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Sunday, October 12, 2014

My Journey, Part 10: Ecclesiological foundations

This is part 10 of my rebooted series on my journey from Evangelicalism to Eastern Orthodoxy. The full series can be found here:

1Back to the beginning
2Cracks appear
3Questions multiply
4Questioning the "gospel"
5The big question
6A better hermeneutic
7Explorations in epistemology
7.5Excursus on oversystematization
8Back to the gospel
9The new direction
10Ecclesiological foundations
11.1Sola scriptura
11.2The insufficiency of Scripture
11.25Addenda on sola scriptura
11.3Holy Tradition
12Bridging the cracks
13.1Orthodoxy and Genesis 1–3
13.2A Better Atonement (Against Penal Substitution)
13.3Faith Alone?
13.4The Colour and the Shape of the Gospel
14Worshipping with the Church
15Mary, Saints, Baptism, and Other Odds/Ends
16Looking Back, Coming Home

The ways the Orthodox Church struck me as true can be broken down into five main categories: ecclesiology, tradition, epistemology/spirituality, vision of the "gospel", and worship. Each of the last three are dependent on tradition, which is dependent on ecclesiology, so I'll start there.

Ecclesiology is the study of the Church: its origin, nature, extent, purpose, and present reality. It is very closely related to...

History

The common Protestant story of the Church goes like this: Jesus established His Church by commissioning the apostles to preach and live the gospel and teach others to do the same. So the early church was born, miraculously growing by the apostles' missions. By the Spirit they were inspired to write the words of Scripture, thus preserving the gospel for future generations from our sinful tendency to forget it. Led by this same Spirit, the early Church lived the gospel authentically, a beacon of hope and light in the midst of the pagan Roman empire. It produced some exemplary theologians like Augustine who adeptly expounded the truth of Scripture and fielded them against the heresies of the day. The early Church was not Roman Catholic or Orthodox; it was simply Christian, pure and simple. But then, sometime around when the conversion of Constantine and the Edict of Milan in the early 4th century made Christianity the religion of the empire, things started to slip. Corrupted by newfound imperial prestige and drawn away from a faithful reading of Scripture by the expansion of extrabiblical tradition, the church increasingly failed to live faithfully to the biblical vision of the gospel.

The next thousand or so years are a slow process of decline, with the church becoming more corrupt and increasingly encumbered by human tradition until the true gospel message was almost silenced by the clinking of coins in exchange for indulgences, the prayers to the Virgin Mary, the flames of purgatory, etc. But then in came Martin Luther to the rescue, standing for the simple biblical truth of the gospel over and against the extrabiblical traditions of the Catholic church and the tyranny of the papacy which sought to stifle it. From there follows a series of other great, praiseworthy, and exemplary theologians, pastors, preachers, and ministers who advanced Luther's passion for the gospel and reliance on the word of God as the highest authority in belief and practice, which always seems to end in your own church, the most faithful practitioner of "biblical Christianity". (Though that isn't to say that other churches are just wrong or their members definitely aren't saved, not even necessarily Catholics; what matters and makes one a true member of the Church is saving faith in Jesus Christ as one's Lord and Savior for the forgiveness of sins)

I suspect that something like this story lies somewhere in the mind of most evangelicals. However they nuance it, the basic structure of an exemplary/"biblical" early Church, imperial/medieval backsliding, and ongoing Reformation recovery of a "biblical Christianity" centered around the simple message of the gospel is nearly universal. But even more than this, there is an assumption that church history, except insofar as it involves the earthly ministry of Jesus and the creation of the Bible, is ultimately dispensable. Though the church has not always been faithful to the biblical vision in the past, what matters is following God through His word in the present, learning from the past but not bound by it.

Now, let me tell a different version of the story.

At the end of His ministry on earth, Jesus commissioned His apostles to continue His ministry and pass on His teaching through His body, the Church. The apostles, and the bishops they appointed to carry on their ministry and teaching, would shepherd the Lord's flock as His ministers, manifesting His presence to His people. In particular, He commissioned Peter and his confession of Jesus as the Christ as the solid rock on which His church would guard and develop the faith given to it against persecutions, heresies, and apostasies. Guided and aided by the Spirit, the Church stood firm and preserved the deposit of the faith through intermittent Roman persecutions until the conversion of Constantine made Christianity the religion of the empire. Though imperial acceptance was not without its heresies and temptations, the Church's newfound influence and prestige allowed it to rapidly grow and spread, even beyond the borders of the empire.

In the coming centuries Christendom would be racked by theological controversies in which the Church's core beliefs about Christ, the Trinity, and other essential doctrines would be hammered out. As the eastern church was tossed about by conflicting teachings about these things, the apostolic see founded by Peter in Rome served as a bastion of orthodoxy to help establish and preserve a unified faith. But because of increasing linguistic, cultural, and (following the fall of Rome) political barriers between the eastern and western churches, they grew increasingly estranged. In several notable incidents, the eastern church flouted the authority of the bishop of Rome, leading to its eventual schism in 1054.

The "middle ages" saw the height of the Church's influence on society and significant advances in theological studies (especially via the Scholastics) and art, but also an increasing struggle against the corruption of both monastic orders and church prelates, which were answered by a series of reform movements, some of which went better than others. But not all were content to pursue reform within the Church. Early reformers like Wycliffe and Hus sought to end abuses by separating from the structure of the established church, and their followers formed splinter churches that would later join the Protestants. Then, just after the fifth Lateran council sternly called out corrupt prelates, came the storm.

Incited by the former Augustinian monk Martin Luther, churches and states began leaving the Church en masse, rejecting the apostolic authority and teaching of the Church in favor of their own interpretations of the scriptures. This quickly opened the door to all kinds of "biblical" heresies and errors which quickly multiplied as Protestantism fragmented. The Council of Trent, called thirty years later, provided a more faithful answer to the concerns raised by Luther and others, reforming the corrupted practices of the Church while rejecting the false teachings of the Protestants. In the ensuing centuries, other challenges to papal power would arise from within the Church which, while not leading to schism, did precipitate the decline of of the worldly influence of the Church, a process that was completed in the nineteenth century by the rise of nationalism and governments that did not take kindly to meddling by a foreign power. The bishop of Rome settled into a role somewhat more like that of the first popes, shepherding the Church in matters of faith, doctrine, and ethics while also seeking to remain a voice on these matters to the wider world.

Obviously, this is a Catholic telling of the history of the Church. (Which was quite hard for me to write, not being familiar with the Catholic viewpoint) Let me tell this story one more time.

At the end of His ministry on earth, Jesus commissioned His apostles to continue His ministry and pass on His teaching through His body, the Church. The apostles, and the bishops they appointed to carry on their ministry and teaching, would shepherd the Lord's flock as ministers of His presence, preserving and passing down the apostolic teaching without change. The early Church worshipped God in spirit and in truth, confessing and living the gospel even through Roman persecution. When a doctrinal controversy arose or a higher ruling on a question affecting the whole Church was needed, bishops would come together in councils (dating back to Acts 15) and come to agreement in a demonstration of the spiritual unity of the Church.

After the conversion of Constantine, it finally became possible to convene truly universal councils drawing in bishops from the whole church, through which some of the Church's foundational beliefs about the nature of God and our savior Jesus Christ were established over against numerous heresies. Tragically, though, not all of the churches consented to these decisions, and some (the Nestorian and Miaphysite churches in the east) rejected the rulings of the councils and went into schism from the Church; one can only hope this schism will be temporary.

Though the bishop of Rome served as a pillar of doctrinal orthodoxy during these councils, he began to see himself as a monarch ruling over the other bishops, rather than merely the first among equals, meddling in the affairs of other bishops and even seeking to unilaterally modify the Nicene Creed (which had been universally accepted at the first ecumenical council). As his worldly and spiritual power in the west increased, he clashed with the eastern patriarchs on multiple occasions. Eventually, through a representative, the pope excommunicated the patriarch of Constantinople during the eucharist, and the eastern and western churches went into schism. Subsequent attempts at reunion failed to gain any ground, especially after the west sacked Constantinople and established a Latin patriarchate during the Fourth Crusade.

Hemmed in by the Latin church on the west and Muslims in the south and east, the Church had nowhere to take the gospel except north. With the councils and controversies in the past, missionaries were able to bring a fully articulated Christian doctrine to the Slavs, who became wholehearted followers of the Way, especially in Russia, where the Church continued to grow. Though oppressed and persecuted in the following centuries by a number of regimes opposed to Christianity (notably the Turks and the Soviets), the Church has preserved the faith delivered to the apostles in its fullness right up to the present.

Though it may be a bit less familiar, this is my attempt at telling the story of the Church from an Eastern Orthodox perspective. Just like individual Protestant Churches, Catholics and Orthodox also see the history of Christianity in different ways which construe their own tradition as the one that has remained truly faithful to Christ. Clearly simply clinging to your own story and ignoring the ones held by other Christians will get us nowhere constructive. You have to compare stories, try to see them from the perspective of their tellers, and ask yourself: which one holds the most water? After intensively studying the history of Christianity for my master's program, I believe the Orthodox story does.

Comparing the stories

Though I used to hold something like the evangelical telling of Church history that I related above, I no longer accept it for a variety of reasons. First, as I will get to next time, I think this telling is based on a misunderstanding of what "tradition" is in the Church. Evangelicals are prone to contrasting "human" traditions with the "divinely inspired" Bible, which is supposed to preside over them all. But Catholics and Orthodox don't view the Bible as something distinct from tradition, set over against it, but as a product of tradition. It is not so much a constitution or charter for the Church to abide by as it is an expression of the apostolic faith, which predates the completed Bible by centuries. Suggesting that the correct way to "do church" was to base everything on the Bible not only ignores the fact that the Church predated and established the biblical canon (and the books of the New Testament), but also ignores the role oral/liturgical tradition, ecclesiastical authority, councils, and apostolic succession played in the guidance of the early Church. Most people didn't even have Bibles due to the difficulty in making them; the only way they got any Scripture was by hearing it in church rather than by reading, which made impossible the kind of personal Bible study that is universally recommended by Protestants. Contrasting the divinely inspired Bible with human tradition also forgets that the Bible itself is both divine and human, that the Bible never "speaks" without a human act of interpretation, and the promise of divine guidance even after the writing of the New Testament given to the Church given in John 16:13: "When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth". Orthodox don't simply believe the Bible is a divine book and the Church is a human institution; they consider both to be incarnational, both divine and human, the testimony to and the body of Christ.

To me, the Protestant telling of church history now seems more like an ex post facto justification for the legitimacy of one's church/denomination than it does an honest look into the history of the church. This is especially hard to deny when one considers all the subtly different versions of this story used by various denominations, many of whom hold different positions on the basic nature and doctrine of the Church. Through my hopefully multi-sided study of church history, it became clear to me that the Protestant reformers were not faithful recoverers of "biblical Christianity", but schismatics little different from others who similarly justified their teachings with Scripture. This is obscured by the fact that Protestantism's story quite consciously sets it apart from the depredations of medieval Roman Catholicism, but virtually (or completely) ignores the Orthodox Church. The claim that the early Church was "simply Christian" is an example of this. Splitting away from a false church does not necessarily place your church closer to the truth. In fact, because of the temptation to define oneself by what you are opposed to (which the early reformers greatly succumbed to regarding the Roman church), you are more likely to destabilize your beliefs and ultimately move even further away from it.

The Catholic telling is more plausible. Catholics have a much fuller view of tradition that I believe is closer to the historical Christian one (though not identical to the Orthodox view). Its telling does not minimize tradition, ecclesiastical authority, or apostolic succession as means by which the Church operates and continues. Its criticisms of Protestantism highlight its rejection of these things in favor of the Bible as the sole mediator of truth, in common with so many other schismatics. Catholicism's disputes with Orthodoxy are also historical in nature, centering around the causes of the Great Schism of 1054: papal supremacy and the filioque. As I will get into later, this issue is too complicated to be conclusively settled with simple arguments, but in my judgment the Orthodox view (that the pope unduly assumed an unwarranted and un-Christlike authority over his fellow bishops) is more plausible, especially in light of the two churches' later developments. Thus, I think the Orthodox Church makes the most plausible claim to having preserved the apostolic faith of the early Church to the present day.

Protestant ecclesiology

The nature of the Church is a doctrine on which there is fairly widespread agreement among Protestants (even if they begin to differ on the particulars of its operating). Most follow in the tradition of Luther and Calvin, who (according to scholar Don Thorson) "agreed that Jesus Christ established one church; however, the true church was more invisible than visibly existent in a single, monolithic institution, such as the Catholic Church."

Luther, for his part, felt compelled by conscience and Scripture to oppose the teaching of a church that he (rightly) believed had corrupted the gospel, prescribing unbiblical and empty practices for salvation while neglecting to develop any authentic faith in its laity. The church was said to be authoritative, but with its authority the church was teaching lies and misusing Scripture. Unable to believe that it was anything but a false church, Luther needed to rethink what the Church really was. His answer was that it was simply composed of those who truly had a "warm personal faith" in the Lord, not simply those who outwardly claimed to. Roland Bainton explains in his biography of Luther:
Luther was not concerned to philosophize about the structure of Church and state; his insistence was simply that every man must answer for himself to God. That was the extent of his individualism. The faith requisite for the sacrament [of the Lord's Supper] must be one's own. From such a theory the obvious inference is that the Church should consist only of those possessed of a warm personal faith; and since the number of such persons is never large, the Church would have to be a comparatively small conventicle. Luther not infrequently spoke precisely as if this were his meaning.
Thinking through the implications of this view of the Church, Luther saw parallels with the early, pre-Imperial church. The true Church, far from the magisterial institution of Rome, was a diaspora of God's redeemed, obscure and often persecuted, united by the Holy Spirit more than any visible connection.
The true Church for him was always the Church of the redeemed, known only to God, manifest here and there on earth, small, persecuted, and often hidden, at any rate scattered and united only in the bond of the spirit. Such a view could scarcely issue in anything other than a mystical fellowship devoid of any concrete form. This was what Luther meant by the kingdom of Christ. He did not pretend that it could be actualized, but he was not prepared to leave the Church disembodied. The next possibility was to gather together such ardent souls as could be assembled in a particular locality.
When debating Johann Eck at Leipzig, Luther found himself compelled to support two articles of the condemned heretic Jan Hus, which got him into further trouble: "The one holy universal Church is the company of the predestined", and "The universal Holy Church is one, as the number of the elect is one".

