I am not confident in the idea of universal salvation for the simple reason that God is love, and love gives people freedom to make choices, and love respects those choices, even when doing so is painful.  I think at best we need to be agnostic about universal salvation because I do not think it makes sense that God would not overpower or coerce us into faith in this life, but will do so in eternity.  If someone would choose not to be with God, I cannot imagine God overriding that choice.

Nonetheless, God is trying to bring everyone along.  That means the Samaritan, the one God uses to reach me, to reach you as well, may be the one most unlike us.  God’s love starts on the periphery and draws us to the center.

By Their Fruits: A Sermon

 

You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles? In the same way, every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit.

Matthew 7:16-18 New Revised Standard Version 

Evangelical Christianity recently lost two of its stalwart figures, John MacArthur and James Dobson.  My evangelical background is one in which I would have at one time looked to each of them as an authority figure.  As I have grown older I have come to the place where I no longer think of myself as an evangelical. My move from Baptist evangelicalism to Quakerism (and I still think of myself as a Quaker) to Catholicism (and I also think of myself as a Catholic) was driven by a hunger for the truth as Jesus taught it, to the best of my ability to learn.  The decision to become Catholic was a result of a desire for the faith of the early church.  I believe our friends in the Orthodox Churches also have that apostolic faith, which I find in Catholicism.  I believe other movements in the history of Christianity, including Baptists, anabaptists, and Quakers, have been known for apostolic zeal, and have been a blessing to the world.  But for me, as Catholic converts call it, “swimming the Tiber” has brought me to a level of spiritual depth I have never before found.

I think part of this is a desire to go deep in history.  John  Henry Cardinal Newman, an Anglican bishop before becoming Roman Catholic, said, “to go deep in history is to cease to be Protestant.”  For me, crossing the Tiber meant I found something I have looked for my entire life.

I am under no illusion that the Catholic church is perfect. It has its saints and sinners just like every church.  I am openly critical of the church in many ways.  I do not believe in Just War.  I do believe in separation of church and state.  I want the Catholic church to open its sacramental life, including marriage and ordination, the sacraments of commitment, to everyone, regardless of gender or sexual orientation.

In my book A BRIEF PROCESS PERSPECTIVE ON NATURAL LAW, I have argued that natural law is a helpful and useful tool in Christian theology.  I believe nature does tell us something about how God wants us to live.  The problem is we know so much more about nature than Thomas Aquinas did 750 years ago, or Aristotle, 1600 years before that.  Nature includes some things which people did not know previously it includes.  There is scientific reason to believe gender and sexual orientation are not waffles placed in neat boxes, but spaghetti strung together in a complex and tangled way.  We have reason to believe that neither sexual orientation nor gender are actually binary. 

If science proves contradictory to our theology, I think we need to keep the science and change our theology.  I do not believe there is any virtue in holding on to beliefs just because they are old.  It makes as much sense, given that all humans share 99.9% of the same DNA, to deny someone marriage or ordination based on hair or eye color as it does to deny marriage or ordination based on sexual orientation or gender. 

So the Catholic church has its warts.  It has its moral failures.  I think Catholics who believe the church is never wrong are as mistaken as are the Protestant evangelicals who believe the Bible is free from error.

My own move away from evangelicalism began as I left an abusive cult group which was built around the ministry of an Indiana evangelist, Rev. Loran Helm.  The leadership of this group took it upon itself to tell its constituents where they should live, where they should go to college, and who they should marry, based on supposed revelation from the Holy Spirit.  I think they got more wrong than they got right.  I wrote about the ten years I spent in this group in my book, THE WILDERNESS I LEFT BEHIND.

Many of these marriages ended in divorce.  In my case, I was told that I was not suitable for marriage or to be a pastor because I have cerebral palsy.  There were a number of young men the leaders told they were called to the ministry, but not any of that actually worked out.  In the end, what was left was a string of carnage. 

