24 September 2025

Deaf ears aren’t opportunities.

Matthew 7.6, Luke 13.6-9.

Way back in my seminary days, I was at my home-away-from-dorm, a popular Capitola coffeehouse called Mr. Toots. (Figured I’d throw ’em a free plug.) I got to talking to some UC Santa Cruz students, ’cause they quickly figured out I was a fellow student and wanted to know which school I went to. Once they realized I was a biblical studies major—a “God expert” (in training, anyway)—they wanted to talk God.

A lot of pagans go through a phase when they head off to school where they question their faith. And rightly so, ’cause they need to question everything, and get rid of those things in their religions which don’t grow their relationships with God. But many will ditch their faith altogether—if they even had any. Some of ’em dabble in other religions; some of ’em even invent their own. And some of ’em flirt with nontheism—either because they honestly think there might be no God, or because they’re jerks and just wanna enrage theists.

That’s what our conversation quickly deteriorated into. These guys wanted to try out their freshly-learned anti-God arguments on the religious guy. Kinda like a kid who just learned a new judo hold, wants to fight everybody with it, and foolishly picks a fight with the taekwondo black belt. Not that I was a black belt in Christianity… and since argumentativeness is a work of the flesh, it’s really the wrong metaphor! But I had been studying Christian apologetics since high school, and since I went to seminary in my late 20s, I did have about a decade on these guys. It wasn’t hard at all to slap their commonplace arguments down.

Still, the arguing grew tiresome, as I realized it was never gonna go anywhere. These guys weren’t curious about God. At all. Didn’t care to learn anything new about him; didn’t wanna listen, repent, and become Christian. This was entirely an intellectual exercise for them. They were just killing time at the coffeehouse. I was just tossing pearls to swine.

Yep, just like in the Sermon on the Mount.

Matthew 7.6 KWL
“Don’t give holy things to the dogs,
nor throw your² pearls before the pigs.
Otherwise they’ll trample them under their feet,
and they might turn and attack you².”

So I called a truce. “Wanna talk about something different?” I said. “I mean, to you this is just light conversation. But to me this is something I take very seriously and personally. I’m having trouble not taking all your God-bashing personally. Wouldn’t you rather talk politics?”

“Yeah, okay.”

So we talked politics. And after a bit, they left.

Double standards.

Mark 4.24, Matthew 7.1-5, Luke 6.37-38, 41-42.

When people don’t wanna condemn anyone, “Judge not, that ye be not judged” Mt 7.1 KJV is a popular proof text they’ll quote. It’s not the best quote though. I already wrote an article about how people take it out of context. Jesus didn’t say it to forbid us from making any judgment statements whatsoever. It’s part of his instruction to make fair judgments.

This bit of his Sermon on the Mount comes right after Jesus teaches us not to worry. And while we’re not worrying, let’s also not prejudge people unfairly.

Matthew 7.1-2 KWL
1“Don’t criticize.
Thus you² won’t be criticized,
2for you’ll² be critiqued
by the very criticism you² criticize with.
The measurement you² measure with,
will measure you².”
Luke 6.37 KWL
“Don’t criticize,
and you² won’t be criticized.
Don’t judge,
and you² won’t be judged.
Forgive,
and you’ll² be forgiven.”

Obviously I translated κρίνετε/krínetë, “criticize,” differently than the KJV’s “judge.” Our English word judge includes a few additional ideas—specifically the idea of formal judgment, official judgment, binding judgment—which aren’t meant to be part of Jesus’s teaching. He’s talking about making up one’s indiviudal mind, not handing down a formal ruling for the community to follow. There’s a whole other word for that, and Luke uses it in verse 37: Κατεδικάσατε/katedikásatë, “pass sentence.” That word is what we nowadays mean by judging. Krínetë is really just about whether things are acceptable in our personal evaluation. Nothing more.

And this kind of personal judgment is something we all do—and should. Everybody evaluates stuff. Daily. It’s part of our ordinarly decision-making processes. We judge which shoes to wear, which breakfast cereals to eat (or not), which coffees to drink (or not), which movies to watch, whether to read TXAB on a daily basis… Life is choices. Every choice involves weighing our options, and critiquing those options. Jesus doesn’t just expect us to do it; he designed us to do it. It’s why he created you with a brain in your skull. It’s not just for memorizing pop lyrics and baseball stats!

This is why he follows up “Don’t criticize” with “you’ll be critiqued by the very criticism you criticize with.” It’s a warning: When we apply our criticisms to others, we’re gonna be held up to the very same standard. As we should. We set that standard fairly, right?—we didn’t make ourselves an exception to the rule, right?

Well… maybe we did. ’Cause that’s human nature. It’s to always selfishly consider ourselves the exception. When we critique other people, we decide whether they meet our approval—and when we do the very same things they do, our standards suddenly change to favor ourselves. If your dad tells a lame “dad joke,” it means his sense of humor is defective; if we tell the very same joke, we’re having ironic fun. If the neighbor cheats on her husband, it’s adultery and awful; if we do it… oh you just don’t understand the circumstances; we’re in love. And so on. We grant ourselves a free pass. Others, not so much.

