We gotta be better than “the righteous.”

Matthew 5.17-20, Luke 16.16-17.

Right after Jesus speaks on salt and light in his Sermon on the Mount, and tells his followers we need to be the world’s light, he says this about how we’re to live in order to be that salt and light: We gotta be righteous.

And by “righteous” Jesus does not mean we have to conform to popular Christian culture. We don’t have to be “righteous” the way conservative church people define righteousness. He doesn’t demand we act like they do, think like they do, dress like they do, vote like they do, or otherwise try to fit their standards. Jesus has a standard. What’s his standard? Well, the thinking and behavior he spells out in his Sermon on the Mount. He expects that of us. If the people of our churches are doing that—well they should, and good for them! But if the people of our churches are doing no such thing, and think they’ve found some other path to righteousness, like cheap grace or dispensationalism, I gotta warn you: Jesus doesn’t know them. And really it’s not safe to be among them. Leave, and join a better church.

If we wanna be righteous, we gotta trust Jesus. And Jesus says we gotta follow him. And—and here’s the part where you’re gonna see a lot of Evangelicals balk—we gotta also observe the Law of Moses. Certain commands still apply! Some don’t, because they only ever applied to ancient Hebrews. Some have clearly been superseded by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit; the ritual cleanliness rules are an obvious example. But loving our neighbors or the Ten Commandments never stopped being valid; never stopped defining whether we’re right and wrong in God’s sight.

So if we wanna follow Jesus, we can’t be one of those Christians who think we’ve found a loophole which gets us out of obeying his commands and teachings in the scriptures. Israel’s scribes and Pharisees were notorious for their loopholes, and applied ’em so liberally Jesus couldn’t help but call them hypocrites, who pretended to be devout but were as pagan and evil as any Greek or Roman. Jesus expects way, way better of his students and followers.

His words, not mine!—

Matthew 5.17-20 KWL

17“None of you* should think

that I come to tear down the Law or the Prophets.

I don’t come to tear down,

but build up.

18For amen!—I promise you:*

Heaven and earth might pass away,

but neither one yodh nor one dot

ought ever pass away from the Law;

not until everything’s done.

19So whoever might annul the smallest of these commands,

and might teach this to people:

They will be called least in heaven’s kingdom.

And whoever might do and teach them,

this one will be called great in heaven’s kingdom.

20For I tell you* this:

Unless your* rightness superabounds—

more than scribes and Pharisees—

you* might not enter heaven’s kingdom.”

“Suffered under Pontius Pilate.”

In both the Nicene and Apostles Creed, a certain Roman official gets mentioned by name—specifically so the creeds can cement Christ Jesus’s death at a specific point in history. Σταυρωθέντα τε ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν ἐπὶ Ποντίου Πιλάτου/stavrothénta te ypér epí Pontíu Pilátu, “He was crucified for us under Pontius Pilate.”

In order to keep their neighbors from conquering them, the Hasmonean priest-kings of Judea made a protection treaty with the Romans, and Herod Antipater 1 had taken advantage of his friendship with Roman senators to get the Romans on his side when he overthrew the Hasmoneans and made himself king. But when Herod died, Caesar Augustus overturned his will, overthrew Herod’s chosen successor Herod Archelaus, split Israel into quarters, gave a quarter to the squabbling Herod brothers Philip and Antipas, and made himself king of the two most important quarters. Now Ceasar was king of Judea—and since he was busy running Rome, he sent others to govern Judea for him. Pontíus Pilátus poʊn'ti.us pi'læt.us was the sixth of these governors, in office from 26 to 36CE.

The KJV renders his name as Pontius Pilate, which Americans usually pronounce 'pɑn.tʃəs 'paɪ.lət, and since the bible tends to call him Pilate, we presume that’s his family name. Other way round: Romans did their names the same way eastern Asians do. Pontius is his nomen, the family name. Pilatus is his personal name—and y’notice the bible’s authors tended to go with personal names.

The Pilate stone, on display in Jerusalem. Wikimedia

The reason we know so much more about Pontius than his predecessors or successors, is obviously ’cause Jesus was executed under his rule, so he has our attention. We know of him from the gospels, from historians Flavius Josephus and Publius Cornelius Tacitus, and from contemporary philosopher Philo of Alexandria. Plus in 1961 archaeologist Antonio Frova found the Pilate stone, a limestone block with “Pilatus” carved on it, dating from Pontius’s term, whch confirms he’s not fiction.

Unfortunately after Jesus’s death and resurrection, a lot of Christians made up a lot of fanfiction. It means Pontius’s history beyond these first-century sources isn’t reliable. But I’ll briefly go over what we have.

The world’s light.

Mark 4.21, Matthew 5.14-16, Luke 8.16, 11.33, John 8.12.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells his students they’re the light of the world. And multiple times in John, Jesus himself is declared the light of the world. Here, I’ve got one of those passages lined up for you.

Matthew 5.14 KWL

“You’re* the world’s light.

A city can’t be hidden when it lies on a hill.”

John 8.12 KWL

So Jesus spoke again, saying, “I’m the world’s light.

My followers should never walk in the dark,

but will have light and life.”

So which is it? Both, obviously.

It’s not a contradiction. Jesus is the true light who entered the world; Jn 1.9 as long as he’s in the world he enlightens it; Jn 9.5 whoever believes in him needn’t live in the dark; Jn 12.46 he reflects the fact that God is light. 1Jn 1.5 And we’re the light of the world when we follow his example, and reveal to the world God’s kingdom is near, same as Jesus did. Once we were darkness, but now light, Ep 5.8 for since God’s now our Father, we are light’s children, 1Th 5.5 shining as lights in this dark world. Pp 2.15

Yep, this light metaphor is all over the bible. Wouldn’t hurt us to read up on it, and see all the different ways God wants us to carry his light. 2Co 4.6

Starting with the city-on-a-hill idea. Nowadays we don’t create cities on hills. When developers create a town, they place them somewhere convenient: Outside bigger cities, near main roads, a place easy to access. Hills aren’t so easy, plus there’s all the hassle of building on a hill. Put a city on a hill, and it’ll nearly always be an expensive city. But back in ancient times, rulers worried about invasion, and figured a hill was easier to defend than a plain. Plus they could see their enemies coming. The downside was their cities were very visible-especially at night, with all their torches burning.

That’s the trait Jesus wants his followers to have: We oughta be nice and obvious. (True, it makes us more visible to enemies, but let’s not hang up on the negative.) If Christianity is a city on a hill, we Christians need to be visible. No hiding our faith. No concealing who it is we follow.

St. Patrick’s Breastplate.

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day, so I posted his Confession. The other thing he’s known for writing—and okay, he may not have written it at all, but it’s had his name on it for centuries—is called St. Patrick’s Breastplate. It’s sometimes called his Lorica; that’s just Latin for breastplate.

It’s not a literal breastplate. It’s a hymn, which tends to be recited as a rote prayer. Sometimes people set it to music though. It was written in Old Irish, and English translations vary. Here’s one of them.

I arise today through a mighty strength,

the invocation of the trinity,

through belief in the threeness,

through confession of the oneness

of the Creator of creation.

I arise today through the strength of Christ with his baptism,

through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial,

through the strength of his resurrection with his ascension,

through the strength of his descent for the judgment of doom.

I arise today through the strength of the love of cherubim

in obedience of angels,

in the service of the archangels,

in hope of resurrection to meet with reward,

in prayers of patriarchs,

in predictions of prophets,

in preaching of apostles,

in faiths of confessors,

in innocence of holy virgins,

in deeds of righteous men.

I arise today through the strength of heaven—

light of sun, brilliance of moon,

splendor of fire, speed of lightning,

swiftness of wind, depth of sea,

stability of earth, firmness of rock.

