Feeling rather left out, I began to worry. Perhaps I was still within my Evangelical cocoon. Or worse, maybe I was still crawling around on branches eating leaves. While my friends flew with new wings, was I still waiting to take off? Yet I felt as if I had emerged already, but by a different process; perhaps I had become a moth?

My question is, if I were to claim metamorphosis into a post/progressive-Evangelical/Conservative/Liberal existence, how did it come about?

Or, to change metaphors, most of my friends who claim a (re)birth trace their lineage through a secret promiscuity with Protestant Liberalism. But I was always much too self-righteous for that. So, is there another family line that can be traced beyond Evangelicalism not issuing from a liaison with Protestant Liberalism?

To make sense of this other possibility of a passage beyond, we have to look closely at the issue concerning how the Church publicly expresses its private beliefs; or, how we go “public with our privates.”

Going Public…

Now, the common complaint leveled against Evangelicalism is that it perpetuates a privatized faith without public effect. But of course this is not entirely true because the highest form of devotion for Evangelicals is to share their faith publicly at school, at work, in the heath club and every other arena of life. Discipleship is completed only when a believer confidently and regularly shares her faith in public. In a sense, Evangelicals are always willing to share their privates in public.

It could be argued that, in regard to matters of faith, Evangelicals are the true disciples of the sexual revolution. Thinking themselves much less repressed or socially inhibited, Evangelicals are willing to drop their religious pants at any time, while Protestant Liberals have much more modesty concerning their private beliefs. PLs are very reluctant to whip out their privates, but rather are reserved and careful, always referring to their beliefs in socially acceptable terms. Evangelicals, liberated from the embarrassment of their privates, are willing to freely expose themselves at any time: on the beach, at work or during dinner. It is the poor PLs who are repressed, denying the goodness of their private life, blushing whenever someone asks about the “hope they have within”.

Of course this evangelistic manner of “going public with the private” is not what critics of Evangelicalism are upset about. Rather they complain that Evangelicals all too typically fail to affirm the goodness of the world/society, and therefore fail to do any good in regards to economic, racial, gender, and environmental problems. Evangelicals go public with their privates on an individual to individual basis. But my maturing faith (fostered by reading OT prophets which are rarely, if ever, preached in Evangelical churches) left me disenchanted and demanding a social/communal aspect to Christian confession.

Coming Soon:
(part 2 of 3) Going Public with My Privates: Evangelical Liberalism/Fundamentalism
(part 3 of 3) Going Public with My Privates: Beyond the Private

Are Christians called to defend their faith? And if so, how?

Well, the answer seems simpler than we tend to make it, but it’s worth a counter example. Remember the issue with the cartoons of Mohammed a few years ago? There is a consistent ethic in the Muslim community worldwide that seeks to defend Islam and Mohammed’s reputation specifically, as a part of outworking their faith. At face value this is reasonable, although as the riots that occurred after the aforementioned offense showed, can result in unreasonable behaviour.

It’s therefore easy to see why Christians co-opt this behaviour. After all, if you care about Christ and the church, it’s difficult and painful to see people shame them. The more devout one is the more painful it becomes, and if you see your calling as one of defending the faith, then bearing arms (be they verbal or physical) makes some degree of sense.

But we’re not called to defend the faith. Christ does not defend himself against his oppressors. If people defame God, condemn him or blaspheme her, what is it to us? God is capable of dealing with them himself, and ultimately the offense is not to us, but to God.

In a similar sense, the scriptures are “sharper than a two-edged sword”. I may hold the text with some degree of respect but that doesn’t mean I need to defend it against those who do not.

Defending the faith assumes an impotent God, one who either is incapable or unwilling to defend itself, and assumes the ability and authority to defend it someone rests in our hands. While I hate arguments that revert to comparisons to Nazism or the crusades (see Godwin’s Law) that is precisely what the Crusades were; a misguided attempt at defending the faith and the historic locations of the faith against those who would corrupt it. God did not require defending then, and does not now.

And even if, hypothetically, there were some rationale for defending God, what sense does it make to do so in a way that defames him? When hate mail and violence are the tactics resorted to, what God exactly are you defending?

Let us therefore put down our arms; in our words and attitudes particularly. Leave the faith undefended. Trust in the sovereignty of God…or don’t. But don’t engage in the hypocrisy that claims trust and draws the sword.

(image courtesy of Kingdom Come Desktops)

Author Bio:: Jordan Peacock lives and works in Minnesota with his beautiful wife and daughter. When not playing with technology or music, he’s writing comic books and wrapping up a university education.

