A. D. Nock on Adhesion and Conversion

Arthur Darby Nock (1902-1963)

In his 1933 book, Conversion: The Old and the New in Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo, the Harvard classicist A. D. Nock distinguished between two understandings of and approaches to religious initiation: adhesion versus conversion.

Adhesion, said Nock, involves the "acceptance of new worships as useful supplements" but "not as substitutes." It does not involve "the taking of a new way of life in place of the old."[1] Adhesion is an understandable, maybe even preferable practice whenever two non-exclusive religious traditions meet. It simply involves the adoption of whatever one finds useful in a tradition that is new to him. The tradition, or folkway, has no absolute truth to tell. It has an outlook, accompanied by rituals or other practices, that might be attractive to the newcomer.

By contrast, Nock defined conversion as “a re-orientation of the soul, a deliberate turning from indifference or from an earlier form of piety to another, a turning which implies a consciousness that a great change is involved, that the old was wrong and the new is right.”[2] Conversion takes place when the truth claims of a religion, which are thought to extend to all of humanity, require the hearer to make an either-or choice. It requires "either the renunciation of his past and entry into a kingdom, . . . or the refusal of this dream as chimerical."[3]

As this overview suggests, Nock explained these two distinct approaches as stemming from two separate types of religion. Adhesion correlates to religion that is merely traditional. It is common wherever one's religion has for him "the emotional value attaching to a thing in which he has grown up."[4] In this circumstance, religion amounts to a set of time-honored customs. The religion has been "hallowed by preceding generations."[5]

Again by contrast, conversion is not rooted in traditional religion, but rather in prophetic religion. According to this type of religious lifeway, at some point in the past, an individual received a non-mediated message from the deity. Because it is the deity who has spoken to him, the deity then speaks through him, for now the prophet "has a message which he feels an inward and instant impulse to deliver."[6] And conversion is "the positive response of a man to the choice set before him" through the claims of evangelists representing a prophetic religion."[7] Such a changeover, said Nock, depended on a common cultural matrix, one that enabled hearers to make sense of the truth claims they were called upon to accept and the commands they were expected to obey. Human beings are not likely to accept what to them is entirely new. Prophetic religion truly succeeds only where it "finds men's minds in a measure prepared," which is a critical distinction.[8]

As the subtitle of his book indicates, Nock used the lens of his theory in order to examine distinctions between paganism of the ancient world as compared to Judaism and Christianity. In short, to the extent that ancient paganism reached newcomers, the new condition was the result of adhesion. But Judaism and Christianity, with their claims issued by the only true and living God, claims communicated by the prophetic figures known as Moses and Jesus, demanded conversion.

My guess is that Nock's distinction between adhesion and conversion might go a long way in explaining the religious interface between the first peoples of North America and later Euro-Americans. More about that later.

Notes

[1] Arthur Darby Nock, Conversion: The Old and the New in Religion from Alexander the Great to Augustine of Hippo (London and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1933), 7.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid., 5.

[4] Ibid., 2.

[5] Ibid., 3.

[6] Ibid. Here, many passages from the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament come to mind. In Amos 3:8, for example, the prophet asked, "The lion has roared-- who will not fear? The Sovereign LORD has spoken-- who can but prophesy?" (New International Version).

[7] Ibid., 7.

[8] Ibid., 9.

MacCulloch, Chapter 13

This is the first chapter in Part V, which is titled, "Orthodoxy: The Imperial Faith (451-1800)". Like myself, most Westerners know very little of Eastern Christianity. So I'm especially looking forward to reading this part of the book. The title of Chapter 13 is "Faith in a New Rome (451-900)".

A Church to Shape Orthodoxy: Hagia Sophia

MacCulloch explains Eastern Orthodoxy by way of describing the symbolism and worship associated with the great Hagia Sophia (Cathedral of the Holy Wisdom) in Constantinople.

In its present form, it is the achievement of the Christian monarchs Justinian I and his consort, Theodora (429) who succeeded in "sacralizing Byzantine society" (434). This was possible because of "an idea which over centuries became basic to Christian Orthodox spirituality: union with the divine, or theosis . . . a very different direction from Augustine's Western emphasis on the great gulf between God and humanity created by original sin" (433). Although the heirs of Justinian did much to root out anything that was Roman or non-Christian, the Byzantine empire had its enemies not the least of which were invading Muslims and a major plague which began in the 540s and continued well into the 700s, spreading west.

Byzantine Spirituality: Maximus and the Mystical Tradition

Since the Byzantine Empire disposed of the academies that anchored the intellectual world of the past, monasteries emerged in the East as "the safe-deposits and factories of learning" (436). By the eleventh century, it was the standard in Orthodoxy that bishops would first be monks (437). Two Orthodox monasteries survived the Muslim takeover of the East: St. Sabas near Jerusalem, founded in the 480s, and St Catherine's at the foot of traditional Mount Sinai, home to John of the Ladder (a.k.a. Climacus), author of a classic of Eastern monasticism, the Ladder of Divine Ascent.

But the "greatest theologian of the Byzantine tradition" (p. 438) was Maximus (or Maximos, c. 580-662), "the Confessor." Maximus consistently cited tradition that supposedly went back to Dionysius the Areopagite whom Paul the Apostle converted in Athens (Acts 17). In reality, this body of teaching likely went back no further than 80 years or so. With it, Maximus advanced the notion that theosis, deification, was the destiny of the saved, who would become "gods through grace," and even of the cosmos itself (439-40). In the Eastern tradition, the Church's liturgy is the chief means of such ascent to the divine.

Smashing Images: The Iconoclastic Controversy (726-843)

MacCulloch begins this section by addressing the question, "Where did the iconoclastic controversy come from?" One strong impulse came from Islam's rejection of images combined with Muslim military success. Maybe they were on to something. Maybe divine favor would return to a Byzantium free of its damning sculpture.

As a way of getting around the prohibition in the Ten Commandments--"You shall not make for yourselves any graven images"--Eastern Christians turned to the icon, an image that was painted, not graven or sculpted, on wood. But even these were officially prohibited, which sent them underground; they were kept and used in homes of believers, though they were not found in churches. This is not to say that images and icons had no defenders in the East. The Arab Christian John of Damascus criticized neighboring Islam for its hypocrisy: it made no room for images, but venerated the Black Stone housed in the Ka'aba. John was a great thinker and writer, "the last Eastern theologian to have a continuous impact on Western Christian thinking until modern times" (447). Thomas Aquinas claimed that he read from John every day!

In his defense of the use of icons, John advanced an earlier distinction made between two Greek words: latreia and proskynesis. The first is roughly equivalent to our English word "worship," and is appropriate only when directed toward God. On the other hand, proskynesis means something more like "honor" and can be appropriate when directed toward, say, an emperor or a holy person. Honor given to something or to someone ultimately goes to the One who made and shaped that something or someone. Through the veneration of images, the worshiper indirectly, but ultimately, worships God. Nonetheless, icono-clasm versus icono-phila was the norm in the East for centuries. Iconoclasm was finally crushed around 843.

