The Radicalness of a List of Names

Rahab. Tamar. Ruth. Bathsheba. Mary. Their names shout out from the long list of male names in an otherwise standard-form-ancient-patriarchal genealogy in the first chapter of Matthew. Ancestry in that context was traced through the fathers. Matthew did not have to include women, would not be expected to. This is an intentional act. Just the inclusion of some women in the list makes a radical statement that prefigures the inclusive practice of the one at the end of the genealogy—Jesus. But Matthew did not include all the mothers, only these five. The intentionality goes beyond the inclusion of women, there is intentionality in which women are included. Why these women? There is something out-of-line or impure about all of them. In bounded-set terms we could say they are all on the wrong side of Israel’s purity code—either because of being a non-Jew or questionable sexual behavior, or both. (Although in the case of Bathsheba it is not so much her, she was a victim, rather her inclusion in the list as Uriah’s wife highlights the other-side-of-the-lineness of one of the most revered names in the list—David.)

None of the above was new to me. I have observed and talked about these things before. But as I read the list this week the radicalness of it, the power of it, moved me as it had not before. Perhaps because bounded and centered are so much on my mind these days (as I work on my book). Perhaps because there is so much judgmentalism, racism, and disdainful dismissal of others these days—by both the right and the left. Probably a combination. The very first words in the story of Jesus that God inspired Matthew to write are an intentional frontal assault on bounded group purity culture. And note, it is not just that marginalized people are quietly allowed in—given some seats off to the side. Their presence in the lineage of Jesus, God incarnate, is heralded. And remember, who is the one writing this—Matthew, one who has experienced the shameful exclusion of being on the wrong side of the line. He personally experienced radical inclusion through Jesus’ line-erasing actions.

Are there ways that you have recently felt “othered,” looked down upon? Take a moment imagine what Matthew might say to you? What would Jesus say to you?

What are ways you get pulled into the judgmentalism of the day? How might you reorient toward the way of Jesus?

Who are people in your circles who are feeling the weight of being on the wrong side of someone’s lines? How might you take Jesus-like actions toward them?

Let us as followers of Jesus be as radical as this text and confront the judgmental purity codes of our day.

Thriving Rather than Growth: Digging Deep, Changing Defaults

What comes to mind if someone says, “it is a very successful business” or, “one of the nation’s most successful businesspeople”?

The bus climbed up the rutted dirt road starting the journey from Minas de Oro to Tegucigalpa. I sat staring out the window imagining possibilities for Julian and his family. I had spent the weekend with Bob and Gracie Ekblad. Their work excited me. In contrast to my teaching at a bilingual high school I sensed their efforts could make a significant difference for the poor. The Ekblads modeled regenerative farming methods on their hillside plot and taught the methods to others. We spent Saturday with Julian. He, his wife and young children lived in single room shack. Julian rented both his home and a plot of land where he grew corn and beans. Bob, always the visionary, had persuaded Julian that the hardpacked patch of dirt in front of his shack held great possibilities as a vegetable garden. We took the first step that day, cutting up banana leaves, weeds, and grass to start a large compost pile. Sitting on the bus I imagined the compost transforming the dirt into rich soil. I imagined the family eating vegetables from the garden, the bananas trees producing more in the enriched soil. They would not just eat better, they would spend less on food, and could sell the surplus. I imagined him putting the methods into practice on his rented plot and production increasing. Then I imagined them, through increased income, buying their own land—a small plot first, then a bigger one. A realization crashed into my imagining. In spite of my intense commitment to live simply and give to the poor; and in spite of my strong critique of wealthy Hondurans, and foreigners, who had unrelentingly pursued wealth, bought up acres upon acres of prime valley land leaving the vast majority of Honduran farmers with tiny hillside plots—in spite of that what was I doing? I was turning Julian into a capitalist success story.

Perhaps, right now, you are doing just what I did then, thinking “wait a minute Mark, don’t be so hard on yourself. Julian was desperately poor, it is fine to imagine him having land of his own. And sure your images were all about increased production and income, but what you really wanted for Julian was a better life.” True, yet I could not escape the fact that my default success story was one of economic growth. On the surface many of my perspectives and lifestyle choices had changed, but down deep I still had the same framework of most in my society.

To be clear, I do not think the things I imagined for Julian were wrong. He was desperately poor. Having land of his own would be a great thing. What sobered me in that moment, and saddens me today, is how quickly my mind went to money and economic growth. Take a moment. Think, what else could I have imagined?

I could have been looking out the window excitedly thinking about the richness that would come to Julian’s life through meeting regularly with the group the Ekblads had brought together for training and Bible study. I could have rejoiced in less erosion and less burning that would happen through Julian using these methods. I could have imagined changes that would occur in his life and in his family through interacting with the Ekblads and coming to know the God revealed by Jesus. I did not. I thought of economic growth. What stopped me that day was a voice within me asking, “and does he just keep going, growing bigger? Is that the point? When does he stop? What is enough? Is there another model?”

If economist Kate Raworth had been sitting beside me on the bus that day she would have said, “Time to reimagine progress Mark.” In her book, Doughnut Economics, she critiques 20th century economics for flawed theories that have led most of the world to pursue economic growth not only as desirable, but as necessity. Think for instance of hearing on the news, “the economy is not growing.” We expect the next statements will say why, and what can be done so it will start growing again. There is little questioning of that. Raworth challenges us to change our focus from working to make economies grow, whether or not they make us thrive, to instead creating economies that make us thrive whether or not they grow (209). She asks why have we settled on growth and efficiency as the default goals and not others? “What if we started economics not with its long-established theories but with humanity’s long term goals, and then sought out the economic thinking that would enable us to achieve them” (8). (Her “doughnut” is pictured above.)

She is thinking at a macro level, societal, not just an individual’s goals, but using a micro example might help grasp her point. Let’s return to where we started, how we define a successful business? The Fortune 500 are ranked by total revenues, that reflects how most would evaluate a successful business. What if the Fortune 500 were not ranked just on how much money they made, but on employee satisfaction, on their contribution to lessening inequality and increasing the health of their workers and customers, on their levels of pollution and resource depletion, etc.