“Oh, this isn’t a one-day kind of decision, friend,” Rusty said to Rod with a laugh. We all nodded.

Soon enough, though, Rusty slipped in a 20-second pitch for what brought him around to pacifism (a Christological reading of the Bible, wherein everything goes through the lens of Jesus – “If the Bible seems to disagree, let Jesus be the referee”). Jacob and I braced for the same old tit-for-tat eye-roll-a-thon of the same old arguments from each side. Old Testament this, and Romans 12 that – we’ve all probably been there, on one side or the other. Thankfully, though, this exhausting specter was hastily deferred to another time.

“Besides,” I said, “We’ve each arrived at Christian nonviolence, Christian pacifism, enemy-love, the Way of Jesus, or whatever you want to call it, through different paths.” For Jacob, it was reading John Howard Yoder’s What Would You Do?, while for me it was studying Jesus’ enemy-love teachings through the lenses of first-century history and a robustly Jewish theology of the ‘image of God’.

But it’s got me thinking a lot about how pacifists became pacifists, and why they remain pacifists. As with our first turning to Jesus at conversion, sometimes what turned us to Him isn’t what keeps us turned toward Him.

Our arguments usually run along the lines of one of the following:

• Utilitarian – “War makes corpses of us all”, “What has war ever solved?”, etc.
• Jesus said so – “Jesus taught enemy-love.”
• Jesus lived it – “God died for his enemies, so should we”
• Heart appeals – telling stories of the futility, brutality, and horror of war.
• Nonconformity – “We follow the Way of Jesus, not the Way of the World.”
• Christarchy – “Jesus is Lord, and therefore Caesar isn’t” (actually a line from non-pacifist Bishop N.T. Wright)

That’s certainly not a complete list of any kind, but I’ll bet it’s a net big enough to capture most of us somewhere in it. For a similar (and larger) list, see Yoder’s Nevertheless: The Varieties and Shortcomings of Religious Pacifism.

But there are a few angles of pacifism that I think we could better and more loudly argue. Two defenses of pacifism that I’d like to unpack in future Doxis posts here are “Inaugurated Eschatology” (the church as the microcosm of the Age to Come, as those called to live in the present world according to the rules of the one to come) and “Most War Still Sin, Says Romans 13” (the just-warrior’s favorite passage here winds up shooting itself in the foot). I will bring them up here in more detail in the weeks to come because I think that a robust inaugurated eschatology is becoming a tent-pole of emergent theology, and because the possibility of radically reclaiming Romans 13 as a stalwartly antiwar text can prove a particularly fruitful rhetorical coup in an election year.

In the coming weeks Rod will hear testimonies to how Rusty, Jacob, and I all became Christian pacifists. Rusty’ll talk about Christological lenses, Jacob will talk about utilitarian practicality, and I will talk about enemy love and inaugurated eschatology.

• If you are a pacifist, what would you talk to Rod about? What brought you to pacifism? And what arguments or experiences have become sunk in toward keeping you in pacifism?
• And if you’re not a pacifist, but have struggled with the issue, what would you tell Rod?

(Disclaimer: I realize many – perhaps most – of the Jesus Manifesto’s readers and writers are not strict pacifists/nonviolent/what-have-you. That so many of us here believe in a revolutionary gospel that resists Constantinianism needn’t guarantee that we also self-label as pacifists/etc.. Indeed I am entirely stoked to know and engage both sorts here.)

Probably not. AJ generally isn’t included in most of our cable packages, and definitely doesn’t pass the bunny-ear test.

The videos of the special, titled “Inside USA: Christianity, Politics and Power,” are available in two parts on YouTube and certainly worth the 25 some-odd minutes it takes to view them.

I was struck at how different AJ’s questions were from U.S. news organizations. It seems as if the U.S. media can’t get beyond, “Yeah, but which candidate are you going to endorse?” (see Shane Claiborne’s Monday post on the God’s Politics blog). Al Jazeera, however, went a bit deeper in its questioning.

Right off the bat, while describing the rise and fall of the Moral Majority over the last 30 or so years, the story put front and center the glaring hypocrisy of Christian compliance and participation with a U.S. political system where money and lobbying rule the day. It is suggested that the church’s identity as following Jesus and politics’ propensity for greed and underhanded tactics are inherently incompatible. We’ve certainly seen that this is the case on the Christian Right over the last quarter-decade.

The thrust of the story, however, is what we’re all hearing quite a bit about in these days leading up to the November election: the changing political face of Evangelicalism. No longer are “Christian” and “Republican” synonymous, they say and write. Rising up is a movement of Christians asking different questions and seeking different politics to answer them.