Photios and the New Missions to the West (850-900)

Photios was an Orthodox Patriarch of the late ninth century who, as a result of reading very widely as a young man, was one of the most learned men of his day. He came to power at about the same time that Byzantine monarchs were restoring political stability and military power to the empire. His expansionist activities brought him into conflict with the popes in the West. Anticipating the rift that was to come in 1054, Photios and Pope Nicholas personally excommunicated each other in the year 867 (p. 460). One tactic of the Photios campaign was to create alphabetic systems which would become the scripts for a liturgy and theology that matched Orthodox norms, such as the Greek rite of St. John Chrysostom. This established that the Greek language did not have a monopoly over the Orthodox tradition, which experienced a real triumph during the ninth century.

MacCulloch, Chapter 11

"The West: Universal Emperor or Universal Pope? (900-1200)" is the title of this chapter.

Abbots, Warriors and Popes: Cluny's Legacy

MacCulloch begins by describing the massive abbey at Cluny in Burgundy and how it represented devotion to "the creation of ever more splendid Benedictine houses" (p. 363). During this same time in England, the powerful influence of Bishop Aethelwold led to the building of cathedral churches which also served as monasteries. Along this line, the author remarks: "One should never underestimate the significance of architecture in Christianity and particularly not in the era of reform which now emerged" (365). MacCulloch also relates the expansion of Christian pilgrimage, especially to Santiago de Compostela located in northwestern Spain. Together, these developments expressed and led to what the author calls a real "Reformation" (366) of the eleventh century.

Along with this "Reformation of the Middle Ages," there was an economic boom that accompanied increased farm production and with it a change in "the nature of the Western Church's ministry to society, making it pay more attention to the needs and obligations of the humble and relatively poor" (368). The need to organize an expanded ministry led to the invention of the parochiae, parishes.

Ministry among the emerging middle classes had a major unintended consequence: unlike the wealthy, these people could not afford full payment for their sins. And this, says MacCulloch, "was where the idea of a middle state between Heaven and Hell, first envisaged in the theology of the Alexandrian theologians Clement and Origen at the turn of the second and third centuries, proved so useful and comforting" (370). By the late twelfth century, people were talking about a place called Purgatory. Something else: new found wealth led to local battles for it, and so it was that the church emerged as arbitrator and peacemaker.

The Vicar of Christ: Marriage, Celibacy and Universal Monarchy

During the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the Western Church "did its best to gain more control over the most intimate part of human existence, sexual relations and marriage" (371). Part of the motivation for this new effort was based on a fear: "Married clergy might well found dynasties, and might therefore be inclined to make Church lands into their hereditary property, just as secular lords were doing at the same time. The result was a long battle to forbid marriage for all clergy" (372-73).

The period also saw the growth of the papacy. A new era came with Gregory VII (reigned 1073-85), the pope "who drew together all the strands of papal self-assertion" (374). The development of the papacy generated "a complex central bureaucracy," the cardinals, as well as canon law and "a staggering heritage of architectural beauty: the cathedrals of medieval Catholic Europe" (376-78). "Perhaps the most perfect of all is the cathedral of Chartes" (380).

The Age of the Crusades (1060-1200)

Overall, I thought this section was inadequate. But maybe that had more to do with my interest in the Crusades than any deficiency in the author. Either way, MacCulloch identifies some of the factors that led to the Crusades. For decades on end, the Church in Spain had been driving out the Muslims; a certain Caliph al-Hakin in Egypt had ordered the demolition of the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem; and much like the growing phenomenon of pilgrimage, warfare had become a means of accruing spiritual merit.

Cistercians, Carthusians and Mary (1100-1200)

Here MacCulloch describes the reaction away from the lavish institutional Church. In short, the Carthusian monastic order emphasized "simplicity and self-denial" (389), while the Cistercians focused on separation from the world and built austere churches, unlike those of "Clunaic splendor" (390). Last but not least during this time was the further development of the cult of Mary. When the Greek theotokos (God-bearer) was translated into Latin, the expression signified something more like "Mother of God." Such language led to the full adoption of Mary's perpetual virginity; to the development of the doctrine of her immaculate conception (which refers to the conception of Mary and is different from the doctrine of the virginal conception of Christ); and to the origin of the story of Mary's assumption. In Catholicism, it's not just "something," it's a lot of things about Mary.

MacCulloch, Chapter 9

Chapter 9 in Diarmaid MacCulloch's survey of Christian history is called "The Making of Latin Christianity." It's the first of several chapters in Part IV which is titled "The Unlikely Rise of Rome."

MacCulloch explains that during the fourth century, the growing Roman emphasis on the antiquity of the Church, the centrality of Rome, and the primacy of Peter were all the result of a desire to gain respectability, "to show that Christianity had a past as glorious as anything that the old gods could offer" (294). To borrow MacCulloch's expression, Christianity was becoming "a religion fit for a gentleman," and by that he means a Roman gentleman. Along this line, I learned something very interesting about the Roman Catholic dogma of the primacy of Peter and the history of the interpretation of Matthew 16. MacCulloch explains:

One aim of the programme was to place a new emphasis on the role of Peter rather than the joint role of Peter and Paul in the Roman past. Moreover, it was in [Pope] Damasus's time that Peter came to be regarded not merely as the founder of the Christian Church in Rome, but also as its first bishop. Ironically, it was actually a North African bishop, point-scoring against his local Donatist opponents by stressing the North African Catholics' links to Rome, who is the first person known to have asserted on the basis of Matthew 16:17-19 that 'Peter was superior to the other apostles and alone received the keys of the kingdom, which were distributed by him to the rest'; yet significantly it was in the time of Damasus that this thought occurred to the North African, some time around 370 (p. 294).

Meanwhile, Jerome was advocating the idea that scholarship, what he was did and loved, was just as legitimate a monastic life as manual labor or being an hermit. He put an exclamation point on his statement when he produced what would become the Christian Bible for the next 1000 years, the Latin Vulgate.

Next, MacCulloch provides a very fine survey of the life and legacy of Augustine, "shaper of the western church" (pp. 301-12), and ends the chapter by telling the stories of important people associated with the rise and development of monasticism in the West:

The most significant early figure in this story is Martin, without whom the Christianization of Germany and missions into the British Isles would not have happened. "Eastern and Western monasticism combined fruitfully in the monk John Cassian" (315). And then there was Benedict whose "Rule" became the basis for the flowering of monasticism in the West for many centuries to follow, even up to the present day.

MacCulloch, Chapters 7 and 8

Part III (= Chapters 7 and 8) of MacCulloch's survey of Christian history takes up the story of the early church in the south and east after the Council at Chalcedon (451). These movements were partly the result of a debate about the nature of Christ.

The formula from Chalcedon said that Jesus Christ was "one person in two natures," human and divine. Most everyone agreed that the reported claim of Nestorius--that within Christ there were two persons--was absolute heresy. But for believers in places like Alexandria, it was also wrong to speak, as Chalcedon did, of Christ having two natures. The detractors explained that as wine and water become indistinguishable when mixed, so the human and divine in Christ were indistinguishable and essentially one. This was the position of the Monophysite movement. (MacCulloch calls this "Miaphysite." Both terms mean "one nature").

With their center of influence at Alexandria, the Miaphysites dominated northeast Africa. From there and also from the east bank of the Red Sea, the faith traveled further south into Africa all the way to Ethiopia. As a way of expressing their differences with Chalcedon, African Christians adopted the language called Coptic. On occasion, leaders at Constantinople attempted to strike a deal, holding to the Chalcedonian creed while maintaining ties with the Miaphysites. These efforts ultimately failed until, eventually, the southern churches became so institutionally and culturally different from Constantinople and Rome that the two sides were practically irreconcilable.

