We’re wrong about God, y’know.

by K.W. Leslie, 12 January 2020

One of my favorite Peanuts strips goes a little something like this. (I liked it so much I used to include it in the Theology banner.)


Peanuts, 9 August 1976. Peanuts Worldwide

Theology is the study of God. If we’re gonna follow God we gotta study him. Gotta find out what he wants, what he expects of us. Heck, gotta find out if he’s even a “he,” and we’re not using the wrong pronoun. (Fastest way to yank the chain of certain Christians: Use a different one. But let up after you’ve freaked them out a few minutes. Be nice.)

Square One of theology is humility, the recognition of who we truly are. And who are we?

Well the most common Christian response to that question is “Um… nobody really.” Which isn’t entirely true. That’s the answer we give ’cause our fellow Christians expect it of us… and it’s hypocrisy, because we don’t really have that low an opinion of ourselves. It’s false humility: Pretending to be what we deep down know we’re not. If we truly thought we were nobody, we’d figure ourselves totally unworthy of God, and never bring ourselves to study him. There are actual Christians who do have such a low opinion of themselves, and they don’t study him, which ain’t good.

So let’s set the B.S. aside and get honest: We suspect we can know God, or at least know him better. And that’s good! God wants us to know him better. It’s why he sent us Jesus. To answer that “Who are we question definitively: It’s why he made us adoptive daughters and sons of the most high God. Jn 1.12 That ain’t nothing. We’re precisely the people who should study God.

Theology is the birthright of every Christian. Any Christian who doesn’t bother to investigate our Father is destined to have a really sucky, substandard, dysfunctional relationship with him. Which surely isn’t what he wants. Hope you don’t either.

So yeah, we need to get into theology. We need to study God. All of us. You included.

Right standing versus right knowledge.

Here’s the problem: Too many of us Christians presume we already do know God.

No, not comprehensively. God is huge. God is significantly different than we are. God is spirit instead of physical, so forget about sitting him down in a lab and taking his blood pressure: He’s impossible to study through the physical sciences. Absolutely everything we know about God, he’s had to tell us through Jesus and his prophets. And considering how massive and mighty he’s revealed himself to be… well, we may know a whole lot, but in proportion to the hugeness of our almighty Subject, we know next to nothing.

Even so, way too many of us think we do have his number: We know God. We know how he’d think on nearly every subject. He’s easy to deduce and predict, and many a Christian will presume to speak for him: “God hates that.” “God would never allow that.” “God is gonna punish people for that.” “God prefers this.” “God’s will is for you to do this.” “God’s best is this.” “God is like this.”

How do these people know what God wants and doesn’t want? Well, some of ’em actually do practice theology. They do their due diligence and find out what God says on the matter.

The rest of them have no idea. They’re guessing. They’re projecting. But they sure do look like they know, don’t they? Comes from years of winging it—and nobody ever calling them on their subterfuge.

Those who are winging it, who make “educated” guesses about God and usually get away with it, are usually following the Christianist crowd: They repeat what they heard, and liked, from other Christians. Whether it’s true or not is a whole other deal: They like it. It suits them. It fits within their worldview. It appeals to their personal desires. It sounds correct.

If they’re lucky, it might actually be correct. Loads of us stumble ass-backwards into truth because the Holy Spirit graciously keeps us Christians from going too far afield. But following your gut, by definition, means you’re not following Jesus.

Why do these people nonetheless think they’re on the right path? Partly because the Spirit keeps ’em on a short leash, so they haven’t stumbled into the sort of catastrophes their sloppy thinking oughta produce. And partly because, despite wild error, they justify themselves: “Once I turned to Jesus, he made me right with God. So I’m right. God made me right.”

Yeah, they’re using that word wrong. Justification is the idea Jesus makes us right with God once we put our faith in him. Ro 10.10 But being made right with God, means he’s not gonna let our sins and failures and wrong thinking get in the way of a relationship with him. It doesn’t mean we don’t still have sins, failures, and wrong thinking. “Right,” in this situation, doesn’t mean correct. Two different things. I might have a fantastic relationship with my wife, yet be totally wrong about how she takes her coffee. (“I thought it was cream and two sugars. Since when did you start drinking it half whiskey?”) God forgives all. It doesn’t mean he automatically reprogrammed us with the infallible knowledge of his will. If it did, no Christian would be wrong.

So, back to Square One. Who are we? Daughters and sons of God. But do we know God? Not yet. Not enough. Gotta fix that.

Who does know God? Well, there’s only one person who does. That’d be his one and only Son, who came from the Father. Jn 1.18 He knows God. Where we’re wrong, he’s right.

So that’s the first principle of Christian theology: We’re wrong. Jesus is right. Follow Jesus.

Total depravity, and totally depraved theology.

Various Christians object to my saying “We’re wrong.” They’ll concede we were wrong—but Jesus straightens us out. Now that we have the Holy Spirit, isn’t he correcting us, fixing us, getting the error out of us? Aren’t we getting better? Aren’t we becoming more right?

Sure. But there’s still a buttload of wrongness to overcome.

Y’see, when God originally created humans, we were good. Ge 1.31 Sin undid this. It corrupted us profoundly, warping both us and the world we live on. Instead of being naturally good, we’re naturally self-centered. The self-preservation instinct, which is supposed to simply keep us from giving up and dying, now focuses only on what makes us feel good, all the time—and whatever it takes to get there, even if it means lying, stealing, defrauding, murdering, destroying. True, some of us are gonna balk before going all the way towards sin; we gotta justify it to ourselves first so we still feel good about ourselves. (More self-preservation instinct, y’know.) But all of us are like this. Hence all of us sin.

Christians call this corruption total depravity. Since “depravity” nowadays means “perverted,” people get the wrong idea—“You think every human is a pervert?” No; every human is selfish. Every human looks out for number one. Since some people generously look out for others too, we don’t always recognize their self-centeredness: We don’t realize generosity makes ’em feel good about themselves, or makes ’em justify all the evil they do, or makes ’em think they’ve restored their karmic balance. Most religions do recognize this core selfishness. And some philosophies not only recognize it, they embrace it. Ayn Rand claimed selfishness is good, and many a libertarian has used her thinking to defend their self-worship. Survival of the fittest, you know. It’s the law of nature.

It’s called total depravity because it’s everywhere. Humans aren’t just partially depraved—selfish in some places, selfless in others. Nor did Jesus magically cure us of selfishness when he saved us, much as we might wish he did. On the contrary: He has to command us to love one another. Jn 13.34 ’Cause our thousands of denominations prove we don’t really.