The unrelenting commitment to economic growth and the unquestioning use of profit as the definition of a successful business has a host of negative consequences—on society, on employees, on the environment, on individual consumers. God recognized this. In the Old Testament, through the Law and prophets, God sought to instill other values in addition to what we might call financial success. The Sabbatical and Jubilee years prioritized the value of redistribution and leveling the economic playing field on a regular basis. Through years of gathering daily manna God trained Israel to not practice hoarding. They could not use any more than enough.

To be clear, neither Raworth nor the Bible is against a business or a farmer making a profit. They need to make money to stay in business. Rather, similarly to how I argue that efficiency is just one characteristic to consider when we evaluate what is the best, so Raworth wants to broaden what characteristics we use to evaluate if a business or a nation’s economy is successful. Sometimes a nation does need economic growth. The problem is making it the one value and assuming it is always good and necessary. It is unsustainable for all economies to continue growing forever.

Many of us might want to agree with Raworth, but think it will not work. It goes against the “laws” of economics. In 20th century economic theory growth is not a problem it is the solution. Raworth points to fundamental flaws in those laws. (See her book for her thoughtful and clearly articulated arguments on limitations of widely accepted economic laws.) Yet, even if we find her arguments compelling, change will be difficult because most of us have so absorbed the values of an economic-growth-as-measure-of-success perspective. (Think of me on the bus.). It may be a default, but we are not hardwired this way as humans. In Europe when techniques were first adopted that enabled people to accomplish more in less time, what did people do? They worked less hours. Their priority was not economic growth. They did not assume that more income would make life better. Many traditional societies have lived by the principle of sufficiency. In the 19th century in Manitoba European traders offered the Cree higher prices for furs. They assumed it would motivate the native people to bring in more pelts. The opposite happened, “The Cree brought fewer furs to the trading post, since a smaller number were now needed to obtain the goods that they wanted in exchange” (240). We are trained and shaped into embracing economic growth as the definition of progress—for societies and individuals. That means we could be trained and shaped to embrace other values and goals.

Part of achieving continual economic growth is influencing people to consume more and more. In my class session dedicated to consumerism I have sought to expose the lies of consumerism and point to ways through Jesus and Christian community we can be free from it. That is important. I will continue to do it. Reading, Raworth, however, led me to see that although that is getting below the surface it is not deep enough. I have not worked at the deeper societal level. Economic growth demands increased consumption. We must address the societal commitment to the former, not just individual resistance to the latter.

Invitation: Watch Raworth’s TED talk; watch a news clip about a city putting her approach into practice. Read her book. (It is accessible, engaging; not an economics text book.) Then share with me and others ideas you have on how we can work at this paradigm change. I will start by sharing this action-step idea for the Church.

Action step: I put Julian into the mold of the definition of success given to me by society. Many Christian business owners today do the same. They work to be successful based on the definitions of success given to them. Imagine what would happen if churches began to promote a different definition of success and actively honored Christian business owners for their success based on that alternative model. It would impact not just the lives of the owners, but all those working for them, and it could contribute to our society changing its model of economic success. A deep change we need.

Postscript:

A day after finishing this blog I heard Mary Hirschfeld interviewed (Mars Hill Audio Journal, 147). She is an economist and theologian and also calls for going deeper. She states that mainstream economics teaches that acquiring more increases our happiness. It teaches us that it is rational to seek to pursue more and that we should seek greater income and wealth to meet our desires. She challenges this in her book Aquinas and the Market: Toward a Humane Economy. And if, after reading this blog, you are assuming all of this is “leftist” or “socialist” I encourage you to listen to the first 15 minutes of her debate with a democratic socialist. 

Freedom from Superficiality, Distorted Definitions of Worth, and Exhausting Status Management

Guest blogger Jessica Rutkosky, graduated with an M.A. in Theology from Fresno Pacific Biblical Seminary in May 2013. She is an adjunct professor at FPU. She has twice taught the online version of Discipleship and Ethics and regularly teaches in FPU’s Degree Completion Program. She blogs at: http://www.musingsofatheologist.com/blog

Part One: Parenting: Naming in my living room 

My 10-year-old stepdaughter started 5th grade several days ago. Towards the end of her 4th grade year, and over the summer, she’d been struggling with some of her friendships; a struggle exacerbated by COVID and confounded by social media.

In general, she’s beginning to encounter the challenges that come with all relationships—communication, reciprocity, and rejection. But more specifically, she’s becoming acquainted with how fleeting relationships can be at this age, how venomous girls can be, and how exhausting keeping up with the “young” Joneses is. 

Despite our best attempts, my stepdaughter is consumed by the latest trends, as these are an indication of popularity; a societal benchmark she’s learned all too young. 

Yet, at the core, it’s really her desire for acceptance that consumes her. She wants to be part of the group that has everything—looks, clothes, big houses, and fashionable lip gloss—because this is a confirmation of her own status and belonging.

For a long time, my husband and I have lamented this. Together, we’ve tried to figure out how to expose these superficial forces and shallow friendships that have such a hold on her, and which are preventing her from being her. 

The opportunity came last night. 

In a moment of intense vulnerability, she became an emotional hydrant, sharing everything she was feeling and thinking. She shared how she was turning into someone she didn’t like, all in an effort to gain the approval of the “popular” girls. She expressed how exhausting it was to try to “keep up with them,” and yet how jealous she still was of them. She revealed how poorly they’d treated her, yet how rejected she still felt that they didn’t want to be her friends. 

My husband and I sat with her as tears poured from her eyes, with the same intensity and rapidity as the revelations about self and relationships were hitting her. We validated how painful this all must be, how rejection hurts, and how devastating it can feel when we’re confronted with our own ugliness. 

While my husband got up to let the cat in, I asked her, “What makes you the feel the saddest?” She responded, “They don’t get to see the deep parts of me.”

I sat in awe of perhaps the most profound revelation yet. I was amazed at how quickly she identified precisely what she was feeling, and how candidly, and courageously, she shared. 

Vulnerability has a way of opening us up to truth. And my husband capitalized on this. 

For the most part, I sat on the sidelines, witnessing this beautiful naming moment. 

He affirmed that we saw, understood, and loved the deep parts of her; that we know her to be the intelligent, funny, quirky, loving girl that she is; that we know the sweetness and kindness that’s core to her identity; that we accept her. He then counseled her that true, healthy friends, will see this too; that they will understand and love her deep parts just like we do. She just needs to let them see it, because hiding them is such a loss for her and others. 

