Carson on Zane Hodges

I finished D.A. Carson’s Exegetical Fallacies: Second Edition.  In this post, I’ll talk about what Carson says about Zane Hodges.  Zane Hodges was an evangelical who opposed Lordship Salvation.

What is Lordship Salvation?  I’ll try to define it as I understand it, and hopefully my characterization is correct.  Essentially, Lordship Salvation is saying that just believing a set of intellectual propositions about Jesus is not sufficient for salvation, but that a person must also live the Christian life—-surrender to Jesus Christ as Lord, obey God, produce the fruit of the Spirit, do good works, etc.  Adherents to Lordship Salvation do not believe that they are teaching that people are saved by their good works, or by a combination of faith and good works; rather, they maintain that true saving faith produces good works, and that good works are a sign that a person has truly been saved.  Critics of this view, however, think that it’s legalistic, and that the only act that is required for salvation is receiving God’s free gift of grace, which was made possible through the death and the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Zane Hodges tries to defend this position against Lordship Salvation.  One way that he does so is by distinguishing Christian discipleship from salvation.  When Jesus says in Luke 14 that people must forsake all—-family, life itself, etc.—-for Jesus, Hodges thinks that concerns discipleship, not salvation (even though, as John MacArthur points out, Matthew 16:26, after saying that the disciples must deny themselves, states that what is at stake is their souls, and whether or not they shall lose them).  Similarly, non-Lordship advocates have argued that, when James says that faith alone is not sufficient to save but that good works are necessary as well, James is speaking of temporal salvation (in the fashion of wisdom literature), not eternal salvation.  When it comes to eternal salvation, however, Hodges thinks that Revelation 22:22 is a passage that reveals the path to that: “And whoever desires, let him take the water of life freely”.

Carson disagrees with Hodges position, and I will present three reasons why.

First, on page 92, Carson states that Hodges “never wrestles with the possibility (in my view, the dead certainty) that in spiritual matters grace and demand are not necessarily mutually incompatible: everything depends on their relations, purposes, functions.”

Second, on pages 84-85, Carson quotes Hebrews 3:14: “We have come to share in Christ if we hold firmly to the end the confidence we had at first” (NIV).  Carson interprets this to mean that our perseverance is evidence that we have been saved, or have come to share in Christ.  Carson does not mention Hodges, but this point is relevant to the Lordship salvation debate.

Third, on page 129, Carson notes that “not one significant interpreter of Scripture in the entire history of the church has held to Hodges’s interpretation of the passages he treats.”  While Carson acknowledges that some interpreters have distinguished between accepting Christ as Savior and accepting him as Lord (as non-Lordship adherents do), he thinks that Hodges’ exegeses are novel and unusual, when placed against the backdrop of the history of church interpretation.  In a sense, Carson is making an argument from authority, which he decries elsewhere in this book.  But I doubt that he would rest his critique of Hodges’ exegesis entirely on its novelty.  Rather, he’d probably say that its novelty should clue us in that something is wrong, but that we should refute Hodges’ exegesis on solid exegetical grounds (i.e., look at language, context, etc.).

I can sympathize with Hodges’ view because I myself feel that there is tension between grace and works.  While the New Testament at times presents salvation as a free gift from God, it also seems to aver that we will not be saved if we are doing certain sins, or refraining from good works.  Hodges tries to explain that away, and I’d like to read his case some more at some point.  I read Absolutely Free a while back, and, while I enjoyed his barbs against Lordship Salvation, I ultimately was not convinced by his arguments.  Perhaps I can benefit from other things he has written.  I do not think that the New Testament authors believed that they were contradicting themselves.  Perhaps they believed that one entered the covenant by grace but stayed in the covenant by repentance or good works, or that good works were a sign of God’s grace.  Practically speaking, however, these approaches amount to legalism—–being unsure of one’s salvation and trying to prove it by becoming good enough.

Carson on Agape and Some Word Fallacies

For my write-up today on D.A. Carson’s Exegetical Fallacies: Second Edition, I’ll use as my starting-point a post that I wrote not long ago, in which I critiqued the evangelical tendency to differentiate between the Greek words for love—-agape, phileo, and eros—-and to make a big deal about their use.  I’ll quote my points from that post in their entirety, then I will evaluate what I said according to what I read in Carson, as well as touch on other points that Carson makes.

I was writing about James Barr’s contribution to The Cambridge History of Judaism, Volume Two: The Hellenistic Age, and I said the following:

“On page 105, James Barr says in a footnote that the Greek word agape is used in the Septuagint of II Samuel 13:1, 15 for ‘the pathological love of Amnon for his half-sister Tamar’. Amnon initially loved Tamar, but he hated her after he raped her.

“I’ve often heard evangelicals make a big deal about the different Greek words for love. C.S. Lewis (who wasn’t exactly an evangelical, but who has inspired evangelicals) wrote a good book called The Four Loves. There is eros, which is romantic love. There is phileo, which is friendship. And there is agape, which is unconditional love for one’s fellows—-a love that desires the well-being of others. I once heard a sermon that said that the Greeks considered agape to be so special that they called it the love of the gods, or divine love.

“I don’t claim that this entire characterization of Greek words for love is spurious, for there might be something to it. But I do think that the issue may be more complex than many evangelical sermonizers present. Agape is unconditional love and concern for the well-being of one’s fellow? Did Amnon have that kind of love for Tamar? I don’t think so. Yet, the LXX refers to Amnon’s love with the Greek word agape.

“I did not read the entire entry on agape in the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, but I read there how the word was used by the pre-biblical Greeks. The article said that agape often means ‘to be satisfied with something’, ‘to receive’, ‘to greet’, and ‘to honor’. It can refer to friendship among equals, to sympathy, or to preferring something (or someone) over something (or someone) else. The article acknowledges that agape can be used interchangeably with eros and phileo, yet it also affirms that there is a different nuance to the word agape. The article states that agape does not have the warmth of phileo, and it is more discriminating than eros. Whereas eros is ‘seeking satisfaction wherever it can’, agape ‘is a free and decisive act determined by its subject’ and ‘is a giving, active love on the other’s behalf.’ Agape was also used for the love of God (which I take to mean God’s love), as God lifts up the lower.

“I suppose that this overlaps with how evangelicals have defined agape: as not a feeling, but as a decision to value the well-being of others. But I doubt that agape means that every single time that it appears, for consider Amnon. Plus, the TNDT indicates that agape does not always have a deep meaning. Often, it can simply mean to be satisfied with something.”

I have some points about my post, in light of what I read in Carson.  First of all, like me in my post, Carson critiques the way that many evangelicals have made a big deal about the Greek words for love, as if there is a significant difference between agape and phileo.  Carson, like me (and, of course, prior to me), notes that the LXX uses agape to refer to Amnon’s “love” for Tamar.  But Carson also raises other points.  While he acknowledges that phileo and agape may convey different nuances, he refers to examples in which they are used synonymously.  And, against the argument that agape is prominent in the New Testament over other words for love because it was especially fitting to describe God’s special love, Carson states that agape was prominent in Greek literature, period, from the fourth century B.C.E. on, and that it was replacing phileo because phileo “had acquired the meaning of to kiss as part of its semantic range” (page 52).