Luther did not take this spiritual definition of the Church as far as later Pietists would. His emphasis on personal saving faith was tempered by his continuing support of infant baptism, and his continuing view that the church and state should be coextensive:
This was in tension with his opposition to the individualistic form of believer's baptism held by the Anabaptists: he fell back on the faith of the sponsor, seeing it as necessary to snatch children away from Satan, unable to see the Church and state as separate entities. "The greatness and the tragedy of Luther was that he could never relinquish either the individualism of the eucharistic cup or the corporateness of the baptismal font.
Luther's dilemma was that he wanted both a confessional church based on personal faith and experience, and a territorial church including all in a given locality. If he were forced to choose, he would take his stand with the masses, and this was the direction in which he moved.
The Augsburg Confession, a major statement of the Lutheran faith, defines the Church as "the congregation of saints, in which the Gospel is rightly taught and the Sacraments are rightly administered. And to the true unity of the Church it is enough to agree concerning the doctrine of the Gospel and the administration of the Sacraments."

Calvin's view of the Church was largely compatible with Luther's. Sounding somewhat like Hus, he incorporated his theology of divine election into his view of the Church:
When in the Creed we profess to believe the Church, reference is made not only to the visible Church of which we are now treating, but also to all the elect of God, including in the number even those who have departed this life.
For Calvin, the true Church consisted of all of God's elect, throughout space and time. This was amenable to a view of the Church as a diaspora of the redeemed, similar to Luther.
Though the devil leaves no stone unturned in order to destroy the grace of Christ, and the enemies of God rush with insane violence in the same direction, it cannot be extinguished,—the blood of Christ cannot be rendered barren, and prevented from producing fruit. Hence, regard must be had both to the secret election and to the internal calling of God, because he alone “knoweth them that are his” (2 Tim. 2:19); and as Paul expresses it, holds them as it were enclosed under his seal, although, at the same time, they wear his insignia, and are thus distinguished from the reprobate. But as they are a small and despised number, concealed in an immense crowd, like a few grains of wheat buried among a heap of chaff, to God alone must be left the knowledge of his Church, of which his secret election forms the foundation.
The unity of the Church consists of Christ's spiritual headship over her, rather than any visible connection. Despite the apparent division of the Church in the midst of which Calvin found himself, he believed that the true Church remained whole, albeit "in concealment".
By the unity of the Church we must understand a unity into which we feel persuaded that we are truly ingrafted. For unless we are united with all the other members under Christ our head, no hope of the future inheritance awaits us. Hence the Church is called Catholic or Universal (August. Ep. 48), for two or three cannot be invented without dividing Christ; and this is impossible. All the elect of God are so joined together in Christ, that as they depend on one head, so they are as it were compacted into one body, being knit together like its different members; made truly one by living together under the same Spirit of God in one faith, hope, and charity, called not only to the same inheritance of eternal life, but to participation in one God and Christ. For although the sad devastation which everywhere meets our view may proclaim that no Church remains, let us know that the death of Christ produces fruit, and that God wondrously preserves his Church, while placing it as it were in concealment.
The full knowledge of the Church belonged to God alone (2 Tim 2:19). But we can gain some idea of where the true Church is, Calvin said, by looking for its marks: the preaching of the Word and the administration of the sacraments.
Wherever we see the word of God sincerely preached and heard, wherever we see the sacraments administered according to the institution of Christ, there we cannot have any doubt that the Church of God has some existence, since his promise cannot fail, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Mt. 18:20).
In summary, Calvin believed the true Church consists of all true Christian believers (the elect).
The Church universal is the multitude collected out of all nations, who, though dispersed and far distant from each other, agree in one truth of divine doctrine, and are bound together by the tie of a common religion.
In regard to individual churches, we can identify them by the aforementioned two marks, but with individual believers it is not so simple. Those who make professions of authentic faith may not actually be part of the true Church, but since we can't know their hearts with certainty we should "leave them the place which they hold among the people of God, until they are legitimately deprived of it."

The Westminster Confession, a major confession of the Reformed tradition, espouses an ecclesiology (unsurprisingly) similar to Calvin's.
The catholic or universal church, which is invisible, consists of the whole number of the elect, that have been, are, or shall be gathered into one, under Christ the head thereof; and is the spouse, the body, the fullness of Him that filleth all in all. (6.140) 
The visible Church, which is also catholic or universal under the gospel (not confined to one nation as before under the law), consists of all those throughout the world that profess the true religion, together with their children; and is the Kingdom of the Lord Jesus Christ; the house and family of God, through which men are ordinarily saved and union with which is essential to their best growth and service. (6.141) 
The Lord Jesus Christ is the only head of the Church, and the claim of any man to be the vicar of Christ and the head of the Church is without warrant in fact or in Scripture, even anti-Christian, a usurpation dishonoring to the Lord Jesus Christ. (6.145)
In a more contemporary example, the Barmen Declaration, a statement adopted by German Christians opposing the alliance of the German church with the Nazi government, defines the Church as "the congregation of brothers and sisters in which Jesus Christ acts presently as the Lord in Word and sacrament, through the Holy Spirit." Wayne Grudem defines the Church more concisely as "the community of true believers for all time." He explains that the true spiritual reality of the Church, as God sees it, is (similar to Calvin) all of the elect throughout time, but the visible Church, as Christians on earth see it, consists of those who outwardly attend and will always include some false believers. Similarly, Millard Erickson (the author of the tome I'm studying for my master's systematic theology class) believes that the church does have a visible dimension, namely the fellowship of professing Christian believers, but the invisible spiritual reality of the Church (all those who have authentic saving faith in Jesus) receives priority. Ideally, these two groups will be identical.

It's fairly easy to pick several recurring themes out of these examples of Protestant ecclesiology. Protestants, generally, accept the traditional definitions of the Church as undivided as well as both visible and invisible, but these things must be qualified. The true Church is an invisible spiritual reality, the body of all true believers in the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ throughout time and space, fully known only to God. It is this Church which has always been undivided in its authentic faith. Its visible manifestation, local congregations of believers, is not guaranteed to be so, consisting in many parts and denominations and not without some false Christians in its midst (some members of the true Church might also be outside the bounds of the visible Church). Protestants would probably agree that the visible and invisible Churches were identical in the early years of Christianity, but as the Catholic Church became institutionally corrupt and turned from Scripture to tradition the two increasingly diverged.

Orthodox ecclesiology

Protestants hold that theirs is the biblical and historical definition of the Church. But is it? When I look at the writings of theologians outside or prior to the Protestant tradition, I see a somewhat different picture of the Church. For example, Irenaeus, a prominent father of the eastern Church, wrote in the second century:
True knowledge is the teaching of the Apostles, the order of the church as established from the earliest times throughout the world, and the distinctive stamp of the body of Christ, passed down through the succession of bishops in charge of the church in each place, which has come down to our own time, safeguarded without any spurious writings by the most complete exposition [i.e. the Creed], received without addition or subtraction; the reading of the Scriptures without falsification; and their consistent and careful exposition, avoiding danger and blasphemy; and the special gift of love, which is more precious than knowledge, more glorious than prophecy, and which surpasses all other spiritual gifts.
Irenaeus gives three marks of true knowledge (of the Lord). The second is the reading and exposition of the Scriptures, as Calvin affirmed. The third is the presence of Christian love, something John Wesley would have heartily supported. But the first, and most detailed, is something else. It is the Church's faithful preservation of the apostolic tradition, the succession of bishops from the apostles, the continuation of "the order of the church as established [by Christ] from the earliest times throughout the world". The true Church, he says, is known not simply by accurate exposition of the Scriptures and Christlike love, but by its continuity in leadership and teaching with the Church created by Jesus.

In his treatise Against Heresies, Irenaeus also wrote words that could almost be referring to the reformers:
But, again, when we refer them to that tradition which originates from the apostles, [and] which is preserved by means of the succession of presbyters in the Churches, they object to tradition, saying that they themselves are wiser not merely than the presbyters, but even than the apostles, because they have discovered the unadulterated truth... 
It is within the power of all, therefore, in every Church, who may wish to see the truth, to contemplate clearly the tradition of the apostles manifested throughout the whole world; and we are in a position to reckon up those who were by the apostles instituted bishops in the Churches, and [to demonstrate] the succession of these men to our own times; those who neither taught nor knew of anything like what these [heretics] rave about.... 
In this order, and by this succession, the ecclesiastical tradition from the apostles, and the preaching of the truth, have come down to us. And this is most abundant proof that there is one and the same vivifying faith, which has been preserved in the Church from the apostles until now, and handed down in truth.
To Irenaeus, it seems that the preaching of the Word and the administration of the sacraments is not enough. Also crucial is the continuity of the true Church's teachings with those of the apostles, maintained by the apostolic succession of bishops. This continuity is how the early Church rebuffed heretics who claimed to base their teachings on Scripture. The preservation of the teachings of the apostolic faith, not simply continually turning back to the Bible, was how Irenaeus had confidence that the faith of the Church in his day was "one and the same vivifying faith, which has been preserved in the Church from the apostles until now, and handed down in truth." Remember, this was in the second century, when the Church was still meeting in private homes or catacombs and suffering under Roman persecution. If the Protestant ecclesiology really was the original belief of the Church, it didn't last long, and there is no patristic evidence for it.

The traditional Orthodox doctrine of the Church, expressed in the Nicene Creed, is that it is "one, holy, catholic, and apostolic. Fr. Thomas Hopko in his invaluable work The Orthodox Faith explains what these descriptors mean far better than I can. I'll just make a few notes..
  • The Church is one visibly and invisibly. Orthodox do not draw the Protestant distinction between the visible and invisible dimensions of the Church, at least not as strongly. Because the Church is the body of Christ, it is equally a visible and an invisible entity, and cannot be divided or broken up in either way. This does not exclude the possibility of someone outside the Orthodox Church having faith, this will not be the apostolic faith in its fullness. A common adage I've heard to explain the visible and invisible dimensions of the Church is that "We know where the Church is, but not where it isn't."
  • The Church is holy not because of the holiness of its members (as the Donatists taught) but because of the holiness of God. Christians participate in God's holiness rather than possessing it. Fr. Hopko writes, "The faith and life of the Church on earth is expressed in its doctrines, sacraments, scriptures, services, and saints which maintain the Church’s essential unity, and which can certainly be affirmed as 'holy' because of God’s presence and action in them." Jaroslav Pelikan, in his history of Christian doctrine, explains that "the church, the Scriptures, the priesthood, the sacraments—all were called 'holy', both because they were holy in themselves and because they made men holy by the sanctifying grace whose instruments they were."
  • The Church is catholic means that it is full, complete, lacking nothing of the Christian faith. This was actually news to me; I thought "catholic" meant "universal" across time and space. "To believe in the Church as catholic, therefore, is to express the conviction that the fullness of God is present in the Church and that nothing of the “abundant life” that Christ gives to the world in the Spirit is lacking to it (Jn 10:10). It is to confess exactly that the Church is indeed “the fullness of him who fills all in all” (Eph 1:23; also Col 2:10)."
  • The Church is apostolic in two ways, both connected to the meaning of the Greek word apostolos, "sent one". The Church, thus, is sent into the world just as Christ and the Holy Spirit were. As Jesus said, "As the Father has sent me, even so I send you." (Jhn 20:21) As well, the Church is built on the apostles who were sent from Christ.
Timothy Ware comments on the visible and invisible nature of the Church:
The Church—the icon of the Trinity, the Body of Christ, the fullness of the Spirit—is both visible and invisible, divine and human. It is visible, for it is composed for specific congregations, worshipping here on earth; it is invisible, for it also includes the saints and the angels. It is human, for its earthly members are sinners; it is divine, for it is the Body of Christ. There is no separation between the visible and the invisible, between (to use western terminology) the Church militant and the Church triumphant, for the two make up a single and continuous reality. "The Church visible, or upon earth, lives in complete communion and unity with the whole body of the Church, of which Christ is the Head.' it stands at a point of intersection between the Present Age and the Age to Come, and it lives in both Ages at once. 
Orthodoxy, therefore, while using the phrase 'the Church visible and invisible', insists always that there are not two Churches, but one. As Khomiakov said: 
"It is only in relation to man that it is possible to recognize a division of the Church into visible and invisible; its unity is, in reality, true and absolute. Those who are alive on earth, those who have fulfilled their earthly course, those who, like the angels, were not created for a life on earth, those in future generations who have not yet begun their earthly course, are all united together in one Church, in one and the same grace of God ... The Church, the Body of Christ, manifests forth and fulfils itself in time, without changing its essential unity or inward life of grace. And therefore, when we speak of 'the Church visible and invisible', we so speak only in relation to man."
This well-researched paper addresses Protestant ecclesiology directly. The author summarizes its basic tenets thus:
  • The True Church is the invisible church, known only to God.
  • The visible church can be divided.
  • There is no necessary correlation between the visible and invisible church. Membership in a local body is merely helpful, but not essential, to one’s salvation.
  • The visible church is not indefectible or infallible; that is, no one church has the fullness of the truth. All have erred and will err.
  • Episcopal government, the ancient three-fold order, is not of the essential nature of the visible church, but merely one allowable form of polity among many.
  • Apostolic succession is of faith alone, not of faith and order.
#3 is somewhat misleading; many Protestants would place more emphasis on membership in a local church than saying it's "merely helpful", though I don't think many would go so far as to say it is essential for salvation. Read the (fairly lengthy) paper if you wish; I'll merely summarize the author's main points.
  • "Not only the content of our reflection on the nature of the Church must be consistent with Holy Tradition, but also our methodology." (p. 9)
  • The Church participates in the image and likeness of the triune God via Christ. Being His body, it is both human and divine.
  • The Reformers, because of the perceived necessity of individual faith in God and the corrupting effects of sin on the human heart as well as all human institutions, believed that God was the only one who could identify who was a "true" Christian.
  • The Reformers often cited Augustine's distinction between the visible and spiritual Church, but rather than denigrating the institutional Church through this distinction Augustine was actually defending its authority and its role as a channel of grace despite the presence of false believers. The Church is the visible means of grace that God has instituted, and man should look nowhere else for salvation. (See the quote on p. 14)
  • The early Church saw little of the distinction between the visible and invisible Church that the Reformers argued.
  • "Eastern Christians believe that dividing the Church into visible and invisible parcels actually contradicts the very nature of the Church. The Church is one, whole organism. The visible is inseparably linked to and a part of the invisible, and vice versa. If the Church is indeed the Body of Christ (not two different bodies, one in heaven and one on earth), then her nature must be an undivided whole." (p. 28-29)
  • There are echoes of both Nestorianism (the heresy that Jesus as a loose union of two distinct persons) and Docetism (the heresy that Jesus was purely divine and only appeared to have a human body and nature) in Protestant ecclesiology.
  • Orthodox and Protestants agree that Christ is the head and the Church is his body. However, Protestants tend to understand these foundational truths differently.
  • "Orthodox cannot accept the Protestant belief that material disunity has no effect on ontological unity. Orthodox believe that material disunity causes an ontological disunity (or rather an ontological separation, since Christ is not divided)." (p. 33)

A summary of contrasts

As we have seen, it isn't quite accurate to say that Protestants believe in an invisible Church while Orthodox believe in a visible Church. They both believe the Church is both visible and invisible, but in different ways. Protestants make a stronger distinction between the visible and invisible Church, and hold that the invisible, spiritual dimension of the Church is the truer, corresponding to the way God knows those who are his. Orthodox refuse any such distinction. As Ware said, the only visible-invisible distinction in the Church is between its earthly members and those in heaven.

