What is Caesar’s to Caesar

http://www.crosswalk.com/11629244/page0/

Each time he was struck, his hat would naturally fall off his head. Each time his hat fell, the reporter would bend over, pick it up, put it back on his head, and continue walking.

I imagine he was afraid. I imagine he knew how situations like this usually ended in the South. I imagine he knew attempting to run away or fight back would not help and would compromise the reason he was there in the first place. I imagine he realized the only thing in his control was his own response, and he decided to not let the hatred of the mob change him. He walked at a normal pace. He stopped to pick up his hat.

In a sense, I believe those few seconds of footage sum up the Civil Rights Movement. African Americans decided to stop waiting and to live as equals, patiently enduring the consequences as the rest of their brothers and sisters caught up to them. I believe God has called the church to live with such patient endurance as well, to be people who can sense the hatred in the world around us, but not let it change us even when it threatens our well-being. I believe we are called to be people who can, even with a mob breathing down our necks, walk with quiet dignity, stopping to pick up our hats along the way.

These wounds become his glory
From the wound in his side flowed the waters that vivify
and heal us.
Through his wounds we are healed.

Jesus invites each one of us, though Thomas,
to touch not only his wounds,
but those wounds in others and in ourselves,
wounds that can make us hate others and ourselves
and can be a sign of separation and division.
These wounds will be transformed into a sign of forgiveness
through the love of Jesus
and will bring people together in love.
These wounds reveal that we need each other.
These wounds become the place of mutual compassion,
of indwelling
and of thanksgiving.

We, too, will show our wounds
when we are with him in the kingdom,
revealing our brokenness
and the healing power of Jesus.

My interest here isn’t to join the fray.  Though it troubles me the lack of discernment shown by some Christians with this, it’s become clear Beck is wading into unfamiliar waters and making a fool of himself in the process.  Even leaders of Beck’s Mormon church have called Wallis to apologize for Beck’s uninformed statements.  My interest is instead to explore what I believe is really at issue here, but to my knowledge overlooked by commentators: the political nature of the church.

It’s become a truism that the church is not political and moreover should not be political.  When the church and state are not kept separate, the logic goes, both the church and state suffer.  The problem, I believe, is not that the church has become too political, but rather that the church in America is suffering because it has not been political enough.  The church is itself a political body with its own brand of politics, and this politics has been largely forgotten and replaced by the world’s politics.

One key part of the church’s politics is the church’s unity.  The church is to be one, in complete unity.  This unity goes deeper than any loyalty to blood relations, any patriotic sentiment, or any political ideology, and it shows the world that the Son and the Father are one (Jn 17).  I’m convinced that one of the best ways to spot idols in the church is to see what divides us.  If we are divided by anything but the essential truths of the Christian faith, we are in effect placing whatever divides us over our loyalty to Christ and so each other.  We may not do this intentionally, and we may even have the best of intentions for doing so, but by dividing ourselves we are implying that what divides us is more important to us than the unity of Christ’s body.

This is, in my estimation, the danger of what Beck has called for.  Not so much that he denies social justice as being a part of the gospel (although I’d strongly disagree with him there), but that his statements imply that political views are more important than church unity.  The world is divided by languages, religions, race, politics, and, our most recent invention, the nation-state.  But Christ has shattered each of these dividing walls of hostility through His death and resurrection (Eph 2).  In a constantly warring world, Christ is our peace.  The peace Christ has created shows the world that division is not apart of God’s plan, and that something is more important than the world’s political games: that the Father and the Son are one.

Year          Income          Expenses          To the Poor
1                 47.40          44.24 (93%)          3.16 (7%)

2                94.80          44.24 (47%)          50.56 (53%)

3               142.40         44.24 (31%)           97.96 (69%)

4               189.60         44.24 (23%)         145.36 (77%)

Later      2212.00         47.40 (2%)         2164.40 (98%)

We who prayed and wept
for liberty from kings
and the yoke of liberty
accept the tyranny of things
we do not need.
In plenitude too free,
we have become adept
beneath the yoke of greed.