We’d all been in the emotional depths for a while, and my stepdaughter, needing to surface, brought some levity by sharing a funny story. 

Later that night, my husband and I celebrated this victory. 

Part Two: Naming in the Bible: Individual and Communal 

Though I’ve been teaching the letter to Philemon for almost 6 years, I never connected “naming” to the events that transpire in the letter. Yet, this is the very thing that’s happening. 

In Bible courses for FPU’s Degree Completion Program, I guide my students through the historical and literary contexts of the letter, in the hopes that this investigative work will lead to a richer understanding of Paul’s petition. In these conversations, we talk a lot about “story.” Specifically, how Paul uses the Jesus story to challenge the story of Roman society, as it relates to the identities of the individuals in the letter. That is true,  however, “naming” seems an even more apt description of what Paul is doing. In fact, Paul directly names Onesimus in the letter, “no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother” (v. 16). Paul further “names” Onesimus, calling him “my child” (v. 10), “useful” (v. 11), and “my own heart” (v. 12). All of these descriptions counteract how Roman society had “un-named” Onesimus. Paul was a “Namer,” Roman society the echthroi.

The Roman echthroi had branded Onesimus as “useless” and merely a “slave.” His identity was wrapped up in these labels. Not only did Onesimus believe this, but Philemon as well, and quite possibly, the church that met in Philemon’s home. When Paul names Onesimus, it’s for all to hear. It’s not just for Onesimus’ sake. What’s fascinating about naming is that it’s simultaneously for the individual and the community. Onesimus needed to be named in order to become a part of the Christian community that awaited upon his return. The Christian community needed to hear this in order to embrace Onesimus, and continuously remind him, and themselves, of their cross-centered identities. They were all brothers and sisters, partners, and coworkers, united in Christ, unphased by the status and rank of Roman society.

In the letter, Paul models what it means to be a “Namer,” in the hopes that the church will continue naming in his stead

Naming

One of the questions I asked in a survey I did of former students was: what topic from the course has had the greatest impact on your life, work, ministry? “Naming” was the number one response. Yet in the almost 50 blogs I have written I did not even dedicate a full blog to naming, only part of one. Why is that, what’s going on?

It did not intentionally avoid writing on naming. So I can’t say exactly why I did not. Perhaps I have not written blogs on naming because I sense that anyone who has been in my class already clearly understands it. I do not feel a need to further clarify or even review. I have, however, made a fundamental mistake. True, many of the blogs I write share new insights—things I had not already said in classes. Yet my primary motivation for doing this blog and website is the conviction that the current of society flows strongly against the way of Jesus. We need encouragement and support to stand against that current. So, the purpose of the blogs is to inform, but also to affirm and encourage actions that are not easy and natural because they go against the current. I have been remiss to not write and encourage you to more actively name others.

In this short blog I will do four things. First, for those of you who are not former students of mine and are wondering, “what is ‘naming’?” I give a brief explanation. (The rest of you can skip the next two paragraphs.) Second, I introduce a great parallel metaphor which will both increase understanding of naming and motivation to name. Third, I ask a few questions I invite you to respond to prayerfully. Finally, an invitation that will help there be more blogs about naming.

Naming Explained

Naming is a central activity in Madeline L’Engle’s  novel A Wind in the Door, which is a sequel to A Wrinkle in Time. As the characters in the book explain it, naming helps someone become more the particular person that she or he was meant to be. As the story unfolds we observe that naming requires discernment, is rooted in love, and is a process that utilizes both words and actions. Naming both calls and aids people to live more fully as the people whom God created them to be, more in the image of Jesus Christ. One key element in the book is that someone cannot name himself or herself. Naming affirms individuality but stands against autonomous individualism.

Perhaps the most obvious type of naming is when someone says something affirmative about us that gets to the core of who we are and calls us to live that out. Coupled with this is the act of helping people peel off debilitating false labels that others have stuck on them. Naming also includes helping people identify and change behaviors that hinder them from thriving and living out their calling. Furthermore, naming helps people develop positive behaviors and character traits. 

Parallel Metaphor

Just a few days ago I read a short blog by former student and former T. A., Dallas Nord. He develops an excellent metaphor that moved me. It moved me to want what he describes for myself and want to do it for others. It can, I believe, lead to a deeper practice of naming. I will not even try to summarize because: first, Dallas is a much better writer than I am—read his beautiful words. Two, it is short—no need give a shorter version.

Take a Moment to Reflect, Listen, Pray

- How have you been named recently? Thank God, and perhaps the person or community that named you, for that naming.

- Who are people you have named or are naming? What are additional ways God might be calling you to name them?

- Who are people you know in need of naming? Who are ones God is calling you to name?

- How might you do so?

Growing in Naming, Learning from Others

Please send me an example of how you have used naming. It could be a short account of a specific example, a description of a general practice you do frequently, a story of the fruit of your efforts at naming, or insights on how you have learned to be better at naming. What is something you know about naming now, that you did not know when you left seminary? Please send these to me and I will shape the contributions into a blog (or multiple blogs).

Race: What has Been Constructed can be Deconstructed

It has been a season of revealing: the murderous knee on George Floyd’s neck, the disproportionate number of people of color dying from COVID-19, and the flagrant racism depicted in Bryan Stevenson’s movie, Just Mercy. All three reveal that systemic racism did not die in the United States with the removal of Jim Crow laws in the 1950’s and 60’s. This revealing calls for response. Even so, I did not anticipate my next blog would address racism and whiteness—not because I did not think it is vitally important, but because I did not think I am the one to speak. It is a moment for this writer to take his hands off the keyboard and read others, a moment for this teacher to step away from the lectern and learn from my former students, including Marcel Woodruff (and here), Ivan Paz (and here), Noemi Vega (and here), Nathan Hunt (and here), and Dallas Nord. I have listened and read. And what has happened for decades now when I read something that grabs me? I want to share it with others. So, although in regards to racism I still think my posture should remain, predominantly, that of learner and listener, I am going to follow the internal voice that today said, “Mark, you are a teacher. Be who you are.” I read an article and am listening to a podcast series that propel the teacher in me to want to share a few insights and say “read this” and “listen to this!”