That brings me to my second point.  In my post, I consulted the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, and I discussed how the word agape was used by pre-biblical Greeks.  Carson would most likely take issue with my approach in that case, for he notes that Greek words can change in their meaning and use over time, as can English words, for that matter.  (An example that comes to my mind is the word “gay”.)  Consequently, when seeking to understand a Greek word and its use in the New Testament, Carson would see what the word means and how it is used in Hellenistic Greek, not pre-biblical Greek (which was what I did).  On page 37, Carson implies that Bauer’s lexicon on New Testament and Hellenistic Greek is preferable to LSJ (though he does say that the LSJ covers Hellenistic Greek, too) for understanding the New Testament.

That brings me to my third point.  Carson appears to believe that it’s acceptable to try to understand the meaning of a word in a biblical passage by seeing how that word is used elsewhere.  But he is also against what he calls “verbal parallelomania”.  On pages 43-44, he criticizes scholars who interpreted John 1 in light of Mandaean literature and Hermetica, which are “dubious even on the grounds of the dating of the sources”.  For Carson, even if John 1 and these corpora use similar terminology, that does not mean that we can read Mandeanism into John.  Both could have separate agendas.  We have to let John be John, and these corpora be themselves.  Context is key.

Fourth, Carson lambastes the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament.  The first time that I heard about Exegetical Fallacies, as a matter of fact, was when somebody criticized me for appealing to the Theological Dictionary of the New Testament to make a point, and referred me to Carson’s book.  The TDNT may manifest a theological bias at times, and it may also confuse mentality with language.  (I do not know how Carson thinks that the TDNT does this, per se, but what he means by confusing mentality with language is making generalizations about Hebrew or Greek thought on the basis of their languages—-saying that the Hebrews lack a neuter gender because, for them, everything is vivid and alive, or that Greek was more appropriate for the New Testament because it had a past, a present, and the future, whereas the Hebrew only had a perfect and an imperfect, and the New Testament wanted to talk about the past, the present, and the future.  Carson thinks that these statements are false because languages can use the neuter to refer to the living, and books in the Old Testament in places also had concerns about the past, the present, and the future, yet God arranged for it to be in Hebrew.)  But, for me, the TDNT is a good source about the history of the usage of Greek words.  At least it gives me leads about where to look!

I’ll turn now to how my latest reading of Exegetical Fallacies reminded me of things that I heard or read from John MacArthur, back when I was a fan of his.  First of all, both Carson and MacArthur criticize placing a significant amount of weight on etymology is seeking to determine the meaning of Greek words.  MacArthur said that the word “independent” has nothing to do with “in-de-pen-there-is-a-dent.”  People can use words without regard to those words’ etymologies.  As Carson notes, when people say “Good bye”, they often are unaware that it is an Anglo-Saxon contraction of “God be with you”.  I think that, on some level, I was aware of this principle.  I was one time in a Bible study group on the Book of Colossians, which was using Kay Arthur’s curriculum, and the leader of the group was making a big deal about a Greek word having a certain preposition in front of it, and she asserted that the preposition gave to the word a nuance that the word without the preposition lacked.  When I looked at how the word was used with and without that preposition, however, I didn’t see that much of a difference: from the context, I concluded that the words were synonymous.  I do not dismiss that adding a preposition to a word can add to the word a nuance, but I don’t think that’s always the case.  Again, you have to look at the context. 

Second, I remember reading MacArthur say that Romans 1:16 uses the Greek word dunamis for “power”, and that dunamis is from where we get the word “dynamite”.  Carson does not criticize MacArthur specifically, but he does have issues with that particular sermon point, for Romans 1:16 is not about dynamite, plus the Gospel is about a constructive rather than a destructive power.  MacArthur, who knows a lot about New Testament Greek, probably was not saying that Romans 1:16 was using dynamite as a metaphor.  But he did make the point that we get the word “dynamite” from dunamis, and I think that he was trying to do something similar to those who equate the two—-to communicate how powerful the Gospel is.

David Marshall: “Son of Heaven”

I have three items for my write-up today on Chapter 5 of David Marshall’s True Son of Heaven: How Jesus Fulfills the Chinese Culture.  Chapter 5 is entitled “Son of Heaven”.

1.  On page 55, Marshall states: “Lao Tse wrote that he who was ‘without thought of self’ would be able to ‘accomplish his private ends.’  Chinese history is full of notable examples.  Confucius passed up official posts to remain untainted.  In the shadow of Qin’s burial mound, Han Wei founded the great Han Dynasty by listening to people and avoiding pretense of god-hood.  Nationalist founder Sun Yat-Sen won a revolution but in the interest of peace, allowed his rival to rule.  In the Gospels we find evidence that God had the same idea: that Absolute Power could accomplish great things in the guise of weakness.”

The impression that I have gotten from what I have read so far of Marshall is that he believes that the positive moral elements of the Bible constitute evidence for its divine-inspiration (albeit not the only evidence).  But how can one say that, when people in non-Christian cultures and religions are able to arrive at the insight that (say) humility is good, an insight that conflicts with people’s tendency to exalt and to benefit themselves?  I’m open to saying that God is able to instruct people throughout the earth, in all sorts of cultures.  Marshall argues this, on some level, when he presents Christianity as ingrained within all people, explaining the presence of Christian-like themes in different cultures.  I personally am not going that far, however.  I’m just acknowledging that God may illuminate people throughout the world about certain moral principles.

I guess my problem is with an apologetic argument that a specific religion (Christianity) is from God and is authoritative because it has good principles.  Even if Christianity takes good principles further than other religions do, I think that an atheist can easily make the argument that Christians are arriving at moral insights on their own, without divine revelation.  As I’ve said, I’m open to the concept of divine illumination, but my problem with Christian apologetics is that there is often a variety of ways to interpret so-called evidence, and not all of those ways support Christianity being the one authoritative religion.

2.  In my post here, I mentioned some of the inadequacies that David Marshall believes are present in Confucianism, weaknesses that (according to him) Christianity does not have.  I forgot to mention one inadequacy, which Marshall discusses on pages 59-60.  Confucius said that, if you’re a government official, and you learn that your son has been embezzling funds, then you should bend the rules for your son’s sake.  There’s much to admire about such grace and loyalty to family.  But, as Marshall points out, this outlook has caused problems, such as nepotism.  Emperor Qin went the other direction, according to Marshall, when he elevated rules over relationships, as he “made public office a prize to be won through diligence rather than birth.”  Marshall can see strengths and weaknesses in both perspectives.  Marshall believes, however, that “this conflict disappears” for followers of Jesus, who base their roles on the love of God that fills them, and who feel free to rebel when human authority goes too far.

