A “servant heart.”

SERVANT HEART 'sərv.ənt hɑrt noun. Or servant’s heart: The humble attitude one expects to find in someone who is beneath them.

One of the complements we Christians pay one another is to describe someone as having a “servant heart” or “servant’s heart.” Meaning they’re happy to serve.

Ever been to a restaurant where the service was just fantastic? Your waiter was immediately available when you wanted her, and stepped away whenever you didn’t. She took your orders, and made useful suggestions to make your meal better. She brought you everything you wanted—sometimes before you even knew you wanted it!—and brought extra, just in case. She kept the drinks filled and plates cleared. And, believe it or not, wasn’t doing this for a tip (though you absolutely should tip such people), but because she wanted you to have a good time, and was happy to do whatever it took to create it.

Or perhaps you’ve been to a store where the clerks show you just what you’re looking for, offer you a discount you weren’t expecting, and accomodate all your needs and then some. Or hired a contractor and she finished the job early, under budget, using the best materials, expertly done. Or a housecleaner who does likewise.

And these people don’t undermine you, don’t say horrible things about you when your back is turned, don’t grumble the whole time about how they hate their jobs, don’t do shoddy work or try to slip you a defective product, and don’t demand extra pay or extra tips or five-star reviews regardless of how lousy a job they did. I’ve seen way too many people who expect praise for the least amount of effort, who are clearly not meant to be in the service industry… but unfortunately they lack the humility to do anything else, which is why there are way too many of ’em in the service industry. But enough about them.

Jesus taught his Twelve, and all the rest of us Christians, this:

Mark 10.42-45 NLT

42B “You know that the rulers in this world lord it over their people, and officials flaunt their authority over those under them. 43 But among you it will be different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, 44 and whoever wants to be first among you must be the slave of everyone else. 45 For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve others and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

If you wanna be great in God’s kingdom, it doesn’t work like the world’s kingdoms—with people jockeying for position, and making their subjects show them honor. That, Jesus says, is not for us. It’s not the leadership style he himself models. Our Lord came to serve humanity. Still does. And when he rules the world in person, he’s still gonna be that way; don’t get any weird ideas that everything Jesus teaches goes out the window once he’s in power. He’s still gonna be our example of the very best of servants.

So it’s a trait every Christian needs to develop, and it’s valid and high praise when someone in the church already has that trait.

Test every prophet.

Every Christian can hear God. (If we listen. Not all of us do, or know how to, or even know to. That’s another article.) And if God gives us something to share with another person, that’s prophecy. It’s not a complicated concept. Every Christian can potentially be a prophet.

No, not specially-anointed individuals who’ve been assigned that specific ministry office by the Holy Spirit. Those folks might be professional prophets, but that doesn’t mean other people can’t do prophecy. Same as monks, and people who run prayer ministries, might be professional petitioners, but every Christian should pray. God doesn’t put limits on who can do what in his church. We do—and shouldn’t.

That said, anybody—literally anybody—can come up to you and say, “God told me to tell you [SOMETHING THEY THINK IMPORTANT].” Or sometimes they’ll go full KJV hairy thunderer and start it with “Thus saith the LORD,” but it’s the same general idea: God told ’em to tell you something.

Well they think God told ’em to tell you something.

Or they don’t think God told ’em anything, because he didn’t, and they’re phonies. Anything real can be faked, especially for personal gain. So of course there are fake prophets, and Jesus tells us to watch out for them. They’ll lead us astray, for fun and profit.

In bible times you could drag them out of town, throw them off a cliff, and throw heavy rocks down on their bodies. And if we could still legally do that, we’d have way fewer televangelists. But we can’t, and that’s probably best. There are a lot of newbie prophets who are just getting the hang of their ability, and they’re making mistakes. Sometimes they’re just plain wrong. We need to be gracious to these people, and get ’em to stop playing prophet till their accuracy rate is the appropriate 100 percent.

And even when they have a 100 percent accuracy rate, they could always slip up. God told ’em one thing, but they put their own spin on his message and said way more than they should have, and bungled the prophecy. It happens. Especially when certain Christians get overconfident, or when politics gets involved. (That’s likewise another article.) That’s why Jesus, the apostles, and the prophets of the bible, tell us to watch out. Every Christian is wrong in one way or another, and we’re supposed to double-check one another anyway. True of prophecy as well.

So here’s how to watch out for fake prophets. And if you wanna dabble in prophecy yourself, you’d better make sure you share the traits of a legitimate prophet.

A very short dinner with Jesus in Emmaus.

Luke 24.28-35.

Last week I wrote about Jesus meeting two of his followers enroute to Emmaus; most likely Emmaus Nicopolis, and most likely the followers were Jesus’s uncle Cleopas and cousin Simon. They didn’t recognize him, partly ’cause they were almost certain he was dead, partly ’cause he was unrecognizable; either veiled, or resurrection had changed what he looked like. If he now had white hair Rv 1.14 instead of the more common black, he might look very different.

They told him they expected Jesus the Nazarene to be Israel’s redeemer, but he was arrested and crucified. Lk 24.19-21 He told them Messiah was supposed to go through these things, and explained how the scriptures said so. Lk 24.26-27 They had a nice long walk ahead of them, so he had a few hours to go into great detail, although Luke doesn’t get into that. But after they reached Emmaus, this happened.

Luke 24.28-35 KWL

28 They come near the village where they’re going,

and Jesus makes like he’s going to go on further.

29 The students force Jesus to come with them, saying,

“Stay with us, for it’s near evening and the day’s already over.”

So he goes into the village and stays with them.

30 It happens while Jesus reclines with the students at dinner:

Taking the bread, he blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them.

31 The students’ eyes are opened, and they recognize Jesus

—and he becomes invisible to them.

32 The students tell one another, “Weren’t our hearts burning within us

when he was speaking to us on the road?

when he was opening up the scriptures to us?”

33 Rising up that same hour, the students return to Jerusalem.

They find the Eleven and those with them, having gathered together,

34 and are saying this: “The Master is risen indeed,

and appeared to Simon!”

35 The students are telling the other students

what happened on the road,

and when they recognized Jesus in the breaking of bread.

Every once in a while, some Christian balks at when Jesus προσεποιήσατο πορρώτερον πορεύεσθαι/prosepiísato porróteron porévesthe, “makes like he’s going to go on further,” which also gets translated as “acted” or “pretended” or “gave the impression.” They don’t like the idea Jesus behaved as if he was gonna do one thing, when really he was gonna do another. It strikes them as deceptive.

First of all, why wasn’t Jesus gonna go further? You recall in Matthew the angels, and soon after Jesus himself, told the women, “Tell the boys I’ll see them in the Galilee”? Mt 28.7, 10 He might’ve been headed for the Galilee right then for all we know.

But circumstances change. The students παρεβιάσαντο αὐτὸν/pareviásanto aftón, “force him” (or “urge him,” or “compel him”) to come home with them, and he changed his mind. You do realize Jesus can change his mind, right? He doesn’t have a foreordained cosmic plan which he’s obligated to rigidly, deterministically follow. If he did… then yeah, making like he’s going on without them when he really predestined they’d invite him to stay with them, is pure deception on his part. And every single other instance in the bible in which God changes his mind—in which Moses, David, Hezekiah, Ezekiel, Amos, and dozens of other folks talk him out of doing what he totally just said he was gonna do—is playacting. Pretense. Or to use the ancient Greek word for it, ὑπόκρισις/ypókrisis, from which we get our word hypocrisy.

I should also add Jesus has every right to test his followers; to tell them he’s gonna do one thing, but what he’s hoping is they’ll talk him out of it so he doesn’t have to do that. Just like when the LORD told the Hebrews that if they didn’t follow his Law, they’d be cursed. He didn’t wanna curse them! He didn’t wanna do any of that stuff to them. He wanted ’em to repent! But they failed his test. And if Jesus was just testing his students, to see whether they’d invite him into town, they passed—but he wasn’t kidding about going onwards. If they didn’t invite him into town, he’d just go somewhere else. (In fact, when he vanishes on them in verse 31, that might be where he vanished to; either way, that’s where he was going.)

Being an influencer.

No, I’m not writing about me being an influencer. I don’t wanna be. I know that sounds weird coming from a blogger, ’cause isn’t that why people blog? To get followers, and maybe nudge ’em in the direction of your thinking? (Or in the direction of your advertisers?)