But Jesus makes it clear we don’t get a free pass. If we ordinarily recognize a behavior is offensive, wrong, or sinful, it’s still just as bad when we do it. We’re not beyond similar criticism. Are we doing right? Because we’ve no business setting ourselves above criticism, like a king who figures he alone has the power to do as he pleases. We aren’t exceptional. Especially when we fall short of our own judgment.

This does not mean the proper response is to critique ourselves more harshly. Jesus says as much in the Luke version of this teaching: “Forgive, and you’ll be forgiven.” When others slip up, forgive. And when we slip up—and people are gonna fairly hold us to the same standard we set for others—our behavior will reflect the Spirit’s fruit more so than yet another self-righteous a--hole. We’re gonna receive grace instead of condemnation. As Jesus intends.

23 September 2025

Don’t you worry ’bout a thing.

Matthew 6.25-34, Luke 12.22-32.

Right after Jesus stated in his Sermon on the Mount how we can’t have both God and Mammon as our masters, he gets to the core reason why we humans tend to slide away from trusting God, and instead put our trust in our wealth:

When it comes to basic daily needs, we first look to our wallets. Not God.

We first ask whether we can afford it. Not whether God even wants us to do these things, much less pay for them. We don’t submit our wishes and intentions to God for his approval; we don’t even think about his approval. Either ’cause we presume we already have it… or because we think this is one of those areas in our lives where the decision is totally ours, and ours alone. Jesus is not the Lord here.

I make this mistake too. When I shop for groceries, I don’t think, “Does God even want me to buy those chocolate bars?” then ask him, and find out. I think, “I want those chocolate bars, and they’re within my budget.” Nevermind that I need to cut back on sugar; nevermind that the cocoa beans were likely picked by slave labor; nevermind that I can control my taste buds and other such urges when I choose. I don’t consider God’s will as often as I should.

And this is a much harder lesson for rich Christians to learn. In wealthy countries, we have crazy standards for what denotes our “basic daily needs.” It’s not just food, drink, and clothing, as Jesus addresses in the following teaching. It’s having a roof over your head. A bed. Electricity and gas, for the central heat and air conditioning. Oh, and since we have electricity: A refrigerator to keep the food in. Internet and wifi, and some kind of streaming service so we can watch TV and movies. A phone. An email address. Probably a car, ’cause you can’t expect us to just walk everywhere.

Food and drink is no longer just grains, vegetables, and water: We gotta have meat and dairy. If we’ve learned about some special diet we really oughta be on—whether our doctors tell us so or not—we want that accommodated too: Gluten-free grains, keto-friendly vegetables, vegan dairy products. Oh, and we gotta have coffee and beer and sugary and salty snacks. We expect a variety of good foods. And enough money to sometimes go to a restaurant.

Clothing is no longer a single loincloth, tunic, robe, and sandals, with maybe an extra change just in case: We gotta have at least two weeks’ worth of outfits. And they gotta be fashionable, so we won’t just fit in, but stand out as especially good-looking. Plus an extra-nice outfit for important occasions, like church or parties.

If you only have the basics and no more, in a rich country you’d be considered poor. Not comfortable; not okay; poor. But in a poor country, like ancient Judea… wealthy.

That’s something to keep in mind whenever Jesus talks about not having enough. Ancient Israel, where Jesus lived, whether in the Galilee or Judea, would be what Donald Trump would call a s---hole country. It was poor. The largest part of the population survived on less than $2 a day. The families who ran the Judean senate had money, but that was old-family wealth, or they got it by collaborating with the Romans, same as the taxmen. The rest of them were subsistence farmers, or day laborers like Jesus’s dad and later Jesus himself: Scratching to get by. Legitimately concerned about daily needs.

The folks Jesus preached to? They had way less than we who live in rich countries. They’d be what we consider destitute. Near-homeless. They didn’t imagine themselves so, but hey: Different countries, different millennia, different standards.

Yet in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus told ’em to quit worrying. Because worry wasn’t getting them anywhere.

Matthew 6.25 KWL
“This is why I tell you²:
Stop worrying about what your² soul would eat {or drink},
or what your² body would wear.
Isn’t your² soul more than food?
—your² body more than clothes?”
Luke 12.22-23 KWL
22Jesus told his students, “This is why I tell you²:
Stop worrying about what your² soul would eat,
or what {your²} body would wear.
23The soul is more than food;
the body more than clothes.”

Try to wrap your brain around this idea: One set of clothing. Maybe three days’ worth of food in the pantry. Water comes from the creek or well. No electricity nor gasoline. No money; you gotta barter for everything. This isn’t because there’s a dire recession: This is life. This has always been life, as far as you or your parents or grandparents knew. Every day’s a struggle. And here Jesus is, telling you to stop worrying about food or clothing, because God has your back.

The typical American response to this? “Are you nuts, Jesus? I’m poor!

Yeah, you are. Poor in faith. That’s why it’s easier to shove camels through needles than get rich Christians into God’s kingdom. Mk 10.25 We just aren’t always aware Jesus was making that statement about us.

22 September 2025

Worshiping Mammon instead of Jesus.