I was eventually ordained by one of their churches before I became a Quaker minister.  I remember the week before my wedding (I just asked my wife of 40 years to marry me, and she said “Yes,” even though the leader told me I was not to ever get married to anyone without his personal approval—and when I got married I got blacklisted) I got in a lot of hot water, because I encouraged a young wife to separate from her abusive husband.  I still think I did the right thing, but people told me I should have told her to submit and endure.

That kind of thing, encouraging women to stay in abusive marriages, was a common complaint against both MacArthur and Dobson.  In Dobson’s case, there was also the complaint that his approach to discipline was one which gave a green light to physical abuse by parents. In the group I was in, the teaching was to spank, and to keep striking the child repeatedly until they repent for what they did.

Now, I want to say, nobody gets everything right, and maybe nobody gets everything wrong.  I have become a liberal, social justice preacher and Christian, but I have no illusions that progressive Christianity does not have its own faults.

Having said that, I want to plant this seed for people to consider.  If these ministries, Helm, Dobson, and MacArthur, were what they claimed to be, I do not believe they would have left the aftermath of pain and abuse they did.  I do not believe the spiritual wounds these men inflicted on people would be there, if their ministries had been good fruit from good trees.

The Second Isaiah said of the coming Messiah, that a bruised wick he would not put out.  I think that the leaders I am describing here caused many more bruises than they healed, and that is said.  I called my book THE WILDERNESS I LEFT BEHIND because Loran Helm, likening himself to John the Baptist, called his memoir A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS.  It eventually dawned on me that he had led so many people into a wilderness instead of out of one, and sadly, left them there.

Again, none of us gets it all right, and none of us gets it all wrong. But as I am reading, in light of the deaths of MacArthur and Dobson, the painful accounts of those bruised, I cannot believe their work was good fruit from a good tree, and I know much of the fruit of where I came from was not.

This is part of the book I am working on, on creatio ex nihilo.

 

            This is a selection from my current book project, A Brief Process Reappraisal of Creatio Ex Nihilo.  I am citing and responding to my friend Tom Oord.  My respect for Tom is profound.  We agree on a lot!  This is about the only substantive disagreement I have with him. I thought this blog was a good place to share this.

My friend and colleague Thomas Jay Oord mentions on his website, Nine Problems with Creatio Ex Nihilo. (Tom's essay can be found here.) I honestly don’t see any of these as problems myself, but some of them are better ideas than others.  Overall, though, I do not find these objections very convincing.  I will list the nine points, and respond to each in italicized type.

1. Theoretical problem: absolute nothingness cannot be conceived. I do not see this as a problem.  Just because someone cannot conceive of something does not mean that no one could ever conceive of it.  At best that seems to me to be an unknown.
2. Historical problem: Creatio ex nihilo was first proposed by Gnostics – Basilides and Valentinus – who assumed that creation was inherently evil and that God does not act in history.  It was adopted by early Christian theologians to affirm the kind of absolute divine power that many Christians – especially Wesleyans – now reject.  Two things here.  I believe we need to be open to truth no matter what the source, so who proposed creatio ex nihilo has no bearing on whether it is true.  I also think that just because an idea was conceived to support another idea does not mean the idea is false.  Elton Trueblood used to say if Y is a consequent of X, and X is proven false, Y is also false.  But that is not what this is.  This is saying an idea was formed to support an idea, and that is not the same as being a consequent.  I believe again that has no bearing on the truth of a concept.