But Al Jazeera’s report seems to cut through some of the apparent hypocrisy on the Evangelical Left as well, an insight rarely seen outside a few underground blogs, podcasts, and, of course, zines like Jesus Manifesto.

Host Avi Lewis interviews Tony Campolo in the second part of the piece. Strolling through the green lawns of Campolo’s Eastern University in Philly, Lewis almost immediately addresses the conflict of interest in Campolo’s political action and endorsement.

Lewis: You’ve written strongly about ending partisan politics in the church, calling on church leaders to end partisan affiliations. But then you endorsed Hillary Clinton before she dropped out.

Campolo: Yeah, and I think that as individuals, outside of the church, we’re able to do that. There’s a big difference as an individual speaking as a representative of a religious body, and calling upon the members of that body to support a particular candidate or party. And an individual standing up and saying, “This is who I am—“

Lewis: But you’re a leader. You have followers, you—

Campolo: I realize that that has implications —

Lewis: And you’re clearly a Democrat.

Campolo: Obviously. Everybody knows that.

Lewis: And you’re hoping that more Evangelicals will vote Democrat this time.

Campolo: I certainly do.

And with that, the damage is done. Viewers are seeing what Lewis and Al Jazeera had already recognized: That much of the “Religious Left,” of which Campolo, sojourners founder Jim Wallis, and author Brian McLaren are the elder statesmen, is succumbing to the very same pitfalls and trappings as the Religious Right. Campolo dichotomizes the “individual Christian” from the “public Christian,” suggesting that if he simply states that he’s endorsing a candidate as an “individual outside the church” and not as a respected leader, ordinary followers will be able to tell the difference.

Indeed, the public face of our faith is the only witness we have to a broken world crying out for release from its dead-end power plays. Campolo does nobody any good by playing by the same old dead-end rules. Lewis calls him on this a few minutes later in the interview:

Lewis: I’m just having trouble understanding how Evangelical moves in the political arena, which you strongly support and hope go in a slightly different way politically than they have, are different from having Christian values turned into government policy, which is an exclusive version of religion in public life — not a catholic one with a small “c.”

Campolo: Let me say this: There is a lot of common ground. Whether you’re Jewish, whether you’re Muslim, whether you’re Christian, you would agree on this: That helping the poor is a divine order. That we are compelled by Scripture, whether you are going to the Hebrew Bible, the Christian Bible, or the Koran, you’re compelled to respond to the needs of the poor. Let’s start there. And furthermore, when I deal with my agnostic friends, even my atheistic friends, they say caring for the poor is essential. Fine, can we start there? Can we start with caring for the environment, which all religious traditions ask us to do? Are there a number of things we can hold in common? …Sometimes, I think it’s about time Christians start getting back to what the Bible says instead of listening to the pulpit. And that’s why certain Evangelicals like myself and Jim Wallis say, “Let’s go to the Bible.” So in short, we sound like Billy Graham, saying, “It’s about time we look at what the Scripture says instead of what the spokesperson for the Religious Right are telling us.”

Right before this portion of the interview, Campolo had referenced Jim Wallis’ oft-quoted metaphor about how politicians change their views based on the direction of the wind, but the mandate for politically active Christians is to change the wind.

Do Campolo’s words sound like a wind change?

No, his words – along with much of the conversation surrounding progressive Christianity – reflect slightly different wind direction (as the interviewer points out), but the same wind nevertheless. Like Lewis, I too had a hard time understanding how what Campolo is advocating is any different than the strategies of the Religious Right: Seeking to build up a movement to bring about godly principles through legislative means. What Campolo also fails to recognize here is that the Religious Right uses Scripture every bit as much as progressive Christians to justify its political action.

What is needed, and what a few crazies on the margins are calling for, is a “third way” – a solution to our global crises and biblical mandate that subverts rather than joins the “powers and principalities of this dark world.” What is needed is a “back to the Bible” campaign showing that Jesus’ movement of love spread not through political coercion or leveraging power, but by sacrifice, martyrdom, and simple acts of charity.

I wish Shane and Psalters were given a little more face time in the Al Jazeera report, because they are leading this campaign. But alas, I suppose most viewers really only want to hear about who’s endorsing who in “politics as usual.”

I guess this love movement is going to have to stay underground for a bit longer.

Author Bio:: Steve Holt is a disciple, writer, husband, and proud father to an apricot mini poodle, and he lives and conspires in East Boston, MA. You can find his musings about faith, culture, and mission at harvestboston.wordpress.com.