Besides this, another big difference is that Protestants seem to regard the Church as consisting strictly of a collection of individual Christians, in both its senses. The visible Church is not identified with a building or institution, but is simply all those who profess the Christian faith. Similarly, the invisible, spiritual Church is simply the whole congregation of the redeemed/elect of God. In contrast, Orthodox believe that the Church is more than a collection of individuals, reflecting its dual human/divine nature. It is more than the sum of its parts, having its own spiritual existence beyond its human members. Ware explains:
The mystery of the Church consists in the very fact that together sinners become something different than what they are as individuals; this "something different" is the Body of Christ. Such is the way in which Orthodoxy approaches the mystery of the Church. The Church is integrally linked with God. It is a new life according to the image of the Holy Trinity, a life in Christ and in the Holy Spirit, a life realized by participation in the sacraments. The Church is a single reality, earthly and heavenly, visible and invisible, human and divine.
I think this is also the basis for the Orthodox/historic Christian view that offices in the Church were intrinsically holy not on the basis of the holiness of the people serving in them, but because of God's holiness. This holiness was not simply imputed or reckoned; it was real, but independently of the person who was instead made holy by it. The office was, in some way, not coterminous with the individual holding it. Pelikan writes:
The church, the Scriptures, the priesthood, the sacraments—all were called "holy", both because they were holy in themselves and because they made men holy by the sanctifying grace whose instruments they were.
One other distinction I've noticed is that for Protestants, the Church is subjectively defined, at least in practice. What I mean by this is that who is "really" in the Church, and even to an extent the authenticity of a local church or denomination, is known by God alone. We can discern clues as to these things, but in the end we can never claim to know for sure whether someone's faith is true (i.e. whether they are a member of the true Church), nor can any one church exclusively claim to be the "true" Church. (A charge often leveled at Catholics and Orthodox) This is because the clues are subjective, like the true preaching and teaching of the Word, the proper administration of the sacraments, or loving, Christlike behavior; Protestants hold an abundance of "biblical" views on what all of these things really look like. There is thought to be a spectrum of purity, with even "true" churches having more or less pure teaching; it is no one's place to try to discern who is "in" or "out".

In contrast, for Orthodox membership in the Church is objective, a visible reality as well as a spiritual one, marked by the sacraments of chrismation, baptism, and the Eucharist, in keeping with their incarnational model of what the Church is. Likewise, the authenticity of the Orthodox Church is not based on its adherence to an invisible, unreachable, "biblical" standard of orthodoxy that no one can claim to know perfectly, but on its historical status as the same visible Church that Jesus founded, which has faithfully preserved the apostolic faith for almost two thousand years.

Evaluation

I have come to prefer the Orthodox view of the Church for at least four reasons.

First, I think the Protestant view involves an implicit dualism. This is seen in the belief that the "true" Church is a spiritual reality, physical only insofar as it is composed of flesh-and-blood people, and also in the contrasting of the divine source of authority for the true Church (the Bible) with "human" institutions and traditions. In Luther's initial formulation, it was based on the need to respond to the evidently false teaching of the established, institutional, visible church; in light of this, Luther felt compelled to envision the reality of the Church in such a way that false Catholic teaching did not really compromise the true Church. But this was unnecessary and ultimately harmful, since the true Church was and is visible, albeit distinct from the Roman church. In contrast, the Orthodox ecclesiology is based on, and inseparable from, Orthodox Christology. The Church is the body of Christ; Christ was both man and God, and likewise the Church is both spiritual and embodied. To me, at least, the latter position is self-evidently true over the former.

Second, Protestant ecclesiology is individualistic. Whatever mysterious connection may exist between them, the Church is ultimately the sum of all those who have individual saving faith. You become a part of it by accepting this faith, independently of your church membership. At worst this leads to "just me and Jesus" Christianity that views the Church as a dispensable vehicle for getting someone into a personal relationship with Jesus. Even in moderation, I think this kind of individualism (not upholding the value of the individual believer, but the practice of reducing things to the individual level) does not belong in Christianity. Well before I found the Orthodox Church, I was expressing dissatisfaction with it:
How is the gospel usually stated in evangelicalism? 'God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life, so He sent Jesus so that your sin could be forgiven and you can have a personal relationship with Him.' With such a personal understanding of the gospel—as being all about you and God—is it any wonder that so many American Christians have a self-centered faith? (2013-1-10)
It contributed to my confusion about how Paul wrote about "the gospel":
The view of the law as existing to show us our sin and lead us to the gospel seems to confuse redemptive history with personal application. What about the millions of Jews who lived and died under the law before the gospel was revealed—what was its purpose for them? To convict them of sin and leave them hopeless or dependent on the sacrificial system? (2013-2-4)
Eventually, this individualistic picture of the gospel gave way to a more historical, corporate one:
I thought about all the historical narrative and Jew/Gentile language as if it were the backdrop to God's continuing mission of saving individual souls—which He doesn't always succeed at! (2014-2-25)
Orthodox ecclesiology embraces the historical, corporate dimension of the church. The unity of believers in one body is strongly affirmed in Orthodox theology and worship. The Church has both a concrete nature and a spiritual one, and both are more than the sum of their human members. This is the theology I see in the Bible and the early Church, more than the individualistic Protestant view.

Third, a visible, objectively defined view of the Church is important because it allows doctrinal conflicts to be resolved without lasting schism (usually, at least). Imagine what would have happened if the early Church facing a barrage of heresies had had a modern Protestant ecclesiology. At the very least, there would probably be a church of Alexandria (a theological school which emphasized Christ's divinity) and a church of Antioch (which was concerned about maintaining his humanity), and the western church would have been "farewelled" centuries earlier. As well, there would probably be an Arian church, a Pelagian church, a Montanist church, a Gnostic church, a Nestorian church, a Marcionite church, a Donatist church, a Judaizer church, some kind of Christian/Manichee hybrid church, churches disagreeing with the decisions about the New Testament canon... (Only there would probably not be one of each of these churches by now, but dozens or hundreds due to later stresses)

Because the Protestant definition of the Church, in practice, comes down to "those who adhere to all the beliefs and/or moral standards that I consider essential", it becomes very difficult to actually prosecute heresies; those who adhere to them can simply leave, form a new church, and argue (from the Bible) that it is a truer church than the one they left! Because of this, in Protestant circles heresy usually doesn't get resolved so much as it gets called out and then divided over (fun fact: the Southern Baptist Convention originally formed to protect the "biblical" rights of slaveholders to their property). An ecclesiology that sees the Church as visible, external, objectively "there", more than simply a collection of individuals who believe the same thing, was essential for holding the early Church together.

I often hear the mantra, "In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity" to describe how Christians should approach doctrinal debates and go about distinguishing authentic Christian belief from false without becoming hyper-exclusive. But this only works if there is agreement on what the essentials are, which in many cases there is not. But the Orthodox Church actually realizes this ideal. The Church itself, not anyone in it, decides what is and is not essential. In the Orthodox Church, there are a variety of views on creation/evolution, on the nature of salvation, on the last things, and others, and no one claims that anyone else is somehow less than a true Christian because of it. Often the views are more compatible than competing, all expressing different facets of the same faith. Orthodox are able to sanely distinguish between what is worth defending and what is not in a way that seems miraculous, nay, impossible to a Protestant like me because the Church is what sets the limits of right belief, not individuals interpreting the Bible for themselves. By making membership in the Church visible and objective, they are able to have charitable, constructive conversation about the things of God without getting into the kinds of endless, often-acrimonious debates that lurk like land mines in Protestant theology.

Finally and proceeding from the previous point, the unity and objective definition of the Orthodox Church leads to a fuller faith than I have experienced in Protestant churches. I think Protestants have become somewhat desensitized to church division. Due to the sheer number of churches out there and the minority of the differences between some of them (and the aforementioned invisible view of the true Church), they are unwilling to conclude that only one church "has it right". So attempts are made to define a set of essential beliefs or attributes that constitute an "orthodox" church. This search for common factors tends to be minimalistic in nature, boundary-oriented: what must a church affirm/do and not affirm/do to be considered a true church? Or, individually, what must someone do/believe to "get saved"? The claim that no one church has the whole truth, but many have part of it even sounds alarmingly like good old relativism (try replacing "church" with "religion"). In contrast, the Orthodox faith is considered "maximalistic", whatever exactly that means (you can imagine), and center-oriented. Though the councils do provide strong limits to Orthodox theology, there is much less of a practical emphasis on finding who is Orthodox or not, since it is obvious unless someone is flagrantly immoral or teaching heresy. There is a lot more attention given to preserving, rejoicing in, and seeking the fullness of the historic Christian faith.

And yet...

For all the ways I've come to agree with Orthodox theology, ecclesiology is also the area of my biggest currently standing disagreement with Orthodox theology. Late in the paper I linked to above, a Protestant participant in an ecumenical discussion read the following quote from Ware's book:
Nor is this unity merely ideal and invisible; Orthodox theology refuses to separate the ‘invisible’ and the ‘visible Church,’ and therefore it refuses to say that the Church is invisibly one but visibly divided. No: the Church is one, in the sense that here on earth there is a single, visible community which alone can claim to be the one true Church. . . . There can be schisms from the Church, but no schisms within the Church.
And gave this response:
This last statement is perhaps the most precise affirmation of that which I would deny. I would deny that the Church is both invisibly one and visibly undivided. No: the Church is invisibly one and is visibly divided. I would deny that there is a single, visible community which alone can claim to be the one true Church. No: no single, visible community can make that claim. I would deny that there can be no schisms within the Church; there have been, and there might yet be. I would affirm, by contrast, that the various traditions which comprise Christendom are all aspects, “branches” if you will, of the visible Church. They are visibly divided, but invisibly unite.
Obviously I don't agree with his branch theory for the Church, but I find that I still agree with him more than not when he says "the Church is invisibly one and is visibly divided. ... I would deny that there can be no schisms within the Church; there have been, and there might yet be." Right now I am at the same (tentative) conclusion, but for different reasons. It's not because I believe that it's always arrogant for any church to claim that it alone is the true Church, that no church has the right to make this claim. I come to this conclusion from a historical perspective, from asking two questions:
  1. The ecumenical council of Chalcedon claimed to speak for the whole Christian world with its Christological definition (the word "ecumenical" comes from the Greek oikoumenē, meaning the whole inhabited earth), yet the Oriental Orthodox churches rejected its canons and went into schism instead. How, then, can it be considered truly ecumenical?
  2. The Great Schism between the eastern and western churches is an even thornier problem. As I explained above, each church tells its own version of the schism depicting how the other church went into schism from it. Each story is at least internally consistent, as far as I can tell. What, then, is there to decide which story (and church) is true besides their own say-so? Even before 1054, the churches became increasingly estranged until they were visibly united in little more than name only.
Though I hope I'm wrong, right now I can't see these events as anything other than real schisms in the Church, not just from it. And even though it hasn't accepted false teaching, it's hard for me to believe the Orthodox Church isn't impoverished at all by the loss of the Latin and Aramaic churches. At least for now, I await an explanation for these things.

Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Eclipses!

Today has been an exciting day. I saw my first lunar eclipse! I thought I would get up too late to see the "blood moon" before it sank too low in the sky to be visible above buildings, but on the way to work the bus driver pointed it out to me when it was near the end. I didn't have time to get a picture, but this picture was taken in Minneapolis about 10-15 minutes after I saw it, when it was less total and the moon was lower in the sky; note the fuzzy, concave shadow on the (full) moon and the redness from sunlight scattering through the atmosphere.
Of course, I then started nerding out over eclipses and idly wondered when I could see my first solar eclipse. Considering how all the solar eclipses I heard about were over open ocean or some distant part of Asia or something, I didn't expect this to be any time soon. Imagine my surprise when I learned there will be a total solar eclipse passing over the middle of the United States on August 21, 2017! This is the closest one until 2099, when a total eclipse will pass right over Minneapolis, but I don't plan to live that long. (And if I do, I might be on the Moon by then)
The zone of totality is only a six-hour drive down I35 from Minneapolis and it's on a Monday, so the potential for either driving down that day or camping is ripe. And the nearly three-year warning gives plenty of time to stock up on eclipse glasses, telephoto lenses, or other viewing paraphernalia, as well as to formulate a plan for getting down to Lathrop, MO or thereabouts.

