For several years, there's been a lot of talk about "the truth of the gospel." Calvinists (Piper, Chandler, et al.) have written several best-sellers defending "justification by faith" as the truth of the gospel. So, they spend a lot of time in their sermons reminding us of our sins and how God has forgiven us through faith in Jesus Christ. We didn't do anything to "earn" our salvation. It is the work of our sovereign God. He saved us, and that should inspire us to worship Him. In fact, many of the praise songs we sing emphasize the divine transaction of salvation. We were lost. God reached down to save us. That is the truth of the gospel. That is what we sing; that is what we hear. Over and over again the mantra is repeated: we were once lousy sinners. We couldn't do anything to save ourselves. God sent his Son to do for us what we couldn't do for ourselves. And, since Calvinists believe God chose us individually, sending His Spirit to enable us to believe the gospel, even our faith is a gift from God. Not even trusting in Christ is something that we do. It's all God. Therefore, the truth of the gospel centers exclusively on what God has done for us: justification by faith. As long as we get that right (the vertical), we're defending the gospel.
But Paul argued that "the truth of the gospel" was more than getting the "vertical" relationship with God right. He claimed there is a horizontal dimension to the gospel. How we treat one another matters when it comes to the "truth of the gospel"--something he tried to get the Galatians to see (Gal. 2:1-14). When "false brothers sneaked in to spy out our liberty in Christ," Paul said he didn't yield to them "for even an hour so that the truth of the gospel might remain with you" (v. 5). Later, Paul accused Cephas (Peter), Barnabas, and the rest of the Jewish Christians who refused to eat with Gentile believers of hypocrisy because they were "not walking straight concerning the truth of the gospel" (v. 14). Notice, the argument wasn't over some theological wrangling about "justification by faith." The issue was a social problem: who eats with whom. As far as Paul was concerned, the truth of the gospel had as much to do with how we treat one another at the table as our personal relationship with God. Indeed, for Paul, the truth of the gospel is a social reality grounded in theological truth. Justification by faith not only happens vertically (our relationship with God) but also horizontally (our relationship with each other). In fact, when Paul gets in Peter's face, he argues that "superior" Christians can't claim they are justified by faith when they separate themselves from the "sinners" (vv. 15-21). For them, the cross is merely a divine transaction, the place where sin is cancelled--something done for them. For Paul, the cross also requires our participation, the divine way of death that leads to life--something we do. The cross was not only done for us; it is also done to us and through us. That is the truth of the gospel.
So, listen up crusaders, zealots, loyal members of self-sequestered theological clubs and secret societies: you're not defending the "truth of the gospel" when you alienate your brother and sister in Christ. In fact, according to Paul (the one you call your "beloved brother"), you prove you're not even justified by faith.
Thursday, November 07, 2019
Wednesday, March 06, 2019
Sneaky Idolatry
(An excerpt from my work on John's Spirituality)
That’s one of the major claims of
the Revelation of John: we can only see
the world for what it truly is when we are gathered to worship the Creator and
the Lamb. Since the Apocalypse was
supposed to be read and heard when Christians gathered for worship on the
Lord’s day, it is telling that this vision, filled with idol imagery and false
worship, was part of their worship experience.
You would think a description of such blasphemous things would be banned
from their meetings, that getting Christians to envision idols and false
worship would be counter-productive. It
is a bit odd, isn’t it? Gathered for
worship to focus your attention on the one true God, all of the sudden—as a
part of your worship experience—you’re picturing your neighbors worshipping the
wrong god. It’s one thing to see with
your mind’s eye Michael kick the dragon out of heaven, no longer able to accuse
us because of the “blood of the Lamb.”
(Imagine the cheers coming from the crowd.) But encouraging these Christians to imagine
idolatrous worship, perhaps even stirring up memories of their religious past
as idol worshippers, seems out of place to us.
Idolatry should be the last thing on your mind when you’re worshipping
God. But, first-century worshippers
couldn’t afford to ignore the obvious. They
lived in a world filled with idols. In
their day, you couldn’t open your eyes without seeing one—not to mention the
fact that idolatry was embedded in every facet of life: politics, economics, and religion. Shutting your eyes and refusing to think about
idolatry wasn’t an option. Instead,
according to John’s vision, what Christians needed to do was open their eyes to
the lies, the deceit, the pretense of false worship—especially the worship of
Caesar.[1] And, the only way they could see the truth
was when they worshipped God.[2] The Revelation of John was a call to
“first-commandment faithfulness.”[3] Therefore, “those who bear witness to the one
true God, the only true absolute, to whom all political power is subject,
expose Rome’s idolatrous self-deification for what it is.”[4]
That’s what happens when we worship
God: we not only see the truth about God
but also recognize the pretense of self-deification—those competing for the
honor due exclusively to God. During
worship services, we often say our God is “worthy of worship,” which makes me think
about who or what is not worthy of
worship. Government is not worthy of
worship. Wall Street is not worthy of
worship. The military is not worthy of
worship. Nature is not worthy of
worship. Education is not worthy of
worship. Lawyers are not worthy. Preachers are not worthy. Physicians are not worthy. Politicians are not worthy. Entrepreneurs are not worthy. Entertainers are not worthy. No one or no thing is worthy of worship but
God. You would think, therefore, that we
would be especially vigilant to protect God’s honor, refusing to allow idolatry
to creep into our worship services.
