“Elders” who ought not be elders.

ELDER 'ɛld.ər adjective. Of a greater or advanced age.

2. [noun] A person of greater or advanced age.

3. [noun] A spiritually mature Christian, usually consulted as part of a church’s leadership, often entrusted with ministerial or priestly responsibility.

[Eldership 'ɛl.dər.ʃɪp noun.]

I remind you of the definition of “elder” because you notice the word has three meanings: An adjective describing something old; an older person, and a mature Christian. Don’t mix up the definitions! But of course some do.

Years ago, at a previous church I attended, we had an older person whom I’m gonna call Salwa. She wanted everybody in the church to call her “Grandma,” and think of her as the go-to person whenever we wanted prayer, or spiritual advice.

One evening one of our prayer meetings, she told us the story of how she came to Jesus. She grew up Christian, but never took it seriously; she spent many years living as a pagan; she dabbled in “spiritual” stuff and “spiritual” authors, but found all that stuff unsatisfactory; her neighbor invited her to church and she responded to the altar call, said the sinner’s prayer, and now she’s Christian.

How long ago had Salwa said the sinner’s prayer? Oh, three years ago!

That, I figured, explained everything. The serious lapses in Salwa’s bible knowledge meant she really needed to read more bible, and her many misinterpretations meant she was out of practice with basic reading comprehension. Her inappropriately-intense reactions to anything she found offensive, meant she needed some work on gentleness. Her sheer terror of anything which might lead people astray, meant she needed to learn more about grace.

She had some growing up to do! Same with every newbie.

The problem—as you mighta deduced from how she wanted folks to call her “Grandma”—is Salwa was older than average. In her 70s, I think. And she’d been Christian for three whole years, and had a Christian childhood, and read lots of “spiritual” stuff; therefore she considered herself an elder. Really. One of our “church mothers”—or grandmas, to her way of thinking.

She was awfully fond of this passage:

1 Timothy 5.1-2 NIV

1Do not rebuke an older man harshly, but exhort him as if he were your father. Treat younger men as brothers, 2older women as mothers, and younger women as sisters, with absolute purity.

Paul’s advice to Timothy is about treating fellow Christians as family, not underlings. But Salwa didn’t care about its context, and insisted it made her a “church mother,” who should be honored, respected, obeyed, and treated as in charge of things—same as one’s actual mother.

Um… no. You don’t put newbies in charge of anything. Especially one who won’t listen to anybody. Our head pastor wisely never let Salwa take charge of anything… no matter how often she nominated herself. “No no; that’s okay; we got somebody for that.” Even when we didn’t, and he was gonna have to do it—but he knew Salwa wasn’t qualified to handle authority, so he never gave her any.

Eventually Salwa stopped attending. No doubt she went to another church, looking for the power she coveted, hoping that church would overlook her many red flags and consider her an elder simply because she was elder.

“All have sinned”—and will keep on sinning? God forbid.

Romans 3.23.

I have a lot of memory verses in my brain. Most are in the King James Version. Some of that is because I grew up Fundamentalist, and Fundies were really wary of any new translations of the bible. And some of that is just because I’m old: There just weren’t a lot of other bible translations. We had the Revised Standard, the New American Standard, the Living Bible, the Good News Bible, and the Modern English Bible. No NIV yet.

So of course I have this verse in my brain in the KJV—

Romans 3.23 KJV

For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God;

—but weirdly I also have it memorized in the NIV. Well, the 1978 edition. Thankfully the 2011 edition is the same.

Romans 3.23 NIV

for all have sinned, and fall short of the glory of God,

Y’might notice neither translation ends the verse with a period, because verse 23 is part of a much larger Greek sentence. I’ll quote it in the NKJV because it doesn’t break the sentence apart.

Romans 3.22-26 NKJV

22BFor there is no difference; 23for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, 24being justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, 25whom God set forth as a propitiation by His blood, through faith, to demonstrate His righteousness, because in His forbearance God had passed over the sins that were previously committed, 26to demonstrate at the present time His righteousness, that He might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus.