Matthew 6.24, Luke 16.13

Some years ago there was a meme going round social media, warning folks what might happen if society went cashless. Some of the memes claim Dave Ramsey wrote it; he didn’t. Like most memes which go viral quickly, it’s meant to frighten people—and this one played right into many a Christian’s fears about the End Times, so Christians helped spread it. That’s how I came to see it.

My comment after yet another friend posted it on Facebook: “Isn’t it funny? The first thing Christians worry about when the Beast comes… is Mammon.”

Jesus used the Aramaic word ܡܳܡܽܘܢܳܐ/mamoná once in his his Sermon on the Mount—and in its parallel verse in Luke—to describe wealth. It got transliterated into Greek as μαμωνᾷ/mamoná (and the Textus Receptus adds a letter μ/my, so “mammoná”); then into Latin as mamonæ. John Wycliffe translated it “riches,” as did the Geneva Bible, but the King James Version turned it back into “mammon.”

Matthew 6.24 KWL
“Nobody’s able to be a slave to two masters.
Either they’ll¹ hate one and love the other,
or look up to one and down on the other:
Can’t be a slave to God and Mammon.”
Luke 16.13 KWL
“No slave is able to be a slave to two masters.
Either they’ll¹ hate one and love the other,
or look up to one and down on the other:
Can’t be a slave to God and Mammon.”

Why’d the authors of the gospels go with “mammon” instead of the usual Greek words for wealth, πλοῦτος/plútos or χρῆμα/hríma or εὐπορία/evporía? Or, because this verse is so often translated, “You cannot serve both God and money” (GNB, NIV, NLT), why not the word for money (literally “silver”), ἀργύριον/argýrion?

Well, we don’t know. It’s likely because the ancient Christians first memorized this Jesus-saying with the Aramaic word deliberately kept in it. The original-language word was important to them, and if Jesus is the one who made ’em memorize the saying, it’s likely important to him too. He wants us Christians to pay more attention to this word.

So we did. In fact when the ancient Christians preached on mamoná, they Grecianized it—they tacked on a Greek noun-ending, turning into not just a Greek word, but a Greek name. That’s why so many Christians, myself included, capitalize it. They treated Mammon like a person, ’cause Jesus said you can’t serve Mammon as well as God—and it must therefore be a competitor god. Obviously a false god, but still.

And since mamoná is a cognate of the Hebrew word מַטְמוֹן/matmón, “secret riches,” people imagine Mammon is therefore be a god of riches, wealth, or money.

In Luke, Jesus speaks of Mammon right after his Shrewd Butler Story. Maybe you remember it; maybe not, ’cause pastors hesitate to teach on it, ’cause Jesus straight-up praises an embezzler. In it, a butler makes friends by undercharging his boss’s debtors. Lk 16.1-9 Jesus’s moral: “Make yourselves friends with your filthy lucre,” Lk 16.9 or as the KJV puts it, “the mammon of unrighteousness.” And the Pharisees in his audience responded by rejecting it—’cause they were φιλάργυροι/filárgyri, “silver-lovers.” Lk 16.14

So… is Mammon the pagan god of money? Or simply Jesus’s personification of money? Or a mistranslation?

Mammon’s a person?

First of all, there’s nothing in ancient literature about the god Mammon. Seriously, there isn’t. I’ve looked; other historians have looked even harder than I have; there’s nothing.

The Mishna is a collection of what second-century Pharisees taught—and this’d include some things first-century Pharisees taught, so it’s a useful insight into what Jesus dealt with whenever he interacted with Pharisees. Whenever mamón comes up in the Mishna, Pharisees meant money. When we’re taught to love the LORD with all our might, Dt 6.5 the Pharisees said this also means with all our mamón. Berakot 9.5 They equated might with wealth. Which isn’t wrong; it’s not the only kind of might, but as we see all the time in our culture, it’s extremely mighty. It’s not an insignificant power.

Archaeologists have dug up nothing about Mammon in Israel and ancient Aramaic-speaking territories. That’s not to say one of ’em won’t discover something someday. But till something gets found, all our talk about the god Mammon, all of it, is guesswork. The ancients may have never worshiped any such god as Mammon. We’re just extrapolating all of it from Jesus’s lesson.

But this sure hasn’t stopped us Christians from extrapolating away. The mind can’t handle gaps in our knowledge, and has to fill it with something. Anything. Myths if necessary.

Christians invented all sorts of theories about who Mammon is. Fallen angel or demon. Elder god or spiritual force. What its motives and goals are. What it plots when we’re not looking. Popular Christian mythology (namely The Faerie Queene, The Divine Comedy, and Paradise Lost) include Mammon as one of the demons under Satan. Our saints invented complicated theologies about where it fits into the devils’ hierarchy. Whole books were written. Whole industries were created.

All of it guesswork. ’Cause our only source of Mammon’s existence is the Mishna and Jesus, and neither of ’em define it as anything but money.

Is there any legitimacy to any Christian teachings about Mammon? Depends on who’s teaching. Any preacher who claims, “We know from the bible that Mammon is a demon,” knows no such thing. “We know Mammon is headquartered in the financial capitals in the world”—no we don’t. “We know Mammon gains power every time the market goes up”—we do not.