And yeah, I’ve been writing op/ed pieces ever since high school, so I do frequently write with the hopes I might nudge people’s opinions in the same direction as mine. But I learned long, long ago that opinion pieces don’t actually do that. People never think, “Well gee, I don’t know what to think about this subject… so I guess I’ll go read a few articles by some strident partisans, and whoever’s got the best argument will win me over.” Never. Don’t kid yourself.

Generally they already have a trusted guru who tells them what to think. So they already unquestioningly think like she or he does, and anybody who says different is just plain wrong. Or they’re waiting for the guru to descend from the mountaintop with freshly-carved tablets, and refuse to make up their minds till then. Your average influencer dreams of being one of those gurus someday.

Or, on the other extreme, people don’t care. I’ve found that to be way more common. Pure, blistering apathy. They have other things they care about, like football. Or who’s winning Wrestlemania this year.

So why am I writing? Because I wanna talk about following Jesus better. I wanna be part of the support system for other people who wanna follow Jesus better. You can take my advice, or not; you can take other writers’ advice, or not. Either way, if you’re gonna follow anyone, follow Jesus. If you want to be influenced by anyone, let the Holy Spirit do it. Do what God wants you to do, as best you can figure out. The rest of us bloggers and podcasters and pundits?—either we help or hinder, either we produce good fruit or we’re just venting our spleens. And by all means, ignore the folks who hinder!

But you shouldn’t be elevating any one Christian, or even a team of Christians, to the status of guru. We have one guru. Or as Jesus puts it,

Matthew 23.1-12 (my paraphrase)

1 Then Jesus says to the crowds and his students:

2 “The ‘bible experts’ and the ‘devout Christians’ stand in the pulpit 3 hoping you do and observe whatever they might say. But don’t do as they do. They don’t practice as they preach.

4 “They strap heavy, hard-to-carry burdens on people’s shoulders. But they would never lift a finger to carry such things themselves. 5 All they do is for public spectacle. Obvious, showy Christian hats and T-shirts. Stylish Sunday-morning outfits. 6 They love being guests of honor at your dinners. They love to sit on the stage in your services. 7 They love to be greeted in public, and have people call them ‘the master.’

8 “You should not be called masters, for one is the Master, and all of you are sister and brother students. 9 You should not call anyone in the world ‘my spiritual father,’ for one is the Father, in heaven. 10 You should not call anyone ‘my spiritual guru,’ for one is the Guru, the Messiah.

11 “The best of you will be your servant. 12 Whoever promotes themselves will be taken back down to earth. Whoever themselves stays down to earth, will be promoted!”

You wanna be an influencer? You’re on the wrong track.

The 13 tribes of Israel. (Yes, 13. I didn’t miscount.)

The Old Testament tends to focus on the history of Israel, by which it means the descendants of Jacob ben Isaac, whom a man—probably an angel—renamed Israel after their wrestling match. Ge 32.28 Jacob’s descendants are regularly called בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל/benéi Yišraél, “children of Israel” (KJV “sons of Israel”). Ex 1.1

Jacob had 12 sons through four different women, and all the “children of Israel” are descended from these sons. These sons are also known as “the 12 tribes of Israel,” each tribe named for each son. In English, the sons are

• Sons of Leah: Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, Zebulun. Ge 35.23
• Sons of Rachel: Joseph, Benjamin. Ge 35.24
• Sons of Bilhah: Dan, Naphtali. Ge 35.25
• Sons of Zilpah: Gad, Asher. Ge 35.26

They’re listed in various orders, but Reuben, the firstborn, tends to come first. However, Israel reassigned the birthright—the patriarchal obligations of the eldest son to care for the family after his father died, represented by a double portion of inheritance—to his favorite son, Rachel’s eldest son, Joseph.

Because of Joseph’s double portion, he’s represented by two tribes, named for Joseph’s sons Manasseh and Ephraim. They’re the tribes of Joseph. And you’ll notice Joseph is seldom called a tribe… unless you count that one time in Revelation, Rv 7.8 in which “Joseph” probably stands in for Ephraim, ’cause Manasseh got listed two verses before. Rv 7.6 Anyway. Manasseh is sometimes called a “half tribe,” Js 13.29 not because Manasseh is half of Joseph, but because half of Manasseh’s land was east of the Jordan river, and half west. And since Israel put Joseph’s younger son Ephraim first, Ge 48.17-20 precedence passed to that tribe. The Prophets regularly refer to northern Israel as “Ephraim” for this reason. Is 7.9, 11.13, Jr 31.20, Ho 5.3, 7.8, Zc 9.13

Twelve sons, but one of them is represented by two tribes, actually produces 13 tribes. Which I’ll list alphabetically:

1. Asher.
2. Benjamin.
3. Dan.
4. Ephraim.
5. Gad.
6. Issachar.
7. Judah.
8. Levi.
9. Manasseh.
10. Naphtali.
11. Reuben.
12. Simeon.
13. Zebulun.

So why aren’t they called 13 tribes? Two reasons.

First and foremost: The writers of the bible, and probably God too, really like the number 12. The ancient Sumerians divided the year into 12 months, marked ’em with the zodiac (whatever constellation is highest in the sky at night), and throughout middle eastern culture 12 became the number of completeness, fulfillment, unity, and perfection. Thirteen? Not so much. Not that it’s unlucky; that superstition came from the Romans. But middle easterners liked 12 way better than 13 or 11.

Plus the LORD turned the entire tribe of Levi into a special priestly caste. He gave them “no inheritance”—that is, no land apart from 48 cities. Js 21 Instead of land, Moses explained, the LORD was their inheritance, Js 13.33 meaning whenever people brought food and animals to the LORD as offerings and ritual sacrifices, the Levites, in their capacity as the LORD’s priests, got to eat ’em. Dt 18.1 So they shouldn’t actually need any land for farming and ranching.

So geographically, there are only 12 tribes. Thirteen tracts of land (remember, Manasseh had land on either side of the river—yep, there’s a 13 again), designated for the 12 people-groups descended from Israel. The Levite cities were scattered all over these tribes, and really anybody could live in the cities, not just Levites. Particularly in the larger cities, like Hebron, Shechem, or Ramoth-Gilead.

Wanna become a prophet?

There are two really common misconceptions about the word “prophet.” One’s a minor problem; the other’s huge. Small problem first: What a prophet actually is.

Loads of people assume prophets are the same thing as prognosticators: People who know the future, or who can predict it really well. Pagans think this, which is why they treat prophecy like just another category of psychic phenomena. And cessationists think the very same way—to them, “prophecy” is future-telling, and it’s either bunk, like astrology or fortune-telling… or it’s the real thing, but it only has to do with the End Times. It’s why all their “prophecy conferences” consist of End Times goofiness instead of actual prophets talking shop.

True, God talks about the future a lot. Be fair; so do we all. “That’s on my schedule for tomorrow,” or “I’ll do that in the morning,” or “Can’t wait till Saturday.” Like us, God either talks about what he’s gonna do in the near future, or the soon-coming consequences of poor choices: “Stop doing that; you’ll go blind.” But since the future comes up so often in our discussions with him, people assume prophecy is mostly about foretelling the future.

In fact one of the ways we test prophets is by seeing whether any of their statements about the future come true. Dt 18.22 And by that metric, we should probably stone to death most of the people who hold those “prophecy conferences.” But I digress.

A prophet is not a prognosticator. A prophet is simply God’s mouthpiece: Someone who heard God, and is sharing with others what God told ’em. That’s all.

When you pray—you do pray, right?—and God speaks back to you, usually it’s information for you. And sometimes it’s information for others. “Remind your husband I love him.” Or “Warn your daughter her so-called friend is gossiping about her.” Or “See that guy at the bus stop? Wave hi.” Or “I have just one word for your father-in-law: Plastics.” Whatever messages God wants us to pass along to others, that’s a prophecy. When you pass ’em, you’re a prophet.

Thought you needed some Isaiah-style vision, with seraphs and thrones and God calling you to the job? Nah. It’s been known to happen. But it’s far more common God’ll just tell you something, and see how you do with it. And if you do well, he’ll do it more often. And if you don’t, he won’t.

Anti-theology: How’s it working for you?

If you’re the sort of person who groans inwardly whenever I write yet another one of these theology articles, you’re likely anti-theology: You consider theology to be useless speculation about who God is, and about how salvation works, and you wish Christians would just stop it with all the guesswork. Get to the practical stuff!

