The answer to this question can seem relatively obvious. After all, there are times when the bible describes God as changing His mind - see Exodus 32:14, Amos 7:3, and Jeremiah 26:19. And of course Jonah flees from God because he knows God will change His mind and forgive the people of Nineveh instead of destroying them (Jonah 4: 1-3). Throughout the Old Testament God changes His mind: He forgives when He promises to punish, He regrets the creation (Genesis 6:6), He delights over His creation (Zephaniah 3:17) and changes His intentions towards nations and people (Jeremiah 18:8). It would seem then that yes, God changes His mind.

There is, however, a problem. Or rather, two connected problems to do with this understanding of these passages. The first problem is another series of biblical passages that highlight God’s steadfast, unchanging nature. For example, Malachi 3:6, ‘I am the Lord your God, and I do not Change’, but also James 2:17, Numbers 23:19 (‘God is not man, that he should lie, or a son of man, that he should change His mind’), and 1 Samuel 15:29. There are also a number of passages that highlight God’s knowledge of all things present and future, for example, John 21:17, Isaiah 7:14, and Matthew 16:21.

Part of resolving this tension depends on how we understand and read the bible. Reading the bible is complex (check out my previous post on this), and thinking through the systematic connections is a pretty intense task. This is certainly true of this topic. If we accept that the biblical authors are not being purposefully obtuse about whether God can change, then we’re left with a few possible options for understanding these texts:

1. God not changing refers to His character, not His capacity for decision-making (i.e. God is unchangingly loving, but He can change His mind about things).

2. Descriptions of God changing His mind are anthropomorphic – it seems to us humans that He is changing His mind, but He isn’t really.

3. God’s knowledge is limited to all that it is possible to know; as such, there are things which God does not know (like the future).

For this post, I’m rejecting option 3 out of hand, given that I think God does know the future (or at least, that which is future to us).^[1] Between options 1 and 2, I choose option 1, as I think it makes the most sense for a few reasons.

First, if God is all-knowing (including the future) and perfect, then why would he need to change His mind? Surely any alternative decision made by God would only be worse than the one he already had in mind. It is important to note that if we accept the existence of both human freedom and spiritual warfare, defending God’s omniscience and perfection does not mean the world is perfect; it just means God’s alternative actions would only be worse than the actions He is already taking.

Second, option one requires disassociating God’s character from God’s experiences. What I mean by this is that if God changing His mind is in response to engagement with creation, then these ‘changes’ don’t seem to be related to the character of God; otherwise, we would expect God’s character to be affected by His decisions, and vice versa.

Third, God being able to change His mind has no bearing on God being engaged with creation. God may have perfect knowledge, but as we see throughout the biblical narrative, God’s knowledge doesn’t prevent relational engagement, e.g. Genesis 4:9-10, Exodus 3, John 4. If the desire the theolgical desire is being able to claim that God is engaged with us humans, like in prayer, God being able to change His mind doesn’t necessarily make any difference here to whether God is engaged or not.

Fourth, if we take these three arguments and add into the mix the myriad of passages that defend God’s unchangeableness, it becomes, to my mind, less clear as to why God changing His mind either makes sense or is a positive.

Finally, this whole topic is related to divine timelessness and eternity. The ‘where’ of God’s existence affects what it means for God to know, or change. Many theologians have held to the idea that God exists outside of time and yet is engaged with the creation. This can be framed in a few different ways,^[2] and my own PhD examined one way of framing divine engagement and emotion with unchangeability.^[3] If God is outside of time, then the answer is no; God can’t change His mind, because time does not affect God in the way it affects us. There is not A and B; there simply is.

Don’t worry if that concept is a bit trippy (because it really is) – Routledge is letting me write a whole book on the subject so you can read more in 2027 about my thoughts if you fancy.

To conclude, there are some very good reasons to reject the claim that God changes His mind. But by no means is it an open-and-shut case – let me know what you think in the comments!

^[1] The idea that the future is ‘open’ is what’s called open theism, and while I don’t have time to go into it here, open theism makes, divine action, prayer and prophecy either redundant or demonstrably less desirable.

^[2] Paul Helm gives a useful overview of this in Eternal God: A study of God without time.

^[3] Jack Johnson, ‘The eternally passible God : a theological study on the compatibility of divine passibility and immutability’, https://research-repository.st-andrews.ac.uk/handle/10023/31058

This isn’t supposed to be false humility. I have got a PhD from one of the best universities in the world, I’m a good teacher and decent at people management, and a few other things too. I’ve been very good at some jobs, and there are also various mitigating factors to the things listed above: personal background, dyslexia, a pandemic, atrocious job markets, Trump’s tariffs, etc. But the point is that I have failed at lots of things. And some of these experiences have been unpleasant: they’ve been damaging to my confidence and have had real effects on practical things like my finances.

One of my podcasts of choice is The Athletic FC, where the hosts dissect all things football (stay with me). A concept that often comes up is ‘non-linear development’, in other words, for some athletes, the expected journey to excellence isn’t an easy one, and often it’s marked with failure or even just averageness (oh the shame). And this, I think, is how it is for lots of people. We try things, and sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. We like to think we’re on a steady line of improvement, but while we might be improving, this is often not steady. Improving usually involves failing, trying again, and again. And again.

The longer you live, the more you fail. Failure is a mark of a life well lived. In turn, the only way to live without failure is to be of no use to anyone.^[2]

- Brandon Sanderson

My progress certainly hasn’t been linear, but these failures (and long stints at averageness) have often been helpful in the long run. Failure is a great teacher, and it has a tendency to build resilience, which can come in handy the next time failure happens. To be clear, failures can also mark us negatively, and I undoubtedly carry scars from my various experiences, all of which need to be processed and dealt with, but even this is a process that involves failure. I can’t say I’m happy that I’ve failed this much (that would be weird), but I am glad I tried, and I hope I keep trying.

Some of my students were recently taking a theological aesthetics course, and they encouraged some of the faculty to contribute some art to their ‘showcase’. Here’s my attempt:

A year (and a bit) in review

In ‘24 I lost my job

They told me it was because of God

I don’t know if it was a move of the spirit,

but it felt like manipulation, so I’m still working through it

———

For 7 months I applied for work,

My excess time proving not to be a perk

In the summer I got my letters

You’d have thought PhD would make me feel better

——

I finally got a job in wine

A minimum wage job to help stop the decline

Into July Dr Everhart came calling

Wanting a Doc to make liberal arts enthralling

——

‘26 is decidedly brighter,

Time spent teaching always makes me feel lighter

While I might not know what the next year holds

I’ll keep looking forward as my life unfolds

^[1] Apologies to my international readers for niche UK education references

^[2] Brandon Sanderson, Oathbringer: Book 2, p.238.

Christian nationalism is difficult to define,^[1] partly because nationalism itself is so diverse. Nationalism is a broad political movement that essentially finds its unity in agreement about ‘the nation’. What constitutes a nation is up for debate, and the various nationalist movements will define it differently. For example, for some nationalist movements, language is a key factor, as in Basque or French-Canadian nationalism, but for others, it matters very little, like with Reform in the UK.^[2]

Because nationalist movements centre around the nation but don’t align with traditional political fault lines, like economic policy, I think it’s worth being sceptical about merging religion into this mix. In my view, the pulling of religion, specifically Christianity, into these political conversations is a way of weaponising Christianity to cash in on cultural or demographic cachet – in essence, to get votes. This is because the growth of Christianity is rarely the primary goal. While the goals of nationalism may, to some people, be associated with Christianity, such as some perceived ideas around morality or culture, that more people become followers of Jesus tends not to be the primary motivator. I know, shocking. Now, this isn’t to deny that plenty of people in these political movements have genuine faiths, and some might still seek to see Christianity grow through political aims (this is, of course, theologically misguided).^[3] But it is to say that the use of Christianity in these political groups is often more about votes and less about Jesus.

Christianity tends to get pulled into politics as a way of highlighting some sort of commonality. For example, Milan Mazurek, a Slovakian MEP, felt the need to discuss how white lives matter and tie this to his claim that he’s a Christian in a speech to the European Parliament.^[4] This post then gets clipped, and finds its way to my feed via my more pro-reform friends and family members. The question I think we should ask is why Mazurek, being a Christian, has anything to do with his claims about race. His supposed Christianity doesn’t have anything to do with his argument, but it has everything to do with appealing to a specific set of voters.

As a side note, Mazurek was also the first Slovak MP (before we was an MEP) to lose his seat after being found guilty of a crime. I’m sure you can guess what the crime was (see footnote).^[5]

The use of Christianity in politics can be seen across Europe and North America, and almost always is associated with nationalistic movements, though there are some important exceptions to this.^[6] It’s also a historical reality. The National Socialism of 1930s Germany actively used Christian Lutheran symbols as part of its propaganda. Similarly, Russia (and the USSR before it) has historically subordinated the Orthodox Church. And there was a trend in 18^th-century Britain that suggested Britain was/is Israel and used this as a justification for the Empire. These are problematic essentially because they use Christianity as a means to justify state power and violence.

The issues we encounter in modern politics, I think, are just as nefarious a form of ‘Christian nationalism’ as in Latin and North America or Europe. Donald Trump’s spiritual advisor, Paula White, spent her Easter message comparing Trump to Jesus.^[7] I would suggest that any Easter message aiming to support the political power of an individual or regime rather than worshipping Jesus is problematic.

But why does this matter? First, as Theologian Miroslav Volf writes,

‘The beliefs and practices of a Christian community are inextricably bound to its character as a social reality; when you change one, sooner or later you will change the other too.’^[8]

In other words, what Christians believe and what Christians do are tied together. For Christianity, and thereby Christians, to be swept up by nationalist movements will affect what beliefs, behaviours and theology are seen as true or good. Christians should be engaged in the world and culture, but the person and work of Jesus should always drive this. The issue for Christian nationalism is that nationalism will always be the driver.

Second, can you trust nationalist politics? I think we should be wary of any type of politics that has unclear primary goals and views, especially politics that subvert other ideas and beliefs to their own goals. Can we trust Christian nationalism? No. I think that because Christianity has become a tool of nationalism, we should be extremely critical of using Christianity this way, including the theological and political elements of it.

In case it wasn’t yet clear, I don’t like Christian nationalism. I think the use of Christian symbols in politics is problematic. Christian symbols at marches, such as at ‘Unite the Kingdom’, are often accompanied by violence or threats of violence, which I also don’t think is good.^[9]

Christians should be discerning about how faith interacts with politics. No political ideology, party or movement is perfect, and so voting or marching in any political context will have its problems, but I do think there are better and worse options out there when it comes to political engagement. And Christian nationalism is definitely a worse option.

^[1]Theos Think tank, Christian Nationalism, https://www.theosthinktank.co.uk/comment/2026/03/17/christian-nationalism-an-explainer

^[2] Andrew Heyward, Political Ideologies; an introduction, 152-159

^[3] The growth of Christianity requires a move of the Spirit, not optimum democratic conditions.

^[4] https://youtube.com/shorts/BKkFYBw9ke4?si=FYV1DOKq-oveOwEP

^[5] The Slovak Spectator, https://spectator.sme.sk/politics-and-society/c/far-right-mp-mazurek-found-guilty-he-will-lose-his-seat His Wiki page is also worth a read, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milan_Mazurek

^[6] But these exceptions are usually explicitly Christian political parties who take specific stands on issues and government, rather than political parties using Christian themes to get votes. Such as CU in the Netherlands (see, https://www.christenunie.nl/election).

^[7] Paula White,

^[8] Miroslav Volf, ‘Theological Reflections on the Relation Between Church and Culture in 1 Peter’. P.16.