We know money is a force. Educated economists understand how we create it. Yes, we humans create it. Money’s a human invention. Originally, humans bartered, but barter’s inefficient; how’s a week of labor precisely worth one goat? But if you can trade goods and labor for grams of copper, silver, gold, or platinum, now you can meter out how much you think something’s worth—and haggle over that price. Problem is, the value of precious metals is way too easy to manipulate, so governments switched it to pounds, dollars, euros, yuan, yen, pesos, and our other currencies… and now people worry about how much governments manipulate its value. I’m not even gonna touch the constant manipulation people perform upon cryptocurrency. Not that the “cashless society” meme considers that… but I’m gonna stay off that tangent today.

People who don’t understand money, and how humans influence it, tend to imagine money has a life and power of its own. They attribute all sorts of special abilities to it. Those are myths too. Stands to reason these same folks would imagine Mammon is a living being, and it controls money, not humans. And that we’re powerless against it—when in fact we humans have a great deal of power over everything we’ve created. Yeah, even when it sometimes gets away from us.

I’m gonna stop capitalizing the word for a moment: I treat mammon as the same as money. It’s a spiritual force. Not a person. Yes it’s always possible there’s some no-foolin’ spiritual being which attaches itself to money, and claims power over it. After all, there are humans who do the very same thing; why not a devil? But that spirit has no more power over money than we do. It’s tricking us into thinking it’s mightier than it is. We can dismiss it, because through Christ we can easily defeat it. Any fear or awe we have of it is misplaced, and will simply get in the way of our understanding.

So… why’d Jesus personify mammon? Because Jesus is a poet, and this is what poets do. When the Greeks described ἔρος/éros, “passion,” as if it’s Eros, a god—one which might strike you with its arrows of love or hatred—it’s a clever way to describe what passion kinda does. Problem is, the Greeks wrongly thought you had to worship these personifications in order to gain some degree of control over them. You gotta worship Eros, and appease it, otherwise it’ll smite you with the wrong arrow, and now you’re uncontrollably horny for your slave girl; or Eros makes your wife despise you—and of course she will, now that you’re lusting for your slave girl.

The Greeks worshiped Eros same as they did Phobos (φόβος/fóvos, “fear”) or Plutos (πλοῦτος/plútos, “wealth”—not the Latin god Pluto; notice the -S at the end). But Jesus’s intent isn’t to declare Mammon is a competitor god. Just to warn us to not grant it our worship—which only rightly belongs to the LORD.

Mammon doesn’t need to become a person before humans’ll worship it. A money manager doesn’t go to any Church of Mammon to pay homage to her god; she just goes to the office. A banker doesn’t need to pray to Mammon; accessing his online bank account serves the very same function. The ancients worshiped lifeless stone gods, and Mammonists just happen to worship lifeless wealth. Worshiping a dead god is just as wrong as worshiping a spirit; the pursuit of a fake deity will lead us just as far afield.

True, every once in a while some Christian will claim they had a prophetic dream in which Mammon is one of the archdemons, battling the holy angels with its silver arrows. I’ll be blunt: A lot of these dreamers are rubbish. Basic confirmation will tell you so: They don’t forewarn us of anything, and if they do, those dreams don’t come to pass. They’re not always consistent with scripture; there’s a fair amount of Christian mythology mixed up in them, but that’s not scripture. There’s a lot of popular beliefs mixed up in ’em, and that’s not consistent with scripture either. So clearly, these “prophetic dreams” are their subconscious—and they’re too often pandering to Christian fears and wishes. So when Mammon is a mighty being in those dreams: Nope, it’s still not. It’s a force. It’s money.

Money. It’s a gas.

Money isn’t material.

I know; pocket change is a physical thing. As are dollar bills. But these items only represent the actual value of money. That’s why people will pick up a quarter when they find one in the street, but they won’t pick up a washer. (Or even pennies anymore.) They’ll pick up a $10 bill, but not a napkin. Currency makes money appear tangible. The reality is money is a cloud of mathematics, behavioral psychology, economic theory, and political theory. When we convert it into bills, coins, and bonds, we make it look tangible, solid, countable, and controllable. But it’s really not solid.

For the longest time, instead of bills and coins, humanity used metal, and we attached a specific value per gram to the metal. (Or in the States, value per ounce.) For this reason certain people wanna put us back on a gold and silver standard: They insist gold has an inherent value, and dollars don’t. But they’re wrong. Gold, like cryptocurrency, like money, is worth whatever people believe it’s worth—and humans can easily manipulate that value. One of the first events people called “Black Friday” was when Jay Gould and James Fisk tried to manipulate the New York gold market. They slowly bought up a lot of gold… then on 24 September 1869 they sold all of it, dumping it on the market. Thanks to the rules of supply and demand, too much gold caused people to value it less, and gold’s price plummeted. Gould and Fisk took advantage of the new cheap price of gold, and bought back more than they sold. And if we didn’t pass laws against this practice, people would do it again and again, just to enrich themselves. It’s why people still do this with unregulated cryptocurrency—and it’s why crypto isn’t a safe investment.