And the Holy Spirit has to grow love in us. And compassion, and self-control. We humans are so bent, the only thing which can unbend us is God.

Provided we truly follow him. Problem is, people don’t bother.

When we first turn to God, we already have some idea of what he’s like. We didn’t come to God with a blank slate: We had our biases and prejudices. “God works like this, not that.” You know.

A lot of these biases aren’t based on God. They’re based on how we wish God is. They’re based on the sort of God we’d like to follow. He likes what we like. He hates what we hate. Really, he’s like the perfect and almighty version of us. But that’s not the real God. It’s imaginary.

Once we buckle down and study the real God, too often those self-centered ideas still pervade our thinking. We always choose an interpretation of God which pays off for us. God tends to still like and hate what we do. If we’re politically conservative, how about that: So’s God! If we’re politically liberal, it just so happens God is too. If we hate the rich, if we don’t approve of homosexuality, if we believe women need to know their place, if we think the needy are victims of society, if we’re furious at sin and lawlessness, or if we wouldn’t want to see anyone go to hell—conveniently enough for each and every Christian, our God, and our churches, think and teach precisely the same things. What good followers we must be!

Hogwash of course. But to be fair, there are people who go to the opposite extreme: They choose to believe God’s their exact opposite. If their knee-jerk reaction is to ignore a panhandler, they figure, “That must be my total depravity. God wants me to be generous to everyone.” So they give to everyone, even though they don’t wanna. And they feel righteous, because they think resisting their flesh is how to automatically deduce God’s will. Thing is, sometimes those impulses aren’t wrong. Yeah, they may be done with wrong motives, or (if we’re lucky) we actually were raised to do the right thing instead of the wrong one. So following God as if every day were Opposite Day is no guarantee we’re following him correctly either.

Okay, so where does that leave us?

Remember, we’re wrong.

Back to the first principle: “We’re wrong. Jesus is right. Follow Jesus.” Personalize it: “I’m wrong. Jesus is right.”

The reason Christians split ourselves into a thousand different denominations is because we don’t think this way. Instead we fight one another. It’s why Christians believe so many very different things about Jesus. It’s why we find Christians in every political party, who figure every “so-called Christian” in the opposition party isn’t really Christian. It’s why we don’t get along, and aren’t unified like Jesus wants. It’s why we don’t follow Jesus to the degree we should. We’re not right. Jesus is right, but we are very, very wrong.

So the first step in the right direction is to admit this. We’re wrong. Make it your mantra: “I’m wrong. Jesus is right.” We aren’t experts on Jesus. If any human being had a valid claim to be an expert on Jesus, it’d be Jesus’s mother, and she didn’t understand what he was up to half the time. Next would come the guys who followed him up and down Israel, taking notes—and they blew it too. His family didn’t get him either. And these folks lived 20 centuries ago. Yet loads of Christians, 20 centuries (and 10 or 11 cultures) removed from these people, who follow him two hours a week instead of all 168 hours, actually have the arrogance to claim we get him. Yeesh.

It’s possible to understand Jesus as well as his first followers eventually did. But this requires two things of us. Humility, of course—knowing we’re wrong—and infinitely more important, the Holy Spirit.

The Spirit is God. Not a part of God, or a lackey of God, or a force of God, but God. The Spirit is as God as God gets. Once we became Christians, the Holy Spirit sealed himself to us, and he’s trying to guide us, comfort us, encourage us, and fix us. We’re wrong, but the Holy Spirit is working to make us right. We just have to stop assuming we already are right, stop fighting the Spirit, and work with him instead of against him.

When we learn truth, the Spirit encourages us to embrace it and make it a part of us. And sometimes we resist him—we don’t like the truth, or find it impossible to believe, or it goes against our politics, or we’re even under some bizarre delusion Christians aren’t allowed to think that way. (Happens a lot.) When that happens, fall back on our mantra: “I’m wrong. Jesus is right.” We need to be more skeptical of ourselves. We’re not infallible: We’re depraved. We’re getting better, but still.

Left to my own devices, I’m selfish, apathetic, looking for the easy way out, looking for the way that gets me the most with the least amount of effort, and looking out for number one. That’s how we humans are. All of us. Christians no exception. If we actually behaved otherwise, do you think our churches would have any of the problems we do? (Other than persecution, of course.) Of course not; we’d act like Jesus wants. But we don’t. And it all comes back to selfishness, to total depravity, to the view, “I’m right. They’re wrong. [Do something biologically disagreeable to] them.”

We have to stop this cycle of arrogant jerk-like Christianity which we see in so many of our fellow Christians—and which they see in us. This starts with humility, the Spirit, and “I’m wrong. Jesus is right.” With that, then we can start looking at theology.

So. Your homework assignment is to memorize that mantra. (I know, “mantra” is a Hindu word. I don’t care. I’m Christianizing it. We get to do that, you know.) Put “I’m wrong. Jesus is right” in your brain. Say it whenever you feel like you know it all. This’ll help us develop the kind of humility God can work with. It triggers growth. So recite it—and grow.

Instead of spiritual warfare… a culture war.

by K.W. Leslie, 09 January 2020

Spiritual warfare is about resisting temptation. It’s about fighting our own self-centeredness, our tendency to produce works of the flesh, and anything which tempts us to choose ungodly, evil behavior. Tempters might be evil spirits, but more often it’s just our own corrupt nature. Regardless, we gotta fight it and follow Jesus.

But to many Christians, spiritual warfare doesn’t look like this at all. It’s about being a “prayer warrior” and praying really hard for things. Because our prayers somehow provide energy to the angels fighting the demons in the clouds above. Or so the Frank Peretti novels tell us.

And to Christianists, spiritual warfare has nothing to do with praying away the demons, nor self-control. Spiritual warfare is solely about fighting Satan and its evil plan.

What’s its evil plan? To take over the world. Didn’t Satan tell Jesus it already ruled the world?

Luke 4.5-8 KWL
5 Taking Jesus up, Satan showed him every kingdom in civilization in a moment’s time.
6 The devil told Jesus, “I’ll give you all these powers and their glory: It’s been surrendered to me.
If I want, I can give it to anyone. 7 So once you worship before me, all will be yours.”
8 In reply Jesus told it, “It’s written you’ll worship your Lord God and serve only him.”