I arise today through God’s strength to pilot me—

God’s might to uphold me, God’s wisdom to guide me,

God’s eye to look before me, God’s ear to hear me,

God’s word to speak for me, God’s hand to guard me,

God’s way to lie before me, God’s shield to protect me,

God’s host to secure me:

against snares of demons,

against temptations of vices,

against inclinations of nature,

against everyone who shall wish me ill,

afar and anear, alone and in multitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and these evils—

against every cruel and merciless power

that may oppose my body and my soul,

against incantations of false prophets,

against black laws of heathenry,

against false laws of heretics,

against craft of idolatry,

against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,

against every knowledge that endangers man’s body and soul.

Christ to protect me today

against poison, against burning,

against drowning, against wounding,

so that there may come abundance of reward.

Christ with me.

Christ before me, Christ behind me.

Christ in me.

Christ beneath me, Christ above me.

Christ on my right, Christ on my left.

Christ in breadth, Christ in length, Christ in height.

Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me.

Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me.

Christ in every eye that sees me.

Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today through a mighty strength,

the invocation of the trinity,

through belief in the threeness,

through confession of the oneness

of the Creator of creation.

Salvation is of the Lord. Salvation is of the Lord. Salvation is of Christ.

May your salvation, oh Lord, be ever with us.

Other translations swap “I bind unto myself” for “I arise today,” so maybe that’s the version you’ve heard before.

St. Patrick’s Confession.

Pádraig of Ireland, whom we know as St. Patrick or St. Paddy, died 17 March 493. Old Christian custom is to celebrate saints’ days not on their birthday (which sometimes even they didn’t know), but on the day they died and went to paradise. So, happy St. Patrick’s Day.

In the United States, Irish Americans (and pretty much everyone else, ’cause the more the merrier) treat the day as a celebration of Irish culture. Thing is, Americans know bupkis about actual Irish culture. We barely know the difference between an Irish, Scots, or Yorkshire accent. What we do know is Guinness and Jameson—though we’ll settle for anything alcoholic, including beer filled with green food coloring. Me, I used to love McDonald’s “shamrock shakes,” though the last time I had one I found it way too sweet to enjoy. (It’s because they take an already-sugary vanilla shake, then add sugary green mint stuff.) Oreos help, but I still much prefer adding mint and vanilla to a Starbucks Frappuccino.

Most American customs consist of drinking, eating stereotypical Irish food like corned beef and potatoes, parades in which the religious participants express varying degrees of outrage at all the irreligious participants, and all sorts of Irish distortions—some of ’em unknowingly offensive or racist. British Americans used to treat Irish Americans like crap, bringing over their prejudices from the old country, and some of that hatred is still around. I have a few Irish ancestors myself (although way more of ’em are German, Dutch, and Scots), so I’ve not experienced that prejudice firsthand. But I have witnessed it.

Oh, and wearing green. American custom is to wear green, lest someone pinch you. But the color actually comes from the political struggle between Protestant monarchists and Catholic socialists. Much like Americans use red and blue to signify party affiliation, the Irish use green and orange. And whenever we Americans wear green, we unwittingly declare we’re in favor of socialism and Catholicism. Now, as Americans you would think this is because we’re anti-monarchy (even though some Americans are perfectly happy to anoint their favorite candidate as king), but really it’s because we don’t know any better and the socialists were very successful in publicizing green. If I gotta pick a color though, it’d be orange; I’m Protestant. Nothing against my Roman Catholic sisters and brothers! Like I said it’s if I gotta pick a color. I risk getting pinched over it, but I still prefer an informed choice over unthinkingly following the crowd.

If you’re Catholic, six years out of seven, St. Patrick’s Day custom is to beg your local bishop for a day off from Lenten fasting. ’Cause you don’t fast on Sunday, so back in 2024 you automatically had a day off from Lent. Other years, saint’s days aren’t automatically feast days, so you just gotta hope your bishop hasn’t had it up to here with all the Catholics-in-name-only who are gonna take the day off regardless, and misbehave.

In any event, for Americans our holidays aren’t really about serious remembrance, but having a good time. Which really annoys our veterans every Veterans Day. Now imagine how Patrick feels, with people celebrating his day by puking into moonroofs.

The very, very little which popular culture knows about Patrick, is…

• He drove snakes out of Ireland. (He actually didn’t.)
• He liked to use shamrocks to explain trinity. (Badly.)
• He once turned his walking stick into a tree. (Actually, people don’t know that story so well.)
• He’s “a Catholic saint.” (Patrick predates Roman Catholicism by about 250 years, which is why Patrick’s also a saint in the Orthodox Church, same as St. Nicholas.)

And that’s about it. Some stories about Patrick are also borrowed from the life of Bishop Palladius—whom the bishop of Rome, Celestine 1, sent to evangelize Ireland a few decades before Patrick came to Ireland. So those aren’t legit Patrick stories. People tell ’em anyway.

When in doubt, go to the historical sources. So below, I’ve provided the Confession of St. Patrick, his testimony. Comes from James O’Leary’s translation. Scripture references and minor edits were added by me.

The earth’s salt.

Mark 9.43-50, Matthew 5.13, Luke 14.34-35.

If you’ve ever heard someone called “the salt of the earth,” usually they mean an ordinary but decent person. And no, that’s not what Jesus meant when he coined the phrase “salt of the earth”—or as I translated it, “the earth’s salt.” I’ve no idea how it evolved from a remarkable person to an unremarkable person. When Jesus uses it in his Sermon on the Mount, he means remarkable.

He means a flavor enhancer. Be the salt of the earth: Enhance it. Make it taste better.

Mark 9.49-50 KWL

49“Everything for the fire will be salted. Lv 2.13

50Salt is good—

when salt becomes saltless,

in what way will it season anything?

Have salt in yourselves:

Have peace with one another.”

Matthew 5.13 KWL

“You’re* the earth’s salt.

When salt is tasteless,

in what way will it salt things?

It’s good for nothing—

unless it’s thrown outside for people to walk on.”

Luke 14.34-35 KWL

34“So salt is good—

when salt is also tasteless,

in what way will it salt things?

35It’s useful for neither the ground nor the dungheap.

They throw it outside.

One who has an ear to hear: Hear me!”

Stations of the cross: Remembering Christ’s suffering.

In Jerusalem, Israel, Christians remember Jesus’s death by actually going down the route he traveled the day he died. It’s called the Way of Jesus, the Way of Sorrows (Latin, Via Dolorosa), or the Way of the Cross (Via Cručis). When I visited Jerusalem, it’s part of the tour package: Loads of us Christians go this route every single day, observing all the places Jesus is said to have suffered. Really solemn, moving stuff.

But most of us Christians don’t live in or near Jerusalem, and some of us can’t possibly go there. For this reason St. Francis of Assisi invented “the stations of the cross.” In his church building, he set up seven different dioramas. Each represented an event which happened as Jesus was led to his death. The people of his church would go to each diorama—each station—and meditate on what Jesus did for us all.

Yeah, this is a Catholic thing, ’cause Francis was Roman Catholic. But it’s not exclusively Catholic: Many Lutherans, Anglicans, and Methodists use stations of the cross too. Be fair: If a Protestant invented it, you’d find Protestants doing it everywhere. ’Cause it’s a really useful idea.

It’s why I bring it up here. The stations of the cross are a clever, more tangible way to think about Jesus’s death, what he went through, and what that means. It’s why lots of Catholic churches—and a growing number of Protestant churches—keep the stations up year-round. Could take the form of paintings, sculptures, or stained-glass windows. Christians can “travel the Way of Jesus” any time we wanna contemplate his death, and what he did for us.