I guess my issue here is with Marshall’s implication that Christianity makes ambiguity go away, in terms of the issue of justice and mercy.  I don’t think that it does.  For one, the question of when people should receive mercy and when they should get justice—-and how to balance mercy and justice—-is not always cut-and-dry, even from a Christian perspective.  In my opinion, if a son of a Christian official embezzled funds, that official probably wouldn’t want for his son to go to jail, since that would result in the son having a record that could impact the rest of his life, the son facing threats in jail, etc.  And yet, the official would desire for his son to learn that certain things are wrong, and he’d fear that the son facing no consequences at all would not help him in the long run.  What should the official do?  It’s complex.  Christianity may offer some principles as guidelines, but it doesn’t make ambiguity go completely away.

Second, I can understand why Marshall believes that Christianity is a revolutionary religion, a religion that promotes rebellion against authoritarianism.  After all, Jesus overturned tables in the temple, as Marshall notes more than once.  At the same time, Marshall should at least wrestle with the fact that prominent strands of Christianity have historically promoted submission to unjust authorities, on the basis of such passages as Romans 13.  John MacArthur is not getting his idea that the American Revolution was a bad idea out of the clear blue sky!  He’s drawing from an influential Christian tradition.

3.  On page 60, Marshall states: “It’s one thing for a leader to call himself ‘lord’ from a palace surrounded by walls and bodyguards…But suppose a rebel should march openly into the capital.  Suppose his followers shout praises to God for the ‘new order’ he brings.  Suppose only a band of weak-kneed fishermen and a couple rusty swords stand between him and the Emperor.  Imagine, to top it off, he won’t let his side fight.  What can you say about a revolutionary like that?  Either he is a fool.  Or he has a plan.”

Marshall may be expressing his admiration for Jesus here, or he may be making an apologetic argument—-that Jesus would only do something that weird if he was who he said he was.  Perhaps it’s both.  Can I think of another explanation for why Jesus would rebel and not even allow his disciples to fight—-as if Jesus had a death-wish?  Why would any rational person—-especially someone who imparted wise teachings—-do such a thing?  Perhaps Jesus did indeed expect for his death to accomplish something in terms of the imminent kingdom of God.  Scholars have debated this, but there are some, such as Albert Schweitzer (if I’m not mistaken), who maintained that Jesus had a purpose behind proceeding towards his death.  But does that mean Jesus was right?  There are many people who die for causes.  That doesn’t mean that their causes are divinely-authoritative.

At the same time, I would like to believe in a silver lining: that Jesus accomplished something with his death.  I have problems with that being mixed up with Christian exclusivism, but perhaps I can believe that Jesus’ death was redemptive, on some level, without being the sort of person who believes that people have to believe one way in this life to avoid going to hell.

Paul on Women Prophesying

For my write-up today of The Cambridge History of Judaism, Volume Three: The Early Roman Period, I will start by quoting something from pages 370-371, which is from William Horbury’s “Women in the synagogue”:

“Probably…Paul held that, ‘in the assemblies’ (I Cor. 14:34), women are free to pray and prophesy (I Cor. 11:5), but not to speak or to ask questions (I Cor. 14:34f)—that is…not to teach in public.  This view would tally with the opinion current among Jews that women pray and hear the law, but do not teach…If, however, the passage I Cor. 14:34f is interpolated, it may have been intended to forbid women’s prophecy.  In either case, in early Christian worship some liberty of prophesying for women co-existed with a marked tendency towards constraint, characterized by the derivation of the subordination of women from the law (1 Cor. 14:34, I Tim. 2:11-15).  Philo and Josephus similarly derive it thence, probably with Gen. 3:16 in mind.”

I Corinthians 11:5 appears to imply that women in the church should pray and prophesy with their heads covered.  In I Corinthians 14, however, a chapter in which Paul talks about prophesying, vv 34-35 say that women should keep silent in the church, that they should learn by asking their husbands at home rather than by speaking in church, and that women are to be obedient, according to the law (which Horbury says may be Genesis 3:16, which affirms that the man will rule over the woman).  Is this a contradiction?  Many argue that I Corinthians 14:34-35 is not authentically Pauline.  Others, by contrast, seek to harmonize the passages.  Horbury refers to the view that Paul allows women to pray and to prophesy in the assembly, but not to teach in the assembly, for Paul wants them to learn in silence.  John MacArthur argues that women are permitted to prophesy to unbelievers, to women, to children, and to individuals, but not to do so in the Christian assembly.  Under Rachel Held Evans’ post, Complementarians are selective too, Calvinist Justin Taylor mentions the argument of Wayne Grudem and John Piper that Paul permits women to speak in the church, as long as they do not challenge or undermine the authority of men (which, according to I Corinthians 11, they were doing by not wearing a head covering).  And, when John Piper was asked by a man if he was biblically allowed to listen to Christian teacher Beth Moore, Piper responded that this was fine, so long as the man did not submit to a woman as his spiritual shepherd and authority (see here).

My impression is that Horbury argues that the early church was reflecting Jewish practices on women praying and prophesying in an assembly.  But, as far as I could see (at least in my reading so far), Horbury does not demonstrate that Jews permitted women to prophesy in temple or synagogue services.  But, on page 379, Horbury does discuss examples of women leading song in the Jewish religion: Miriam does so (Exodus 15:20ff.), as do Deborah (Judges 4:4; 5:1) and temple choirs that include females (Ezra 2:65; Nehemiah 7:67; Psalm 68:26).  In intertestamental literature, Judith leads with dance and song (Judith 15:12-16:1), and Job’s daughters sang in an angelic language (Testament of Job 48-51).  Could any of this count as prophesying?

(UPDATE: Here are some more quotes from Horbury’s article, which shed light on the issue:

Page 389: “Hymnody verges, indeed, on prophecy, in which women spoke with authority…but prophecy is unlikely to have had a regular place in the constitution and worship of the synagogues.”  Page 398: “Prayer and hymnody…elements of worship in which women had some traditional prominence, are likely to have had their place in varying ways in the synagogue assembly from the Second Temple period onwards.”)

Born Again

At church this morning, the pastor preached about John 3, the chapter about being “born again.”  Or, actually, the word translated as “again” in so many English versions, anothen, can mean “again” or “from above.”  I did a search just now on my BibleWorks, which looked at the Septuagint (including the Deutero-canonical books) and the New Testament.  Most of the time, anothen was used to mean “above” or “from above.”  A few times, however, it meant “again” or “anew.”

But the pastor said that Jesus meant “from above,” whereas Nicodemus thought that Jesus meant “again.”  That was why Nicodemus asked if a man had to enter his mother’s womb a second time.  Bible translators must be in a bind.  If they translated Jesus’ words as “born from above,” Nicodemus’ confusion would make no sense.  “A person must re-enter his mother’s womb a second time?  Who is saying that a person must do that, Nicodemus?”  And so translators opt for “born again,” even if “born from above” makes more sense.  And yet, I suppose that “born from above” does entail being “born again,” since, if you as a human being have to be born, it would be a second birth.  I do think that Nicodemus thought that Jesus was talking about being “born again,” for, if he interpreted Jesus to mean “born from above,” he would have realized that Jesus was speaking of a spiritual rebirth, not a physical one—and he does seem to think that Jesus is talking about a physical rebirth, for he asks if he must re-enter his mother’s womb.