Thing is, Satan’s a dirty liar Jn 8.44 and we can’t trust a thing it tells us, so why should we believe it when it claims to rule the world? Especially since Jesus states he conquered the world, Jn 16.33 and he’s eventually coming back to take possession of it. But meanwhile we run things… and we’ve made a mighty mess of things, and since humans don’t care to take responsibility for our mess, we blame Satan. It wrecked the world; not humans who exploit one another and vote for morons.

Anyway, blaming the devil for everything, and presuming spiritual warfare is about fighting the devil, means logically these Christians think they’re at spiritual war with everything. Seriously, everything. They’re fighting the world—however they define “world.”

In practice, this usually means the things they personally don’t like. Like the opposite political party. Like all the forms of entertainment media they don’t like: Television, movies, music, video games, and certain sections of the internet.

And if they’re bigots, it includes all the people they don’t like. Like foreigners. Coloreds. Rednecks and white trash. The poors. The one-percenters. Queers. Incels. Hippies. Millennials (which they still think means “college students,” ’cause they don’t realize millennials are in their thirties now). Non-Christians. People of other churches, whom they’re pretty sure aren’t real Christians. People who live in liberal enclaves on the coasts, or conservative enclaves in the “flyover states.” Anything “other”—meaning other than them.

However tightly they define their circle, their spiritual warfare consists of fighting everyone else, leaving ’em all alone in the world. It’s just them and Jesus.

Well… Jesus left to join all the people they’re persecuting. But they don’t wanna hear it.

Yep, this is some dark Christian stuff. It’s how Christian terrorists get developed: They think they’re right to even descend to violence in the fight against “evil.” So they build bombs, shoot “bad guys,” and imagine themselves righteous. Hey, didn’t people in the bible kill bad guys? Why not them?

And in so doing, they utterly lose the real spiritual battle. And think they’re victorious as they become less and less like Christ Jesus every day.

Your politics don’t matter.

You may presume I’m writing specifically about people on the Christian Right or Christian Left. Certainly you can think of more examples in the opposition party.

I’m not. I know bigots on both sides. I grew up conservative, so I knew plenty of people who think the entire reason we join God’s kingdom is to become his culture-war foot-soldiers. That’s all they focus on. Meanwhile they make excuses or cover up their own temptations and sins, they don’t develop any fruit of the Spirit, and they don’t rid themselves of their old bitterness, hatred, and anger. Why should they?—they can use ’em to fight the devil!

But in the workplace I’m largely surrounded by progressives, and man do they hate conservatives. Mostly because they’ve got conservative relatives who are jerks, and they imagine all conservatives are like that. (To be fair, many are.) But same as conservative Christians, progressive Christians figure the battle’s with the forces of evil without, not within: They don’t concentrate on overcoming their own selfish impulses, but on political victories, large and small.

So this isn’t a political problem. It’s a human problem. Politics are the distraction. They’re the means by which we figure we can conquer the world… forgetting, ignoring, or even dismissing, the fact Jesus already has conquered the world. (To their minds, he’s simply not conquered it enough. Not to their satisfaction!)

I’ve heard a number of Christians claim politics is the way the devil gets us to miss the point. Ugh… again with the devil. Yeah, I’m entire Satan gets a kick out of the way we self-righteously tear at one another, and enjoys tempting people to join in. But the devil doesn’t have the power to fuel all that rage and bile. That’s humanity. That’s all us. We don’t need a lot of provoking to do what comes, thanks to our fallen nature, naturally. We just need to take our eyes off Jesus.

So don’t.

Our duty is to fight our own sins. Quit being distracted by other people’s sins: Look at your own. Stop getting so angry at their misbehavior that you feel the urge to fight them: Fight your own misbehaviors. Stop putting all your energy into changing the world, and put it into changing yourself. Because until we’re able to conquer our own sins, we’re in no position to tackle the sins of the world. We’re just hypocrites.

Yeah, the sins of the world frustrate me. The misbehavior of my elected government officials outrages me. But what should outrage me is my own misbehavior—the stuff I know better than to do, and you’d think I’d’ve stopped doing it by now! Resisting temptation is a constant fight, and one we can’t let up on. But that’s the battle we must win first. Till we do, we simply contribute to the world’s problems.

Why do Christians fast?

by K.W. Leslie, 07 January 2020

Y’know, if fasting weren’t in the bible, we’d have invented it as yet another health fad. Like juice cleanses, or probiotic foods, or making sure everything is gluten-free. (Although it’s ridiculous to see so many product labels now say “gluten-free” on them. Dude, we already know beef jerky is gluten-free… or do we? Have you been secretly adding wheat this whole time?) Anyway you know some lifestyle guru would make a YouTube video, “The food-free diet,” and there ya go. Surprised it hasn’t happened yet.

Of course it is in the bible… which puts it at risk of becoming the opposite problem, where people straight-up refuse to fast because it’s “an Old Testament thing.” Because it’s part of God’s old covenant with the Hebrews which Jesus supposedly voided. Because Jesus even appears to have dismissed fasting as irrelevant:

Mark 2.19-20 KWL
19 Jesus told them, “Is the wedding party able to fast when the groom’s with them?
So long that they have the groom with them, they’re not able to fast.
20 The day will come when the groom’s taken away from them.
Then they’ll fast on that day.”

’Cause you know there are Christians who insist Jesus is always with us; he even said so. Mt 28.20 So they’d interpret “they’ll fast on that day” as only referring to the three days Jesus was dead—and now that he’s alive again, we need never fast again. In fact I’ve heard Christians claim this is the very reason they don’t fast: Why? Christ is risen!

So why do any Christians fast? Well duh, ’cause Jesus did.

Luke 4.1-2 KWL
1 Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan,
and in the Spirit, was led into the wilderness 2 40 days, getting tested by the devil.
Jesus ate nothing in those days, and was hungry at its end.
 
Matthew 4.2 KWL
After fasting 40 days and nights, Jesus was hungry.

And Jesus fasted hardcore: He ate nothing. Wasn’t a Daniel fast. And you know some Christians would totally claim Jesus’s fast was really some form of diet; that he only gave up meat, or bread, or somehow subsisted on a diet of juniper berries and tea. But nope, Jesus ate οὐδὲν/udén, nothing. He obviously drank water, ’cause you’d die otherwise. But no food.