Those who will not learn
in plenty to keep their place
must learn it by their need
when they have had their way
and the fields spurn their seed.
We have failed Thy grace.
Lord, I flinch and pray,
send Thy necessity.

In a world full of salesmen, where everything seems to be an advertisement for one thing or another, the interrelated questions of sincerity and character often seem to be fading in significance.  We are a people who have forgotten who we really are behind our own sales-pitches.

The film “The Big Kahuna” makes my list for its focus on the question of sincerity and character, as shown in the following clip alone.  The story follows three salesman who are on the road, waiting to make a sales pitch to the CEO of a large company.  Tension builds as the young, pious baptist unknowingly befriends the CEO, but rather than talking business, asks the CEO about his faith before sharing his own belief in Jesus.

I’ll let the clip speak for itself, but it makes me wonder how often the church is guilty of adding to the noise, as the young, baptist salesman is accused of doing.  In a world so full of people just waiting for their turn to speak, and usually speaking in order to sell you something, I wonder whether the church might better witness to Christ by simply taking a step back and listening.  Or perhaps listening and asking the right questions, questions that give people space to think about what is going on in their life, what is truly important, and who they are.  That moment of silent receptivity may be what people need in order to then hear what is being said.  I’m beginning to think the most “prophetic” possible act in our culture may be to simply slow down and listen to the voices usually drowned out by the noise, including the honest songs of birds.

I also think the film is brilliant for connecting sincerity to character.  Our culture tries to produce artificial character instantaneously like we would a twinkie.  As a consequence, one usually gets a reputation for being of good character more often than not by just hiding their s@%& better than average.  One of my favorite line from the film is when Phil tells Bob, “I’m saying you’ve already done plenty of things to regret, you just don’t know what they are. [Character] is when you discover them, when you see the folly in something you’ve done, and you wish that you had it to do over, but you know you can’t, because it’s too late.”

The more years I have under my belt, the more I screw up and the less excuses I have.  At the same time, the more I realize what true wisdom means, what character means.  If such a simplistic division can be made by someone as young as myself, I think the first half of your life is spent learning to be honest with yourself about who you are, and the second half is spent learning to be okay enough about it to open yourself to God and a community.  Character, then, is the honesty that comes from humility, the humility that comes from honesty.

I decided not to take the time to organize my thoughts better, hopefully the big picture behind the disconnected thoughts makes sense.  Go rent the movie, whoever produced it deserves a little of your money.

While I was writing about the first film on the list, the video (at the bottom of the post) of Mark Driscoll’s comments on “Avatar” during a sermon came to my attention.  Instead of spending much time criticizing it, I’ll just present it below and add that, based on Driscoll’s criteria for accusing “Avatar” of being demonic, “The Lord of the Rings” series should be seen as an equally pagan, modernist-industry bashing movie that hooked audiences through special effects.  Hopefully the absurdity here is evident.  Especially since it seems to go against some of Driscoll’s own comments concerning cultural engagement.

Though he may not appreciate the category, Mark Driscoll is, here in this one video clip, a poignant example of someone who is taking a “Worldview Approach” to cultural engagement.  He sees the world as a battleground between competing worldviews.  One convinces another to become a Christian by pointing out the flaws in their worldview and demonstrating the reasonableness of their own.  Part of a pastor’s job is to attack worldviews that may be influencing his flock.

Another typical evangelical method of engaging culture is known as the “Market-Driven Approach,” or also the “attractional model.”  In this method, one sees what is culturally popular and attempts to use that as bait to draw people in.  For example, there is (was?) a church in Chicago that regularly has a raffle for cash prizes (with the “Price is Right” music playing in the background, nonetheless) during services in order to attract people to attend their church.  There’s nothing more popular than money, and as long as it gets people in the door…

The last method I wish to highlight is what New Wine tries to espouse, however unsuccessfully, the “Incarnational Approach.”  The Incarnational Approach (also known as missional), looks to build relationships in the community.  While hopefully also showing the reasonableness and attractiveness of the faith, one simply loves other people in word (and so verbal evangelism is not left behind) and in deed.  Despite the fact that this seems to more closely resemble Jesus’ and the apostles’ ministry, people are rarely argued into a different position anyway (especially emotionally laden beliefs like religion or politics), and rarely stick around when the “raffle” is over.