If you’ve ever seen Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, he made sure to include all the traditional stations in his movie. As do Catholic passion plays, reenactments of Jesus’s death. Protestant passion plays too, though we tend to skip most of the events we don’t find in the gospels. ’Cause as you’ll notice, some of Francis’s stations came from the popular culture of early 1200s Italy. Not bible.

Beatitudes: Both awesome and awful.

Matthew 5.3-12, Luke 6.20-26.

Many of Jesus’s teachings are bunched together as the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew, and the Sermon on the Plain in Luke. They overlap a bunch, so I’m going through ’em together. Both of them begin with beatitudes.

Beatitude is an old-timey word for “blessing.” Most translations follow the KJV’s convention and begin each line with “Blessed are the…” as Jesus lists the sucky, not-so-great situation under which these folks are groaning. They’re poor. Mourning. Humble. Starving for justice. Merciful in a world without mercy. Pure-hearted in a dirty culture. Striving for peace where there’s nothing but rage and fear. Getting hunted down, mocked, slandered, driven out. These things sure don’t sound like blessings.

And let’s be blunt: They’re not blessings. Jesus is not blessing us with poverty, misery, injustice, no peace, and persecution. He’s telling us our Father intends to relieve the people suffering from these things. I’ll explain further, but first let’s get to the beatitudes in these two gospels.

Matthew 5.3-12 KWL

3“The spiritually poor: How awesome!

—the heavenly kingdom is theirs.

4Those mourning: How awesome!

they’ll be comforted.

5The gentle: How awesome!

—they’ll inherit the land.

6Those hungry and thirsty for justice: How awesome!

—they’ll be filled.

7The merciful: How awesome!—

they’ll be shown mercy.

8Those of clean mind: How awesome!—

they’ll see God.

9Those making peace: How awesome!—

they’ll be called God’s children.

10Those hunted down because of justice: How awesome!

—the heavenly kingdom is theirs.

11When people condemn you², hunt you² down,

say everything evil against you², lie,

all because of me: How awesome you² are!

12Rejoice and celebrate for your² great reward in heaven!

For they persecuted the prophets before you² this way.”

Luke 6.20-23 KWL

20Jesus, lifting his eyes to his students, says:

“The poor: How awesome!

—God’s kingdom is yours².

21Those hungry now: How awesome!

—you’ll² be filled.

Those crying now: How awesome!

—you’ll² laugh.

22When the people hate you², segregate you²,

condemn and throw out your² names as if evil,

all because of me: How awesome you² are!

23Rejoice on that day! Skip!

Look at your² great reward in heaven!

Their ancestors did likewise to the prophets.”

Yeah, you likely noticed I went with a much different translation of μακάριοι/makárihi than the traditional “blessed.”

Ash Wednesday: Lent begins.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of the Lenten fast. It gets its name from the western custom of putting ashes on our heads. What’s with the ashes? It comes from bible: Ashes were used to ritually purify sinners. Nu 19.9 So it’s to repeat that custom.

Varoius Christians figure it also comes from the ancient middle eastern custom of putting ashes on one’s head when grieving. 2Sa 13.19, Jb 2.8 What’re we grieving? Well, Easter comes after Holy Week, when Jesus died, so they’re kinda grieving Jesus’s death. Even though he’s alive now, their emphasis is his horrible suffering and death, and they mourn that. Lent is one of the ways they mourn that. So, ashes.

Thing is… in his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us when we’re fasting not to broadcast it.

Matthew 6.16-18 NRSVue

16“And whenever you fast, do not look somber, like the hypocrites, for they mark their faces to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. 17But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”

In many churches ashes are ritually sprinkled on one’s head, but in English-speaking countries the custom is to use the ashes to draw a cross on Christians’ foreheads. I don’t know how pleased Jesus is with those of us who wear these crosses on our foreheads all day. I think he’d much rather we show off our devotion by being fruity.

But over the past decade, mainline Christians have started to use the forehead-cross thingy as an outreach tool. Instead of only doing the ritual in their church buildings, their pastors go to public places with ashes, and draw crosses on anyone who asks.

• Sometimes they’re Christians who go, “Oh I forgot it’s Ash Wednesday; I’m gotta go get my ashes!”
• Sometimes they’re Christians who didn’t grow up with this ritual: “Ash Wednesday? What’s that? Well I’m Christian, so I’m gonna get a cross too.”
• Sometimes they’re Christian jerks: “Oh that’s a Catholic thing; that’s as good as paganism or sorcery; I’m not doing that.”
• And sometimes they’re pagans who think they’re Christian, or pagans who wanna try something “spiritual.”

Regardless, the mainliners’ goal is to get more people to think about Jesus than usual. It does do that.

Don’t break up with unbelievers!

1 Corinthians 7.10-17.

When I was growing up, both Mom and my pastors taught us kids we shouldn’t date non-Christians. Because, God forbid, you were gonna fall in love with them, marry them, and now you were gonna have perpetual disagreements with your pagan spouse about religion. Then we’d have kids, and she’d of course object to me wanting to raise ’em Christian. Then she’d let the Jehovah’s Witnesses talk to her some morning, join them, and now I’d have to deal with all the heretic garbage they taught her. Or pick some other worst-case scenario; just imagine your spouse turns into a massive jerk… and presume you somehow won’t turn into one too.

Done? Good. I myself didn’t need to imagine any worst-case scenarios, ’cause I grew up with a Christian mom and an atheist dad, so I knew exactly what that looked like. Dad didn’t forbid us kids from going to church with Mom and becoming Christians, but he certainly wasn’t thrilled about it. And he especially wasn’t thrilled whenever he did something immoral—usually theft—and his Christian kids would object, and spoil his evil fun.

In the Roman Empire, divorce was widespread, and people did it for any and every reason. So if a Roman’s spouse got mixed up in some new gnostic religion, and was suddenly spending all the family’s money on it, and our hypothetical Roman wanted nothing to do with it: Divorce! Easy-peasy. Property gets divided, and you go your way with your money. And your spouse goes to temple with all their money, and leaves temple with no money, but at least you still got all your money.

Some of this attitude leaked into Jesus’s culture, and as a result a number of Jews likewise divorced for any and every reason. And certain Pharisee rabbis let them. This, despite the LORD telling Malachi he hates divorce. Ml 2.16 NKJV The rabbis would simply find a convenient loophole which permitted divorce in this instance… and could always somehow find a way to permit divorce in every instance. Human depravity is clever like that.

When Jesus was questioned about the issue, he said nope, divorce was never God’s idea. Moses permitted it “because of your hard-heartedness,” Mt 19.8 KWL i.e. your closed-mindedness; people won’t accept any scenario where divorce isn’t an option. Indeed Jesus’s own students came to him afterwards and objected Mt 19.10 —and Jesus said yeah, not everyone’s gonna accept this teaching. Mt 19.11 People should go into marriage expecting it to be lifelong, but they just don’t. They want, “just in case,” loopholes. We all want loopholes.

So some of the first Christians figured religion oughta be one of those loopholes, right? If a Greco-Roman pagan became Christian, but her spouse was a massive Zeus worshiper and wanted to stick with Zeusery, what was she to do? Especially if he demanded she come to temple with him, and couldn’t figure out why she couldn’t worship Jesus and Zeus, just like she worshiped Athena and Zeus, or Demeter and Zeus, or Artemis and Hera and Hestia and Zeus. Why’s Jesus so exclusive? What, are you monotheist now?

So that’s the cultural background to today’s scripture—namely, how Paul and Sosthenes addressed the whole pagan-spouse problem.

The background of the Sermon on the Mount.

Matthew 5.1-2.

Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount begins in Matthew 5, where Jesus “went up into a mountain” Mt 5.1 KJV to teach his students (Greek μαθηταὶ/mathité, “pupil,” KJV “disciple”).

Matthew 5.1-2 KWL

1Seeing the crowds,

Jesus goes up, into the hill,

and as he is sitting down

his students come to him.

2Opening his mouth,

Jesus is teaching his students,

saying…

and he starts with the Beatitudes.

Y’notice my translation has “hill.” The original Greek text has ὄρος/óros, which can mean either “hill” or “mountain,” and the person (not necessarily St. Jerome) who originally translated Matthew for the Vulgate decided it meant montem, “mountain,” so that’s how Christians have historically interpreted it. That’s why it’s the Sermon on the Mount, not Hill.

Thing is, I’ve been to the Mount of Beatitudes in northern Israel, where Christian tradition says Jesus gave this sermon. It’s a hill.

A view of the Mount of Beatitudes from Capharnaum. See that domed building? That’s the octagonal Church of the Beatitudes, built by the Roman Catholics in 1938. Berthold Werner, Wikimedia

True, not everybody agrees what the difference is between a hill and a mountain. In English and American custom, a mountain is 1,000 feet above its surrounding geography. But of course if the locals are used to calling a nearby hill “the mountain,” state geographers might disagree, but it’s a mountain to the locals regardless. The same is true with the Mount of Beatitudes: Christians keep calling it a mountain, but it’s not. It’s only about 200m (about 650 feet) above Lake Tiberias (i.e. the Sea of Galilee). It’s actually 25m below sea level. Where I’m sitting in the Sacramento Valley, as I write this, I am at an elevation 31m above the Mount of Beatitudes. That’s how low of a “mountain” it is.

The 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘴.

Most movements have slogans; they help promote the movement. The Protestant movement is no different. When it began in the 1500s, the Reformers came up with slogans. Back then the international language of Christendom was Latin, so of course the slogans are all in Latin.

The three I’m writing about today are called the solas—because they all start with the Latin word sola. You’re probably more familiar with the masculine form of it, solo, which is also an English word and means the very same thing: Alone, only, unaccompanied, done by one person without assistance. Anyway, the three slogans are:

Sola fide, “by faith alone.”

Sola gratia, “by grace alone.”

Sola scriptura, “by scripture alone.”

In the 20th century, various Christians created two more slogans which they claim are also part of the solas: Solus Christus, “Christ alone”; and soli Deo gratia, “glory to God alone.” I have no problem with people coming up with new slogans, but they aren’t part of the original solas, so I won’t talk about them as much.

So… why am I bringing up some five-century-old Latin slogans? Because sometimes you’re gonna hear Christians quote them, talk about them, use them… and use them wrong. The early Reformers had specific reasons for coining these slogans, and we gotta know what they meant by them before we just quote ’em haphazardly.

And even if people don’t use the Latin words—if they use the English translations “by faith alone,” “by grace alone,” and “by scripture alone,” or translate ’em into any other language and teach Christians about ’em—again, let’s know what the Reformers meant by them.

Do we perform sacraments or ordinances?

ORDINANCE 'ɔr.dɪ.nəns, 'ɔrd.nəns noun. Authoritative order or decree.

2. Religious ritual; particularly one ordained by Christ.

3. What Evangelical Christians call sacraments.

When I talk about certain Christian rituals, I call them sacraments. And you’re gonna find many Evangelicals really don’t like this word.

These folks think of “sacraments” as a Roman Catholic word… and some of them are a bit anti-Catholic… and some of ’em are extremely anti-Catholic. They still got a lot of hard feelings about the Catholics, dating all the way back to the original Protestant spats with Roman Catholicism. To them, “sacrament” has a lot of bothersome Catholic baggage attached… so they refuse to use it.

What do they call Christian rituals then? Well Evangelicals could just call ’em rituals, but for some reason we never really wanted to; it makes us think of dead rituals, or dead religion, which they’re not. Somehow the word “ordinances” caught on. Or “holy ordinances.” ’Cause Jesus ordained them.

The two ordinances which Evangelicals tend to single out, are holy communion 1Co 11.23-26 and baptism. Mt 28.19 Some of us also recognize Jesus also mandated foot-washing, Jn 13.14-15 but not every Evangelical lists it as an ordiance. Probably because they don’t wanna wash feet, which sorta merits its own article.

Anyway. Communion and baptism are definitely ordinances… and you’ll find Evangelicals tend to also practice all the other sacraments the Catholics do. They just won’t call them sacraments. Or ordinances, ’cause they figure Jesus didn’t ordain them. Although often the apostles did.

CATHOLIC SACRAMENT	EVANGELICAL EQUIVALENT	WHO ORDAINED IT
Baptism	Baptism	Jesus
Confirmation	Confession of faith at baptism	Peter
Eucharist	Holy communion	Jesus
Penance	Counseling, confession, and intercession	James
Anointing the sick	Anointing the sick	James
Holy orders	Laying hands on people for ministry	The LORD, to Moses
Matrimony	Wedding ceremonies	9th-century Christians

As you notice, Evangelicals still anoint and pray for the sick. Still lay hands on people they’re sending out to do ministry. Still perform wedding ceremonies, funerals, and baby dedications. Still counsel and intercede for people. It’s just they won’t call these other things “ordinances” because they’re not the three ordinances Jesus gave us… and they’ll still try to avoid the word “ritual,” even though it’s precisely what we’re doing.

It’s all about “not doing as Catholics do,” even though we’re totally doing as Catholics do.

Using your imagination to meditate.

When I was a kid there was a Japanese TV show called Aníme Óyako Gekíjo/“Anime Parent-Child Theater,” which Americans know better as Superbook. Christian TV stations used to air it every weekday. Your own kids are more likely to have seen the 2009 American remake.

In the 1981 original, two kids named Sho and Azusa discovered a magic bible which transported them, and their toy robot Zenmaijikake, back to Old Testament times. (Yeah, they all had different names in the English redub: Chris, Joy, and Gizmo.) The kids would interact with the bible folks, who somehow spoke Japanese instead of ancient Hebrew, and were surprisingly white for ancient middle easterners.

The kids, and their robot in the red galero, have a not-at-all-awkward conversation with a buck-naked pre-genitalia Adam and Eve. Aníme Óyako Gekíjo episode 1, “Adamu to Eba Monogatari”

Well in the first series they did. In the second series—also called Superbook in the States—Pasókon Toráberu Tántei-dan/“Computer Travel Detective Team,” the kids totally ignored the bible characters ’cause they were trying to rescue a missing dog. Which is best, I suppose: Less chance they’d accidentally change history, and whoops!—now we’re all worshiping Mammon, and Biff Tannen became president. (Well…)

Obviously we’ve not yet invented time travel, and it’s not possible to have any Superbook-style adventures. But a whole lot of us would love to check out the events of bible times, and maybe interact with it. It’s why there are bible-times theme parks in the Bible Belt, like The Ark Encounter or The Holy Land Experience, which Christians flock to. (Or, for about the same price, actual real-life Israel, which I far more recommend.)

But when time travel or pilgrimage are out of the question right now, it is possible to meditate on a story from the scriptures, by imagining ourselves there as it happened, imagining ourselves watching it as it took place.

Some Christians call this practice Ignatian meditation, after St. Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuits. In his 1524 book Exercitia Spiritualia/“Spiritual Exercises,” Ignatius taught his followers to not just contemplate certain passages in the bible, like Jesus preaching in synagogue or temple, or teaching students, performing miracles, getting born, getting crucified, paradise, hell…. Instead, really mentally put themselves there. Imagine breathing the air. Feeling the weather. Hearing the sounds, smelling the smells. Being in these places.

