In 1 Corinthians, Paul is writing to a church that’s falling apart.

Some in the Corinthian congregation are declaring, “I follow Paul!” Others, “I follow Apollos!” And yet others, “I follow Cephas!”

Some in the Corinthian congregation are using the wisdom of Jesus as a means to gain status.

Some in the Corinthian congregation are fighting about clean and u…

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In Luke 4, Jesus walks into a synagogue and reads aloud from the scroll of Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because [God] anointed me to bring good news...” The Greek word being translated here as “good news” is euaggelion. Euaggelion can be translated as “good news” or “gospel.” And so, put simply, gospel is good news. Or, it can be flipped around. Good news is gospel.

And what is the good news gospel, according to Jesus? Well, he’s very clear in Luke 4:

• Freedom from bondage,

• healing for the sick,

• release for the oppressed,

• and the proclamation of God’s favor on everyone.

According to Jesus, that’s gospel. And it’s, truly, good news. Think about it. If you’re in bondage and suddenly freed. Or if you’re sick and suddenly healed. Or if you’re oppressed and suddenly released. Or if you’re unfavored and suddenly favored. That is always—in every circumstance and generation—good news.

Over the years I’ve found this to be a very helpful way to think about the gospel of Jesus: The gospel of Jesus is, truly, good news.

A Brief Explanation of Atonement
Now, you may be wondering, what about Jesus’ death on the cross and the shedding of his blood for the forgiveness of sins? Excellent question. When we ask that question, we enter into the theological world of atonement. Atonement, put simply, is the reconciliation of estrangement.

One facet of the estrangement that we humans can feel is guilt, or a sense of distance from ourselves, or a sense of distance from others, or a sense of distance from God. And a word that Christians often use to explain the human experience of guilt and alienation is sin.

With this in mind, whatever functions to forgive sins, remove guilt, and reconcile distance would be an act of atonement. And that act of atonement would be, truly, good news.

A Brief Explanation of Paul’s Focus on Atonement
Here’s where things begin to get interesting. Which New Testament author wrote the most about the meaning of Jesus’ shed blood on the cross, which brings about the forgiveness of sins?

Answer: Paul.

According to Paul, atonement for sin—resulting in guilt and alienation—comes by faith in Jesus’ shed blood on the cross.

It’s this emphasis of atonement for sin that becomes Paul’s primary understanding of good news—that’s to say, Paul’s primary gospel.

About this, I’d like us to consider an important question, “Why?” Why is an atonement in which those who believe in Jesus’ shed blood to receive forgiveness, thereby entering into relationship with God, good news gospel for Paul?

Well, depending on your religious background, you may answer, “Because that’s what God told Paul to write.” Or, you may answer, “Because that’s what the Bible says.” But to be clear, those answers rise from a framework in which the Bible is believed to be God’s perfect word. The problem here is that the Bible isn’t God’s perfect word. The Bible is an inspired text, written by ancient humans.

Consider pausing to read my article, “The Bible—An Inspired Text, Written by Humans” and then return to this article.

Okay, so if the Bible isn’t God’s perfect word but rather the words of ancient humans, let’s ask this important question again: Why is an atonement in which those who believe in Jesus’ shed blood to receive forgiveness, thereby entering into relationship with God, good news for Paul?

Answer: Because Paul was a Pharisee. That’s to say, before encountering Jesus, Paul was an expert in the Law with all of its regulations and sacrifices.

Let’s tease this out.

Paul has a vision in which Jesus asks him, “Why are you persecuting me?” Paul then decides to follow after Jesus. But as a good Pharisee—in order to follow after Jesus—Paul has to do some theological work. Paul has to figure out how Jesus fulfills the regulations and sacrifices that gave shape to how he understood the world as a Pharisee.

The result of this theological work becomes Paul’s primary perspective on atonement, which is: Jesus’ shed blood on a cross fulfills the requirements of the Law; Jesus’ shed blood on a cross is a sacrifice that results in the forgiveness of sins. And this is—for Paul—deeply and pervasively, good news. That’s to say, it’s gospel, for Paul.

Who is Paul’s Focus on Atonement Good for Today?
Paul’s primary expression of atonement is good news gospel for two types of people today.

First, Paul’s primary expression of atonement is good news gospel for people who read the Bible and say, “God said it, I believe it.” Although, this means that they have to believe in a God who requires blood—the blood of God’s own son—to forgive sins.

Is this, truly, good news? Unfortunately, these people can’t honestly answer this question. Because of their understanding of the Bible, they’re forced to respond to Paul’s emphasis on a bloody atonement for forgiveness by saying things like, “I don’t care, sure, maybe it’s weird or seemingly unnecessary or even violent, but God said it and so I believe it.”

Second, Paul’s primary expression of atonement is good news gospel for people who do not need physical freedom, physical healing, physical release, or the experience of societal favor—the gospel according to Jesus in Luke 4.

Thinking in terms of who that person is today, in the United States? It’s middle-upper class, straight, white citizens. This is a salient critique by black theology. You see, a theology that’s articulated by people of privilege tends to turn core biblical stories—stories about freedom from bondage, healing the sick, releasing the oppressed, and favoring every person—into metaphor. The result is a shift in focus from Jesus’ gospel of freedom, healing, release, and favor here and now to forgiveness now and eternal life later.

What about Forgiveness?
To be clear: forgiveness matters. Every person carries the weight of regret. Every person knows the ache of having wronged someone, or of being wronged. This is why we need stories and tables that help us embody a reality in which Divine forgiveness abounds.

But that reality didn’t begin at the cross.

Throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, God forgives sins. Long before his crucifixion, Jesus forgives sins. He even tells his disciples to forgive—before he’s ever crucified.

Forgiveness isn’t something Jesus’ death unlocked. It’s something woven through scripture from the beginning—an economy the Bible has always practiced. May we find people and communities that help us to trust it, live inside of it, and find freedom through it.

Concluding Thoughts
None of this means Paul’s atonement is false. It was a good and faithful answer to the question a first-century Pharisee was asking. But today, in the twenty-first century? Well today we can do better. We must do better

The danger today isn’t in seeking out forgiveness. The experience of forgiveness is good, very good. The danger today is in mistaking forgiveness for the whole gospel, and then building a faith, and a church, and a country that has nothing left to say to the person who is still in bondage, still sick, still oppressed, and still waiting for someone to declare that they, too, are favored.

Jesus stood up in that synagogue and named good news as something that happens now, to bodies, in this world—not something settled later, in eternity, for the soul. If we want a gospel as good as the one he preached, we’ll need more than an atonement focused solely on forgiveness. We’ll need to ask, again and again, whose freedom, whose healing, whose release, whose favor, and then refuse to stop asking until the answer is everyone.

Once upon a time we rented an old beach house that had a VCR. Our little guy, Asher, was about five years old when we inserted a video to watch a movie. I quickly realized that it needed to be rewound, so I pushed rewind.

After waiting a few seconds Asher advised,

“Push play.”

And I said,

“In just a minute.”

A few more seconds went by and Asher said with a little more energy,

“Push play.”

And I said,

“Almost there.”

Exasperated, Asher implored,

“Push play!”

Suddenly, I realized we were having our very first generational moment. For Asher’s entire life, nothing needed to be rewound. You just push play!

Long gone were the days of fax machines, pagers, phones on walls, and busy signals.

Today, there is no pause.

Today, there is no waiting.

Today, you just push play.

When Jen and I first met back in the 90s, she had the most amazing piece of technology that I had ever seen.

It sat in the glovebox of her car. It was about three inches thick and seven inches long. And it was to be used for emergencies only!

It was an analog phone.

This phone was so big that you had to screw off and screw on the very long antenna so it could fit in the glovebox, which was no problem at all because you could

call people

on a phone,

in your car!

It was amazing.

Technology refers to the application of knowledge for practical purposes, especially in industry.

The application of knowledge for practical purposes, especially in industry.

Sounds good. But what happens when technology extends beyond practical purposes, like industry?

Let’s consider the story of Babel, in Genesis Chapter 11:

Now the whole earth had one language and the same words. And as they migrated from the east, they came upon a plain in the land of Shinar and settled there. And they said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks, and burn them thoroughly.” And they had brick for stone, and bitumen for mortar.

At the beginning of this ancient story, we see a technological advancement with the use of the word “brick”—in Hebrew—Leveneh.

This is the first time this word used in the Bible.

But it was more than just brick, these people also had mortar. And using this technological advancement of brick and mortar, they were able to build a tower higher than ever before.

And here’s why they wanted to build a tower higher than ever before:

Then they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city, and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves; otherwise we shall be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.”

In contemporary storytelling, Christians often latch onto, “and let us make a name for ourselves” and they castigate the hubris of “wanting to make a name,” which resulted in their downfall. But that’s only part of the reason for their wanting to build a tower.

According to this ancient story these people

leveraged new technology,

to make a name for themselves,

as a means to stay together.