Another group breaking with Chalcedon went in the opposite theological direction and in a different physical direction. The Dyophysites emphasized the separateness of the human and divine in Jesus. Thus the early church's christological debate provided three distinct options: Miaphysite (one nature), Roman/Chalcedonian (two natures in one person), and Dyophysite (the human nature of Christ is separable from his divine person). The Dyophysite movement took root, often as a distinct minority, in various parts of Asia traveling as far east as India, China, and even Japan.

In chapter 8, MacCulloch shows that the rise and conquests of Islam and/or the presence of indigenous religious traditions had the effect of cutting off Africa and most of Asia from Roman and Byzantine expressions of Christianity. Those believers isolated in the South and East were often persecuted and oppressed. Nevertheless, they held to their faith (regarded by the West as heretical). The result is that there are to this day many vestiges of Christianity in Africa and Asia. And MacCulloch is convinced that a large number of these have yet to be appreciated or discovered by the West. He remarks that in the centuries following the break up of these two Christian worlds, what is truly remarkable is

just how little Western Chalcedonian Christians knew about centuries of Christian struggle, scholarship, sanctity and heroism in another world. Western Christianity, heir to Chalcedon, Reformation and Counter Reformation, still has a long way to go before the balance is fully righted.

Western Christians have forgotten that before the coming of Islam utterly transformed the situation in the eastern Mediterranean and Asia, there was a good chance that the centre of gravity of Christian faith might have moved east to Iraq rather than west to Rome. Instead, the ancient Christianity of the East was nearly everywhere faced with a destiny of contraction in numbers, suffering and martyrdom which still continues (284).

To this point in the book, I think this is the most impressive and important section.

MacCulloch, Chapters 5 and 6

Oxford historian Diarmaid MacCulloch concludes Part II of his book, Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years, with chapters 5 and 6.

The title of Chapter 5 raises a question: "The Prince: Ally or Enemy?" MacCulloch begins by tracing the history of the church's relationship to the Roman Empire during the second century. Here, he offers a good description of how, to the Romans, the boldness of the Christians seemed like a provocation, how their aloofness created suspicion, and how their distinctive use of political language represented an affront to imperial authority. The Christians worshipped none of the traditional gods. Were they atheists? In their assemblies, it was said that they ate flesh and drank blood. Were they cannibals? Suspicion and resentment sometimes resulted in the martyrdom of Christians, terrible ordeals that resulted in the church having even more heroes. One can only wonder why MacCulloch ignores one of the earliest and most-interesting episodes in the history of Rome's various encounters with early Christianity: the conflict over the Cult of the Emperor in the province of Asia during the reign of Domitian, the unmistakable back story of the New Testament's Book of Revelation.

In a section on the "Third-Century Imperial Crisis," MacCulloch describes how in that period the borders of the Empire were receding. Among the biggest problems was weak leadership and governance. As a result, imperial government was reduced to "a police state" (167). "From Persecution to Persecution" describes the organized attempts of Decius (mid-3rd century) and Diocletian (early 4th) to obliterate Christianity. Finally, in a section on "Kings and Christians," MacCulloch provides a good overview of the Syriac-speaking church in the east. Once again, he makes a few remarks indicating that he has a bit of an axe to grind. Having referred to the "sheer diversity" of early Christianity, he remarks that it serves as "a vital lesson to learn for modern Christians who wish to impose a uniformity on Christian belief and practice which has never in fact existed" (176-77). This section of the chapter includes a good description of the Syriac-speaking church in the East.

Chapter 6, "The Imperial Church," begins with a section on "Constantine and the God of Battles." MacCulloch describes the development of Christianity under the patronage of the emperor who established the city of Constantinople and who led to the development of the church's organizational structure. Next, the author discusses the rise of monasticism as a reaction to Christianity's greater accommodation to and acceptance from the larger society. And he tells the stories of Pachomius, who originated monasteries, and Antony, who retreated to the desert and became the original hermit. MacCulloch also relates the story of Arius of Alexandria who reportedly said of Christ, "There was when he was not." Christ was created by the Father! Eventually, Constantine summoned the bishops of the Empire to Nicaea in 325. Homoousios was the term used in the proceedings of the council to affirm that Christ was "of one substance" with the Father (214). The Council of Constantinople, held in 381, finally outlawed Arianism. But, suppressed, it flourished among the Goths and Vandals, who lived outside the borders of the Empire and who apparently adopted heretical positions as a way of opposing Roman power.

The later Miaphysite (also called "Monophysite") controversy did not deal with the earlier theological question (how God the Father was different from, but similar to, Christ). Instead, this controversy took up the question of how to describe Christ's divine and human nature(s). By this time, the new power-politics character of Christianity clearly shows. Antioch, Alexandria, Jerusalem, and Constantinople all vied power, not to mention Rome. In the debate over the Christological question, the Antiocheans were much more prepared to talk about Jesus's human nature than were the Alexandrians. Antioch had always given stronger emphasis to the literal sense of the Bible. By the year 400, the term Theotokos, "bearer of God" was already a common way of describing Mary. This was a result of the high Christology affirmed in the Nicean creed. Nestorius, Bishop of Constantinople, trained in the way of Antioch, rejected the emphasis placed on Theotokos. It should be balanced, he said, by the term Anthropotokos, "bearer of a human." The Council of Ephesus (431) condemned Nestorius. Finally, the Council of Chalcedon (451) proclaimed that the Father and Son are co-equal, and that the humanity and divinity of Christ are co-equal. In this way, Chalcedon was conclusive and definitive regarding both the Trinitarian and Christological controversies.

A Few Notes on MacCulloch, Chapter 4

Back to Diarmaid MacCulloch's book, Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years. I mentioned in an earlier post that when it comes to the New Testament and Christian origins, MacCulloch displays a penchant for finding disagreement or contradiction where there isn't any. More of this shows up in Chapter 4.

For example, MacCulloch claims that when Paul refused to accept financial support from churches he was working with at the time, he acted "contrary" to the teaching of Jesus who said that "those who proclaim the gospel should get their living by the gospel." But why is it contrary if Paul, for the sake of his mission, chose to relinquished his rights?

In an attempt to bolster his point, he actually makes matters worse with a complete misreading of 2 Thessalonians 3:6. There Paul instructs Christians at Thessalonica to distance themselves "from any brother who is living in idleness." According to MacCulloch, Paul's rigid work ethic here runs counter to the example of "Jesus and his wandering Twelve." The author appears to have forgotten that he had earlier quoted Jesus to the effect that those engaged in a teaching ministry had a right to be supported. The idle Christians at Thessalonica had not left fishing nets in order to follow and to learn from Jesus. As 2 Thessalonians makes clear, assuming that the return of Christ was just around the corner, they had quit working altogether only to become a public nuisance, which is a vast difference. In the words of Paul, they had gone from busy to being busybodies. Not to mention that MacCulloch shouldn't be quoting Paul from 2 Thessalonians anyway since he earlier claimed that the Apostle didn't write it, labeling it one of the "later pastiches of the authentic letters" (see 97, especially note 53 which can be found on 1025).