Goldbugs insist such acts artificially alter gold’s price. ’Cause they refuse to believe gold doesn’t have a fixed value. Which only proves they’ve no idea how money works. All value is entirely based on belief: What do people imagine something’s worth? Same with trading cards, collectible toys, art, memorabilia, silver, gold, and the dollar.

The U.S. dollar is worth a dollar because the American people believe it buys a dollar’s worth of something. If we figure a dollar can buy a can of soda, that’s how far its power extends: Any soda sold for more than a dollar is “too much,” or less than a dollar is “a bargain.” Everything gets tied to that dollar=soda metric. We don’t even think about why they should be equal. Says who? Um… the government? The Federal Reserve? The economy? (Clearly not restaurants.) The collective belief of every American?

Actually… yeah it is collective belief.

Gold works precisely the same way. Gold is worth $120 per gram because gold buyers believe it’s worth $120 per gram. When they don’t anymore, that’ll change. Might go up, or down. Claiming, “But its real value never changes” is the illusion: Everything’s real value changes. And you don’t want two speculators who don’t mind bankrupting the world, wielding the power to make these changes so they can enrich themselves. That’s why we abandoned the gold standard.

Stocks are a more obvious example. A corporation might make no money, and hasn’t for years, but it’s an internet company, and people are convinced they should put their hopes (“put stock”) in internet companies, so its stock is outrageously overvalued. Some ninny on CNBC with a sound effects box said it’s worth a lot, so it is. Conversely another company might be really profitable, doing great, very stable, yet its stock value is low because stockholders think it should be inexpensive.

The collective belief of shareholders just happens to be far more volatile than that of every American. But even American faith and credit has its limits. When other things take greater priority than money, like food during a famine, humans will trade a decent pile of money for donkey heads and dove crap. 2Ki 6.25

So money isn’t material. And any force which isn’t material is spiritual.

I know, some folks are gonna object to my reducing things that way. In part because many pagans imagine material things are real, and spiritual things are imaginary. And money’s real!—therefore it must somehow be material. But money isn’t material. Yet it’s real. Therefore spiritual.

No, others will argue; it’s intellectual. It’s psychological. It’s conceptual. Pick any synonym with means “immaterial but real,” and they’d far rather use that word than “spiritual.” ’Cause that word “spiritual” bugs ’em, and they wanna strictly limit it to religious stuff. Stuff they don’t believe in. They believe in money, but God’s another deal. If money is spiritual just like God is spiritual, perhaps they’ve gotta take another look at God… and they really don’t wanna.

If that’s your hangup, get over it. Spiritual is real. God is real. Stop treating religion as if you’re only pretending. This is substantial stuff.

And too often money has taken religion’s place. It’s why Jesus warned us about making a master of it. People look to money to save them! It solves their problems, achieves their dreams, Ec 10.19 secures their futures, buys their health, conquers their adversaries, gives them peace. Heck, if they can afford to be cryogenically frozen, it’ll even offer them an afterlife.

But like every false god, it destroys more than it gives, and all its promises are deceptions. The Beatles figured out money can’t buy you love. I sometimes joke, “No; but you can rent it.” Sadly, for a lot of people, renting will do.

In Jesus’s day: The opposite problem.

Back when Jesus first taught about Mammon, it was to remind his students money is substantial. Y’see, they had the opposite problem from us: God was real, but money not so much.

First-century Palestine didn’t practice free-market capitalism. Back then the Roman Empire was on the gold standard, but gold wasn’t common enough for common people to use. (Hence the big parties they’d throw when you found a lost coin. Lk 15.8-10) Only the wealthy had actual coins. For everyone else, wealth was tied up in property: Land, slaves, animals, and personal possessions. They practiced barter-based theocratic feudalism: Everything ultimately belonged to their lord, i.e. the LORD. And every seven years the LORD decreed they’d cancel debts and free their slaves. Not all wealth would last.

Under this system, God was more tangible to them than money. As he’s supposed to be.

Jesus taught about Mammon because he wants people to take money more seriously. Well, nowadays we do—often too seriously. In fact our economic system is rigged in such a way, it’s no longer possible to follow the rules set out in the Law. Selling yourself into slavery to pay debts? On the up side, slavery’s illegal; on the down side, debt repayment might take the rest of your life, and consume every single dollar you earn. Debts aren’t cancelled every seven years. And whenever government takes part of our income to help the needy, same as the Hebrew priests did with tithes, conservatives scream bloody murder about socialism.

Every once in a while I hear of some Christian money-manager who holds a seminar, who claims he’ll teach you some biblical principles for dealing with wealth. I’ve been to a few. What they actually teach is free-market capitalism. (Not that there’s anything wrong with learning about capitalism; it is the system Americans live under.) The rest is about debt avoidance, based on various scriptures quoted out of context to support their ideas. Again, not that debt avoidance is a bad idea; it’s a really good idea. But what they teach about money, and Mammon, come from free-market economics, not bible.