The idea is to stop thinking of these events as just stories, but as real-life history. Stuff that truly happened. Stuff the prophets and apostles truly experienced. Stuff where God came near and interacted with humanity—same as he does now. Stop looking at them from the outside, and visualize yourself in the inside, in the bible, fully immersed in the story, just as you’re fully a part of God’s salvation history now.

Try this with the passages you’re reading now. Put yourself there, in your mind. See what new insights come out of it.

Which of Jesus’s temptations came second?

Matthew 4.5-10, Luke 4.5-12.

In Matthew, the order of Jesus’s temptations is

1. Stones to bread. Mt 4.3-4
2. Jumping from the temple. Mt 4.5-7
3. Bowing before Satan. Mt 4.8-10

And in Luke, it’s

1. Stones to bread. Lk 4.3-4
2. Bowing before Satan. Mt 4.5-8
3. Jumping from the temple. Lk 4.9-12

The gospels are agreed that stones to bread came first, but not about whether bowing before Satan or jumping from the temple came second and third.

Does it matter? Not really. But if you’re a biblical inerrantist, and insist the bible has no errors, one of the gospels mixed up the order.

And if you’re a biblical inerrantist, you’re gonna downplay this fact as much as you possibly can. Because there’s no reasonable explanation for how one of the gospels isn’t wrong about the order of the temptations.

So instead… you’re gonna do the very same thing non-inerrantists like me do. You’re gonna say the order isn’t important. That the authors of the gospels likely put the temptations in the order they did, intentionally—because they were writing to different audiences, and wanted to emphasize different things. The author of Matthew wanted to move from near venues to far—from right there in the wilderness, where Jesus chose to fast; to Jerusalem, the capital of Judea; to the Roman Empire and the world. And Luke chose to end his version of the temptations story in Jerusalem, the epicenter of the Judean religion, to emphasize Jesus’s special relationship with his Father—“if thou be the Son of God,” Lk 4.3, 9 KJV as Satan kept saying.

And okay, this explanation might work for you. But back when I was a little kid, and my pastors and Sunday school teachers kept insisting the bible is inerrant, this explanation absolutely didn’t work for me. Kids are literalists! We knew—from the many times we tried to fudge the truth, and subsequently, correctly got in trouble for it—you don’t get to play fast and loose with the order of events when you tell a story. Parents, historians, cops, and courtrooms don’t allow it. Nor should they! So why does Matthew or Luke get to?—and how can you say the bible’s inerrant when you’re saying one or the other of them deliberately introduced an inaccuracy?

Nope, doesn’t work. That is, till you’re older, throw up your hands in frustration, and decide what the heck; we’re gonna accept that either Matthew or Luke changed the order around… yet still call ourselves literalists and inerrantists, because the Fundamentalists in our churches seem to be really insistent that we remain literalists and inerrantists. If we’re not, they might call us heretics, or get us removed from our ministries. So, best to keep up that appearance as best we can, and call ourselves literalists and inerrantists even though we’re not really.

Oh, and please don’t bring up Jesus’s two genealogies either.

Typical TXAB correspondence.

Since I’m paying for TXAB’s domain name, I figured I may as well use it for my email address too. Problem is, whenever you post your email address on a website, people find it and send spam to it, and now most of my spam goes to that address instead of my personal email address. So if your comments get lost in my spam folder: Sorry! I try to fish them out.

Questions? Comments? Email. But remember, my feedback policy means I can post it. And if it’s something like these questions, I’ve already answered it! Isn’t that handy?

Anyway it’s time I caught up on some correspondence, isn’t it? And today I’m gonna answer some of the emails I typically get.

Q. I love your blog! Would you consider linking to my blog? I really need to rise in search engine rankings. In return maybe I can make a small donation to you, or a ministry of your choice.

You really would not believe how often I get this request, or a variation of this request, from people who want to make a living by blogging. I turn them all down.

There are many ways to get a lot of traffic to your blog. My way has been to just keep generating relevant, informative content for 20 years. Works great! But I understand if you don’t have the patience for that… especially if you have a day job you’re kinda desperate to quit.

I have noticed certain blogs taking off big-time, and quickly, because the blogger wrote a book. I would recommend you do that. Find a literary agent, ask ’em if there’s anything on your blog that might make a good book, develop a whole book out of it, find a publisher who’s wants to produce and publicize it, and use your blog to help promote it. Watch the traffic pour in.

The downside: If your blog permits comments, you’re gonna spend a whole lot of time moderating comments. Lotta nutjobs out there! You might have to turn them off entirely, as I did. But if you have the time, and can filter out all the chaff from the wheat, your commenters can also attract people to your blog. There are a few sites that I visited regularly because the commenters were just as insightful as the writers.

Moving on!

God’s names. (And a bunch of his adjectives.)

New Christians—and a bunch of us older ones too—tend to be fascinated by the fact God has a lot of different names.

No, I’m not talking about the different words for “God” in other languages: Theos, Deus, Dios, Diyos, Dieu, Dia, Dio, Zeu, Gott, Gud, Hudaý, Bog, Buh, Elohim, Allah, Ulah, Dev, Ram, Atua, Kami, Haneunim, and so forth. Those are neat too, as are the many different ways humanity has rendered “Jesus.” But people who are into that, are more into languages. Your average Christian is more into the many different things God is called in the bible.

You can also buy a poster of a lion with a bunch of Jesus’s titles on it. ChristianBook.com

There’s “God,” of course. There’s “the Lord” or “the LORD,” depending on the original-language words we’re translating. There’s his personal name יְהוָֹה/YHWH, which we’ve turned into “Yahwéh” and “Jehovah”; and the Hebrew phrase it comes from, אֶֽהְיֶ֖ה אֲשֶׁ֣ר אֶֽהְיֶ֖ה/ehyéh ashér ehyéh, “I am who I am,” or “I Am” for short.

Then there are the adjectives which indicate which God we’re talking about God Almighty, God Most High, the Living God, the Mighty God, Father God, God the Creator, the God of Israel, God of Abraham, God of our fathers, and so forth.

And I haven’t even got to the titles yet. Like Ancient of Days, Alpha and Omega, Lord of Hosts, and so on. Go to your average Christian bookstore (assuming your local one hasn’t shut down, or moved to the internet) and they even have a poster covered in God’s titles. Suitable for framing, if you’re not a teenager but still like posters.

Bust out some Hebrew to go along with it, and some Christians will get sloppy with excitement. I can write articles about God’s attributes till my fingers go numb, but many a Christian doesn’t give a rip about theology: They just want easy ideas which they can meditate upon and come up with their own insights about. One of the easiest ideas to mentally play with is one of God’s names, so these folks just love God’s names.

There’s just something about them. Because, as many Christians teach, there’s power in God’s name. Jr 10.6 Power, power, wonder-working power. Power to break every chain, break every chain, break every chain.

But I should first point out these many names of God… are not necessarily what God names himself.

Unanswered prayers.

Some months ago I was talking with a fellow Christian about unanswered prayers, and he said, “Y’know, there’s really no such thing as unanswered prayer. God answers every prayer. It’s just sometimes his answer is no. But that’s an answer!”

Okay, it’s true our “unanswered prayers” might be things God has legitimately answered—with no, or “not yet.” Stuff like “Come Lord Jesus” which he will answer, eventually.

But sometimes he legitimately has not answered certain prayers. ’Cause sometimes he says he’s not gonna answer them.

Micah 3.4 ESV

Then they will cry to the LORD,

but he will not answer them;

he will hide his face from them at that time,

because they have made their deeds evil.

Generally if you’re an unrepentant evildoer—if you’re sinning, you know you’re sinning, you know Jesus would have you do otherwise, you don’t care and aren’t sorry, you fully intend to continue sinning, and nothing God says or does will move you—I don’t think it’s realistic to expect God to heed you.