But it gets even better. There will be a partial solar eclipse visible over all of North America in less than three weeks! If there were such a thing as "eclipse season", this would be it.
Fifteen days' warning is still enough time to buy eclipse glasses. The magnitude of the eclipse should peak around 5:30 PM. Be prepared.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

The Commands of God

The following is an old-ish paper that I wrote for my final project in my biblical theology class, on the theme "The Commands of God".

God's commands to man lie close to the heart of the biblical story of redemption. The diversity of biblical material on the subject gives rise to tough questions hermeneutical (how can Paul say that justification is by faith and not works, while James says that it is by faith and works?), theological (why does Paul treat the Old Testament law so negatively if it was given as a gift by God?), and practical (how, if at all, are Christians still obligated to the OT law?). I will attempt to respond to these and other questions from a unified reading of Scripture, assuming the inseparability of faith in God and adherence to His commands, the "obedience of faith". This union of faith with obedience to God's commands is a constant in the Bible; what changes is our grace-enabled success at obeying and the role this plays in salvation history.

God's commands play a prominent role in the primeval history of Genesis, most obviously in the creation-fall narrative of Genesis 2 and 3. God gives the first man one command to live by in the garden: "You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die." (Gen 2:16-17 RSV) Of course, the man and his wife disobey God, and a more detailed answer to why they did so than simply "sin" is that they did not trust (i.e. have faith in) God as they should have. "Eve transgressed God's command because she doubted God's goodness ... Adam and Eve were jettisoning childlike dependence upon God by tasting the prohibited fruit."1 In the garden we see a prefiguring of what is to come, especially in Israel's story: we are created for loving relationship with God, neighbor, and creation, the terms of which are specified by God. We obey Him by faith, or we put our faith elsewhere and so disobey. Elsewhere in Genesis we get a more zoomed-out view of God's will for humanity. Genesis 1:28-30 and 9:1-7 come close to our concept of "natural law", being presented as universally binding moral standards for all of humanity, but as they do not factor into later salvation history (except as a ground for condemning the non-Jewish nations, as in the story of Noah), they are not of much interest to us. If anything, they serve as "mission statements" for humanity, setting the overall purpose (creaturely flourishing) that later, more specific commands would aim towards.

With the call of Abraham in Genesis 12, salvation history becomes closely identified with the story of a family. God gives Abraham a command (leave your kin and go to the land I will show you) and a promise (I will make you into a great nation; all the families on earth will be blessed through you). And Abraham obeys. As Paul explains in Romans 4 and Galatians 3, this obedience is closely tied to Abraham's faith, his belief in God and His promises. One does not simply cause the other; Abraham obeys because he believes and works out his faith by obeying. Paul's denial that Abraham was "justified by works" in Romans 4:2 is not meant to lessen the importance of his obedience, but to stress that Abraham did nothing to gain God's favor.2 Hebrews 11 commends Abraham for his faith, but this faith was not only an abstract trust in a higher power; it was manifested in his obedience to God's command to go to Canaan and in his willingness to sacrifice his promised son. To have faith is to demonstrate it. Somewhat like the members of the Trinity or the two natures of Christ, Abraham's "faith and obedience are distinct, but remain undivided."3

But besides his own personal example of faith and obedience, Abraham is also significant for the covenant (another major theme in BT) that God makes with him. Significantly, in Genesis 15 when the covenant is formally established, God ceremonially does so alone, while Abraham is asleep. The message is clear: this covenant is not symmetrical like so many other ancient Near Eastern covenants; God is the one who establishes His covenant with men, and He is the one who moves it forward. Two chapters later, God adds a continuing command to His covenant: the men born into it must be circumcised as a sign of the covenant (Gen 17:10-11). The covenant itself is unconditional, but its blessings depend on faithfulness to its conditions; by disobedience "the benefits of the covenant could be lost for periods of time, but no mention is made of the possibility of cancellation."4 The covenant would become a major component of salvation history and the context for God's future commands to His people, which were not instructions for earning their way into the covenant, but for enjoying its blessings.

We come to the main body of God's commands to His people in the OT, the Mosaic covenant. Again, the precepts of this covenant "are clearly not a means to earn favour with God, not is keeping them necessary to establish a relationship with Yahweh. ... The law must be interpreted within the context of grace."5 Given that it came immediately after God's freeing His people from slavery in Egypt by a variety of miraculous means, it is hard to argue that the law was not given in the context of faith (or it should have been, if not for the peoples' faithlessness). Reminders of God's past acts of faithfulness are interspersed throughout the commands He gives to His people (Exo 20:2, 29:46; Lev 11:45, 19:36, 20:24, 25:38; Num 15:41; Deu 5:6), or more commonly brief reminders that "I am the Lord". The desire to obey God is rooted in our experiential and personal knowledge of who He is and what He has done. In the original giving of the law and especially in its reaffirmation in Deuteronomy, we see that the law is given to Israel for her good (Deu 10:13), that those who keep it may enjoy God's covenant love (Deu 7:9). The covenant itself does not depend on Israel's obedience, only her enjoyment of its blessings.

In Deuteronomy 28, a long list of blessings for obeying the law is enumerated, and a longer list of curses for disobeying. Again, given the law's other statements about itself, it is wise to read these not as God using enticements and threats to make the Israelites do what He wants, but as the positive consequences of either obeying God and experiencing His love as He intended, or of rejecting the author of life and His law, and receiving the negative consequences. The Mosaic law is not so much a statement of abstract ethics, but a blueprint for the corporate life of God's chosen nation, and a testament to how she is to exist as such. If Israel lives consistently (or faith-fully) with how God created her to live (for Israel, in the OT account, is a nation created by God for Himself), her blessedness (not earned by obeying the law, but already there) will be evident to all. If she does not, the result of rejecting God's blessings and prescribed way of being-in-the-world will be equally evident.

The expectations in the Pentateuch of the outcome of Israel's attempts to obey God's law are mixed, as Deuteronomy 30 shows. The second half of the chapter (11-20) is optimistic in tone; "this commandment which I command you this day is not too hard for you, neither is it far off." (30:11) Yet in the first half (1-10), Moses seems to foresee the next few chapters of salvation history. As we know, despite some notable successes Israel ultimately fails to remain faithful to God's law and suffers exile in Babylon as God's appointed punishment. As will become evident later, the failure of the Mosaic covenant is not because of any shortcoming in the law itself, but because of the people to whom it was given, and the outcome that ensued. "The Sinai covenant is a gracious covenant, but the new covenant is inherently superior to the old covenant in terms of its consequences."6

Yet exile is not the end; God's "punishment" is never merely punitive. Breaking the covenant does not equal annulling it. As Moses noted, this exile would be a prelude to God's restoration of His people and the fulfillment of His promise in 30:6-8 to enable them to obey His law more fully. After the warnings of judgment and the Day of the Lord (another major BT theme), many of the prophets envision this restoration in some form. Isaiah and Joel promise the outpouring of the Spirit (Isa 32:15, 44:3; Joel 2:28) after the return from exile. Ezekiel promises a "covenant of peace" between God and His people (37:26) and to put in them a "heart of flesh" identified with His Spirit, to help them obey Him. (36:25-27) Jeremiah similarly promises a "new covenant" in which the law will be written on His peoples' hearts and past transgressions will be forgiven (31:31-34). Hosea brings the charge to Israel that "they have broken my covenant, and transgressed my law" (8:1), but the promises elsewhere in the book (2:14-23, ch. 14) show that though Israel has been faithless and broken God's law, He is still not finished with her. He will restore her and help her to obey Him, fulfilling Deuteronomy 30:6-8.

With this history in mind, the Jews' mixed reaction to Jesus is more understandable. On one hand, Jesus says that "I have come not to abolish [the law and the prophets] but to fulfill them". (Mat 5:17) He identifies love for Him with keeping His commandments and again promises the Spirit, His abiding and graceful presence with His people (Jhn 14:15-26). He even says that the righteousness of His disciples must exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees (Mat 5:20)! Clearly Jesus seems intent on bringing out the grace-enabled obedience whose promise is God's merciful answer to the Israelites' disobedience and exile. He is the fulfillment of the prophets' promises of a new covenant in which God will help His people to obey Him aright.

Yet His treatment of the actual commands of the law is sometimes confusing. Christ did not purport to teach the law like contemporary teachers; He virtually ignored it except when answering questions or showing how it foreshadowed His own ministry.7 He radically reinterprets or (depending on your position) waves aside OT commands like the temple tax (Mat 17:24-27), the Sabbath (Mat 12:1-4), and food laws (Mat 15:10-20, Mark 7:14-23), doing so on His own authority. Similarly, in Matthew 5:21-48 (right after saying He came to fulfill the law and that His disciples' righteousness must exceed that of the Pharisees) He clarifies and strengthens precepts of the law, essentially telling the people what they "really" mean. Schreiner believes He is merely correcting misinterpretations of the law8 and Scobie considers this strengthening to be part of how Jesus fulfills the Torah,9 but at any rate it seems clear that the obedience Jesus is restoring Israel to is not going to look identical to the obedience Moses had in mind when he was giving the law.

No one talks more about "law" in the New Testament than Paul. Broadly, Paul's statements on the law fit into two main categories. First (and well-known among Protestants) are his negative statements about "works of the law" or simply "works", for example in Romans 3:19-31 and Gal 2:15-16,3:10-14. Passages like these have spurred seemingly endless debates among biblical scholars as to what Paul meant, but at the very least he echoes Jesus' statements about fulfilling the law (Rom 10:4) and similarly transcends it; for Paul it is evident that, in some sense, the Mosaic law does not apply to Christians as it did to the Jews (Rom 7:6). On the other hand, Paul certainly seems to expect ethical conduct and obedience from his congregations (1 Cor 11:1, Phl 4:9), and he even mentions a new "law of Christ" (1 Cor 9:21, Gal 6:2) to which he counts himself and the churches as responsible. In his letters he lays down a variety of commands and teachings for the churches, and inasmuch as he sometimes distinguishes between commands from the Lord and his own teachings (1 Cor 7:12), he usually seems to do so in an exercise of the authority given to him by his revelation of Christ (see Gal 1:11-20).

The other NT epistles offer a diversity of perspectives on how obedience to the new covenant moves beyond obedience to the old. Hebrews shows in detail how Christ is the culmination of the whole Torah, especially the priesthood and sacrificial system. The author connects this to Christian ethics by noting that "when there is a change in the priesthood, there is necessarily a change in the law as well" (7:12); in chapter 13, he does not shy from giving commands from this new law. James' epistle says some things about practical obedience that cause much consternation among supporters of "justification by faith alone", such as "so faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead" (2:17) or "a man is justified by works and not by faith alone" (2:24). Paul's statements will be explained in more detail later; for now, suffice it to say that since they are not in dialogue, James uses the terms "faith" and "works" in different ways than Paul (albeit closer to our 'normal' definitions of them) and is asking "about the relation between the profession of faith and action consonant with it."10 The witnesses of Paul and James, when taken together, are strong evidence for the unity of faith and works in the Bible.

Throughout the biblical witness we thus see the consistent affirmation of both faith (as trust) in the God who saves and obedience to His commands. No ranking or dichotomy between the two is possible (or at least intended). The rest of the paper will address questions and complications that jump out (at least to me) in response to the biblical narrative of God's commands. Perhaps the most obvious is: if the Bible consistently presents God as desiring from humans the "obedience of faith", what are we to make of the diversity of views relating to God's commands found in the Bible, from Deuteronomy to Psalms to Matthew to Romans? Put another way, what is the progression within biblical revelation in the treatment of God's commands? I contend that they change in two ways: in their scope and in their outcome.

First, whereas most of the OT is primarily the history of God's chosen nation of Israel and her history of trying to live as such, in the NT we see Gentiles as well as Jews called to be His. This point is frequently skimmed over in modern theology, but it was a major shift in the early (initially Jewish) church, requiring a church council to resolve (Acts 15). Paul devotes significant space in several of his letters, particularly Galatians, Philippians, and Romans, to addressing the tensions the inclusion of Gentiles in the formerly all-Jewish people of God raises.

Second, we see a progression throughout the biblical narrative regarding the outcome of God's commands to His people. During the Exodus, Israel is overawed by God's acts of redemption and perhaps inspired by memories of the patriarchs walking with God, so that the people are able to say, "All that the Lord has spoken we will do." (Exo 19:8) But this confidence soon meets with reality; the Israelites have barely moved into their new home before widespread apathy and disregard for the law settles in (e.g. in the book of Judges). Though Israel's history has several high points such as good kings like David, Solomon, and Josiah, it ultimately leads to disobedience and exile—a pattern mirrored, probably intentionally, in the creation-fall story of Genesis 2-3. The prophets express hope for a new covenant in which God's spirit will give believers new hearts and help them to obey Him at last, which is just what we see Jesus inaugurate—though the old order of sin still remains. We will not continue to sin forever; God helps us to live the way for which He made us.

Several more questions branch off from this answer. First, if our fulfilling the law (in its original purpose, not necessarily in its specific commands) is part of God's aim in salvation history, what are we to make of Paul's negative statements about the law? If the law was given by a good God as a gift to His chosen people, how can Paul say that it "consigned all things to sin" and "confined" us (Gal 3:22-23), or contrast the righteousness of the law Moses demanded with the righteousness of faith Christians are to have (Rom 10:1-9)? If "by works of the law shall no one be justified" (Gal 2:16), why was it given at all?

As Schreiner says, the New Perspective on Paul has much to say to the common conflation of Paul's "works of the law" with an amalgam of Pelagianism, medieval Catholic morality, and the modern American "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" mentality under the heading of "legalism" or "works righteousness", all of which would have been nowhere on Paul's first-century radar. Nowhere in the Mosaic law does God command the Jews to be legalists; as I have tried to show, obedience to God's commands has never been opposed to faith, or at least it was never meant to be. A call to strict obedience does not imply a denial of the importance of faith. Schreiner, however, still sees legalism (which he defines as "the view that human works function as the ultimate basis of one's salvation on the last day"11) in passages like Rom 3:27-4:8, 9:30-10:13; Phl 3:2-11; Gal 2:16-21, 3:10-14. But advocates of the New Perspective do not consider these passages "problem verses" or try to sweep them under the rug. Rather, they explain that the "boasting" the Jews partake in and the "righteousness" or "justification" they valued did not concern their attempts to prove themselves to God (they believed they were already "in" with God and did not have to earn their way) but that this very state of being "in", shown by their possession of the Torah, made them superior to the other nations and gave them some kind of privileged status in God's plan.12 The Jews had come to see God's plan of salvation as being for them rather than through them.