In the Gospel According to Jesus, however, John MacArthur disagrees.  He states:

“Nicodemus’s reply has often been misunderstood: ‘How can a man be born when he is old? He cannot enter a second time into his mother’s womb and be born, can he?’ (v. 4). Nicodemus was not speaking in literal terms. We must give him credit for a little common sense. Surely he was not so feebleminded as to think Jesus was really talking about reentering the womb and literally being born again. A teacher himself, Nicodemus understood the rabbinical method of using figurative language to teach spiritual truth, and he was merely picking up Jesus’ symbolism. He was really saying, ‘I can’t start all over. It’s too late. I’ve gone too far in my religious system to start over. There’s no hope for me if I must begin from the beginning.’”

MacArthur’s words are sobering, for they say that, regardless of how much I may have accomplished in this life, it does not matter to God, for I need a spiritual rebirth.  God wants me to start anew, relying, not on my own works and accomplishments, but on his love and grace in Christ.  Paul talks about this in Philippians 3:4-11.  I find comfort when I remind myself that, regardless of how much or how little I have accomplished, God loves me.  I’m probably taking MacArthur’s thought in a different direction from whence he intended, but it’s refreshing for me to reflect on God’s unconditional love, and to focus on that rather than patting myself on the back for my accomplishments, or beating myself up for my lack thereof.  Moreover, in my opinion, it’s good for me not only to reflect on God’s love, but to build my life on that.

But I still think that Nicodemus understood Jesus to be saying in a literal sense that people needed to re-enter their mothers’ wombs to be reborn.  We see this sort of literalizing misunderstanding elsewhere in the Gospel of John.  In John 6, for example, Jewish leaders interpret Jesus to be saying that people must literally eat his flesh, whereas Jesus is speaking more in a spiritual sense: eating his flesh and drinking his blood is believing in him—with a focus on what he accomplished at his death.  John 3 has that same focus, for it talks about Jesus being lifted up.

Wrapping Up The Shack; Righteous Lot?

1.  I finished William Young’s The Shack today.  Here’s the passage from it that I want to feature.  It’s on page 248:

If you ever get a chance to hang out with Mack, you will soon learn that he’s hoping for a new revolution, one of love and kindness—a revolution that revolves around Jesus and what he did for us all and what he continues to do in anyone who has a hunger for reconciliation and a place to call home.  This is not a revolution that will overthrow anything, or if it does, it would do so in ways we could never contrive in advance.  Instead it will be the quiet daily powers of dying and serving and loving and laughing, of simple tenderness and unseen kindness, because if anything matters, then everything matters.

I’m often disturbed when I hear Christians using militaristic language.  I remember praying in a Bible study group, and one of its members asked God that we might become a “mighty army”.  An atheist friend pointed out to me that Promised Keepers used the term “army” at one of its rallies, to refer to itself.  There are Christian leaders who say that they want to “take America for Christ”.  Then, there’s the old song, “Onward Christian Soldiers”.  I can understand why this kind of language would intimidate un-believers, or even some of us who do believe!  It sounds aggressive!

The Shack itself uses a word that itself is pretty loaded: revolution!  Revolution means “change”.  I think of people at Tea Parties ranting against the U.S. Government. 

But I like how The Shack clarifies its usage of the term, “revolution”.  It’s not talking about aggression, or overthrowing anything by force.  Rather, it’s talking about service and meekness—the little acts of kindness that can have a positive impact on the world around us.  Actually, there are many situations in today’s world in which kindness is a pretty revolutionary way of doing things!

And so I’m finished with The Shack.  It was all right, in that it got me thinking about such issues as forgiveness.  I also got to exercise my brain muscles to determine if The Shack was presenting heresy.  Here’s an article by one of the book’s collaborators, which takes on that charge: here. 

There’s talk about making The Shack into a movie.  To be honest, I can’t picture it on the big screen, but I can envision it as a cheesy TBN movie, similar to that one movie in which a woman had dinner at a restaurant with God.

There are people who have been really touched by The Shack.  I am happy for them.  Personally, although I learned some things from the book, I found it to be loaded with a lot of the same old hackneyed evangelical platitudes on why God allows suffering.  It especially gets on my nerves that this book acts as if it’s presenting something fresh, brilliant, and revolutionary.

But, if I was intrigued by anything, it was by an element of the author’s life-story that I read on wikipedia.  Here it is:

An article in Maclean’s magazine in August 2008 indicated that Young, is a “Canadian raised from birth by his missionary parents in Dutch New Guinea, Young was sexually abused by some of the people his parents preached to, as he was again back home, at a Christian boarding school. Young drifted through life as an adult, buoyed a little by his faith and a lot by his wife, Kim, keeping his secrets and building his shack: ‘the place we make to hide all our crap,’ he calls it. Until, at 38, he found himself at the nadir. ‘I had a three-month affair with one of my wife’s best friends. That was it, that just blew my careful little religious world apart. I either had to get on my knees and deal with my wife’s pain and anger or kill myself.”

There’s something real about this author’s story.  I see here genuine change and healing, as a result of a serious grappling with problems.  It’s much more than experiencing a tragedy, and going to a shack to listen to the same old evangelical platitudes for a few days.         

2.  In my reading today of Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, Jubal talks about the biblical character of Lot.  II Peter 2:6-7 refers to Lot as righteous, saying that he was internally vexed by the wicked conduct that was around him.  But Jubal wonders why Lot was so righteous.  Lot took the best land when Abraham asked him to choose where to live.  He offered his daughters to the Sodomite rapists, to protect his guests, whom he suspected were important anyway (according to Jubal).  Why was Lot considered righteous?

This reminds me of what John MacArthur says about Lot in his book, The Gospel According to the Apostles:

 But wait. Doesn’t Scripture include examples of believers who committed gross sin? Didn’t David commit murder and adultery and allow his sin to go unconfessed for at least a year? Wasn’t Lot characterized by worldly compromise in the midst of heinous sin?

Yes, those examples prove that genuine believers are capable of the worst imaginable sins. But David and Lot cannot be made to serve as examples of “carnal” believers, whose whole lifestyle and appetites are no different from unregenerate people… Not much is known about [Lot] from the Old Testament account, but what is recorded about him is disappointing. He was a pathetic example of compromise and disobedience. On the eve of Sodom’s destruction when he should have fled the city, “he hesitated” ( Gen. 19:16 ). The angelic messengers had to seize his hand and put him outside the city. Near the end of his life, his two daughters got him drunk and committed incest with him ( Gen. 19:30–38 ). Lot certainly did seem to have a proclivity for sins of compromise and worldliness. Yet the inspired New Testament writer tells us Lot was “oppressed by the sensual conduct of unprincipled men (for by what he saw and heard that righteous man, while living among them, felt his righteous soul tormented day after day with their lawless deeds)” ( 2 Pet. 2:8 ). He hated sin and desired righteousness. He had respect for holy angels—evidence of his fear of God ( Gen. 19:1–14 ). He obeyed God by not looking back at Sodom when God’s judgment rained down (cf. v. 26).