I hope the following series will be an imperfect example of how the church can engage the arts, and specifically films, in an incarnational way.  I hope it shows how each of these films get at profound questions that the gospel is dying to answer.

Sometimes hidden from me
in daily custom and in trust,
so that I live by you unaware
as by the beating of my heart,

suddenly you flare in my sight,
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only a shade,

and once more I am blessed, choosing
again what I once chose before.

“Clarence, I can’t do that.  You know my political aspirations.  Why, if I represented you, I might lose my job, my house, everything I’ve got.”

“We might lose everything too, Bob” [his brother Clarence replied.]

“It’s different for you.”

“Why is it different?  I remember, it seems to me, that you and I joined the church the same Sunday, as boys.  I expect when we came forward the preacher asked me about the same question he did you.  He asked me, ‘Do you accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?’  And I said, ‘Yes.’  What did you say?”

“I follow Jesus, Clarence, up to a point.”

“Could that point by any chance be – the cross?”

“That’s right.  I follow him to the cross, but not on the cross.  I’m not getting myself crucified.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re a disciple.  You’re an admirer of Jesus, but not a disciple of his.  I think you ought to go back to the church you belong to, and tell them you’re an admirer not a disciple.”

“Well now, if everyone who felt like I do did that, we wouldn’t have a church, would we?”

“The question is, ‘Do you have a church?’”

The culture wars have entered the economic realm. What are your thoughts? If you, like me, feel this is wrong-headed for a variety of reasons, then why? What may be a better way to engage this issue?

New Wine will be hosting a series of “Fireside Chats” beginning November 20th in the A-Frame. Come for prayer, food, and honest dialogue as a panel of speakers involved in the less-than-glamorous work of multi-ethnic integration will answer your questions and address such topics as: What is a multi-ethnic church? How does one create an open space for other cultures and ethnicities? How can Multnomah improve in this crucial area?

“Obviously, my death will justify the opinion of all those who dismissed me as naïve or idealistic: ‘Let him tell us what he thinks now.’ But such people should know that my death will satisfy my most burning curiosity. At last, I will be able – if God pleases – to see the children of Islam as He sees them, illuminated in the glory of Christ, sharing in the gift of God’s passion and of the Spirit, whose secret joy will always be to bring forth our common humanity amidst our differences.

I give thanks to God for this life, completely mine yet completely theirs, too, to God, who wanted it for joy against, and in spite of, all odds. In this Thank You – which says everything about my life – I include you, my friends past and present…

And to you, too, my friend of the last moment, who will not know what you are doing. Yes, for you, too I wish this thank-you, this “A-Dieu,” whose image is in you also, that we may meet in heaven, like happy thieves, if it pleases God, our common Father. Amen! Insha Allah!”

No wonder the book was able to garner such a loyal following among adults and children alike.  What child hasn’t lashed out in anger, finding an uncontrollable “wild” side of themselves?  Who doesn’t remember those strong, confusing feelings of anger and the fear of feeling so out of control?  And, these days, what person hasn’t found themselves struggling with the modern tendency to repress those emotions?  Surely much of the book’s popularity owes to this tendency to dull the extremes of our emotional experiences through willful ignorance or self-medication.