It’s a paragraph-long run-on sentence—and breaking it down into smaller sentences does help make it more understandable. But the gist is that there’s no difference between Jewish and gentile Christians, since everybody sinned, everybody needs Jesus, and everybody just needs to trust Jesus.

But generally, Christians quote verse 23 as a proof text for how everybody sinned. Everybody. At some point in every human being’s life—heck, it happens at many points in our lives, but unless we’re seriously narcissistic, we can all admit it happened at least once—we committed a sin. Broke one of God’s commands. Lied, cheated, stole, dishonored our parents, coveted what we shouldn’t, worked seven days a week instead of six, hated instead of loved, prioritized other things over God.

Everybody has. No exceptions—but one; we totally make one for Jesus, ’cause duh, it’s Jesus. Jn 8.46 Roman Catholics also make an exception for his mom, ’cause you search the bible: Any stories of her sinning? Ever? No? All righty then.

And frequently, people make exceptions for fetuses and newborns, ’cause they never yet had the chance to sin. Seems only fair. But everyone else has sinned. You, me, everybody.

In context, Paul is making the point humanity isn’t right with God. Isn’t justified. And isn’t gonna get right with God any other way. Not by being a descendant of Abraham; best guess is Abraham currently has a half billion living descendants, and everybody knows not all of them are right with God. Not by being a descendant of Israel ben Isaac; same problem. Not by following God’s Law, and obeying every single one of his commands as best we can; we’ve all slipped up dozens of times. Paul had to remind the Romans no, righteousness comes by faith.

And because we’re justified by faith, gentiles can likewise be justified when they trust Jesus. God will graciously establish a relationship with them, and grant them his kingdom as well as his Jewish followers. It’s good news!

But those who proof-text this verse are seldom interested in the good news. Just the bad: All have sinned. Including you.

Preparing to feed the 5,000—in the synoptic gospels.

Mark 6.35-37, Matthew 14.15-16, Luke 9.12-13.

Though I’m going through John, and covering the Feeding Five Thousand Story from his POV, I pointed out all the gospels include this story: Both John, and the other three which we call synoptics, or synoptic gospels, ’cause they frequently share the same optics—they describe Jesus from the very same point of view. (Probably because Matthew and Luke are using Mark as source material. That’s the prevailing theory.)

John introduces the story with Jesus checking out the vast crowd, then asking his student Philip about buying bread for them Jn 6.5 —as a test, not because Jesus literally wanted him to buy bread, Jn 6.6 and to kinda give us an idea of the resources needed to feed such a crowd.

The other gospels approach it thisaway: It’s late, and the students think it’s high time Jesus’s audience went home.

Mark 6.35-37 KWL

35Since a late hour comes already,

Jesus’s students, coming to him, say,

“The place is wilderness

and it’s a late hour:

36Release them, so they go to the fields around, and villages;

they can buy themselves something they can eat.”

37AIn reply Jesus tells them,

“You give them something to eat.”

Matthew 14.15-16 KWL

15Becoming evening,

the students come to Jesus, saying,

“The place is wilderness

and the hour comes:

Release the crowd, so going to the villages

they can buy themselves food.”

16Jesus tells them, “They have no need to go.

“You give them something to eat.”

Luke 9.12-13 KWL

12The day begins to recline,

and the Twelve, coming up, tell Jesus,

“Release the crowd, so going to the villages around, and fields,

they can rest and can find provisions,

for here we are in a wilderness.”

13AJesus tells them,

“You give them something to eat.”

This differing point of view presents a minor bible difficulty: Is it Jesus’s students who notice the people getting hungry, and figure it’s time for them to leave and get food, or is it Jesus who notices, and decides it’s time to feed them? I say minor bible difficulty because it’s not at all hard to recognize both Jesus and his kids would realize it was time for dinner; and it’s not at all hard to imagine Jesus might talk to Philip about feeding them before he spoke to the rest of the Twelve.

Getting ready to feed 5,000.

John 6.1-7.