Lot was certainly not “carnal” in the sense that he lacked spiritual desires. Though he lived in a wicked place, he was not wicked himself. His soul was “tormented,” vexed, grieved, tortured with severe pain at the sight of the evil all around him. Evidently his conscience did not become seared; he “felt his righteous soul tormented day after day” with the evil deeds of those around him. Though he lived in Sodom, he never became a Sodomite. Those who use him as an illustration of someone who is saved but utterly carnal miss the point of 2 Peter 2:8.

What is the lesson of Lot’s life as Peter saw it? Verse 9 sums it up: “The Lord knows how to rescue the godly from temptation, and to keep the unrighteous under punishment for the day of judgment.” In Lot’s case, one means the Lord used to rescue him from temptation was severe chastisement. Lot lost his home; his wife was killed by divine judgment; and his own daughters disgraced and debased him. He paid a terrible price for his sin, being “tormented day after day.” If Lot proves anything, it is that true believers cannot sin with impunity. 

Unconditional Forgiveness?; Seeker Services?; Broader Emergency Prayers; Literacy and Advancement; Uninteresting Source Criticism; Solidifying Who You Are; God or D.C. Collins?

1. William P. Young, The Shack, pages 224-225:

“So what then?  I just forgive him and everything is okay, and we become buddies?” Mack stated softly but sarcastically.

“You don’t have a relationship with this man, at least not yet.  Forgiveness does not establish relationship.  In Jesus, I have forgiven all humans for their sins against me, but only some choose relationship.  Mackenzie, don’t you see that forgiveness is an incredible power—a power you share with us, a power Jesus gives to all whom he indwells so that reconciliation can grow?  When Jesus forgave those who nailed him to the cross, they were no longer in his dept, nor mine.  In my relationship with those men, I will never bring up what they did, nor shame them, or embarrass them.”

Page 227:  “Son, you may have to declare your forgiveness a hundred times the first day and the second day, but the third day will be less and each day after, until one day you will realize that you have forgiven completely.  And then one day you will pray for his wholeness and give him over to me so that my love will burn from his life every vestige of corruption…”

These quotes interest me for two reasons.  First, they discuss whether or not forgiveness means that I have to be friends with the person who wronged me, or con myself into thinking that he did nothing wrong, when he did.  According to these quotes (and their context), forgiveness doesn’t have to mean fellowship, even though it can lead to that.  Rather, it’s ceasing to clinch the wrong-doer by the throat, trying to move on, and giving him over to God’s love, which can entail discipline.

Second, these quotes may touch on Young’s views regarding universalism.  They seem to suggest that God in Christ has forgiven everyone, whether they choose to believe in Jesus or not.  As far as I can tell, Young deems that forgiveness to be unconditional.  God freely holds out his hands to the world, inviting it to fellowship with him, without holding anything against it.  And the reference to God’s love burning corruption from the sinner reminds me of the Christian universalist teaching that hell is a place of temporary (yet long-lasting) cleansing and discipline.

Is this biblical?  I think of II Corinthians 5:19-20, which affirms that God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, not imputing sin to it.  That is why we serve as Christ’s ambassadors, encouraging the world to be reconciled with God: God has done his part and taken the first step towards reconciliation, and now the world is invited to respond.  This seems to correspond with Young’s view.  Yet, other passages suggest that forgiveness from God is conditional on repentance, faith, and baptism (Acts 2:38; 3:19; 10:43; 22:16).  Still others say that it’s conditional on us forgiving others (Matthew 6:14-15), or our confession of sin (I John 1:9).   

Young refers to Jesus’ prayer that God forgive those crucifying him, for they know not what they do.  Does this suggest that God’s forgiveness is unconditional?  Some would argue “no”.  John MacArthur has pointed out, for instance, that those responsible for the crucifixion went home beating their breasts (Luke 23:48), a sign of repentance (Luke 18:13).  For MacArthur, God answered Jesus’ prayer by giving these people the grace to repent—by convicting them of their sin. 

2. Robert Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land.

Heinlein refers to “seeker services” for a religious institution.  This is odd, because this book came out in the 1960′s.  I thought the push for churches to become “seeker-sensitive” came about in the 1990′s-2000′s.  Am I wrong on that?

3. Alberdina Houtmann, Mishnah and Tosefta, page 102:

In M 4.4 and T 3.7, yet another reason is given for a short prayer, namely time of danger.

I checked the references, and the short prayers in times of danger (from bandits) do not relate to personal deliverance, but rather to God granting ease to those who fear him, or God delivering the nation of Israel.  I admire the rabbis for telling people to think beyond themselves even when they are being robbed by bandits: to long for God’s justice in general, which will come about when Israel is restored and the Messiah rules.  This reminds me of the mourner’s Kaddish: when a Jew mourns for his departed loved one, he prays a prayer that doesn’t explicitly mention mourning.  Rather, it expresses hope for God to set up his kingdom over the earth, praises God, and asks that God might bring peace to Israel. 

In the Bible, people certainly pray for personal deliverance.  But the Psalms and the Lord’s Prayer also invite us to think beyond ourselves, to acknowledge God’s broader agenda, and to express our desire that God will bring that agenda to past.  That will take care of problems such as bandits and death! 

4. Michael H. Floyd, “‘Write the Revelation!’ (Hab 2:2): Re-imagining the Cultural History of Prophecy”, in Writings and Speech in Israelites and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy, pages 106-107:

The social theorists who elaborated this basic scheme assumed that universal literacy was characteristic of the most advanced form of society, and they identified oral tradition with the most primitive form of society.  The transition from a predominantly oral to a predominantly written culture became regarded as the primary indication of progress, on which any society’s advancement in all the arts and sciences depended.

Floyd talks about how literacy leads to hierarchy, according to the social theorists whom he is critiquing.  But there are advanced societies that prefer oral tradition, or the oral to the written.  The rabbis were one such example: they resisted writing down their teaching because orality preserved the passing on of tradition from master to pupil.  If pupils could simply go to the library and read the tradition, why would they need to receive it from a teacher?  Ancient Israel had a hierarchy of priests, king, etc., but its prophecies were only written down when they had to be.  Otherwise, they were orally proclaimed.  (Yet, this is the debate that occurs in the book.)  So I’m not convinced that orality means a society is primitive, whereas literacy indicates it is advanced.  Sure, there may be truth to this, but it’s not an absolute rule.   

5. Steven L. McKenzie, “The Oracles against the Dynasties in the Book of Kings”, in Reconsidering Israel and Judah, page 398:

“The one belonging to Jeroboam who dies in the city the dogs will eat, and the one who dies in the open country the birds of the sky shall eat…”  The uniqueness of the curse and the rarity of [certain] expressions [in it] have led some scholars to contend that the language of these verses is not typical of the Deuteronomist and therefore betrays the existence of a predeuteronomistic version of the oracle…

To be honest, I really don’t care.  But apparently some do, which is why this article exists.  I’m interested in source criticism in that it can present ideas as to the different theological viewpoints in Scripture, who held them, and why.  But I don’t think much is at stake—or interesting, for that matter—in the issue of who wrote the curse that dogs and birds will eat people.   