Christians especially seem to find themselves prey to such repression, fearing that expressing negative emotions somehow betrays a lack of faith or goes against the biblical admonition to be joyful in all circumstances, as if we can trick God with a fake smile.  We forget that hope and despair are both ultimately longings for a new creation, longings for peace, justice, and the presence of God in a God-forsaken world.  The opposite of hope is not despair.  The opposite of hope is the unthinking acceptance of the status quo.  In a world full of sin and suffering, surrounded by resigned realists and head-in-the-sand hedonists, for the Christian to long for a better world, to be angry at injustice, to grieve over his or another’s loss, to cry out from the depths of abandonment and despair can be acts of profound faith in the God who promises to make all things new.

But we tend to skip over such emotions just as we skip over the Psalms that express such emotions (Ps 88 is especially challenging in this regard).  We are frightened at times by what we may find if we were to open our hearts and allow the Spirit to plumb its depths.  Too often this pseudo-piety betrays our own desire to hold on to the perceived possibilities of this world and to maintain some semblance of still having control.  But God Himself calls us to struggle and to long for the impossibile possibilities of His promises.  He calls us to hold Him accountable, like Abraham, Moses, and the psalmists, expressing even our anger, as numerous psalms show, when things don’t seem to go right while still trusting Him in faith.  He calls us to stop numbing the pain and ignoring the suffering of ourselves and others, and to experience the depths of our own suffering and, in so doing, open ourselves to the new life available to us through His grace.  A grace that listens to the cries of pain and longing, that meets us where we are in our anger, frustration, and despair, because through His Son, God has already experienced the full extent of our suffering and then some.

At the end of the movie Max misses his family and returns home.  He finds his mother joyful over his return, giving him a hug and a hot bowl of soup.  We can expect as much from our heavenly Mother.

This article presents a somewhat different viewpoint than what New Wine presented at the conference.  I agree with some of what he’s trying to get at, but have a little trouble with some of his conclusions.  Thoughts?

And it does include both St. Francis and evangelism, so it’s officially a series on the New Wine blog.

Now leprosy may not quite be the socially divisive scourge it was then, but since moving to Portland, I’ve noticed an ironically similar tendency in myself and others. It seems that the wider church (or at least traditionalist and seeker-sensitive churches) have become lepers of sorts for more “missional” or “emergent” churches. And bashing the church has become a method of evangelism. In fact, I’ve seen several churches that seem to include an antipathy towards the wider church as part of their very identity as a church community, if I can be forgiven the obvious hypocrisy in such an observation. Rarely a church service goes by for these churches that they do not pat themselves on the back for not being apart of the Religious Right.

One of the main reasons for the criticism is the seeker-sensitive or attractional model so popular in the wider church, a model that has a tendency to increase one church’s numbers at the expense of other churches in the area and at the expense of the church’s wider mission. But by distancing ourselves from the wider church, we’re not only guilty of the same crime, we’re taking it to a whole new level! We’re now throwing the whole church, rather than just a few local churches, under the bus for the sake of our evangelistic efforts (and sometimes… just maybe… for the sake of our pride). Instead of hiring a U2 knock-off as a worship band or building a multi-million dollar church building, we attract people by telling them, “We’re just like you: we don’t like those guys (conservatives, complementarians, republicans, dispensationalists, etc.) either.”

Rather than admitting that we in the church are all a messy mix of broken people still in need of God’s grace, we like to distance ourselves from those who are different, even within the church and even though we hardly have things together either. But whether we’re focused on distancing ourselves from homosexuals or homophobes, the effect is ultimately the same: a distorted gospel and a hindered witness. We could all be reminded that the church’s unity will itself show the world that Jesus was sent by God (John 17:23). All this isn’t to say that there isn’t a place for criticism (Jesus’ criticism was mainly directed to the religious conservatives of His day), but to question how we go about it (first of all, we’re not Jesus and we’re not perfect either) and to question where we find our identity (in the church or a theology/ideology).

And so, I must ask myself and these well meaning churches: would you kiss Joel Osteen? Pat Robertson? Glenn Beck? What about good ole W.? And before any fundies get too excited, would you kiss Obama? Greg Boyd? How about Rob Bell right in the middle of one of his… patented… pauses… for… effect?