3. Empirical problem: We have no evidence that our universe originally came into being from absolutely nothing.  We also have no evidence that it did not.  And even if we have evidence that our current universe came from some precedent material, we have no conclusive evidence that matter has always existed.  At best, this seems to me to push the argument back a step, but does not settle the ultimate issue of creatio ex nihilo.
4. Creation at an instant problem:  We have no evidence in the history of the universe after the big bang that entities can emerge instantaneously from absolute nothingness.  Out of nothing comes nothing (ex nihil, nihil fit).  I have the same problem here as I did on point 3.  Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.   This goes to the heart of my earlier statement that physical science cannot verify metaphysical realities.  Assuming there are no metaphysical realities does nothing to address that deficiency.
5. Solitary power problem: Creatio ex nihilo assumes that a powerful God once acted alone.  But power is a social concept only meaningful in relation to others. The assumption here is one which could point either way.  If absolute nothingness cannot be conceived, then a single power acting alone cannot be conceived, perhaps.  But then again, neither of those assumptions clarifies or proves anything.  This is speculative, on Tom’s part and on my part also.  But I do not think this assumption is necessary          .
6. Errant revelation problem: The God with the capacity to create something from absolutely nothing would apparently have the power to guarantee an unambiguous and inerrant message of salvation (e.g, inerrant Bible).  An unambiguously clear and inerrant divine revelation does not exist.  I find this interesting but unpersuasive.  Keep in mind that the Bible was written by humans, who gave witness to their encounter with God.  There were no humans at creation, regardless of what creation model we operate from.  This is like saying that because I need help to build a house, I need help to make an omelet.  I don’t think that is necessarily the case.
7. Evil problem: If God once had the power to create from absolutely nothing, God essentially retains that power.  But a God of love with this capacity is culpable for failing to use it periodically to prevent genuine evil. This is more challenging.  I will address it in a later chapter, but I will say here I do not think this assumption is necessarily true.  It is entirely plausible that the power to create a universe from nothing has nothing to do with the power to prevent evil.  It is possible that God is not omnipotent, because omnipotence is simply impossible, whether or not God created from nothing.
8. Empire Problem: The kind of divine power implied in creatio ex nihilo supports a theology of empire, which is based upon unilateral force and control of others. I do not find this convincing. Tom and I share a concern and an opposition to unilateral force, although I do believe some things should be mandated for people to do for the common good.  I do not think vaccines should be voluntary, for example.  But I do still think it is possible for God to create from nothing without being coercive. It does not seem to me that creating from nothing is any more coercive than creating from something.  In fact, I think I could argue it is actually less coercive because creating from nothing does not force anything to become something other than what it is.  If creating from nothing is coercive, then any time a painter paints or a sculptor sculpts, that is also coercive because it is forcing something to become something other than what it is.
9. Biblical problem: Scripture – in Genesis, 2 Peter, and elsewhere – suggests creation from something (water, deep, chaos, invisible things, etc.), not creation from absolutely nothing. Tom is correct here.  But because we do not believe in biblical inerrancy, I do not think this point is conclusive.  This is where philosophical thinking also has to weigh in.

Again, I want to reiterate that my respect for Dr. Oord is profound.  His books have helped me make sense out of some of the most difficult issues in my own life—which range from being a man with a disability to being the victim of religious and spiritual abuse.  So none of these critiques are personal.   I know him well enough to know his disagreement with my critique will not be personal either.

      It is also necessary to reiterate here that by no means am I certain that I am correct.  I do think, however, in the best of the philosophical spirit, these challenges will help people on both sides clarify, sharpen, and refine their own positions, which is the ultimate goal of exchanges like this one.

I Changed My Mind About...

 This is the final chapter of my forthcoming book, I Changed My Mind About...

The book will be available on Amazon on June 1.  The kindle version is there now.  It can be found here.

Most people in this country who attend a church never struggle with the question of what the relation of a Christian to their country should be.  This is a rich area to think about, and has its own constellation of tributary issues.

            For most of my young life I did not question this either, until I went to seminary.  As I learned to think theologically, my understanding of what is involved in this issue began to profoundly change.  That change has made me an outlier among even my friends.  Even people who respect me personally and theologically have trouble with my thinking in this area.