Since Jesus fasted, Christians fast. No, we won’t always go without food. Nor will we go without it for nearly a month and a half; most of us won’t push ourselves beyond a week. In the United States, the popular option is to forego a meal. Nope, not even a full day: One meal. Nope, not even our last meal of the day; we skip lunch, knowing we can make up for it that evening. That’s just how little self-control we have. But the reason we bother to give up something pathetic, then hypocritically act like it was a vast sacrifice, is because we know we should fast… because Jesus fasted.

And because Jesus taught us how to fast:

Luke 6.16-18 KWL
16 “When you fast, don’t be like the sad-looking hypocrites
who conceal their faces so they look to people like they’re fasting.
Amen! I promise you all: They got their credit.
17 You who fast: Fix your hair and wash your face 18 so you don’t look to people like you’re fasting,
except to your Father in private—and your Father, who sees what’s private, will repay you.”

Because fasting’s a prayer practice—it’s about using self-denial so we can focus more intently on God—we’re not doing it to show off, same as prayer. It’s between him and us, and no one else. So we fast privately. Not secretly; it’s okay to admit you’re fasting, and reschedule your business or social occasions till you’re not: Sitting there drinking water, whether you mean to do it or not, is totally showing off.

(Worse: Going to a restaurant, ordering nothing, having your server fetch you glass after glass of water, then not tipping on the grounds you ordered nothing? Not okay. If anything you should tip ’em 30 percent of what you would have spent on a meal. Oh, and do so privately—the other stingy people at your table will use your generosity as an excuse to undertip.)

Jesus taught about fasting because he totally expects us to fast. Really fast. Bad enough that people of his day would dress down and try to look all miserable when they’re going without food; now imagine how ridiculous it’d be if they behaved that way because they were only skipping lunch for a week. Nope; devout Pharisees in Jesus’s day would go wholly without food twice a week. (Devout Christians in the first century did it too.)

Because nothing declares to God, ourselves, and every spiritual force set against us, “God is more important than life itself” like fasting.

Backsliding. We all do it.

by K.W. Leslie, 06 January 2020
BACKSLIDE 'bæk.slaɪd verb. Relapse into bad ways or error.
[Backslider 'bæk.slaɪ.dər noun]

The idea behind backsliding is the road to sanctification isn’t level; it’s uphill. A bit of a climb, too. Paved with gravel instead of asphalt, so on the particularly steep parts, the ground’s gonna slip under your feet a little, especially if you’re standing still. It’s the natural consequence of gravity, so you can’t just stand still. You have to keep moving!

So yeah, in this metaphor the gravitational pull represents our natural tendency towards self-centeredness and sin. If we drop the effort to climb towards Christ—even for a second—we’re gonna backslide.

Now. If the pursuit of Christ is really like this, we Christians oughta be way more gracious and sympathetic to backsliders than we are. I used to hike several times a week, and on every hill there’s always backsliding. On wet days, even with the best shoes, you can always make a misstep and fall on your face. I’ve come back from casual hikes covered in mud, simply because I tackled a hill which looked deceptively easy to scale.

And the Christian walk, if we’re doing it right, is gonna have way bigger challenges than wet hills. We’re gonna fumble. A lot. But we get back up again. We have to; the road home leads up that hill.

Problem is, a lot of American Christians don’t struggle all that hard in our Christianity… and haven’t gone hiking either. So we haven’t thought the metaphor all the way through, and don’t have hiking in mind when we refer to a “backslider.” Or really even know what we’re talking about.

Fr’instance. Back in my high school youth group, a girl became pregnant, and the church gossips were mighty quick to comment how she’d so obviously “backslidden.” Thing is, I knew the girl’s boyfriend. She hadn’t backslidden at all. She had no relationship with Jesus. She was in the youth group because her friends were there. She was in the church’s choir because she was a good singer, and the music pastor liked her talent and let her join. The gossips assumed her attendance, and public on-stage praise of Jesus, meant she was Christian. Nope. Outside youth group and Sunday morning services, she was as pagan as anyone. She was no backslider: She wasn’t even climbing.

The same is true of most “backsliders.” Their Christian walk isn’t uphill: It’s a casual stroll through a shopping mall, as they pick and choose which accessories please them most. If you slide on a level surface, it’s because you never bothered to put on shoes with any traction, or you’re choosing to slide—towards something fun. Might be destructive fun, but it sure looks fun.

These so-called “backsliders” aren’t truly pursuing Christ Jesus. They’re trying Christianity out for a while, trying to see whether it looks good on them. They aren’t moving forward, or uphill. Neither are they sliding back when they put Christianity down and try on something else.

Now I was a backslider. In high school I was a giant hypocrite. But I was pursuing Jesus, however poorly. I’d make a little bit of effort… then stand still and let gravity drag me backward. But I really did want more Christ in my life, and only those of us who make the effort can be truly said to backslide.

And all of us are gonna backslide. It happens. It’s life. So when that happens, we need to encourage one another to get back up and try again. We need to sympathize, because next time it’ll be us. As careful as we may be, we never know when we might be blindsided by a temptation we never prepared for. Or how a small oversight or lapse in judgment can have spectacular consequences. Our churches should be our support systems for every time we make these mistakes, and minister God’s forgiveness.

Sad to say, too often they aren’t. Too many are full of hypocrites who hide our daily failures, and gossip about those who don’t hide so well. We’ll tear into one another like sharks who smell blood. Our response to backsliding must always be, “If it weren’t for God’s grace, that’d be me. Let me help.”

The kingdom of God. Or kingdom of heaven. Same thing.

by K.W. Leslie, 02 January 2020

The central belief of Christianity is God’s kingdom.

I know; you thought it was Jesus, didja? Most Christians do. He’s the king of this kingdom; Christ means Messiah, which is one of the many titles of Israel’s king. But you’ll notice Jesus, when he preached the gospel, didn’t say he was the good news: The kingdom is.

Mark 1.14-15 KWL
14 After John’s arrest, Jesus went into the Galilee preaching God’s gospel, 15 saying this:
“The time has been fulfilled. God’s kingdom has come near. Repent! Believe in the gospel!”

I know; most folks who say they proclaim “the gospel,” or claim they preach “the gospel,” don’t define the gospel that way. They claim it’s the sacrificial death of Jesus: He saved us, and that’s the gospel.

It’s actually not.