So, say it along with me, kids: INCONCEIVABLE!

To which, we appropriate reply: You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

And hence, ladies and gents, the point of my current ramble.

Here at Jesus Manifesto, we often spend a bulk of our comments defining terms, and this is definitely a strength of the website. Together, we flesh out what we mean when we use certain words, what they have come to mean culturally, or words we might substitute to enhance our intended meaning. As a community of contributors and responders, we work to get to the marrow of the message we are communicating. For instance, terms that commonly crop up for examination around here are “church”, “Christian” and “anarchist”. Other words we’ve grappled with include “evangelical”, “inerrancy” and “radical”. Obviously, the list could go on.

One important distinction of words for me has been the comparison of “peacekeeper” and “peacemaker”. The clarification actually began as I was studying Beth Moore’s Living Beyond Yourself: Exploring the Fruit of the Spirit, along with my local community of believers. Since joining the conversation at Jesus Manifesto, the difference between the two terms has only become clearer. The idea of “peacekeeping” often finds us clinging to a false sense of peace, where if our circumstances appear calm, safe and secure, peace must be present. On the other hand, “peacemaking” is an active and selfless pursuit of peace in the midst of crisis and chaos, trusting Christ while embodying the opposite of the sins of division: hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy.

Understanding the distinction in those terms mirrors my understanding of the difference between a “housekeeper” and a “homemaker”. A “housekeeper” works to maintain a (possibly false) sense of order and decorum in a home. A “homemaker”, on the other hand, is a person who actively works to create a home environment… the love, the relationships, the hospitality, the organization, the warmth. It’s the difference between seeing keeping the home as just another chore on your life’s to-do list, or viewing it as a valuable responsibility of someone who chooses to take on marriage and family. In my case, as a single woman, there is still a desire to be a homemaker, even in my sphere of influence, offering hospitality and grace to those who pass through my threshold.

Does that make me sound traditional?

Those who know me would probably say that, indeed, I am - which is precisely what brought this line of thinking to the forefront of my mind.

When I published the article Daughters and Sons, as well as the satire Challenging Fathers, I highlighted them on my personal blog and stated emphatically “I am an egalitarian”. While online this may have induced several “attagirls,” in real life it generated meaningful discussions about what I mean by the term and how it has been interpreted by others.

The American Heritage Dictionary defines “egalitarian” as affirming, promoting, or characterized by belief in equal political, economic, social, and civil rights for all people. I was reminded, however, that many use the term to imply people are just alike, with no differentiating characteristics, personalities or preferences. Put another way, some people take the term to mean that there is absolutely no difference between males and females (apart from the overt biological distinctions). In definition the word has one implication, in practice it can yield quite another.

While a definition for “complementarian” was not present, we can work off the definition of “complementary”, which is supplying mutual needs or offsetting mutual lacks. Again, a term that can mean one thing in definition but may manifest itself in ways that are not intended, if assumptions are made based on gender, race, socioeconomic status, or other generalized categorizations.

I have seen and experienced misguided understandings of the idea of “complementarianism”, but a good friend reminded me that there are equally misguided notions of “egalitarianism” floating about in our society. Luckily, we have theologians who have wrestled with our complementary roles outside the sphere of male/female interactions. Luckier still, Christ doesn’t use either of these terms, and we are not bound to one or the other.

In Body Politics: Five Practices of the Christian Community Before a Watching World, John Howard Yoder discusses “the fullness of Christ” in hopes of throwing “light on a set of problems about roles, relationships, professions, and skills, concerning which we are often at odds.” In the discussion, Yoder refers to the priesthood of the believer as a “complementarity of gifts”:

The hand of the body or the eye is in no sense “individual.” It is unique and irreplaceable, yet it can possess and exercise its own dignity, its own life and role, only in its bondedness with the other members. It can be crippled for no fault of its own when some other part of the body suffers.

He goes on to concludes with,

There are as many ministerial roles as there are members of the body of Christ, and that means that more than half of them belong to women… The transformation that Paul’s vision calls for would not be to let a few more especially gifted women share with a few men the rare roles of domination; it would be to reorient the notion of ministry so that there would be no one ungifted, no one not called, no one not empowered, and no one dominated. Only that would live up to Paul’s call to “lead a life worthy of our calling.”