Which practical stuff? Depends on the Christian.

• We got the sort who thinks Christianity is meant to soothe people. Agitated because you’re not sure God loves you?—relax; he does. Agitated because of some deficiency you think you have?—relax; God’ll fix that or cure you. Agitated because you’re not sure you’re going to heaven?—relax; you are. Agitated because the world is crap?—relax; Jesus is returning.
• We got the sort who thinks Christianity’s primary job is to denounce sin. Loudly. Angrily. Because we gotta warn sinners away from hellfire! We gotta tell them hell is real, and they’re going there unless they repent! If we don’t do something about the sin, God’s gonna smite America with tornadoes and atmospheric rivers and plague and critical race theory! I forget which of the horseman that was, but it’s one of them.
• We got the sort who thinks Christianity is meant to make us blessed and highly favored, and wealthy. Who thinks we learn the secrets of prayer, God will answer every request with yes and amen, and we’ll get everything we ever wished for, like Aladdin’s genie but with infinite wishes. Pity nobody seems to know the secrets of prayer but Pastor, whom God gave the mansion and the Gulfstream jets. Maybe if we give him money he’ll clue us in.
• We got the sort who covet power, and heard the Holy Spirit grants supernatural gifts to Christians, so they want some. How do we activate these gifts? How can we become prophets, or faith-healers, or do mighty miracles? How can we get a revival started in our churches, and use it to boost our attendance, boost donations, and finally afford some of the things our churches have always wanted to buy? Let’s get a swimming pool!—we can use it for baptisms and youth group pool parties!
• We got the sort who thinks Christianity is meant to take over our country like its Founders always intended, and the reason they go to church is to network with fellow party members. Shh, don’t tell the IRS that’s what we’re really up to. And don’t tell the FBI, lest they find the stash of guns in the basement. If the guns make you anxious, don’t be!—they’re for the End Times.
• We got the sort who wants to know which current events are actually part of the End Times. They want our preachers to start interpreting the news this way. They wanna know whether the rapture’s coming, and how soon. They wanna know who the Beast is. (But don’t you dare tell ’em it’s Donald Trump. It’s not. Though yeah, he frequently acts beastlike.)
• And we got the sort who just wants to be left alone. They just wanna go to church, sing nice songs, hear nice sermons, take holy communion, and be under no obligations whatsoever to do anything further. Don’t have to donate money; rich people can fund the church without ’em. Don’t have to share Jesus with their neighbors; they can mass-mail flyers. Don’t have to change their lives at all. Salvation’s a free gift, after all.

And so forth. I used to attend a church which regularly held self-improvement classes of all sorts: How to improve your marriage. How to handle your finances better. How to rein in your out-of-control kids. (More spanking, apparently.) How to deal with the Jehovah’s Witnesses when they came to your door. All these classes were supposedly based on “biblical principles”… and yeah, some of these principles were acquired in some very iffy ways. But people really appreciated these classes. Self-help books are really popular with just about everyone, y’know… and whenever you Christianize them, Christians just love them.

So yeah, many a Christian would much rather have that than theology. Certainly much rather I blog about that than theology.

But how do you know I’m even giving you good advice? How do you know I’m not just taking the same old philosophy you find among pagans, slapping Christian labels all over it, and pretending it’s biblical? You know, like Christian counselors who paste Christian stickers over Freudian psychology of the self, and tell people the id body, ego soul, and superego spirit are how God actually created us to think. Or like when John Eldredge took the Mythopoetic Men’s Movement, added a bunch of bible stories and verses, and tells men it’s right and biblical to indulge their fleshly human impulses to be sexist and bossy… and kinda toxic.

How do you know I’m not just leading you utterly astray with my “proper Christian worldview”?

Didja guess I was gonna answer “Theology”? Goody!

Fruitless theology.

If Christian theology doesn’t produce good fruit, it’s either worthless or wrong.

Felt I’d better not bury the lede. Because, sad to say, Christian theologians too often go the fruitless route. And that’s why so many Christians dismiss theology as irrelevant, as nothing but a bunch of philosophers trying to reduce the Christian life to a bunch of navel-gazing theories which have no practical use. In the hands of fleshly Christians, that’s precisely what it becomes.

I was reminded of this recently, ’cause I read a dialogue between two Christians debating politics. (If you really wanna suck all the Jesus out of Christianity, watch Christians debate politics sometime. Better yet, don’t.) These guys didn’t just condemn one another’s beliefs; they condemned one another. Full-on ad hominem attacks. Both accusing one another of being depraved, selfish individuals; the conservative claiming the liberal only wanted the freedom to sin, and the liberal accusing the conservative of lacking God’s love for humanity. As conservatives and liberals usually do.

I wrote on this same subject years ago for another blog; at the time it was a debate between a Calvinist and a Catholic. Again, personal attacks instead of substance. Both of them felt they were right, and it justified them punching away at one another.

It’s typical depraved human nature. But it drags Christianity, and Christian theology, through the mud.

“Mortal sins”: Sins which send you to hell?

Quoting from John’s first letter:

1 John 5.15-17 KJV

15 And if we know that he hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him. 16 If any man see his brother sin a sin which is not unto death, he shall ask, and he shall give him life for them that sin not unto death. There is a sin unto death: I do not say that he shall pray for it. 17 All unrighteousness is sin: and there is a sin not unto death.

This passage has managed to confuse an awful lot of Christians. What’s John mean by ἁμαρτάνουσιν πρὸς θάνατον/amartánusin pros thánaton, “sinning unto death”? Or “a sin not unto death”?

Both Paul and James wrote that sin causes death. “The wages of sin is death” Ro 6.23 and “sin when it is fully grown brings forth death” Jm 1.15 and all that. They weren’t just speaking of those sins which obviously cause death, like murder and suicide and abortion; nor those sins which indirectly but still kinda obviously cause death, like gluttony or addictions or other lapses of self-control. Popular Christian thinking is that all our sins contribute to the decay, and eventual end, of our lives. Sin is a cancer which eats away at our lives until they finally but inevitably end. And even if we resist temptation—even if we could be as sinless as Christ Jesus—sin is so toxic other people’s sins will kill us, same as they did Jesus.

But when Christians read John’s passage about sinning to death (KJV “sin unto death”) what we tend to think of is the Roman Catholic idea of a peccatum mortale, mortal sin—a sin which is so offensive to God, committing it the same as apostasy: We effectively just told God “I’m not following Jesus; I prefer hell.”

Now, Catholics believe—same as most Evangelicals, including me—God can and does forgive all. If you commit a mortal sin, you don’t have to end up in hell; you can repent. So do! Murder may be a mortal sin, but Moses murdered an Egyptian slaveowner, David murdered Uriah, and Paul probably murdered Christians before he became one; all of ’em repented. (Well, maybe Moses repented. Bible doesn’t say.) But if you never repent—if you murdered someone, and if you could redo everything, would totally murder ’em again—Catholics are entirely sure you’re going to hell. Because a real Christian would realize they were wrong, feel sorry for it, and be repentant.

How do Catholics determine what’s a mortal sin, and what’s a non-mortal (i.e. easily forgivable, dismissible, venial sin)? Usually it’s by degree. If popular Christian culture considers it especially bad, and enough Catholic leaders and theologians have denounced it as something that’d particularly get in the way of our relationship with God—if it’s a serious violation of his will—it’d be a mortal sin. It’s not that venial sins don’t degrade our relationship with God, especially when we continually commit ’em. But mortal sins are figured to have effectively broken it off immediately.

You want a list? Most people who ask me about this want a list. Here ya go.

• APOSTASY, obviously. Quitting Jesus definitely won’t get you into his kingdom.
• ADULTERY. Not as the Old Testament describes it, i.e. sex with women outside your patriarchal fiefdom, whereas any non-relatives within your fiefdom are fair game. Nope, Catholics define this as any non-marital sexual activity. Which includes divorce, homosexuality, incest, masturbation, polygamy, porn, prostitution, and rape.
• ANGER, ENVY AND HATRED. Particularly to a degree where people take harmful action, like terrorism.
• BLASPHEMY, by which they mean disrespecting God, not just slander against God. So this’d include using God’s name as a profanity, sacrilege, and skipping Mass.
• CHEATING AND FRAUD. Unless we’re talking harmless frauds like pranks, this refers to anything which harms others, like unfair bets, stuff which endangers others’ lives, injustice, lying, perjury, unfair wages, unjust prices, or oppressive interest rates.
• HERESY. Teaching other than, or sowing doubts in, what Christians oughta believe. This includes encouraging people to defy church leadership, church splits, idolatry, simony, sorcery, and trying to be simultaneously Catholic and another religion. Catholics also include Freemasonry—in part ’cause Masons have historically been anti-Catholic, and in part ’cause Masonic rituals like to dabble in pagan, magic, and Muslim iconography, which creeps Catholics out.
• MURDER of various sorts; anything which intentionally kills another person. This’d include abortion, euthanasia, and suicide. Catholics also include contraception.
• SUBORNATION, i.e. getting someone to sin for you, or otherwise encouraging another person’s sins and vices. Likewise gossip, scandal-mongering, or other such things which nudge others the wrong way.