Economics in the bible were greatly different than economics today, so of course what these money-managers teach doesn’t wholly jibe with the bible. Problem is, it doesn’t always jibe with the parts of the bible which can apply to our culture. Generosity, fr’instance. Giving to the needy so we can have treasure in heaven. Mt 6.19-21 Giving to everyone who asks, and not turning people away. Mt 5.42 Money-managers don’t teach that. Instead they teach “stewardship”—a concept which they claim is biblical (and it does exist in the bible, Lk 16.1-13) but it’s not about giving; it’s about gathering. It’s about investing our money, and spending none of it, so that our pile of money will grow, so the power and security of Mammon might increase. It’s about storing up treasure on earth, disguised as “kingdom principles.” It’s part of the “prosperity gospel.”

True Christianity is forsaking everything, everything, to follow Jesus. When we spend too much time on wealth “stewardship,” rather than making God’s kingdom grow, we forget to be generous. We forget to take leaps of faith with our money: It’s not prudent to be foolish and wasteful, even if it’s for the kingdom’s sake. We trust our pile, instead of trusting the ultimate Owner of every pile, who can easily tap those other piles for our sake. We serve the wrong lord. And as Jesus said, we just can’t serve both.

But dammit, we Americans are convinced we can serve both if we try hard enough.

The Mammonist gospel.

One particularly American teaching—one popular among the poor, and one we’ve even exported to poor countries—is God doesn’t want his kids living lives of defeat. (Which is true.) He wants us to find success in everything we do. (Which is also true.) He wants us to be rich. (Wait a minute…)

Supposedly God wants us to have so much wealth it makes pagans jealous, and want to get in on this Christianity stuff so they too can become fat and comfortable. (Wait, God tells us not to covet, Dt 5.21 but it’s okay to use covetousness to spread his kingdom?) So to these folks, Mammon isn’t God’s opponent or competitor. The love of money isn’t a root of evil. On the contrary: Money is God’s tool, and money-love is God’s bait. It’s our reward for trusting him, following him, for giving money away to Christian charities or churches. God’s gonna open heaven’s windows and make it rain, baby. Make it rain!

This prosperity-gospel bushwa isn’t a new idea. Pharisees believed in it too. It’s how the rich justified their many possessions… and their stinginess. They were wealthy because God blessed them… and the poor had nothing because God didn’t bless them. Why? Well, they must’ve sinned or something. Some defect of character.

Properly this philosophy is called social Darwinism. Like Darwinism, everybody fights to survive, and the “fittest” do. The wealthy are the “fittest”—they struggled, came out on top, and deserve their wealth. Even if they inherited it, or if they stumbled into wealth through dumb luck: Those are just other forms of God’s blessing, claim the wealthy.

In bible times this was how Pharisees believed the world worked. It’s why Jesus’s students were floored when their Master informed them the rich are gonna have the darnedest time getting into his kingdom. Mk 10.23-27 To their minds, the rich were already in the kingdom—it’s why they were rich! But in this age, God gives people wealth for one and only one reason: To spread his kingdom. Not to grow our own. If we aren’t growing his kingdom, we may not even be in it. We’re worshiping Mammon… but we call it “Jesus,” and pretend its power came from God.

Nope, prosperity gospel folks aren’t worshiping God. Really he’s a means to an end, and that end is wealth. They’re Mammonists. Whether they think God’s got a mansion and a crown waiting for them up in heaven, or they think God’s gonna get them a Bentley and an Apple Watch here on earth, they’re following him for the bling. They’re proclaiming their ideas to an impoverished world because hopeful Christians who believe their tripe will send them donations, and these contributions fund their lifestyle. They’re exploiting the poor, same as plutocrats who make 10,000 times what their underpaid employees do. They irritate God just as much.

I used to say I have no problem with billionaires, or preachers who make really good salaries. I’ve learned better. These people are poisoning themselves. Unless they’re giving so much to the needy it endangers their billionaire status, they’re rendering themselves wholly unfit for God’s kingdom; by embracing Mammon they’re embracing hell. I’m not saying we have to overthrow them; Jesus will do that. Although we really should stop giving them tax breaks; why are we tempting and corrupting them further by making them richer?

And one of the surest signs we’re dealing with a Mammonist instead of a Christ-follower, is when people justify this sort of behavior. I’ve heard many a Mammonist misquote Jesus’s story of the Equal-Pay Vineyard, “Isn’t this my money, to do with as I please?” Mt 20.15 They miss the whole reason the employer said this: To justify his generosity, not his miserliness. In Jesus’s culture, the only one who really owns everything is God. And it just so happens, the employer in Jesus’s story represents God. It is his money, to do with as he pleases—and it pleases him to be generous, and it pleases him when his children are likewise cheerful givers. 2Co 9.7

’Cause when we’re not, when we’re fruitless and tight-fisted, we’re likely not his children either. We’re Mammon’s.

16 September 2025

Sucking up to God.

All my life I’ve heard Christian prayer leaders instruct me that before we start asking God for things, it’s only proper to begin with praise. Tell God how great he is. How mighty. How awesome. Supposedly that’s how Jesus demonstrated we’re to start in the Lord’s Prayer, with “Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done…” Because we wanna make his name holy and embrace his will.