Shallow reading of the New Testament turns up again in a discussion of Romans 16. Contrary to MacCulloch, in verses 1 and 2 of that chapter, sister Phoebe, a diakonos of the church at Cenchreae, does not receive a greeting from Paul. Instead, the Apostle instructs the Christian community at Rome to receive her and to give her any help she may need from them. The passage makes clear that Paul had given to Pheobe the responsibility and honor of delivering his Letter to the Romans, a bit of evidence that MacCulloch might have used to strengthen his point about the relatively-high status of women in at least some segments of the first-century church (116-17).

Again, I think that MacCulloch is a pretty good researcher and writer. And I still expect that, in later portions of his book, he'll be able to teach me a few things about Christian history. Until then, I'll say that in these early chapters he should have been more careful, not so quick to question the New Testament.

The First 100 Pages of the First 3000 Years

A few days ago, I started reading the newish book by Oxford church historian Diarmaid MacCulloch, Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years. It's a big book, over 1,000 pages long. What follows are a few of my reactions after reading the first three chapters, which take up about 100 pages.

Of course, nowadays authors are expected to come up with a title or a subtitle that intrigues and reels in the prospective buyer. The title Christianity doesn't create much of a stir. Here it's the subtitle, The First Three Thousand Years, that raises the obvious question. I thought Christianity was only two thousand years old. So what's the author up to? In the first few pages, you find out. MacCulloch believes that the Christian faith owes so much to its roots in (a) the ancient Greek tradition and (b) the history of Israel that it's no stretch to say that the Christianity sort of began about a thousand years before the time of Christ.

Those two strands of Christian pre-history take up the first two chapters of the book. Here, MacCulloch packs a lot of information into a few dozen pages. The reader can learn a good bit about how ancient Hellenism and Judaism shaped the world into which Jesus and his movement were born. At times, MacCulloch offers up some refreshing takes on well-known texts. A good example is found on page 50:

Around Abraham's rackety grandson Jacob are woven several engaging tales of outrageous cheating and deceit, and they culminate in an all-night wrestling match with a mysterious stranger who overcomes Jacob and is able to give him another new name, Israel, meaning 'He who strives with God'. Out of that fight in the darkness, with one who revealed the power of God and was God, began the generations of the Children of Israel. Few peoples united by a religion have proclaimed by their very name that they struggle against the one whom they worship. The relationship of God with Israel is intense, personal, conflicted. Those who follow Israel and the religions which spring from his wrestling match that night are being told that even through their harshest and most wretched experiences of fighting with those they love most deeply, they are being given some glimpse of how they relate to God.

Through the first two chapters of the book, MacCulloch's presentation is mostly good. But then comes Chapter 3, "A Crucified Messiah (4 BCE--100 CE)." Here the reader easily detects a zeal for debunking the Four Gospels that appears to have gone to seed.

For example, on page 79 MacCulloch says that “the Gospels agree on hardly any detail about Jesus’s infancy.” But the fact that Matthew and Luke report different traditions surrounding the birth of Jesus does not mean that they necessarily disagree. In fact, they don’t.

On page 83, we read: “The Gospels do not give a definite answer as to whether Jesus’s ministry lasted one year (John) or three years (Matthew, Mark, and Luke).” Here it’s hard to know where to begin. It is true that upon reading one of the first three Gospels one might guess that the public ministry of Jesus took up no more than one year. However, this is far from the notion that any of the evangelists state that one year was the time frame. On the other hand, the church derives its tradition that Christ’s ministry lasted three years from John’s Gospel, which mentions three Passover festivals (see 2:13, 6:4, and 11:55). Not only does MacCulloch insinuate a disagreement where there isn’t one, he also makes the confusing mistake of reversing the categories. Again, it is not the Synoptic Gospels, but rather John who establishes the three-year time frame.

Although it is not intended to contradict the Gospel accounts, one can only wonder about MacCulloch's discussion of the parable, Jesus’s favorite form of teaching. The author suggests that Jesus invented the device and adds that parables “emerge as a literary form in later Judaism only after Jesus’ death” (p. 87). He then asks, “Was this form of Jesus’s teaching so successful that it impressed and influenced even Jews who did not become his followers?” The entire section is unaware that instructing and convicting others by means of narrative metaphor finds its origin not in the teaching of Jesus, but in the Hebrew Bible, the Scriptural tradition in which Jesus stood. How did MacCulloch, the son of an Anglican priest, forget how the prophet Nathan revealed to King David the true character of his sin with Bathsheba?

There were two men in a certain town, one rich and the other poor. The rich man had a very large number of sheep and cattle, but the poor man had nothing except one little ewe lamb he had bought. He raised it and it grew up with him and his children. It shared his food, drank from his cup, and even slept in his arms. It was like a daughter to him. Now a traveler came to the rich man, but the rich man refrained from taking one of his own sheep or cattle to prepare a meal for the traveler who had come to him. Instead, he took the ewe lamb that belonged to the poor man and prepared it for the one who had come to him (2 Samuel 12:1-4).

Other examples from the Jewish Scriptures include Jotham's parable of the trees in Judges 9, the parable of the two sons told by the wise woman of Tekoa in 2 Samuel 14, and several others, like those found among the oracles of the writing prophets; for example, the story of the two eagles and a vine in Ezekiel 17.

These mistakes and misreadings in Chapter 3 do not inspire confidence in MacCulloch who otherwise seems to be a competent historian and a fine writer. So, anyone else out there who has read or who's reading MacCulloch? I'd be interested to hear your reactions. If not this book, then what are you reading these days?

What Ministers Actually Do

Several years ago, a member of a church where I was the pulpit minister told me that his young son had decided to be a preacher when he grew up. The reason that the boy had opted for ministry was that preachers only worked on Sundays and Wednesday nights.

The image persists that preachers and other members of a church staff just don't have a lot to do. Strangely enough, it seems that fewer and fewer are opting to take on this supposedly-easy job.

I'm confident that there are a few lazy preachers. I may have known a few. I may have been one myself at certain points along the way. But not only are most ministers hard-working most of the time, they also have plenty to keep them busy. And they want to be busy: teaching, preaching, and doing anything they can to promote the gospel of Christ and the well-being of the church. For most preachers, doing what they do is not a matter of opportunity and employment. Instead, it's more about giftedness and gratitude to the Lord, wanting to do anything to increase His honor in the world.

The summer I turned fifteen, I worked at a car wash. The pay was $2.00/hour. At 60 hours, that came out to $120 every week. I always felt rich on pay day. Since that time, I've worked in a factory and in a record store. I have worked as a lawn boy, a locksmith, and a radio announcer-disc jockey (operating two radio stations by myself for the grand sum of $4.00/hour). But for about 20 years, I was a preacher among the Churches of Christ. And that was as real a job as I've ever had.

But what is it, exactly, that ministers do? Members of churches have a right to know. Because that's true, years ago I put together a representative list of my responsibilities and tasks as the preacher in a single-staff church I was working with in Connecticut.