Don’t get me wrong. Salvation is totally important. ’Cause without it, we’d never have access to God’s kingdom, much less inherit it. But salvation’s only the introduction to the gospel. It’s the part which explains why God bothers to interact with us sinners in the first place. Justifying us because we put our faith in him, getting forgiven and saved, being given abundant grace: That’s definitely good news. But it’s hardly the whole story, and not what Jesus preached. He proclaimed his kingdom. Lookit what all his parables and stories were about: Kingdom. Lookit what he told his followers to go out and preach: Kingdom. Mt 10.7, Lk 16.16, Ac 8.12 He wouldn’t stop talking about it!

Church is also important. But we get so focused on church functions (and busywork, and interpersonal drama), we forget the church exists to train us for kingdom living.

Jesus is absolutely important. But he’s primarily important because he rules his kingdom. Worshiping him entails doing kingdom business. Praying to him means getting kingdom instructions. Following him means developing a kingdom lifestyle. Even when he fills us with the Holy Spirit, his goal is to equip us for kingdom work.

The kingdom has been God’s goal since creation. He wanted to walk with Adam and Eve in the garden. Their sin botched that. Ever since, he’s been trying to return us to that level of relationship.

Leviticus 26.12 KWL
“I walk in your midst. For you, I’m God. For me, you’re my people.”

He wants to live with us forever. Permanently. Physically: You may recall God became human, but you may have got the idea this was just a temporary deal so he could die for our sins. Nuh-uh. God became human so he would be human—as limiting as we might consider this—and really live with his people. Walk with us, talk with us, hang out with us, be with us. No more distance. No more separation. Just God and his kids, a king with his princesses and princes.

Yeah, there’s heaven.

The author of Matthew preferred to describe the kingdom as “heaven’s kingdom” (KJV “kingdom of heaven”) rather than “God’s kingdom.” The popular theory is Matthew had a common Jewish hangup about name-dropping God so often. Regardless, we Christians tend to fixate on the heaven part—and assume by “kingdom,” Jesus and the scriptures are really talking about heaven. The afterlife. Paradise.

Popular Christian culture doesn’t help. There’s so much paganism mixed in with our ideas of afterlife. Most of us assume once we die, we go to heaven and stay there forever. No resurrection when Jesus returns; he just takes any Christians left on earth to heaven too. And that’s his kingdom, off in some different plane of existence. Certainly not on earth, not in the here and now… unless you mean having a heavenly attitude or mindset. And even then that’s all intellectual. Not concrete. Not real. Imaginary.

But the kingdom comes from heaven. It’s not limited to heaven. It’s not contained by heaven. It’s not trapped there. Jesus said God’s kingdom has come near. And in the Lord’s Prayer he taught us to pray it come, Mt 6.10 emerge into this world so what’s done on earth matches heaven.

Again, don’t get me wrong. We get heaven too. It’s part of the kingdom. Part. ’Cause when we take heaven and blow it up into the whole of Christianity, things get wonky. It’s like an entire body made of an eyeball. And you’ll notice how heaven-fixated Christians get wonky too: They abandon everything in this world. Yeah, they might give up materialism and greed, and that’s good… but y’notice these people also stop caring about other people. They dismiss the lost and the needy, reject caring for nature and the environment, and focus on nothing but their own heavenly future. So there’s still a lot of greed mixed in to this mindset: It’s like when someone stops washing the car ’cause it’s headed for the junkyard. It’s not really about humility.

The purpose of all the scriptures’ heaven imagery is not because we’re abandoning earth for heaven. On the contrary. Jesus intends to establish heaven here. Just as God came down, heaven’s coming down next. The reason Jesus wants God’s will done here, is because it’s earth’s destiny to become heaven. By acting like heaven’s citizens instead of earth’s, we Christians are to do our part as God establishes his kingdom. Here.

Here. But not here.

Jesus says the kingdom has come, and is already here among us. Lk 17.21

Jesus also says the kingdom hasn’t come yet. That’s why we’re praying for it in the Lord’s Prayer. It’s coming. It’s just not here yet.

Yes, that’s a paradox. One of the many paradoxes in Christianity. Which bugs a lot of Christians who insist our religion has no paradoxes; it’s totally logical and reasonable. That’s their hangup. The reality is God’s kingdom is both here, and yet to come—simultaneously. It’s here already, but not yet.

What’s this even mean? Obviously one of the ways it’s not here yet, is Jesus hasn’t yet returned in his second coming. He will, but hasn’t yet. He’s our king, but he’s not yet ruling the world from a headquarters in Jerusalem. Not yet.

But one of the ways the kingdom’s here already, is when we need resources from Jesus. If we need power, if we need to talk to our king, if we wanna borrow some of his angelic soldiers: We have full access to his kingdom. It’s right here, closer than Mexico is to the United States.

Don’t believe me? Notice what it feels like when Christians grab hold of these kingdom resources and use ’em. When people hear prophecy, get cured of their ailments, and the Holy Spirit empowers us to shout his praises in languages we don’t know: The kingdom is absolutely here. Shockingly so.

Of course, when Christians never bother to tap these resources, God’s kingdom’s gonna feel far, far away. So whether we recognize it’s here, largely depends on the active participation of believing, obedient Christians.

But that’s only the case till Jesus returns. Once he does, his kingdom will fully exist—whether Christians trust and obey, or not. (Although by then, we’ll be resurrected, and we won’t care to do anything but trust and obey Jesus.) After Jesus returns, we’ll have King Jesus on the planet to direct his kingdom personally. And powerfully.

Other kingdoms—and the fake kingdom.

Christians have wanted God’s kingdom to be here so bad, we’ve tried to bring it to earth ourselves.

The utopian view of the End Times was mighty popular among Evangelicals for centuries. It still has many adherents, all of whom think if humanity gets its act together, we might create heaven right here on earth. A kingdom of heaven, so to speak. We’ll solve humanity’s problems and everything will be paradise. What a beautiful world this will be; what a glorious time to be free.

So these utopians make an effort to establish a Christian nation. Or bring us back to our Christian roots (assuming we truly had any). We pass “Christian laws” by adapting biblical commands for our nation’s statutes. (Definitely the moral ones; sometimes even the judicial ones.) We throw in a few extra laws which encourage public piety: Put prayer in the public schools, force businesses to close on Sundays and Christian holidays, require the state to hold to “Christian” definitions of marriage and family and morality. They figure the reason God won’t answer the prayer, “Your kingdom come,” is ’cause that’s our job.

Invariably this goes wrong.