This attitude reminds me way too much of the sycophantic prayer we find in Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life:

CHAPLAIN. “Let us praise God. Oh Lord…”
CONGREGATION. [ritually repeating] “Oh Lord…”
CHAPLAIN. “Oooh you are so big!
CONGREGATION. “Oooh you are so big.”
CHAPLAIN. “So absolutely huge!”
CONGREGATION. “So absolutely huge.”
CHAPLAIN. “Gosh, we’re all really impressed down here, I can tell you!”
CONGREGATION. “Gosh, we're all really impressed down here, I can tell you.”
CHAPLAIN. “Forgive us, O Lord, for this dreadful toadying.”
CONGREGATION. “And bare-faced flattery.”
CHAPLAIN. “But you are so strong and, well, just so super!”
CONGREGATION. “Fantastic.”

The problem with it? It’s not what the Lord’s Prayer means… and to a large degree it’s hypocrisy. When we come to God with legitimate prayer requests, small or serious, and begin with the fawning adulation, how is this significantly different from a teenager telling her dad “I love you so much” before she asks him for money? I kiss God’s boots; I earn his favor. Now he owes me. Right?

Of course it’s wrong. Yet it’s what we see: Christians figuring the more we praise God, the better he thinks of us. Or as pagans would put it, the more karma they’re generating. The more apt he is to give us what we ask, even when we really shouldn’t ask for such things ’cause our ulterior motives are bad. Jm 4.3 But we’ve deluded ourselves into thinking this is how prayer should be done. It’s not honest praise; it’s a quid pro quo.

In reality prayer requests are about grace. They’re about God giving us what he wants to give us, only because he loves us, and not because we merit or earned it.

Likewise praise is about appreciating God, about reminding ourselves of his greatness. If you wanna do a lot of that, I direct you to Psalms. But the Lord’s Prayer doesn’t actually include praise—unless you’re using the Didache version which includes, “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory.”

And in that case it follows the examples shown in Psalms: The psalmists tended to pour out their heart to God first. Express their woes, state their problem, ask for help. Then—after God talked ’em down, or told them he’d take care of it—then they ended their prayers with praise and gratitude. Honest gratitude.

12 September 2025

Generosity and stinginess in God’s kingdom.

Matthew 6.22-23, Luke 11.34-36.

Some of Jesus’s teachings tend to get skipped entirely. Sometimes because they’re too hard to understand—and they’re not really; we just need to learn their historical context. Today’s Sermon on the Mount passage is one such example.

And sometimes because we just don’t like them. Libertines hate what Jesus has to say about still following the Law, ’cause they don’t wanna. Hypocrites hate what Jesus has to say about public acts of devotion, ’cause it’s way easier to do that than produce good fruit. Ingrates hate what Jesus has to say about loving the “unloveable,” forgiving the “unforgivable,” and going the extra mile. Mammonists hate what Jesus has to say about money—and today’s passage is about money, so it’s likewise one such example.

Yep, it’s about money, not opthamology. But because people are unfamiliar with what ancient middle easterners meant by “good eye” and “evil eye”—and presume they’re about what Romans and westerners mean by it, and think they have to do with all-purpose blessings and curses—we interpret this passage all kinds of wrong. Or claim it’s too obscure, and skip it, and focus on the verses we understand, and like better.

Well. In Matthew, right after saying we oughta keep our treasures in heaven, Jesus says this:

Matthew 6.22-23 KWL
22“The body’s light is the eye.
So when your¹ eye is clear,
your¹ whole body is illuminated.
23When your¹ eye is bad,
your¹ whole body is dark.
So if the light in you¹ is dark,
how dark are you?”
Luke 11.34-36 KWL
34“The body’s light is your¹ eye.
{So} whenever your¹ eye is clear,
your¹ whole body is illuminated too.
Once it’s bad,
your¹ body is dark too.
35So watch out
so the light in you¹ isn’t dark.
36So if your¹ whole body is illuminated,
without having any parts dark,
the whole will be bright—
as if a lamp could shine lightning for you¹.”

In both gospels the King James Version uses these words to describe the eye:

  • Ἁπλοῦς/aplús, “all together,” is translated “single.”
  • Πονηρὸς/ponirós, “bad,” is translated “evil.”

Why? ’Cause that’s how William Tyndale translated it, and that’s what the Geneva Bible went with. It was tradition. The translators were simply following the tradition handed down by the Vulgate, which turned aplús into simplex/“single,” and ponirós into nequam, “wicked.” Thanks to St. Jerome’s inaccurate interpretation in the 390s, Christians misinterpreted this passage for centuries, and continued to misinterpret it this way even after they learned ancient Greek for themselves and tried to retranslate it into English.