It’s like when Jesus warns us,

Matthew 6.14-15 ESV

14“For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, 15but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”

Jesus orders his followers to forgive, Lk 6.37 and Paul and Timothy advise us to forgive just as we ourselves have been forgiven. Cl 3.13 If we refuse to forgive, we’re defying Jesus—and if we defy Jesus, again, I don’t think it’s realistic to expect God to heed us. Especially if we’re asking his forgiveness.

I know, I know; I hear all the time from Christians who think God has to forgive every nasty thing they do, ’cause cheap grace. They wanna know how I can say God won’t forgive us, ’cause doesn’t grace mean he forgives absolutely everything? And yes, grace does mean that. But when you’re defying God and his Messiah, when you’re resisting his will, you’re also resisting his grace. You can’t get the grace when you reject the one who gives it!

It’s the same deal with unrepentant evildoers. If you reject the one who answers our prayers, why on earth or in heaven should we expect him to listen to our prayers? Makes no sense. But since when have humans ever made sense?—which is why unrepentant evildoers try to pray, get no answer, and think God’s the one at fault. Or that he’s not even there. Or other such nonsense.

Stones to bread.

Matthew 4.3-4, Luke 4.3-4.

There’s a line in Lionel Richie and Michael Jackson’s 1984 hit song, “We Are the World,” which goes, “As God has shown us by turning stones to bread.”

As those of us who are biblically literate know, God never did any such thing in the scriptures. Now to be fair to Richie and Jackson, maybe God performed such a miracle for them personally… but I have my doubts. In any case neither of them, nor their producers, nor the roomful of pop stars they brought in to sing the song with them—which has to include people who were raised in church, right?—caught the error. Or convinced the producers to change it. So it’s still in the song. Aw well.

As we know, Jesus was tempted to do such a thing. He’d been fasting; he was hungry; Satan might’ve figured here’s an easy opportunity to get Jesus to fall for its “If you are the Son of God” taunt. Shouldn’t be hard at all for the Son of God to turn stones to bread, right? So that became the devil’s first temptation.

Matthew 4.3 KWL

Approaching, the tempter tells Jesus,

“If you’re the son of God, say something

so these stones might become bread.”

Luke 4.3 KWL

The devil tells him,

“If you’re the son of God, speak to these stones

so they might become bread.”

Back when I was a kid, I noticed something kinda obvious about this particular temptation: It’s not a sin for Jesus to turn stones into bread. There’s no commandment, at all, telling people to not do such a thing. There’s nothing ritually unclean about stones; there’s no command against eating them (though common sense oughta tell us to not do that); so if you turn a stone into bread, you’re not turning an unclean thing into a clean thing, then eating it. Jesus is neither breaking a command, nor going through a loophole, if he did such a thing. So… why was it wrong for him to do it?

Well duh; it’s the “if you’re the son of God” part. Jesus didn’t have to prove anything to Satan. Nor should he be that easy to manipulate, like a child showing off or an insecure president. Jesus knows exactly who he is… and frankly, it’s not a bad idea to keep the devil, who might have its own doubts, wondering. And underestimating him.

So Jesus did nothing, and threw a little bit of Deuteronomy back at Satan.

Matthew 4.4 KWL

In reply Jesus says, “It was written,

‘Not only by bread will humans live,

but by every word coming out of God’s mouth.’ ” Dt 8.3

Luke 4.4 KWL

In reply Jesus tells the devil, “It was written,

‘Not only by bread will humans live.’ ” Dt 8.3

And that’s that.

We are not saved by our faith.

From time to time I’ll hear a Christian unthinkingly state we’re saved by faith. And I’ll correct them: We are not. We’re justified by faith. We’re saved by grace.

The usual response is they give me an annoyed look: Why are you correcting me?

Not that they disagree with me! They don’t. They’re aware we’re saved by grace. But they figure we’re saved by grace through faith—

Ephesians 2.8 KJV

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God:

—so faith is in the formula somewhere; so they figure they’re not wrong either. That’s why they’re gonna forget what I just said about being saved by grace, and continue to say we Christians are saved by faith. I’m just nitpicking, and they don’t care.

In online discussion groups, I can’t see their annoyed looks in person, but I have no doubt they happen. And their usual response is to ignore my response. Again, they don’t disagree with me; they’re aware we’re saved by grace; but saved thorough faith, and is there any real difference between by and through anyway?

While most discussion-group folks will debate anything and everything at the drop of a hat, they never choose to debate my statement, “We’re justified, not saved, by faith; we’re saved by grace.” After all, it’s true.

There are rare exceptions—I think I only experienced two of ’em—where people respond, “Yes; I misspoke; we’re saved by grace.” The rest of the time, in a rare exercise of online self-control, they simply ignore the fact I said anything. They move along.

And I guarantee you they’re gonna say or write “We’re saved by faith” again.

Yet I persist.

Pseudepigrapha: Influential ancient Jewish fanfiction.

PSEUDEPIGRAPHUM su.də'pɪ.ɡrə.fəm noun. A document definitely not written by the author it claims, nor in the time it claims. Sometimes fraud; sometimes just fanfiction.

2. A Jewish writing ascribed to one of the patriarchs or prophets of bible times, but actually written after 200BC.

[Plural, pseudepigrapha su.də'pɪ.ɡrə.fə noun; pseudepigraphic su.de.pɪ'ɡræ.fɪk adjective.]

The bible isn’t the only ancient Israeli book in history. Same as today—though certainly not in the same volume as today—tons of books were written, distributed, and became popular. And same as today, many were about God. Were they as Spirit-inspired as the bible? Nah. That’s why they weren’t included in the book collection which became our bible.

Well, most of them. There’s also apocrypha. Certain books were revered by certain churches, and got added to their bibles. Hence Ethiopian Christians have 81 books in their bibles, Orthodox Christians have 79, and Roman Catholics have 73. I’ve read most of their apocrypha; largely it’s good stuff. Good advice to follow; it’s like some of the better writings of Christian saints. Won’t hurt you to read it! But I don’t believe it’s as inspired as bible—same as the better writings of Christian saints. Good stuff, but is it infallible stuff? Meh; be wary.

Then there are the books to be really wary about, and that’d be the pseudepigrapha (Greek for “fake writings”). Whenever I write about Jewish mythology, these books are where these myths come from. They were popular in ancient Judea. Popular even in Jesus’s day. Jesus’s followers grew up hearing about ’em, even reading them.

There are even references to them in the bible. We have a full-on quote from one of ’em in Jude:

Jude 1.14-15 NET

14Now Enoch, the seventh in descent beginning with Adam, even prophesied of them, saying, “Look! The Lord is coming with thousands and thousands of his holy ones, 15to execute judgment on all, and to convict every person of all their thoroughly ungodly deeds that they have committed, and of all the harsh words that ungodly sinners have spoken against him.”

Jude wasn’t quoting the Old Testament, ’cause the OT has absolutely no Enoch quotes whatsoever. And no, Jude didn’t have any special revelation from God about what Enoch did or didn’t say. Jude was quoting a popular book, 1 Enoch, specifically this verse here:

1 Enoch 1.9

“Behold, he comes with myriads of the holy to pass judgment upon them, and will destroy the impious, and will call to account all flesh for everything the sinners and the impious have done and committed against him.”

The book was supposedly written by Enoch ben Jared, the great-grandfather of Noah the ark-builder. Somehow it survived the great flood, then 10,000 years or so of human history, then managed to not get into the Hebrew Old Testament and Septuagint, but leapfrogged them both and got into the Ethiopian bible.

Wait, Enoch wrote a book? No.

“Can I pray for you?”