Suddenly, this story isn’t so ancient, is it?

Social media is a medium of communication that helps us to socially connect. That’s the pitch.

In 2022, the social media app market was valued at just shy of 50 billion dollars.

In 2023, an estimated 4.9 billion people used social media.

And it’s projected that nearly 6 billion people will use social media by 2027.

That’s a ton of “connection,” isn’t it?

With these astronomical numbers in mind, consider these statistics. The more a person uses social media:

Self harm increases.

Anxiety increases.

Depression increases.

Eating disorders increase.

And social media addiction increases.

Today, social media usage is linked to an increase in division, politically especially. And, consider this, just the presence of a cell phone with access to social media is proven to decrease meaningful in-person human interaction.

Now, to be clear, I’m not proposing that we stick our heads in the sand, abandon technology, and flee for the hills.

Technology is amazing.

Washer machines.

Toasters.

Air conditioners.

Indoor plumbing. Can I get an amen?

I’ll include smart phones in this list of amazing:

Directions.

Weather.

Pictures.

Paperless tickets.

Remote banking.

Yes please.

Yet, how about technological advancement,

as a primary means to make a name for ourselves,

that keeps humans together?

Well, what if that’s just not one of the primary functions of technology?

And what if—when we attempt to make technology a primary mechanism for our togetherness—our towers of community are more likely to fall and, ultimately, scatter?

As I mentioned earlier, Genesis 11 is the first place that we see the word “brick” used in the Bible. Do you know where we see that word used next?

Exodus Chapter 1, Verses 13-14:

The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick.

Progressing from the idea that technological advancement can cause us to scatter and divide in Genesis 11, is the idea that technological advancement can also burden and enslave in Exodus 1.

Is it possible that these ancient stories hold prescient wisdom for us, today?

What we think the Bible is, profoundly matters. For example, if we’re convinced the Bible is perfect, because it’s written by God, then its words are timeless truths to be believed and applied today. However, if we’re convinced the Bible is inspired by God but written by humans, then its words are insights into how ancient people thought about their world and the Divine. The interpretive differences—depending on a person’s convictions on what the Bible is—are consequential.

In a previous article, I encouraged an appreciation for the Bible as inspired by God but written by humans. My aim in this article is to explore an interpretive consequence for this particular conviction on the Bible, which I find to be exceedingly good.

Back in 2016, Gary Cutting, a philosopher at Notre Dame, wrote an article titled “How Religion Can Lead to Violence.” In that article, Cutting makes the case that violence in religion is often tempered by social mores. An example of this could be the church, which has, at times, been begrudgingly pulled forward by a society’s sense of good. Consider racial equality or women’s rights. In general, the church lagged behind these good movements, until it could—due to a society’s sense of human decency and justice—no longer do so.

Cutting’s point is solid and I don’t plan to argue. Instead, what I want to consider is how this begrudging evolution is the result of Christians believing the Bible is God’s very word. In contrast, I hope to make a sound case for joyful evolution, which is, truly, biblical.

Begrudging Evolution
If the Bible is perfect, because it’s written by God, then the church must do its very best to begrudge human growth and evolution. Doing so is the result of biblical fidelity, because the Bible contains timeless truths to be believed and applied.

I’ve heard many Christians affirm biblical fidelity in their defense of keeping women out of leadership, or in their anti-LGBTQIA+ sentiment, or in their adherence to the idea that God is a God of war. They’ll say things like, “Well, I don’t like it either” or “I wish it didn’t have to be this way” or “Yeah, I’m uncomfortable with it too.” And yet, they quickly dismiss their own reticence toward these ideas with the quip, “But God said it, so I believe it.”

The violence and harm due to belief in a perfect Bible is incalculable.

A More Honest Appreciation for What the Bible Is
As I explain in my article, “The Bible—An Inspired Text, Written by Humans,” the Bible is full of cosmological and historical inaccuracies, as well as theological contradictions. That’s because the Bible—albeit inspired—is written by humans.

The Bible is a human text written by ancient humans.

Joyful Evolution
Understanding the Bible as a human text written by ancient humans shifts the interpretive work from asking, “What did God say?” to, “What did ancient people think?” And when we begin to ask this—much better—interpretive question, we can also begin to appreciate how the ancient ideas of humans evolved.

For example, consider a few passages from the Bible:

• Exodus 20:1-17, provided an ancient moral code.

• Numbers 35:6-15, demanded cities of refuge for those who accidentally killed someone to flee to and to dwell within so that the Revenger could not exact revenge.

• Deuteronomy 21:10-14, established protocol allowing women who were captured in war to grieve for one month. Furthermore, if after taking a woman to bed the man found himself unhappy with the woman, he was prohibited from selling her and he was instructed to let her go wherever she wished. I know this is horrifying, but stick with me.

• Romans 14-15, differentiated between strong and weak consciences when it came to eating clean and unclean food and it encouraged acceptance of the “other.”

• Philemon, Paul wrote to a slave owner named Philemon and asked him to receive back a runaway slave named Onesimus as a brother.

With these passages in mind—as terrible as they seem to us today—it can be observed that these were movements forward in an ancient world.

An ancient moral code in the midst of violent tribalism,
was a movement forward.

Refuge for the innocent when a Revenger was allowed to exact revenge,
was a movement forward.

Allowing space for a woman to grieve and to be set free as opposed to sold,
was a movement forward.

Making room for differences when it came to clean and unclean food,
was a movement forward.

Receiving back a runaway slave as a brother instead of as a slave,
was a movement forward.

The Bible invites us to notice and appreciate an evolution of ideas on what is good and right.

A Biblical Invitation to Joyful Evolution
Now, did these biblical movements go far enough? Of course not! How about just putting an end to the notion and role of a Revenger, or treating women as human beings instead of property, or making room for differences beyond clean and unclean food, or abolishing slavery altogether? Yes, of course! But you see, to do so would have been unconscionable. Such consciousness about human rights and dignity were beyond ancient Israel, the early church, and the apostle Paul. And yet, in their day and age, these movements were radical, good, compassionate, and beautiful steps forward.

Moving beyond these specific examples, notice the evolution of larger biblical motifs:

• From Law (Exodus 20:1-17) to love (Matthew 5:38-39, 43-45).

• From obedience (Deuteronomy 27-28) to grace (Romans 3-8).

• From differences (Genesis 28) to similarities (Galatians 3).

• From chaos (Genesis 3-11) to cosmic shalom (Revelation 21-22).

Question: Have we reached perfect love?

Question: Have we reached perfect grace?

Question: Have we reached perfect acceptance amidst differences?

Question: Have we reached perfect peace?

You see where I’m heading here, right?

The Bible isn’t an invitation to go backward! Rather, the Bible is an invitation to pick up its evolutionary mantle and continue forward until love, grace, acceptance, and peace are made complete.

For those of us who hallow the Bible as sacred–
ongoing evolution is our work,
ongoing evolution is our joyful work,
ongoing evolution is our Christian work.

Let’s get to work.

Let’s keep demanding better storytelling. In that spirit, Noah’s Ark…

The Story We Have Been Told

A long, long time ago, humans did wicked things that made God sad and really, really mad.

So sad, God regretted creating humans.

So mad, God decided to flood the entire earth.

Fortunately, there was one good human named Noah, who God decided to save by telling him to build an ark.

In perfect obedience, Noah and his family built an ark. They then filled the ark with two kinds of every animal. And then, just as they finished building the ark and loading the animals, the rain began to fall. Over the course of many days and nights, God’s flood killed everyone and everything.

Everyone and everything, except for Noah and his family, and the animals on the ark.

And then, the rain stopped.

And the water went away.

And the ark came to rest on a mountain peak.

Noah then sent out a dove and when it didn’t return he knew it was safe to exit the ark.

Noah made an altar and offered a sacrifice, and God said, “I promise to never flood the earth again.” And God put a rainbow in the sky so that every time humans see a rainbow, they’re reminded that God won’t flood the earth.

The End.

The Table This Story Sets

This storytelling is intended to have a positive effect, although I don’t believe it does in any way whatsoever.

Let’s take an honest look at a few implications.

One feature of the table this story sets is the belief that God can become so disappointed in humans that God may regret creating them.

Imagine a reality in which a child is disobedient and their parent tells them, “I wish you were never born.” Is that good parenting? Of course not. It’s terrible. However, a direct application of the story just told is that this kind of parental disappointment is, literally, godly. That’s a problem.

A second feature of the table this story sets is the belief that God can become so disappointed in humans that God may decide to kill them.

This point is about more than mere punishment for disobedience. It’s about murder. In this storytelling, besides Noah and his family, God murders every single person and animal on earth. This storytelling cannot be mistaken for justice; it’s genocide. Further complicating this storytelling is that it contradicts other stories told about God. For example, Matthew 5, where Jesus says, “[God] causes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward to you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same?”

A third feature of the table this story sets is the centering of the wrong character.