To people who have always worked in multi-staff churches, my list will seem strange, way too broad and general. To others who have spent at least some time in a smaller, single-staff church, the list might actually seem short. Such is the difference between specialists (in multi-staff churches) and generalists (in single-staff churches). Either way, here's the overview of ministerial responsibilities and tasks I came up with:

1. Worship Leadership and Ministry of the Word

Write, rehearse, and preach biblical sermons.
Prepare and teach classes that inform and inspire.
Create PowerPoint presentations or hand-outs to enhance the effectiveness of a lesson.
Write articles designed to promote and nurture faith.
Plan the worship time and make assignments to worship leaders.
Provide instruction to worship leaders about their various roles.
Plan and organize special times of worship (Spring Sing, Christmas service, elder and deacon ordination services, etc.) .

2. Evangelism and Outreach

Make contact with visitors to the congregation (visits, notes, calls, etc.).
Initiate and conduct personal Bible studies.
Conduct follow-up studies for new Christians, or teach a new-members class.
Promote and participate in benevolent efforts of the congregation.
Respond to questions about the church (usually phone calls or visitors).
Plan, organize, and conduct an annual Vacation Bible School.

3. Administrative Responsibilities

Maintain office hours.
Open and post incoming mail.
Respond to incoming mail, e-mail, and phone messages.
Write for and be responsible for the publication of a weekly church bulletin.
Compose and publish newsletters, flyers, reminders, etc.
Order and stock office materials (copy paper, envelopes, etc.).
Serve as monitor of the church building.

4. Spiritual Development and Personal Maintenance

Pray regularly.
Study the Bible regularly.
Read good books and magazines.
Sharpen writing and speaking skills.
Stay up-to-date with current trends that affect church and society.
Maintain contact with leaders in other churches.
Attend (and perhaps also organize) a regional church leaders' meeting.
Keep one's physical body in shape through regular exercise.

5. Spiritual Care and Christian Nurture

Keep in touch with members (lunches, home visits, etc.).
Provide counseling to members (often amid a crisis).
Provide counseling to non-members (often referred by members).
Conduct pre-marital counseling (usually several sessions).
Use cards and calls to support and encourage others.
Visit and comfort those who are sick and/or hospitalized.
Recommend books or websites to help others with specific needs.
Meet and pray with other leaders of the congregation.

6. Other Roles and Duties

Plan and conduct weddings.
Plan and conduct funerals.
Serve as an ambassador for the congregation.
Write recommendations for job seekers, college prospects, etc.
Entertain and accommodate guests of the congregation (visiting preachers, missionaries, those interviewing for positions with the congregation, etc.).
Oversee the work of other members of the church staff.
Promote and support Christian camps and colleges.

Again, this is a representative list. Naturally, at different times of the year and in different seasons of ministry some of these tasks will come to the fore while others are moved to the back burner.

If you currently serve as a preacher or have done so in the past, what would you add or delete or tweak? What are some of your reactions? If you've never served full-time on a church staff, what is it about my description that strikes you as remarkable? Naturally, I'm interested in hearing your thoughts and responses.

Small-Church Ministry: A Few Suggestions

According to the Hartford Institute for Religion Research, nearly 60% of all churches in the United States have fewer than 100 in attendance at their weekly services. That's 177,000 congregations accounting for 9 million people. Of those congregations, a large number of them fall into the category of the truly small church, which has 40 or fewer members.

Through the years, I have known about and come to appreciate a good number of small congregations of the Churches of Christ. After going back through some notes and reflecting on my experiences, here's a bit of advice I'd share with anyone who's looking to work with a small church:

1. Arrive as a chaplain, not as a successful businessman.

Small churches don't require someone who's good at administration. There just isn't much to administrate. And, what little there is probably already has someone taking care of it. But there's never too much kindness, care, and love. So give them that. Especially if you go to a rural area--the scene for many small churches--you'll want to roll up your sleeves and do some work with your hands. To farm and ranch people, sitting at a desk isn't work. I know, anyone who has studied hard knows better. But people who have always worked with their hands need to see that you aren't afraid to get some dirt on your clothes and break a sweat. If you really work with them, they will listen to you as they never would have otherwise.

2. Remind them of their identity in Christ and of their mission in the world.

Sometimes a church just needs to be reminded that belonging to the Lord and living for Him is what life is all about. Like individuals, churches can get depressed and disoriented. A few years ago, a congregation that had been through a bad time welcomed a new minister. About two years later, one of the members of the congregation remarked, "He didn't try to set us on fire. I think he realized that it had been a long time since we had felt really good about being Christians. So he preached about Jesus and how great it is to know and serve Him. That did a lot to restore our spirit. Now we're a happier, more effective congregation."

3. Discover the very best aspects of the congregation and emphasize them.

In his letters to the seven churches of Asia (Revelation chapters 2-3), Jesus had at least one positive thing to say about each congregation. Every small church has something about it that's good. Identify that, and then tell the people what you've noticed. Build on that strength.

4. Encourage the congregation to do one or two things very well.

Unlike medium-sized and large congregations, the small church can't do many things at once. There simply aren't enough people or resources. However, a small church can and should carry on one or maybe two specific ministries. Help them to do something at which they can really excel. Meals on Wheels, Bible correspondence courses, special care for a missionary family. The possibilities are endless. What the congregation chooses will obviously be related to the previous point.

Just a few thoughts. What would you add or change?

Strengths and Values of the Small Church

The last post identified some of the pitfalls of small churches. Now I want to consider some of the positives. The following are my own observations mixed in with ideas that I've borrowed from others. Here are three real strengths and values:

1. Small churches experience fellowship naturally.

Ever known a small church that had a small-groups ministry? Of course not. In the small church, the congregation is the small group. Much-larger churches must create and manage what small churches already have, simply because they are small churches. I'm an advocate of the big church, too. But I wonder how much time and money big churches spend in order to provide a time and setting for relationships outside their big worship assemblies? Life Groups, Care Groups, Brother's Keeper, etc. The small church has never needed these terms, nor the expense and structure that go with them.

Along this line, a recent comment by Dusty Chris says it all: I think the small church is alive and well and "gets church" better than its larger counter part "in the big city." [People in small churches] help each other, they love each other, they eat together often, they depend on each other like I have not seen in larger churches. The benefit is in its smallness...everyone has to be available for ministry and leadership. Smallness is not bad. It means there are more opportunities for intimacy and closeness...and that beats the pants off the larger churches. I feel like Norm in Cheers when I walk into the Paonia Church of Christ. Everyone knows my name.

2. Small churches serve as vital outposts for the kingdom of Christ.

Some areas are sparsely populated. Many communities in the U.S. are small. They will never have a big church because there just aren't many people there.

In hundreds of rural counties across the U.S., the population has been in a nosedive since the middle of the last century. For example, here in the Texas panhandle there are only two counties that aren't in population decline, the two that are associated with Amarillo.

Years ago, when I served as a preacher in a small town in Arkansas, I decided to look up the population statistics for the county. The results surprised me. The high-water mark had been the 1950 census, when there were 28,000 people in the county. But each decade since then, the numbers had gone down. The most recent census was 1990, when the county population stood at around 18,000. The membership numbers at church were flat for years, and we just didn't have many new visitors. No wonder. Compared to 40 years before, our population had shrunk by 36%.

Naturally, in communities in numerical decline, a church will almost always dwindled in number. Peter Wagner once referred to this as a church disease which he named population abandonmentosis. This disease has shriveled many churches that were once much larger. Today, those congregations would be classified as "small."