Because Jesus isn’t directly in charge. Humans are. Sinful humans are. Y’see, sinful humans covet power. And we’ll pretend to be whatever we have to be in order to get it. Invariably hypocrites take control of our so-called “Christian nation.” So, expect it to look far less like Christ, and far more like the Beast. Run by legalism instead of grace, fear instead of love, greed instead of compassion, debt instead of generosity. Funding prisons instead of hospitals and schools, pushing the death penalty instead of rehabilitation, manufacturing the world’s most massive warmaking machinery instead of peace. You know, like the United States right now.

Without Jesus’s personal, direct involvement, humans are just corrupt enough to bollix the entire thing. Look at the very best examples we have in the bible: Moses, David, and Josiah. And we all know what sins they committed.

There are very good reasons for the separation of church and state. Put ’em together and you won’t produce the kingdom. You get a state run by fake Christians, and a church full of hypocrites. We’ve seen it happen time and again throughout European history. But either we don’t know history, or we’re naïve enough to think we understand Jesus better than those old dead white guys ever did, so we’ll get it right.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it when Christians vote, run for office, and work in government. Moral people should be involved in government. We need to steer it away from evil as best we can! But when we try to grow God’s kingdom through political might, instead of surrendering all power to the only one able to handle it without it utterly corrupting him (obviously I mean Jesus; duh) we adopt force instead of grace. We using the devil’s methods instead of Jesus’s. We need to keep the state out of the Christianity business. Jesus is the only one qualified to run his kingdom. Till he returns, we have no business creating another monster which Jesus’ll just have to overthrow anyway. Don’t delude yourself into thinking the United States is an exception. That’s treason against our true king.

So in the meanwhile we Christians have dual citizenship, so to speak: We’re part of the royal family of God’s kingdom, and at the same time we live in the “kingdom” of our homelands, and have duties as its citizens. Vote, pay taxes, do community service. But when these kingdoms come into conflict, God’s kingdom must always take priority, period. We don’t put the American flag above the Christian flag on our flagpoles. We don’t support immoral leaders right or wrong, simply because we share a political party. (Well, okay, some brain-dead Christians do. But point out the discrepancy to them, and they’ll sort it out… or expose their real priorities. Either way.) We serve the eternal kingdom, not the one Jesus is gonna replace with his reign.

Kingdom living.

“The Christian life” is simply a synonym for kingdom living. We’re gonna live in God’s kingdom forever, and we need to start behaving like it. We need to adopt that lifestyle and get used to it.

That’s where we kinda slide away from kingdom talk, and get into thinking like God does (theology), behaving like God wants us to (sanctification), accessing God’s power (supernatural), and looking forward to Jesus’s return (End Times). But all of it, all of it, involves the kingdom. Like I said, it’s the central belief of Christianity.

Didn’t realize this? Well, let it sink in.

Amen!

by K.W. Leslie, 24 December 2019
AMEN ɑ.mɛn, eɪ.mɛn exclamation. Utterance of support or agreement.

Amen probably comes from the Hebrew verb אָמַן/amán, “to support, assure, trust.” Sorta the Hebrews’ way of replying, “True.” For the most part, we Christians use amen as a way to end our prayers. Like when you say “goodbye” on a phone conversation, or “over and out” on a radio conversation. My childhood Sunday school teachers even described it as “hanging up.”

Custom is, we gotta finish our prayers with amen. Or the popular incantation “In Jesus Name amen.” Or, if you want everyone else in the room to say amen along with you: “And all God’s people said…” (or “the church said,” or “we all said”) at which everyone was conditioned to reply, “Amen.” Sometimes the three-syllable “A-a-men.”

As you know, some Christian customs are more than just traditions: We gotta do them. They’re virtually commands. If you don’t end a prayer with amen, it confuses people. Wanna really throw off your prayer group? Next time you lead prayer, don’t bother to “hang up.” Just start speaking to them as you ordinarily would, and watch ’em get all agitated: “You didn’t say amen. You gotta say amen.” As if God ever gets confused. As if he thinks we’re still speaking to him unless we “get off the phone,” so to speak.

No, we don’t need to end prayers with amen. You realize even the Lord’s Prayer doesn’t end with amen? Lk 11.2-4 Yet Christians will still go bonkers if we skip amen. It’s become an obsessive-compulsive thing with them; it’s like someone who simply can’t knock an odd number of times, and has to knock twice or four times or six times, but never thrice. And you just knocked thrice. Some of ’em will even say an annoyed amen for you.

But this insistence on capping our prayers with amen, misses the entire point of the word. What’s amen mean again? True. Why would you say “True” at the end of a prayer? Because the rest of us are listening to it, and agree with its content: “What you said is true. What you requested is good. So be it. Amen.”

This being the case, having “all God’s people say amen” at the end of a prayer is appropriate. It’s not just the prayer leader trying to get recognition: It’s consensus. Do you agree with what was just prayed? I’d hope so. (That is, I’d hope the prayer leader didn’t pray anything inappropriate. It’d suck not being legitimately able to mean amen when we say it.)

This also being the case, do we need to cap our own prayers with amen? Seems a little redundant to agree with ourselves. Yet we do it anyway… ’cause it’s unthinking, brainless custom. You know, dead religion.

When did Jesus say amen?

Jesus says amen in the gospels all the time. And you probably never noticed it, ’cause bibles don’t translate it “amen.” They use other words.

KJV. “Verily.”
ESV, NIV, NRSV. “Truly.”
GNB, NJB, NLT. “Truth.”
NKJV. “Assuredly.”

Because Jesus uses amen to declare what he’s about to say is absolutely valid, as good as a promise. Not end his prayers. Here’s five instances from his Sermon on the Mount.

Matthew 5.18 KWL
“Amen! I promise you all: As long as the heavens and earth exist,
not one yodh nor one penstroke will ever be taken out of the Law till it’s achieved.”
 
Matthew 5.25-26 KWL
25 “Be quick to cooperate with your opponent—whoever you get in the way of—
lest your opponent turn you in to the judge, the judge to the bailiff, and you’re thrown into prison.
26 Amen! I promise you: You’ll never come out of there
till you work off your last quarter.”
 
Matthew 6.2 KWL
“So whenever you do charity, don’t toot your own horn,
like hypocrites do in synagogue and on the street, so they can be praised by people.
Amen! I promise you: They got their wages.”
 
Matthew 6.5 KWL
“When you pray, don’t be like the hypocrites who really like standing in synagogues
and the corners of the main streets, praying so they might be seen by the people.
Amen! I promise you all: They got their credit.”
 