If we’re using Yoder’s definition, perhaps I am a complementarian after all…

Editorial disclaimer: It is hard to write satire about Barack Obama. Why? Because even if you use ridiculously positive language about Obama, his supporters won’t think it is satire. For example, if someone says: “Obama incarnates the perfect love of Christ,” I will chuckle at the absurdity of such a statement. But one of my friends might go wide-eyed and nod their head in solemn agreement. Conversely, the New Yorker demonstrates the challenge of using negative imagery for Barack. Nevertheless, I offer this feeble attempt at satirizing the Barack Obamenon.

A vote for Barack Obama is a vote for Jesus…not that I agree with everything he stands for. I mean, I am an independent sort of thinker. I am firmly convinced that God is neither a republican or a democrat. But Barack Obama transcends such distinctions. He flies high over such petty concerns on shimmering gossamer wings. Golden light emanates from his perfect form. His smiling eyes looking down upon me with a look that pierces my soul! I get lost in his smile, and long for one of his chiseled arms to hold me close while the other smites a damning blow to poverty and oppression.

Don’t get me wrong. As a Christian, my ultimate hope is in Jesus alone. I don’t trust in politicians or the State to accomplish what the church is called to do–that is to bring transformation and true freedom.

But Barack is a Christian. And I believe that Jesus is pouring his Spirit upon Barack Obama for a time such as this. Barack brings hope in the midst of darkness. He himself is our peace, who has made Republicans and Democrats one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility. He is like a father to the fatherless and a defender of widows!

Don’t get me wrong. There are things I don’t like about Barack. For example…he isn’t bold enough in speaking what is on his mind–his illuminated, brilliant mind. It is almost bordering on sinfulness for him not to share his thoughts, for his voice is a gift from heaven. His booming baritone bellows soft mysteries that only angels can truly comprehend. When he speaks, possibilities open. New futures are made possible. Women weep for joy and children laugh with gladness. Wicked men mourn their transgressions and hardened men melt like ice on a hot spring day. Every one of his delicately formed words is its own tender miracle. Why should he hold back a treasure that was meant as a gift to the whole world?

As you can see, I have thought this through. I have weighed the pros and cons and made the choice to vote for Obama–warts and all (of course, I’m being metaphorical, since I am certain no blemish or corruption has ever touched his gorgeous frame).

I encourage you to vote for Obama too. I’m not saying that voting for McCain would be a sin. Nor am I saying that it would be a horrible, disgusting sin for you to not vote at all. But I am saying that to vote for Obama is to vote for Jesus. And to NOT vote for Obama would mean that you don’t love Jesus, the poor, or your own mother. To NOT vote for Jesus would be to render Jesus’ life and message meaningless. That’s all I’m saying.

Jesus, clever God-man that he is, asks to see a coin. He asks “who is on this coin?”

“Caesar,” they reply.

“Well then,” says Jesus. “It must belong to him. So give to Caesar what is his (like taxes, voting, citizenship) but to God what is God’s (like worship, your heart, and 10% of your income).

That is they way that many–if not most–of us have heard this story unpacked. But let’s take a second look, shall we?

Later they sent some of the Pharisees and Herodians to Jesus to catch him in his words. They came to him and said, “Teacher, we know that you are a man of integrity. You aren’t swayed by others, because you pay no attention to who they are; but you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth. Is it right to pay the imperial tax to Caesar or not? Should we pay or shouldn’t we?”

But Jesus knew their hypocrisy. “Why are you trying to trap me?” he asked. “Bring me a denarius and let me look at it.” They brought the coin, and he asked them, “Whose image is this? And whose inscription?”

“Caesar’s,” they replied.

Then Jesus said to them, “Give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.”

And they were amazed at him. (Mark 12:13-17)

Some Quick and Dirty Interpretation

Many interpreters of this passage assume that it is referring to two separate spheres of obligation. In our relationship with the State, we are to pay taxes (and by extension, to be good citizens); in our relationship to God, we are to offer our spiritual fidelity. This interpretation, it seems to me, is foreign to the text. You see, we come from a time and culture that has a separation of Church and State—a separation of religion from the political order. This sort of separation is a relatively recent innovation.

Richard Horsley asks: “…if Jesus’ questioners and listeners all assumed such a separation of Caesar and God into utterly separate spheres, then how could the question have possibly been part of a strategy to entrap Jesus?”

We must try to hear Jesus’ response through first century Jewish ears, if possible (which is ultimately impossible, but still worthy of an attempt). Remember, we are talking about Jews under the rule of Rome. There was no distinction in the minds of the Jews between the socio-political sphere and the religious sphere—Israel was a theocracy who was occupied by a foreign, pagan, world power.