Whenever you aren’t sure, or don’t know, what to do: Yalk to God. Pray.

Not only is this always good advice to follow, but it’s good advice when dealing with other people. Whenever other people share their difficulties with us, we won’t always know how to respond. We’ll be tempted to give advice—as if we know anything. But prayer’s one of the best responses—if not the best, period. It’s turning to God as our first resort.

I know; plenty of people think they know precisely what to do when they hear someone’s troubles. That’s why they immediately offer advice. No, the person sharing their woes didn’t ask for it. Often they just want to vent to someone. But that’s not gonna stop people from inflicting bad advice upon ’em anyway.

Remember Job’s friends? For a week he kept his mouth shut, Jb 2.13 but then he made the mistake of lamenting in front of them, Jb 3 and it opened up the floodgates of bad advice, naive statements, sorry platitudes—you know, the same stuff people still offer as advice, which just goes to show they’ve never read Job. It pissed the LORD off, ’cause nothing they said about him was correct. Jb 42.7 Like I said, shoulda gone to him first.

Me, I try to keep the unsolicited advice to this blog. If you want it, I’ll offer it, with the usual disclaimer that I’m hardly infallible. But really, the best response is, “Can I pray for you?”

And when we offer to pray for them, let’s not do the similar platitudinous “Oh goodness that’s awful; I’ll pray for you.” Mostly because among Christianists, “I’ll pray for you” means one of two things:

• “I’m really offended by what you just said, so you can go to hell. No, wait; I need to sound Christian. ‘I’ll pray for you.’ Yeah, that’s the ticket.”
• “Oh Lord, I don’t care about all your miserable problems. I’ve got my own stuff to deal with. How do I get out of this dreary conversation? ‘I’ll pray for you.’ Good; now I can leave.”

It’s seldom based on sympathy.

Well, don’t be one of those unsympathetic jerks. If you’re offering to pray for people, no time like the present! Stand right there and pray. Doesn’t need to be a long prayer; doesn’t need to be perfect words. Just needs to be you, telling God to help ’em out.

“If you 𝘢𝘳𝘦 the son of God…”

In two of the three temptations the devil tried out on Jesus, Satan began them with the words, ܐܶܢ ܒ݁ܪܶܗ ܐܰܢ݈ܬ݁ ܕ݁ܰܐܠܳܗܳܐ/on bará anát d’Alahó, or as the Greek New Testament puts it, Εἰ υἱὸς εἶ τοῦ θεοῦ/ei yiós ei tu Theú, “If the Son of God you are.” The KJV renders this, “If thou be the Son of God,” and the GNT goes with “If you are God’s Son,” but most of us know it as, “If you are the Son of God,” as the ESV, NASB, NIV, NKJV, NRSV, and other popular translations put it.

Matthew 4.3 NIV

3AThe tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God…”

Matthew 4.6 NIV

6A“If you are the Son of God,” he said…

Luke 4.3 NIV

3AThe devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God…”

Luke 4.9 NIV

9B“If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down from here.”

The devil skipped it when it was tempting Jesus with the kingdoms of the world… which kinda makes sense. “If you are the Son of God, bow before me.” Really doesn’t work. So you can see why it skipped those words in that particular temptation. But it’s in the other two.

Okay, so why’d Satan think those particular words were gonna prod Jesus to fall for its temptations?

Well you gotta remember what happened to Jesus just before the Spirit had him go to the wilderness. He had his relative John baptize him in the Jordan, and the skies open up and a voice said, “This is my beloved Son.” God publicly declared Jesus his son. And of course Satan wanted to sow a bit of doubt in Jesus’s head: “Y’know, maybe you’re not.”

Worked on Eve. Ge 3.4-6 Maybe it’d work on Jesus?

Jesus’s 40-day fast.

Matthew 4.2, Luke 4.2.

Whenever we see people fast (and usually pray; they kinda go together) in the Old Testament, they’re either mourning, repenting, or strongly petitioning God. But after the Spirit sent Jesus to the wilderness to be tempted, we see Jesus fasting—

Matthew 4.2 KWL

Fasting 40 days and 40 nights,

Jesus is famished afterwards.

Luke 4.2 KWL

…to be tested by the devil 40 days.

Jesus is eating nothing in those days,

and is famished by the end of them.

—and we know he’s not repenting, for he has nothing to repent; we’re fairly sure he’s not mourning; so most Christians figure he’s strongly petitioning his Father. He’s about to have a Satan-encounter, and even though he expects to win (’cause come on; he’s God) he gave up his omniscience when he became human, and doesn’t know what Satan’ll bring to their meeting. So the best thing anyone can do in that circumstance, is pray up!

And it definitely wouldn’t hurt to fast. Well, hurt spiritually. With some obvious exceptions, like hypoglycemia, you’re gonna physically be fine till the second hunger pangs kick in. Then you’re gonna be weak. But this isn’t a physical battle anyway; it’s not like that scene in C.S. Lewis’s novel Perelandra, in which Ransom literally has to beat the devil-possessed Weston to death. That was messed up; that was based on the fleshly limitations of Lewis’s imagination. Jesus knows better than to think physical force stops a spiritual one. Fasting is actually a way of renouncing physical force: We make ourselves weak so that God can make us spiritually strong. We use the Spirit’s fruit of self-control to pursue the Spirit all the more.

That’s why Jesus fasted: He wanted to be overprepared to overmatch the devil. So he deprived himself, and as the scripture says, he was famished afterwards. But in his spirit, he was mightier than ever.

Every Christian is a priest.

PRIEST prist noun. An ordained minister of the Roman Catholic Church, Orthodox Church, or Church of England, having authority to perform certain rites and administer certain sacraments.

2. A person who performs the religious ceremonies and duties of a religion.

3. A mallet used to kill the fish one catches when angling.

[Priestlike 'pris(t).laɪk adjective, priestly 'pris(t).li adjective.]

I pulled the definition up top out of the dictionary. I hadn’t heard definition #3 before; I included it ’cause it amuses me.

Y’notice it either says a priest is an ordained minister of a liturgical church, or implies it’s some person who does the rituals in some other religion. But definition #2 in fact applies to Christianity too. If you perform religious ceremonies, duties, rituals, or whatever else in your church, you’re being a priest.

Yes, you. ’Cause you’re a priest. Every Christian is.

It was after all God’s intention to create a kingdom of priests, a holy nation. Ex 19.6, 1Pe 2.9 So Jesus made his followers—us Christians—his priests. A kingdom of priests to our God. Rv 1.6, 5.10 Every Christian can minister to fellow Christians; therefore every Christian is a priest.

Yeah okay, elders in particular tend to get called to do these duties. Rightly so, because they generally know what they’re doing. They’re mature enough to perform priestly functions correctly. They can preach, prophesy, lead us in worship, perform baptisms, anoint sick people, distribute communion, lay hands on people for dedication or commission or anointing, intercede for others in prayer, and perform weddings. (Although the state tends to get picky about who can do that last one, separation of church and state regardless.)

Because the ancient Christians’ elders were usually the ones doing these priestly duties, over time the Greek word for elder, πρεσβύτερος/presvýteros, came to mean “priest” in those churches. (Technically that’s inaccurate; the ancient Greek word for priest is ἱερεύς/yereýs.) The rest of us just translate it “elder” or “presbyter.” So yeah, when liturgical churches read the bible, they read the qualifications for elders just a bit differently than we do; they’re looking for the critieria for priests.

But again: Every Christian is a priest. A new believer can anoint and heal a sick person, same as any elder. God can use anybody, y’know.