6.  I read a review of Saul Lieberman’s Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, and it said that Hellenistic Jews were quite vehement against idolatry.  This, even though they drew from Greek ideas!  This reminds me of a post on Lawson Stone’s new blog, “Five Smooth Stones”: Thursday Thoughts.  Lawson talks about Daniel and his friends, and how they went above and beyond Jewish dietary laws in their refusal of the king’s food and wine.  After all, the Torah didn’t say that they had to eat only vegetables, or that they couldn’t drink wine!  In this case, they chose to proceed in an extreme direction.  And yet, they also studied the Babylonian religion, which was a rather liberal move on their part.  Why were they ultra-conservative in the area of food, but liberal in what they studied?  According to Lawson, they wanted to reinforce their Jewish identity before they learned about the Babylonian culture.

Similarly, even as Hellenistic Jews borrowed from Greek culture, they made it emphatically clear that they wanted nothing to do with Greek idolatry!  They were trying to avoid corruption from outside sources, while picking up aspects of those sources that may enlighten them.  

7.  Gary Coleman has passed away.  You know, I’ve actually been thinking about him for the past week.  When I was little, there was a movie called The Fantastic World of D.C. Collins, in which Coleman played a kid with a rich fantasy life—which was managing to intersect with his intriguing real life!  My dad told me to say my prayers during this movie, and so I rushed to my room during the commercial break and did so.  My dad then asked me if I was rushing through my prayers so I could return to my TV show, and I said “yes”.  He then told me that I should go back to my room and tell God that I’m sorry.

This is how I remember that, and you know how memories can be!  They’re not always accurate.  But this memory got me thinking.  Was my dad trying to teach me to love God more than the Fantastic World of D.C. Collins?  And which did I love better when I was a kid?  I’m not sure that I loved God at that time, since prayer for me was merelya ritual that my parents told me to perform: I basically said a bunch of words, and that was that!  So, while D.C. Collins was on, of course I loved that show more than God!  But the show came and went.  I may find it on YouTube at some point and enjoy it, but I don’t attach any ultimate significance to that movie.  It’s just a fun way to pass a few hours.  But I do attach ultimate significance to God.  So I’d say that I love God more than the Fantastic World of  D.C. Collins.  

But I’m not too big on “tests” to see whether I love God more than something else.  I’ll tell you: I did not feel compelled to turn off the TV and say my prayers during the last episode of LOST, just to show God that I love him more than LOST!  I’d rather pray to God when I choose to do so, rather when I don’t want to—even though, yes, I do pray every day, in order to keep my devotional life from disintegrating into complete chaos!

And I highly doubt that my dad would make me pray during D.C. Collins if he were to relive that moment.  Something else I can say for my dad: he did a good “What you talkin’ about Willis?”

In any case, R.I.P., Gary Coleman.

Judging; James Troesch Marathon; Fluent Prayers?; Written Prophecies; Macho Brand; Parallelism; Moishe Rosen

1. William P. Young, The Shack, page 203:

“Is that why we like law so much—to give us some control?” asked Mack.

“It is much worse than that,” resumed Sarayu.  “It grants you the power to judge others and feel superior to them.  You believe you are living to a higher standard than those you judge…”

I’ve been trying to express this concept into words for a long time.  Throughout my life, I have believed that some people are right, and some people are wrong, and I have judged them accordingly.  If a person doesn’t adhere to A, B, and C, I judge that person, and sometimes I assume that I shouldn’t be around him.  This can be wise, for, if I were to hang around people who (say) did drugs, there would be a temptation for me to do drugs in order to fit in (not that I have ever used drugs).  But I’ve often found that I judge people for not believing a certain way.  At Harvard Divinity School, I had a checklist of things that a person should believe: inerrancy of Scripture, deity of Christ, Jesus being the only way to God, homosexuality and abortion being immoral, etc., and I would judge people and groups according to how they adhered to those standards.  I assumed that those who believed in these things had the inside track to God.

Nowadays, I wonder: maybe I should spend more time loving people, and less time judging them.  But it’s easier for me to judge.  I have a hard time socializing with people and expressing genuine concern, but I’m a little more adept at boldly proclaiming my opinion on right and wrong. 

And I still judge people, only now, I tend to judge right-wing Christians.  I’ll continue to do my “Oh Brother” posts, but I wonder if there’s a way for me to love right-wing Christians—without allowing the really dogmatic ones to walk all over me.

Here’s another point:  Some books stick in my head, for better and for worse.  One of these books (in the “worse” category) is John MacArthur’s Vanishing Conscience.  For years—maybe over a decade—I have felt bad about saying “Nobody’s perfect” because of the following passage in Macarthur’s book: 

Nobody’s perfect. That truth, which ought to make us tremble before a God who is holy, holy, holy, is usually invoked instead to excuse sinful behavior, to make us feel better. How often do we hear people brush aside their own wrongdoing with the casual words, “Well, after all, nobody’s perfect”? People claim they’re not perfect to boost their self-esteem, but it is another evidence of a vanishing conscience. There is accuracy in the claim, but it should be a timid confession, not a flippant means of justifying sin.

I realize now that “Nobody’s perfect” is not only an acceptable thing for me to say, but it is necessary.  If I simply reminded myself that nobody’s perfect, then maybe I’d be easier on myself and others.

2. Robert Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land, page 291:

As for faces, Jubal had the most beautiful face Mike had ever seen…

Today, while doing my reading, I did a Highway to Heaven James Troesch marathon.  James Troesch played a quadraplegic lawyer named Scotty.  In Season 1, he’s introduced as a quadraplegic lawyer in a hospital who’s trying to pass the bar, and who’s encouraging “new wheels” to “live in the moment” and to be grateful for what they can do, rather than focusing on what they can’t do.  Also in this season, Scotty meets and marries Diane, Mark Gordon’s cousin. 

In Season 2, Scotty’s trying to get clients for his law practice, but he is failing because people don’t want to be represented by a handicapped attorney.  His self-esteem is low, and his marriage is on the rocks.  But he gets his first case, which is the type that appears un-winnable.  Julian, a man with a birthmark splashed across his face, has for many years been known as “the monster” in his small town.  When a pretty blind woman is injured and in a coma after she accidentally stumbles while looking for him, Julian is accused of a capital crime.  But Scotty conducts an excellent defense, wins the case, and gains a reputation as a good lawyer.  The clients start flocking to him!

In Season 3, Scotty and Diane want to have a baby, but Diane is unable to have children.  They want to adopt a mentally-handicapped boy named Todd.  But Todd already has parents: they put him in an institution years before because people they respected advised them to do so, and they never see Todd.  Scotty and Diane go to court to adopt Todd, and Todd’s parents eventually allow them to do so.