Matthew 6.16 KWL
“When you fast, don’t be like the sad-looking hypocrites
who conceal their faces so they look to people like they’re fasting.
Amen! I promise you all: They got their credit.”

Jesus prefaces his statements with amen (or “amen amen,” two of ’em, in John) because he wants it clear he’s making a statement we can utterly depend on. It’s why I translate these statements, “Amen, I promise you.”

Hence we should get the idea amen isn’t a word to be thrown around lightly. As so many hypocrites do.

Inappropriate amens.

See, amen means we agree. In responsive churches, like my Pentecostal church, whenever the pastor says something people agree with, you’ll hear people in the congregation say (or shout) “Amen!”

In fact there are certain Christians whom you can count on to say amen to pretty much everything their pastor says. Whether he makes any sense or not; whether she’s quoting bible in context or not. Popular culture tends to call these folks “the amen corner”—they’re the ones who can be counted on to go along with any harebrained thing you say or do. Like political devotees.

From what we’ve seen of the amen corner’s unkind, out-of-control lives, we know they’re not actually following Jesus. That’s why they’re so quick with the amens. That’s why they sit within earshot of the podium; if the sermon’s getting recorded, they’ll be heard on the audio. They’re sucking up because they’re trying to hide their sins. It’s more hypocrisy.

The rest of the church says amen when we actually agree. But not always. Too often we’re hypocrites too: We say amen when we oughta agree, but deep down we don’t necessarily.

Or we wanna look like we were paying attention. We say amen to some long-ass prayer we weren’t really listening to; meanwhile our minds were wandering, and we spent the last 15 minutes debating with ourselves whether to have Mexican or Chinese for lunch. ’Cause we like Chinese, and it’s less expensive; but the kids always want Mexican; but the kids have no taste, and all they ever order is quesadillas anyway, and that’s just cheese and tortillas and barely counts as Mexican food; and I’m the adult here dangit… oh wait, did they just say “In Jesus Name all God’s people said”? Gotta say amen now!

Not only should we never say amen to any prayer we don’t agree with: Sometimes we need to speak up. Sometimes the prayer leader needs correcting. Hopefully that’s very rare. But it can happen, and when it does, us saying amen to it means we’ve vocally agreed to a rotten prayer. Bad example for fellow Christians, and doesn’t honor God any.

I know; people don’t wanna make trouble. Which says all sorts of things about their lack of courage, or their church’s dysfunction. Either way, grow a spine. I’m not saying you have to stand up and proclaim anathema (the opposite of amen, which literally means “accursed”) upon such prayers. Just don’t blindly, or falsely, say amen. If you don’t mean it, don’t say it. Let your yes be yes, your no be no, Mt 5.37, Jm 5.12 and your amen be amen.

And privately get this stuff sorted out. Have an honest relationship with one another.

One who brings justice to the gentiles.

by K.W. Leslie, 23 December 2019

Isaiah 42.1-4, Matthew 12.14-20.

After Jesus cured the man with the paralyzed hand, this happened.

Matthew 12.14-20 KWL
14 Going out, the Pharisees took a meeting about this—so they could have Jesus destroyed.
15 Jesus, who knew this, left there, and a great crowd followed him; he had cured them all.
16 Jesus had rebuked them, lest they reveal what he might do
17 so that he might fulfill the word from the prophet Isaiah, saying,
18 “Look at my servant whom I chose, my beloved. My soul approves of him.
I put my Spirit in him, and he’ll bring justice to the gentiles.
19 He won’t struggle or cry out, nor will anyone hear his voice in the streets.
20 He won’t split a broken reed, won’t extinguish smoking linen, till he can issue justice in victory.
21 Gentiles will put their hope in his name.” Is 42.1-4

Since Matthew quotes Isaiah and says Jesus fulfilled it, Christians presume this particular part of Isaiah is a messianic prophecy; that it’s specifically about Jesus. I may as well translate it too, instead of just translating Matthew’s translation of it:

Isaiah 42.1-4 KWL
1 “Look at my slave. I support him, my chosen one. My soul is pleased with him.
I put my Spirit upon him: Judgment goes forth to the gentiles.
2 He doesn’t cry out, doesn’t stir things up; his voice isn’t heard in the street.
3 He doesn’t break up crushed reeds, nor put out a dimming wick.
Judgment is issued to promote truth. 4 Likewise he doesn’t fade nor break down till he brings judgment to the earth.
The border lands await his instruction.”

Y’notice there are minor differences. No, not because I translated it differently; it’s because either Matthew was quoting a bad copy, or paraphrasing. (I prefer to think he was paraphrasing.) Matthew simply laid his ideas on top of Isaiah, same as Christians still do… and really shouldn’t.

Anyway, because Christians don’t understand what fulfillment means, again we assume the Isaiah passage is about Jesus. It’s actually not. It’s about Israel. The LORD specifically said so in the previous chapter of Isaiah.

Isaiah 41.8-9 KWL
8 “And you, my slave Israel, Jacob whom I chose, my beloved Abraham’s seed:
9 I seized you from the land’s end, called you one of its chiefs, and told you,
‘You’re my slave, my chosen. I don’t reject you.’ ”

No, he didn’t switch from Israel being the servant he meant, to Messiah being the servant he meant, in the course of a few verses. He was still telling Isaiah about Israel. He’s gonna put his Spirit on Israel and use the nation to promote justice among gentiles. True, Israel isn’t currently doing the best job of promoting justice towards anyone but fellow Israelis. But I don’t figure this prophecy is describing the present day anyway.

The LORD has big plans for Israel—and for Jesus as Israel’s king. So it’s entirely likely this prophecy refers to Israel when it’s finally following its Messiah during his millennium, after his second coming.

Meanwhile Matthew jumped the gun a little, ’cause though Jesus was starting his kingdom it hasn’t come yet. (Keep praying for it!) So in what way did Jesus fulfill this Isaiah passage in the first century?

Before you go book shopping…

by K.W. Leslie, 20 December 2019

This Christmas, some of you are getting gift cards or gift certificates. I regularly get Starbucks cards—which is great, ’cause that’s exactly what I want. I’ll definitely use ’em. Yes, I’m at Starbucks as I write this.

Anyway, some of these gift cards will be for bookstores. Maybe Amazon, maybe not. And as Christians who wanna get religious about our relationships with Jesus, some of us are likely thinking of buying Christian books and resources, and stuff that’ll help us get better at Christianity. I know I do.