^[9] ‘The Tommy Robinson rally. Is a new Christian right on the rise?’, https://www.premierchristianity.com/news-analysis/crosses-and-bible-verses-dominated-the-tommy-robinson-rally-is-a-new-christian-right-on-the-rise/20080.article

- The suffering servant who gives his life for many (Isaiah 53 and Mark 10)

- Law and sacrifice (Leviticus and Hebrews 9)

- Lament Psalms; pain, abandonment and trust in the Father (Psalms 69/22, Mark 15 and John 19)

- The example of Jesus (Romans 5:8)

- Defeats evil (Colossians 2:13–15/Revelation 12)

These themes are picked up by various theologians who try to interpret the selection of passages to develop an atonement theory and answer questions like what does Jesus do, and what does that mean for us? This is necessary because we don’t have a gospel writer sitting down and going ‘so here is exactly what happens and what it means for you’. Instead, like with most of our theology, we are attempting to synthesise the breadth of scripture into ways we can apply to our lives and make sense of it.

I think it’s quite important that we don’t get bogged down in a single way of describing Jesus’ work (atonement theory), essentially because the bible doesn’t describe his activity in a single way. That said, atonement theory is useful because it allows us to orient the way we talk about what Jesus does. And the way in which we focus on what Jesus does and the effects of the cross/resurrection will impact the rest of our theology. So, while there are multiple themes that we can believe (in some sense), where we put the emphasis does matter to our theology. These themes will play out in our worship and prayer. For example, if you think Jesus satisfies the wrath of the Father, you’ll probably have no issues with the song In Christ Alone, “Till on that cross where Jesus died, the wrath of God was satisfied.” It’s been a contentious line for some – it probably suits most Calvin fans,^[3] but I’ve been in churches that don’t sing this song because of that line, as it implies God is angry at us and has a desire to punish you for your sins, and by extension punishes Jesus.^[4]

All atonement theories have their pros and cons, and that’s partly because atonement theories are attempting to articulate what the NT says about what Jesus does in a way that makes sense for the culture in which they inhabit. For example, satisfaction theory pulls on biblical themes (Matt 6:12/Colossians 2:14), and Anslem interprets this in light of the feudal system he lives in. A few centuries later, Calvin and others will change the emphasis of these passages and develop penal substitution.^[5] I don’t think this is a particular problem, because as noted, there are biblical passages that support this sort of reading. Where it does become a problem is when someone insists that the only valid reading of the atonement is penal substitution or satisfaction (or Christus victor, or whatever). Similarly, using these passages in these ways is an interpretative decision, and so claiming that there are no alternative readings is also problematic. As we have seen, Anselm and Calvin use the same sort of biblical passages, but they come to slightly different conclusions.

Given that the biblical authors frame Jesus’ work in multiple ways, we do a disservice to the scriptures by limiting our understanding to one specific approach. That doesn’t mean there aren’t better and worse theories of the atonement, for example, Thomas Williams described Abelard’s approach of exemplarism as, according to his detractors, “embracing a most unsatisfactory alternative.”^[6] There will naturally be atonement theories that we think don’t cut it, but often these are because they are too narrow, not too broad.

The claim that Jesus’ death and resurrection actually do something is central to Christianity. This activity of Jesus is both corporate - saves the world and creation -and also personal. Jesus saves you. This doesn’t mean you are now going to be perfect, and life will be easy (if anything, it might well be the opposite), but it is good. Relationship with God is made possible through Christ’s work. We might disagree on the best way to frame this, or on the specifics of when it happens, but that Jesus saves, no matter what that means, is a good thing for you and me.

P.S If you want me to do a deeper dive into any atonement theories, let me know!

^[1] Are are ofc some people who don’t believe this. But it’s pretty rare.

^[2] And maybe also his ascension – check out David Moffat for more on this.

^[3] ‘Jesus Christ was made a substitute and a surety in the place of transgressors and even submitted as a criminal, to sustain and suffer all the punishment which would have been inflicted on them.’, See John Calvin, Institutes Of Christian Religion, 2.16.1.

^[4] of course, you could just interpret it at Gods anger at sin, rather than the person – but whether this gets you round the problem, I’ll leave to you to decide.

^[5] As Berkoff writes, ‘While Anselm regards sin primarily as an infringement on the honour of God, the Reformers look upon it first of all as a transgression of the law of God and therefore as guilt rather than as an insult…Thus, the atonement is lifted out of the sphere of private rights and into that of public law. [T]he Reformers also pointed out that…satisfaction rendered through the sacrifice of Christ was satisfaction through punishment…that the sufferings of Christ were penal and vicarious.’ See, Louis Berkhof, The History of Christian Doctrines, 183

^[6] Thomas Williams, Cambridge companion to Abelard, ‘Sin Grace and Redemption’, 258.

Nietzsche’s thoughts sit at the end of the Enlightenment.^[2] What follows is the First and Second World Wars. The tragedy of these events sees many people question the existence of God, and sees some of the ideas in Nietzsche’s writings taken up by other thinkers. Eli Wiesel’s memoir Night, for example, contains the line “Where is God? God is there hanging on the gallows”. This poetic memoir is harrowing, and I highly recommend reading it (I have included a small extract in the footnotes).^[3] All of this would seem to prove Nietzsche right: the horrors caused by humankind kill faith in God, for how can God (or at least the faithful, good God of the bible) exist in this world of pain and darkness?

While this pain and horror is real, and the questions provoked are challenging on a personal and pastoral level, there is, however, a certain irony that the claim ‘God is dead’ is the central tenet of Christianity. In Traditional Christianity^[4], God suffers in the flesh.^[5] This means that the deity (God) and humanity are united in the one person of Jesus, and so when Jesus dies, God dies.^[6] Jürgen Moltmann asserts the idea of God’s suffering far more strongly than (most) what more traditional Christian thinkers would.^[7] For Moltmann, Gods suffering on the cross reveals that the Trinitarian God is present with you in your suffering; his suggestion is not only that Jesus’ death means that God dies ‘enfleshed’ (in human form), but that this reveals the suffering of God in Godself. In Moltmann’s own words, ‘In the suffering of Christ God himself suffers.’^[8]

Throughout the bible, God experiences a range of emotions and suffers. It is through this lens that Moltmann can answer the pastoral and personal problems presented by the darkness of the world. It is the presence of God in suffering that enables us to start to answer the pastoral problems we face.^[9] He writes,

By his suffering and death, Jesus identifies himself with those who were enslaved, and took their pain upon himself…Jesus was their identity with God in a world which had taken all hope from them and destroyed their human identity until it was unrecognisable.^[10]

Moltmann’s point is that God is ‘with’ you in your pain, no matter how dark or awful, and you can be sure of that because God experienced the crucifixion of Jesus (both as Jesus and as the Father and Spirit).^[11] And so God can experience your pain with you, as present to you. Because God is engaged in your life, He does not just sit back and watch your pain; He is there in the mud with you.

These ideas would seem counter or even disrespectful to God, the almighty, the creator, etc. But to this, I think that Martin Luther’s view of God’s supereminence is so helpful. Luther writes,

Nothing is so great that God would not be greater

Nothing is small that God would not be smaller

Nothing is so long that God would not be longer

Nothing is so short that God would not be shorter

Nothing is so high that God would not be higher

Nothing is so low that God would not be lower.^[12]

Essentially, don’t put God in your box; it’s not big enough. Or small enough. It’s just not enough. God has revealed himself to us, and God is present to and for us. We can sometimes think that our pain is too big or too small for God, that he doesn’t care or doesn’t feel it. Well, if Moltmann is right, that is simply not the case.

The irony of Nietzsche’s claim that God is dead is that Christianity emphatically agrees. Whether the answer follows a traditional Christology or a modern one, God is dead, and God is risen; thank God for that.

^[1] Friedrich Nietzsche, The gay science, p.90

^[2] There is significant debate about when the Enlightenment ends – I would argue (given it represents a way of construing the world, advancement and structure) it doesn’t truly end until the end of WW2 (ish), but this is a contentious position.

^[3] “Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, that turned

my life into one long night seven times sealed.

Never shall I forget that smoke.

Never shall I forget the small faces of the children whose

bodies I saw transformed into smoke under a silent sky.

Never shall I forget those flames that consumed my faith for-

ever.

Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence that deprived me

for all eternity of the desire to live.

Never shall I forget those moments that murdered my God

and my soul and turned my dreams to ashes.

Never shall I forget those things, even were I condemned to

live as long as God Himself.

Never.”

Eli Wiesel, Night.

^[4] Sometimes this is called ‘classical Christology’ (this is slightly unhelpful as there’s a lot of ambiguity around what defines classical thought ‘exactly’)

^[5] 5^th century church council, see https://zondervanacademic.com/blog/council-of-chalcedon

^[6] In classical theology, ‘in the flesh’ is always an unsaid but ever-present claim.

^[7] Partly, Because Moltmann is attempting to engage this following the experiences of the second world war.

^[8] Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God, p.43. He also writes, ‘God and suffering belong together, just as in this life the cry for God and the suffering experienced in pain belong together. The question about God and the question about suffering are a joint, a common question. And they only find a common answer’ see, Jürgen Moltmann, The Trinity and the Kingdom of God: the doctrine of God, translated by Margaret Kohl, (London: SCM Press, 1981), p. 49

^[9] It is ofc far more complicated than this, but this is essentially the key starting point of some pretty major theolgical developments.

^[10] Moltmann, The Crucified God, p.44

^[11] Two separate experiences of the same event (he’s not a Patripassianist)

^[12] WA 26, 339, 39–340, 2., Christoph Schwobels translation (from ‘taking the form of a servant’)

The Council of Nicaea met in 325 AD to discuss the claims of Arius that Jesus wasn’t God.^[2] Present to hear both sides of this argument were over 300 bishops from across the world. Including St. Nicholas, who was Bishop of Myra in southern Turkey.

St Nick is better known in the English-speaking world as Santa Claus (or Sinterklaas in Dutch). One of the things St Nick was famous for was throwing gold down a chimney to provide dowries for girls whose fathers were considering selling them into slavery (very Santa-like behaviour). But before he was St Nick, he was a bishop, and, as a bishop, he was invited to the Council of Nicaea, one of the most important gatherings in the early church.

The story goes that as Nick was listening to Arius speak, he became so enraged that he got up and slapped him across the face. At this, he was put into prison (which, in the spirit of free speech, is maybe fair enough). During the night, an angel of the lord appeared to him, told him that his theology was correct and returned to him his bishop’s staff and cloak (the symbols of his theological authority). Of course, Arius lost at Nicaea, and the Christian tradition vindicated the theological position of St Nick.

Now, sure, this is only a story. And I’m sure there is some historiographical work which would suggest that this probably didn’t happen or that the source material is late or unreliable, but in all honesty, I don’t want to read those particular academic works (historians are always ruining good stories).

When people tell me Santa has nothing to do with Christmas, I prefer picturing Santa as an orthodox Christian who slapped heretics and loved Jesus, and that seems to me to be a great Christmas story.

^[1] Though Yule does seem like it could be fun in fairness (minus the human sacrifice and such).

^[2] Check out my last post if you want to know a bit more about this debate. https://substack.com/@jackdjohnson/note/p-179136023?utm_source=notes-share-action&r=2nly13

Firstly, Christian theology comes from the early Jewish followers of Christ, which, right from the off, gives us two key premises. Salvation is found in Jesus (Acts 4:10-12), and the Lord your God is One (Deuteronomy 6:4).^[1] The New Testament (NT) uses ‘proto-trinitarian’ language;^[2] language suggestive of what will become trinitarian theology. Paul, for example, often starts or ends his letters with greetings referencing Jesus, and the Father, and some of the most important teachings on the Holy Spirit are also found in Paul, such as Romans 8 or 1 Corinthians 12 (alongside Jesus describing the Spirit in John 14). Likewise, Jesus in Matthew 28 says to ‘go and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.’ Lay these verses alongside others describing Jesus forgiving sins (Luke 7:48), being worshipped (Matt 14:33), and claiming to be God (John 10), and you can see why the early church very quickly worships Jesus, prays to him, and thinks of him as God.^[3]

The issue, as you might have noticed, is the question of how. How can God be ‘one’, and also be Jesus and the Father and the Spirit? This question came to a head in the 4^th century due to a guy called Arius who wanted to affirm that Jesus is the Christ and could be prayed to, but he did not believe Jesus is God, as God is one. Instead, he argued that Jesus is the ‘first-born among creation’ (Colossians 1:15).