And so, the Pharisees and Herodians, knowing well that it was indeed UNLAWFUL under Mosaic Law to pay taxes to Rome (especially with idolatrous coins that contained an image of the Emperor). At the same time, however, a refusal to pay taxes would have been understood to be an act of rebellion against Rome. In other words, they had created the perfect trap for this “Jesus.” This man had already upset the established socio-economic-religious order (read Mark 11, where Jesus comes into Jerusalem as a King (political), cleanses the temple (religious and economic), and then implies that his authority comes from heaven (religious). In other words: Jesus is holistic in his subversion!

And so, as a sort of “payback” the Pharisees (who were supposed to be the great spiritual leaders of the people) and Herodians (who were likely a faction that supported the Roman-supported Herodian political dynasty) join forces (even though these two factions should have been political enemies) to trap Jesus. In his response, Jesus avoids the trap by saying “give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.”

While Jesus doesn’t exactly say “we shouldn’t pay taxes to Rome, since to do so would be idolatry,” but it is hard to imagine that the Pharisees and Herodians would have interpreted his words to mean that he supported the Roman government. Instead, it seems to me, given the context, he is saying: “let Caesar have his stupid money…but give to God his due.” Jesus is clearly and simply reasserting the Israelite principle that Caesar, or any other imperial ruler, has no claim on the Israelite people, since God is their actual king and master.

I’m not sure that this passage can at all be used to legimize taxes. As Ellul writes, “The mark on the coin is that of Caesar; it is the mark of his property. Therefore give Caesar this money; it is his. It is not a question of legitimizing taxes! It means that Caesar, having created money, is its master. That’s all. Let us not forget that money, for Jesus, is the domain of Mammon, a satanic domain.”

Making the point even stronger, Ched Myers writes: “There are simply no grounds for assuming (as so many bourgois exegetes do) that Jesus was exhorting his opponents to pay the tax. He is inviting them to act according to their allegiances, stated clearly as opposites. Again Jesus has turned the challenge back upon his antagonists: What position to they take on the issue?”

Myers, who rejects the “two realms” thinking that was born in the Reformation, sees the trap here not between payment or non-payment. Rather, this is a choice between endorsement of Rome or an endorsement of would-be revolutionaries. Jesus’ response as a rejection of both the Roman colonial presence and the revolt.

Render to Washington?

Since (if we agree with Horsley, Myers, and Ellul) that this passage isn’t an encouragement for 1st Century Jews to pay the Imperial Tax, then its usefulness in providing a strong argument for our duty as God’s people to pay taxes to USA is diminished. The question remains: Should we pay taxes or not?

Vernard Eller, who would probably agree with the article up until this point, sees nonpayment of taxes as tax revolt. Instead, letting Caesar keep his accursed money (ie, paying the tax), is the way of honoring the message of this passage, as well as passages like Romans 12.

Ammon Hennacy, however, never paid taxes. “If we pay taxes,” he suggests, “we pay for the bomb.”

Many take a “middle path” by simply refusing to pay the portion of their taxes that pay for the war. Many even include a note expressing their dissent along with their diminished tax check.

Personal Reflections

It is clear that when one reads this passage along with Jesus’ larger teachings about money (we’re to store up treasures in heaven, not earthly treasures), Jesus’ larger teachings about enemies (love your enemy, give to the one who asks, and turn the other cheek), and Paul’s teachings about empire (love your enemy, submit to the authorities), the call to “render to Caesar” cannot be used to reinforce our allegiance to the State. Our relationship to the State, it would seem, is to be one of loving nonviolence. We are to struggle with the Powers, but not flesh and blood.

So then, should we pay taxes?

I’m not sure I am in complete agreement with Eller that tax-avoidance is tax-revolt. I am still inclined to pay my taxes…but only barely. Here are two scenarios that I’m contemplating:

1) Way back in an earlier post, Jordan commented: “If all of us began to stop paying taxes to the military complex, how many CPT workers could we support?” I find the idea of nonpayment of taxes (at least the military portion) compelling…especially if it went to the Christian Peacemaker Teams.

2) What if we could live below a taxable wage? Dorothy Day was a proponent of this. She famously claimed: “If we rendered unto God all the things that belong to God, there would be nothing left for Caesar.” So if we live a life of voluntary poverty, giving all our extra to the poor, we would effectively be free from income tax.

What do you think? Is there any grounds for Christians to engage in tax resistance? Should we simply pay taxes and try to use the American political system to try to get the government to use our taxes righteously? Should we all live below the poverty level so that taxes aren’t an issue?