This is an interpretive point and it’s essential. In scripture, sometimes the stories are human (anthropocentric) focused. However, at other times the stories are God (theocentric) focused. Recognizing who is at the center of a story gives meaningful shape to the way a story is interpreted.

Today, storytelling about Noah’s Ark centers Noah. As a result, the primary conclusions emphasize the consequences of human behavior. For example, if we’re good, God will reward us. However, if we’re bad, God will punish us. This is problematic for at least three reasons. First, as previously mentioned, this interpretation contradicts other stories told about God. Second, from a Christian perspective, this interpretation subverts the theological concept of grace by advocating for good behavior to ensure God’s favor. Third, this interpretation totally misses the radical shift in the story, which occurs to its central character—God, not Noah.

The Story We Need To Hear

In this flood story, we get a window into how ancient people attempted to make sense of cataclysmic events.

That’s to say, something bad happened—like an earthquake or a fire or a flood—and ancient people would try to understand how it happened and why it happened.

Of course, ancient people all believed in gods, and so these gods became the focus of how and why bad things occurred.

Now, here is where things begin to get interesting.

The majority of ancient people have some kind of flood story in their storytelling. And chief among all of these flood stories is the very ancient story found in what is called the Gilgamesh Epic.

The Gilgamesh Epic was written between 2100 and 1200 BCE, in ancient Mesopotamia.

Mesopotamia—current day Iraq—is the region that Israel lived within and around, and so they would have been very familiar with this story, which I will now tell.

The heavenly council of the gods, led by Abu and Enlil, decide to destroy humankind because they were multiplying too much and making too much noise. However, this decision wasn’t unanimous. And so, the god Enki tips off the human Utnapishtim. Utnapishtim means “finder of life.” As a result, Utnapishtim builds a boat and fills it with his family and animals.

The rain begins to pour.

After many days the rain stops and the boat eventually comes to rest on the top of a mountain.

Utnapishtim sends out a dove and when it doesn’t come back everyone exits the boat.

Utnapishtim then builds an altar and offers a sacrifice.

The gods smell the sweet savor and crowd around it like flies until Enil arrives and is furious to find out that a human and his family survived the flood.

The gods beg Enil to let it go, which he does.

Enil then enters the boat with Utnapishtim where he blesses him, and Utnapishtim is made to be like a god who lives among the gods.

The End.

These two ancient flood stories have many similarities.

In both stories:

• God and the gods are enraged by humans.

• God and the god Enil decide to wipe out humankind.

• God and some of the gods decide to save humankind.

• A boat gets stuck on a mountain peak.

• A dove is sent out and when it doesn’t return, the surviving humans exit the boat.

• Altars are built and sacrifices are made.

These are the similarities. However, what’s interesting and most helpful for interpreting the story of Noah’s Ark are the differences. And central to the differences is the main character.

In the Gilgamesh epic, it’s all about Utnapishtim whose name, remember, means “finder of life.” In this story, after being warned that a flood is coming, an extended first-person narrative is told by Utnapishtim himself:

• I provided the boat with six decks.

• I laid out the counters.

• I hammered the water plugs.

• I made the punting poles.

• I laid the supplies.

• I killed the sheep every day.

• I made my family and kin go aboard the ship.

• I watched the appearance of the weather.

• I boarded the ship and battened up the entrance.

In other words, I, I, I, Utnapishtim, am the finder of life.

In contrast to this ancient flood story that emphasizes Utnapishtim—the finder of life—is Noah, which can be translated as “quiet” or “rest.” And throughout Israel’s telling of this ancient flood story, the “quiet” Noah does very little in comparison to its main character, God:

• God decided to flood the earth.

• God commanded Noah to make an ark.

• God gave Noah instructions on how to make the ark.

• God said to Noah, “I will make a covenant with you and you shall come into the ark.”

• God insisted that Noah bring animals into the ark.

• God shut Noah and his family in the ark.

• God remembered Noah and the animals on the ark.

• God made a wind blow to cause the waters to subside.

• God said to Noah, “Go out of the ark.”

• God said, “I will never again curse the ground because of humankind.”

• God said, “I’m establishing my covenant with you.”

• God said, “As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you, and with every living creature that is with you.”

• God said, “Never again shall flesh be cut off by the waters.”

• God said, “When the [rain]bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth.”

• God said, “This is the sign of the covenant that I have established between me and all flesh that is on the earth.”

You see, the Gilgamesh Epic is all about the mighty Utnapishtim—the finder of life—who heroically saves himself along with humanity, and in the process becomes a god among the gods. However, in Noah’s Ark, Noah is mostly quiet, as we bear witness to an enormous shift in God’s own self.

As we bear witness to an enormous shift in God’s own self.

This is a radical idea!

Here’s a brief explanation of the Bible’s trajectory…

As I explain in my article “The Bible—An Inspired Text, Written by Humans,” the scriptures are inspired by God but written by humans.

Written by humans, who—although inspired—existed in particular times and contexts that gave shape to how they understood life and God. With this in mind, consider a few passages from the Bible:

• Exodus 20:1-17, provided an ancient moral code.

• Numbers 35:6-15, demanded cities of refuge for those who accidentally killed someone to flee to and to dwell within so that the Revenger could not exact revenge.

• Deuteronomy 21:10-14, established protocol allowing women who were captured in war to grieve for one month. Furthermore, if after taking a woman to bed the man found himself unhappy with the woman, he was prohibited from selling her and he was instructed to let her go wherever she wished. I know this is horrifying, but please stick with me.

• Romans 14-15, differentiated between strong and weak consciences when it came to eating clean and unclean food and it encouraged acceptance of the “other.”

• Philemon, Paul wrote to a slave owner named Philemon and asked him to receive back a runaway slave named Onesimus, not as a slave, but as a brother.

Now—as terrible as these passages seem to us today—it can be observed that these were movements forward in an ancient world.

A moral code in the midst of violent tribalism, was a movement forward.

Refuge for the innocent when a Revenger was allowed to exact revenge, was a movement forward.

Allowing space for a woman to grieve and to be set free as opposed to sold, was a movement forward.

Making room for differences when it came to clean and unclean food, was a movement forward.

Receiving back a runaway slave as a brother instead of as a slave, was a movement forward.

Of course, these movements don’t go far enough.

How about just putting an end to the notion and role of a Revenger, or treating women as human beings instead of as property, or making room for differences beyond clean and unclean food, or abolishing slavery altogether?

Yes!

But to do so would have been unconscionable for the biblical writers.

Such consciousness about human rights and dignity were beyond ancient Israel, the early church, and the apostle Paul.

However—in their day and age—this observable trajectory illuminates movements that were radical, good, compassionate, and beautiful steps forward.

Beautiful steps forward.

This is what we witness in the story of Noah’s Ark.

Israel takes a cataclysmic flood story—thought to be the result of God’s anger at humankind—and by its end…

       God is no longer fuming and wrathful, 
              but gracious and kind.

      God is no longer fuming and wrathful, 
              but in covenantal relationship with 
              humans and all of creation.

	God is no longer fuming and wrathful, 
              but reminded by a rainbow in the sky 
              to no longer fume or behave 
                      wrathfully.

In these ways, the story of Noah’s Ark gestures toward a shift, a click, a step forward in ancient Israel’s understanding of God, who—as the story’s main character—evolves.

The Table This Story Sets

The implications of this storytelling stand in stark contrast to those made through the usual storytelling of Noah’s Ark.

One feature of the table this story sets is trust in a gracious God in the midst of cataclysmic events.

What are we to think about a tsunami or an earthquake or a fire, or any other kind of devastating incident? Well, according to this storytelling of Noah’s Ark, it is no longer the result of God’s fury or wrath. Because, according to this storytelling, God now stands in gracious covenant with humankind and all of creation. In fact, based on this storytelling, it would be more accurate to say that when a tsunami or an earthquake or a fire, or any other kind of devastating incident occurs, God’s heart breaks.

A second feature of the table this story sets is human agency to respond to cataclysmic events.

Rather than returning to the consciousness of ancient people who spent lots of time trying to discern what cataclysmic events told them about God, we can spend our time acting. One way we can act is to, along with God, grieve the loss of life. A second way we can act is to metabolize our grief by helping to alleviate the suffering of others and by restoring that which has been destroyed. We can do this by sending money to disaster relief organizations and by volunteering. A third way we can act is by asking, “Did we humans have anything to do with this devastation?” The science is clear that we humans are the primary cause of climate change. And this change is the result of evermore cataclysmic events. This realization can animate us to care more deeply about the impact our personal choices have on the creation. It can also give shape to the climate initiatives we support and the leaders we elect.

A third feature of the table this story sets is the making of creation into sacrament.

A sacrament is a sign of God’s grace. And in the story of Noah’s Ark, the rainbow becomes just that—a sign of God’s grace. Similarly, in the sermon on the mount, Jesus speaks often about God’s love for humankind and all of creation. At times, he even points at creation to speak about God’s tender care:

	Look!