By Paul's time shift has taken place within Judaism between Moses and Jesus to this more nationalistic kind of legalism in which possessing the commandments is more decisive than practicing them, rather than the kind Schreiner envisions. The Jews have forgotten the original purpose of the covenants and of the law that was to serve as their guide for abiding in them. God never intended to simply elect Israel out of the sinful world; the purpose of Israel's election, going all the way back to His promise to Abraham in Gen 12:3, was to bless and save all the nations of the world. The law was given to Israel to help her do this, to be holy and separate from the other nations and to ultimately serve as God's cure for the sin and corruption raging in His creation. But Israel failed to obey the law; she became part of the problem. And more than that, especially in the post-exilic period we see the Jews misusing the law as a way of maintaining their separation from (and assumed superiority over) the nations who did not have it. The way of life that was supposed to be redemptive for the nations became a wall blocking them from God. (Mat 23:13) "'Works of the law' cannot justify because God has redefined his people through the faithfulness of the Messiah."13 This kind of abuse, not the obedience of faith commanded by Moses, is what Paul is talking about by his term "works of the law" (or "works of Torah"). When he states in Gal 2:16 that we are not justified by works of the law but by faith, he means that "obedience to the Mosaic law was no longer the distinguishing mark of the people of God. They were now distinguished by their faith in Jesus Christ and participation in his spirit."14

With this in mind, we can make better sense of Paul's actual answer to the question "why was the law given?" in Gal 3:19. He says, somewhat ambiguously, "It was added because of transgressions till the offspring should come to whom the promise had been made". The law is not opposed to the promises of God, but it cannot deliver them (v. 21), not because of any flaw in it but because of the people to whom it was given. In the following verses we see him expand on the law's role: it somehow "confined" the Jews until Christ came to fulfill it (v. 22-23); it acted as their paidagogos (variously translated as "custodian", "guardian", "babysitter"...) until Christ came (v. 24); it was their "guardian" leading them until they came into the inheritance God had appointed for them (4:1-2). All of these point to a purpose for the law similar to that of John the Baptist, of "preparing the way" for the climax of God's redemption in Jesus. Unlike the agitators to whom Paul was responding, he saw the law as a good, but temporary stage in the fulfillment of God's promises to Abraham. "It is essential that the law be regarded as temporary, if its curse is to give way to blessing and if its demand is not to obstruct the realization of the promise."15

A related question, perhaps even more obvious: if God gives us His Spirit to help us to finally obey His commands as He intended, why did He not simply give the Spirit at Mount Sinai, or in Ur, or in the garden? Why the long period of backsliding before the advent of Christ? It seems as though He did not give the Israelites what they needed to obey Him, so He shouldn't have been surprised at their failure. Rather than answering this question directly, I will question it. This kind of question, I think, is based on a very mechanistic view of our obedience that aims to reduce spiritual truths to simple equations: Humans + Law = Disobedience, Humans + Law + Spirit = Growing obedience, and so on. If this were the case, if humans are in some sense ontologically unable to obey God without His Spirit, then the fault of Israel's disobedience would ultimately fall on Him. Given the unacceptability of this, I conclude that this question may be based on too strong a concept of human depravity.

We can learn from eastern theology here, which—while acknowledging the problem of sin—also holds that man's freedom to do good is restricted, not destroyed,16 and his nature remains essentially good17 (Wilson; mention how this emphasizes sin's alien nature and allows Christ to fully share in our nature) (see Rom 7:15-25, esp. 17). "Because we are created in the image of God (Gn 1:26), there is an indelible goodness in our nature that can never be undone";18 this is a valuable counterpoint to the Reformed view of humanity that can border on reveling in our incorrigible bad-ness. Israel's disobedience was not ontologically inevitable (her periodic successes at obeying the law would seem to belie this), but nonetheless it happened because of her free acts of disobedience, and she could not deal with it herself. God's restoration of Israel and giving of the Spirit are less like fixing a broken circuit and more like what they truly (albeit metaphorically) are: restoring a marriage, or reconciling a trespasser to oneself.

Finally, a very common and practical question: how, if at all, do God's commands in the OT apply to Christians today? Paul repeatedly makes clear (as does Peter, in Acts 15:7-11) that we are "discharged from the law" (Rom 7:6), not simply because it was impossible all along and grace is God’s “plan B” for salvation but because the Mosaic law, besides not being given with the grace to obey it and thus seeming to hold the Jews "captive" in their sins (Gal 3:23), also served to set up a division between Jews and Gentiles which has now been obliterated by Jesus. (Eph 2:11-16) Paul warns against returning to "works of the law" not because, as is commonly supposed, they represent a universal human tendency to Pelagian attempts at "works righteousness", but because they entail slavery to a covenant which, while gracious, was only intended to be temporary (Gal 3:24-25), and because they would re-create the obsolete division within God's covenant people between Jew and Gentile, a notion which Paul rebuts in strong terms (Gal 3:28). He similarly emphasizes faith not as a counter-principle opposed and excluded from any kind of active "works", but to mean particularly the faith of the early Church in Jesus Christ. "For Paul, the expression 'works (of law)' refers not to morality in general but to the practice of the law within the Jewish community; and the expression 'faith (of Jesus Christ)' refers not to a willingness to receive God's grace as a free gift and to renounce reliance on one's own achievements, but to the Christian confession of Jesus as the Messiah and the social reorientation this entails (cf. Gal 2:16)."19

What I take from this is that we, as Christians, are no longer directly subject to anything in the Mosaic law. Rather, we are subject to the "law of Christ", or the "law of faith" (Rom 3:27), by which we fulfill the law/Torah (Rom 3:31) as Christ did before us (Mat 5:17). We don't have to search for some hermeneutical principle by which to decide which parts of the law still apply to us today (e.g. the "ceremonial"/"civil"/"moral" division); by following the teachings of Christ as communicated by the apostles, we can have faith that we are fulfilling the law of Moses. Scobie writes that Jesus focused His teaching on the ethical dimension of the law and deemphasized its ritual and ceremonial demands (using these terms descriptively); "Jesus' "fulfilling" of the law constitutes a new righteousness that is available for all humankind, not just for those bound by the ritual and ceremonial requirements of the Torah."20

Throughout the Bible God is seen to state His will for us in the form of commands; these are not arbitrary rules, tests of obedience, or a way to try to justify ourselves before Him, but reflections of His character and love for us in a particular part of salvation history. He has always desired from His image-bearers the obedience of faith not merely because He likes to be in control or get His way, but because by obeying we live the way He created us to live and grow into His likeness as well as His image. As God's redeemed covenant people, those who are "in Christ" (see Rom 6), we are to abide in the "law of Christ", and the Spirit He sent to us (Jhn 16:7), God's grace abiding and working in us, helps us to do so as we are conformed to Christ's image. Far from the burdensome rules they are often depicted as, the commands of God are an integral part of the narrative of BT; in different, equally biblical senses, they are both what we are saved from and saved to.

  1. Thomas R. Schreiner, “The Commands of God” in Central Themes of Biblical Theology: Mapping Unity in Diversity (eds. Scott J. Hafemann and Paul R. House; Grand Rapids: InterVarsityPress, 2007), 69.
  2. Francis Watson, Paul, Judaism, and the Gentiles: Beyond the New Perspective (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 262.
  3. Schreiner, “The Commands of God”, 71.
  4. Andrew E. Hill and John H. Walton, A Survey of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2009), 91.
  5. Schreiner, “The Commands of God”, 73.
  6. Schreiner, “The Commands of God”, 75.
  7. T. Desmond Alexander et al., New Dictionary of Biblical Theology: Exploring the Unity and Diversity of Scripture (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2000), 636.
  8. Schreiner, “The Commands of God”, 99.
  9. Charles H.H. Scobie, The Ways of Our God: An Approach to Biblical Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 772.
  10. Scobie, The Ways of Our God, 782.
  11. Schreiner, “The Commands of God”, 89.
  12. Tom Wright, Justification: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2009), 185.
  13. Wright, Justification, 97.
  14. Desmond et al., New Dictionary of Biblical Theology, 636.
  15. Watson, Paul, Judaism, and the Gentiles, 133.
  16. Timothy Ware, The Orthodox Church (New York: Penguin Books, 1993), 223-224.
  17. Lukas Wilson, “Original Sin and the Orthodox Church,” Once Delivered Faith, 5 July 2014, (21 August 2014); rather than a denial of the power of sin, this assertion emphasizes its foreignness to the way God made us and the impossibility of some sinister “second creation” that altered our nature. It should also be noted that if we really have a “sinful nature” that Jesus was free from, then He did not fully share our nature and, in Orthodox thinking, could not have fully redeemed it.
  18. The Orthodox Study Bible (eds. Jack Norman Sparks et al.; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2008), 1534.
  19. Watson, Paul, Judaism, and the Gentiles, 121.
  20. Scobie, The Ways of Our God, 773.

My Journey, Part 9: The New Direction

This is part 9 of my rebooted series on my journey from Evangelicalism to Eastern Orthodoxy. The full series can be found here:

1Back to the beginning
2Cracks appear
3Questions multiply
4Questioning the "gospel"
5The big question
6A better hermeneutic
7Explorations in epistemology
7.5Excursus on oversystematization
8Back to the gospel
9The new direction
10Ecclesiological foundations
11.1Sola scriptura
11.2The insufficiency of Scripture
11.25Addenda on sola scriptura
11.3Holy Tradition
12Bridging the cracks
13.1Orthodoxy and Genesis 1–3
13.2A Better Atonement (Against Penal Substitution)
13.3Faith Alone?
13.4The Colour and the Shape of the Gospel
14Worshipping with the Church
15Mary, Saints, Baptism, and Other Odds/Ends
16Looking Back, Coming Home

In the stories I've heard from countless others, there are a few typical outcomes when someone comes face-to-face with the shortcomings of the tidy view of the Bible, the gospel theology, and the tensions with science that have come to characterize much of evangelical Christianity—that is, when they have serious doubts about what they believe and don't find the usual pat answers satisfactory, like me. A regrettably common one is that they reject their faith and stop believing much of anything, glad to have left behind the mess of contradictions and fairy tales that was their faith. They may become agnostics or softspoken atheists, or they may become more outspoken critics of their former faith, like Dan Barker. How many of these apostates might have kept their faith if they hadn't been taught a fragile version of it that couldn't survive contact with truth and ideas from outside the evangelical enclave?

Another outcome is that doubters join the post-conservative, post-evangelical (if not liberal) camp. They recognize the shortcomings of their conservative upbringing, but conclude that they are not (or don't have to be) essential to what it means to be evangelical. So they deplore what was deplorable about their old tradition, and seek to rehabilitate the rest. They believe there is still plenty of good in the evangelical tradition if you can get past some of the unfortunate mistakes about God, the Bible, and the church that have gotten woven into it by misguided theologians and pastors. Writers like Rachel Held EvansAddie Zierman, Mike McHarguePeter EnnsBrian McLaren, and Rob Bell fall somewhere within this camp, at varying distances from what might be considered "orthodox evangelicalism". As I began to see beyond my own doubts, I began to identify with this group, thinking I was becoming one of them. By early 2014, I considered myself pretty much there; as I began my series of posts on the gospel, I sought to call out the false beliefs and preconceptions that had given rise to my doubts (and might be causing doubt in plenty of others!) and seek out a way to move past them to fuller, more authentic, more wholehearted belief.

Then God showed me the way, and the church, I was looking for—but not at all the one I expected.

The new direction

This was the genesis of the present, rebooted series, several months ago. As I was trying to figure out what I believed about the Bible, the Gospel, and truth itself (the usual), I was also in the midst of my master's program in theology at the University of Northwestern St. Paul. Specifically, I was taking my favorite course to date, on the history of the Church. For my final project, I was creating a curriculum for teaching a more abridged version of the course to a lay audience (if anyone wants a 8–16-session course on 2,000 years of church history, I'm open to suggestions on how to put it to use!).

Wanting to be comprehensive and aware of the possibility for a Protestant bias when studying other traditions (all our assigned texts were written from an Evangelical Protestant point of view), I ordered about $100 worth of church history books written from Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Lutheran-to-become-Orthodox, and Anglican-secular perspectives to help me with my studies. In keeping with my desire for unity in the Church, I sought to remove my Protestant blinders that led me to see me see Catholics and Orthodox as saint-worshipping, tradition-bound, ritualistic, hopelessly old-fashioned and wayward Christians and to try to actually understand them on their own terms, which I had realized was pretty important for handling conflicts in a Christlike way.

Through my ensuing studies, I realized many of them, like many Protestants, are not simply sheep following the false religion they grew up with and waiting to be be shown the evangelical light, but consider themselves heirs to a rich, two-thousand-year-old faith. Conscientious Catholics and Orthodox can give some good reasons why they haven't converted to Protestantism already (or why they converted from Protestantism), and for the first time I started trying to understand these reasons. Since I knew especially little about Orthodoxy, I dove into Bishop Kallistos (Timothy) Ware's book The Orthodox Church eagerly, out of curiosity to know more about this forgotten (to me and many of my fellow evangelicals) part of Christianity. The more I read, the more fascinated I became by Orthodoxy's distinct way of approaching matters of faith. At some point, the realization hit me:

The Orthodox Church holds the answers I'd been blindly searching for about my faith and has been believing, praying, and living them since the first century.

What is the Orthodox Church?