In part because of the reasons above, the Council of Nicaea in 325 AD (essentially a gathering of all the bishops in the world who could travel to Turkey – about 300^[4]) ruled that Arius was wrong.^[5] But they didn’t develop a way to say why he was wrong.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Arius didn’t find this very convincing.

He refused to acknowledge the ruling of the council and thus became a heretic.^[6] And then theologians spent about 70 years trying to work out how to talk about God. A few heresies later, we get an answer.

Part of the issue was language and words with similar definitions,^[7] which made it hard to accurately describe a trinitarian theology without either collapsing the three into one or separating the three so that oneness ceased to be a thing altogether. The Cappadocian fathers (Basil, Gregory, and Gregory)^[8] developed the language that we now use to describe the Trinity. Specifically, they took a word (hypostasis) and redefined it. Which makes it sound super easy, but no one else thought to do that.

Hypostasis, in Platonic thought, was considered to mean something similar to ‘being’, as a sort of second order type of being, while the word ousia was taken to mean a primary type of ‘being’. The similarity of these two words is what made it hard to use either in a distinct way, hence why the original Nicaean creed precludes us from saying that ‘God is from another hypostasis or ousia’. The Cappadocians redefined hypostasis, and we can see this in one of Basil’s letters. In a letter to the bishop of Iconium, Basil writes,

‘In the case of the Godhead we confess one essence (or substance [ousia]) so as not to give a variant definition of existence, but we confess a particular hypostasis in order that our conception of Father, Son and Holy Spirit may be without confusion and clear’^[9]

What we see changing is that hypostasis goes from meaning ‘being’ in a secondary sense, to meaning something more like ‘who-ness’. In this way, you can say there is a ‘what-ness’ about God (ousia) that is the same for all three persons, but there is an individualisation of each person, a ‘who-ness’ that allows us to say ‘Father’ or ‘Son’ or ‘Holy Spirit’, each of whom is fully God (because they are all fully God – one ousia, or essence).

Does this matter? I think yes, for a few reasons. Firstly, it makes sense of all those bible verses I listed at the beginning. Why Jesus says and does what he does, and why it makes sense to worship him. Secondly, it gives us language for talking about God without making it out like Jesus and the Father are the same, just in different guises (modalism), or that there are three Gods (tri-theism). This then makes theology and faith much easier to talk about. And thirdly, who God ‘is’ affects loads of other theological issues, like who we pray to, how we are saved, and what correct worship looks like. And so on.

Finally, it also helps make sense of those bible verses we looked at earlier. The relationship between Father, Son and Spirit is described in the NT in various ways, and as the NT is part of God’s revelation, working out correct ways to formulate our language is really important.

^[1] This is also part of the daily Jewish Prayer, known as the Shema.

^[2] Sarah Coakley makes this argument about Romans 8: see Sarah Coakley, The New Asceticism: Sexuality, Gender and the Quest for God(London: Continuum, 2015), 90

^[3] Anne Hunt gives a really helpful list of the relations that we see in the bible in ‘Trinity, Christology, and Pneumatology’ in the Cambridge Companion to the Trinity, p. 367-370.

^[4] St Athanasius suggests 318.

^[5] This is why the first Nicaean creed (of 325) has this toward the end ‘But those who say “there was when he was not,” and “before he was begotten he was not,” and “he came to be from what is not,” or assert that the Son of God is from another hypostasis or ousia, or alterable or changeable, these the church catholic anathematises.”’

^[6] See my post about heresy if you want to understand what heresy is. https://substack.com/@jackdjohnson/note/p-159632036?utm_source=notes-share-action&r=2nly13

^[7] Another shameless self-reference (just call me Tom Wright): https://substack.com/@jackdjohnson/note/p-176630887?utm_source=notes-share-action&r=2nly13

^[8] Basil of Caesarea (329-379), Gregory of Nyssa (335-395), Gregory of Nazianzus (330-389).

^[9] Taken from Stevenson’s Creeds, Councils and Controversies.

In this definition, language is not simply ‘sound’ that has inherent meaning attached, but rather the use and meaning of words is at least in part defined by the community. Words are not discovered; they are created.

These might seem like relatively straightforward ideas, and yet we seem to regularly skip over the relationship between words and understanding. If language held inherent meaning, then we would never have ambiguity; there would be no need to define our terms or even the use of our language.^[1] A YouGov study from 2018 looked at how words are understood positively and negatively, and found that there is a relative scale to how words are understood, e.g. ‘unsatisfactory’ was (in general) seen as more negative than ‘bad’ – but importantly, some people would have put these two the other way around, and said ‘bad’ was more negative than ‘unsatisfactory’.^[2]

This is important because we can and will use words which are then misinterpreted, even in small ways, which will have an effect on what is being understood. Likewise, language is often used to generate specific emotions, which affect how people act. This emotional pull affects how we understand words. In this sense, meaning is more than definition: as Wittgenstein would put it, meaning is use! Think, for example, of how swearing can be understood negatively or positively – the same words can be endearing or offensive.^[3]

Now we might see this as making individual words redundant, after all, any word could now carry any meaning. And if that’s true, then how do we communicate with any clarity in the first place?

But if all language is dependent upon use, then choosing specific words becomes more important, not less, if we want to be clear in our speech and writing. However, it is never just words alone; the context, tone, structure, or even the cadence all convey specific ideas. Likewise, the way language is mirrored in action matters. If we use words, tone, etc. in ways that are expected to result in a specific type of action or emotion, which then doesn’t materialise, then we devalue this use of language, or the rhetoric of specific people.

I once attended a church for about six months, and despite all the rhetoric from the front about how they’d ‘love to welcome me’, no one on the church staff team ever spoke to me one-on-one. Now this was a large church, and it’s possible this was just my experience. But did I feel welcomed by the team? No. Instead, it made me disbelieve what they said. Words matter, and so do their associated actions. Likewise, the common public official response to tragedy is something like ‘my thoughts and prayers are with the families at this time’, but if this statement is not accompanied by action, then the phrase’s sentiment is devalued.^[4] For this reason, words and actions in pastoral, educational, or teaching contexts matter as a cohesive whole. It’s not just important that we understand the meaning of the words, but that this use and understanding are accompanied by appropriate actions.

Everything above taken into consideration, the continued use of violent or aggressive language in politics/the public sphere is taking on new and specific meanings and in the UK and the US, we’re seeing political violence (coming from the right and left).

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Side note: discussions about how left-wing politics are becoming more violent are increasingly common. As though the right isn’t. This specific critique seems to ignore the violence from MAGA supporters on the Capitol or right-wing anti-immigration protests in the UK. Don’t believe the lies that it’s a left-wing problem; it’s not. It’s a cultural issue.

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This rise in violence shouldn’t surprise us. There has, for quite some time now, been increasingly violent and aggressive language (and tone, etc) used to describe political opponents or ideas. Some examples might be the idea that immigrants are all ‘fighting-aged men’,^[5] ‘fuck the Tories’ or that we need to ‘fight for our country’, or what have you. If meaning is tied to action, then using aggressive language is likely to lead or encourage aggressive behaviour(s). And while you might decry the violence perpetrated against your sphere of politics, if you continue to use aggressive language, you are part of the problem.

Christianity is not separate from this problem, and the way in which many churches tie their theological positions to political ones can have seriously problematic results (post on this coming soon). Christians, as much as anyone else, can use and propagate problematic language, including in the public sphere, but this doesn’t only affect society; it affects how the church at large is viewed. Don’t hear me as saying Christians should shy away from public discourse, but do hear me as saying this will have very real consequences, both now and in the future – not all of these will be good (you won’t find many Christians today defending the crusades, for example).

We all need to take care with what we say and how we engage. We should all avoid jumping to conclusions. Words and actions combined have real power, and this can be used for both positive and negative ends. Trying to see issues from another’s perspective and working out how to engage with care is imperative in today’s political, social and religious climate, and so is trying to be clear with what we mean. Defining our terms and trying to remove the ambiguity is super valuable in public discourse (though we might never manage it completely).

^[1] For example, are words being used analogically, or univocally or equivocally?

^[2] YouGov, How Good is Good?, (2018) https://yougov.co.uk/society/articles/21568-how-good-good

^[3] Think Hot Fuzz’s ‘dirty bastard’ and ‘cheeky fucker’,

^[4] This seems to be the standard sort of response from the pro-gun lobby in the states every time there’s a mass shooting. But what does this really mean without any sort of action? After all, ‘Faith without works is dead’ (James 2:17).

^[5] I’m a fighting aged man, and few people would have a problem if I tried to get a job in Europe, why is that?

This, however, is not ‘logical’. It’s not a good form of reasoning – sorry.

Logic is simply the framework by which we reason, and there are many ways of doing this. Correct reasoning does not assume that something is ‘true’; it just asks whether the processes by which you reach a conclusion are a fair reflection of the evidence and premises you hold, whether you have used critical thinking skills.

When we assume there is only one conclusion to a topic, we are ignoring other ways of discussing the problem – this is not a good use of logic or reasoning.

Let me give you an example. Alasdair MacIntyre presents three ways of reasoning in his book After Virtue:

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Trigger warning – references to abortion

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(a) Everybody has certain rights over his or her own person, including his or her own body. It follows from the nature of these rights that at the stage when the embryo is essentially pan of the mother's body, the mother has a right to make her own uncoerced decision on whether she will have an abortion or not. Therefore, abortion is morally permissible and ought to be allowed by law.

(b) I cannot will that my mother should have had an abortion when she was pregnant with me, except perhaps if it had been certain that the embryo was dead or gravely damaged. But if I cannot will this in my own case, how can I consistently deny to others the right to life that I claim for myself? I would break the so-called Golden Rule unless I denied that a mother has in general a right to an abortion. I am not of course thereby committed to the view that abortion ought to be legally prohibited.

(c) Murder is wrong. Murder is the taking of innocent life. An embryo is an identifiable individual, differing from a newborn infant only in being at an earlier stage on the long road to adult capacities and, if any life is innocent, that of an embryo is. If infanticide is murder, as it is, abortion is murder. So abortion is not only morally wrong, but ought to be legally prohibited^[1]

Note here that MacIntyre doesn’t suggest that any of these approaches is the correct one, because each of them is equally logical. The use of good reasoning here does not mean that we will reach the same conclusion, as that depends on the core premises we hold. This is true for almost every topic that exists. Likewise, one position might be logical, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing to believe.

Equally, however, this does not mean that every opinion or argument that exists is reasonable or logical. There are often gaps in arguments or poor uses of reason. This is called a fallacy – the use of which renders the argument invalid.

There are loads of fallacies (just have a google); one of which being the ‘bandwagon fallacy’. This is the idea that something is true or right simply because many people believe it and you see it all the time on social media (and it’s often how marketing works). What happens is that a large number of people believe something to be true, which then reaffirms each of those people’s beliefs. In this case, the popularity of something is seen as a reason for that thing being ‘true’ or ‘logical’. But as you may be aware, a large number of people believing something is not actually a good reason to believe it – for example, pretty much everyone everyone believed the world was flat at the time of Copernicus, but that didn’t mean the world is flat.

There are loads of fallacies, and it’s pretty easy to make a mistake that leads to one. Similarly, it can be easy to overlook the merits of someone else’s argument, just because it’s a position that you don’t share.

So what do you do?

There are I think three initial things we can all do when discussing, arguing, or debating.

Firstly, check the definitions of the premises you use. Words can mean different things to different people, and so defining what is being discussed is really important.

Secondly, check your sources. This is especially important in a world where AI is everywhere (and often gets things wrong). One of my friends recently told me that they marked a student’s essay, which referenced two books written by my friend – the only problem was that those books don’t actually exist (at least not yet).^[2] Research is constantly moving, and often one source is not enough, so keep reading and keep engaging.