        Look at the birds of the air; 
        they neither sow nor reap nor gather 
        into barns, and yet your heavenly Father 
        feeds them.

        Consider!

        Consider the lilies of the field, 
        how they grow; 
        they neither toil nor spin, 
        yet I tell you, even Solomon 
        in all his glory  was not clothed 
        like one of these.

In this way, it could be rightly said that all of creation is a sacrament. And so, just as the story of Noah’s Ark invites us to imagine God’s graciousness through the sighting of a rainbow, so all of creation sings of God’s graciousness and we’re invited to sing along.

A fourth feature of the table this story sets is the invitation to evolve along with our stories about God.

In the story of Noah’s Ark, God’s methodology for dealing with humans who do bad things evolves. In the beginning, God is angered by human wickedness, which results in genocide. At the end, God is compassionately transformed and makes a covenant to never again curse the ground or to destroy every living creature because of human wickedness.

For far too long we humans have dealt with our judgments of wickedness through anger that animates violence. Similar to God at the beginning of this story, in the heat of our anger, violence feels just. But, as this radical story explains, it isn’t. Violence is violence, and it does little to make for good. If anything, human history makes clear that violence just begets more violence. And yet, many humans still think that bombing, shooting, and killing are the way to peace. Most tragically and quite ironically, it is today’s Christians who—in the name of a crucified Jesus—approve of this methodology. Will we ever evolve, like God?

Oh God, I hope so.

In just a bit, we’ll share in the Imposition of Ashes.

When we do, you’ll hear these ancient words spoken over your life as we mark your forehead with an ashen cross:

“Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

There are a lot of ways we could say this. For example:

“Remember, you won’t live forever.”

Or:

“Remember, this life goes by quickly.”

Or, perhaps:

“Remember, in a matter of years you’ll be pushing up daisies.”

I don’t intend to be irreverent here.

Just honest.

And that’s the point.

The Imposition of Ashes is a sign.

It’s a symbol.

It’s an annual reminder that we will not live here, like this, forever.

It’s this Imposition of Ashes that inaugurates the Season of Lent.

Lent, you could say, is the time when we christians walk about with ashes on our foreheads, which is to say, “Death is at the forefront of our minds.”

Death is at the forefront of our minds.

Question:

When death rises to the forefront of your mind, what do you do with it?

What do you do with death?

I think one of our usual responses is to try and get it off the mind as quickly as possible, right?

“I don’t want to think about death!”

Another common response is to try and strategize ways to delay death.

“I’m going to eat healthier!”

“I’m going exercise regularly!”

“I’m going to make better lifestyle decisions!”

These are reasonable responses, for sure. However, throughout Lent, death at the forefront of our minds affords us a more ancient invitation, which is to see the world in a particular way.

And what is that way?

Well, I think one answer is brevity.

Brevity is a shortness of duration.

It’s synonyms include brief, compact, and diminishing.

In other words, life is short; our time here goes by fast; this—us here, us awake, us alive on earth—will not last.

Now, if we allow ourselves to sit with brevity for awhile, we will slowly begin to feel something.

And if this internal something is given our attention for long enough, it has the potential to become a source of animation in our lives.

Animation, is the condition or conditions that motivate us.

I don’t know about you, but for me, sitting with “life is short,” animates some worry—“What will happen to those whom I love so much?”

And, I don’t know about you, but for me, sitting with “life is short,” animates some guilt—“I haven’t accomplished everything I want to accomplish!”

And, I don’t know about you, but for me, sitting with “life is short,” animates some fear—“I don’t want to die!”

And so, in preparing for the Imposition of Ashes, I’ve found myself asking over and over again, “Is death on the mind and its creation of brevity, good?

At first, I didn’t think that it was. It’s all just worry, guilt, and fear!

But then, slowly, I began to really wonder if it could be.

And then, even more slowly, I came to think that perhaps, it is.

Perhaps death on the mind and its creation of brevity are, indeed, good.

Near the end of my mom’s battle with cancer, it became very clear that she wouldn’t live much longer.

And my final visits?

Those drives to and from?

Walking up to the house,
entering her room,
sitting bedside,
holding her hand,
tears, freely falling,
kissing her cheek, feeling it’s soft warmth?

My God,
so much love.

Throughout my career, there have been times when it became very clear that a colleague would be leaving to pursue something new.

Our final weeks together,
meeting together,
laughing together,
hoping together,
creating a beloved community together?

My God,
so much love.

A dozen years ago, our community became an affirming church. For months, I met with people who were mad as hell. Over time, it became very clear when a meeting with someone was a final goodbye.

The disagreement,
the ache,
the breaking of relationship,
the final farewell?

I couldn’t have named it in the moment, but I now see it so clearly.

My God,
so much love.

You see, death on the mind—every kind:

Physical death,
occupational death,
relational death—
every kind of death can, if we sit with it long enough, create a lens of brevity capable of animating a volcanic love for that which is passing.

Perhaps this is the gift of Lent.

When death is on the mind, everything:

Waking up.
Getting dressed.
Taking a walk around the block.

That song,
that poem,
that friend,
that child,
that job,
that moment.
that life—it is all, suddenly, passing.

And yet, here, now, like, right now,
that which is passing is also, very much, alive.

And so now, like, right now, we can
touch that person,
and smell those blossoms,
and taste that food,
and hear those words,
and feel all of those feelings, whatever they are.

I’m beginning to think that death on the mind may be one our greatest mentors—
sometimes whispering,
sometimes nudging,
sometimes screaming,
yet always reminding:
Don’t miss this!

Even the difficult, this:

This argument.
This misunderstanding.
This frustration.
This pain.
This sorrow.
This tear.
This ache.
This death.

Because—so says death on the mind—even this, difficulty?

It isn’t eternal.

It too, will pass.

It’s been said that love can make all things new. Is it possible that our ability to love the cracking and crumbling moments, the decaying and dying moments open us more fully to our own remaking? And is it possible that this remaking is actually a deepening into the way of Jesus—life, death, and resurrection?

In thinking these thoughts, I’ve found myself feeling grateful that Lent only comes around once a year.

Because living with death on the mind is intense.

Intense, but good, I think,
very good.

And so, on this Wednesday called Ash, you’re invited to try and see the world a little differently over the next forty days.

You’re invited to live with death on the mind.

You’re invited—through the lens of brevity—to accept it all a little more fully,
to engage it all a little more deeply,
and to love it all a little more passionately.

Let’s enter in and see what might rise up out of the ash.

On this Twelfth Day of Christmas, I’d like to ask a question for Christians to consider. Here it is:

What’s so merry about Christmas?

To try and answer this question, let’s consider the Christmas story.

The Story We Have Been Told

The old paintings help us see it…

A glorious angel—more striking than Bradley Cooper—appears to the young and quite charming, Mary. Together, they meet in a clean and orderly room, or outside in a garden filled with perfectly manicured hedges, or underneath a polished and elegant portico.

After surrendering to the angel’s message, Mary visits her cousin, Elizabeth. And not too long after returning home, Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem. Unfortunately, there’s no room for them in the inn and so, Mary gives birth in what we envisage to be a sterile barn filled with stunning animals worthy of any best of show animal award.

Impressive shepherds, asleep upon verdant hills wake to something like Handel’s Messiah, sung in perfect key by a choir of look-alike-Bradley-Cooper-angels. The shepherds then hurry, along with venerable magi, to see and honor Jesus.

Merry Christmas.

Emphasis on merry.

The Table This Story Sets

This sanitized telling of the Christmas story prolongs a couple myths about life and God that the mystery of incarnation invites us to rethink.

One of those myths is that when God enters into a story, everything is transfigured into merriment.

This sentiment can be heard in Christian vernacular during seasons of difficulty, in statements such as:

All will be well!

God will use this for good!

This hardship will open doors in the future!

One feature of the table this Christmas story sets is an expectation that, if God is truly involved, all will be merry.

Of course, this sentiment becomes problematic when life isn’t merry. And it raises a whole bunch of existential questions:

Why isn’t God fixing my problems?

Where is God in the midst of my pain?

Am I being punished?

You see, if our stories about God insist “all will be merry,” or if our stories about God consistently alleviate experiences of pain, then our lived experiences become, necessarily, detached from God when we suffer.

This leads us to a second myth that the mystery of incarnation invites us to rethink: God is separate from the mess and muddle of our material lives.

A second feature of the table this Christmas story sets is a hierarchy of values, which prioritizes the soul above the body.

The beautification of Christmas prolongs a Greek and, ultimately, western fixation on the eminence of spirit over flesh. It’s this very fixation that leads to consequential Christian teachings, such as

purity culture,

the demonization of our bodies,

the devaluation of our desires,

and the notion that this world is heading to hell in a hand basket.

These are the kinds of ideologies that rise from the idea that God is up in heaven while we’re down here on earth.