And, when I was newly devout, I wasted a bunch of money on stuff that really didn’t do any of those things. Likely so will you. We all do. Our zealousness overtakes our wallets. But hold on there, little buckaroo: Don’t get all fired up to ride off an’ lasso some steer, ’cause you might just wind up with some bull.

If you go to a brick ’n mortar Christian bookstore, first thing you’re gonna notice is they sell an awful lot of “Jesus junk.” And bibles; most of their money comes from bibles. But they also sell art, T-shirts, CDs, devotionals, romance novels without any sex in ’em (with Amish girls on the cover, just to tell everyone who catches you reading one, “Nope, the clothes are staying on”), inferior Christian fiction, bestselling Christian books by famous authors, and classic Christian books by famous dead Christians.

There are some actually useful books in there. But more of them are junk. Even among the classics. They’re nice sentiments, disguised as God-inspired wisdom. They’ll make you feel good, like they’re expected to. But you won’t grow any closer to Jesus, won’t get any more spiritually mature, won’t grow in the Spirit’s fruit, won’t anything. I used to own bookshelves of that rubbish.

How d’you tell the difference? Which of them should you buy? Well maybe this article’ll help get you started.

The seven deadly sins.

by K.W. Leslie, 18 December 2019

The “seven deadly sins” confuse a lot of people.

Back in 2008, a rumor spread that the Vatican declared more deadly sins. It came from an interview with Gianfranco Girotti, the head bishop of the Vatican’s Apostolic Penitentiary. (I know; this sounds like the Vatican prison. It’s actually the theologians who handle questions about sin, repentance, and forgiveness.) Anyway, in Girotti’s interview with L’Osservatore Romano on 7 March 2008, he listed certain present-day practices which he believed have a harmful global impact: Pollution, drug trafficking, embryo-destroying research, other unethical human experiments, abortion, pedophilia, and economic injustice.

Somehow the press converted this into “The Vatican announced there are new sins!” And since your average reporter (lapsed Catholics included) know bupkis about the seven deadly sins, they just assumed there are now 14 deadly sins. Now littering is gonna send you to hell.

Like I said, they confuse people.

Most people figure they’re a Roman Catholic thing. And they largely are. Few Protestants teach on ’em. More of them, particularly the Fundamentalists, consider way more things to be deadly sins than seven. Like voting for the wrong political party.

Loads of people think the seven deadly sins are in the bible. And they actually are. Just not in the form of a list.

I’ve heard Protestants claim the list is found in Catholic bibles. Well, maybe if it’s a Catholic study bible, it’ll be in the notes, but no. You’ll find passages—in all bibles—which rebuke these attitudes and the behaviors they cause. And whether you’re Catholic or not, you might wanna know about them. So here’s the list, in convenient chart form.

DEADLY SINLATINOUT-OF-CONTROL DESIREOPPOSITE VIRTUE
1.LECHERYluxuria/“sexual lust”For sex. Cl 3.5Purity
2.GLUTTONYgulaFor food, drink, intoxicants. Ek 16.49Moderation
3.GREEDavaritia/“avarice”For money, wealth, possessions. Ep 5.3Generosity
4.LAZINESSacedia/“sloth, discouragement”To evade responsibility, avoid work, stay uninvolved. Mt 25.26Integrity
5.WRATHira/“anger”To fight, take revenge, act out of rage or bitterness. Ep 4.32Meekness
6.ENVYinvidia/“begrudge”To covet, be jealous. Mk 7.22Kindness
7.PRIDEsuperbia/“magnificence”To exalt oneself: Self-praise, self-promotion. Mt 7.22Humility

What makes ’em deadly? Well, they’re works of the flesh. And those who choose a lifestyle of works of the flesh don’t inherit God’s kingdom. Ga 5.21 Their lifestyle implies they’re not saved: They don’t have the Holy Spirit indwelling them, making ’em fruity, making ’em not want to sin, getting them to reject the sort of lifestyle which burps up deadly sins.

Fasting on the feast days.

by K.W. Leslie, 17 December 2019

Christian holidays are also known as feast days. The term comes from the bible, ’cause that’s how the LORD described the holidays he instituted for the Hebrews: “Three times thou shalt keep a feast unto me in the year,” Ex 23.14 KJV namely Passover, Pentecost, and Tents. Christians turned Passover into Easter, added Christmas, usually downplay Pentecost, and usually skip Tents… but otherwise yeah, on Christian holidays we tend to do a bit of feasting. (And on St. Patrick’s Day, drinking.)

Thing is, Evangelicals regularly forget Christmas is 12 days long. Our secular culture thinks it’s one day—beginning and ending on 25 December. If the decorations stay up till New Year’s Day, it’s only because you personally struggle to let go of things. Give it up; take ’em down. Hey, the stores are already getting ready for Valentine’s Day.

In reality Christmas continues till Epiphany. But because Evangelicals follow the culture, and tend to dismiss ancient custom as “Catholic,” they figure Christmas is over and the next major holiday is New Year’s Day.

And what’s the best way to start a new year? No, not partying till pukey. It’s to focus on what God’s will might be for the year.

What’s he want us to do? If we can figure it out and do it, maybe God’ll reward us by taking away suffering and showering us with wealth. Or, y’know, spiritual blessings. But let’s be honest: Deep down we’re kinda hoping for material ones.

So in order to really focus on God, really listen for his voice, and demonstrate to him and ourselves we really mean it, Evangelicals dip into one of our old Christian traditions… and fast.

Well, kinda. North Americans usually refuse to defy our stomachs and palates; even for Jesus. So we made some adaptations about what “fasting” means; we don’t go anywhere remotely as hardcore as Jesus. We skip a meal at most. Some of us go on a diet we like to call “the Daniel fast.” This way we deprive ourselves, but we’re not actually starving. And hey, we might lose a little weight, as we resolved to do anyway.

Evangelical churches get so eager to get started on that sweet, sweet Daniel fasting, we start right away. On 1 January if possible. Okay, maybe 2 January, because it’s so hard to start fasting when we’re hung over snacking as we watch New Year’s football games. We can put it off a day. But 2 January for sure!

Okay, so we start fasting on 2 January. Which is the ninth day of Christmas; a feast day.

Are we supposed to fast on feast days? No.

But as I said, Christians don’t know it’s a feast day. So we’ll fast anyway. And various other days throughout the Christian year.