In a previous blog about whiteness I quoted Ben Franklin writing glowingly about white people and making disparaging comments about non-whites. The shocking thing was that I was in the latter category! Franklin wanted to stop the swarthy Germans from flowing into Pennsylvania and contaminating the purity of the English-Saxon culture of white people. My father’s ancestors came from Germany and settled in Franklin’s beloved Pennsylvania. Franklin’s comment made very concrete something I was learning from Willie Jennings (book, article, lecture) and some of my students mentioned above. Race is not a biological given, it is a construction. And, as Franklin’s comments display, it was as much about perspectives on superiority and inferiority as actual skin color. Of course, there have been people with different shades of skin for millennia, that is biological, but there were no racial categories of white people and black people until after Europeans started taking Africans as slaves. 

What has been constructed can be deconstructed. Understanding more of how racism was constructed will aid us in deconstructing it and constructing alternatives.

Season two of the Podcast Scene on Radio is titled “Seeing White.” The second episode “How Race was Made,” repeated and reinforced things I had already learned, yet the conciseness of some statements grabbed my attention. I share two with you.

- Exploitation came first. People were not seen as inferior and therefore enslaved. The concept of blackness as an inferior race to whiteness was developed to provide a rationale for enslaving Africans. The “enlightened” Christian Europeans needed, and came up with, a justification for the oppressive practices of their day.

- Race is constructed, but real. To say it is not a given of nature but a human invention does not mean the construction does not exist today. It does, however, mean there is opportunity for deconstruction.

One thesis of the podcast series is that working at “race relations” is not enough. Changing attitudes is not enough. Those relations and those attitudes are lived out in a system that is fundamentally racist. This coheres with what I learned from Willie Jennings: whiteness is not just certain privileges and biases, but a way of understanding land/place, property, rights, relationships, and the economy. The series seeks to display systemic aspects by exposing how exploitative racialization was intentionally woven into the fabric of this nation.

One way the podcast does this, in the third and fourth episodes, is by peeling back layers and exploring early colonial rulings and legislation about race. The chattel system of enslavement of blacks was not a given in the early days of the colonies. It developed as something distinct from indentured servitude through rulings and legislation. The definition of whiteness and the rights of whites were constructed over time. The podcast argues that power and economics were at the root of all these decisions. For instance, the first legislative body in the colonies, the Virginia House of Burgesses, crafted legislation to define who was white—and therefore those with rights. They were going to use a purity definition of whites being those without one drop of African or Native American blood. But some of the most powerful and richest men in the colony were descendants of the mixed marriage of John Rolfe and Pocahontas. So the legislation allowed that one could still be considered white with a degree of Native American blood, but no black blood. White was not a definition of biological realities; it was a category of those who had power.

There is so much more. I encourage you, listen to this podcast series!

Despair

And I want to say, “read this!” In a New Yorker book review Atul Gawande engages the question why the death rates of working-age white men and women without college degrees have increased dramatically in recent years. We have heard the immediate causes of the increase: suicide, drug overdoses, alcohol related liver diseases, but what is behind them? Despair. So argue the authors of Deaths of Despair and the Future of Capitalism. They found that locales with higher rates of people without jobs also had higher death rates. And those who are working have seen their wages stagnate or go down while they see the college educated growing wealthier. The article states, “Religious institutions previously played a vital role in connecting people to a community. But the number of Americans who attend religious services has declined markedly over the past half-century. . . (The rate is lower among non-college graduates.)” No job, less meaning and purpose, less connection—despair.

There is much more in the article that calls for reflection. I read it and wondered, “how is the church responding?” Perhaps I will return to this article in a future blog. I am wary, however, of giving it more attention in this blog because I do not want to pull the focus away from where we started—the knee on George Floyd’s neck. I do not bring this article in as an attempt to counter “Black Lives Matter” by saying “some white people have it pretty bad too.” Rather, I include it to say, “those dying of despair are hurt by whiteness as well.” And, especially, to reinforce the point that whiteness was constructed by the powerful and is used by the powerful. I will do that by pointing to similarities between what the article describe and something the podcast described.

Many whites in the south, in colonial days and after, were poor. They were not enslaved but in other ways they too were exploited by the powerful elite. This wealthy minority, that controlled the economic structures, hindered the flourishing of the poor whites. But the elite used racial categories to create a white-black division rather than an oppressor-oppressed division. Even though in reality poor whites had more in common with slaves than the slaveowners, the powerful turned them against blacks and created unity through having a common other. The racial prejudices that poor whites developed against blacks did nothing to help the concrete situation of the poor whites. How about today? What have some of the rich and powerful said to the working-class whites dying of despair today? Have those with power worked to address the root causes of despair? No, they have shifted the poor white’s angry gaze from the white elite who continue to prosper, in part by moving industries and jobs to other countries, and have told those in despair that the cause of their problems is brown-skinned people from south of the border. 

In each case racial difference was used to scapegoat one group of people and create a superficial unity, a racial unity, that ignored deep differences and injustices. Every layer of these actions is opposite to the way of Jesus seen in the gospels and counter to the movement of the Spirit observed Acts. Let us be aware of how race may be used today as a tool to enable some to continue to oppress others and to create false divisions between people.

Final Thoughts

I want to underline, I write this blog mostly to say, listen to this podcast, read this article, and join me in learning from Willie Jennings and my former students listed above. With a spirit of humility of one still learning and one enmeshed in systems of whiteness, I end with a few implications of the above observations for us as followers of Jesus.

- The God revealed by Jesus Christ stands against categorizing groups of people as inferior or superior to others, and through the liberating power of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection we have the possibility of living in ways of unity and respect radically different than our racially sick society.

- Systemic problems are revealed through George Floyd’s death, through COVID-19, and descriptions of the criminal justice system like Just Mercy. Part of the problem is individuals who are profoundly racist, but it is much more than that. (And even those individuals are products of systems.) Deep repairs are needed.

- At the core of racial categorization are some things that I address directly through the Discipleship and Ethics course and website—Mammon, Greed, Consumerism. But there are other things at the core that are so much part of the air I breathe that it is hard for me to imagine alternatives. I want to. As followers of Jesus we are called to and enabled to. Join me.

Exhorting Ourselves and Exhorting Others, Part 2

Students struggle to write an exhortation in a centered way. If one has a lifetime of hearing exhortations given in a bounded context of conditional acceptance and peppered with “shoulds” and “oughts” it is difficult to even imagine another way.  As I read their papers, I had the thought, “what if the way we exhort others reflects our internal conversations—how we tell ourselves what to do and not do?” Perhaps students’ papers reflect not just what they have heard in bounded churches, but how they talk to themselves internally. How to change that internal conversation?