But, back to the Heinlein quote: it reminds me of the episode in which Scotty was defending “the monster.”  When Scotty first meets Julian, Julian is staring at him, and Scotty assumes Julian is doing so because he’s judging Scotty for being handicapped.  But that is not the case.  Rather, Julian is admiring Scotty’s perfect face and skin, which differs from his own marked face. 

3.  Alberdina Houtmann, Mishnah and Tosefta, page 85:

Just as it is proved to be a bad omen for a patient when Ben Dosa’s prayer was not fluent, so it is a bad omen for a congregation when its agent errs.

When I pray, I don’t worry about being eloquent or fluent, for I assume that God knows what I’m saying, even if my words don’t come out right.  Doesn’t Romans 8 have a verse about that?  We don’t pray as we ought, and so the Holy Spirit intercendes for us with incomprehensible words.  But Judaism had prayers that were formal and recited.  It still does, for that matter.  But I’ve heard from some Jews that praying from the heart is also acceptable within Judaism.  Can one make mistakes in those kinds of prayers, or be less than eloquent?

4.  R.E. Clemens, “The Prophet as an Author: The Case of the Isaiah Memoir”, in Writings and Speech in Israelites and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy, page 99:

Taken as a separate unit the memoir shows how written prophecy could fulfill a function beyond what was possible for oral prophesying.  It is best described as a testimony text, since it is not autobiography except in a secondary and accidental manner.  Its purpose as a witness to future generations of Israelites and Jews that God is both faithful and just is evident.  It ensured that the future generations who were destined to suffer the disasters that Isaiah had foretold would understand why they were doing so and on whom the responsibility for this rested.

I pretty much agree with this explanation as to why prophecies were written.  Of course, there could be other reasons as well.  Jeremiah wrote his prophecy down so that someone else could read it to the king, since Jeremiah would be harmed if he did so himself.

5. Walter Dietrich and Thomas Naumann, “The David-Saul Narrative”, in Reconsidering Israel and Judah, pages 287-288:

Among solid young men, then, (temporary) homosexual relationships were not considered reprehensible; they were only despised when they were combined with effeminacy, even “unmanliness,” in the view of a patriarchally organized world.

This reminds me of the book, The Pink Swastiga.  Actually, Izgad had a back-and-forth discussion/debate with that author of that book.  To read it, visit www.izgad.blogspot.com and search under “Scott Lively”. 

But, back to the quote.  On my Christian dating site a while back, a pastor was posting passages from The Pink Swastiga, a book that argues that there were high-ranking Nazis who were homosexual.  I responded that the Nazis persecuted homosexuals and put them in concentration camps, and the pastor replied that the Nazis didn’t care for effeminate homosexuals: rather, the Nazi liked the macho brand.

Anyway, this quote reminded me of that interaction!

6.  My reading of book reviews today revolved around the issue of biblical parallelism: there’s a line in poetry, and then there’s a line after that, which is parallel to the first line.  Sometimes the second line repeats the idea of the first line in different words.  Sometimes it repeats the idea of the first line, while adding something new.  Sometimes, there is contrast between the two lines.  Sometimes, the two lines overlap primarily in the area of grammar, or the words that are used.  And, sometimes, we should look at the larger unit rather than just the two lines.  And idea may get repeated several lines down, not necessarily in the second line.

7.  I just learned that Moishe Rosen passed away recently.  Roisen was the founder of Jews for Jesus.

I don’t really have an agenda of converting Jews to Christianity—as if the Christian interpretation of the Hebrew Bible is the only viable one in existence.  But there was a time when Jews for Jesus had a special place in my heart, which is probably why I got on their mailing list a few times, and have gotten their literature for over a decade.  I grew up in the Armstrong movement, which kept the seventh-day Sabbath and biblical holy days, as well as some version of kosher.  That looked strange to people in my small town, and so, looking for some box to put us in, they considered us Jews.  My mom embraced that designation, since her side of the family had Jewish ancestry.  Yet, we also believed in Jesus.  And people in my small town liked to put people in boxes, so they were unclear about what we were.

That’s why I was happy when Jews for Jesus came to a prominent church in my small town and did a concert.  Here were people who were like me: Jews who believed in Jesus!  They were ethnically Jewish, and they probably performed some Jewish customs.  Yet, they believed in Jesus, calling him “Yeshua”.  And people in my small town were being exposed to this, making me look slightly less like an oddball!

Since that time, I’ve learned that the issue of Jews who believe in Jesus is rather complex.  I briefly attended a Messianic synagogue at one time, and the rabbi there didn’t care for Jews for Jesus.  I think his problem was that Jews for Jesus pointed Jewish-Christians to churches rather than Messianic synagogues, or failed to provide a viable way for Jews to honor Yeshua while retaining their own Jewish customs.  He may be right on this.  I’m sure he knows more about this issue than I do!  But my reading of Jews for Jesus literature leads me to believe that the organization at least pays lip-service to Jewish customs.

There was a time when I was enamored by Messianic Judaism.  I had some desire to connect with my Jewish heritage, while remaining a Christian in good-standing.  Nowadays, I don’t care as much.  Some of that relates to my not fitting into a Messianic congregation, and not being able to adopt the Messianic agenda as my own.  And it also has to do with my needs: I’m more interested in spirituality nowadays rather than religion and ritual.  I seek and find inspiration in a variety of sources.

But I feel a need to take my hat off to Moishe Rosen.  From what I’ve heard about his personality, he’s not the type of guy I’d want to work for!  But he started a movement that touched me, during a piece of my life.

Vicious Dogs, Certainty and Charisma

1. Samuel C. Hyde, Jr., Pistols and Politics: The Dilemma of Democracy in Louisiana’s Florida Parishes, 1810-1899, page 210:

The Phantom Riders whipped and terrorized accused thieves, wife beaters, and the like, always reserving their most severe treatment for blacks.

I never knew that Klan-like groups had a problem with wife-beaters.  You wouldn’t know it from Mississippi Burning, in which the racist deputy is the one who beats his wife (leading to that chilling razor scene with Gene Hackman). 

Overall, this chapter was about the increase in violence in the Post-Reconstruction Florida parishes of Louisiana.  The blacks were accused of killing whites.  White groups tried to keep blacks from working in order to reduce them to dependency.  There wasn’t much respect for authority because of the corruption of the Republicans during Reconstruction, but the planters’ promotion of violence as a means to oust them unleashed vicious dogs that didn’t quite go away.       

That reminds me of sermons that I somewhat like to listen to.  They’re on the site, Sermon Audio, and they preach from a Reformed (Calvinist) perspective.  That can easily get on my nerves, but what I like about them is that, even though they’re conservative theologically, they’re not knee-jerk Republican.  One preacher said that he disagreed with his fellow congregants who applauded the bombing of Libya (I think), since that took innocent lives that were precious to God.  And another talked about how he went to a bookstore and saw all these books that portrayed George W. Bush as a horrible person.  He traced this viciousness back to the 1990′s, when conservatives did the same with Bill Clinton.  Vicious dogs were unleashed, which haunt us to this day. 