All these things are forbidden, or implied to be forbidden, in the scriptures. You notice many of ’em are taken from the Ten Commandments. So obviously we should resist any temptation to slide into ’em.

Does sin undo our salvation?

The big problem with the idea of mortal sins, is its logical conclusion: If certain sins cut us off from God’s grace, and we never repent, nor have the chance or means to repent… it means if we die with a mortal sin on our souls, we’re not saved. We’re not forgiven, not getting into God’s kingdom, not getting eternal life. Sin unsaves us.

Is that how God’s grace works? No. But Catholics have a slightly different idea of how grace works.

As Evangelicals like me understand it, grace is God’s generous attitude towards his people. That’s why it’s unlimited, just like its giver. But lots of people treat grace as a substance, a liquid God pours out on us, a pixie dust he sprinkles upon us, or a blanket he covers us with; an object not an attitude. And if it’s a substance, it’s a finite substance: It’s not unlimited. There’s only so much of it God’s printed out, and gonna distribute to people. So don’t push him!—or he’ll favor someone else.

For Catholics, God gives people all sorts of grace, in all sorts of ways. But he particularly grants us grace through his sacraments. That’s why we gotta do them! Go to church and have holy communion every week—every day if possible—because you need to stay connected to Jesus, and that’s the easiest way to do it. And in response God will dole out more grace. So if you’re feeling low on grace, go to church!

Now yeah, if you go to church you’re certainly gonna notice God’s grace a lot more than in most places. But God’s grace isn’t something he only grants when people are religious. On the contrary: God’s grace is all the more for people who aren’t religious. Sinners can’t be saved unless God finds us, comes and gets us, forgives us, and brings us into his kingdom! And does God go and get ’em because they go to church and participate in sacraments? Nope; he went and got us because he loves us. Loved us before we made any effort to follow him; loved us before we repented of our awful, sinful behavior; loved us before we even knew we needed grace. Loves us in spite of many of us not entirely understanding what grace is.

Loves us in spite of those mortal sins. Wants to save us anyway. Isn’t giving up on us, but the Holy Spirit continues to prod us in the conscience so we’ll wise up and repent. That’s grace.

Romans 5.20-21 NABRE

20B …but, where sin increased, grace overflowed all the more, 21 so that, as sin reigned in death, grace also might reign through justification for eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.

So does sin, any sin, cut us off from grace and salvation? Only apostasy. Only intentionally quitting Jesus. Properly that’s how blasphemy of the Holy Spirit works—we deliberately cut himself off from him and his guidance, and refuse to follow him further. Rejecting God is the only way we “lose” his salvation. Which means we gotta mean to do it. It’s not accidental! You’re never gonna stumble into losing your salvation; you can only willfully reject it.

(Or, as is the case with pagans who believe they’re Christian, never have it to begin with. They still need to repent, and actually follow Jesus instead of only following the trappings of Christianity which they like best. But they merit their own article.)

So what’s John talking about?

If John didn’t mean to create this whole designation of “mortal sin,” describing sins that’d send us to hell as opposed to venial sins God can easily forgive, what was he really writing about? For that, we gotta look at John’s culture, not ancient Christian culture nor medieval Roman Catholic culture. John grew up Pharisee.

The Pharisees identified two categories of sin in the Law—all of which God forgives, but all of which still had consequences. For most of ’em, like killing a neighbor’s animal, the consequence was restitution for the sin against one’s neighbor, and ritual sacrifice for the sin against God. And for many of ’em, like killing a neighbor, the consequence was death.

Yep. That’s what John meant by “sinning to death”: Violations of the Law which merited the death penalty.

The United States has such laws too. Largely we’ve limited them to murder, terrorism, and treason. The Law in the scriptures executed people for stuff we’d never execute people over, like breaking Sabbath. Its list of mortal sins is a lot larger than the Catholics’ list—and includes much different things. Anger’s not a mortal sin in the Law. But these things are:

• Not properly penning an ox, so that it broke out and killed someone.
• Interfering with temple ritual, or the Levites and priests who do it.
• Priests being drunk on the job.
• Going to temple while ritually unclean.
• Kidnapping.
• Hitting or cursing your parents.
• Bestiality.
• False prophecy, promoting other gods, or spiritualism.

Stuff American culture won’t kill you over—but ancient cultures would and did. Whether you repented or not.

Naturally, many ancient Christians didn’t bother to study the Law, had a lot of biases against the things they considered sinful, and decided it wasn’t too huge of a leap between stuff which got you capital punishment, and things which might endanger your eternal life. Plus threatening people with hellfire goes a lot further when you’re trying to get ’em to stop sinning.

But yeah, it’s wrong. John wasn’t writing about stuff that might put you in hell. Just sins people commit which, in context, are serious crimes. Read it again; I translated it with this idea in mind.

1 John 5.15-17 KWL

15 Once we’ve known God hears us about whatever we may ask,

we’ve known we have the requests we ask of him.

16 When anyone sees their fellow Christian sinning a non-felonious sin,

they’ll ask, and God’ll give life to that person—

to those who commit non-felonious sin.

There’s felonious sin.

I say this so you’d ask, but not about that.

17 Everything immoral is sin—

and includes non-felonious sin.

If the sins they commit are things they really oughta go to prison for, like fraud and thievery and molestation, or even treason and murder, we can’t only pray about it, and figure that’s that. We need to get authorities involved. John wasn’t writing about felonious behavior, but sins between us and God, stuff where authorities don’t need to be involved, and hopefully we have the sense to know the difference.

And regardless of the sins, God can and will forgive all. So relax.

Meeting Jesus on the Emmaus road.

Luke 24.13-27.

Jesus’s resurrection happened the day after Passover. The Law required every able-bodied Israeli to go to Jerusalem for Passover and celebrate it there. Dt 16.16 That done, they could all go home, and that seems to be what two of Jesus’s students were doing in the Emmaus Road story: Going home. Passover was over, Jesus was (as far as they knew) dead, and while they heard from the women he was alive, they didn’t know what to do with this information… and it didn’t matter; they had stuff to do at home. So they were going home.

Emmaus is probably Emmaus Nicopolis. A number of Christians insist it can’t be, because Luke says Emmaus was 60 stadia from Jerusalem (i.e. 7 miles, 11km), and Emmaus Nicopolis is 161 stadia (15½ miles, 25km) away. Never mind Luke describes Emmaus as ἀπέχουσαν/apéhusan, “far off,” and 7 miles is not far off; you could run that in an hour.

Me, I think it’s far more likely some overzealous bible copyist incorrectly wrote ἑξήκοντα/exíkonta, “sixty,” instead of ἑκατὸν ἑξήκοντα/ekatón exíkonta, “hundred sixty,” and that error snuck into all our bibles. None of the other archaeological discoveries 60 stadia away from Jerusalem have been satisfactory. Meanwhile Christians for centuries have been claiming Emmaus Nicopolis is the place. Ancient Christians even built a church there over St. Cleopas’s house, which was still standing in Eusebius Pamphili’s time. (He was the bishop of Caesarea, Judea, from 314 to 339. He knew the area.) It’s not unreasonable to figure these guys could cover 161 stadia (i.e. 15½ miles, 25km) in a spring afternoon. That’s a five-hour walk… and, as it’ll come up later, a two-hour run.

I mentioned Cleopas ’cause Luke identifies Cleopas as one of the students in this story. Κλεόπας/Kleópas is a Greek name, the male equivalent of Cleopatra, meaning “glory to the father,” or in a Jew’s case “glory to the Father.” Eusebius identifies him as Jesus’s uncle, the brother of Joseph, and the father of Jesus’s cousin Simon, who later became the head of the Jerusalem church after Jesus’s brother James was killed. Since the Emmaus Road story ends with the statement, “The Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared to Simon,” Lk 24.34 KJV it may very well be that the other student in this story is this Simon—namely Jesus’s cousin Simon. Hey, they both lived in Emmaus.