Two months ago I wrote of the importance of washing away the toxins of religiosity that attach themselves to internal directives through regular showers of words of God’s unconditional love. This month I will briefly share what I have observed when I set out to apply internally what I teach students to do in their exhortations, to link commands to words of God’s action, like: having been loved by God, love others.

As a first step in this process I started paying more attention to my internal commands. There were a few “should” or “oughts.” What most caught my attention, however, was the paucity of internal imperatives. For instance, I do not actually give myself a command, “Mark, go to jail and lead a Bible study.” Or, “Mark, you should write a check to put in the offering at church.” I just do those things. I suppose I could consider my daily activity of prioritizing tasks a form of internal commands, but command language tends to only show up around the margins of that. Not, “Mark, you should get ready for class” I don’t have to tell myself that; but more probably, “Mark, you should respond to that e-mail that has been sitting in your in-box.”

I had not expected this, but a significant part of my experiment was inserting actual command language where it was totally lacking. (I couldn’t link an indicative to a command, if there was no command there.)

I intended to link indicatives of God’s action to all my commands. Some came relatively easily, “As we have received so much from God and the people of God, let us share with others. Write a check.” And I found myself using one, or a variation of it, repeatedly in different situations. “Having experienced liberation from shame through Jesus’ loving embrace, invite others into that experience.” Yet, I did not easily find linking indicatives for most commands. That is not to say, however, that the experiment failed. Let me bring you into one experience to give you a sense of its fruit.

Monday evenings presented me multiple opportunities for this exercise. We have a small non-profit, Vida en Shalom, through which we raise donations to support small grassroots ministries in Honduras and Peru. Monday evening is the time my wife Lynn and I set aside to work on Vida en Shalom tasks. We start by talking over what is calling for attention, saying things like: “I need to send the monthly report to our treasurer.” “One of us should respond to Arely’s e-mail.” “I will send money to Gustavo.” “It has been awhile since we wrote to donors.” “If there is time, I will call Doña Ena.” I made some attempts at linking these commands to an indicative of God’s action but did not get much further than a: “You have been loved, love others.” 

Soon, I found myself putting less effort into making those indicative linked commands. I did, however, continue to work at connecting the commands to God and discipleship. I found myself asking, “Mark, why are you doing this?” Why do you give your Monday evenings to this? And more specifically, why this particular Monday-evening action? And I started asking “why?” not just when there was an actual command like on Monday evenings, but at other times as well—like during my bike ride to the county jail, preparing for a class, or turning on my computer for a morning of working on my book on centered church. I would reflect on why and then articulate a command that included a sense of the why. Each time I did that I felt like my roots were reaching out, connecting to rich composted-soil. Reflecting on the “why,” even if just for a moment, brought additional energy, an added sense of purpose, and a more intentional connection with the Spirit of Jesus.

So, what happened from my experiment? A bit of what I expected, toning down a some “shoulds” and a few moments of reframing that flowed from indicatives of God action. But most prominently, the fruit was, first, an awareness that so much of what I do is like being on autopilot. It is on my to-do list and I do it. And then, secondly, the fruit was the enriching benefit that flows from reconnecting those tasks and activities with their source, God, my commitment to the way of Jesus, and experiences that have shaped me and my convictions.

This was my experience. Yours will likely be different. I invite you to try the experiment. Review the few paragraphs on different kinds of indicatives in this blog, apply them to your internal conversations, and see what fruit it brings.

The Cross: Atonement Analysis is One Thing. What does it Mean for Me?

I had already finished this month’s blog, sent it off to the webmaster. Then the cross broke into my life. Part 2 of last month’s blog will have to wait!

Good Friday. In addition to participating in a Zoom church service I decided to reflect on the significance of the day by reading two chapters from Proclaiming the Scandal of the Cross—Chris Friesen’s and Debbie Blue’s. Amazing chapters—a conversation in a coffee shop and a sermon. As I re-read these chapters the authors, once again, impressed me with their insight and the power of their images. I wish I was as smart as them and able to communicate as well as they do. In the middle of my appreciation of their atonement theology, however, an inner voice said “Mark, read this for you. What does this mean for you?” I have thought so much about the atonement, written so much about the atonement, taught so many times about the atonement, when I encounter talk about the saving significance of the cross my default is to go to analysis. I stepped aside from my appreciative awe of their excellent work and let their words and images engage my life. I am newly impressed that even with as much time as I have spent reflecting on the cross and resurrection, I have not exhausted the meaning of the atonement—neither at the level of analysis nor at its significance for my life.

I will not attempt to condense and communicate the images themselves. I encourage you to read, or re-read, these chapters yourself. I will summarize an aspect of the content of their images and focus on how they impacted me.

One of Friesen’s images is the cross as God turning the other cheek. God does not strike back to balance the relational equation. Turning the other cheek causes the math of reciprocity and retribution to unravel, leading to a relational situation with remarkable possibilities for reconciliation and growth. A beautiful, powerful message. Rather than responding in kind to our disrespect, disloyalty, disobedience (ours today and literally at the cross) God forgives. Through God’s act we are freed from the revenge and retaliation cycle and freed to forgive as well. A great message for the men in my jail Bible study, but for me? Today? I put the book down, prayed, asked God, “What does this mean for me?” Almost immediately I thought of a few students that frustrated me this week—for not following directions or for missing class, from my perspective, unnecessarily. I certainly would not call them enemies, and I am not plotting revenge. Yet I let the frustration simmer in my being; I complained about them to a couple friends. The cross of Jesus calls me to something else. I prayed and released what I was holding against them. I invite you to do the same. Take a moment, pray, listen—who or what comes to mind? And, may this, for you and me, be more than just a Good Friday activity.

Debbie Blue’s sermon on the last part of the Gospel of Mark’s passion narrative (15:21-39) begins with powerful stories of people coming together by uniting against a common enemy. She calls it the scapegoating machine. The power of the stories is not in their grandness, not Hitler uniting Germans against the Jews, rather in their everydayness. Her point is we do this all the time. Then she turns to the cross. She observes, Jesus could have done this; he could have easily unified the crowds against the religious leaders or against the Romans. But the cross is the opposite, all the competing factions in Jerusalem unifying against Jesus.