These are middle eastern idioms. Jerome translated those words literally, and thought he was right to; and a lot of translators likewise think they’re right to translate idioms literally. They’re not. Idioms need to be interpreted. Literal interpretations of idioms always give people the wrong idea. If I describe an eager student as “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” then have that phrase translated into Chinese, my poor Chinese friend would be stunned to hear she has a tail at all, much less a bushy one. And wait, doesn’t she have brown eyes?…

By aplús and ponirós, Jesus meant how I translated it: A clear eye. One with neither blurry vision nor cataracts. Or a bad eye; not an evil one, though it might certainly feel evil to you when your eyes don’t work. When your eyes are cloudy, vision’s a problem, and you’re gonna be in the dark. When your eyes are healthy, you see just fine: Light could enter your body “as if a lamp could shine lightning for you,” Lk 11.36 which interestingly is exactly how 19th-century arc lamps worked.

But even so, Jesus isn’t trying to teach anatomy. “Clear eye” and “bad eye” aren’t literally about eyes. They’re about generosity and stinginess. This is, as I said, a teaching about money.

10 September 2025

Biblical judges: Ancient Israel’s chiefs.

When the Septuagint translated the Old Testament into Greek, it translated the Hebrew word שֹׁפֵט֙/šofét, “decision-maker,” into δικαστής/dikastís, “judge.” From there the Vulgate turned it into judex, “judge”; John Wycliffe turned it into juge, “judge”; and the Geneva Bible made it “judge,” and that’s what we have in our bibles today.

But yeah, it’d be better translated “decision-maker” or “decider.” Judges nowadays are quite different civic leaders than the biblical judges. Thanks to the separation of powers, which most governments have adopted to a certain degree, judges handle criminal and civic court cases. They don’t run the country—unless they either leave the bench and run for office, or lead a coup and take over the country. And once they become the country’s chief executive, they leave the judging to other, full-time judges—again, unless they’re dictators who decide they’ll take over the powers of the country’s supreme court, and maybe hear cases themselves.

Biblical judges, in contrast, were ancient Israel’s chief executives. They ruled the country. Although there are some commentators who aren’t sure all of ’em ruled the whole country; some judges might only have led their tribe. But the judges of the book of Judges are all described as judging “Israel,” not individual tribes. They all appear to be national leaders. Or, in some cases, comtemporary leaders—judges whose lifespans overlapped, who briefly led Israel alongside fellow judges.

And no, these weren’t kings. More like dictators. They took power, then ruled for life. Their kids usually didn’t succeed them.

A list? Sure, I’ll make a list. No, I have no exact dates; no one does. We have rough dates.

  1. Moses ben Amram, Levite, circa 1440s BC. Ex-Dt
  2. Joshua ben Nun, Ephraimite, ca. 1400 BC. Js
  3. Othniel ben Kenaz, Judahite, ca. 1350 BC. Jg 3.7-11
  4. Ehud ben Gera, Benjamite, ca. 1300 BC. Jg 3.12-30
  5. Shamgar ben Anath, ca. 1220 BC. Jg 3.31
  6. Deborah wife of Lappidoth, Ephraimite, ca. 1200 BC. Jg 4-5
  7. Gideon Jerubbaal ben Joash, Manassite, ca. 1190 BC. Jg 6-8
  8. Tola ben Puah, Issacharite, ca. 1140 BC. Jg 10.1-2
  9. Jair ben Segub, ca. 1110 BC. Jg 10.3-5
  10. Jephthah of Gilead, Manassite, ca. 1110 BC. Jg 10.6-12.7
  11. Ibzan of Bethlehem, Judahite, ca. 1090 BC. Jg 12.8-10
  12. Elon the Zebulunite, ca. 1080 BC. Jg 12.11-12
  13. Abdon ben Hillel, Ephraimite, ca. 1070 BC. Jg 12.13-15
  14. Samson ben Manoah, Judahite, ca. 1110 BC. Jg 13-16
  15. Eli the head priest, Levite, ca. 1120 BC. 1Sa 1-4
  16. Samuel ben Elkanah, Ephraimite, ca. 1060 BC. 1Sa 7-12, 15-16

Most lists only include the judges named in the book of Judges—Othniel through Samson. Hence no Moses nor Joshua, no Eli nor Samuel. Nothing against those guys, but the list-makers only wanna include the judges in that one book. That way you get 12 judges, and hey, God loves the number 12—maybe that means something! But nah.

Some lists include Abimelech ben Gideon, Jg 9 but not legitimately. More about him in a minute.

Samuel makes reference to a rescueer of Israel named Bedan. 1Sa 12.11 We don’t know who that is. There’s a Bedan ben Ulam of Manasseh, 1Ch 7.17 KJV but we’ve no idea if that’s him. The Septuagint changes him to Barak, so some translations do too. 1Sa 12.11 ESV And some lists include Barak ben Abinoam, Deborah’s general, as one of the judges. But that’s mainly because the lists are written by sexists who despise the iea of a woman judge, and wanna mitigate Deborah’s existence by saying she co-judged along with Barak. But the bible never calls Barak a judge. (To be fair, it actually doesn’t call Ehud or Gideon judges either.) Yes Barak rescued Israel; yes he’s a hero of faith. He 11.32 Nothing against him! But elevating him to judgeship is for the Holy Spirit, not these guys who think testicles grant them innate authority.

And sometimes people don’t include Moses and Joshua in this list because they’re only counting people who became judge as part of the cycle.