In short, it is the church that Jesus Christ founded. (In a spiritual sense, Orthodox believe the Church extends back through the Old Testament saints and patriarchs) It has preserved the teachings of Jesus, the practice and worship of the first-century church, and the fullness of the apostolic faith for almost two millennia. In his classic book The Orthodox Church (the definitive source for anyone looking to learn about it), Bishop Kallistos Ware explains (emphasis the author's):
Orthodoxy claims to be universal—not something exotic and oriental, but simple Christianity. Because of human failings and the accidents of history, the Orthodox Church has been largely restricted to certain geographical areas. Yet to the Orthodox themselves their Church is something more than a group of local bodies. The word 'Orthodoxy' has the double meaning of 'right belief' and 'right glory' (or 'right worship'). The Orthodox, therefore, make what may seem at first a surprising claim: their regard their Church as the Church which guards and teaches the true belief about God and which glorifies Him with right worship, as nothing less than the Church of Christ on earth.
Due to a series of schisms, the Orthodox Church is largely unknown to most American Christians. The first schisms came in the fifth and sixth centuries as the Nestorian (Assyrian) Church of the East and the mono/miaphysite (Armenian, Syriac, Coptic, etc.) churches rejected the Christological decisions of several ecumenical councils. The "Great Schism" with the western (i.e. Roman Catholic) church had been brewing for centuries but became decisive in 1054, centering around the Pope's claim to monarchical authority over all the other bishops and the west's unilateral addition of the filioque (a clause specifying that the Spirit proceeds from the Son as well as the Father) to the Nicene Creed. It was sealed in the hearts and minds of Orthodox believers in 1204 when the Fourth Crusade took a detour to sack and conquer Constantinople, establishing a short-lived Latin empire and greatly weakening the Byzantine Empire. While the western church experienced developments like Scholasticism, the Renaissance, and the Reformation, the Orthodox Church followed its own separate trajectory, thriving in shrinking Byzantium (until the fall of Constantinople to the Turks) and Russia, surviving even through persecutions virtually unknown in the western church since before Constantine. There are over 225 million Orthodox Christians around the world today, though they make up only a small minority in western countries. Unfortunately, in America the Orthodox Church is administratively (but not doctrinally) fragmented due to numerous national churches sending their own missions here with ties to their parent churches rather than each other, which can be confusing for inquirers like me.

At least to my Protestant eyes, the Orthodox Church seems much more similar to Catholicism. It has priests, bishops, and apostolic succession (but no pope); its worship is strictly liturgical (though it still uses the liturgy written in the fourth century by John Chrysostom and has never had reservations about translating it into the vernacular); it uses a biblical canon that includes books not accepted by Protestants (though its Old Testament canon is also slightly different from the Catholic Deuterocanon, and it uses the Greek Old Testament rather than the Hebrew). But but to Orthodox eyes, Catholicism is actually closer to Protestantism, reflecting the differences between eastern and western ways of thought and worship that have been diverging since the early church as well as the intellectual developments that took place in the west. Again, Ware is very lucid about this (emphasis added):
...western Christians, whether Free Churchmen, Anglicans, or Roman Catholics, have a common background in the past. All alike (although they may not always care to admit it) have been profoundly influenced by the same events: by the Papal centralization and Scholasticism of the Middle Ages, by the Renaissance, by the Reformation and Counter-Reformation. But behind members of the Orthodox Church—Greeks, Russians, and the rest—there lies a very different background. They have known no Middle Ages (in the western sense) and have undergone no Reformations or Counter-Reformations; they have only been affected in an oblique way by the cultural and religious upheaval which transformed western Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Christians in the west, both Roman and Reformed, generally start by asking the same questions, although they may disagree about the answers. In Orthodoxy, however, it is not merely the answers that are different—the questions themselves are not the same as in the west.
These developments in the western church, it turned out, were at the root of many of the parts of evangelicalism that gave me misgivings and doubts. The Orthodox Church, then, offered a vision of the Christian faith untainted by all the destabilizing movements and problematic cultural assumptions that had developed in the west. I could barely believe it. Like the man in Matthew 13:44, I felt like I had found a priceless treasure. Of course, there were some things that came out of left field like the veneration of icons/saints/Mary and infant baptism (I'll get to those later), but in a very real and compelling way it felt like the realization of my hopes and wishes for what Christianity could be. In one sense I feel drawn to the Orthodox Church for the same reason many Protestants choose a certain church, that I share its beliefs and vision of the Christian faith (to an amazing degree, considering how I arrived at them independently). But there is more than this; it's not a simple matter of preference. I am convinced that the Orthodox Church is the true (or, at least, the truest) church, and that it has preserved the fullest expression of the Christian faith. And because I believe that, I can't help but be drawn to it, regardless of my personal opinions.

The third option

The first two typical outcomes of evangelical crises of doubt, nonbelief and post-evangelicalism, have in common the fact that they view evangelicalism as the most (or even only) viable representative form of Christianity out there. Apostates find it untenable and reject Christianity along with it; post-evangelicals would likely associate God preserving their faith with their remaining aligned with the gospel vision of evangelicalism, even as they seek to rework parts of it that they consider misguided. Again, this is what I thought I was doing and expected to keep doing for some time.

But as I investigated Orthodoxy further, it seemed that God was taking my journey of faith in an unforeseen direction. Rather than rejecting Christianity altogether or seeking to move further within evangelicalism and correct its mistakes, the real answer to my doubts was to move forward by looking back with a church that claims to be the representative of ancient Christianity in the modern world. I had discovered the third and least visible outcome of doubt: turning to an entirely different, older Christian tradition.

In the following few posts I'll unpack specifically how the Orthodox Church appeared to me as the answer to my doubts.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Position Paper: Theology (Proper)

The following is the unabridged version of my second position paper for my systematic theology class. It was supposed to be 7-8 pages but turned out to be 22, so I only submitted the first half, on the nature of God, knowing I could post it in full here. The prompt this time was theology proper, that is, the study of what God is like in his nature and acts.

Today, Christian theology is a very broad field of study. There is the basic (but porous) division between biblical, systematic, historical, and philosophical theology, and within each of these are numerous sub-fields covering everything from the human condition to the nature of the biblical "covenant" to eschatology. But in its etymology, "theology" is simply the "logic" (study) of God (theos), the contemplation of the divine, a task that has engaged us for thousands of years and will continue to do so for as long as he remains beyond our full comprehension (that is, forever). It is to this narrower, more proper sense of the word "theology" that we now turn. At the slight but necessary risk of reductionism, I break down this study of God into two major parts: nature (what God is like) and acts (what God does). Each of these further breaks down: His nature into essential and moral attributes, and his acts into his roles as creator and sustainer.

Essential attributes

At the beginning of God's essential attributes (those intrinsic to his nature as "God") is his self-existence. This sounds banal, but God's nature as the self-existent one, the ultimate Reality, is both the most basic part of his nature and a major point of contact with philosophy. In the words of Aristotle, God is the "unmoved mover", the first cause without whom nothing else would exist. Or in God's own words, "I am who I am" (Exo 3:14, RSV). Similarly, in Orthodox iconography Jesus is always portrayed with the Greek words ho ōn, "the existing one" who has life (or existence) in himself (Jhn 5:26). Our existence seems concrete enough, but it is contingent on a number of things prior to ourselves. But there is nothing prior to God. As Tillich correctly (but incompletely) asserted, He is the ground of being for everything else that is. (Erickson 277-279)

Besides this, God is infinite in nearly every way we can imagine. He is omnipotent, or infinite in power, able to do all that he pleases (Psa 115:3). We see this demonstrated from the very first chapter of Genesis, where God simply speaks and the elements of the cosmos come into existence and obey his will, or Jesus' commanding the storm in Mat 8:23-27. It is the meaning of God's frequent title, "almighty" (Gen 17:1, 2 Cor 6:18). With God, all things are possible (Mat 19:26) and nothing is too hard (Jer 32:17), so that he is "able to do abundantly more than all we ask or think" (Eph 3:20); none of his purposes can be thwarted (Job 42:2). To avoid frivolous paradoxes like "Can God make a rock so big he can't lift it?", it's important to remember that God is able to do all that he wills to do; of course he does not will to act against his nature or create contradictions. The fact that God is not able to lie, break his promises, or create square circles is a strength, not a weakness.

God is omniscient, or infinite in his knowledge. This means, for one, that he has a perfect awareness of the operation of his whole creation, as he explains to Job in Job 38-41. "Before him no creature is hidden, but all are open and laid bare to the eyes of him with whom we have to do" (Heb 4:13). He is never ignorant of a situation, never lacking the necessary information to make a judgment. And his comprehension of this information is likewise infinite; "his understanding is beyond measure" (Psa 147.5). God's thoughts are as high above ours as the heavens are from the earth (Isa 55:8-9); the doxology in Rom 11:33-36 praises "the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God". We can never presume to correct God; we can never know better than God; he can only trust that his counsel is all-wise.

God is eternal, or infinite in time. God boldly describes himself as "the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end" (Rev 22:13); earlier he is praised as "the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come" (4:8).  Being self-existent, it stands to reason that God has always existed and will always exist. It is a matter of speculation as to whether God progresses through time the same way we do (but with a perfect knowledge of the future) or whether he is outside our endless succession of moments; I lean toward the latter. C.S. Lewis holds this view, saying that "what we call 'tomorrow' is visible to Him in just the same way as what we call 'today'. All the days are 'Now' for Him." (Lewis 140) Additionally, God is constant; he does not fade, diminish, or change in any way through time (Psa 102:26-27 Mal 3:6, Jas 1:17).

God is also omnipresent, or infinite in extent, though with qualifications. Unlike we who can only be in one place at a time, God is not limited to occupy a certain location, nor does he need to travel from (say) one place of worship to another. He is "present" everywhere and "absent" nowhere. "'Do I not fill heaven and earth?', says the Lord" (Jer 23:24). Heaven is his throne and earth is his footstool (Isa 66:1); this is obviously not a literal statement but a powerful depiction both of God's lordship over the whole universe and his filling it. A corollary of this is God's immanence, or his constant presence with us. Because God is not bound by spatial constraints, "he is not far from each one of us" (Acts 17:27), and Jesus is able to say "I am with you always, to the close of the age" (Mat 28:20). David in Psalm 139:7-12 depicts this beautifully: even when he turns and flees from God, he can never escape his presence and his love.

But none of this should be taken to mean that God has a physical presence, even one that fills the universe. God is spirit, not made of matter or bound by any of the constraints of physicality (Jhn 4:24, Act 17:24); he is invisible (1 Tim 1:17) and no one has ever truly "seen" him (Jhn 1:18, 1 Tim 6:15-16), nor is it even possible for corporeal man to do so (Exo 33:20). Additionally God is transcendent, qualitatively higher and other than anything in the material world. This fact is part of the basis of the commandment against making idols of him (Exo 20:4). So Jesus, even with a human body, told his disciples that "I am not of this world" (Jhn 8:23). With no flight and no direct knowledge of the sky, the Bible is prone to using elevation as a metaphor for God's transcendence; he is "seated on high" (Psa 113:5), "enthroned in the heavens" (Psa 123:1); as previously mentioned, God's thoughts and ways are far above ours like the heavens above the earth (Isa 55:8-9). Verses that do seem to depict God with humanlike features or expressions should be understood as anthropomorphisms to communicate truth beyond our full understanding, rather than as literal truth.

Straddling God's natural and moral attributes is his personal nature. God is not distant and aloof from the world like the god of the deists, or an impersonal force, power, energy, etc. He is a distinct person with a name (given in Exo 3:14, mentioned in Gen 4:26, 12:8; Psa 20:7) who throughout the Bible is shown to have a specific will, desires, thoughts, and ideas, capable of interaction with created beings like us despite his transcendence (Genesis 3 portrays God very dynamically, for instance). Exodus 33:11 says that "the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend." Everything we are that makes us distinct persons, God also is, albeit in a qualitatively different and higher way than us.

Moral attributes

We move on to God's moral attributes (those that make him a morally good deity instead of neutral or evil). God is righteous, practicing steadfast love, justice, and righteousness on the earth and delighting in them (Jer 9:24). Gen 18:25 rhetorically asks "Shall not the judge of the earth do right?" (the answer is clearly 'yes'). Similarly God's commands are perfect, sure, right, pure, true, and righteous (Psa 19:7-9), corresponding to his good nature. Somewhat related to this, God is true, meaning both that he never lies (1 Sam 15:29, Tit 1:2) and his very word is truth (Jhn 17:17), and that he is the only true god, supremely worthy of our love and worship. (Jer 10:5-10, Jhn 17:3).

God is also holy. This intensifies God's righteousness; it means his absolute purity from all unrighteousness. God is morally perfect (Mat 5:48), unable to be tempted by evil (Jas 1:13). God repeatedly calls his people to be the same, as he is (Lev 11:44-45, Mat 5:48, 2 Cor 6:14-7:1). In light of this fact that the world and the people in it are not perfect, this means that God is morally as well as ontologically transcendent. Identification with him means separation from uncleanness in the corrupt world, though never a lack of concern for those in it (Isa 57:15). This was evident throughout the Mosaic law (see all the mentions of the word 'holy' in the book of Leviticus) and expressed with physical metaphors like the washing of hands; in the New Testament it is a more spiritual dissociation from the world and association with Christ (Jhn 17:14-16). God's holiness means that he is resolutely opposed to the sin and corruption in his creation, and if we want to follow him we have to change our allegiance.

As the Bible says, God is not merely loving but is love (1 Jhn 4:8,16). This doesn't mean we can project our own conceptions about what love is onto God or vice versa since our knowledge of both is incomplete, but that as we grow both in love and in personal knowledge of God, we can trust that they will align exactly. God demonstrated his love by electing Israel from among the nations to be his treasure (Deu 7:7-8) and sending his son for our salvation (Jhn 3:16), particularly by dying for our sins (1 Jhn 3:16, 4:10). God is benevolent, unconditionally concerned for the welfare of all of his creatures (Psa 57:10, 86:5, 103:13, 145:16), especially the lost, weak, or vulnerable (Deu 10:18, Mat 9:36). He is gracious, lavishing his love on us not according to merit but unconditionally, according to his mercy (Rom 5:6, Eph 1:4-8, Tit 3:3-7). He is patient, quick to forgive and slow to anger (Exo 34:6-7, Psa 86:15), in the hope that we will turn to him (Rom 2:4, 2 Pet 3:9,15). And he is faithful, dependably fulfilling all that he promises us (Num 23:19, 1 Th 5:24; this is also implied by his truthfulness).