So it’s kinda cool that Jesus’s uncle and cousin were both following him, and it makes sense that they’d be among the first people he appeared to. Let’s get to the first part of the story.

Luke 24.13-27 KWL

13 Look, two of the students, on the same day,

are going to a far-off village whose name is Emmaús,

60 stadia [7 miles, 11 km] from Jerusalem.

14 The students are talking with one another

about all the things which just happened.

15 It happens, during their animated conversation,

Jesus himself comes near, going with them.

16 The students’ eyesight isn’t strong;

they don’t know it’s Jesus.

17 Jesus tells them, “What are these words

you throw to one another as you’re walking?”

The students stand still, gloomy-looking.

18 In reply, one of the students, named Cleopas,

tells Jesus, “You alone visit Jerusalem,

and don’t know what happens in it these days?”

19 Jesus tells them, “What happened?”

The students tell him the events about Jesus the Nazarene.

How he’s a man—a prophet—

of mighty work and word before God and all the people.

20 How Jesus is betrayed to our head priests and rulers,

is sentenced to death, and they crucify him.

21 “And we were expecting that he’s Israel’s coming redeemer…

but regardless, it’s the third day after these things happened.

22 But certain women among us are confusing us:

Going to the sepulcher in the morning

23 and not finding Jesus’s body,

they come back speaking of seeing an angelic vision;

they say he’s alive.

24 Some who are with us, go to the sepulcher,

and find it’s just as the women say,

but we don’t see him.”

25 Jesus tells them, “Oh, you dummies.

Slow in your heart to trust all the prophets who speak.

26 Don’t these things have to be suffered by Messiah

to enter into his glory?”

27 And beginning with Moses and all the prophets,

Jesus expounds for them everything written about himself.

The first 12 apostles.

The word apostle means “one who’s been sent out.” We Christians use it to refer to anyone whom Jesus has sent to do something.

Really, anything. If Jesus sends you to Peets to go get him a coffee, that is—no foolin’—being his apostle. Now, once you’re done, are you still an apostle? Well, that’s debatable… and usually debated vigorously by all the people whom Jesus sent on one mission or another, who now include “apostle” among their titles, and even make it part of their screen names on social media. (He’s not just “Maximilián Bernardi” on Facebook; he’s “Apostle Maximilián Bernardi.” As far as Facebook knows, his full first name is “Apostle Maximilián.” Imagine if gas station attendants did this. But I digress.)

I know; some churches insist the only apostles are the 12 guys Jesus designated when he walked the earth—with a special exception made for Paul, ’cause Jesus appeared to him special. I’d point out Jesus still appears to people special, and can therefore send any one of us to do anything he chooses. So yeah, he still makes apostles. But the first 12 guys are special, ’cause they’re the guys Jesus used to start his church.

As for why he picked ’em, we have to read this bit first, which makes it kinda obvious:

Mark 3.7-12 NET

7 Then Jesus went away with his disciples to the sea, and a great multitude from Galilee followed him. And from Judea, 8 Jerusalem, Idumea, beyond the Jordan River, and around Tyre and Sidon a great multitude came to him when they heard about the things he had done. 9 Because of the crowd, he told his disciples to have a small boat ready for him so the crowd would not press toward him. 10 For he had healed many, so that all who were afflicted with diseases pressed toward him in order to touch him. 11 And whenever the unclean spirits saw him, they fell down before him and cried out, “You are the Son of God.” 12 But he sternly ordered them not to make him known.

For those who can’t see the obvious: Jesus was busy. This was a massive ministry he had undertaken. And though he’s Jesus, he’s still just one man; he needed help! He needed apprentices. So he picked 12 of his best students.

Mark 3.13-15 NET

13 Now Jesus went up the mountain and called for those he wanted, and they came to him. 14 He appointed twelve so that they would be with him and he could send them to preach 15 and to have authority to cast out demons.

Matthew makes it sound like these were his only students, and maybe they were at the time.

Matthew 10.1 NET

Jesus called his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits so they could cast them out and heal every kind of disease and sickness.

But Luke indicates they were among his students.

Luke 6.12-13 NET

12 Now it was during this time that Jesus went out to the mountain to pray, and he spent all night in prayer to God. 13 When morning came, he called his disciples and chose twelve of them, whom he also named apostles…

 

Luke 9.1-2 NET

1 After Jesus called the twelve together, he gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, 2 and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal the sick.

Jesus chose students to do this, and all his apostles—including present-day apostles—are still his students. Still gotta learn from the Master. But what makes ’em apostles is Jesus designated and sent them to do stuff.

Namely the very same things Jesus did. The same things the crowds were swarming Jesus to get: Cure diseases, drive out their demons, and tell ’em about God’s kingdom. Whenever someone barged into Jesus’s lessons because they had a sick relative, the idea was an apostle could handle it, and our Lord didn’t need to be interrupted unless this problem was simply too great for the apprentice to handle. Where previously Jesus went from town to town with the gospel, he could now send six teams to do the very same thing. (And later, 35 teams.)

It’s all part of Jesus’s ultimate goal: To multiply himself in every Christian. ’Cause we Christians are to do all the stuff he did, and then some.

The social gospel.

SOCIAL GOSPEL 'soʊ.ʃəl 'gɑs.pəl noun. A Protestant movement which tries to apply uniquely (or superficially) Christian perspectives and ethics to civic problems, particularly through charitable programs or government.

If you asked an American Christian the 1800s what the End Times consisted of, you’d quickly discover these folks held the postmillennialist view: They believed the millennium, the time period in which Jesus personally rules the world, takes place before his second coming.

I know; this is a really hard idea for today’s Christians to wrap their brains around. Jesus returns after the millennium? How’s humanity supposed to have a millennium of peace and love before the Prince of Peace takes over and runs things himself? Have you seen humanity? We’re awful.

Yet that’s what Christians believed. It’s what their churches taught, and they swallowed it whole, same as today’s Christians swallow Darbyism without ever asking, “Waitaminnit, why do their End Times charts have this big ol’ period where God turns off the miracles?” People were used to the idea… and they figured it was up to them to create the millennial kingdom; a thousand-year Reich in which everything would be good and perfect. In 1933 Germany even elected a nationalist chancellor who promised them this very thing; ask them how that worked out for them.

After the world wars, very few Christians continued to believe in postmillennialism. There are exceptions… and sometimes we still sing postmillennialist hymns without realizing it. Check out the lyrics to “We’ve a Story to Tell to the Nations”—my churches used to sing that song well into the 1980s.

But back when that worldview was popular, Christians figured it was our duty to tackle civic problems, fix society, and bring about that millennium. Charles M. Sheldon’s novel In His Steps is a good example of their thinking: Apply the question “What would Jesus do?” to all of society. Then reform society wherever you think it appropriate.

• “If Jesus pastored my church he’d lead it like this.”
• “If Jesus owned my business he’d run it like this.”
• “If Jesus ran for office he’d say this.”
• “If Jesus taught my kids he’d teach them this.”

And so on.

Because these reforms tend to be more forgiving, more equitable, more charitable, more gracious—and more expensive, and create way more rules and laws than your average libertarian appreciates, they tend to get painted with the brush of “liberal.” And to be fair, you’re usually gonna find social-gospel reforms and activities among the Christian Left. (Whereas the Christian Right tends to lean nationalist.)

“I don’t need forgiving.”

So yesterday I wrote about those Christians who can’t stop praying the “forgive me” prayer—and if that’s because they’re anxious about their sins, they need to chill out; God’s forgiven them. Long long ago. He’s got you covered.

Then there are those people, often not Christian… but some of ’em are absolutely sure they’re totally Christian. And these folks think it’s ridiculous to worry whatsoever about their own forgiveness. Because they can’t imagine anything they’ve done which needs forgiving. Not from God; not from anyone. In some cases they’re kinda offended we’d even suggest they need forgiving.

I was talking with a Christian pastor about this phenomenon some years ago, and he just shrugged and said, “Typical human depravity.”

But no it’s not typical. It’s an extreme human behavior. What we have here is a narcissist. Here I refer you to what Psychology Today has to say about ’em:

How do I spot a narcissist?