I have to say that there's a soft spot in my heart for these churches. So often, they are tempted to look down on themselves. They're like the guy who's doing what he should, but who still questions and doubts himself; like the older person who no longer thinks he is valuable. These churches need someone to remind them of who they are, and to tell them that by simply being and doing what they do is precious to God and a benefit to community.

Churches in small towns and in the countryside continue to moor the faith of their members as they hold up the banner of the cross. That's no small thing in the eyes of the Lord.

3. Small churches produce kingdom leadership.

I don’t have any statistics for this, but I’m virtually certain of it: I think small churches produce a disproportionately large number of Christian leaders. Many of today's great preachers, teachers, worship leaders, missionaries, etc. grew up in a small church. If you attend a congregation with 225 or more in attendance, the odds are your preacher grew up in congregation smaller than that. Ask him.

What percentage of young people from large churches are growing up to serve as Christian leaders? Again, it's my guess, but I think that number is disproportionately small. Why? Mainly because larger congregations, led and attended by professionals, simply won’t put up with amateur leadership. Not for long anyway. But small churches depend on mostly amateur leadership. If you want to learn how to teach or preach or direct the singing, the small church is where you can get free (and sometimes obligatory) training.

And, there’s a flip side to that coin. Most would-be preachers or worship leaders might never stand up in front of hundreds of people and give it a try. But they would in front of, say, thirty people. And that's a small church.

I don't mean to suggest that Christian leadership is all about being in front of the congregation. We know that it means being connected to people, nurturing others, and teaching them by example to be more like Christ. Again, the small congregation is the place where that opportunity and challenge very naturally presents itself. A person or family can live almost anonymously in a large church for years. I know. I've seen it. But it's impossible to be anonymous in a small church.

So let me ask you: Does any of this sound familiar? What are some of the other positives--strengths and values--of small churches? What kinds of experiences have you had?

Next time, I want to offer some suggestions for encouraging and working with the small church.

Often Small in Their Own Eyes

Then I cried out, "Sovereign Lord, I beg you, stop! How can Jacob survive? He is so small!" (Amos 7:5). The prophet Amos was afraid for his people. They were such a tiny nation. In a similar way, sometimes members of a small congregation fear for the church they know and love so well.

In this post, I want to focus on the spiritual and psychological pitfalls of being a small church. But before we go any further, it might be best to step back and establish a few things.

By small church, I mean a congregation with 50 or fewer members. A typical plateau for churches of this size is about 30-35. If and when churches grow larger than that, they often push forward to the next plateau of 70-85. At that point, the congregation becomes a different animal compared to the truly small church it used to be.

How many small churches are there? A lot. Of all the Protestant congregations in the U.S., roughly one quarter of them fall into the 30-35 category. Compare: only about 1% of Protestant congregations in the U.S. have 700 or more members. But 25% of them have 50 or fewer members. So when we talk about the small church, we're talking about many congregations.

Not only that, we're also talking about the size of many churches of the New Testament era. All the evidence suggests that most Christian communities of the first century weren't large at all. I think it's safe to say that most of them would fit our definition of a small church.

Still, today's churches of this size often have a low self-image. When you visit a small church, it's not unusual for one of the members to apologize for the congregation. This is especially true when they ask you where you're from and you answer with the name of a big city or a larger town nearby.

Years ago when I took a "Church Growth" class with Evertt Huffard, he included a unit on small churches. Here are some of the reasons he gave for why these congregations often seem small (read: unimportant) in their own eyes:

• They don't have a preacher, or can't keep one for very long.
• There's a nagging sense that the congregation is flopping along--that they just don't do things right.
• A small budget, shortage of money.
• Families with children often leave them for a larger, full-service church.
• American culture associates "bigger" with "better."
• Typically, the worship isn't conducted by polished leaders. Only a few people are there to sing. It usually isn't an exciting or uplifting experience.
• The facilities are second-rate.

Experiences in the small church often reinforce negative feelings within the congregation. For example, when a family with children leaves a small church for a larger one, they're told, "We really hate to see you go, but we understand."

In a small church that was once much larger, the baptistery sometimes presents a depressing dilemma. It hasn't been used in years. And it takes money and effort to fill it up and keep it clean and warm. But it seems unspiritual or faithless to leave it empty. What to do? I once heard about a visiting preacher who was looking around the church building. When he saw the green algae along the edge of the baptistery, he remarked, "Looks like this is the only growth you've experienced in a while." Clever. But hardly encouraging.

Sometimes an energetic, young preacher will come to a small church. It's his "first pulpit." Most everyone in the congregation assumes that it's just a matter of time before the preacher becomes bored, or a larger church discovers him and offers something closer to a middle-income salary.

I don't mean to suggest that there aren't any healthy and happy small churches. I know there are, and hope their number grows. I also know that there are huge differences among small churches. No two are alike. Some were planted within the last two or three years and have high hopes for future growth. Others have been around for decades. Many of these small churches were once much larger than they are today. That's an entirely different atmosphere compared to the young small church.

What I've related here is just some of what the I've learned from others and seen through the years. In the next post, I want to talk about some of the real positives of the small church. But before we get to that let me ask, What are some of your observations? Have you ever known or been a part of a slightly-depressed small church? What were some of the experiences that led to those feelings?

The Instrumental Music of Ministry

Most people are right-handed. So when most people begin playing the guitar, they strum or pick with the right hand, and press the strings to the fretboard with the left. That's the right-handed way. Seems a little ironic, doesn't it? But, really, it isn't.

Right-handed beginners naturally focus on the left hand because it's the one that has to figure out the frets. Once the fingers of the left hand are in position to play a chord, the right hand then has a relatively-easy job. One stroke and the strings make a sound.

But at first, it's hardly ever a good sound. The fingers of the left hand aren't quite strong enough. The finger tips don't yet have their callouses. So the strings buzz. Or maybe one of the fingers is out of position and the chord is just off. The first few attempts at playing are rarely, if ever, good.

These less-than-pleasant sounds bring out the determination in some beginners. Like Bryan Adams in the Summer of '69, they play 'til their fingers bleed. That is, the fingers on the left hand. All along, the right hand is almost entirely ignored.

Some beginners eventually give up, the objects of their old affection now hanging in a pawn shop, or gathering dust in the corner of a closet. The others finally make a break through, the awkwardness of the early days all but forgotten.

Of those who make it, there is at least one thing that distinguishes guitar players who are mediocre-to-good from those who go on to become truly great. All of the great ones learn to develop not only the left hand, but also the right. Some of them repeat this mantra: The left hand plays the notes, but the right hand plays the music.

To say that is to repeat something every true musician knows: the vital element in music is rhythm. Nothing else is so important, so very basic. Many sounds have a definite pitch. But not all of those sounds, even in a sequence, add up to music.

The left hand plays the notes, but the right hand plays the music.

I've thought about that as an analogy to Christian ministry. Aspiring church leaders almost always give attention to what you might call the left hand. I know I did.

When I was very young I memorized many verses of Scripture in that beautiful language of the King James Bible. Most of what I memorized were the passages used to prove the points that the tradition I grew up in thought were essential. Those texts stood at the center of our religion. They were our "Bible within the Bible."