Thirdly, talk to people about your ideas and be open to their criticism. Other people will spot gaps in your reasoning that you might have missed. One thing I’ve noticed as a dyslexic is that my brain often makes jumps that seem intuitive to me but aren’t to everyone. That doesn’t mean that idea is wrong, only that I need to take more care when explaining ideas. But this is true for everyone, because we all have knowledge and experiences that are unique to us. So, explaining and discussing these things is really crucial when we try and discuss what we think and why.

Most things in the world are up for discussion. Indeed, all ‘facts’ are only true at a specific time in a specific place. If I asked you what the boiling point of water is, you’d probably reply that its 100 degrees Celsius, and this is usually true, but if you were on Mt. Everest, it would not be true, because the boiling point of water is affected by pressure.

So even facts are only true at specific times and places. We need to use our reasoning to work out how and what to believe and why. This is why critical thinking is so crucial in everyday situations as well as debate and academia. It’s what most humanities subjects try to instil in students, though just because you’ve studied doesn’t mean you’ll use these skills.

The challenge for all of us is to think critically. Especially about the ideas we hold. And the question for all of us is: can and will we change our minds when presented with new evidence, or when our positions are shown to be problematic?

^[1] Alisdair MacIntyre, After Virtue: a study in moral theory, 7.

^[2] This doesn’t mean you can’t use AI, it just means you need to be careful about how you use it. It’s a great tool to help you look for stuff, but you still need to go a read the original sources, and make sure those sources say the things AI thinks they do.

‘It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.’

– Galatians 5:1

‘Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom’

– 2 Corinthians 3:17

‘So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.’

– John 8:36

Freedom in Christianity has been described in multiple ways: freedom from sin, from certain desires,^[1] from the flesh, and from destruction. Within this teaching is the idea that the presence of the Holy Spirit reorients our whole life, and we are now free to ‘live differently’. But what does this actually mean?

Part of the issue here is that if you, like me, live in a 21^st-century neo-liberal democracy, then freedom is essentially a social virtue. But this social virtue often comes with caveats, such as not harming others (which is, in my view, a good thing). One of the main caveats for our society is that you are free so that you might ‘produce’ or add to society. This is one of the essential parts of capitalist freedom, that success is measured by growth – think GDP, your savings or earnings, job progression, etc.

Most of us feel a need to be useful, and this usefulness is often tied to the things we produce. We feel a need to do all sorts of things so that we might be useful to ourselves, society and those around us. We pursue hobbies that are ‘useful’ (such as music or sport). We study so we might get a good job, and earn money, and save, spend, and invest. Even the treats we give ourselves are framed in this utilitarian language. We have a day off to ‘recover’ – so that we can go back to work and produce more. We talk about ‘needing’ a holiday – why? Because our lives are geared for us to produce. Even discussions about a four-day working week are framed in production language.^[2] But all of these options and tasks in Western society are framed as freedom. We can choose which of these hobbies, jobs, or milestones we pursue.^[3]

But is this freedom? I’m not so sure.

At least I don’t think it’s the freedom the bible is talking about.

Don’t get me wrong, there is certainly some choice in these decisions, and there are many positives with 21^st-century life. But I think it’s potentially dangerous to equate the biblical theme of freedom with the idea of liberal political freedom.^[4]

Measuring our lives in terms of what we produce or achieve is simply the opposite of what the bible says. The bible claims that we are loved irrespective of what we have done or will do. Christ died for you, before you even knew he existed. And he didn’t do that because you made an excellent choice in your career so far, or because you scored that boss goal last week.

‘But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us’

Romans 5:8

The problem the church always faces is that society holds values that might look similar but are fundamentally not the same as those in the bible. And we can exacerbate this problem by thinking that all we must do in life is to be useful or produce something good.

It’s worth saying that actions can have good outcomes; you can play that instrument, or sport or work that job, and it can be good. But you don’t need to do those things. At least not to be a loved and valuable member of God’s kingdom.

If your identity is made in Jesus, then this can and should reorient how you see even the most ordinary of activities in life.

The question for all of us then is: ‘Do I feel a need to be useful? And is that desire something that is freeing? Or constraining?’

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PS. This blog was semi-inspired by listening to ‘Philosophize this’ episode 233 (Dostoyevsky and Bataille). I don’t agree with everything that’s said, but it’s interesting enough for me to recommend giving it a listen.

^[1] This idea has sometimes been used pretty poorly. As it’s not that all desires or wants are bad, but we sometimes lose sight of that in broad brushstroke language. See my post about feelings for more on this. https://jackdjohnson.substack.com/p/can-i-trust-my-feelings?r=2nly13

^[2]Whitney Vige, Four-Day Workweek: The Good, The Bad & The Reality https://asana.com/resources/4-day-work-week

^[3] In many ways this feels like a societally accepted form of Consequentialism – the outcomes are what matters. We might even see hints at utilitarianism – John Stuart Mill for example, ranked types of pleasures.

^[4] It is perhaps obvious, but millions of people have been Christians, and yet have not been modern political liberals.

This isn’t entirely a new thing. I’ve had these conversations before, for example, I once had an angry little rant to a friend who opened a conversation with ‘Jack, you’re a liberal, aren’t you, so what do you think about…’. To which I got a little angry. Because I am not a liberal. I was probably tired too.

But why did I get annoyed (aside from the tiredness)? Because in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t seem like a big deal.

What seems to be happening is two things: the first is that people are using popular political language (conservative v liberal) to describe different theological opinions in church. The second is that, like in politics, words like conservative and liberal are being used to critique their opposite positions, and people who agree with those positions then claim those words proudly. The problem is that words like liberal have different and technical meanings within Christianity compared to politics, and these meanings indicate how people read the bible, understand church authority, or believe God works. As a theologian, I am annoyed by this mischaracterisation but more generally, I think it’s important we all understand the labels we give ourselves.

So, what do these words mean…?

There are plenty of words that get used in Christianity, but to keep this manageable, I’m going to focus on a total of four: conservative, liberal, orthodox, and charismatic, and group these words into two groups: ‘theological’ and ‘stylistic’.^[1]

Theological words are those that guide our beliefs – for example, how we believe the bible should be read. From the 1980s, there were a group of theologians and biblical scholars called ‘The Jesus Seminar’ who voted on which bits of the Gospels were authentic and which bits they thought were inventions by later authors – essentially, what they considered true, false and what ‘probably’ (in their view) didn’t happen. Their goal was to separate the ‘historical’ Jesus from the Jesus of myth.^[2]

Reading the bible in this way assumes two core ideas: 1. That there are things in the bible that are additions to the text. 2. That we can uncover those things. This approach has been widely criticised (and often ridiculed) in academic circles. But for our purposes, it highlights one modern tradition of reading the bible – that of liberalism. This tradition came to the fore in the Enlightenment, when certain theological ideas came under suspicion – ideas like the supernatural. Thus, there was a tendency to reject the weirder or more supernatural parts of the bible. To be liberal is to reject the bible as authoritative and inspired by God. As Swinburn puts it,

‘Many liberal-minded theologians of the 20^th century ceased to talk of the bible being ‘true’ and instead talk of it being ‘useful’ or ‘insightful.’^[3]

The opposite of this view is orthodoxy, with a small o. That is to say, the more ancient approach to the bible, which believes that it is inspired and authoritative. For orthodox readers, the words in the bible do matter and must be the primary foundation upon which theology is built. An orthodox believer is not a ‘literalist’ – interpretation is still crucial – but the starting point of the bible as authoritative and inspired by God is key. That’s because if the bible is inspired, you can’t just ignore the bits you find uncomfortable and label them as the work of humans. You have to do something with those passages (welcome to theology).

Importantly, there is not one way of being either liberal or orthodox. Like all things, it is a sliding scale, and people often don’t sit neatly at one end of it.^[4] The two words indicate an approach to theology and how someone approaches the bible and theology more broadly.

One significant side note is that this doesn’t indicate what someone will believe. For example, I believe that women should be permitted in ministry, but I do so based on what I think the bible says, such as in Romans and Acts, and how scholars like Peppiatt, Bailey, Fee (among others) have researched the bible and the context. In other words, I believe women should be in ministry because of the bible; in other words, I’m orthodox. Other people believe women should be in ministry because of how they feel about the topic, rather than what they think the bible says, which makes them liberal (they may say things like ‘I just feel they should be’). They’re liberal because their theology is not primarily drawing from the bible as the main source of theology. Likewise, I have friends who completely disagree with me on the topic because of what they believe the bible says on it - this is an orthodox approach (but you can believe this based on liberal reasoning too).^[5] And the approach does not guarantee the outcome.^[6]

But if you remember one thing from this post, make it that liberal and orthodox should be used to indicate how you approach theology, not what you believe theologically.

My other two words, conservative and charismatic, are stylistic – they describe an approach to both worship and how you expect the Holy Spirit to operate. It’s still theological, but it’s focused on a specific set of questions, not about the entire approach to theology. Often, there will be a crossover with our first two words, but not always. For example, cessationists (those who believe the gifts of the Spirit have ceased) are unlikely to have charismatic worship, and so are conservatives, but they’re also liberals, because cessationism is a liberal theological position.^[7]

Now, charismatic is a bad word to use here. Modern would be better, as modern is more of an opposite to conservative, but given charismatic movements have been happening for the last 100+ years, the word functions as a stand-in for modern. Not many people call themselves modern Christians (at least no one I know), but they might use words like charismatic to describe modern worship.^[8]

The word conservative is about what you’re trying to conserve. For most conservatives, they’re part of traditions that have a style of worship. But it is nigh on impossible to find a tradition whose worship style is 2000 years old. Usually, what is being described is a worshipping tradition of a few hundred years, and that is the style that is being conserved. This might play out in fashion, music, prayers and sermons. None of these things are theological in and of themselves. Don’t get me wrong, you see instructions in the bible on all of these things, but you won’t see ‘a sermon must be 35 minutes, contain an altar call, and be preceded by three songs and a set of notices.’ Conservative in this sense highlights that the approach taken to church follows a specific historical denomination or style.

Charismatic (or modern), on the other hand, is more focused on church in the modern world. This might be playing the latest worship songs, but likely, there’ll be people wearing modern fashion, the church will be putting on things for the local community, and they might change the format of their services semi-regularly.

Again, this is a sliding scale, and churches on this scale can easily slide to a different part of it (if you’re church’s worship is still 1990s bangers, you might not be modern any more…). For example, I was recently visiting a Free church in the Scottish highlands, the Sunday I was there, they had instruments in worship (just the final song) for the first time in over 20 years, and almost (maybe even all) of the songs were sung psalms. This is a conservative church, but what they are conserving is not a 2000-year-old tradition (the bible regularly talks about instruments in worship). That doesn’t make it wrong or right; it just means it’s a stylistic choice, conserving a specific tradition and for some, that will be the ideal way to worship.

So what sort of Christian are you? For me, I put myself somewhere in the charismatic orthodox end of the spectrum. We will all fall somewhere on this axis, and working out where is important for our own self-awareness as much as anything else. How do you understand the bible? How do you want to worship? They’re important questions to ask. Good luck.

^[1] Charismatic is a bad word to choose, but that seems to be the label adopted by many. So, I’ll describe what I think is being described.

^[2] To put it in the Language of Bultmann.

^[3] Richard Swinburn, in The Oxford Handbook of Philosophical Theology, 14.

^[4] Some people treat the bible very seriously on some issues but ignore it on others. This might be social justice, love, or especially complex societal issues.

^[5] And in turn, if you think there should have a return to ‘traditional values’ or some such, and so women should not be in ministry – this is also a liberal position theologically – because your reasoning is not primarily scripture.

^[6] See my posts on reading the bible (https://jackdjohnson.substack.com/p/how-to-read-and-understand-the-bible?r=2nly13) and Heresy (https://jackdjohnson.substack.com/p/are-you-a-heretic?r=2nly13)

^[7] It begins in the enlightenment when there is general scepticism about the supernatural. If you look at the oldest Christian writings, they all believe in the work and action of the Spirit (in some sense). And absolutely nowhere in the bible does it say the gifts have ceased now.