Obviously this is a bit of a caricature, but theology does effect how we view the process of evangelism, and in turn how we evangelize.  How might different aspects of the evangelical church’s theology negatively effect how we witness?  How might we improve our sharing of our faith in word and deed?

In today’s world, it indeed takes the eye of faith to see God’s faithfulness to prayer.  For example, disasters, both natural and human-made, do not seem to relent despite the countless prayers of the faithful.  So much suffering seems to stagger on unabated.  Though I believe God does act on prayers, He does not seem to do so often.  Why not?

I believe this problem is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer had in mind when, in his Letters and Papers from Prison, he wrote that “God would have us know that we must live as men who manage our lives without him.”  Humanity has turned its back on God, and God has granted humanity’s wish by allowing us to live without Him.  God allows Himself, in a certain sense, to be “pushed out of the world.”  To see the suffering in the world is then to see our need of God.  On the other hand, then, to see the one child saved is to see God’s intention for the thousands of others.  That answer will not silence many critics, and will not, in itself, offer much comfort to those in pain.

The Christian response does not end there, however.  As God is pushed out of the world, so God becomes one with us through Jesus Christ.  God is present to us in suffering and weakness because we have rejected His power and strength.  He experiences the struggle of a creation without a Creator, even experiencing the height of our abandonment in His death. As Bonhoeffer continues, “Man’s religiosity makes him look in his distress to the power of God in the world: God is the deus ex machina.  The Bible directs man to God’s powerlessness and suffering; only the suffering God can help.”

And so, I would add, only the suffering church can help.  Not all of our prayers will be answered, at least not in the ways and with the timing we wish them to be answered.  Not everyone will respond to God’s love.  Not everyone will find their pain eased.  In this sense, we must continue to struggle as those who have pushed God out of the world and so live without Him.  But we can now pray with the knowledge that God is present in our pain and with the hope that God is even now setting things right.  That knowledge should drive us to be present with people in their suffering, to love, serve, and pray for them as Christ loved, served, and prayed for us, no matter the consequences.  Our prayers, then, may not be effective in any immediately perceivable sense, but the ultimate point of prayer is not to be effective.  The point is to be faithfully dependent on the One who will be effective in setting things right.

In the last weeks of summer leading up to 8^th grade, I began thinking about the football practices in 100 degree heat that would accompany going back to school in the fall. I had joined the team mainly because of family pressure, and I was not excited. Although not religious by any stretch, I prayed with all the earnest, melodramatic passion of middle school that God would make the upcoming season worth my while. “Just one touchdown. That’s all it would take. Do it, and I’ll read the whole Bible.”

For the first game of the season my coach put my then 90 lb. body at second-string linebacker. During the second quarter I was thrown into the game, and spent the first two plays running for my life from a lineman twice my size (and age, for that matter) without even feigning an attempt to go after the ball. The third was a pass play, and, forgetting what I was supposed to do on pass defense, I just stood still. The quarterback, perhaps as confused as I was, threw the ball directly at my feet. I caught the pass, ran for my life, and, just barely squeaking into the endzone, scored what ended up being the only points of the game. I then read up to the genealogies in Genesis before abandoning my side of the bargain.

I know it’s a silly thing for God to take action on, and I realize that it’s not even much of a coincidence when you think about it, but that memory still reminds me of God’s faithfulness, even as it makes me wonder about the role of prayer. And I think it’s more than fair to wonder why an all-knowing, all-powerful God listens to prayers, especially trivial and selfish prayers like mine above. I think the answer lies in the nature of the relationship between God and humanity.

The Bible presents the first act of sin in the book of Genesis as an act of autonomy against God, a declaration of independence from God. The following chapters in Genesis then portray a downward spiral, as the order God created under His leadership dissolves into the violence and power-plays stemming from our willful rejection of Him for our own devices. If this is the case, it would make sense that our participation in God’s restoration of peace and order in the world would invovle a constant submission to God’s leadership, a submission expressed in humble prayer. I believe God hears and acts on prayer because it reflects His original intentions that we be dependent on Him, that we put aside our aspirations for power and independence.