John didn’t write his gospel in chapters. Took a few centuries before some enterprising Christian divided the bible into chapters; took a bit longer before it was divided further into verses. But when John was divided into chapters, the editor largely did it right: In a lot of ’em, Jesus does a miracle, and there’s fallout as people argue over what this miracle means, and what it means about Jesus; and Jesus of course has to correct some of their wrong ideas. And today, popular Christian culture still pitches their theories about what these miracles and Jesus’s teachings mean, and the Holy Spirit of course has to correct some of our wrong ideas. Assuming we listen to him any.

So John 6 begins with the Feeding Five Thousand Story. All four gospels tell this story, ’cause it’s important: It reminds us God’s kingdom has unlimited resources. I’ll begin with the first part of the story.

John 6.1-7 KWL

1After these things, Jesus goes across the Galilean sea, Tiberias.

2A great crowd is following Jesus,

because they’re watching the signs

which he’s doing among the sick.

3Jesus goes up a hill with his students.

4It’s getting near the Judean feast of Passover.

5Jesus is lifting up his eyes,

seeing this great crowd come to him.

He tells Philip, “Where might we buy bread

so these people might eat?”

6Jesus is saying this test Philip,

for he already knew what he’s about to do.

7Philip is answering Jesus,

“The bread of 200 denarii isn’t enough for them!

—so each one might receive a little.”

The Galilean sea.

The 166km² freshwater lake in northern Israel—which we wouldn’t call a “sea,” but the ancient Galileans proudly did—was originally called כִּנְּרוֹת/Khinnerót, “harps,” although in modern Hebrew it means “violins.” Supposedly the name is because it’s harp-shaped. Meh; kinda. Considering that place names in the bible were regularly the result of something happening there, instead of what something kinda looked like, my bet is something involving multiple harps happened there—a contest, a festival, a popular harp-manufacturer; whatever. The origin is lost to history, of course.

Anyway, by Jesus’s day, Herod Antipas had renamed it Τιβεριάς/Tiveriás, “Tiberias,” after the city he’d founded on its southern bank, which he named to suck up to the Roman emperor, Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus. There’s no evidence Herod suppressed the original name—Luke still calls it “the lake of Genessaret,” Lk 5.1 ’cause Γεννησαρέτ/Ghennisarét is how Greek-speakers mangled the name Khinnerót. But Tiberias is how people outside Israel came to know it, which is why John used that name thrice.

We don’t know where the feeding took place. Some Christians have speculated it happened at Tiberias—that this is why the word Τιβεριάδος/Tiveriádos is in verse 1—but no; John was just using the proper name of the Galilean sea. We only know it didn’t happen at Bethsaida, ’cause Jesus goes there later.

Anyway. Crowds heard about Jesus curing people, so they wanted to check him out for themselves. And he did cure some of them. Mt 14.14, Lk 9.11 Then he climbs a hill, not to get away from them (although there is some of that), but so he can be seen, and maybe heard. The other gospels say he took advantage of the situation and taught ’em all day long. Mk 6.34-36 Maybe the Sermon on the Mount again; maybe something else. We don’t know.

Angry Jesus.

Some weeks ago I was speaking with someone about blogging on the gospel according to John. He expressed some excitement about it.

HE. “Oh yeah! You at the parts where Jesus really tears the Pharisees a new one?”

ME. “Getting there.”

HE. “I love that part.”

Doesn’t surprise me. He gets really, really angry at people whom he considers his political enemies, and loves to imagine himself tearing them a new one. Stands to reason he’d love seeing that same level of anger in Jesus.

And let’s be honest: Jesus does get angry sometimes! I’m not one of those interpreters who insist Jesus never did; that “God’s wrath” and “the day of wrath” are metaphors, or anthropomorphic euphemisms, for what’s really going on in God’s head, because God never really gets angry. Or insist, like the medieval scholastics used to argue, God can’t have legitimate human-type emotions, because that’d interfere with his immutable nature. (God does have an immutable, i.e. unchanging, nature. But the scholastics borrowed way too many ideas from Aristotle and the ancient Greeks, and went a bit wonky.)