These are the kinds of ideologies that rise from the idea that spirit is good but materiality is bad.

Standing in stark contrast to the spiritualization of God is the story of Christmas, which enfleshes God. That’s the story. God enters into materiality. And so, according to the mystery of incarnation, in Jesus we bear witness to God in flesh, which is what incarnation means. In = in and caro = flesh. And this, I would like to suggest, is what points us toward a truly merry Christmas.

The Story We Need To Hear

Mary was a young woman. Barely a woman, really. Young and betrothed to be married, she’s visited by an angel who causes her to be perplexed. That’s the English word used, perplexed. The Greek word being translated as perplexed is a combination of two Greek words, dia and tarasso. Dia means “through” and tarasso can be translated as “causing movement by shaking” or “to cause inward turmoil.” And so you see, Mary was shaken through with turmoil.

Faced with an unimaginable choice, Mary surrenders to the situation, accepting pregnancy. Her pregnancy, of course, shocked Joseph, who considers separating from her. Shortly thereafter, Mary visits her cousin, Elizabeth, by traveling from Nazareth to a Judean town in the hill country. This would have been at least forty miles away. And after staying with Elizabeth for about three months, Mary takes her second trimester body on the forty mile trek back home.

About six months later, Caesar Augustus issues a decree insisting a census be taken, requiring Mary and Joseph to travel another forty miles back to Judea, to Bethlehem. On this trip, Mary would have been around nine months pregnant.

As they arrive in Bethlehem, Mary goes into labor. Young, pregnant, and without the means necessary to procure housing, her newborn child is born and placed in a manger. A manger was a box or trough for animals to eat from.

After Jesus’ birth, shepherds visit. Shepherds were some of the poorest in the land. They were so poor that their necks often misshapenly bulged due to malnutrition. And magi visited as well. Magi were foreigners from a distant land. The ancient historian Josephus explains they were magicians and fortune tellers. In other words, “pagans.”

Finally, because of Herod’s plan to kill Jesus, Mary and Joseph flee to Egypt, which would have been around a hundred and forty mile trip. And this is where they remain—seemingly on their own and away from family and friends—until Herod dies, at which point they travel about a hundred and eighty miles back to their home in Nazareth.

The End.

Merry Christmas.

The Table This Story Sets

Question: What’s merry about this Christmas story?

A shocking and unexpected situation that caused Mary to shake through with turmoil?

A relational fracture, nearly resulting in separation?

Long distances of unexpected travel, most likely on foot, and sometimes at night?

A birth without housing?

Unknown, desperately poor, and alien visitors?

Fleeing to a foreign country for safety?

And many, many months away from family, friends, and home?

How on earth is this story, merry?

Well, notice where God is according to the mystery of incarnation:

God is in the shaking through with turmoil.

God is in the relational fractures.

God is in the unexpected and arduous journeys.

God is in the lack of physical means and support from family and friends.

One feature of the table this Christmas story sets is a reorientation of God’s presence in our experiences of pain, ache, tears, and death.

In other words, when we suffer, God isn’t absent or indifferent or angry.

No.

God is in the mess and muddle of our material lives.

For through the Christmas story, we bear witness to God in the very places many of us were taught to believe God is absent from.

Merry Christmas.

And here’s the thing. If God enters into the very places many of us used to believe God was absent from, then we who hallow the Christmas story are invited to see God with people and in situations that we once thought God repudiated.

A second feature of the table this Christmas story sets is a conjoining of our lives with God who is with people and in situations that we once thought ungodly.

You see, according to the mystery of incarnation, God isn’t just with you; God is with the other. In fact, according to our Christmas story, God is especially with the other who is experiencing ungodly pain, ache, tears, strained relationships, lack of resources, unexpected travel, houselessness, isolation from family and friends, and political persecution.

On this Twelfth Day of Christmas, will you let this ancient Christmas story open your heart to God in unexpected places?

On this Twelfth Day of Christmas, will you let this ancient Christmas story open your heart to God in unexpected people?

If you, like Mary, surrendered to this good news, it would be a miracle.

Who knows what might be birthed?

Merry Christmas.

On 12/5, I posted a Q & A and Amy asked, “Exploring God’s relationship to evil… who is Satan and what’s the deal with him?” I responded in the comments and planned a more comprehensive response in the New Year. However, I find myself continuing to reflect on the question and decided to respond more fully now.

The Evolving Forms of Satan in the Hebrew Scriptures

Satan begins as a Hebrew word (שָּׂטָ֖ן/satan), which can be translated, “To be at enmity; to be hostile; to bring action against.”

Satan in Human Form

At times, satan is found in the form of humans. For example:

1 Samuel 29:4, “But the commanders of the Philistines were angry with him; and the commanders of the Philistines said to him, ‘Send the man back, so that he may return to the place that you have assigned to him; he shall not go down with us to battle, or else he may become an adversary (שָּׂטָ֖ן/satan) to us in the battle…’”

In this passage, David is said to be a satan.

2 Samuel 19:22, “But David said, ‘What have I to do with you, you sons of Zeruiah, that you should today become an adversary (שָּׂטָ֖ן/satan) to me? Shall anyone be put to death in Israel this day? For do I not know that I am this day king over Israel?’”

In this passage, the sons of Zeruiah are said be a satan.

Satan in Angelic Form

But then, satan is also found in an angelic form. For example:

Numbers 22:21-22, “So Balaam arose in the morning, and saddled his donkey and went with the leaders of Moab. But God was angry because he was going, and the angel of the LORD took his stand in the way as an adversary (שָּׂטָ֖ן/satan) against him.”

In this passage, the angel of the LORD is said to be a satan.

Satan Becomes an Angelic Role

The word “satan,” found in human and angelic forms, is formalized as an angelic role in Job when we’re introduced to “The Satan” (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן). Here we observe an angel who appears to have a job in the courts of heaven, which is to accuse and to bring action against humans before God. For example:

Job 1:6-9, “One day the heavenly beings came to present themselves before the LORD, and [The] Satan (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן) also came among them. The LORD said to [The] Satan (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן), ‘Where have you come from?’ [The] Satan (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן) answered the LORD, ‘From going to and fro on the earth, and from walking up and down on it.’ The LORD said to [The] Satan (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן), ‘Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man who fears God and turns away from evil.’ Then [The] Satan (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן) answered the LORD, ‘Does Job fear God for nothing?’”

This use of The Satan (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן) is also located in Job 1:12, 2:1-4, 6, 7.

The Satan is found in this formal angelic role in other passages. For example:

Zechariah 3:1-2, “Then he showed me the high priest Joshua standing before the angel of the LORD, and [The] Satan (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן) standing at his right hand to accuse him. And the LORD said to [The] Satan (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן), ‘The LORD rebuke you, [The] Satan (הַשָּׂטָ֔ן)! The LORD who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this man a brand plucked from the fire?’”

A Brief Summary

In the Hebrew Scriptures, satan is a word, which can be translated, “To be at enmity; to be hostile; to bring action against.”

Sometimes this word is used to describe a human adversary and sometimes this word is used to describe an angelic adversary.

In Job, this word receives the article ha, and we observe “The Satan” take on an angelic role in the courts of heaven, which is to accuse and to bring action against humans before God.

The Evolving Forms of Satan in the Intertestamental Period

The Intertestamental Period spans a period of about 300 years—after the book of Daniel (early 2nd century BCE) and before the first NT Writing (1 Thessalonians 50 CE).

Between 200 BCE and 100 CE Jewish apocalyptic thought emerged during which Israel attempted to make sense of why their people had been condemned by neighboring empire after neighboring empire.

It’s during this time period that we also see writings begin to explore the origin and role of Satan.

The Book of Jubilees, between 160 and 140 BCE

Concerned about conflict among jewish groups assimilating into gentile culture, Jubilees describes evil beings with various names:

• Mastema, which means “hatred,”

• Beliar, which means “without light,”

• And Satan.

Satan is mentioned 4x.

• 2x it’s foretold that one day Satan will hold no power in the next age (Jub. 23:29; 50:5)

• 1x refers to life before Satan in the days of Joseph—prior to exile in Egypt (Jub. 46:2).

• 1x Satan replaces Mastema as the embodiment of evil (Jub. 10:11).

Satan and the Dead Sea Scrolls, 3rd century - 1st century BCE

The Dead Sea Scrolls were found in 1947 in the Judean wilderness. They were most likely written by the Essenes—an austere, ultra-orthodox group that withdrew from society to form an ascetic community nearby Qumran.

Qumran literature makes clear that the Essenes believed Satan was engaged in a cosmic battle with God and they were with God in the battle.

The Essenses thought of themselves as the “sons of light” engaged in a war against anyone who didn’t believe in their orthodoxy, whom they referred to as “sons of darkness.”