Narcissism is characterized by a grandiose sense of self-importance, a lack of empathy for others, a need for excessive admiration, and the belief that one is unique and deserving of special treatment. If you encounter someone who consistently exhibits these behaviors, you may be dealing with a highly narcissistic individual.

What’s the difference between narcissism and pathological narcissism?

Pathological narcissism, or narcissistic personality disorder, is rare: It affects an estimated 1 percent of the population, a prevalence that hasn’t changed since clinicians started measuring it. The disorder is suspected when narcissistic traits impair a person’s daily functioning. That dysfunction typically causes friction in relationships due to the pathological narcissist’s lack of empathy. It may also manifest as antagonism, fueled by grandiosity and attention-seeking. In seeing themselves as superior, the pathological narcissist naturally views everyone else as inferior and may be intolerant of disagreement or questioning. “Narcissism.”

It’s an extreme behavior.

I know plenty of pagans. Nearly all of them are ashamed of themselves when they’ve done wrong. They may not define right and wrong the same way as Christians, but they do understand some things are right, some are wrong, and they’ve not always lived up to their own standard. It’s why we can tell them God forgives them, and why they accept it as good news, and hopefully turn to Jesus. That’s the more common human response, “depraved” or not.

When we get someone who defines right and wrong as “Everything I do is right,” we got a narcissist. Pagan or Christian, it’s narcissism. And yes, there are Christian narcissists: They grew up Christian, or even became Christian later in life, and have incorporated Christianity into their narcissism: “Everything I do is right, because Jesus.” It’s just as warped though.

Narcissism is a spectrum, ranging from not at all (i.e. people who are properly humble, love their neighbor as themselves, don’t demand praise, don’t consider themselves better than anyone else, exhibits empathy and compassion—you know, people who act like Jesus) to so self-centered they’ll destroy everyone around them.

At its core, all sin is based on self-centeredness and selfishness. Not all selfishness is sin, but the more selfish you are, the more likely you’re gonna sin—and narcissists are all about self-centeredness, so they sin. But more than that: They don’t think their behavior even is sin. They define right and wrong as, “I’m right; you’re wrong.” And since they’re right—since they’re always right—how dare we say they sinned? They’re not the sinners; we are.

If you’re starting to realize there are an awful lot of narcissists in your life… well yeah, there are. They’re not necessarily pathological—although some of their lives are certainly a wreck because of their selfishness, so I’m pretty sure a trained psychologist might actually call ’em pathological. But most of us get a little bit prideful from time to time, and start to dip into the idea that maybe we really are better than everyone else; maybe the usual rules don’t apply to us. Hopefully we snap out of this mindset before it goes anywhere. Some people clearly haven’t.

So when people’s response to “God has forgiven you” is “I don’t need forgiving,” that’s what we’re dealing with: A narcissist.

Everybody needs forgiving.

Other than Jesus, He 4.15 everybody has sinned. Ro 3.23 So everybody needs God to forgive ’em. I’m not saying everybody’s committed dire sins, like rape and murder and trying to storm the Capitol; but everyone’s lied, everyone’s cheated, and everyone’s coveted what they shouldn’t.

And everyone, including Jesus, has trespassed. No, trespasses aren’t sins; they’re when we go too far, and you know Jesus regularly goes farther than people want. Trespasses also need to be forgiven, and God’s trespasses especially: We know he’s only doing it for our good. He doesn’t want to hurt us, but sometimes he’s gotta deal with us in ways which are gonna hurt, and we must never hold those hurts against him. It’s gotta be done, and who better to do it?

But while God is sorry he has to take extreme measures, 1Ch 21.15 NASB a narcissist feels they needn’t be sorry for anything. “I had to be rough on you, but you needed it. Really you deserved it.” They’ll justify themselves immediately. A lot of people become narcissistic as a defense mechanism; they don’t want to feel bad about themselves, ever, which is why they’ve redefined right and wrong till they’re always right. There’s nothing to forgive when you’re never wrong, and even when you trespass it’s for a good reason, needs no apology, and they don’t need to feel bad about it. Don’t need to feel bad about anything.

Learning to not suppress your conscience is how a lot of psychologists choose to treat pathological narcissism. That takes time and effort, and narcissists don’t care to make any of that effort when they don’t acknowledge their behavior is destructive. (You can already see—getting ’em to realize they’re the problem is gonna be extremely hard with a narcissist!) So yeah, they’re tough nuts to crack.

That’s why it’s not really for us to crack ’em. It’s gonna take a trained psychologist, or the Holy Spirit. It’s not gonna take some overeager Christian apologist who sputters, “But you do need to be forgiven; all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God!” Bible quotes don’t work on narcissists. They think they know better than the authors of the bible!

Yep, someone’s gotta burrow into their consciences and shock ’em back into a sinus rhythm. And really, raising the long-dead takes divine intervention. All we can do is pray for them. So do lots of that.

God has forgiven you.

Frequently I meet Christians who can’t stop praying the “forgive me” prayer.

• Sometimes because it’s already part of their rote prayers. “Forgive us our debts” (or “trespasses”) is already part of the Lord’s Prayer, y’know. And part of many other memorized prayers.
• Sometimes because they sin a lot. All Christians sin, but these folks figure they sin way more than average—and let’s be honest; maybe they do! So they have a lot to apologize to God about.
• Sometimes because they’re under the misbegotten belief that once you become Christian, you spontaneously stop sinning. Well, they’ve not stopped sinning… so they’re kinda worried about their salvation. Did the sinner’s prayer take?—’cause sometimes it doesn’t.
• And sometimes because they’re in one of those dark Christian churches which tell them every time they sin, it’s like they personally have crucified Jesus all over again. Which, if you’re the literal-minded type, is a traumatizing thing to believe. So of course these folks are begging forgiveness all the time.

Lemme address that last idea a bit more. The whole “crucifying Jesus all over again” idea comes from this verse:

Hebrews 6.6 KJV

If they shall fall away, to renew them again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame.

In context it’s not talking about just any sins. The author of Hebrews is writing about apostasy—about quitting Jesus—and how Christians who’ve had the full experience of God’s grace and the Holy Spirit’s supernatural power can’t just casually quit Jesus, then come back. These people didn’t quit Jesus; they sinned, but they didn’t commit that sin.

Problem is, dark Christians are gonna insist they kinda did commit that sin. If every sin alienates God (and it doesn’t), then every sin is functionally the same as quitting Jesus. Every sin is apostasy. Every sin has the power to plunge us into fiery hell: If we die with unrepented, unconfessed sin in our lives, we’re going to the hot place. Yeah God is gracious, but not that gracious.

So you can see why these people are constantly begging God’s forgiveness: They think they’re constantly dangling over hellfire, and their relationship with God is like a thin bungee cord which might not actually be able to hold their weight.

It’s awfully hard to think of God as love when you’re living with this kind of stress. Sure doesn’t feel like love. Feels like God is only moments away from pouring a bowl of heavenly fire upon you. Feels like the sins of the world might trigger the same response upon our country too… which is why so many dark Christians are big fans of Christian nationalism: Screw democracy; we gotta purge evildoers! But I digress; let’s get back to their mental picture of a very unforgiving God.

Okay. In God’s process of salvation, at what point do you believe he forgives you?

Peace be unto you.

God’s into peace. It’s an aspect of his character we really don’t spend enough time on. But it’s one of the Spirit’s fruits, and something he wishes we’d have. Something he wishes upon us, his creations, his children—as articulated by his angels when Jesus was born.

Luke 2.13-14 NRSVue

13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,

14 “Glory to God in the highest heaven,

and on earth peace among those whom he favors!”

Problem is, we Christians aren’t known for being peaceful. The far-from-peaceful dark Christians regularly make the news, and give everybody the sense we’re all just as angry and agitated. That might not be a fair assessment… but then again it might be; the rest of us aren’t really doing much to compensate for all the angry ones.

But sometimes, sometimes, when Christians are peaceful, or do good deeds in a peaceful way, it becomes one of those happy-news stories at the end of the program. Or found in the back of the newspaper. Some of them even go viral when they’re heartwarming enough. But there aren’t as many of them as there oughta be. It may very well be we Christians do a good job of demonstrating peace… but the agitated minority gets all the press.