Blue says, at this point God could have responded with the ultimate scapegoating move—displaying how bad all these people are. But, she writes:

The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ isn’t a New Great Big Way to make the machine run, the Most Powerful Fuel Ever for that old mechanism, so that now God’s people can clearly unify, the believers in Jesus against the unbelievers. It collapses the machine. . . This story is not the ultimate reinforcement of over/against, this story reveals to us the destructiveness, futility, utter deathliness of all our againstness, shows us how our deeply ingrained mechanism for creating unity leads to death, even the death of God.

But surprisingly, stunningly, beautifully, unexpectedly and amazingly, the revelation does not end with utter condemnation for the violence at the heart of the social order. . .  It’s a story about Jesus absorbing, taking in, all our againstness, accepting all the death we have to hand out, all the fears that make it so impossible for us to be truly vulnerable, all the weakness that makes us mean. He takes it all totally and thoroughly in. And comes back. Comes back unbelievably undefeated by it. Comes back, not vengeful and resentful, all hyped to form some oppositional unity, some group communion against us (or anyone), all ready to get his army up against the bad stupid scapegoating people. He comes back and he comes back again and again and always, irrepressibly for them, us, all. He comes back loving and forgiving and desiring, as always, communion with the world.

It’s a little hard to get. It may not even seem entirely appealing to us, but this story isn’t told to harden our hearts against anyone. It’s given to us to break our hearts open.  To make love and communion. To make relationship with the Other (who’s the complete other) possible. To reveal to us how we are all together now, not in opposition, not in condemnation, but in forgiveness, gathered together in the love of God (68-69).

Then as I read her next lines I thought, bounded and centered. I invite you to look for that connection too.

It doesn’t seem like this story should fuel our sense of divine righteousness against bad people, wrong ways, strange, weird others, it seems like it might break our hearts open, for relationship based not on exclusion but on the ridiculously inclusive forgiving and redeeming love of God. It shows us that we can’t relieve our separateness by making a scapegoat, we can’t create love and unity fueled by againstness. The old mechanism, the old story is not creative of communion, or if it is, that love and communion is some thin false scared union compared to the new, practically unimaginable, vitally alive, thorough and wild communion made possible by the love and grace of God (69-70). 

As you know, I think relating church to bounded sets, fuzzy sets, and centered sets is a great tool. Reading this paragraph, however, reminded me that the tool is just an aid for understanding. What makes a centered church possible is the God of the center. It is through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection that the wild, vitally alive, ridiculously inclusive communion of a centered church is possible. Beautiful thought, but then again the question: “What does this mean for you Mark?” I began to ponder, to listen. Where do I practice “againstness” rather than allow the reality of God’s work through the cross and resurrection to flow in my life? Ironically, the very first thing that came to mind was people who have attacked me because of my books on the atonement. It is not a stretch to say I have been scapegoated. Although I have not reciprocated by openly attacking as I have been attacked, I have feed the scapegoating machine with us vs. them thoughts in private and in conversation with friends (who are “on my side”). Other us vs. them dynamics easily came to mind. There is so much of it in the air in our society today.

I took a walk and pondered. What does it mean for me to let loose the resurrection reality in these us-them dynamics? What does it mean for me to practice a centered approach with these people? A key move is to distinguish agreement from communion. I feel no call from the Spirit to change my positions. Thinking of Jesus was helpful here. Jesus practiced amazingly inclusive table fellowship. He did not, however, approve of the behavior or beliefs of all those he ate with. For instance, eating with Levi, Zaacheaus, and other tax collectors was not an endorsement of their actions. What then am I called to do? Three ideas. 

First, when I feel us-them, over-and-against, type thinking in my being (or scapegoating sort of talk with others), remind myself: I do not need this for security or identity. My security and identity are found in the center—Jesus. We do not need an other, a scapegoat, to unite us. Our communion flows from God’s loving and gracious action of inclusion. We are united by the center—Jesus. 

Second, compassion. It is so easy to see a person only as their theological position or their political position. As I wrote in a blog two years ago: How might it change our days if we wrapped every thought about another person in a blanket of blessing and compassion? (See also this blog on Father Greg Boyle.) I will seek to shift my gaze.

Third, look for common ground, focus on common values and commitments.

What came to mind as you read Debbie’s words? Who came to mind? What ideas might you add to my list?

Exhorting Ourselves and Exhorting Others

Shaped by bounded group religiosity many people experience behavioral exhortations in Christian settings as life-draining—the weight of “oughtness” pressing down on their being. Fear of the shame of not measuring up fills their being. A fuzzy-church approach responds by toning down the commands or avoiding them altogether. A centered-church, committed to transformation toward Christlikeness, must include exhortation. Yet it must do so in a way that does not lead to what is experienced in a bounded church. Not an easy thing to do—especially if the people listening to the exhortation carry bounded-church ways in their beings. I dedicate almost two hours of class time to working on how to do this. Then I have students write an exhortation. They turn in their best effort; I give feedback; they revise and hand in a final draft. As I wrote a year ago, I have made significant improvements to my teaching about giving imperatives (commands) rooted in indicatives of God’s action. Even so I was sobered and discouraged after reading students’ first drafts a couple weeks ago. Only one student came close to doing well. Their papers reminded me that if one has a lifetime of hearing exhortations given in a bounded context of conditional acceptance and peppered with “shoulds” and “oughts” it is difficult to even imagine another way. Then I had the thought, “what if the way we exhort others reflects our internal conversations—how we tell ourselves what to do and not do?” Perhaps students’ papers reflect not just what they have heard in bounded churches, but how they talk to themselves internally. I invite you to reflect on your internal exhortation language as I share some of what I observed in mine.

The most problematic internal exhortations are voices that explicitly state “You should do X to demonstrate to God and others that you are a good Christian,” and add “If you do not do X you risk rejection by God and your church. How could you call yourself a Christian if you don’t? But, just think how positively people will think of you if you do it!” Yes, let’s work to strip that conditional judgmental language from our internal conversations.  It is clearly not of the Spirit of God.

Yet, in these days I have noted that most of my explicit internal exhortations are what I might call naked imperatives. Simple statements like: “Mark, it would be good for you to do X.” Or “Mark, this person needs help, do X.” Today I do not experience these simple naked imperatives as conditional statements that threaten me with guilt and shame if I do follow through. Yet, I remember when they were not so benign, the words have not changed but my experience of them has.