Legends of Satan’s Fall

The Book of the Watchers, in the Book of Enoch (between 200 and 60 BCE), describes how the sons of God—called “the watchers”—fell from their divine posts within the heavenly court.

According to 2 Enoch, Satan is a high-ranking officer in the cosmic army, which attempted to overthrow God’s reign and he was expelled from heaven and now flies through the air ceaselessly, above the bottomless (2 Enoch 29:5-6).

In the Life of Adam and Eve (around first century CE), Satan is banished to earth because he wouldn’t bow before Adam (Life of Adam and Eve 12:3).

A Brief Summary

In the Book of Jubilees, Satan begins to rise above other evil beings.

In the Essenes’ Community Rule, Satan is set at the top of an angelic order, referred to as the Angel of Darkness.

In the Book of Watchers (in the Book of Enoch) the sons of God called “the watchers” fell from their divine posts within the heavenly court.

2 Enoch explains that Satan fell from heaven for trying to overthrow God.

In The Life of Adam and the Qur’an, Satan falls from heaven for not bowing to Adam.

The Evolving Forms of Satan are Formalized in the New Testament

The word “Satan” is used about 36 times.

The word “Devil” is used about 36 times as well.

The word “Dragon” is used 14 times, only in Revelation.

The word “Beelzebul” is used 7 times.

The word “Belial/Beliar” is used 1 time.

In the New Testament, Satan’s role comes to embody the fullness of the word “satan” that evolved through the Hebrew Scriptures and intertestamental period.

In the gospels, Satan receives a fair amount of attention because his primary focus becomes the adversary of Jesus.

In the epistles, the work of Satan extends beyond the adversary of Jesus to become a stumbling block to Jesus’ followers.

In Revelation, Satan is established as God’s cosmic opponent and ruler of those who oppose God.

Finally, Revelation 20:10 explains Satan’s end:

And the Devil who had deceived them was thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur, where the beast and the false prophet were, and they will be tormented day and night forever and ever.

So, What’s the Deal with Satan?

That was a lot of information. But it sets us up to appreciate the evolution of satan from:

A Hebrew word,

to a person or angel,

to an angelic role in the courts of heaven,

to a fallen angel at the height of the angelic order of darkness,

to the adversary of Jesus and the church,

to God’s cosmic enemy who is eventually cast into the lake of fire.

The Need for Satan

As interesting as this evolution is (to me, at least!), it fails to explain why. Why Satan?

As I understand it, the creation of Satan is a theological response to a uniquely monotheistic problem, which is, “Why evil?”

You see, in polytheistic religions, you have many gods. Some gods can be good while others can be evil. The evil gods help to explain evil in our world. In a monotheistic religion, however, there is only one God. And so, why evil?

There’s a great example of this theological conundrum getting worked out in the Bible.

In 2 Samuel 24:1, we read, “Again the anger of the LORD was kindled against Israel, and [God] incited David against them, saying, ‘Go, count the people of Israel and Judah.’”

In this story, it’s God who incites David to do something he isn’t supposed to do—count the people. And this story rouses a provocative question which is, “How can God, who is good, incite David to do something God doesn’t want David to do?”

It’s this very question that leads to an alteration in the story, found in Chronicles. Chronicles is written after Samuel and deals with many of the same stories. With this in mind, notice the editorial adjustment in the story, from God to Satan, in 1 Chronicles 21:1, “Satan stood up against Israel, and incited David to count the people of Israel.”

This shift from God to Satan, as instigator of evil, is central to the creation and evolution of Satan in the Bible. In Christian thought, Satan is a primary container for making meaning that invites us to ponder, discuss, and wrestle with evil, which stands against the ways and heart of Divine Love.

Is Satan Real?

As a Christian who is committed to the biblical and theological containers for making meaning, I think yes. However, not yes in how we usually think of “real.”

The word “real” refers to that which actually exists. And so, let’s pause to ask, does evil exist?

Yes. Of course it does. With this in mind…

• Through a Christian perspective—Satan exists as a container for our human experiences of evil.

• Through a Christian perspective—Satan invites us to consider the nature of evil.

• Through a Christian perspective—we trust that Satan (evil) is at odds with the heart and desires of God.

• Through a Christian perspective—we struggle against Satan (evil) to cultivate flourishing lives and a flourishing world.

• Through a Christian perspective—we hold to hope that, that in the end, Life and Love, which is to say, God, endures.

Is Satan Helpful?

I think so. At least, in the ways I have just described. And yet, Christianity as a religious tradition may need to evolve beyond a satanic container for evil to consider more helpful containers for evil in the world, because:

• A focus on Satan can tend to externalize and scapegoat evil.

• Evil is quite often the result of human behaviors and systems.

An example of an evolved container for evil could be evolutionary psychology, which explains our human propensity toward tribalism, violence, and self-preservation. These are absolutely satan-like adversaries that hinder God’s dream of peace.

In my mind, what matters more than the way in which a container for evil is defined is the presence of a container for evil. The presence of a container for evil—like Satan—encourages thought, dialogue, and action that diminishes the harm that evil causes, thereby encouraging the flourishing of all things.

A Simple Bibliography

I’m indebted to the following works in helping me form many of my thoughts in this post:

Bernard Bamberger, Fallen Angels

Denny Burk, John Stackhouse, Robin Parry, and Jerry Walls, Four Views on Hell.

David Burnfield, Patristic Universalism.

Paul Carus, The History of the Devil and the Idea of Evil.

Peggy Day, An Adversary in Heaven: “Satan in the Bible.”

Bart D. Ehrman, Heaven and Hell.

Neil Forsyth, The Old Enemy: Satan and the Combat Myth.

Joel B. Green, Salvation, Understanding Biblical Themes.

J.W. Hanson, Universalism, the Prevailing Doctrine of the Christian Church During its First Five Hundred Years.

Karl Heim, Jesus the World’s Perfecter.

Josephus, Antiquities.

Jon D. Levenson, Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel.

Myra Nagel, Deliver us From Evil: What the Bible Says About Satan.

Alan Segal, Life After Death: A History of the Afterlife in the Religious of the West.

Thomas Talbott, The Inescapable Love of God.

T. J. Wray and Gregory Mobley, The Birth of Satan.

I’m curious, when it comes to Christianity, what’s on your mind? What questions do you have? What issues would you be interested in me attempting to address?

Please share your questions in comments. I may not respond to every comment but I’ll respond to some, directly in the comments. Other responses may become future posts or videos.

Christians are Christ Followers

It’s this message of peace through violence that I’d like to ponder, from a Christian perspective. The word Christian is derived from the Greek word Christ, which means the anointed one. Throughout the gospels, Jesus is often referred to as Jesus Christ. In Greek literature, it was common to add the suffix -ianos after a leader’s name. In this way, Christ followers came to be called Christians after Jesus’ death. Put simply, Christians are Christ followers.

Characterization

With this in mind, what is a Christian to think about a military parade? Well, let’s consider Jesus who was in a military parade. However, before doing that, a bit on characterization…

In the marvelous world of story, characterization plays a pivotal role in a reader’s experience. A primary way this occurs is through the creation of characters that readers of a story associate with and disassociate from.

For example, let’s say the protagonist of a story is good, deeply good. When this deeply good character suffers, we associate with their suffering and we experience some of their ache. When this deeply good character thrives, we associate with their thriving and we experience some of their elation. And when this deeply good character says something important, we associate with their words and we experience some resonance.

In contrast, let’s say the antagonist of a story is evil. When this evil character suffers, we disassociate from their suffering and we experience some justice. When this evil character thrives, we disassociate from their thriving and we experience some sorrow. And when this evil character says something important, we disassociate from their words and we experience some dissonance.

Of course, in many stories, characters are imperfect. This results in a diversity of experiences with characters that we associate with and disassociate from. However, for Christians, that isn’t the case with Jesus. Christians are unequivocally Christ followers, compelled to associate with Jesus in every situation and circumstance.

The Cross

One final piece of information before getting to what a Christian is to think about a military parade. In the ancient world, the cross—similar to armored tanks and artillery vehicles, Black Hawk helicopters and Apaches, and uniformed troops—was a weapon used throughout the Roman Empire to punish enemies and declare peace through violence.

We’re now ready to consider what a Christ follower is to think about a military parade.

Jesus was in a Military Parade

In the gospels, Jesus is betrayed by Judas, abandoned by his disciples, scourged at a pillar, and mockingly crowned with thorns. A cross is then placed on his back and he’s marched through the city of Jerusalem as people line the streets to watch. Eventually, he’s led up a hill and nailed to the cross he was forced to carry, upon which he suffers and dies.

In contrast to the humane appearance of today’s military parades, Jesus’ participation in this ancient military parade invites us to behold the human cost of punishing enemies while declaring peace through violence. It’s a more honest military parade for Christians to ponder. For truly—no matter the sterile display of today’s military parades—armored tanks and artillery vehicles, Black Hawk helicopters and Apaches, and uniformed troops don’t exist in isolation. They aren’t merely symbolic, like flags; they’re weapons, like crosses. And like crosses, these weapons manufacture incarceration, blood, wailing, and death.