2. Robert Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land, page 104:

“…Becky Vesey always gave good advice and she gave it with great conviction because she always believed it…”

Something I heard about International Church of Christ people is that they’re charismatic because they believe every word of what they are saying.  Perhaps zealots are charismatic.  But they’re a turn-off to me because they come across as self-righteous, closed-minded know-it-alls.  When I watch a Larry King Live episode that has Jon Meachem and John MacArthur, I much prefer Jon Meachem’s three-dimensional, thoughtful approach to politics and religion to MacArthur’s “this is how it is”, proof-texting approach.  I still like MacArthur’s Bible commentary, though!

The Didache and Prophets

Johannes Quasten, Patrology, vol. I: The Beginnings of Patristic Literature, from the Apostle’s Creed to Irenaeus (Westminster: Christian Classics, 1983) 34.

Quasten discusses the Didache, a Christian document from the second century C.E. After quoting Didache 15:1-2, which concerns bishops, deacons, prophets, and teachers in the church, Quasten states the following about the Didache’s stance on prophets:

This reference prompts us to conclude that beside the local hierarchy the so-called prophets played an important role. In ch. 13, 3 we read regarding them: ‘They are your high priests.’ They are entitled to celebrate the Eucharist: ‘Permit the prophets to give thanks…as much as they desire’ (10, 7). They are entitled to tithes of all earnings: ‘Therefore, take all first fruits of vintage and harvest, of cattle and sheep, and give these first fruits to the prophets…Likewise, when you open a fresh jar of wine or oil, take the first draught and give it to the prophets. Of money and cloth and any other possession, first set aside a portion according to your discretion and give it according to the commandment’ (13, 3-7). The position they occupied was evidently held in high esteem for it was said of them that they could not be judged: ‘He (the prophet) is not liable to your judgment, for his judgment rests with God’ (11, 11). To criticize them is in effect a sin against the Holy Spirit: ‘If any prophet speaks in ecstasy, do not test him or entertain any doubts; for any sin may be forgiven, but this sin cannot be forgiven’ (11, 7).

A few pages later, Quasten says that the Didache emphasizes the prophets’ importance to correct a prevalent disregard for them: “the regard for the prophets of the New Dispensation is waning and has to be stressed anew” (36).

This quote interested me for three reasons.

1. First of all, it shows how an early Christian document dealt with the issue of tithing. Tithing is a controversial issue among Armstrongites and those recovering from Armstrongism. The Worldwide Church of God argued for a long time that the ministry was the New Testament equivalent of the Old Testament priesthood, so it was entitled to the congregants’ tithes and offerings. My dad tells the story of when he was in the Worldwide and a nice couple brought fresh vegetables to church. The minister said that he had first pick of the veggies, since he was a Levite and didn’t have an inheritance (see Numbers 18:23-24). The brave couple responded, “Okay, take what you want, but you won’t get anything more from us!”

Against the Armstrongite position, ex-Armstrongites argue that tithing is not a New Testament command for the church, and that the church doesn’t have an equivalent to the Old Covenant priesthood, which passed away with the Old Covenant. For them, the parts of the NT that talk about “give, give, give” concern voluntary giving, not a mandatory tithe. It’s interesting that the Didache resembles the Armstrongite position: it says that a group of people in the church is equivalent to the Old Testament priesthood and should receive firstfruits.

2. The Didache is not like Armstrongites and other cessationists on the issue of prophecy, however. Cessationists believe that spiritual gifts like tongues, healing, and prophecy have ceased for the church, since we now have the Bible. If they believe that prophecy still exists, they define “prophecy” as preaching and expounding the word, not as ecstatic utterance. My impression of Armstrongism was that it was anti-charismatic and pro-Sola Scriptura, but there were exceptions. Garner Ted Armstrong called himself a prophet and referred to a vision he had of standing before authorities and causing the earth to shake. And John MacArthur, in Charismatic Chaos, refers to Herbert Armstrong’s alleged supernatural experiences to argue that a belief in continued revelation can lead to cults.

In any case, the Didache is not cessationist, for it holds that ecstatic prophecy is still for the church.

3. The part about not testing or questioning prophets rubs me the wrong way. The fact that the Didache equates doing so with blasphemy against the Holy Spirit outrages me even more! According to the New Testament, prophets are supposed to be tested. I Corinthians 14:29 states, “Let two or three prophets speak, and let the others weigh what is said” (NRSV). The word for “weigh” is diakrino, the same word that Didache 11:7 uses when it tells Christians not to test their prophets. And Revelation 2:2 has, “I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance. I know that you cannot tolerate evildoers; you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them to be false.”

At the same time, I think that Quasten’s quotation of the Didache is pretty one-sided. Here is Didache 11, in whatever translation the “APE” on my BibleWorks is. I’ve emboldened the parts that I want to highlight:

1 Whosoever, therefore, cometh and teacheth you all these things that have been said before, receive him.
2 But if the teacher himself turn and teach another doctrine to the destruction of this, hear him not; but if he teach so as to increase righteousness and the knowledge of the Lord, receive him as the Lord.
3 But concerning the apostles and prophets, according to the decree of the Gospel, thus do.
4 Let every apostle that cometh to you be received as the Lord.
5 But he shall not remain except one day; but if there be need, also the next; but if he remain three days, he is a false prophet.
6 And when the apostle goeth away, let him take nothing but bread until he lodgeth; but if he ask money, he is a false prophet.
7 And every prophet that speaketh in the Spirit ye shall neither try nor judge; for every sin shall be forgiven, but this sin shall not be forgiven.
8 But not every one that speaketh in the Spirit is a prophet; but only if he hold the ways of the Lord. Therefore from their ways shall the false prophet and the prophet be known.
9 And every prophet who ordereth a meal in the Spirit eateth not from it, except indeed he be a false prophet;
10 and every prophet who teacheth the truth, if he do not what he teacheth, is a false prophet.
11 And every prophet, proved true, working unto the mystery of the Church in the world, yet not teaching others to do what he himself doeth, shall not be judged among you, for with God he hath his judgment; for so did also the ancient prophets.
12 But whoever saith in the Spirit, Give me money, or something else, ye shall not listen to him; but if he saith to you to give for others’ sake who are in need, let no one judge him.

Far from telling Christians not to test prophets, Didache 11 provides them with guidelines on how to do so. False prophets teach wrong doctrine, are greedy, and/or do not practice what they preach.

But it’s one thing to test a prophet and examine his fruit. It’s another thing to have a hyper-critical spirit, one that disrespects true prophets and their message of righteousness, refuses to give people the benefit of a doubt, and is stingy about the needs of others. The line between these may look thin and obscure. Many may do the latter (hyper-criticism), claiming that they’re doing the former (well-intentioned testing). And power-hungry false prophets may accuse people who test them of doing the latter (hyper-criticism), when they’re actually doing the former (testing). I wish the line were clearer in the Didache, if the Didache is correct that crossing it leads to blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, which cannot be forgiven. At the same time, the Didache prompts me to ask myself why I am criticizing a person: is it out of good motives, or bad?