Since God doesn’t share his glory with anyone, we would be reticent to
give glory to any person as part of our worship to God. And yet, it happens all the time. We applaud musical performances. We create church celebrities through
video. We pledge allegiance to
governments. We sing songs about our
native land. We exalt politicians when
they visit our worship services. We praise
soldiers for their military service. No
one questions the legitimacy of these practices. It all happens automatically, as if it were a
natural part of our worshipping God. Our
adoration is impulsive, worshipping God one minute while venerating our heroes
the next. Indeed, it’s not much of a
stretch to praise those we idolize even while we’re praising God. And we thought idolatry was only a
first-century problem.
This particular year, the Fourth of
July fell on a Sunday. The auditorium
was decked out in stars and stripes. An
American flag was draped over the cross.
The choir called us to worship with a hearty rendition of “God Bless
America.” Then we sang several
patriotic songs, “O beautiful for spacious skies,” and “You’re a grand old flag,
you’re a high-flying flag” and “My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of
the Lord.” The pastor stepped forward to
lead us in the pledge of allegiance and offered a prayer for the leaders of our
nation. Next, the music director invited
the congregation to join in a medley of service anthems, asking members of the
Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines to stand while we all sang their fight
songs: “First to fight for the right and
to build the Nation’s might . . . Roll
out the TNT, anchors aweigh. Sail on to
victory and sink their bones to Davy Jones, hooray . . . Off we go into the
wild blue yonder, climbing high into the sun; here they come zooming to meet
our thunder, at ‘em boys, give ‘er the gun . . . From the halls of Montezuma to
the shores of Tripoli, we fight our country’s battles, in the air, on land and
sea . . . .” With the words “roll out
the TNT” and “give ‘er the gun” still ringing in my ears, the choir sang
“Statue of Liberty” while patriotic and religious images were projected on
screens behind the choir. At one point,
a picture of an American soldier appeared on the left screen while an image of
the crucified Christ was projected on the right as the choir sang, “as the
statue liberates the citizen, so the cross liberates the soul.” Troubled by the vision and audition, I looked
around to see if anyone else was offended.
The congregation was glowing with adoration, taking in the spectacle
with pride and wonder. I kept thinking
about the mixed message, unable to get out of my mind the images of a man who
kills his enemies juxtaposed next to the man who died for his enemies. Throughout the sermon, while the preacher
effortlessly blended freedom in Christ with the religious liberty protected by
our nation, I imagined what a “God-and-Country” worship service would look like
in the first-century world.
That particular year, the autumnal
equinox fell on a Sunday. Christians in
Ephesus are gathered in the hall of Tyrannus for their special worship service.[5] The walls of the lecture hall are covered
with murals depicting momentous events in the life of the Ephesians: citizens welcoming the victorious Mark
Antony, the erection of the temple to Augustus, the birth of Artemis, scenes
from the games held in Domitian’s honor.
In the corners, Roman standards decorate the hall—a Roman eagle perched
on top of the flag at the front. A bust
of Caesar stands in the pediment over the entrance, welcoming congregants as
they gather for worship. As the service
begins, a dignitary recites the inscription etched on the temple to Augustus,
extolling his generous benefaction of the city.
A chorus leads the congregants in singing selections from the Psalter,
mixing in well-known anthems sung during the festival of Artemis—hymns of
gratitude for the fertility of the land, the protection of their city, and the
prosperity of their harbor. After a few
ex-soldiers are encouraged to stand and recite the sacramentum, the preacher
offers a midrash on Isaiah 45:1, comparing Caesar to Cyrus, quoting lines from
Paul’s letter to the Romans: “Let every
person submit to the governing authorities.
For there is no authority unless it is given by God” (13:1). As he points to the bust of Caesar and the
Roman standards, blending the pax Romana and
the pax Christi, the staccato rhythm
of his cadence accentuates Paul’s words:
“he who resists authority opposes the decrees of God . . . It is a
minister of God . . . It does not bear the sword for nothing . . . This is why
you pay taxes, for the rulers are ministers of God . . . So render to them what is due to them: taxes, customs, fear, honor” (vv. 2-7). After the homily, a patron invites everyone
to his villa to celebrate the love feast as members embrace one another,
passing the peace of Christ.
This is how easily idolatry sneaks
into our worship of God.
[1]“The
local manifestations of the imperial cult seek to foster ongoing awe and
gratitude toward the emperor and Rome.