Intelligent Design differs from something like “Creation Science” in that whereas the latter is concerned to scientifically prove that the earth was created in six 24-hour days, Intelligent Design theory accepts most of the tenets of evolutionary theory but declares that the complexity of evolutionary process ineluctably points to an intelligent cause for the whole mess. On the surface, this is unremarkable, since nearly every human culture that ever existed has assumed as much; for most people, all this had to come from somewhere. The problem is that the ID camp wants to make this a scientific precept. Unfortunately, such a speculation is an inference, not an observation; it is simply not something that can be empirically verified, nor (more importantly) can it be falsified, and thus scientific method must rule it out if it’s going to live with itself in the morning.

It raises questions that are of a more philosophical bent: Is an uncreated universe somehow more absurd than an uncreated God? If the universe is so complex that it demands explanation in terms of cause, why don’t we need to explain the cause? On what basis do we assume that whatever made the universe is something that stands ontologically alone? This sets us up for an infinite regress: if we need God to explain the universe, do we need a meta-God, shall we say, to explain God? How about a meta-meta-God? How far does the rabbit hole go?

Science stops the buck at the empirical, because this as far as it can see. Atheists like Richard Dawkins assume that this is as far as it can see because this is all there is — but again, Dawkins’ scientific creds notwithstanding, that’s an inference. Theology can take this a step further and say there is a God, and theology can get away with this because God is the proper subject of theology’s musings. It doesn’t have to explain God because it gets to define God as uncreated, and most of the time this is what it does. This is just too fuzzy for science, and understandably so.

Inferring a designer from the complexity of the created order tells us little more than we knew before, and nothing particular helpful by way of explanation. It is the sort of question that science — if not necessarily all scientists — has the good sense to stay out of. I’m not suggesting that we adopt Stephen Jay Gould’s assessment of religion and science as “non-overlapping magisteria”, nor am I suggesting that we believe some things in a scientific way and other (perhaps contradictory) things in a religious way. What I’m suggesting is that we preserve the idea that the tools of science can only tell us so much.

Intelligent Design would seem to expand the purview of science to include vague speculations about God, and I find this scientifically unhelpful and theologically problematic. It is scientifically unhelpful because it tells us something that most people believe anyway, and something that doesn’t really contribute to our understanding of the world.

Theologically, while it may be possible to infer an intelligent cause for the observable universe, there’s no way to identify this cause, no way to sort out the difference between a God, many gods, or a race of hyperintelligent beings conducting an experiment in the galactic equivalent of their back yard. You’re still a long way from the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

The other problematic thing is that making God something we can arrive at scientifically seems a bit of a demotion. When a robust theology incorporates the truth claims of science, science is humbled, perhaps, but keeps its integrity as means of arriving at certain kinds of truth; when the tables are turned, science cannot but run reductionistic roughshod over theology’s verdant meadows. It’s true that atheists are more plentiful among the scientific community than the world at large, which would seem to make it something of an occupational hazard. But it seems to me this results from making scientific process your primary epistemological lens, an Enlightenment-era bias that Intelligent Design theory reinforces more than it challenges.

In the end, I think we ought to suspend judgment when it comes to evolutionary theory. It explains some things very well, and like any aspect of science, things are perennially in the tweaking stage. There are available to us robust theological readings of the creation narratives that do not demand that evolutionary theory be irrefutably true or irredeemably false. I think such theological positions are much more helpful than reactionary fundamentalists assertions of wooden literalism — the Answers in Genesis people scratched me off their Christmas card list a long time ago.

In Acts 7, when Stephen is brought up on charges before the Sanhedrin, he offers a capsule summary of Israel’s history. He begins, interestingly enough, with the call of Abraham. There are a good number of reasons for this, and I am aware of the dangers of reading too much into such a detail. Maybe he felt pressed for time, what with an impending stoning and all. But maybe the subtle message is: what we are called to is a lot more important than how we got here.

Author Bio:: Ted Troxell is a substitute teacher and musician living in Shepherd, MI

Image: Jesus! vs. Darwin! by The Searcher

Examples have been pondered by many. Things like, if Jesus taught us to give our entire life, why do we only give a fraction (ie: money or tithe)? And why is that fraction given to a church or non-prof for them to decide how injustice can be alleviated with those pennies? Why are North American Christians encouraged to give the fraction while maintaining a status quo life at home and throughout their community?

Many wealthy business people are on the influential boards of ministries and non-profs that benefit the poor. I always thought that was funny…that we look up to those who do well making money for our leadership. Maybe these boards should be made up of people who benefit or once benefited from that very non-prof. But that’s an entirely different subject.