Too often our (or at least my) ministry finds its foundations in my own reasoning and devices. When that happens, we easily find ourselves building up our own kingdoms. Instead, the loving service of our neighbors and neighborhoods must find its foundation in humble prayer that acknowledges our dependence on God and asks Him to build His kingdom with us and through us as His servants. And even when our dependent prayers focus less on His kingdom and more on our selves, I believe God in His grace still desires to provide for His children and reward dependence on His provision.

Discussions of prayer usually begin with what is referred to as the Lord’s Prayer, and not without good reason. But if sharing in the sufferings of Christ is central to the spirituality of the New Testament, then I believe the prayers of Jesus from the cross should be the starting point for any discussion of Christian prayer.

“With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last.” Mark 15:37

The last prayer of Jesus recorded in Mark’s gospel does not have words. It is an unintelligible cry of abandonment, pain, and desperation. It echoes the prayers of those under oppression, the prayer that God is seemingly most likely to act on (Gen 18:20, Ex 3:7, etc.). In Christ, God shares in our humanity and experiences the pain of His creatures who have chosen to turn their backs on Him. In Christ, God becomes one with us, experiencing both abandonment from the Father and death for us, and cries out to the Father from the depths of that suffering. In short, Jesus’ prayer is a crying out to God both for us and with us.

The prayer that Jesus models, then, is a cry on behalf of and in solidarity with those who are suffering. Though we cannot experience the suffering of others in a literal sense as Jesus did, we can, however, empathize with them in prayer, petitioning God not just by reading off a list of requests, but by allowing our hearts to break for them, and as much as possible, with them. Even though Everett’s prayer in the previous post is theologically flawed in some fairly obvious ways (the characters are kids, after all), he gets at this truth in a poignant way. The prayer that would best provide the foundation for “lifestyle evangelism,” the proclamation of the gospel in word and deed to neighbors and neighborhoods, is the prayer that imitates Jesus by seeking to be on behalf of and in solidarity with others.

“Well,” Everett began, “I warned you it’s stupid. But the other night, after Freddy’s little prayer, I got to thinking about how easy my life is compared to Papa’s. Then I started thinking what a strange notion it is that Jesus supposedly got strung up on a cross to save zillions of other people – as if his one life, in exchange for zillions, was some kind of even trade… It didn’t make much sense to me, really,” Everett said, “but what I thought was: What the hell. If that’s how things actually work, why not propose a similar swap – on a much smaller scale, of course – to help Papa out. Why not ask God, if He exists, to let me do for Papa what Jesus supposedly did for everybody on earth. Why not ask to trade some of my good luck for some of Papa’s bad, just to get his life back on track.”

“That’s not stupid at all,” Peter said.

“I don’t think so either,” I agreed.

“Me neither,” Irwin said. “Except… I don’t quite get it. Yet.”

“The way I see it,” Everett said, “God either made everything there is, Satan included, or He’s nothing. He’s in charge of all of it, or none of it. So what I was thinking about prayer – especially ours lately – was that when people turn it into begging, when they use it to try to blackmail God into giving them nothing but miracles and money and new cars and babies and marriages and all that, what they’re really asking Him is to remake, or even unmake, what He’s already made… so I was gonna propose to God, if there is one, not that He change His will, not that He remake or unmake the life he gave Papa, but just that He hand me enough of the rotten part of Papa’s life, and Papa enough of the good part of mine, to get him back out on the ballfield.”

“Why do you say your prayer was stupid?”

“It’s not the prayer that was stupid,” Everett muttered. “It’s praying to someone who isn’t there that’s stupid.”

“But He is there!” Irwin bellowed.

“Whisper, you moron!”

“But He is.”