For instance, I think back to 1984. After four years in Honduras I was moving to Syracuse NY to work as a campus minister with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. Where to live? Others involved with InterVarsity recommended I look for an apartment near the university. Made sense. But voices within me said, “Mark, it would be good for you to live among the poor on the bad side of town.” I had just spent four years living out a bounded approach, evaluating missionaries by whether they lived with the poor or isolated themselves in nice houses behind large walls in neighborhoods of the wealthy. The internal voice did not make explicit statements about gaining, or losing, acceptance depending on where I lived. Yet I imagined the badge of honor I could wear if I was on the right side of the line drawn by activists—myself included. In the end, I opted to live a few blocks from Syracuse University, but not without some shame.

Why the difference? Why would I experience the same naked imperative so differently today than decades ago? What this says to me is that, once we eliminate explicitly problematic wording, the most important thing in our internal conversations and in our exhortations to others is not the words themselves, but what we bring to the words. In Syracuse in 1984 there was a lot of bounded religiosity in my being and a sense of God’s love being conditional. That influenced how I heard the naked imperative. Therefore, what is needed is what I call “religion undermining indicatives.” As I describe in chapter two of Religious No More, Jacques Ellul portrays religion with an upward arrow ↑ because our natural tendency is to think we must do things to earn God’s acceptance. Ellul uses a downward arrow ↓ to communicate that Christian revelation, the God of the Bible, is the opposite. Any indicative statement that points to the primacy of God’s loving action challenges our religious tendency and reinforces the gospel ↓ arrow.

What do these statements of God’s grace and loving initiative do? They clothe the naked imperatives with loving acceptance and warm invitation. The truth is that we do not actually experience commands as naked. I called them naked in the sense that they neither have explicit words of conditional religion nor explicit words of God’s love. It is just the imperative, like: “Mark, write a letter to that inmate.” Or “Mark, take a break and go talk to your neighbor.” We clothe the commands. In 1984 I wrapped that naked command in robes of bounded religiosity and a God of conditional love. Even though just months earlier I had read Jacques Ellul, confessed my religious ways, and experienced God’s grace in new and profound ways, the reality was that there was still a lot of bounded-church religion in my being. Those were the clothes I most naturally put on the naked imperatives. Today I clothe them differently. How did the wardrobe change happen?

Through reading Ellul I had discovered toxin in my system. Two things combined to make the clothes I put on those imperatives toxic—a religious concept of God and a bounded-group approach to Christianity. I later realized that it is one thing to discover you have toxins in your system, another thing to flush them from your system. I decided to pour into my being sermons that countered a religious concept of God and repeatedly emphasized God’s loving initiative. I read and re-read books of sermons by Karl Barth.[1] I listened to Earl Palmer and Robert Hill sermons. I kept at it, for a few years, until I sensed the level of toxins had diminished significantly. My default way of hearing internal exhortation had changed because my concept of God had changed. I urge you to do a flush of toxins as well. Today I would add to the list of sermons to listen to: Debbie Blue[2] and Grace Spencer.

Pouring in the good news of the God revealed by Jesus Christ will aid in diluting our internal religious tendencies. Think of it as a general shower. Yet, there will remain parts within us especially entrenched in their view of God as a judgmental, religious God of conditional love. What I think was most effective in changing the clothing I put on naked imperatives was intentionality in bringing those parts into Jesus’ presence. When I felt fear arising in my being; when I felt the threat of being found on the wrong side of a line; I would invite those shamed parts to rest in Jesus’ embrace. Not just a general cleansing, but a very directed injection of religion undermining indicatives.

This is ongoing work. I continue to need to hear the good news of God’s loving initiative, in general and directed ways. I end this blog with words that served as a toxic cleanse for me in recent days. As I read them, in the first case, and sang them, in the second, it really did feel like something cleansing and life-giving poured into my being. May it be the same for you. Read them slowly, let them sink in. Especially invite resistant or doubtful parts to trust that this is true.

This is the last paragraph from the revised version of current student John Drotos’s ethical exhortation:

See this is the beauty of the gospel; that God did not choose to stay distant and far but choose because of his great love for us to come near as the 12 and 72 spoke of.  Do you know that you have access to the world’s greatest gift?  The unfailing, intimate, reconciling love of God.  Can I urge us now to lean into this love today?  Give this love a chance.  A love that doesn’t keep a record of wrongs but is always present, close, and ready for us to turn to it.  A love that can heal our greatest hurts and pain.  A love that if allowed in will transform us and never leave us the same.  Can we then as a response to this love become a people who live transformed by it?  Sharing it with all those we know, near and far.  Can we then because of this love reveal Jesus to a hurting and broken world?  Revealing Jesus through our actions and words.  I believe the answer to this and more is yes, because of the great love that is at work within us.  Now as we leave would we be empowered by this love to share the good news with others that the kingdom of God has come. 

Former student Rebekah Townsend led worship at an event I attended. The songs she chose overflowed with religion undermining indicatives. Again, let the words of two of the stanzas sink in.

In my Father's house

There's a place for me

I'm a child of God

Yes I am

I am chosen not forsaken

I am who You say I am

You are for me not against me

I am who You say I am

(Oh) (Yes) I am who You say I am[3]

Next Month, part II of this blog. What I have observed as I set out to apply internally what I teach students to do externally in their exhortations, to link commands to words of God’s action, like: having been loved by God, love others.

[1] Karl Barth, Deliverance to the Captives, Reprint edition (Wipf and Stock, 2010); Karl Barth, Call for God: New Sermons from Basel Prison, Revised ed. edition (Hymns Ancient & Modern Ltd, 2012).

[2] A book of sermons: Debbie Blue, Sensual Orthodoxy (Saint Paul, Minn: Cathedral Hill Press, 2003).

[3] “Who You Say I Am,” by Ben Fielding and Reuben Morgan.

The Times Demand It: Something New in My 45th Time Teaching Discipleship and Ethics

This week I will begin the “Discipleship and Ethics” course differently than I ever have before. I did not choose the name for my course. It was already in the catalog. I actually did not like the name. One year I even asked the dean if I could change it. For many Christians “discipleship” refers to a method for training or mentoring Christians. That is the way I had used the word myself. I thought the word “discipleship” miscommunicated the content of the course. Therefore, I have always started the course by acknowledging how the word is commonly used, and then state: “But for Anabaptists ‘discipleship’ is often used in relation to ethics—following Jesus in terms of life commitments, living differently. So in this course ‘discipleship’ has that connotation.” Then, after that statement I have not used the word in class the rest of the semester. I will use it this semester! Why?