^[8] Charismatic implies a belief in the movement of the Holy Spirit, that results in the church practicing and seeing the Gifts used. It does not just mean happy clappy worship. But most people mean happy clappy, so there we are.

¹³ When they had gone, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream. “Get up,” he said, “take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him.”

¹⁴ So he got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt, ¹⁵ where he stayed until the death of Herod. And so was fulfilled what the Lord had said through the prophet: “Out of Egypt I called my son.”

- Matthew 2:13-15

A king in first-century Israel seeks the death of anyone who could be construed as a political opponent. Sound familiar? It should.

The brutal nature of politics is not a new thing. Nor is the attempted escape of people or peoples from oppression or trouble. The Bible is full of these stories. Here are a few:

• The Sons of Jacob go to Israel for grain, because there is famine in their land (Genesis 42).

• The people of Israel are oppressed by Pharaoh, and so God leads them out (Exodus)

• In the book of Ruth, there is a famine, so Elimelek and Naomi go to Moab, where their children marry Moabites (including Ruth).

As well as these stories, the Law requires Israel to look after the foreigner. Because they themselves were foreigners,

33 “‘When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. 34 The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.

- Leviticus 19: 33-34

In the New Testament, the message continues,

34 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

- Matthew 25:34-40

Basically, the Bible tells us, pretty strongly, to love our neighbour. Very specifically, it tells us to help the stranger and foreigner. While it is anachronistic to call these people asylum seekers or refugees, what is clear is that refugees and asylum seekers fall into the category of ‘stranger and foreigner’.

Point 1. The Bible tells us to care about what we would call refugees, migrants and asylum seekers. And to treat them well.

This is uncomfortable for many in today’s political climate, where anti-immigration policy is on the rise. This isn’t dominated by political affiliation; while usually it’s the right wing that’s anti-immigration, the left can be too – Denmark is a good example of this. Moreover, one could be anti-mass-migration but set up laws to carefully protect asylum seekers (so we should be careful with how we talk and act about the nuances of this).

Point 2. We shouldn’t feel smug because our political affiliation currently is pro-refugee. That’s not a given. Likewise, a person of the other affiliation isn’t necessarily anti-migration/refugee/asylum. Political parties are usually more than single-issue parties, and it’s reductive to treat them and their supporters in that way. But this also means that support for political parties can be accompanied by a call to do better. To treat people with dignity, respect and love.

That said, I do think there is a distinction that can be drawn between economic migration and asylum/refugees. There are real tensions in how states manage themselves, and I don’t want to pretend that the answers are simple. Likewise, I think we should be sceptical of any political party that claims the answers are simple (Reform, I’m looking at you). They aren’t. They’re lying to us (see footnote).[2] That said, we do need rules for society to function. A well-run democracy usually needs nuanced rules. Without this nuance in both the debate and the law, we’ll encounter a whole set of different problems (such as tyranny). Moreover, fair rules should protect the vulnerable, so calling for these rules to be fair and just is important.

Point 3. The government does face a challenge when trying to both create and enforce laws on this subject. But we should call for these to be fair and protect the vulnerable.

Irrespective of what the government does, the Church has a responsibility to hold the government to account and to help the vulnerable. Even if our party of choice is relatively good to migrants/refugees/asylum seekers, the party could likely improve, so we should promote that improvement.

The point of this post is not to get us to all vote the same way, but to suggest that there is a biblical mandate to love people, and this includes those who do not share our culture, background or language. Additionally, what loving people looks like is often practical, and while voting is one part of that, what we do with our time and money also matters. There are lots of ways to love people well, but usually that involves our action. That might be uncomfortable, and mapping politics onto that will be hard. Politics today is not trying to enact a Christian ethic, so while we might agree in large parts with various political parties, we shouldn’t blind ourselves to their faults. Additionally, the church (corporate and individuals) has a responsibility to try to love people well. Of course, we will get it wrong, but there’s grace for that.

[1] Using that term here is a little anachronistic, but as we’ll see the term does seem to fit with the calls to action as described in the bible.

[2] For the sake of argument, let’s say Reform get in on an anti-migrant ticket – send them home, stop the boats, you get it. What are they actually going to do? Dump people back in France? Or some other country? It doesn’t work like that. You are required to have political cooperation to enact those policies. And if you try to ignore that, and, for the sake of argument, are successful (which I doubt you would be), then you probably compromise your ability to negotiate on other issues, such as trade, transport, travel etc. In the case of France, this makes negotiating with Europe problematic. Likewise, are they just going to kick out the migrants that are here? I’d like to see our NHS function if they did that. Key parts of our economy only work because of migrants. So yes, its more complex.

1. Genre

Do you read Shakespeare the same way you read the dictionary? No, you don’t. Or I hope you don’t. In the same way, we shouldn’t read every part of the bible identically. Genre makes a difference. The fact that the Psalms, like the beginning of Genesis, are poetry, should impact what we understand about the text. The difficulty is that the bible contains multiple genres, including history, law, poetry, wisdom, prophecy, gospels, and letters, and probably some others that I’ve missed. And sometimes these genres are present in the same book. Genesis, for example, contains narrative history (the narrative from chapters 12-50), but the first few chapters are poetry with possibly a bit of polemic thrown in for good measure, like the story of Noah.

Understanding what genre we’re reading is vital because genres have ‘forms’ that help us understand how and what the author is trying to communicate. For example, poetry is going to use analogy in a way that is distinct from law or history. So, when the psalmist says, in Psalm 91, ‘he [God] will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge’, the psalmist does not mean God is covered in feathers but is trying to communicate ideas of God’s protection and safety. This is possibly an obvious example, but you get my drift.

So here is the first rule: when reading the bible, work out what genre you are reading. And ask yourself, what difference does that make to the way you interpret it?

2. Facts

Did the whale really swallow Jonah? And did it happen as the bible says it did? And does that matter anyway?

My dad tells me he knew I liked theology when aged 4, I asked him if the flood story in Genesis ‘really happened’. One of the problems we face when reading the bible is that the writers approach writing differently than us moderns. And there are differences between the gospels and the OT histories (and other genres and contexts) – each writer is attempting something specific. Now, this isn’t to claim that OT writers don’t care about whether things happened, but it is to say that they describe this in ways that we just wouldn’t. To do this, they use things like narrative and symbolism to communicate.

Part of the problem we face is that many modern readers are concerned with whether events in the Bible happened exactly as described. But ancient writers are usually more concerned with communicating a message than describing an accurate history. The book of Exodus is not just a record of the origins of the nation of Israel; the writer also wants us to realise key details about God and the world. Like God not being geographically contained (as other ancient gods are), God having power over other gods/forces, and God being able to bring order from chaos (which other gods can’t or don’t do), and the relationship that is being established between God and the people of Israel. For the writer of Exodus, these themes are more important than which pharaoh was in power, what year this was, or precisely how many people fled Egypt.[2]

Facts and genre also relate to context. Understanding what’s going on at the time (the context) when a writer says something helps us unpick what the writer might be trying to communicate. If their purpose is not to give us pure history or poetry, their context can help us understand why they say what they say in the way they it. Context might not change what we think is going on (though sometimes it does), but in all likelihood, it will add depth or help explain the stranger parts of the text.[3]

The difficulty for us is that we do not treat the past in the same way as ancient writers did. More to the point, we need to realise the biblical histories are doing more than just telling us a history story – they want us to understand something![4]

3. Revelation (the concept, not the book)

How we read and understand the bible is fundamentally linked to the idea of ‘revelation’ - that God ‘discloses’ or ‘speaks’ to humanity. And the bible (or scripture) is considered in Christianity to be the primary means through which God speaks.

The idea that God speaks through this text is a crucial part of reading the bible, because the bible is not simply about history or laws for a people 4000 years ago, it’s a vehicle for God to speak to humanity, both for the people it was written to, but also to you and me today. This is sometimes called a ‘polyvalent’ understanding – the text has multiple overlapping meanings. And some of those meanings are specific and unique to us today, but that does not mean the bible didn’t have specific meanings for the people at the time.

However, we can’t just cry revelation to cherry-pick what the bible is saying to us, because we can’t have revelation without discernment. Part of understanding how God speaks to us is down to careful interpretation.[5] This interpretive process requires us to think about what the rest of the bible is speaking about, how it fits together, and what that means for our life and walk.

It’s complex, and that’s probably a good thing, because both life and God are complex.

4. Imagination and connection

According to Christian tradition, the biblical authors are inspired by God to write what they do. However, unlike other religions such as Islam, the writers are not (usually) recording the words spoken by God to them.[6] Instead, they are describing a revelation, or interaction with God, that is for the people of Israel and us.

Walter Bruggeman describes the interaction with the prophets in the following way,

The prophet engages in futuring fantasy. The prophet does not ask if the vision can be implemented, for questions of implementation are of no consequence until the vision can be imagined. The imagination must come before the implementation.[7]

Now, there is no reason why God could not plant this fully formed into someone’s head, but even if He did, God speaks into culturally located moments. If you hear the audible voice of God, you hear him speak a socially constructed language, which could be anything from present-day French to modern Nigerian Pidgin, and if you see images, you may see the imaginative, creative work of humankind. The fact that God speaks through human existence requires the hearer/seer/feeler to make sense of the experience and to describe the experience in that others can understand. It’s imaginative.

Likewise, bible translations exist because the words themselves can be translated to enable understanding. This is why we argue about translation and interpretation – it’s the key skill, as the words themselves didn’t necessarily come out of God’s mouth in exactly this way. The text is the word of God, not the words of God. This is a crucial difference between Christianity and Islam, which is why the Quran is to be read in Arabic only – the words matter.

Because the writers are often trying to get us to understand things and not just writing nice poetry or giving a history lesson, they draw connections. For example, some people argue that we can read everything in the OT in light of the Exodus narrative – that this narrative is a key story containing ideas about who God is and his care for his people whom he liberates, and writers draw on these themes to get the message into our thick skulls.

The more we understand key themes, the more we will spot them. And in turn, the more we will see in the text. Studying these connections is fascinating, as the use of imagination and connection is not supposed to make reading the bible simpler, but to add ever more layers to what’s being said.

Finally then…

Reading the bible is complex. Sometimes it’s dark and difficult.

But good fun to grapple with.

The more we read, the more we study, the more connections, contexts and genres we encounter, the more we will get from reading the bible. God does speak through the bible, and creative, imaginative writing is part of this.[8] If God does speak through poetry, or sings creation into existence,[9] that is, in my view, really cool. And I think that seeing the text like this, illuminates the beauty and power of God in a way that is beyond the limits of pure prose, as Rahner put it, “Has theology become more perfect because theologians have become more prosaic?”[10] I think not. And the biblical authors seem to agree.

[1] The number changes between denominations, to see the changes go to https://biblecanon.org/canons/. Also to be clear, the New Testament canon emerges very quickly (see, John Barton, Holy Writings, Sacred Text: The Canon in Early Christianity, (Westminster John Knox Press, 1997) 19. But if you look at the above link, you’ll notice that the disagreements between denominations are about the OT not the NT, despite the fact that people tend to suggest that it’s the NT that can’t be trusted or was ‘created’ later (this ignores flipping loads if things, so I won’t go into why that’s a problematic argument here).

[2] In fact, the role of pharaoh is one of the things being attacked by Exodus, so trying to work out who is pharaoh is really not the point – because the point is pharaoh is not God (no matter which pharaoh we’re talking about).

[3] For example, my friend Jonny wrote his diss on the Balaam story (titled, ‘There’s More to Balaam Than His Ass’ – I’m jealous of such genius), where he highlights how this very strange story is pulling on key details from the exodus narrative. Understanding these details helps us understand the story and what the heck is going on.

[4] Working out what they want us to understand is the fun part.

[5] This isn’t to say that God can’t break rules and pluck verses out of thin air to speak to your current situation. But this is specific and limited revelation – and even this, if it disagrees with the ‘wider’ teaching of the bible is to be discounted as not from God. e.g. God would not tell you that he hates you.