            The shift in my thinking is connected to the change in my thinking about war, as I outlined in chapter 5 of this book.  When I had the life-changing experience of having my eves opened about Christian non-violence as I sat in a Mexican restaurant with Professor Wil Cooper, it was probably a natural development from that experience that my thinking about how a Christian should relate to his or her nation would also evolve.

            To me, the issue is the Lordship of Jesus Christ.  When Wil Cooper told me our job is not to calculate contingencies of what may happen if we do or do not use force, but rather our task is to simply do what Jesus said to do in the Sermon on the Mount, I knew immediately in a profound way that Wil was right.  As I have written, that shook me like nothing ever had in my life up to that point, and the vision of that has never waned in the subsequent 42 years.  I was tremendously shaken, and 42 years later I have been completely unable to shake myself  loose from the impact of this imperative.

            The issue, for me, with one’s relationship to one’s country is also one of the Lordship  of Jesus Christ.  Jesus said we cannot serve two masters.  (Matthew 6:24)  Jesus made that comment with regard to those who try to serve God and money, but I think the principle applies to so much more than out attitude toward finances.

            Something similar is found in the Ten Commandments.  People take the idea of you shall have no other gods before me to mean other idols or loyalties are okay, as long as God is on the top of the totem pole.  However, that is not what this means.

            I said on page 22 of my 2024 book, A Brief Process Response to Christian Nationalism, with regard to the idea that it is okay to have other loyalties if you do not put them before God,

 

But that is not what “you shall have no other gods before me” means.  The Hebrew for before here is al-panai, על הפני which literally means “before my face.” This was millennia before the current iteration of the phrase “in my face” or “in your face”, but the idea is very similar.

            I think when God says, “you shall have no other gods in my face,” the idea is that there be no competition for devotion at all. God is saying we are to have a totality of commitment. The picture of when the Hebrews wandered off into idolatry is not one of divorce, although God did say at one point, that most husbands would have divorced a spouse who had been as faithless toward a husband as Israel had been toward God. (Jeremiah 3)

God describes Israel’s idolatry as adultery in many of the writings of the prophets. Jeremiah, Amos, and Hosea are notable among them. Not having any other gods in God’s face means not even having the equivalent of an extramarital affair. The command to not have other gods in God’s face is a call to complete and total devotion.

            Herein lies the problem with Christian nationalism. It is the equivalent of being married in name, while having an affair all the while.  It is a profession of Christian faith (hence the term Christian Nationalism) even as it calls one to place concern for the nation as more important than devotion to God. 

            I find it impossible to deny that is what is implicit in Christian nationalism. If Paul Tillich is correct, that the essence of idolatry is to take something relative and finite, something which is contingent, and treat it as if it is ultimate and not contingent, then Christian nationalism is nothing less than idolatry. Draping it with Christian language and symbols does not make it any less idolatrous than when the Hebrew people would do their Temple duties and also make offerings to other deities at the High Places. 

            In the New Testament, Jesus affirms this first commandment, although he appeals to it in a different form, the Shema of Deuteronomy 6:4. This is the command to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your might.”  The force of this is the same basic commandment of having no other gods al-panai. It is a call to single-hearted devotion to God.

 

            One of the things which bothers me—very much—is when I drive by a church and see a flagpole with an American flag (which alone bothers me because we are to be, as the hymn says, elect from every nation) and there is a Christian flag underneath it!  To me this says America comes first and Jesus comes second.

            You may say, “Oh, but you never put anything above an American flag.”  I would suggest that proves my point, not yours.  If you have something which you can never put anything higher than, it is an admission that such an item, country, or whatever, is what Paul Tillich calls your ultimate concern.

            I remember when I lived in North Carolina, the little town where we lived did have a McDonald’s.  It had a flagpole with the US flag on top and a McDonald’s flag beneath it.  Now, I guess the country is more important than McDonald’s, but the country is not more important than the cause of Jesus Christ.  To me, putting a Christian flag beneath an American flag trivializes the Christian faith, as though it is about as important as McDonalds.  Unfortunately, I believe that is how many American church members think.