Sometime later, I attended a Christian college affiliated with my group and majored in (what else?) Bible. There I studied the Scriptures in English, learned a little bit of Koine Greek, the language of the New Testament, and read some church history. I was told about the tenets of Higher Criticism. In the larger religious world where such theories held an honored position, I needed to know what they were and why they were mostly wrong. It was left-handed stuff, exactly the sort of thing that beginners dream about.

During that time, there was one command I was sure to keep: don't let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. My right hand--my self, the inner man--just wasn't getting much practice.

Of course, I was nice to other people. I made friends. I was even voted a class favorite. But I wasn't doing much to develop the person out of whom I might carry on an authentic ministry of the Word. In time, my neglect of the right hand resulted in me hitting some truly sour notes.

Like a lot of guitar players, some ministers never get over this tendency to emphasize only the left hand. To them Christianity is all about facts and figures, plans and patterns, Greek and Hebrew, books and (dare I say it?) blogs. If they're not careful, because of the lure of the world, the ABCs of their ministry become Attendance, Buildings, and Cash. Their teaching can become no more than the right responses to a carefully-selected set of questions.

To be specific, left-handed-only ministry shows up in a number of ways. Here are a few:

• Bible reading only for the sake of preparing lessons, never for simply feeding on the Word and hearing the voice of God.
• Prayer occasioned by the latest emergency or public event, but not by the need to commune with the Almighty.
• Non-Christian acquaintances thought of as "contacts," not as fellow beggars hungry for the Bread of Life.
• Sunday-morning centrality, with times like Tuesday night and Thursday afternoon being completely up for grabs.
• A glaring lack of self-discipline.

How different that is from the ministerial pattern left for us by Jesus. Mind you, he didn't neglect the left hand. Jesus knew the Scriptures and the traditions of Israel. He understood the times in which he lived and the enduring questions of life. But above all, Jesus developed and lived out a passion for doing the will of his Father, being the man God had called him to be.

I have to confess, I've spent a good bit of my life as a Christian minister focused on left-handed stuff. I know I'm not alone. Even as I write and publish this, it feels like I'm exposing my own shallowness. At the same time, it's something I want and need to say.

Here and there, I've spent some time trying to develop the right hand. I hope it results in a better sound.

The left hand plays the notes, but the right hand plays the music.

Evangelicals and the Use of Torture

Okay, so you've probably heard by now: The Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life has released the findings of a survey that began with this statement:

The use of torture against suspected terrorists . . .

Turns out, white evangelical Protestants are most likely to say that torture can often (18%) or sometimes (44%) be justified. They're also the least likely to say that torture can never (16%) be justified.

On the other hand, the religiously unaffiliated are some of the most likely to say that torture can never (26%) be justified. The only group with a higher percentage of this response are white mainline Protestants (31%)--that is, most Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists, Lutherans, etc.

For what it's worth, the Pew Forum people say that because the responses from other religious groupings were too few for statistical significance, the responses of only white religious groupings were reported.

At any rate, ever since the report was published news outlets have cited the statistics and offered analysis. A CNN story, for example, begins by saying that the more often Americans go to church, the more likely they are to support the torture of suspected terrorists. The story goes on to specifically point out that white evangelical Protestants are the group most likely to say that torture is often or sometimes justifiable (62%).

The sorts of blog posts and comments that I've seen so far are more less united; people both inside and outside of the evangelical camp are denouncing the group for their hypocrisy, an apparent allegiance to Republicanism rather than to the ethics of the Kingdom of Christ.

My questions: Is this a fair criticism? Can anything reconcile the avowed Christian faith of evangelicals with their greater support for torture under some circumstances?

What do you think?

The Wine of the Passover and Lord's Supper

Most Christians realize that when Jesus began what came to be known as the Lord's Supper, the context was the Passover Feast. By that point in Jewish history, the cup of the Passover was likely four cups of wine (the number found in the Mishnah) interspersed throughout the meal. This helps to explain why it is that in Luke's account there are actually two cups, one on either side of the bread.

In the Mishnah, the four cups are specifically called "wine." And what was the character of this drink? It was wine mixed with water: When they have mixed the first cup of wine-- . . . . They mixed for him a second cup of wine. . . . They mixed the third cup for him (m. Pesachim 10:2-7).

The earliest specific references to these mixtures has a ratio of two parts water and one part wine (m. Niddah 2:7). Later, in the Talmud, the ratio is three to one (b. Erubim 54a and b. Nedarim 55a). The mixing of wine with water was evidently an early practice in Judaism as well as among the Greeks. For example, Song of Songs 7:2 speaks of "mingled" or "blended" wine, which is clearly thought of as being good. See for yourself.

When it came to "wine" or "the fruit of the vine," early Christian practice mirrored that of Judaism. For example, in that famous passage in Justin Martyr's First Apology which describes Christian worship, the elements of the Lord's Supper are bread and "wine mixed with water" (Apology I, 65). Similar passages are found in the writings of Hippolytus, Irenaeus, and Cyprian.

Someone might ask, But if the ancients used the term "wine" to refer to the wine-and-water mixture, then why does Justin mention both wine and water? Probably because he wanted to protect the church from the pagan accusation that Christians were drinking their wine straight, unmixed.

By way of summary, the wine of the ancient world and what we call "wine" are not the same things. Do both contain alcohol? Yes. But who today mixes wine with a larger amount of water? Or any water at all?

Were there people in the ancient world who got drunk on wine that was unmixed or only slightly diluted? Of course there were. But again, even the average pagan considered such practice to be pretty low. The only wine fit to drink had been mixed with a large amount of water, which was the universal practice.

What Does "Culture" Mean?

Several weeks ago, I mentioned an assignment: Next month, I'm supposed to speak to a group of older, life-long Christians on the subject of "Christianity and Culture."

I know, this deserves a series of lessons. But I haven't been asked to do that. Just one talk for about 40 minutes.

By the way, last month's presentation on "The Sovereignty of God" came out better than I thought it would. Just one more sign of grace. But back to "Christianity and Culture."

I'm starting with the notion that I know what "Christianity" means. But what about culture? I have to confess I felt a little embarrassed when I first started thinking about that question because, for all the times I've confidently referred to culture (and they are many), I don't think I've ever reflected much on what it means exactly. I had ideas. But they were vague. (Turns out, there's a good reason they were vague. Stay with me here).

So I decided to look up culture in a good dictionary, comparing the definitions, reading about the word's etymology, listing synonyms, etc. Here's a bit of what I found.

I went to the massive, multi-volume Oxford English Dictionary and discovered that, apparently, culture comes from the Latin cultus, a word that was used to speak of what we today call agriculture, the work of farming. And, if there's one picture that's most often associated with culture, it's the picture of a plow tilling the soil (as a means of cultivating a field for the sake of producing a crop).

From there, it must have been a series of steps that led to what people usually mean today when they speak of culture: it is what cultivates a society, making that group of people who they are, ordered and productive (like rows of plants in a field, producing a crop). The Oxford Thesaurus says that synonyms for culture include customs, lifestyle, and way of life.

So you see why my initial thoughts were so vague. According to one definition that showed up in the British Journal of Sociology (vol. 14, 1963) nowadays culture means

the whole complex of learned behavior, the traditions and techniques and the material possessions, the language and other symbols of some body of people. Got it?