[6] Now at times they might be, liken when recording interactions with God where He speaks or acts, but often this is not the case.

[7] Brueggemann, Prophetic Imagination, 40

[8] There’s lots more that could be said on this topic (e.g. ‘the senses of scripture’ and the like), but hopefully, this gives a little intro into the complexity of biblical interpretation.

[9] Semitic poetry and song is very difficult to distinguish by form, so is Genesis 1, song? Maybe. – See Martin Hengel, Studies in early Christology, p. 234 who writes, “[in] Semitic poetry, the differentiation between prayer and song based alone on form is often not easy to make”

[10] Rahner, Theological Investigations: Priest and Poet, (1967) – apologies, I can’t seem to find the page number, and I don’t know where my copy of the book has gone. A lesson in referencing even in your own notes.

But if you do listen to them, it’s worth holding in your head anything you know about Christianity, because this album is chock-full of Christian symbolism. Mumford and Sons have often hinted at their faith background, plus Marcus Mumford’s parents were the leaders of the UK Vineyard movement, and his brother is a theological ethicist (his stuff is really fascinating, so check it out for more nerdy content).[2] Marcus is reported to have said that he wouldn’t call himself a Christian, because ‘I think the word just conjures up all these religious images that I don't really like. I have my personal views about the person of Jesus and who he was.’[3] Statements like this have led to the band sometimes being subject to suspicion from folks in church due to a general scepticism around what’s called ‘deconstruction’.

If this is what it's like to be unholy, man

If this is what it's like to be lost

I will take this heresy over your hypocrisy

And count any cost

If this is what it's like to be empty again

If this is what it's like to be adrift

I will take this darkness over any light you cast

You and all your original sin

- Carry On

Deconstruction describes the process of reevaluating, critiquing, and potentially dismantling present beliefs and practices, which can be difficult for both the deconstructer and those around them. Those not deconstructing can find the challenge or criticism difficult to deal with, especially if that comes with (as it often does) big emotions, such as anger, or cynicism, as the deconstructor is processing and critiquing almost everything they’ve held dear.

Hyacinth girl

You are peace

There is Christ in the ground beneath your feet

Restoration

And the rewritten code

Beyond reason

Monochrome out of sight

- Monochrome (final chorus only)

The topic of faith is close to the bone for many people; it relates to how people fundamentally see and relate to the world, and how they structure everything from ethics and morals to their weekly rhythms. And we can take perceived threats to this very personally, and often badly. This is unhealthy. Challenging your conception of Church, bible and faith is vital in growing in maturity. It is key to being able to understand where you and/or the Church has gone wrong (we all have and the Church deffo has), and it’s the role of people in church communities to be with people in deconstruction, and not be defensive or act out of fear. Partly, this is about recognising the faith element of religion – in Christian thought there is a strong element of mystery, and learning to be comfortable with that is a skill.[4]

And there is still a stillness over the deep

And there is still a word in the night

The day blind stars

Over our heads again

Wait with their light

- Carry On

Don’t get me wrong, there are very unhealthy ways to deconstruct, like allowing yourself to become stuck in bitterness at the injustices you’ve seen or experienced, sitting in your anger or refusing to find or engage in constructive dialogue about alternative ideas. But usually at this point, deconstruction is taking place, at least in part, under the emotional sway of your situation. For most people, deconstruction finds you, not the other way around, because we usually aren’t active enough in challenging the ideas of our community. Once these emotions settle, you will still need to find a way to work through these things, but what is better is actively deconstructing before you’re forced to do so.

When you speak, do you think you could do it kindly

Or does your anger overwhelm?

When you're weak, do you ever think of living wildly

And let your anger go to hell?

Where it belongs

- Where It Belongs

Thus, the type of deconstruction you engage in is massively important. And I think that is because the study of theology is, by its nature, a form of deconstruction. Deconstruction should come with a constructive counterbalance. It is not simply tearing down everything you knew but is also asking what changes need to be made, what things need to be built up. Deconstruction at its best then is also a form of construction, where you find space to ask your questions.

Defeat and surrender always feel the same to me

But what does it matter? They both bring me to my knees

Oh, break me down and put me back together

I surrender, I surrender now

And hold me in the promise of forever

I surrender, I surrender now

- Surrender

I would suggest that deconstruction is academic, spiritual, emotional and relational. Attempting to deconstruct (and reconstruct) without one of these elements will cause specific problems, and potentially not resolve the object of your criticism. This is somewhat because these are fundamentally related. For example, your spiritual life is tied to how you feel about God and church (your emotional life), and this is connected to things you believe to be true (academic), but all of this is related to who you know, and the conversations you have (relational). To grow spiritually, we must grow emotionally (Peter Scazzero’s book, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, is a good place to find some guidance on this) and academically, which all happens in the context of relationships.

And I feel a spirit move in me again
I know it's the same spirit that still moves in you
I don’t know how it took so long to shed this skin
Live under the shadow of your wings

You are all I want
You're all I need
I'll find peace beneath the shadow of your wings

- Malibu

Even healthy deconstruction is likely to feel unpleasant, but it is good. And almost because of this I would highly recommend studying theology. Theological education at its best allows you to journey with other people in asking difficult and deep questions about God, the nature of faith, the Church and the bible (go look into your local theological college – I always recommend WTC Theology). Even if formal theology is not doable for you right now, find people who want to investigate the deep questions and aren’t afraid of the challenge, or reach out to me and ask your questions (I’ll do what I can, or I can point you to someone else).

You might have noticed that the Rushmere lyrics are pulling heavily on Christian themes, from ‘living under the shadow of your wings’ (Psalm 17, 57, 61, 91) to ‘surrendering to be held in the promise of forever’. But it’s not for the rest of us to decide that Marcus Mumford, or the other band members, have climbed out of some dark pit of deconstruction, into the light of a Christian faith full of answers, clarity, and surety. They are on a spiritual journey of some sort – just like you and me, and everyone else. Deconstruction is not where faith goes to die, it’s how we test all things and work out the good we need to hold on to (1 Thessalonians 5:21).

[1] Phil Mongredien, Mumford & Sons: Rushmere review – back to dreary basics, The Guardian (2025), https://www.theguardian.com/music/2025/mar/28/mumford-and-sons-rushmere-review-back-to-dreary-basics

[2] For example, https://www.plough.com/en/topics/life/grieving/james-mumford-on-god-politics-depression-therapy-and-philosophy

[3] Sadly, I can’t seem to find the original Rolling Stone source, but this quote comes from https://thinkchristian.net/marcus-mumford-i-wouldnt-call-myself-a-christian-now-what

[4] For example, did you know that biblical genealogy in books like genesis, place key figures in the 5^th/ 7^th /10^th generations, to add emphasis to the text? Noah is 10 generations after Adam, and Abraham is 10 generations after Noah (forming a chiasm) but whether this is ‘historically’ 10 gens later is not the point (but working out what the point is, and how to read text is something exciting not destabilising). See, Arnold BT, Genesis (Cambridge University Press; 2008) p.126

In case you don’t know, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a theologian and pastor in World War II Germany. He was an active resistor to the Nazi regime (returning to Germany from the USA to resist) and was ultimately executed in the concentration camp at Flossenbürg shortly before the end of the war. A topic Boneheoffer continually worked on is ethics – how to live morally. Importantly, his ethics were formed in a very practical environment, and what’s interesting about this is not only the active part of his ethics, but particularly how he then chose to act against the system and regime that he was in. Bonhoeffer was an active resistor, which at first looked like training the leaders of the confessing church, and later, developed into participation in plots to assassinate Hitler.^[1]

So why did a conversation about buying and renting out property make me think about this? For context: I had never thought I would realistically buy a home, or least not soon, and, having lived in rental properties for the past decade, I have a small but ingrained dislike of landlords (to my landlord friends and family, I’m sorry, and I’m working on it). I had a leaking bedroom roof in my second-year house for 4 months, damp problems in at least 4 of my houses and a rental price hike of over double in one house – just to name a few issues I’ve encountered. And I don’t think I’m special (in fact, in general I've had ‘decent’ landlords), but the fact we praise landlords for doing the basics ‘oh they’re great, they fix things so quickly’ I think shows just how low the bar is.

In recent years, the disparity between earnings and house prices in the UK has significantly increased. The average house in the UK currently costs about nine times the average salary and the last time houses were that expensive relatively was 1876. ^[2] In 1960, the relative difference between house prices and salaries was about 2.5 times, which means that the system is much harsher on buyers now than it was 55 years ago. About 10% of UK homeowners own multiple homes, and many do so in order to rent out – about 2.1 million homeowners own multiple homes. Additionally, average rent in the UK is about 34% of a person's income, with the urban centres generating the most extreme disparities. According to the Office for National Statistics, Bristol, where I live, along with London and Manchester, is one of the least affordable places to rent.^[3] In short, then, affluent people in cities (mostly owners, but also renters to a lesser extent) are participating in a system that fundamentally oppresses the poor.

And so, I wondered about Bonhoeffer. How do I try to steward the resources I have in a corrupt system? And how do I live with, and for, those worse off than myself? Bonhoeffer did not have to be in Germany during Hitler’s reign, he actively chose to return, to engage, and ultimately suffer and die. He wrote,

I have come to the conclusion that I have made a mistake in coming to America. I must live through this difficult period of our national history with the Christian people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people.^[4]

What I started wondering is whether it is ethical for me to buy a house, especially if I then move away and rent out that property, making me one of the landlords who contribute to this oppressive system? To be clear, I’m not comparing the Nazi regime to the housing market (please forgive my clickbait title). What I am doing is using Bonhoeffer's lived experience of ethics to help inform how I think about everyday systems of power and individual action. While both systems are oppressive, it would be fundamentally reductive to say that the housing market is oppressive in the way the Nazi regime was, not to mention downright wrong. That said, it is important to work out how to live ethically (and the practical ways of doing this), and so I do think Bonhoeffer's approach has a lot to say to us.

So, Bonhoeffer thinks the Church has the dual roles of proclaiming Christ and being Christ.^[5] And when it comes to these roles in terms of the Church’s relation to the state, he discusses how resistance can look. He wrote,

There are thus three possibilities for action that the church can take vis-à-vis the state: first (as we have said), questioning the state as to the legitimate state character of its actions, that is, making the state responsible for what it does. Second is service to the victims of the state’s actions. The church has an unconditional obligation toward the victims of any societal order, even if they do not belong to the Christian community. “Let us work for the good of all”. These are both ways in which the church, in its freedom, conducts itself in the interest of a free state. In times when the laws are changing, the church may under no circumstances neglect either of these duties. The third possibility is not just to bind up the wounds of the victims beneath the wheel but to seize the wheel itself.^[6]

If we go with Bonhoeffer, then there are three possible options (and options one and two must also be taken if you take option three).

1. Hold the state accountable.

2. Help the victims of the state (Christians or not).

3. Actively participate in changing the system.

That said, these are the options of the church, and while individual Christians are part of the church, they on their own are never the church,^[7] and so they also bear individual responsibilities. A quick note on the above is that firstly, I think it is ethical (and even preferable) for churches today to use their resources to buy property, if they then A. Rent these properties out at cheaper rates than the market value. And B. Operate as good landlords, providing safe, clean homes for people to live in (and not just Christians, for anyone in their local community who needs support).

But what am I to do?

Bonhoeffer does carefully lay out how an individual ought to ‘resist’ in various escalating scenarios (see, State and Church) where he describes ‘free responsible action.’^[8] As well as this, Bonhoeffers biographer and friend, Eberhard Bethge reports that Gaetano Latmiral once asked Bonhoeffer how a ‘Christian and a pastor could participate in a conspiracy’ to which Bonhoeffer replied,

When a lunatic on the Kudamm [a busy Berlin avenue] steers his car onto the sidewalk, I as a pastor cannot only bury the dead and comfort the relatives. I must jump in and pull the driver from the steering wheel if I am standing right there.^[9]

For Bonhoeffer, the individual does have a responsibility to deal with the situation before them, rather than simply watch the situation unfold. I think we would do well to think on this in relation to our world today. For me and house buying, I don’t think this rules buying a house as unethical, rather I think it means I have a responsibility to do things with that home that help my community, and if I rent it out, it should never be for my gain while others are downtrodden by my action (but I’m going to keep thinking about my ethics and the decisions I make).