But based on my own personal experience (and yeah, I know, anecdotes aren’t real proof), the Christians I know certainly aren’t all that peaceful. They freak out over every little thing. I remember a few years back, when a whole slew of Christian nationalists got elected, thrilling one of my right-leaning fellow church members. But even as she was rejoicing, she told me she was still convinced it’s only a matter of time before freedom of religion gets banned in the United States, and we won’t even be able to preach Jesus in private. Pretty sure she’s been reading way too much Hal Lindsey. And she’s hardly alone.

It’s not even limited to wild End Times fears. When terrorists attack, Christians want ’em dead just as much as any irreligious, vengeful pagan. Lots of us own guns, and not just hunting rifles: When thieves break into our houses, we expect to shoot ’em dead same as any other enraged homeowner. We claim it’s for self-defense and we’re being realistic and practical, but (unless we’re gun nuts who really just want to commit a justifiable homicide) it’s really because we believe peace will only come once we destroy the things we fear. Or at least build giant walls to keep ’em out.

So I have serious doubts that peaceful Christians are a vast but silent majority. More than likely they’re a tiny minority. (And I say “they’re” because I myself am not as peaceful as I should be.)

The resurrection in 𝘓𝘶𝘬𝘦.

Luke 24.1-12.

As I’ve pointed out more than once, Jesus himself pointed out more than once Mk 8.31, 9.31, 10.33-34 that when he went to Jerusalem this time, he’d get arrested and crucified—but rise again. This wasn’t a secret plan.

Oh, it mighta felt like a secret plan to his dense followers, who promptly forgot all about the “and risen on the third day” part after Jesus got killed. Trauma will do that to you. Fresh trauma—’cause it was early Sunday morning, probably before most of them had even had their morning wine, and Jesus had died only Friday afternoon.

(Yes, morning wine. Tea wasn’t invented till the 200s, and coffee till the 1400s, so people back then typically drank beer in the morning. No, I’m not kidding! But beer wasn’t an option during the Feast of Unleavened Bread—they had to get all the yeast out of the house, which means no beer, even in Passover observances today. So, wine. No, not watered-down wine; that’s a pagan Greek practice, and it’s a myth invented by American teetotalers that Judeans did it too. They drank regular kosher wine. Kids too. But ordinarily, beer… until God blessed the Chinese with tea, and the Yemenis with coffee. Okay, digression over.)

So the Eleven and the other students really weren’t expecting resurrection. They were still mourning Jesus’s death. That’s why they were gathered together: Mourning. Wearing torn clothes, pouring ash from the fireplace onto their heads, weeping, remembering Jesus, wondering what might come next.

Movies tend to depict these followers as in hiding—panicked in case the authorities were coming for them next. Which isn’t at all how the gospels describe things. Yes, they were anxious about the Judeans, Jn 20.19 but in the same gospel of John which says this, you also see the apostle John moving freely about the city, temple, and even into the head priest’s house to witness Jesus’s trial. This is hardly the behavior of someone who fears arrest! Nope; the authorities got the guy they wanted, and didn’t care about the followers until they themselves started doing as Jesus did—namely curing people and proclaiming God’s kingdom. Ac 4.1 Just in case, they kept their heads down—but the men were free to go home, and the women were free to even take spices to Jesus’s sepulcher.

Except when they did, the corpse wasn’t there. Because it was no longer a corpse.

Luke 24.1-12.

1 At early dawn on the first day of the week,

women, bringing prepared spices, come to the sepulcher.

2 These women find the stone

had been rolled away from the sepulcher.

3 On entering, the women do not find

the body of Master Jesus.

4 It happens while the women are dumbfounded about this:

Look, two men in brilliant clothing, sitting by them.

5 As this frightened the women,

who fall over on their faces to the ground,

the men tell them,

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?

6 He’s not here. He’s risen!

Remember what he tells you when you are still in the Galilee,

7 saying this of the Son of Man:

He has to be delivered into the hands of sinful people,

and crucified,

and risen on the third day.”

8 And the women remember Jesus’s words,

9 and, returning from the sepulcher,

the women tell all these things to the Eleven

and all the other students.

10 It was Mary the Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary of James,

and all the other women with them:

They were saying these things to the apostles.

11 The events appeared to the apostles

as if these words were a fairy tale,

and they don’t believe it.

12 Simon Peter rises and runs to the sepulcher,

and leans in to see only the linen strips,

and leaves, wondering to himself what had happened.

Christianity needs to be woke.

WOKE woʊk verb Past tense of wake.

2. [adjective] Alert to the existence or presence of racial prejudice and discrimination.

3. [adjective] Liberal.

[Wokeism 'woʊk.ɪz.əm noun]

I first heard the term “woke” in college in the 1980s. It had been around since the 1930s or so, but it was largely confined to the black community. I heard it ’cause I had black friends and employers. They used it to describe people who had “woken up” to problems in society which they previously didn’t know about. Namely about racism.

See, you can live a really sheltered life before you get to college. Which is somewhat understandable. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area in the 1970s, when there was all sorts of civic unrest going on. Drug addicts in the local parks. Full-on riots, with the National Guard sent in, in the very same county. My parents didn’t want me worrying about this stuff, so they downplayed it, or made sure I saw little to none of it. I get why they did it; I approve.

The only problem I have with this behavior is when it goes on too long. And a lot of parents think it should. They’ll keep sheltering their kids well into their teenage years, arguing, “Why they’re just children.” Legally yeah; and there’s an awful lot of people who retain immature character traits well into old age. But in a very few years, your teenagers are gonna become voters. They can run for office, serve on juries, and join the military. They can become active, participating citizens, who need to know what’s going on in their world. But if they’re sheltered well into their young adult years, they’re going to have a very distorted view of the world. They’ll be horrified when they first encounter the real thing—as I witnessed many times when I went to bible college, and watched my homeschooled classmates struggle mightily when we ministered to the needy, the homeless, and the kids in juvenile hall. They weren’t at all prepared for the world Jesus calls us to minister to.

Y’see, they’d been asleep. And many of them still choose to stay asleep.

Institutional racism continues to be a problem in the United States. It’s a problem I was far too unaware of when I was a kid, ’cause I assumed—’cause I was taught—the racism problem was solved! The Voting Rights Act was passed before I was even born. Racial discrimination was illegal. I lived near military bases, and lookit all our multiethnic soldiers!—they worked together, race notwithstanding, and proved racism was abolished. (Of course I never asked how many officers were nonwhite at that time. Sheltered kids never learn which questions to ask.)

So how’d I become aware of it? I had nonwhite friends. I saw people discriminate against ’em. Sometimes—but seldom; they didn’t always think they could trust me—they told me stories of people discriminating against ’em. Mexican and Filipino and black friends getting the cops called on ’em just because some white neighbor thought, “Oh they must be in a gang.” Or hearing racial slurs from other kids in our school who moved here from predominantly white towns, and brought their racism with them. Or seeing teachers, school administrators, civic authorities, and pastors treat them with low expectations simply because they weren’t white.

I was already kinda “woke” when I got to college, so the teachers didn’t have to convince me. But man alive, were there some white students who were resistant to the idea racism still exists. “Well I never saw any of that happen in my community.” Well you aren’t the baseline for how “normal” is defined, sweetie. (Plus you’re just a bit racist yourself.)

White people largely hadn’t heard the term “woke” until the 2010s, when the Black Lives Matter protests started up, and the term worked its way into the mainstream. And because not everyone bothered to find out what “woke” means—same as pretty much every new word people stumble across—a number of conservatives presume “wokeism” is just another word for the left-wing agenda. It means political correctness, or identity politics, or liberalism in general; it means anything and everything they don’t like.

Thing is, there are plenty of conservatives who are entirely aware what “woke” actually means, and know it doesn’t mean identity politics, or liberalism in general. They’re entirely aware it’s about anti-racism. We know this ’cause they say so… when they’re put under oath.

Not believing the women when Jesus arose.

Mark 16.9-11, Luke 24.8-11.

When Jesus undid his own death before dawn on 5 April 33, and his women followers discovered an empty sepulcher and angels informing them their Lord is alive, the first thing they rightly did was go tell the men. And the men didn’t believe them.

There’s this common modern belief that the people of the past were ignorant, and would therefore believe in any old thing. They’d believe in miracles and magic, because science hadn’t been invented yet, and they grew up hearing tales about gods and sorcerers, and crazy myths which were told to them straight-faced as if they were history. And they believed in all that stuff… so they’d believe any fanciful tale you told ’em. “Oh, a wizard did it!” or “Oh, Zeus did it!” and they’d easily swallow the story, because they lived in a dark age where this sort of thing was commonplace.