Here's a similar definition--which is sort of tongue-in-cheek--from a really fine book on the topic called All God's Children and Blue Suede Shoes: Christians and Popular Culture, by Kenneth A Myers. He says that culture is

a dynamic pattern, an ever-changing matrix of objects, artifacts, sounds, institutions, philosophies, fashions, enthusiasms, myths, prejudices, relationships, attitudes, tastes, rituals, habits, colors, and loves, all embodied in individual people, in groups and collectives and associations of people (many of whom don't know they are associated), in books, in buildings, in the use of time and space, in wars, in jokes, and in food.

So I have a bit of a problem. In my presentation I want to give some kind of definition, a meaningful description of culture. But it's a word that, as currently used, means something like environment or atmosphere.

Before delving into the question of how Christians should think about, respond to, and even shape culture, how 'bout a short, simple definition? Or some kind of analogy? Any thoughts? I'd appreciate hearing what you think.

Christianity in China

A massive wave of Christianity has been sweeping across China in recent years, and the Chinese ruling party, officially atheist, is now struggling to figure out how to control it.

So begins the introduction for a video produced by Frontline/World and The Chicago Tribune, Jesus in China: Is Christianity Transforming China?

What Does "the Resurrection of Jesus" Mean?

It's a strange irony. One of the great doctrinal misunderstandings--one that goes unrecognized and, therefore, uncorrected in some Christian circles--is connected to something that the church has always claimed is at the very center of its faith: the resurrection of Jesus.

Reading the religion section of a newspaper last week, I was reminded that even Christian preachers are unaware of a distinction that is essential to a genuine understanding of what believers call "the greatest miracle ever."

I'm talking about the difference between mere resuscitation (something that occasionally happens in the biblical story) and resurrection, which, so far, has happened only once, namely in the case of Jesus of Nazareth. Take two examples of what I'm calling "mere resuscitation."

First, in Luke 7, Jesus raises the dead son of a widow. Second, in John 11, Jesus calls Lazarus out of his tomb four days after he died. These events are almost entirely different from from what happened to Jesus on the third day following his crucifixion. What they all have in common is that they all start with a dead person. But most everything else is different.

That's because people like the widow's son and Lazarus were brought back to the life that they had before. Eventually, they did their dying all over again. But in the unique case of Jesus' resurrection, coming to life meant quite another thing.

Christianity says that on that first "Easter Sunday" Jesus was not resuscitated. He was not restored to ordinary human existence. He did not come back to the life that you and I now know. What did happen was this: God the Father by the power of the Holy Spirit transformed Jesus' body into a never-decaying (incorruptible) never-dying (imperishable) body, the sort of body that makes eternal life with God a possibility for someone who was once like we are now.

Think of it this way. In John 11, Jesus finally comes to Bethany where Lazarus has recently died. Before he performs the miracle, Jesus has an interesting discussion with Martha, one of Lazarus' sisters: "Jesus said to her, 'Your brother will rise again.' Martha answered, 'I know he will rise again, in the resurrection at the last day' " (verses 24-25).

In her response, Martha refers to an expectation about the end of the world, one that was commonly accepted by many Jews of the day. (According to Mark 12:18, a group called the Sadducees did not accept this teaching). As Martha understood it, when God brought down the curtain of history, all the dead would be raised. Jesus expresses the same conviction in John 5. He said that a time is coming "when all who are in their graves . . . will come out--those who have done good will rise to live, and those who have done evil will rise to be condemned" (verses 28-29).

What Christianity asserts is that in the unique case of Christ, that future resurrection of which Jesus and Martha spoke has already happened. "The resurrection of Jesus," therefore, does not refer to his resuscitation. Again, Jesus did not merely "come back to life." Instead, he was resurrected. It's a vast difference. Christianity also asserts that what has already happened to Jesus at his resurrection back then will also happen to all of God's faithful people in the future:

"I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed--in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 'Death has been swallowed up in victory." --1 Corinthians 15:50-54

Paul clearly believed that what he was describing had already happened with Jesus. And, what he was describing was still future for everyone who belonged to Jesus. This probably created some confusion. Why? Because it seems that the Jewish expectation was that the resurrection of the dead would happen to all people all at once. Going back to the words of Martha, her hope was that Lazarus would rise again "in the resurrection at the last day" (John 11:25).

The fact that, in the case of Jesus, the resurrection of the dead has already occurred, but that it is yet to happen for everyone else, is precisely why Paul goes out of his way to explain this in 1 Corinthians 15:22-23. In Christ, he says, "all will be made alive. But each in his own turn: Christ, the firstfruits; then, when he comes, those who belong to him" (emphasis added).

What is to happen at the last day has already begun. Jesus, the great pioneer of the Christian faith, has already been raised to new and unending life. Just as the firstfruits, that first installment of a harvest, guarantees a complete harvest in the future, so the resurrection of Jesus guarantees that we too will be raised at some point in the future. When that happens, everyone will realize that the only thing that matters now is our attitude and response to the work of God through his Son, Jesus Christ.

Christianity and Christmas

A few days ago, I got a newsletter from a writer who wants to defend and advance New Testament Christianity. Guess what one of the articles is about. Big hint: It's the December issue.

That's right, time to break out all of those arguments against anyone thinking himself to be a faithful Christian while remembering the birth of Jesus between September and the first of Spring.

The article begins with the writer's appreciation for Irving Berlin's "White Christmas." And, he says, there's so much more that's good about this season.

Snow on December 25th? That's good. Presents? Good. Families together? Good. Eating? Good. Christmas trees? They're good too.

But Christians "conducting special Christmas services"? Now that's bad! In fact, it's right to question any group who would highlight the birth of Jesus at this time of year simply (and I quote), "because we want to do so."

I can only hope that this brother means well. But if he does, then I really wish he'd take another look at Paul's Letter to the Romans. There the Scripture says that if someone wants to consider one day more special than another, then that's between him and God. And if someone decides to tell this special-day Christian that he's wrong or bad, then God wants to ask that someone, "Why do you judge your brother? Why do you look down on him? Won't each one give an account of himself?" (see Romans 14:1-12).

But, of course, Romans 14 isn't the passage quoted in the article. Instead, the writer goes to Galatians 4:10-11, which says, "You observe days and months and seasons and years. I am afraid for you, lest by any means I have labored for you in vain."

Now, I'm guessing that our writer would be among the first to say that the words of Scripture can only be understood in context, and that the immediate literary context, the surrounding paragraph, is the really critical part.

So then, what is the immediate context of the statement in Galatians 4? It appears that Christians who had gotten off to good start with God were now turning back to serve "weak and miserable principles." Their observance of special times was not something done towards God (the Romans scenario). Rather, their observance was meant as obedience to former masters who never even held the true status of "gods" (Galatians 4:8-11). It's a vast difference.

In the New Testament, the question is not, "May we observe special days?" Rather, the question is, "Why do you want to observe special days, and who is the object of your devotion?" If the practice is some kind of supplement to faith in Christ or different from devotion to God, then forget it. Don't do it. But if you want to do it because you love God, trust in his Son, and for some reason that time means something special to you, then by all means, do it to the honor of your Lord.

Now, which one of those two alternatives describes a congregation that wants to remember and honor the birth of Christ at this time of year?