The other day I thought: what would it be like if the influential business people who governed these non-profs left their board positions and channeled their benevolent, injustice-altering energies into other avenues? Like perhaps within their daily sphere of influence and expertise.

The fair mother city (that is, the town of my dwelling - Abilene, TX) has one of the lowest pay rates for the average worker (fifth lowest in the state of Texas out of 20+ cities. The first four lowest are border towns). My conspiracy theory about Abilene’s pathetic wages is that church-going Christians owned the majority of local businesses. And often, local Christians have a bad reputation of being tight-wads. Ask any local wait-person what the worst shift to work is: Sunday lunch. The church crowd is notoriously lousy tippers with high demands. Sad, but true.

So the other day, I thought: what if these local business owners who happened to be church goers started paying their workers better wages with actual benefits (like health coverage for crying out loud). I think that would be better use of their Christ-likeness as opposed to calling the shots at some agency to the poor, where they are comfortably insulated from the actual lives they try to serve.

You might respond: “Oh, but B…you don’t understand how small business works.” Yeah, I understand how it works, man. Pay yourself better than your employees. Live on the nice side of town, take time off for high-dollar vacations, buy your kids nice Christmas toys, and buy your family health insurance while your workers make $8 an hour with no benefits. Somehow, I don’t think that’s very Christ-like.

Take note, I am not accusing business owners in order to judge and point fingers. I am, in fact, asking myself these questions these days as I ponder my own future ventures that could employ others.

So, would I have the right to earn and live far better than those who work for and along side me? I don’t know.

Jesus taught that the Lord provides and in a roundabout way, we have no rights.

Maybe that’s why he got killed.

Author Bio:: Agent B, his wife and children live and operate as faith-based, self-supported undercover missionaries embedded within the poverty culture of Abilene, Texas.

Take Mark 2:1-12. We are presented with a beautiful story about the faithfulness (and faith!) of four friends who scandalously break the law in order to help their paralyzed companion. Much can be, and has been, said about the amazing example of these four men who refused to give up in seeking the Good. They ignored social convention, physical obstacles and the law for the sake of love. What would our churches, communities and homes look like if we followed their example? This is an easy take away from this story.

On the other side of the story, we have the scribes who sat “reasoning in their hearts” and questioning the words of Jesus. Given the usually negative actions and words of the scribes and Pharisees, it is likely that we assume these men are present for similarly nefarious purposes. But their questions aren’t unreasonable, especially for a first-century Jew. I think its possible, even likely, that they weren’t there hoping to set Jesus up like the Pharisees in 3:1-6. In verse 12, we are all told that “they were all amazed and were glorifying God,” including the scribes. Here we have an example of honest questioning but also being open to the work of God. They were not about to follow just any teacher. Both their caution and their openness in turns are exemplary.

When reading this passage in the past, I have all too often focused on one of these groups, seeing the examples both positive and negative. But this time, something else struck me, something started to question this story. ‘Why did the four men have to go to such extremes to get their paralyzed friend to Jesus?’ We have our answer in verse 4: the crowd. The crowd of people standing around outside straining to hear. The crowd inside sitting, waiting to hear a word from the Teacher, either in hopeful expectation or in order to find something against Him. Let us err on the side of goodness and assume all were there because of the amazing words coming from Christ’s mouth. His teaching astounded them, opened their eyes to the presence of the Kingdom and left them yearning for more. They were present at the start of a revolution of cosmic proportions and wanted to hear about this upside down economy, this unparalleled freedom and hope. Pure, clean and inviting hope.

But in their eagerness they blocked the way for someone in even greater need. Their tenacity for the healing words of Christ almost prevented the healing work of Christ. I will not call them selfish or render any form of judgment on those in the crowd that day. How could I? Were I one of their number, I don’t doubt I would have made a similarly immovable object. But I think we are required to ask ourselves if our desire to hear more about Christ might be preventing people from encountering Him. I can think of many modern ’stances’ by Christians that may keep people from the Healer, but the two primary ones that come to mind are the church’s attitudes towards women, especially women in leadership, and homosexuals.

These are complicated issues that resist easy analysis and quantification, but I am sure of one thing; we cannot block the way out of a single-minded concern for ourselves. A way will be found and it may cause some damage. The owner of that house wouldn’t have had a leaky roof if the crowd had simply made a little way.

Author Bio:: Nathan is a husband and father who recently passed his nursing boards and is enjoying having a life again now that school is over.