Applying Characterization

Let’s now apply characterization as a means to guide our Christian thoughts on military parades, by asking three questions.

First question: Where is Jesus located in military parade stories?

Answer: Jesus is the one who is captured, crushed, and killed by the weapons used in military parades.

Second question: How are Christians to associate with Jesus in military parade stories?

Answer: We see Jesus in every person captured, crushed, and killed by the weapons celebrated in military parades.

Answer: We feel Jesus suffering in every person captured, crushed, and killed by the weapons celebrated in military parades.

Third question: What are Christians to think about military parades?

Answer: Military parades are, clearly, anti-christ.

Final Thoughts

A fundamental question lies at the heart of military parades, which is, what makes for peace? The answer being given is, of course, ever-more power and violence. But is that answer true? Is it good? Does it make for flourishing? No. Redemptive violence is a myth.

The story of Jesus urges Christians to reject the messaging of military parades.

The story of Jesus compels Christians to associate with those who are captured, crushed, and killed by the weapons celebrated in military parades.

The story of Jesus demands Christians to seek out, inhabit, and make manifest intentional and subversive love, capable of honest-to-God peace.

I love the Bible. Some of my earliest memories are of my mom reading me its stories. I can remember dear old saints teaching it to me on Sunday mornings. As I grew, I began to read it on my own. At one point, as an adolescent, I committed to a reading plan that took me through the Bible, cover to cover, three times a year. I did this for at least seven or eight years. In college, I majored in Biblical Studies. In seminary, I earned the degree, Master of Divinity. I know. Ridiculous. Then, throughout my doctoral studies, I examined the ways that biblical genres and literary figures make meaning.

I love the Bible. Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, Noah, Abraham and Sarah, Jacob and all of his children, Moses, and all of those crazy judges, Kings David and Solomon, the prophets, Jesus and his twelve disciples, and that transfigured pharisee, Paul. These are kindred friends. And the stories! Creation, estrangement, flood, Babel, slavery, liberation, the giving of the Law on Mount Sinai, the wilderness, the land, the divided kingdom, exile from the land, Babylon and return to the land, the incarnation, the church, and the apocalyptic vision of the city of God descending on earth. These stories give shape to how I understand the world and my place in it.

A Troubled Book

I love the Bible. And, I’m troubled by this sacred book. Genesis 1:7 explains that God made an expanse, a dome—literally, a firmament—in the sky. Ancient people actually thought this to be true. In their mind, some kind of solid firmament hung in the heavens. At night, they thought the stars were actually holes in the firmament that light shone through. And when it rained, they thought water was spilling through those same holes. Of course, we now know there is no firmament hanging in the sky.

In 2 Samuel 24, we’re told that God incited David to count the people of Israel and Judah. However, in a retelling of this same story in 1 Chronicles 21, we’re told that Satan incited David to count the people.

One more example. In Deuteronomy 20:16-18, the Lord is said to give this directive:

But as for the towns of these peoples that the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance, you must not let anything that breathes remain alive. You shall annihilate them—the Hittites and the Amorites, the Canaanites and the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites—just as the LORD your God has commanded, so that they may not teach you to do all the abhorrent things that they do for their gods, and you thus sin against the LORD your God.

But then, we have a passage like Matthew 5:43-45, that reads:

You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.

So there you have it. In just a few examples, we have a cosmological contradiction, a historical contradiction, and a theological contradiction. What are we to do?

Harmonization

Well, growing-up, I wasn’t given any tools to do anything. As a child, I was told that God doesn’t make mistakes, and since the Bible is God’s word, neither does the Bible. This in turn meant that when the Bible is contradicted by cosmology or history, then cosmology and history are clearly wrong, because the Bible is always right. As a student in theological studies, the solutions that I was given were even more perplexing. Using God’s directive to annihilate every person in the land as an example, I was offered a handful of possibilities that attempted to make sense of this difficult text:

• God in his sovereignty could have created these people for the sole purpose of destroying them. His judgment is providential.

• God knows all things, and so, he knew that the people in the land would never come to salvation. His judgment is just.

• God takes holiness seriously, and he did not want his people to be tempted and to stray into idolatry and sin. His judgment is loving.

Now, I could spend a lot of time writing about why these responses to mass genocide are concerning, but I’m going to hold-off on doing that to keep the big picture here. For the purpose of this reflection, I’m less interested in the answers that I was given for difficult texts, and I’m more interested in the construct through which these answers were given. You see, at the time I didn’t know it, and nobody named it, but the construct through which solutions to troubled texts were given to me, was called “harmonization.”

Harmonization is grounded in a belief that the Bible is perfect and without error (side-note: without error in the original manuscripts, which we don’t actually have), because it is the very word of God. Therefore, any and all apparent contradictions—whether they be cosmological or historical or theological—aren’t truly contradictory. Either our cosmology or history is wrong. Or, our theological understanding is wrong. Either way, the Bible is right and our theological work, in order to take this sacred text serious, is to harmonize any apparent contradictions. And it’s this construct that then harmonizes, for example, mass genocide in the name of a loving divinity with explanations such as providence, justice, and love.

Accommodation

For the longest time, I thought this was my only option for reading the Bible if I was to truly love God and to take the scriptures serious. And over time, this became part of the impetus for my crisis of faith. I got to the point where I was unwilling to do all kinds of mental gymnastics to harmonize troubling texts. Continuing with the example from Deuteronomy, if providence, justice, and love were the “solutions” to mass genocide in God’s name, I was out. I could no longer do it. It didn’t make any sense to me. And I didn’t want any part in spending the rest of my life attempting to harmonize a violent, blood thirsty God, who is Love.

Fortunately, my studies led me to another construct for understanding the Bible. It’s called “accommodation”. I’ll offer a definition in just a moment. First though, consider these words:

And therefore like a Tutor or Physician He partly removes and partly condones ancestral habits, conceding some little of what tended to pleasure, just as medical men do with their patients, that their medicine may be taken, being artfully blended with what is nice. For instance, in the first he cut off the idol, but left the sacrifices; the second, while it destroyed sacrifices did not forbid circumcision. Then, when once men had submitted to the curtailment, they also yielded that which had been conceded to them: in the first instance the sacrifices, in the second circumcision, and became instead of Gentiles, Jews, and instead of Jews, Christians, being beguiled into the Gospel by gradual changes.
Gregory of Nazianzus 329-390, Orations

Anything in the divine writings that cannot be referred either to good, honest morals, or to the truth of the faith, you must know is said allegorically.
Augustine, 354-430, On Christian Doctrine

Undoubtedly the words of the literal text, when they do not agree with each other, show that something else is to be sought in them.
Gregory the Great 590-604 Moralia in Job

If the literal sense of these Scriptures is absurd, and apparently contrary to reason then we should be obliged not to interpret them according to the letter, but to look out for a looser meaning.
John Wesley 1703-1791, The Works of John Wesley

Not only part but all that they say [in the Bible] is historically related and conditioned.
Karl Barth 1886-1968, Church Dogmatics

We must read this book of books with all human methods. But through the fragile and broken Bible, God meets us in the voice of the Risen One.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, 1906-1945, Reflections on the Bible

Gregory of Nazianzus. Augustine. Gregory the Great. John Wesley. Karl Barth. Dietrich Bonhoeffer. These giants of Christian faith are clearly working with a biblical construct that is different than harmonization.

Gregory of Nazianzus wrote about God’s patience with the slow progression of human consciousness. Augustine was so certain that some biblical texts failed to be good and honest that he determined to interpret them allegorically instead of literally. Gregory the Great and John Wesley were comfortable abandoning literal readings of the scriptures when they determined them to be in contradiction with each other, or just plain absurd. Barth made clear that the scriptures were set down in historically-culturally conditioned times. And Bonhoeffer referred to the Bible as fragile and broken.

This is a different way of understanding the Bible and of reading it. A few key points:

• The Bible is the book of books, yet it is fragile and broken. (Bonhoeffer)

• Contradictory and absurd texts should be understood as something other than literal. (Augustine, Gregory the Great, Wesley)

• The Bible cannot escape the consciousness with which it was written. (Barth)

• The Bible reveals a progression of human consciousness that begins with Law – sacrifice, circumcision, etc. – but moves forward into Gospel – grace, good news, etc. (Gregory of Nazianzus)

This construct for the Bible is called “accommodation.” Accommodation is grounded in an understanding that the Bible—albeit sacred, inspired, the book of books—is penned by humans. Thus, recognizing and accepting the Bible’s mistakes and problems, “accommodations” or “condescensions” are made for the spiritual and/or intellectual limitations of its human authors.