 A few months ago, while preparing a bed of soil to plant lettuce and kale, I listened to “This Cultural Moment” a podcast recommended to me by Brian Ross (Pastoral Ministries professor at the seminary). In the third podcast of the first season John Mark Comer interviews Mark Sayers and they reflect together on a serious error of their early church-planting efforts. In the early 2000’s they, and many others, looked to new ways of being church. They turned down the lights, sat in a circle, talked about social justice, etc. They sought to be relevant. In the same time period what Mark Sayers calls digital capitalism came to more and more dominate life. By digital capitalism he means the blending of free market capitalism and the Internet. Digital capitalism has combined with a worldview committed to autonomous individualism. The latter told people to not give themselves to any external authority yet through the former they gave themselves to Apple and Google—autonomous yet, increasingly, enslaved.

Comer and Sayers planted churches in the context of this caustic mix of digital capitalism and hyper individualism. Sayers affirms relevance, it is just not enough. They were sending Christians out to be relevant and these believers were getting sucked into and enslaved by the world they sought to be relevant to. In the podcast Comer and Sayers made bold statements like: “The I-phone is a greater threat to the gospel than secularism ever has been.” Earlier you could assume Christians read their Bible, prayed regularly, now spiritual disciplines are disappearing, “if not erased by secularism then by Wi-Fi access.”  What really caught my attention, however, was what they said is needed—discipleship!

Sayers said, “We must return to formation and discipleship. We can’t send people out into the world unformed because the world has so much sway, pull, allure to it. First we must help people be with Jesus and be formed by Jesus.”

They were using the word “discipleship” the same way I did when I worked as a campus minister with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship—of mentoring people in how to read the Bible, pray, evangelize, and lead Bible studies. But, they included more. They said “basic human wisdom is lacking. We must go way back in discipling and teach people how to live in community, how to not be flaky, how to show up, how to deal with conflict.” They seek to shape Christians who will read a Psalm before touching their phone in the morning and who will share a meal with other Christians a couple times a week. They do not assume that is happening. They now work at those things through discipleship.

I put down my garden trowel, leaned back and thought, “Perhaps I need to start talking about discipleship in my class. If Sayers and Comer are correct, without discipleship people will not be able to live out the ethics I teach in the course. The caustic floodwaters of digital capitalism and hyper-individualism are too strong.

Since that moment I have remained committed. Discipleship will be a theme in the course this semester. I did, however, wonder about the framing of it—my talk about the word the first week of the course. I will now embrace the common definition rather than saying that is not what the course is about. I will say discipleship is walking toward Jesus with new Christians, intentionally sharing life with them, guiding them, mentoring them in practices, values, character—training them so they can train others. I wondered, however, will I say what Sayers and Comer say. Is it particularly needed now?

I sought to disciple students when I worked with InterVarsity, even then, back in the mid 1980’s it did not feel like what I did was enough. I was with students a few hours a week, at best, and they were being shaped by other people and influences many more hours. In response, my wife and I decided to rent a house and invite three of the students to live with us for a year. Is the need actually greater now, or are Sayers and Comer just coming to the same conclusion I did decades ago? I asked Brian Ross what he thought. He said, yes the pressure and influence is greater now. It used to be that people had times away from cultural and societal influences—in their home or room for instance. Now, through phones, the world is in our room and everywhere else. Think, for instance, just of the difference in the distraction factor between now and 1985.

I think Noemi Vega, former student and current InterVarsity South Texas area director, would agree with Brian and with Sayers and Comer. In a recent newsletter she wrote:

College student ministry is shifting. Our freshman class is like none other I have encountered. They are our iGen students, the ones that are über connected online, but are hesitant to form face-to-face bonds and friendships. In response to our changing culture, after praying and seeking the Lord, my staff and I decided to focus on "deeper discipleship."

For Trinity University it meant calling our bible studies "Family Groups" and treating them as family. It meant having a lot of conflict resolution conversations on the leadership team. The staff and large group leaders changed the structure to make it more community-oriented and make space for more authentic conversations. Every student leader was matched with a staff to disciple them. And God moved. Trinity now has 21 student leaders, all committed to discipleship: both receiving and giving! They have the most bible studies in the last three years: 10 on campus. God is on the move transforming our student's lives.

So yes, when I talk about discipleship in the first class I will frame it the way Sayers and Comer do—of particular importance at this time. What will I do differently in the rest of the course? Go back to notes on discipleship from a college course? I had not thought of that until right now, perhaps a good idea. But no, not just that. We need more.

I will point students to ideas like ones I found in Mark Scandrette’s book, Practicing the Way of Jesus. He writes, “Too often our methods of spiritual formation are individualistic, information driven or disconnected from the details of everyday life. . . Perhaps what we need is a path for discipleship that is more like a karate studio than a lecture hall. . . action focused, communal, experiential” (14-15). Much of the book is Scandrette describing discipleship experiments that he invited others into. They are for a particular time period—a day, a week, a month or longer. They all are inspired by the life and teachings of Jesus and relate to real needs. A group of people commit time and energy to specific practices and reflect together on the experience and how they can shape ongoing rhythms of life (16). Examples include:

-  Seeing as God sees, for a week look into the eyes of each person you met, pausing to see them as loved by God (51).

- With a friend, for a week eat with the lonely--at a local soup kitchen, hospital, or nursing home (137).

- A forty-day vow: no meat, no media, no solo sex, a limited wardrobe, and memorize the Sermon on the Mount (55).

- Keep a gratitude log for one week. Another week, keep a detailed journal of where you spend your time and money (148).

- As a group pool a certain percentage of your incomes and decide together how you will spend it to bless others (149).

- Expect opportunity – each morning for a week, ask God for the opportunity to be an agent of healing (137).

The actions are important, just as valuable is what happens as they group processes their experiences.

I invite you now, as I will invite students throughout this semester, to recognize the truth in Sayers and Comer’s observation, follow Noemi’s lead, borrow Scandrette’s examples, and do against the current discipleship with others.