Christians have a responsibility to act in the world, for what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, and to love mercy (Micah 6:8a).

If you feel differently, tell me more in the comments or drop me a DM. I’d love to continue this conversation.

^[1] Michael P. DeJonge, ‘Into the Conspiracy’, in Bonhoeffer on Resistance: The Word Against the Wheel, ed. Michael P. DeJonge (Oxford University Press, 2018), https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780198824176.003.0013.

^[2] Duncan Lamont, ‘What 175 years of data tell us about house price affordability in the UK’, https://www.schroders.com/en-gb/uk/individual/insights/what-174-years-of-data-tell-us-about-house-price-affordability-in-the-uk/

^[3] Office for national statistics, ‘ Private rental affordability, England and Wales: 2023’, https://www.ons.gov.uk/peoplepopulationandcommunity/housing/bulletins/privaterentalaffordabilityengland/2023#:~:text=Private%20renters%20on%20a%20median,ending%20(FYE)%20March%202023.

^[4] Detrich Bonhoeffer, Letter to Reinhold Niebuhr

^[5] DeJonge, ‘Into the Conspiracy’

^[6] Detrich Bonhoeffer, 1933, quoted in, DeJonge, ‘Into the Conspiracy’.

^[7] Really, it’s even stronger than this, in that the individual is designated to do an action as allowed by ‘the church’ corporate. Thus, good works or preaching are simply one part of the bodies actions, and so a work of the church (corporate) not a work of any one gifted human. See, DeJonge, 'The Free Responsible Action of the Individual', in, Bonhoeffer on Resistance.

^[8] DeJonge, ‘free responsible action’.

^[9] DeJonge, ‘free responsible action’. This quote represents Bonheoffers thought in his 1933 essay ‘on the Jewish Question’ and is also reported by Latmiral himself, although the wording is different (and less extreme but gives the same essential position).

Or, what counts as normal? When do you think a human is disabled? Is disability something that is caused by the world? Or is it something that, without necessarily being the fault of the person, is a type of brokenness that a ‘normal’ person doesn’t encounter? Do you think that disability is a form of weakness? Is it a thing to be fixed?

Before reading on, genuinely take a moment and try and answer those questions.

German Lutheran pastor, theologian, and anti-Nazi Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote,

What is the meaning of weakness in this world, what is the meaning of physical or mental or moral weakness? . . . Have we ever realized that ultimately our whole attitude toward life, toward man and God depends on the answer to this problem?1

For Bonhoeffer, what a person thinks is the answer to these questions will necessarily play out in their interactions throughout life, and in their relationship with God. So, it’s a big deal. I’d say that how you instinctively answer the questions above probably tells you quite a lot about how you think about several issues. Churches are often quick to build accessibility ramps, use neurodiverse-friendly visuals, or offer (or just do – yikes) prayers of healing for people with disabilities. And most of that is good (not the unasked-for prayer, if that’s you, stop it), but doesn’t address underlying assumptions or beliefs. Some of those assumptions and/or beliefs are the answers to the questions at the top. To pick just one, is disability a form of brokenness that non-disabled people don’t share?

Christianity has often seen many (if not all) disabilities as ‘things’ to be healed. Throughout the Bible, the deaf hear, the lame walk, the dead are raised, and the blind see (Matt 11:5), and this has generally been accepted as perfectly acceptable. But does this mean all disabilities, or, more accurately, all people who would consider themselves disabled, ‘should’ be healed? Hopefully, we can all agree that using neurodiverse-friendly visuals is a positive adaptation to try and help people in church, but it doesn’t answer the question about how something like neurodiversity relates to brokenness, sin, or healing.

To be clear, I’m dyslexic, and I don’t think neurodiversity (whether dyslexia, ADHD, autism or any other form of neurodiversity) is something that needs to be healed away. That said, I find it interesting that most of the time when Jesus heals someone in the New Testament, the person is often described as coming to him for healing. In some cases, there is an amusing dialogue where Jesus seemingly asks the obvious, for example, Mark 10:51 reads,

“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked him. The blind man [Bartimaeus] said, “Rabbi, I want to see.”

The answer to Jesus’s question seems pretty obvious (‘I want to see’), but Jesus asks anyway. He gives agency to Bartimaeus. It’s possible there is someone out there who’s neurodiverse and wants it to change. Will I be dyslexic in Heaven (or the new creation) – yes, I think so. But will everyone? Maybe not.

I’ve tried to tie this post to neurodiversity, mostly because it’s my lived experience. But we could easily make this conversation about anything else society thinks of as non-normative. And we can do that because many things that count as disability are so because of how ‘normal’ society functions. Calling me dyslexic does describe a different sort of brain function to most people who will read this post, but it doesn’t disable me. Society does that. The need to tick certain boxes, to write a certain way, or to give a damn about the difference between a semi-colon and a comma (correctly spelt due to Grammarly2) is about how society judges or measures people. Dyslexia does not disable me;3 society's judgment does.

That said, this is not necessarily true for everyone. For some people, their genetic makeup or life events cause issues that are non-normative in a specific and challenging way.4 But are any of us in a position to say that these non-normative challenges are a form of brokenness? I don’t think so, and if we think like that, there are consequences for our views of human dignity and value. If you see some people as ‘more broken’ than yourself or others this is problematic. For example, is abortion at any point during pregnancy because the child might have Downs syndrome acceptable (according to UK law today – it is)?5 This is not supposed to be a comment on abortion and, irrespective of your general position on abortion, do you think it is acceptable to have different rules for different disabilities? To me, this implies that certain disabilities make some people less valuable than others and that I find highly distasteful (to put it mildly). If you disagree with me, then I would ask that you do two things. First, ask yourself where you draw the line and why it’s okay to draw that line. Second, check out the link in this footnote.6

I do recognise that disabilities, by their nature, provide a set of challenges, to both the person and their friends and family, that most people don’t experience. And tbh not being normal is fine (at least I think it is), and most people are not normal in some sense – norms exist and that’s okay (good even), but whether these norms disable someone is a different kettle of fish, and what we do with that kettle is very important.

I think our theological, practical, and ethical approach needs to care about how this topic is broached. This is the point Bonhoeffer is making, that how we think about ‘weakness’ in a theoretical sense, is going to have very real, and possibly damaging consequences. I am a flawed and broken human, but it isn’t because of my dyslexia, nor is my dyslexia a result of brokenness.

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That said, the purpose and format of sung worship has it’s origins in prayer. Martin Hengel writes that ‘[In] Semitic poetry, the differentiation between prayer and song based alone on form is often not easy to make.’[1] In other words, when you read Hebrew poetry, like the Psalms, it’s not always clear if this is a prayer or a song. Partly this is because these two forms of worship, are fulfilling a similar primary function. Sung worship is a form of prayer to God, and so it can show adoration, thanksgiving, lament etc.

One might think that sung worship then is a relatively simple thing (I mean, if you’re any good at writing poetry, which I’m not), as all one needs to do is write something that shows worship/adoration/praise/thankfulness to God. And while this is a true purpose, it’s certainly not all it’s for. Worship is also supposed to teach the congregation the theology of the Church. There’s a traditional phrase that says ‘the law of prayer is the law of belief’ or what we pray is what we believe.’[2] This is where the link to prayer is really important; what you pray, or sing, indicates the true belief of the Church. So singing in church is not just about praising God,[3] it’s also about teaching and communicating what the church believes.

The problem we have here, though, is that worship is still an artistic form. In other words, how much licence does a songwriter (or worship leader) have to play around with the words they use? For example, Rend Collective’s well-known My Lighthouse describes God/Jesus as a lighthouse, but the problem with this is that lighthouses point away from themselves –they literally glare at boats to go somewhere else. That isn’t quite what Jesus does. It’s a bad metaphor, but the song is trying to say that God guides us through life. So, it could be worse (it also could be better). And that’s the thing with metaphor/analogy they don’t perfectly represent God, nor should we assume that the words we use will perfectly map to who God is. God for example, is not a lion, but he is powerful and beautiful (but certainly not tame).[4]

While this might be true, we probably do have to draw a line somewhere, because some phrases do just say or imply pretty non-ideal theology. For example, Cody Carnes’ Christ Be Magnified contains the truly terrible line of ‘I won't be formed by feelings’. Now the problem here is that the line is not allegorical; it is attempting to make a theological point, which is then affirmed by all of us who sing it. What’s more, it is teaching this theological idea to the Church more broadly.

I have a friend who’s scared of flying (it’s related, I promise), and she was at her church small group asking for prayer for a safe flight home. One person who prayed for her finished his prayer for a safe flight by saying, ‘Keep her safe – if you will it, God’. Now, my friend was horrified by this; she wanted him to ‘ask’ for something, not just for him to effectively pray ‘Well, we like her, but if you want her to die, you do you.’ The issue here, though, is that this is the theological view of prayer espoused by her tradition – that God’s plan is set, as reformed theologian Oliver Crisp puts it, ‘God knows what we want and what we need and his knowledge of these things is not affected one whit by our petition.’[5] To be clear, this is not a view of prayer that I share (but it is a mainstream one),[6] but this guy prayed it, and he prayed it because this idea of prayer has been taught to him via prayer, preaching and worship.

This, then, is the tension. Worship songs need to sit in a place where they teach what we would call ‘correct theology’,[7] but they also need to allow space for the creative, to use metaphor and analogy.[8] If we don’t, then we fundamentally limit our ‘God-talk’.

Tbh, this is essentially why I think worship leaders should go get some real theology training. In James 3:1, we read ‘Not many of you should become teachers, my fellow believers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly.’ Worship leaders and writers are teaching, and you will be held to account (as I think will the pastors and theologians), so if that’s you, go get trained. That should give you pause, and that’s a good thing – thankfully, there is also grace for your bad theology and mine.

[1] Martin Hengel, Studies in Early Christology, p. 234

[2] It’s snappier in Latin, ‘Lex orandi lex credendi’

[3] There is a space for personal sung worship, but corporate worship takes on this extra dynamic. That said, if you personally reinforce problematic ideas, I would suggest that this will affect you.

[4] As a side note, there’s a pretty big debate about the use of theological language, but I’m assuming some form of analogical predication is the right way to talk about God (see my PhD, https://research-repository.st-andrews.ac.uk/bitstream/handle/10023/31058/Thesis-Jack-Johnson-complete-version.pdf?sequence=5&isAllowed=y).

[5] Oliver Crisp, Retrieving Doctrine: Essays in Reformed Theology, 135.

[6] Again, see my PhD, https://research-repository.st-andrews.ac.uk/bitstream/handle/10023/31058/Thesis-Jack-Johnson-complete-version.pdf?sequence=5&isAllowed=y

[7] And yes, this might be slightly dependent on your tradition.

[8] In part, this relates to how creative uses of imagination work with divine disclosure (revelation). But that’s a blog for another time.

Heresy is one of those words that gets bandied about in Christian circles and is used to attack people with whom one disagrees. Christians tend to vehemently disagree on questions of theology, whether about communion, women in ministry, sexual ethics or something else and Christians can be (and often are) unloving towards one another when they start arguing. While we might have stopped killing each other over these issues,[1] we are still finding ways to be unpleasant towards one another. Don’t get me wrong, I think theology is really important, and we should discuss our differences of opinion. I’m just saying that the way in which these differences are discussed is equally important.

The way I see this unpleasantness playing out (often online) is in accusations of heresy. For example, I was recently reading a critique of John Mark Comer by Tom Marshall, who says ‘Richard Rohr, one of Comer’s key influences, is a known heretic who also redefined sin in a similar way.’[2] He goes on to say that Christian mysticism is ‘really’ Gnosticism. Which it is not.