John replaces these feelings with indignation, enmity, and anger in
order to support his agenda for Christian presence in Roman Asia: fostering critical witness, with no room for
idols, no room for assimilation to, and support of, the mechanisms of imperial
legitimation,” deSilva, Seeing Things,
p. 203.
[2]“These
elemental forms of perception of God not only require expression in
worship: they cannot be truly
experienced except as worship,” Bauckham, Theology,
p. 33.
[3]Talbert,
Revelation, p. 11.
[4]Bauckham,
Theology, p. 39.
[5]For
an excellent description of life in Ephesus, see Paul Trebilco, The Early Christians in Ephesus from Paul to
Ignatius (Grand Rapids: William B.
Eerdmans Publishing, 2004), pp. 11-52.
Tuesday, January 08, 2019
Worship as warfare
(An excerpt from my work on John's Spirituality [IVP Academic])
After Christ revealed the truth about the seven churches
(1:9-3:22)—strengths and weaknesses, threats and opportunities—the seer’s first
glimpse of what’s really going on in the world comes from a heavenly
perspective. Having been called up to
witness the worship of God and His Lamb (4:1-5:14), John looks down upon the
world as the sealed scroll is opened, bringing about the judgment of God on
earth (6:1-8:1). It’s significant that John’s
vision of “things to come” happens during heavenly scenes of worship. Even though John is called up to heaven,
passing through the heavenly portal that brings him into the throne room of
God, even though he sees and hears different kinds of heavenly creatures offer
unceasing praise and adoration, the worship of God is not shut up within the
heavenlies. Indeed, devoted worship of
the Pantocrator and the Lamb extends to the earth, with “every created thing
which is in heaven and on the earth and under the earth and on the sea” joining
in festal praise (Rev. 5:13). The interplay between scenes of heavenly
worship and the things “that must take place” reveal the eschatological purpose
of worshipping God. According to John’s
vision, when we worship God we are able to see the end of the world. Not only that, those who have ears to hear the
reading of John’s Revelation and join in heavenly worship end up participating
in the unfolding drama of this eschatological narrative—the story of heaven
invading earth.2 In this way, then, “the kingdom of God and
the rule of the Messiah—future, eschatological claims—are acclaimed in heavenly
liturgies as present, ‘eternal’ realities.”3 Indeed, every time we gather to worship God,
we’re declaring war on the world—like street-prophets holding up signs that
say, “The End is Near.”
That’s why worship is an act of war in the Revelation of
John.4 Notice how all seven visions of the end of
the world begin with a heavenly scene.5 Sometimes John saw the heavenly temple of God
(Rev. 8:3-5; 11:19; 15:5-8). Other times
he saw the throne of God and His heavenly council (Rev. 4:1-5:14; 14:1-5;
15:1-4; 19:1-10). Whether in the temple
or around the throne, each vision begins with a festal gathering of worshippers. Then, God executes judgment on the earth,
launching His invasion with armies of heavenly beings—from horsemen to
angels—so that “the kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord,
and of His Christ” (Rev. 11:15). In the
unfolding eschatological drama, two overlapping worlds (spatial and temporal)
blend into one: heaven crashes into
earth; the future is precipitated by the present. The dystopian scene is replicated over and
over again. After the saints worship God
and the Lamb, all hell breaks loose on earth.
And so, the way John sees it, the Apocalypse is an unveiling of—a
behind-the-scenes look at—what happens when we worship God. The seer is pulling back the veil, helping us
see the invisible war occurring in the visible world as the reign of God is
established on earth as it is in heaven.
More than that, the seer’s vision is a call to participate: when we worship God we wage war against the
powers that oppose him and us. Worship,
therefore, becomes a subversive act whereby we overcome the idolatrous powers
and their pretentious rule. Despite the
ruinous effects of evil powers trying to destroy God’s creation, we are
declaring in worship, “Our God reigns!” Indeed, the apocalyptic vision of a dystopian
world is a Christian hope of God turning the world right side up, when earth is
elevated to heaven’s purpose through divine purification. Furthermore, the promise (perhaps even
evidence) of a dystopian world is, therefore, the apocalyptic sign of God’s
reclamation of all creation. That evil
is putting up a fight by trying to muck up the place is proof that God, the
Lamb, and his slaves are winning the war.
It’s just a matter of time until every one sees it on the last day, when
heaven and earth become one. In the
meantime, one must have ears to hear the audition in order to envision the
end—now and then.
1 Contra
Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, The Book of
Revelation: Justice and Judgment, 2nd
ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998),
122, who argues that John’s auditors do not take part in the heavenly worship
until the end, i.e., in the new heaven and earth. Yet, there is no service of worship in the
visions of the new Jerusalem (Rev. 21:1-22:5).
2 Leonard
L. Thompson, The Book of Revelation: Apocalypse and Empire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), 66.
3 Ibid.,
65.
4 Bauckham,
Theology, pp. 67-70.
5 I
follow Talbert’s schema, “Seven visions of the end times,” Apocalypse, p. 26.
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