Nope; sometimes God gets angry! We humans can legitimately piss him off. Whenever we openly defy him when we clearly know better; whenever we pretend to be righteous, but are hypocritically using our phony “righteousness” to stick it to others; whenever we take advantage of the weak and needy and marginalized, and assume we can easily get away with it because nobody’s watching. Human evil regularly enrages God.

It’s why the prophets and apostles kept pointing to a day when God would finally put things right—and called it “the day of the LORD’s wrath.” Ek 7.19, Zp 1.18, Ro 2.5, Rv 6.17 Because they expected, if not wanted, God to open up a can of whup-ass on humanity’s evildoers. (Presuming we’re not among them!)

But back to Jesus. Did Jesus get angry? Duh:

Mark 3.5 NLT

He looked around at them angrily and was deeply saddened by their hard hearts. Then he said to the man, “Hold out your hand.” So the man held out his hand, and it was restored!

In that story, Jesus was in synagogue, the people brought him a guy with a paralyzed hand, and accusers were watching Jesus to see whether he’d cure the guy, specifically so they could condemn him for “working” on Sabbath. Jesus rightly pointed out you can make exceptions for good deeds on Sabbath, Mk 3.4 but they didn’t wanna hear it. This was a setup; they weren’t interested in reason or God’s will; they just wanted to stick it to Jesus, and this guy with the messed-up hand was just a pawn in all this. Of course it made him angry. Shouldn’t it?

But I should also point out two things: This is the only place in the gospels where Jesus is said to be angry; and Jesus doesn’t act on his anger. At all. He cures the guy—which is something he’d have done either way, happy or angry. He doesn’t yell at the hypocrites; he doesn’t stop teaching and storm out of synagogue; he doesn’t make a whip out of rope and start flogging them.

Oh yeah; the story where Jesus makes a whip and drives the merchants and animals out of the temple. Christians constantly presume he’s angry in that story, ’cause flipping tables and cracking a whip sure sounds violent! But does the scripture say what his mood was when this happened? Raging like the Hulk in the comic books and movies? Or annoyed—“Aw nuts, this again”—and patiently moving their profit-making venture out of God’s sacred prayer space?

See, we’re projecting anger upon Jesus because we would get angry in these circumstances. We’re projecting anger upon Jesus whenever he condemns hypocrites, rebukes the thoughtless behavior of his students, or calls things as he sees ’em—and these things are pretty messed up! We would be angry.

And some of us don’t really give a wet crap about injustice and hypocrisy: We’re already angry. Injustice is just a convenient excuse to rage a bit, under the guise of “righteous anger.” But anger’s a work of the flesh, and we’re not following Jesus’s example and refusing to act upon it: We’re Hulking out.

Those accepting everyone and everything but Jesus.

John 5.41-47.

People regularly misunderstand this next bit because they regularly misdefine the word δόξα/dóxa, which Jesus uses throughout. The KJV translates it as “honour”—or as we Americans spell it thanks to Noah Webster, “honor.” And in American culture, “honor” means high respect. Great esteem. Reverence. Praises. Sometimes even worship… which makes some of us uncomfortable when people are getting honored like this, ’cause it can almost feel like idolatry. Honestly, sometimes it’s totally idolatry.

But dóxa doesn’t indicate a high opinion of someone; it just indicates one’s opinion. Good and respectable… or bad and infamous. It can go every which way. True, when Jesus is talking about the opinion people have of him, he rightly expects it should be a good one. He’s a good guy! He’s loving, kind, patient, generous, joyous; he exhibits all the Spirit’s fruit ’cause he’s loaded with the Holy Spirit. Jn 3.34 He never sins! Plus there’s the miracles—you remember this whole discourse was triggered by him curing someone who’d been disabled for decades. He’s done all sorts of good deeds like that. And let’s not forget he knows a ton about God and his kingdom.

Such a person should have the best reputation, whether it’s among devout religious people like himself, or among pagans who weren’t religious whatsoever, but who could nonetheless recognize a legitimately good, compassionate, and authentic guy when they saw him. Plenty of Christian ministers have just this kind of reputation: They’re well-known for their good character and good deeds, and everyone in their community respects ’em.