Still, whenever we’re sick, and want a fellow Christian to pray for us, whom do we usually go to? Right you are: An elder. A mature Christian. Not some newbie, who doesn’t yet have the hang of hearing the Holy Spirit; not some longtimer who lacks spiritual maturity. We want someone whom we know can minister properly. Some Christians won’t permit anybody to minister to ’em but an elder; and in many cases they only want the senior pastor of their church, ’cause they’re sure that guy knows God. (Hopefully so!)

That’s why, when a newbie comes running to the front of the church, hoping to preach a little something, they’re not automatically gonna get the microphone. We tend to keep priestly functions in the elders’ hands. We permit newbies to do it only under an elder’s supervision and training.

Or, of course, when there’s absolutely no one else available. Or, let’s be honest, when they’re the pastors’ kids. Or when nobody else knows how to play the piano so well. Or when they’re interns who’ve been really good at hiding their hypocrisy whenever the grown-ups are around. Let’s be honest; we’ve got a few cracks in the system. But generally we’ve screened people before they minister as priests.

Oh yeah: I should mention many of the same Christians who claim presvýteros means “priest,” never ever translate πρεσβυτέρας/presvytéras, “elder women,” 1Ti 5.2 as “priestesses.” Relax. I’ll get to that.

False knowledge, and how it’s confused with faith.

There are plenty of people who “just know” things.

And man alive, are they frustrating. Y’see, they can’t tell you why they know what they do. They don’t know where they got their knowledge, nor what it’s based on. Not that it matters where they got it: They believe it. You can’t tell them any different.

But they’re wrong. It’s false knowledge.

I’ll tell people something they’ve not heard before, and they’ll respond—whether in Sunday school, my classrooms, or the workplace—

THEY. “Why, what you’re saying can’t be true, for I know different.”

ME. [patiently] “Well your knowledge is wrong. Relax; we’re all wrong sometimes.”

THEY. “Nope; can’t be. I know this.”

ME. “Okay, maybe I’m wrong. So prove your case. Show me why you’re right.”

THEY. “Don’t need to. I know I’m right.”

Every once in a while they’ll really try to prove their case. Turns out there’s a thousand holes in their reasoning. Easy to see, easy to chip away at. But they can’t see the holes. And don’t really care there are holes; it doesn’t matter if they prove their point; they know they’re right.

It’s not that they actually believe what they do for logical reasons. Humans aren’t logical. We believe what we do because we find it convenient to believe it. Helps when it’s actually true. But even when it’s not, people will push aside all evidence to the contrary, grasp at any evidence they can find in their favor, and believe what they please anyway.

Certain Christian apologists call this behavior “postmodernism.” It’s not. (If anything, postmoderns are frequently the ones demanding, “Prove it.”) Not that postmoderns aren’t just as guilty of this behavior: Everybody does it. Moderns, postmoderns, everyone. It’s not a worldview thing, not a cultural thing, not a political thing, not even a sin thing. It’s a human thing. We’re comfortable with our beliefs, and don’t wanna change ’em, even if there’s plenty of evidence to the contrary. Change is too inconvenient.

I had to be trained to not think this way. First journalism school, then seminary: We were taught to question everything. Everything. My first journalism professor was fond of saying, “If your mother tells you she loves you, check it out!” Which sounds ridiculous at first… but you do realize there are a lot of dysfunctional mothers out there, who have very distorted definitions of love. Turns out she might not love you; whatever she’s feeling is neither khecéd nor fílos and agápi. Shouldn’t have presumed; now you see why your relationship is so f----d up.

There are naturally skeptical people who automatically question everything. Or so it appears; there are certain beliefs they take for granted, and you’ll find ’em once you drill down far enough. They might be nihilistic about a lot of things, but at their core they’re pretty sure they’re right about a number of things. Cogito ergo sum, at least.

But more often people are comfortable with the knowledge they believe they have, and are willing to trust it. Their minds are made up. Doesn’t matter which way the evidence points: There’s no higher authority than their minds.

It’s why people refuse to believe in climate change, or in an ancient earth, or insist humans are inherently good (regardless of our obvious depravity). Conversely it’s also why people believe in connect-the-dots theories and conspiracies. And it doesn’t matter how much evidence we have of a screw loose in their reasoning: They’re right. They know so. Can’t tell ’em otherwise.

In 2005 Stephen Colbert famously labeled this phenomenon as truthiness—that people believe what they do because they feel it’s true, rather than know it’s true. (And to a large degree it’s also because they feel it’s true; these “facts” are possessions or creations of theirs, so there’s a lot of selfishness bundled with ’em.)

True, false knowledge has a lot of similarities to truthiness. But unlike truthiness, it’s usually borne from apathy. People believe as they do because change and repentance take more effort than they care to spend.

It’s like fact-checking a headstone. My grandfather’s headstone actually has his first and middle names reversed. But nobody bothered to spend the money to fix it. And nobody’s gonna. Cemetery records, and eventually genealogies, are gonna have his names flipped for ages to come, all because nobody cares enough to fix the error. False knowledge has just this kind of effect on real knowledge… and often a much bigger impact.

So yeah: Truthiness has a lot of feelings involved in its practice and propagation. False knowledge has no such feelings. Gets propagated all the same.

God doesn’t owe us anything for fasting.

I’ve pointed out fasting is a great way to focus our attention on God so we can pray better, hear him better, and develop our self-control.

But no, I don’t guarantee you’ll grow in all these ways when you fast.

All things being equal, you probably will. But as you know, there are lots of ways people can bollix our own growth. If we’re fasting, yet the rest of our lives are just as sinful as ever, why should we expect anything to change whatsoever? And yet Christians do: “I’m fasting! That should count for something.”

The Hebrews did it too, y’know. They’d fast, then make prayer requests ’cause they believed fasting would show the LORD they were serious, and it’d move him a little faster. It’s why Jehoshaphat told Jerusalem to fast so God might rescue them from invaders, 2Ch 20.3 and why Esther asked the Persian Jews to fast before she petitioned the king. Es 4.16 But because God acted on the petitioners’ behalf in these stories, Christians get the idea fasting always makes God move. They’ll claim this is “the biblical principle of fasting”: If you fast, God’ll answer prayer, and give you revelations.

But no it’s not a “biblical principle.” The idea that fasting always makes God move, is based on works righteousness, the idea God we can earn God’s favor through good deeds and acts of devotion. So if we’re good, God supposedly owes us one; if we’re super good God owes us a lot. And supposedly religious acts and rituals can cancel out any evil deeds: If I’m stealing from my workplace’s cash drawer, saying a few hundred Hail Marys oughta work it off, right? What’s the going exchange rate, a buck per hail?

In reality there is no biblical principle of fasting. Because in the bible, the LORD never commanded anyone to fast. Ever. The bible contains no teachings about what fasting does, why it’s important, and how often we oughta do it. The one teaching it does have on fasting is when Jesus tells us to not be hypocrites about it, and do it privately instead of publicly. Mt 6.16-18 The rest of Christianity’s teachings on fasting come from tradition: From fellow Christians’ experiences with fasting, and how it benefited them; and how it personally benefited us when we tried it.

But anyone who claims fasting unlocks God’s promises, and now he owes us stuff: They didn’t get that from bible. They got it from a corrupt Christian tradition, if anything. It’s not so. God owes us nothing. His kingdom runs on grace, not quid pro quo. He grants us grace and prayer requests and revelations because he loves us, not because we racked up enough heavenly frequent flyer miles to get a trip to Belize.

He tends to grant these things to active followers, not because we’re actively following, but because what good would they be in the hands of people who aren’t actively following? Such people will just squander his gifts, and be of little to no help to his kingdom. It’s not merit; it’s pragmatism.

So when we fast, is God obligated to do more for us than usual? Not at all. He tends to, but that’s only because Christians who fast, tend to love Jesus and follow him otherwise.