            But the answer is not to put them side-by-side either, because that equates them.  At that point you have an al-panai problem. 

            I remember when Pope Francis, who I absolutely loved, said patriotism is good but nationalism is sinful.  I do not agree with the Holy Father here.  In the early church, the Romans tried to get the Christians to offer just a pinch of incense to Caesar.  The Christians realized they could not do that, because it created an al-panai problem for them.  It tacitly deified the emperor.  My view is nationalism is full-blown nation worship, but patriotism is offering a pinch of incense, so to speak.  I consider them both to be idolatrous.

            I was combatting Christian Nationalism in pastoral ministry in North Carolina around the year 2000.  I ended up getting fired there because I tried to say that in the worship life of the church there should not be a single hint of national loyalty expressed.   I still believed that. One of the men in that church who was very opposed to my ministry paid me the single highest compliment anyone has ever paid me in my life.  He said, “This world has absolutely no hold on that guy.”  I hope and pray that is true.  That is,  in my mind, the Christian ideal.

            When Jesus said we cannot have two masters, he explained why,  He said we will, when they make competing claims on us, cling to one and let go of the other.  I am afraid far too many people in the church, when that moment comes, cling to nation and let go of the kingdom of God.

            I never met the Christian missionary E. Stanley Jones, but I did know his secretary, Mary Webster, who told me on more than one occasion I reminded her of Stanley.  It was said of him one time, “Stanley Jones is obsessed with the kingdom of God.”  I hope and pray I am able to carry that same mantle.

            Like I said, this makes me an outlier even among my friends and colleagues.  What I am trying to do here is explain my own thinking and how it has changed over time.  People hear me talk like this and come to the erroneous conclusion that I hate the country.  That is not true.  I neither hate nor love the country.

            Over the centuries, some of the saintliest persons in the Christian tradition talk about the interplay of attachment and detachment.  They speak of being detached from the things of the world so we can be attached to Jesus Christ.  I believe American Christians are largely so attached to the country that it hinders their attachment to Jesus.  I am not asking people to hate anyone or any country.  I am asking them to love Jesus so much that they do not have an al-panai problem.  Jesus wants so much of my heart that there is no room for earthly attachments.

            This does not give anyone license to break the law.  The New Testament is very condemning of lawlessness.  The only time we should break the law is if keeping that law, obeying that law, would cause us to disobey Christ.  (Acts 5:29)

            I have never tried to get rid of the military, but I have tried to encourage Christians to refuse to be part of the military because being in a military organization creates an immediate al-panai  problem.  Again, what do you do if you receive orders to do something Jesus tells us in the Gospels not to do?

            We are to obey the laws, and respect authority.  We are to pay our taxes.  I think we should use our influence wisely in voting for people who will care for the most vulnerable among us.  I am not advocating for withdrawal from society.  I am, however, advocating for an emotional withdrawal from the attachment which hinders how much Jesus has of my heart.  I think Jesus wants so much of my heart that there is no room for national loyalties, under the guise of either nationalism or patriotism.  Emotionally, the Christian life is one of being an exile, an ex-patriate, in this world.  This is not my home.

            I do not say the Pledge of Allegiance for this reason.  The word allegiance bothers me.  I read a definition one time which said allegiance means unconditional loyalty.  I believe if that is so, because, as Jesus said, we will either cling to one and let go of the other, or vice versa, that  it is really only possible to have one allegiance at a time.  Most of my friends do not share this view.  Judging whether they are right or not is way above my pay grade.  I just know for me, it sets up an al-panai situation.  I do not want anything even to come close to competing with my Lord for my affections.

            I want the observation that this world has no hold on me to be true.   It may not be, only God knows my heart. My desire, however, is to be singlehearted in this regard.  I pray God’s blessing for all who have taken the time to read this book, whether or not you agree with me.