And then there’s Jesus among the people of Jerusalem. And they’re giving him crap because he cured the guy on Sabbath, and this must therefore mean he’s… evil? Wait, why’d they suddenly leap to that extreme? How messed-up is their thinking?

But lemme tell you: I run into plenty of people with the very same messed-up thinking. So have you. People who can’t fathom that a Christian minister is even Christian, simply because he’s a member of the wrong political party. Or because they don’t believe the Spirit does miracles anymore, and figure this person can’t possibly be doing miracles in the Spirit’s power; it’s gotta be the devil—and so they go straight to blaspheming the Spirit.

What’s their problem? It’s exactly the same diagnosis Jesus gives to his critics in Jerusalem: They don’t have God’s love within them. And without this particular fruit, no one can be trusted. No one can be loved. Jesus must be trying to deceive them for some reason, and no doubt they have plenty of paranoid, delusional guesses as to why. And since they imagine themselves devout, they’re pretty sure God gave them the power to discern just what he’s up to—and the power to ignore everything he says in his defense.

John 5.41-47 KWL

41“I don’t seek a reputation from people.

42But I knew you people:

You don’t have God’s love within yourselves.

43I came in my Father’s name

and you don’t accept me.

Another might come in their own name;

you’ll accept that person.

44How are you able to trust anyone?

You actually accept one another’s reputations?

You don’t seek the reputation which only comes from God?

45Don’t imagine I’ll accuse you before the Father:

Your accuser is Moses.

You once put your hope in him.

46For if you’re still trusting Moses,

it’s me you’re trusting,

for Moses writes about me!

47If you don’t trust those writings,

how will you trust my words?”

“Our thoughts and prayers are with you.”

When disaster strikes, whether natural or manmade, one of the most common platitudes we hear thereafter is, “Our thoughts and prayers are with you.”

In the past several years I’ve noticed the expression has seen backlash. Mainly because the politicians who say it most, are rather overt hypocrites. Their actions demonstrate they’re not thinking of the disaster victims at all. Their fleshly behavior also suggests they don’t pray either… or they’re praying in some weird manner which doesn’t change them whatsoever. You know, contrary to how prayer actually works.

Now yes, some of the backlash comes from nontheists who are pretty sure all prayer is bogus anyway. They don’t believe anybody’s listening, and we Christians are only talking to the sky. Prayers are therefore just as useless as when some pagans attempt to send positive thoughts, vibes, and energy towards the needy: All they actually do is psyche themselves into feeling really happy things, then feel a little burst of euphoria which they figure is them “releasing” those thoughts into the universe. And then… they’re back to life as usual. Unless the happy thoughts get ’em to deliberately behave in more positive, productive ways towards those around them; but usually they don’t. The universe is no different. Nor better.

Give you an example. One of the United States’ many mass shootings might take out more masses than usual. The news media covers it like crazy; the public is horrified; the usual senators (or more likely, their staffers who know how to use social media) stick things on the internet about how their “thoughts and prayers” are with the victims and their families. And those who want gun restrictions object: These particular senators have no plans to change the gun laws whatsoever, and if anything they’ll be wary of future gun restrictions, and continue to fight existing gun resstrictions. Which means more mass shootings are inevitable. So what good are those senators’ thoughts and prayers?

I mean, functionally it’s the same as when James objected to “faith” which lacked works:

James 2.14-17 GNT

14My friends, what good is it for one of you to say that you have faith if your actions do not prove it? Can that faith save you? 15Suppose there are brothers or sisters who need clothes and don’t have enough to eat. 16What good is there in your saying to them, “God bless you! Keep warm and eat well!”—if you don’t give them the necessities of life? 17So it is with faith: if it is alone and includes no actions, then it is dead.

Our “thoughts and prayers” frequently aren’t any different than wishing the needy well, but doing nothing to make ’em less needy. Sometimes out of our own laziness, sometimes our own ill will. And the needy aren’t dense. They see the irreligion in it. They’re calling us on it. Rightly so.

If our thoughts and prayers do nothing, our faith is dead.