“Then you do it,” Everett said. “It’s not too late. You’re the big believer, Irwin. Why don’t you ask God to put Papa’s bad luck on you and your good luck on him. Go ahead! Do it up good! And we’ll see how much it changes anything.”

“I’ll do it,” I said.

“Me too!” Irwin cried.

“Then let’s everybody do it,” Peter said, laughing at the look of disgust on Everett’s face. “That way, if it works, we’ll spread the rotten luck over a wider area.”

Freud said that religion was little more than a way for people to alleviate the harshness of the real world. I am convinced he had it backwards. I think what we often perceive to be the ‘real world’ is an attempt to alleviate the harshness of what the Gospel reveals. The same Jesus whose love and solidarity with the suffering and the God-forsaken led to the cross bids us to come and follow Him by loving others in self-sacrificial solidarity, no matter the consequences. I fail to see even a hint of escapism. If anything, the Gospel’s call is a self-consciously probing realism, a call to proactively seek out suffering in the world and participate in God’s redemptive work. If it has been a source or encouragement of escapism, I’m afraid it’s because we’ve misread the Gospels along with the rest of the New Testament.

I don’t know the ins and outs of blog-ethics, but this post borrows heavily from British atheist-Marxist Terry Eagleton’s Reason, Faith, and Revolution. As I said above, unlikely places.

Perhaps our hesitancy to take Jesus’ call to take up a literal cross, and not merely some generic “burden” as we often read the call, and follow Jesus results from how we view the significance of the cross. If Jesus’ death on the cross is solely a once-for-all substitutionary sacrifice, then it makes little sense that He would call us to take up a cross alongside Him. But what if the cross has a wider significance? What if the same cross that the powers of this world placed Christ on unraveled their own pretensions to power? On the cross, Christ takes the worst the powers have to offer, and rises again victoriously as Lord of all, showing that God will not let the evil in this world to have the last word.

What might the cross then tell us about ourselves in the grip of these powers that be? It says that a man who unflinchingly stands up for love and justice can expect violent resistance for his trouble. It reveals the depth of our rebellion and hostility against God. The cross puts to death any hope of our finding peace and justice on our own, even as it gives us the hope that God will stop at nothing to find a way. The depravity of humanity guarantees that Jesus will die alone in His godforsaken but God-obedient death; at the same time, Jesus’ death in our place allows the Spirit to enter our hearts, opening up the possibility of participating in the sufferings of Christ so we may participate in His resurrection life.

As Terry Eagleton asserts, albeit hyperbolically, “If you follow Jesus and don’t end up dead, it appears you have some explaining to do.” So we must ask ourselves, is the comfort we all presumably experience in the American church a comfort from an improved and cleansed world, or the comfort of a weakened witness?

My previous post, in this same vein, was an attempt to explore what would have happened at Gethsemane if Christ was a little more like me (and I’m guessing all of us), and what consequences one could expect in turn.

They went to a place called Gethsemane, and Jesus said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took Peter, James, and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,” he said to them. “Stay here and keep watch.”

Going a little farther, he fell to the ground and prayed that if possible the hour might pass from him. “Abba, Father,” he said, “everything is possible for you. So take this cup from me. Unless you say otherwise, I’ll assume that is your will.”

Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Simon,” he said to Peter, “are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour? Watch, for if danger comes we may need to leave quickly. We all know that the spirit is willing, but if you keep watch, we won’t have to prove it.”

Once more he went away and prayed the same thing. When he came back he found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy. They did not know what to say to him.

Returning the third time, he said to them, “Are you still sleeping and resting? Enough! The hour has come. Look, the Son of Man will be delivered from harm. Rise! Let us go to Rome! We will be safer there.”

Just after they left Gethsemane, Judas, one of the Twelve, appeared. With him was a crowd armed with swords and clubs, sent from the chief priests, the teachers of the law, and the elders. Unable to find Jesus, the men seized the seated disciples who had not fled to Rome, and they took them, without any struggle, to Pilate to be crucified.