Clearly these moderns have never read myths. I did; my parents gave me children’s books which retold those old myths. (Edited for children, of course, ’cause there’s way more sex and violence in those stories than people realize. Some of ’em are worse than Judges.) One of the ancient pagan Greeks’ very favorite themes was ὕβρις/ývris, “hubris,” the kind of excessive narcissistic overconfidence which only the gods figured they were allowed to have, and regularly punished mortals for having it. Hubris shows up in a lot of Greek myths, and the most common way is by some character in a story refusing to believe. Doesn’t believe the god; doesn’t believe the magician; doesn’t believe the prophecy, or thinks he can outwit it; in general just says “no” when the gods really want him to say “yes.” So the gods smite him. Because universally, people recognize a lack of humility is a serious character flaw… that is, unless they themselves are overconfident.

The One True God isn’t a fan of hubris either: “God resists the proud, / But gives grace to the humble.” Jm 4.6, 1Pe 5.5 NKJV He’s not a fan of unteachable know-it-alls, or people who figure they know what they know, and can’t bother to hear out anyone else.

But unfortunately that’s kinda what Jesus’s students were doing when they refused to accept what Jesus’s women followers were telling them about their Lord being alive.

Mark 16.9-11 KWL

9 [Rising early on the first day of the week,

Jesus first appeared to Mary the Magdalene;

he’d previously thrown seven demons out of her.

10 Leaving, this Mary brings the news

to those who’d come to be with Jesus,

who are mourning and crying.

11 And these people, on hearing Jesus is alive,

that he was personally seen by Mary

don’t believe it.]

Luke 24.8-11 KWL

8 And the women remember Jesus’s words,

9 and, returning from the sepulcher,

the women tell all these things to the Eleven

and all the other students.

10 It was Mary the Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary of James,

and all the other women with them:

They were saying these things to the apostles.

11 The events appeared to the apostles

as if these words were a fairy tale,

and they don’t believe it.

Still, it’s kinda understandable. Dead people don’t just return from death! Yeah, Pharisees believed in resurrection, but they claimed the resurrection isn’t supposed to happen till the end of history, when God judges the world. Not now. Not yet. Dead people stay dead. Especially people suffocated by crucifixion and stabbed in the heart. You don’t recover in only three days from that; I don’t care what the conspiracy theorists claim.

True, Jesus’s students were immature teenagers, and pretty dense sometimes. But they weren’t gullible. They knew dead people stay dead. They didn’t yet know Jesus had substantially changed everything. They’d learn. But still, that’s what we have in the resurrection stories: Apostles who totally didn’t believe Jesus is alive. No matter what the women claimed.

Jesus accused with false testimonies.

Mark 14.55-59, Matthew 26.59-61,
Luke 22.66, John 2.18-22.

All my life I’ve heard preachers claim Jesus’s trial wasn’t just irregular, but downright illegal. What basis do they have for saying so? Next to none.

It’s because they interpret history wrong. They point to rulings in the second-century Mishna and the fifth-century Talmud. They assume the first-century Jewish senate actually followed these rulings. They’d be entirely wrong. The Mishna consists of Pharisee rulings and traditions. The Talmud is a Pharisee commentary on the Mishna. Now, who ran the senate in Jesus’s day? The head priests… who were Sadduccees. And the Sadducees believed Pharisee teachings were extrabiblical, which they were; and therefore irrelevant.

So when the Mishna declares trials shouldn’t take place at night (although Luke actually says it took place during daytime Lk 22.66), and declares there shouldn’t be same-day rulings, preachers nowadays declare, “Aha! This proves Jesus’s trial was illegal!” Just the opposite: It proves Sadducees did such things. The Pharisee rulings were created because they objected to the way Sadducees ran things. They were meant to correct what they considered Sadducee injustice. But Sadducee injustice was still legal.

Jesus’s trial convicted an innocent man, so of course we’re gonna agree with Pharisee teachings which claim this was an improper trial. But the teachings are from the wrong time and the wrong people. They don’t apply, much as we’d like ’em to. The Sadducees followed their own procedure properly.

Procedure is still no guarantee there won’t be miscarriages of justice just the same.

Well anyway. On to Jesus’s trial.

Luke 22.66 KWL

Once it becomes day, the people’s elders gathered

with the head priests and scribes,

and they lead Jesus into their senate.

Within the temple structure, on the western side, the Judean συνέδριον/synédrion, “senate” (KJV “council,” CSB “Sanhedrin”) met in a stone hall arranged much like the Roman senate: Stone bleachers were arranged in a half-circle so they could all face a throne. In Rome the emperor sat on it. In Jerusalem, the head priest.

For a trial, the Pharisees dictated two scribes should write everything down, though there’s no evidence the Sadducees did any such thing. Scribes and students sat on the floor. Plaintiffs and defendants stood. The Pharisees declared the defendant oughta go first, but in all the trials in Acts, it looks like the reverse happened. Ac 4.5-12, 5.27-32, etc. Either way Jesus didn’t care to say anything, so his accusers went first. And they committed perjury. Yeah, perjury was banned in the Ten Commandments. Dt 5.20 Well, perjurers still show up in court anyway.

Preach the gospel. And use words.

There’s this really popular quote Christians use. It’s attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, but we’ve no evidence he ever said it. Kinda like the St. Francis prayer, which Francis didn’t write either. People really like putting words in Francis’s mouth, don’t they?… but I digress. The saying is, “Preach the gospel [at all times]—use words if necessary.” Which sounds profound and nice, doesn’t it?

How Christians typically interpret it is, “We preach the gospel through our actions. Not just our words; not just with sermons and literature, but being kind to others, doing good deeds, loving our neighbors, and otherwise demonstrating our faith isn’t dead by doing good works.” And isn’t good works a fruit of the Spirit anyway? Shouldn’t we already be doing them?—and in so doing, we follow the Holy Spirit and Jesus?

But here’s the thing: Words are necessary.

I’ve met many a pagan who’s seen Christians do good works. Who’s seen us be kind to people, seen us create and run charities, seen us actively get out and help the needy. But when you ask ’em why these Christians are doing good deeds, their answers are always, always, “Oh they’re just trying to get to heaven.” They think we think we’re saved by good karma.

Heck, I’ve seen many a Christian who says the very same thing. “Oh those Christians are practicing ‘faith righteousness.’ You know we’re not saved by works though; we’re saved by faith.” Of course when these people say “saved by faith,” often what they really mean is “saved by the Christian faith,” i.e. saved by believing the right things, saved by orthodoxy. Which is a good work! So we’re not saved by that either. We’re saved by God’s grace. Get it right, folks.

God’s grace is a huge part of the gospel: God’s kingdom has come near, so let’s repent, and trust God to save us, and he will. Grace is central to Christianity, central to forgiveness, and what God’s kingdom runs on. Yet these people watching us Christians do our good works—both pagan and Christian—have somehow not picked up on the grace thing. Even when we’re actively demonstrating grace by doing good things for people who don’t deserve it, can’t earn it, and in some cases don’t even appreciate it.

Grace went over their heads. Hey, they don’t practice it, so it stands to reason they won’t recognize it.

And this is why, when we proclaim the gospel, we have to use words! Actions are open to interpretation, and people typically interpret things based on themselves, based on their own prejudices and biases. They see us doing good deeds, unconsciously think, “Why might I do those good deeds?” and conclude all sorts of self-serving ulterior motives. By the way, some of these motives are downright evil. It’s why some people get extremely suspicious of Christian charities: “Oh, you must be doing this for the same reasons I’d do it. You’re trying to get tax breaks. You’re trying to get good public relations to make up for something really vile you’ve done, or are secretly doing. You’re trying to look good and virtuous. You’re trying to feel better about yourselves. I know what you’re really about.”

No, they really don’t. Not unless we tell them. So we gotta tell them. With words.

It’s why the bible is written in words. Why Jesus uses words to share parables, make statements, reveal God, and describe his kingdom. He didn’t leave it up to guesswork; he didn’t expect us to watch what he was doing and come to our own conclusions. You might recall some of his observers, working wholly on their own, reached the conclusion he used Satan’s power to do his miracles. Clearly they weren’t listening to his words—and again, Jesus used words to rebuke them.

So when Jesus sends out his followers to go make him more followers, he expects us to use words. To teach people, not just with actions and good deeds, but with words, “to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you” Mt 28.20 KJV —and how’d he command his students? With words.