In the World? Of the World?

Be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ. (Ephesians 5:21)

This verse, from St. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, kicks off a lengthy passage that has always made me squirm. It includes the “wives, be subject to your husbands” business that men have wielded to justify all manner of bad behavior against women. According to later parts of the passage, children must be subject to their parents, and slaves to their masters.

Part of this was yesterday’s lectionary reading. Being confronted with it during Morning Prayer, I suddenly saw an entirely new side of St. Paul.

That “new side” shows up in his admonitions to those in power. “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.” “Masters…stop threatening [your slaves], for you know that both of you have the same Master in heaven, and with him there is no partiality.”

Consider that women, children, and slaves in ancient cultures were considered property at best, if they were considered at all. Paul’s exhortations require those in power to treat those without power as human. And how radical (for that time) is the idea that God has no partiality, so that all—adults, children, slaves, masters—stand equal before him?

I believe we’re looking at an apostle caught between two worlds. He admonishes women, children, and slaves because there is some need—especially given the precarious position of the first-century church—to maintain the social order. Paul himself is a fan of stability: “Let all things be done decently and in order” (1 Corinthians 14:40). Yet he also seems to yearn for the gospel in full flower: where love reigns, where children are nurtured to their full potential, where there is no partiality. He gives voice to that gospel when he writes, “There is no longer Jew nor Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28).

To be sure, human history has moved on. In most places, slavery is just a bad memory; in many, women have attained equal status. We’re getting closer to that “gospel in full flower.” Yet we too face the same tension between God and culture—between “in the world” and “of the world.” Isn’t that part of the dynamic that drives the divisions in the church over homosexuality?

Jesus knew that change would come slowly, because we couldn’t take instant transformation: “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now” (John 16:12). But we can continue to explore, to discern what belongs to “the way things are” and what represents the reign of God that should be. Indeed, we must continue to explore—for how else can we fulfill our mission to extend that reign?

The Problem with Inerrancy (and the Good News That Follows)

The last post (“No Harm Will Befall You?”) illustrates what I think is a flaw in the notion that every word in the Bible is divinely inspired and true for all time. At one time or another, we all run across this scenario: we read something in the Scripture; we look at our own experience; the overwhelming evidence contradicts the Scripture. What do we do then?

What I did, in my evangelical days, was tie myself in intellectual knots. I would try to force-fit a literal reading of the passage—which, as I saw it, was the absolute truth—to the way life clearly is. I would force-fit a passage clearly intended for ancient Jewish culture onto our culture. In contrast, the notion that the verse sprang from the spiritual wellspring at the core of the writer, however divinely influenced, or was meant for that culture at that time makes more sense.

To be sure, you can go too far the other way too: flippantly dismissing all kinds of passages as incorrect, or culturally relative, or inaccurately translated, and therefore not worthy of attention. I suspect that’s why I clung to inerrancy so tightly—because I feared losing a cornerstone of my faith.

Is this true of most evangelicals? If so, there’s good news on two fronts. One, between inerrancy and flippant dismissal is a whole spectrum of frameworks in which we can take the Bible seriously, if not literally. And two, there is always the true cornerstone of our faith—the Holy Spirit—who, according to Jesus, would “guide us into all the truth” (John 16:13).

P.S. It’s been a while since I could honestly call myself an evangelical. If you are one, and you feel I’ve misrepresented you, please speak up!

No Harm Will Befall You?

The fear of the Lord leads to life; and he who has it rests satisfied; he will not be visited by harm. (Proverbs 19:23)

I’m at a loss with this verse.

I discovered it on my way through Proverbs. It instantly reminded me of other, similar verses scattered throughout the Scripture—like “a thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand; but it will not come near you” (Psalm 91:7). If you love and follow God, the verses seem to say, no harm will befall you.

And yet clearly it’s not true.

If it were, how could we explain the martyrdoms of Peter and Paul? Or the assassination of Martin Luther King? Or the Holocaust, or any of the other genocides of the past 30 years?

I’m not even sure I’d want this to be true. I’m much more comfortable with the idea that God “sends rain on the just and on the unjust” (Matthew 5:45). Plus, there’s the value of suffering with Christ and thus identifying with him—and with all humanity: “that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death” (Philippians 3:10).

And yet Proverbs 19:23 and its like are in the Bible. So let’s wrestle with it.

At first, I thought the “no harm will befall you” passages referred to some ultimate, spiritual harm. Nothing will touch our soul. But doesn’t the death of a loved one, or reports of a genocide, touch our soul? As Joan Chittister says in Called to Question, “The way of the cross takes its toll on us.”

To repeat: I’m at a loss. Do you have any ideas? I would love to hear them. Feel free to post them here.

Love for Introverts

Owe no debt to anyone except the debt that binds us to love one another. (Rom. 13:8)

Does that include a debt to be loved as well?

For those of us who have been hurt, abused, ashamed, or are simply private, being loved is a hard thing, sometimes an impossible thing. The very act of sharing the personal (a prerequisite to being loved) leaves one open to anything, from ridicule to genuine affection, both of which can be frightening. And the journey from that fear to the place where we allow ourselves to be loved—whether it requires therapy, or spiritual direction, or whatever—is arduous.

Allow me to suggest, however, that it is an important journey to make.

Here’s why. Every one of us is woven into life’s fabric. Even our smallest gestures can turn around someone’s day or, on occasion, someone’s life. Our stories can inspire, or warn, or calm the souls of others. We don’t choose this state of affairs; it simply is.

But we can choose to enter into it—and thus do good to those around us. By opening ourselves to others, we allow them not only to learn from our experiences, but to practice love themselves—to make a payment on “the debt that binds us to love one another.”

In short, we can do so much good by embracing our interconnectedness.

As with so many other things, of course, balance is a virtue here. I’m not talking about sharing everything with everyone. Our inmost self can be delicate and needs a place of quiet in which to grow.

Yet our capacity to share ourselves, in even the smallest ways, can bless and repair the world. And regardless of the path to healing that we take to allow ourselves to be loved, one thing supports our journey: the inexhaustible supply of love from the Divine Presence. That alone can give us the fuel to carry on.