I’m not convinced Rohr is a heretic, and while I haven’t read a whole lot of him, the main reason I’m not convinced is that it’s quite hard to be a heretic.[3] To be a heretic, you need to actively reject the core teachings of the whole church,[4] which were established in the earliest Christian creeds (following councils). To quote my friend Jeremy on this:

Orthodox believers hold to the sovereignty of God the Father, the incarnation, death, and resurrection of the Son, and the life-giving power of the Spirit. Which is to say, they affirm belief in the Trinity. Orthodox Christians also believe in the virgin birth, the resurrection of the dead, the forgiveness of sins, and in the Church catholic and universal.[5]

There are maybe a few other things than Jeremy’s short list, but you get the point. to be orthodox (and so not a heretic) one needs to ascribe to key tenets of faith as laid out by the Church. What’s important, however, is that these councils and creeds are concerned about ruling erroneous beliefs out; they aren’t concerned about prescribing a specific way of interpreting these creeds, rather they say, ‘as little as doctrinally possible’.[6] For example, to be orthodox, you do need to affirm the hypostatic union (that Jesus is 100% man and 100% God), but there are different ways of discussing Christology without one then becoming a heretic. This is what Oliver Crisp calls ‘dogmatic minimalism’.[7] These creeds recognise the mystery of God, that there are things we can’t fully understand, and so they are not, in most cases, overly prescriptive; rather, the focus is ruling out specific heretical ideas.

The key point is this: it’s hard to be a heretic.

Because it’s hard to be a heretic, we really should stop trying to label people like Comer as heretics. Just because you don’t like someone’s theology, or you see it as wrong, that does not make them a heretic. It might mean you disagree with them, and so you stop going to their church, or that you stop listening to their band, but that still doesn’t make them a heretic.

Now, heresy does exist, and some views are heretical, e.g. those that deny the divinity of Christ or fail to grant him equal status as the Father, like subordinationism. Theologians should take care to avoid potentially falling foul of this. But using heresy as a buzzword to attack your theological opponents is lazy and shows you haven’t really got a clue what you're talking about (it does not, however, make you a heretic).

So, no, you’re probably not a heretic. Congrats. And put that stamp down.

[1] Unlike the reformers or crusaders. For a particularly wild story, google the Munster Rebellion.

[2] Tom Marshall, ‘From Insightful to Concerning: Reassessing John Mark Comer's Practicing the Way’,

Greatly Wondering

From Insightful to Concerning: Reassessing John Mark Comer's Practicing the Way

I first learned about John Mark Comer from This Cultural Moment, which was simply brilliant. I had not heard anyone talk about culture from a Christian perspective the way Comer and Mark Sayers did. It was smart, insightful, and down to earth. When I saw…

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2 years ago · 57 likes · 45 comments · Tom Marshall

[3] Another reason is that anyone who thinks mysticism is the same as Gnosticism needs to give their head a wobble.

[4] Due to church schism, this no longer exists, and so you can’t make ‘new heresies’ – usually, modern heresies fit into the description of those in the early church, hence why Tom compares mysticism to Gnosticism (he has to make it fit).

[5] Jeremy Rios, ‘The New Orthodoxy, Part 1: Do you really preach the Bible?’, https://jmichaelrios.wordpress.com/2025/03/12/the-new-orthodoxy-part-1-do-you-really-preach-the-bible/?fbclid=IwY2xjawJBgAFleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHXrSF0GotTJLP_F8G53EnnM9nj5BN-cr90deP5aXN5hnMpSU49gHQ6H0Bw_aem_oQyrJM2-6Mkhfl27TnyQhg

[6] Oliver D. Crisp, The Word Enfleshed: Exploring the Person and Work of Christ (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2016), 80.

[7] Ibid.

Peter Abelard was a medieval French philosopher and theologian who was one of the most renowned teachers in Paris. In his role as a teacher, he was employed by Fulbert to teach Heloise (Fulbert’s niece), what follows is better described by Abelard, who wrote,

Under the pretext of study, we spent our hours in the happiness of love and learning held out to us the secret opportunities that our passion craved. . . our kisses far outnumbered our reasoned words. My hands sought less the book than her bosoms…and if love itself could imagine any wonder as yet unknown, we discovered it.[2]

At the time, academic theologians bore a similar status to those in the priesthood, and celibacy for people in these roles was becoming ever more normal (thank goodness that trend has stopped). Yet Abelard and Heloise fell in love, and Heloise eventually became pregnant.

This is where the story gets a little more complicated (and the details are somewhat unclear and occasionally contradictory in the sources, but I’ll do my best). The short of it is that Abelard proposes to Heloise, but she is reluctant to accept on the basis that it might ruin Abelard’s career (celibacy being the social norm). However, she eventually agrees to marry Abelard in secret in an attempt to protect everyone involved. Unfortunately, her uncle (who is not best pleased by the situation) discloses the marriage. Fearing the damage this would do to Abelard’s reputation, she denies this, and they smuggle Heloise out of Paris to a convent. Uncle Fulbert, however, thinks Abelard is forcing her to become a nun (going back on the marriage), and so extracts his revenge on Abelard by having some men break into his home and castrate him.

This was, I think, far from ideal.

This not only ruins the romantic relationship Abelard has with Heloise but also effectively ends his Parisian academic career. From this, I think there are some interesting dynamics at play between these people that we can learn from (if you like a good tenuous link)—namely, trust, communication, and unintended consequences (poor Abelard).

Abelard and Fulbert mistrust each other. Their actions are borne from their mistrust. Had Abelard trusted Fulbert, and the situation been explained to him, they may have acted differently. And, had Fulbert trusted Abelard, perhaps he wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about their actions. In either case, the outcome could have been quite different.

From this mistrust, there is miscommunication. Each person in the tragic story misunderstands the others’ actions and words. Miscommunication is a norm in life. We don’t understand each other, and that’s okay, but we need to remember that fact before we act. For Abelard, miscommunication led to his castration (this probably won’t happen to you). For most of us, there are people we don’t trust, and we will change our communication accordingly. There is wisdom in this, but it’s always worth trying to be as clear as possible. Moreover, always ask yourself how else they could interpret these words/actions and what that could mean. While your miscommunication probably won’t result in your castration, better safe than sorry right?

Part of the tragic story of Abelard and Heloise is that the whole story is a series of unintended consequences. While things like trust and communication could have helped this situation, it remains the joy of hindsight. There will often be unintended consequences to our actions (hopefully, they won’t be as bad as they were for Abelard). As we navigate the strange and changing societal norms we experience today, it’s always worth trying to work out what our actions could lead to and, where possible, heading these issues off as soon as possible. In the end, though, things will happen we didn’t imagine; all we can do is our best.

[1] Although this story used to be on par with Romeo and Juliet for its tragic drama

[2] Abelard, The History of My Calamities, In, ‘Castration and emasculation in the Middle Age. The andrological conundrum of Peter Abelard’

So, my first observation is to say that there are many doctrinal abuses in the charismatic church, where experience is elevated above doctrine, and doctrine is made minimally important. I think that is a huge defect in many charismatic churches.[1]

Now, while I think it’s fair to say that experiences shouldn’t be elevated above doctrine, what’s implicit in Piper’s stance is the idea that doctrine is above experience. In my experience, charismatics are often critiqued for bad theology, and the go-to argument has often been that the charismatic church is all experience and no substance. But is it true that doctrine is more important than experience?

The Bible often discusses people’s emotions (or feelings) and experiences in both positive and negative language. For the negative side, we have verses like Jeremiah 17:9, which says ‘The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?’ This verse is often used to argue that doctrine has priority over experience because a person’s heart is deceitful above all else. But there are also plenty of positive emotional descriptors in scripture. Three of the fruits of the spirit in Galatians 5:22-23 are emotions (love, joy, peace), and, indeed, Stephen Voorwinde finds that in Second Corinthians alone, references to Paul’s emotions are made ‘no less than thirty-five times, and twenty different Greek words are used.’[2] These emotions are often positive (or appropriate). And if we were to examine the life of Jesus, we would continually find references to his joy, compassion, sorrow, and grief. So, while scripture does describe the heart as deceitful, it also frames emotions as gifts from God and as part of normal, positive human life (without a negative view of this). How, then, do we make sense of both positive and negative views of emotions in the bible? And what might that mean for the critique levelled at charismatics?

What’s important to stress is that while there are proper uses and cultivation of emotions and experience, there are also improper uses of these things. This isn’t just true for our ‘feelings’ but also our theology and our practice. This is what sometimes gets called ‘orthopathy’ (correct or acceptable feeling), ‘orthodoxy’ (correct theology or belief) and ‘orthopraxy’ (correct practice). In the Christian tradition, there is a recognition that any of these things can be done badly and there are plenty of examples of this for all three. Bad theology was used to argue for slavery, bad practice has led (and continues to lead) to abuses of power by church leaders, and bad feelings can be cultivated to turn Christians into selfish, mean or angry people (amongst other things). The reason we have orthopathy, -doxy, and -praxy is to try and prevent these issues (and others), and to form people and communities into the likeness of Christ.

The three ‘orthos’ are also mutually informing. All three are needed for functional, flourishing churches and people, and each of these helps inform the others. Incidentally, this is the model we see at work in the New Testament. Paul has excellent theological training, and so he persecutes the Church; it’s only his experience (Acts 9) that leads to transformation (orthopathy). In Acts 10, Peter has an experience of the Spirit (orthopathy) that leads him to spread the gospel to the Gentiles (orthopraxy); here again, it is orthodoxy (or theology) that comes last. That said, Jesus, Paul and the disciples all do teach on theological issues, and they expect that this teaching (orthodoxy) will inform people’s practice and feelings.[3]

What is key then is that theology, practice and experience/feelings work in tandem. I’ve heard it said John Wimber (founder of the Vineyard movement) would do things like turn the lights on during sung worship, on the basis that if the Spirit was moving, the room didn’t need to be dark. In Wimber’s case, the charge of emotionalism simply isn’t accurate, as the practice is routed in a theology, and so we see the importance of ensuring these things are in step with each other.

To bring us full circle then, experience in charismatic circles is really important, and the accusation of ‘emotionalism’ I think misses the mark. It certainly is true that some charismatic churches will lean towards generating a ‘feeling’ rather than creating space for the move of the Spirit,[4] but this actually is a separate issue and isn’t the reality for many charismatics.

Moreover, if we need to correctly form emotions/feelings/experiences, then ‘emotionalism’ is the wrong word to use, as we need to be emotional; we just need to cultivate the right sort of emotional response (forgiveness, love, patience, kindness, righteous anger, etc.). Our emotions then need to be cultivated, but they also need to be pruned, and we can use ideas on practice and theology to help do both of these things.[5] By correctly employing all three together, we can be formed by the Spirit into more Jesus-like people who change, challenge and cultivate our societies, cultures and communities.

[1] John Piper, Desiring God, ‘Charismatic Abuses? Doctrinal and Emotional’, https://www.desiringgod.org/interviews/charismatic-abuses-doctrinal-and-emotional (accessed 13th February 2025). Also, to give credit to Piper, in the same interview, he also said, ‘there are emotional abuses in the non-charismatic church — namely, the absence of emotion, which is probably more deadly than the excess.’

[2] Stephen Voorwinde, ‘Paul’s Emotions in 2 Corinthians: Part 1’, https://rtc.edu.au/wp-content/uploads/08-Voorwinde-Paul-s-Emotions-in-2-Corinthians-Part-1-Reviewed.pdf (accessed 17th February 2025)

[3] For example, in Philippians 1, Paul connects righteousness, the person of Christ and good works together.

[4] In the same way that some conservatives would prioritise teaching doctrine over a move of the Spirit or helping the poor.

[5] This is one of the reasons I’m all for good, rigorous, academic theology training that encourages active participation in our community's society. Because, to be clear, ‘feeling’ like something should be true/good doesn’t mean that it is (likewise, the best arguments need to find their end in practice).