God is also just. This means that his commands are, ultimately, enforced; no one is "above" his law. "'Vengeance is mine, I will repay', says the Lord." (Rom 12:19) Like a just judge, he punishes the wicked and rewards the righteous (Deu 7:9-10, Psa 58:11); life is ultimately 'fair' because of him. This does not mean that the wicked are punished immediately or as we may expect (Psalm 73 expresses dismay at this); God can even use one wicked nation to punish another (as Habakkuk learned). But on a larger scale, goodness will be rewarded and evil punished according to God's justice, specifically by the risen and glorified Christ. (Acts 17:31) God's justice means more than simply balancing the moral scales, though; it is his love and mercy distributed, especially to to those who are poor, vulnerable, and oppressed, who are viewed as recipients of justice irrespective of their moral status. (Exo 23:6; Psa 103:6, 140:12; Isa 1:17; Zec 7:9-10, Mat 12:18 [cite more in footnote]).

It's necessary here to correct a misunderstanding of justice as the necessity to punish sin or to demand "satisfaction" (something like Anselm's "debt of honor" owed by man to God for his sins (Pelikan 113) or a penalty for sin (Institutes 2.12.3)) as recompense for it. Combined with God's holiness as a sort of allergy to sin, it becomes a need to maintain a "divine spiritual economy" (Erickson 259) that is imbalanced by sin and, according to the demands of God's justice, must be set right by prosecution of the offense. This view of God's justice, which for us means that everyone faces God's wrath and deserves the punishment of hell for their sins (to satisfy God's need to punish sin, restore the moral economy, etc.), is viewed as conflicting with his love; the two are reconciled, it is supposed, by Jesus' work on the cross, in which Jesus took the punishment our sin requires (restoring the moral economy) and imputed to us his perfect, "alien" righteousness by which we merit salvation according to God's justice.

This view of God's justice implies that what we really need to be saved from is not so much our sin itself as God's wrath for our sins, that we would somehow be better off (or at least more comfortable) if he just left us in them, that his justice (rather than sin and death) is the enemy (Institutes 2.16.2) we are delivered from. We don't long for God's justice so much as we are mercifully spared from it. As well, it views justice through the lens of legalistic guilt and merit, making the upholding of an abstract moral economy the "point" of God's justice and painting him as "a distant bank manager, scrutinizing credit and debit sheets." (Wright 163) We are right to see this justice as in tension with God's love—it makes him capable only of accepting fair restitution for a debt rather than truly forgiving any sin. This justice is inward rather than outward-focused like God's other moral attributes, satisfied by receiving a repayment for debts owed rather than by giving mercy to the wronged and restoring the world to the way it should be. The punishment of those who pervert God's justice is a means to the end of restoring it, not the end itself.

The Trinity

As I stated above under God's transcendence, God is qualitatively higher and different than us, beyond our full comprehension. This is never more obvious than when dealing with two of the central mysteries of God and the Christian faith: the Trinity and the Incarnation. The Trinity is the mystery that Christians worship one Godhead existing in three divine persons, each of whom is fully God. More precisely, the ecumenical council of Constantinople (381), at the leading of the Cappadocian fathers Basil, Gregory of Nazianzus, and Gregory of Nyssa, established the orthodox formulation of the Trinity as "one ousia in three hypostaseis". (Erickson 305) The Greek words used here are difficult to translate accurately; "Godhead" and "persons" are some of the best attempts. Because of the confusion this teaching causes, it is a common object of criticism, especially from Jews and Muslims. It's worth noting that the threeness and the oneness are not in the same respect; otherwise the doctrine would be self-contradictory on its face.

Adding to the confusion, the Bible nowhere explicitly spells out the doctrine (Constantinople saw its first clear expression), yet it contains enough evidence pointing to it that the Trinity is considered as established a dogma of the church as anything else. First, the scriptures strongly testify that there is only one God. The shema in Deu 6:4-6 is the strongest statement of God's unity; Paul also affirms that "there is one God" in 1 Tim 2:5. But simultaneously, the divinity of the Father (Mat 6:26-30), Son (Mar 2:8-10, Jhn 8:58, Phl 2:5-11, Heb 1:1-4), and Holy Spirit (Acts 5:3-4; 1 Cor 3:16-17, 6:19-20) is affirmed. In a few places we see all three working together (Mat 3:16-17, Gal 4:6) or mentioned at once (Mat 28:19) in what appears to have become an established formula of the early church.

The Trinity is one of those doctrines that no one could have thought of unless they believed it were true. It is one of the most distinctive parts of Christianity. Far from the abstract, heady piece of theology some make it out to be, it is really central to Christian faith and worship. It means that even before anything was created, God was already love in himself. A little like the discovery of light as a spectrum, the acts of God in the Bible are revealed to have been done not by a unitary individual but by three united Persons, each of whom never acts alone. The eternally loving, self-giving relationship of the members of the Trinity (described as perichoresis, literally "around-dance") is the heavenly prototype of how God intends for us to live towards one another. And in its ultimate mystery (for we can never expect to understand the triune nature of God completely), we are constantly reminded of God's sublime transcendence.

The Incarnation

The other central mystery of the Christian faith is the Incarnation, the fact that the second person of the Trinity became human and lived among us on earth. Jesus, we commonly say, was (and arguably still is) fully God and fully human. How exactly this can be, given the apparent incompatibility of human nature with Jesus' essential attributes as God, was a perennial question that occupied several centuries of early church history; most of the early heresies and theological controversies centered around the status of Christ. The orthodox understanding of the Incarnation was most fully articulated at the ecumenical council of Chalcedon (451), which states in part that Christ is "true God and true human ... of one substance with the Father in his divinity, and of one substance with us in his humanity ... This is one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-begotten, manifested in two natures without any confusion, change, divison, or separation. The union does not destroy the differences of the two natures, but on the contrary the properties of each are kept, and both are joined in one person and hypostasis." (Gonzalez 301) More concisely, we may say that whereas the God as Trinity consists of one divine Godhead (or nature) and three Persons, Jesus is one Person with two natures, divine and human.

The biblical evidence for Christ's divinity has already been given, but it's worth reiterating that (contrary to what some skeptics claim) Jesus made more or less explicit claims to being God. The clearest is his assertion that "before Abraham was, I am" (Jhn 8:58), a claim both to coeternity with God and of God's name and self-existence as revealed to Moses in Exo 3:14, which prompted his audience to immediately try to stone him. Likewise he says that he will be enthroned in glory with the angels and judge the nations (Mat 25:31-33), seated at the right hand of Power (Mat 26:64, Mar 14:62). Rather than deny his divinity when accused before Pontius Pilate of making himself to be the son of God, he is silent (Jhn 19:7); likewise, he does not rebuke Thomas when he calls him "My Lord and my God!" (Jhn 20:28). Paul also testifies that Jesus is "the image of the invisible God". But at the same time, Jesus' humanity is evident throughout the gospels: he is born as a baby, grows up normally, he gets hungry and eats, gets thirsty and drinks, gets tired and sleeps, and ultimately dies as a human. John opens his gospel by testifying that "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us" (Jhn 1:14) and Paul likewise says that Jesus "emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men" (Phl 2:7).

The Incarnation is even more fundamental to the Christian faith than the Trinity. For Christ to be capable of saving us, he had to be God, but to redeem every part of humanity, he had to become fully human. (Ware 21) The Incarnation is a powerful and unique rebuke to dualism, monism, and every other way of imagining the relationship between flesh and divinity. God's becoming man demonstrates, in the strongest possible terms, the importance of the physical, which is often neglected in Christian theology and practice. Jesus did not take on flesh to save souls alone, but whole people. His crucifixion and resurrection set the pattern for us all, promising the redemption of the created world as well as the souls within it. As I have previously written, the dual human/divine nature of Christ also serves as a guide for our understanding of the scriptures, which are also fully human and fully divine.

God as creator

Though there is much more that could be said, we turn now from the nature of God to his acts. At the risk of oversimplifying, these break down into two main categories: creation and providence. First, the Bible consistently testifies that God is the creator of all things. This is the intent of the first two chapters of Genesis. Against the backdrop of similar ancient Near Eastern creation accounts like the Enuma Elish or Atrahasis, we see how Genesis contrasts the true God with the gods of Israel's pagan neighbors. No origin is given for God; as mentioned above, he is self-existent, unlike the gods of other creation myths who are often depicted as self-created, arising from primordial chaos. Unlike other creator deities, god creates alone and without a hint of struggle or difficulty, simply with a word. Unlike in Atrahasis, God is strongly distinguished from humans; he created them and is transcendentally higher than they are (barring the Incarnation). He does not create to fulfill any need of his own because he has no needs; from the beginning, his purpose is benevolent, not selfish.

It is also helpful to see what later scriptures make of the creation. Psalm 19 opens with praise to the glory of God as depicted in his handiwork; though God is transcendent from his creation, we can learn something about him by observing it. Job 26:1-14 and Isa 40:12 poetically describe God's acts of creation with a variety of human metaphors: binding up the waters of heaven with clouds, stilling the sea (an ancient symbol of chaos), measuring out the heavens, weighing the mountains. In the New Testament we get some broader statements: John 1:3 strongly asserts that God (with the Word, Jesus) created all things; nothing was made apart from him (see also Eph 3:9; Rev 4:11, 10:6). Though Genesis itself does not depict creation ex nihilo (from nothing), instead adopting the ancient Near Eastern functional understanding of creation as forming an ordered cosmos out of primordial chaos, by the first century this had strengthened to the understanding that "that what is seen was made out of things which do not appear" (Heb 11:3); being the only eternal and self-existent being, God "calls into existence the things that do not exist." (Rom 4:17)

Creation vs. Science?

In the past century or so a good deal of ink has been spilled about how God created the world and everything in it, and the apparent conflict between the biblical and scientific accounts of origins. Two main areas of tension are the age of the earth and the manner in which life (especially humans) came about. In the first case, whereas the Genesis creation account describes the creation as occurring in six days and suggests an age for the earth in the thousands of years, the study of geological strata and radiometric dating indicates that the earth is in fact billions of years old. (Lamoreux 422-427) In the second, the Bible describes the de novo (instantaneous, complete) creation of plants, animals, and humans "according to their kinds" (Gen 1:21,24,25). But the best scientific theory of origins is the theory of evolution, which, based on a fossil record that consistently diversifies and develops over time, postulates that all species evolved over time from a common ancestor via gradual genetic change and natural selection of advantageous adaptations. (Mayr 12-19)

Other evidences for evolution include the identification and tracking of similar features or morphologies between species (for instance, five-fingered mammalian forelimbs) (Mayr 22-27), the fact that embryos of disparate species all pass through very similar stages during development which serve as common foundations from which later structures develop (Mayr 27-30), the existence of vestigial features like teeth in baleen whales or eyes in cave-dwelling animals (Mayr 30-31), the biogeographic distribution of similar and different species which is explained by common ancestors inhabiting distant continents when they were connected (Mayr 31-34), and genetic similarities between species that allow us to estimate the age of their common ancestor with some precision (Mayr 34-39). The theory of evolution explains all of these observations intuitively and consistently. As a side note, it is important to treat evolution as what it is: a scientific theory based on empirical evidence, not a religion or philosophy. Theological or moral arguments cannot alter or disprove it; one fossil found in the wrong geological layer can.

A common way for Christians to respond to these evidences is concordism. This is the belief that the Bible, being the inspired word of God, speaks truth in a way that, being true, will nonetheless be in accord with the knowledge of science or at least not contradict it when both are understood properly. With this in mind, several possible theories are advanced to reconcile the scientific evidence of the age of the earth with Scripture. One of the most popular is the gap theory, which holds that there Genesis 1:1 describes an initial act of creation billions of years ago which suffered a catastrophe and fell into chaos in 1:2; a gap of billions of years takes place before God resumes creating in 1:3. (Erickson 350) The age-day theory holds that the Hebrew word for "day" in Genesis 1, yom, can also refer to an age or epoch, thus allowing the six days of creation to be aligned with different periods in natural history (and explaining how "days" could pass before the sun was created on the fourth day) (Erickson 351). To reconcile the evidence for evolution, the theory of progressive creation is advanced, which holds that God created species ("according to their kinds") instantaneously over a period of time (as they appear in the fossil record), which may have then diversified via the less-controversial process of microevolution. Continuing gaps in the fossil record could indicate points at which God created a new biblical "kind". (Erickson 353-354)

I do not find concordism to be a fruitful way to read Scripture. It tends to produce interpretations that feel forced and ad hoc, not quite doing justice to either the scientific or the biblical evidence and often creating more questions than they answer. For example, the age-day theory must explain how the ordering of God's creative acts in Genesis 1 appears to differ from the order given by science (e.g. the emergence of terrestrial plants before aquatic lifeforms and the sun) and the one given in Genesis 2, as well as cosmological features like the firmament (1:6-8) that have much more corroboration in contemporary ancient Near Eastern literature than in science. The gap theory must explain why God let the earth continue in a state of chaos for billions of years before resuming his creation. Progressive creation must explain why God would create so many species only to let them go extinct in the distant past, apparently before any humans sinned to bring death into the world.

Concordism implies a very literal theory of inspiration (the biblical authors did not fully understand the scientific truth they were writing, even though it bears a striking resemblance to contemporary creation myths) and doesn't seem eager to line up with science; progressive creation accepts microevolution but denies macroevolution when the same basic mechanism is held to be behind both. Additionally, its reliance on gaps in the fossil record is problematic given the tendency of gaps in scientific knowledge to close, not widen. We do much better to hold a view of God that is consistent with what we do know rather than what we don't. Another evidence for the truth of the theory of evolution is that it is predictive, lining up nicely with newly discovered evidence rather than requiring extensive changes to accommodate it. But it seems like concordist theories for reconciling science and Bible are only interested in getting past the current evidence (or even only a subset of that), hence the pointing to gaps.

I believe we best honor the Bible (and its divine author) when we do not expect it to contain modern, scientific truth. Reading it incarnationally, as both divine and human, we realize that the biblical authors communicated God's revelation through them using the literary forms and scientific knowledge of their own culture, not ours. Like Jesus, the Bible is the truth of God in human form. We treat Scripture faithfully when we treat it as it is, a collection of ancient (but nonetheless God-inspired) literature, not inerrant divine oracles free from any influence of their originating culture. When we read Genesis with its human (ancient Near Eastern) context in mind, we see that the idea of divine, de novo creation of man and the cosmos was not revelatory to its ancient Israelite hearers; it was the "common sense" explanation of where we came from, and it predated Genesis by hundreds or thousands of years (Walton 44-49). A modern analogue would be a creation account that glorifies God as the initiator of the Big Bang and author of the laws of physics. Comparative study of Genesis helps us to see how it differs from contemporary accounts, and thus what was revelatory about it, e.g. the fact that God has no origin and created alone, with a word rather than a cosmic struggle, and that he created man for dominion over the creation and relationship with him rather than for servitude.

Theologians have expressed alternatives to concordism even before the scientific revolution gave us any definite reason to doubt the Bible's scientific validity. In his treatise The Literal Meaning of Genesis, St. Augustine writes:
Usually, even a non-Christian knows something about the earth, the heavens, and the other elements of this world, about the motion and orbit of the stars and even their size and relative positions, about the predictable eclipses of the sun and moon, the cycles of the years and the seasons, about the kinds of animals, shrubs, stones, and so forth, and this knowledge he holds to as being certain from reason and experience. 
Now, it is a disgraceful and dangerous thing for an infidel to hear a Christian, presumably giving the meaning of Holy Scripture, talking nonsense on these topics; and we should take all means to prevent such an embarrassing situation, in which people show up vast ignorance in a Christian and laugh it to scorn. The shame is not so much that an ignorant individual is derided, but that people outside the household of faith think our sacred writers held such opinions, and, to the great loss of those for whose salvation we toil, the writers of our Scripture are criticized and rejected as unlearned men. 
If they find a Christian mistaken in a field which they themselves know well and hear him maintaining his foolish opinions about our books, how are they going to believe those books in matters concerning the resurrection of the dead, the hope of eternal life, and the kingdom of heaven, when they think their pages are full of falsehoods and on facts which they themselves have learnt from experience and the light of reason? Reckless and incompetent expounders of Holy Scripture bring untold trouble and sorrow on their wiser brethren when they are caught in one of their mischievous false opinions and are taken to task by those who are not bound by the authority of our sacred books. For then, to defend their utterly foolish and obviously untrue statements, they will try to call upon Holy Scripture for proof and even recite from memory many passages which they think support their position, although they understand neither what they say nor the things about which they make assertion.
In other words: if we interpret the Bible in a way that contradicts things that are common knowledge even to non-Christians, we harm our witness to the gospel and lead people to think that the authors of Scripture and God himself share our ignorance. When we use the Bible to argue against things that nonbelievers know well to be true, we destroy its credibility to them. The book of God's words and the book of God's works should not, ultimately, disagree with each other, and the potential to misunderstand either is close at hand.

It may seem as though Augustine is arguing for concordism after all (saying we should read the scriptures consistently with science rather than contradicting it), but there is a difference between accepting a scientific theory as true and rethinking our reading of Scripture in light of it, and filtering it through our current understanding of Scripture into something altogether different and, to the world, false. The mistaken interpreter in Augustine's example presumably believes his interpretation accurately describes the natural world. We no longer read the Bible like concordists when it comes to the solid firmament holding up the waters of the heavens (Gen 1:6-8, Psa 19:1, Job 37:18), the taxonomy of bats (Lev 11:13-19), or the earth's place in the universe (Jos 10:13; 1 Chr 16:30; Psa 19:6, 83:1; Ecc 1:5; Matt 5:45); we realize that, as ancient people, the biblical authors were simply less knowledgeable than we are on these subjects, and that their ignorance on such subjects in no way inhibits God's ability to speak his word through them.

God as sustainer

In its theology of God as the creator of all that is, Christianity has some parallels with deism. Where they diverge is the matter of God's providence. Christians do not believe that after creating everything visible and invisible and setting up the laws of the universe just so, God stepped back and passively let it all unfold. Rather, he continues to be actively, lovingly involved in his created order. The first way he does this is by sustaining all things. At the most basic level, this can mean simply supporting the continued (contingent) existence of all things; recall that all things "hold together" in Christ. (Col 1:17) Elsewhere we see that Christ is "upholding the universe by his word of power" (Heb 1:3), ruling over not only his image-bearers but stars and planets as the king of all. God's providence is also depicted over the realm of nature, providing for the birds of the air and grass of the field (Mat 26:31); Psalm 104 beautifully (and rather savagely) illustrates God's providence sustaining the whole animal kingdom. Jesus taught that God providentially gives sunlight and rain to the righteous and the unrighteous (Mat 5:45). We also see his sustenance at work in us, particularly in preserving the faith and standing of those who love him, as Paul powerfully argues in Rom 8:28-39.

The Old Testament, especially, reflects an ancient worldview that sees God as the author and actor behind all the workings and phenomena of nature, one that we have tragically lost sight of as science has "explained" nature to us in a way that seems to exclude divine activity. But, as I argued for creation above, the two perspectives are not incompatible. For example, we can view God as the reason that the world is "rational" or regular at all, surprisingly aligned with the workings of our minds, and that we can inductively study it and expect the laws we derive to apply in new situations. "From a purely empirical standpoint, there is no real basis for such an expectation." (Erickson 365) Questions like these, that science leads us to but cannot answer itself, are fertile common ground for integration with a theology of God as sustainer. We can also gain an increased understanding of God's providence in nature through scientific knowledge. In the chaos of the early universe and solar system, as well as in the physical constants that seem "fine-tuned" for the development of life, we get a sense of how incredibly improbable it is that we exist to wonder at it all. A modern scientific view of the world can lead us to wonder at God's creation and providence just as much as an ancient one.

God's providence

God also providentially governs the created order. This governance is hard to cleanly separate from sustenance, but it is more dynamic and specific than constant and general, the working out of a specific and comprehensive design or purpose to a definite end. This is what we mean when we say that God is "sovereign" or that "his kingdom rules over all" (Psa 103:19); he is in control and "accomplishes all things according to the counsel of his will." (Eph 1:11). God's governance extends over nature, where it blurs together with his sustaining work (Psa 135:5-7); over the lives of individuals (1 Sam 2:6-7) and their thoughts and plans (Pro 19:21), over kings and nations (Dan 2:21), the course of human history (Acts 17:26), and even seemingly random occurrences (Pro 16:33). In the New Testament, and especially in Jesus himself, we see examples of a faithful awareness of God's providential plan as a driving force. Paul was set apart to be an apostle before he was born (Gal 1:15), and Jesus was "delivered up [to be crucified] according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God" (Acts 2:23). Jesus himself often viewed his life as consciously fulfilling prophecy (Mat 26:64) and also appealed to God's plan when speaking of future events (Mar 13:7-10, Luk 21:20-22).

Of course this doctrine has some puzzling implications. How does God exercise his sovereignty over our actions, which (it seems to us) are freely chosen? In particular, is God in control over sinful actions and, if so, why does he allow them to happen? Proverbs 16:4 seems to answer "yes" to the latter: "The Lord has made everything for its purpose, even the wicked for the day of trouble." Romans 9:22-24 also seems to affirm God's sovereignty over "vessels of wrath made for destruction". And there is not much room for excluding acts of sin from the all-inclusive verses about God's providence given above. The question begs itself: how can this be? If God detests sin and is in control over all things, why does he allow it? Is he somehow responsible for acts of sin? It seems as though either God's sovereignty over all things or his concern for sin will have to be relativized somehow.

God's sovereignty and human freedom

The two major ways that Protestants attempts to reconcile these poles are Calvinism and Arminianism. Calvinism, named after its the reformer John Calvin, rethinks (though, he would maintain, does not deny) God's goodness in order to uphold his majestic sovereignty over all things. It affirms that nothing happens apart from God's foreordination according to his will; "the will of God is the supreme and primary cause of all things, because nothing happens without his order and permission." (Institutes 1.16.8) In cases where God appears to permit/ordain acts of evil, it responds that we are unable to fully see the full workings of God's providence, so who are we to question his plan? (Institutes 3.24.17, Rom 9:20) Calvinism rests its case on verses like the above-cited ones that affirm the sovereignty of God's plan for all things. In relation to our will, it is compatibilist; the will is never truly free but enslaved in its affections either to sin or to God, so "free" will as we experience it is fully compatible with God's rendering certain human decisions. In answer to the questions "Why do acts of evil happen? Why isn't everyone saved?", Calvinism calmly replies, "because God foreordained everything that happens from eternity past for his glory, according to his good pleasure."

Arminianism, named after its originator James Arminius, conversely seeks to redefine God's sovereignty to uphold his morally perfect goodness. While not denying God's omnipotence, it does not believe that sovereignty means that God is meticulously in control of everything that happens. Rather, he chooses to limit the extent of his sovereignty to allow moral agents like humans to make real choices. This view is held not out of an a priori commitment to a philosophical notion of "free will", but "because they see [free will] everywhere assumed in the Bible, and because it is necessary to protect God's reputation." (Olson 98) An overly meticulous view of God's sovereignty is at odds with all the real moral choices people face in the Bible. And more seriously, Arminians vigorously deny that God in  any way wills or ordains sin, evil, or eternal damnation, for this would make his goodness and justice totally incomprehensible to us.  In relation to the will, Arminians are incompatibilist; they believe free will is incompatible with meticulous divine determination (i.e. an action that is predetermined cannot really be "free"). It views God's sovereignty over free moral agents in terms of influence and response rather than cause and effect, reflecting their personhood and ability to make real choices. (Forlines 12) In response to the questions "Why do acts of evil happen? Why isn't everyone saved?", Arminianism would answer, "Because people are sinful and reject the living God."

Overall, I agree more with the heart of Arminianism's theology and its critiques of Calvinism. If God wills that people sin and reject him, even unto their utter destruction, and this is according to his 'good' pleasure, then it would seem that God is 'good' in a way that is so removed from our understanding of goodness to be meaningless to us. How can we trust that his other attributes, like integrity or love, are not equally confounding? (Fischer 29-36) It carries the awkward implication that, if God ordains all things to his glory, then the consummation of God's glory is somehow dependent on sin and evil. It also creates a puzzling disconnect between God's stated will for man in the scriptures and his sovereign will, especially in passages like Mat 9:27-31 or Luk 5:12-16 where Jesus tells someone to do something but apparently wills for them to do something else. But I also think Arminianism gives more ground than is warranted to philosophical conceptions of "free will", particularly in its stance of incompatibilism. And both systems tend to view conscious decisions as the basic building block of God's sovereignty over humans. I propose that this is the wrong place to start.

I find it more fruitful (and, hopefully, more biblical) to begin with the heart. Calvinism has some conception of this with its view of "free will" as the freedom to do as one pleases (Erickson 328), but it still mostly focuses on the decisions that come from this pleasure. But if we consider the affections, the limits of our "free will" quickly become obvious. I can't consciously control my affections. I can't simply decide to like or hate something and find that my feelings have changed. I don't even know where many of my affections come from or go. I strongly suspect that this is a truth of the human condition; "the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately corrupt; who can understand it?" (Jer 17:9). Yet I can't deny that my heart has a strong, albeit mysterious, maybe even determinative influence on my "free" choices.  To the extent that I can't influence my heart, God can. Via the heart, we glimpse (but in no way understand) a mechanism by which God's sovereignty and our free will can combine. "The king's heart is a stream of water in the hand of the Lord; he turns it wherever he will." (Pro 21:1) I believe that God can be sovereign over this impenetrable chaos without being responsible for sin.

Similar to Arminius, I would question the notion of "meticulous providence" that is gravely threatened by God not being in full control of anything. Instead, I would identify it more closely with his omnipotence, as the ability to accomplish all that he purposes to do, especially (in the context of the created world) redemption of all things to the perfection envisioned in (among other places) the the end of Isaiah and Revelation, to his ultimate glory. This places the aim of God's will firmly back within the Bible, making it "merely" mysterious rather than incomprehensible. God's plan is bigger than the salvation of individual souls; this is of course something he desires for all (1 Tim 2:4, 2 Pet 3:9) and so he has made provision for it and invites all to salvific knowledge of him through Christ. Yet, in light of the fact that not everyone ultimately comes to love God, we must admit that apparently his sovereignty is not absolute down to this level. As Arminianism holds, this is not because God is unable but because he limits the exercise of his sovereignty to allow people the freedom to embrace or hate him.

When we think about God's sovereignty at this more general level of his plan, we see how sinners can in no way threaten it; they can only exclude themselves from its fulfillment. They do not "break" his sovereignty by pushing away from him, though they may bring sorrow to themselves and others. God does not ordain anyone's sin, but being omniscient he of course knows of it and incorporates it into his providence, working good out of evil (seen most clearly in the crucifixion of Jesus; see also Gen 50:20). Given that God's plan is as eternal and changeless as he is, it is misleading to say that he "responds" to our decisions as if they were somehow new to him.

As a capstone to everything else, I will say that God is mysterious. In many ways that we have seen he is like us (by his design), but at the same time he is transcendent, incomprehensible to us. We must never make the mistake of thinking our descriptions of God can ever fully define him. "Mystery" here does not mean that God is simply absurd to us, but that a full knowledge of God is his alone. The monk and bishop St. Gregory Palamas famously wrote God's true essence is unknowable to us, but we can still know him truly through his energies, the outward, active manifestations of his glory and grace. God's energies (from the Greek energēs, literally "in-working") are not simply tacked-on to his still-hidden essence (Erickson 237); "they are God himself in his action and revelation to the world," (Ware 68) that is, God himself inasmuch as we can ever know him. All of our finite attempts to describe the infinite have to stop somewhere, and so I end my discourse.