So, instead of trying to harmonize “a firmament in the sky,” one could appreciate, that’s how ancient people understood the world. And instead of trying to harmonize contradictory texts, one could acknowledge, the Bible was shaped and formed by many people over many, many years. And instead of trying to harmonize mass genocide in God’s name, one could reason, lots of ancient people went to battle in their god’s name, but that doesn’t mean that god actually commanded the annihilation of every man, woman, child, and animal.

Questions

For me and my journey of faith, accommodation redeemed my love for the Bible. It afforded me a historically supported, theologically sensible way of reading, understanding, and appreciating it. Yes, accommodation raises questions that harmonization does not, such as: When do we accommodate? Which texts should be read literally and which should be read trans-literally? Who chooses when a text is absurd or contrary to reason? The questions could go on and on. Put simply, I’d rather wrestle with the questions that accommodation raises than I would with those that harmonization raises.

Accommodation sets me to wrestling with a text, in community with others, with sensitivity to human consciousness, in order to discern the heart, voice, and pleasure of God for today. Harmonization, on the other hand, often feels like an attempt to protect the Bible from its foibles, in order to protect its legitimacy. I don’t think the Bible needs protection. I for one, love it. In all of its texture and complexity and nuance—a lot like life—I love it. And through its characters and stories I am realizing, more and more, a Divinity who through these very things—texture and complexity and nuance—is patiently journeying with humankind, into ever-more love.

Once upon a time...

There was a family that believed in God and called Jesus, “Lord.” They regularly attended church and the Bible was their sacred text. During their time at church, the family listened to pastors and Sunday school teachers expound on passages from the Bible and at home they talked together about Bible stories.

One of the family’s favorite Bible stories, in John 14, tells about a conversation that Jesus had with his disciples. In the story, Jesus explains that his Father’s house has many rooms and that he’s going there to prepare a place for his followers. This story always led to an imaginative conversation in which the family dreamed about Jesus’ heavenly house. Samantha, twelve years old and two years older than Chloe, would say, “The rooms are enormous and the one with my name on the door is filled with comfy pillows and it has an ice cream Sunday bar!” Chloe would then say, “The room with my name on the door is filled with all of the dolls that I’ve ever wanted and it has its own bathroom with a bathtub so big that an elephant could sleep in it!” This always made the parents laugh. The mom would say, “Your dad and I will be happy just knowing that you’re in the house.” And the dad, usually quiet, would wipe tears from his eyes.

One evening, as the parents were in the girls’ room tucking them into their beds, Chloe asked, “Mom, dad, how can we be sure that we get into Jesus’ house so that we can all be together?” The mom said, “Well that’s very simple, Chloe, all you need to do is to ask Jesus into your heart.” Chloe sighed with relief saying, “We’ve already done that!” To which the mom affirmed, “Yes you have dear. So rest in peace.” At this, the dad noticed that Samantha’s face was wrinkled up, deep in thought. He asked, “Samantha, what are you thinking about?” She said, “What will happen to our cousins and friends and neighbors who don’t ask Jesus into their hearts?” With a very serious and very sad face the mom replied, “Oh Samantha, those people won’t go to heaven.” Chloe, always effervescent, cried out, “Then where will they go when they die?” The mom and dad looked at each other with that knowing look, nodding together in agreement that now was the time. The dad cleared his throat and very quietly spoke, “Honey, anyone who doesn’t trust in Jesus will go to a place called “hell.” “Hell!” Chloe exclaimed. The mom said, “Hell is a dark place. It’s a sad place. And it’s a place that a person goes to forever.”

Ten years later...

The Easter service had been dazzling—the flowering cross, everyone dressed up in their Sunday best, flower arrangements stationed throughout the sanctuary, plentiful as manna, and the sermon in which the pastor declared, “Christ is risen!” as the people enthusiastically responded, “He is risen indeed!”

Back at home, the mom and dad placed a roast on the table laden with sparkling juice, green beans, buttered rolls, tossed salad, and cubed potatoes. The three of them took their seats. They held hands and the dad prayed, “God, thank you for this day that remembers Jesus’ resurrection. Thank you that our place in heaven is secure. We ask, once again, with our whole hearts, that you would be with Samantha, wherever she is. We miss her being in our lives, so much. We know that she thinks that she’s following you. We know that she thinks that she’s saving the world by being part of that group. But please. Please help her to see that she’s part of a cult. Help her to see that leaving everything that she knows—her family, her friends, her work, her whole life—is not your desire or your plan. Amen.” At this, the dad, mom, and Chloe looked at each other, shared a pained smile, squeezed each other’s hands, and began to eat their Easter brunch.

Systemic Complicity

The family is convinced that Samantha lost her way by joining an extreme Christian community to proclaim that the end of this world is very near and to choose Jesus, or else. But has she really lost her way? Her parents were very clear, remember? “Honey, anyone who doesn’t trust in Jesus will go to a place called hell.” Is it possible that Samantha believes that which she was told about heaven and hell more deeply and more fervently than the people who told her this “truth?” And how about a husband who tells his wife, “Shut up! Listen to me. I’m the head of this house.” Is it possible that he more deeply and fervently believes that which he is told about wives submitting to their husbands in a church where only men speak and lead? Or how about a group of teenagers who mock and jeer at a trans-woman, calling her a “monstrosity” and “ungodly?” Is it possible that they more deeply and fervently believe that which they are told about LGBTQIA+ people and culture in a church where only straight people can serve, become members, and hold leadership positions? Or how about a man who shoots up a mosque and decimates a non-Christian faith community? Is it possible that he believes more deeply and fervently—than even Samantha—that every person who does not trust in Jesus deserves to go to a place called “hell,” forever?

It is more than possible. Religious extremism is not ex nihilo. Extremism is rooted in the stories we tell and in the systems in which we participate. If we perpetuate stories and participate in systems that—at their very essence—are gendered, homophobic, or exclusionary, then we are culpable when the result is misogynistic, bigoted, or violent behavior. You see, the problem is not him, her, or them. The problem is us because it’s directly related to the religious stories that we tell and to the religious systems in which we participate. Yes, I get it. You would never do such a thing. But to be clear, it isn’t because you are a more descent human being. In most cases, it’s because you don’t believe in the religious stories or systems that you exist within, as deeply and as fervently as others.

My point here is not to blame. My point here is to rouse realization. Stories and systems give shape to beliefs, values, and behavior. And when we perpetuate stories or participate in systems that are gendered, homophobic, or exclusive, then we are complicit when a person behaves in a way that more deeply and fervently embodies the essence of our stories and systems.

A Bible Problem

If you’re reading this reflection and thinking, “If it weren’t for what the Bible says, then these stories and systems may not be reasonable.” then you’re probably a person who thinks of the Bible as inerrant and you very likely attempt to read the Bible literally. However, this is a very modern, very western, very white, and very masculine way of understanding the Bible. For a deeper dive into the Bible, take a moment to read this reflection on a more ancient way to think about it. In short, there is a historically supported and theologically sensible way of reading the Bible that invites us to wrestle with scripture, in community with others, with sensitivity to human consciousness, in order to discern goodness for today.

Faithfully reading the Bible doesn’t mean that you must exist in violent story telling and religious systems. Much the opposite, in fact. The Bible leads us to Jesus, who invites his followers to subvert stories and systems that harm, entrap, exclude, and dehumanize others, especially the marginalized among us.

It’s been awhile since you’ve heard from me. Besides being away a few months for sabbatical, I’ve spent the last year writing a book, Story and Table. This book is the theological expression of my deconstruction and reconstruction journey. It explores stories about the Bible, the gospel, salvation, atonement, and an afterlife. For many of us, these stories have caused incalculable harm. But there are, truly, better stories. My book explores them and it encourages hope and healing in evolving Christianity.

Story and Table will be released in December 2025 and I’ll host a book launch party in January 2026. I hope you’ll buy the book and attend the book launch! Stay tuned for more info.

Outside of my work at Pearl, this book has taken the majority of my time and energy. Now that it’s done, I’m emerging. As I emerge, I’m feeling compelled to nurture nonviolent community, virtually, because…

• Many Christians are hanging onto Christianity by a thread.

• Many Christians are disillusioned by the harm and hypocrites of American Christianity.

• Many Christians are wondering if it’s even possible for Christianity to be, truly, good.

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A Christian Re-formation

A twenty-first-century re-formation is at hand. This re-formation rejects incoherent “truths,” dogma that fosters violence, and faith that’s animated by fear.

After a lifetime in the waters of Christianity—like many of you—I thought I’d have to walk away. Too much bad and not enough good.

But then, I became engrossed in the ancient and evolving meaning-making of Christian language—Story.

At the same time, I was deep in the land of pastoring an eclectic, urban, and highly educated and inquisitive Christian community in downtown Portland—Table.

Together, my studies as a theologian and my work as a pastor began to rub off on one another. I began to notice the deep connection between the stories we tell and the tables around which we live our lives.

And in a moment—it was like being born again—I knew that I knew that I exist to undo some of the sorrow by expressing an ancient, evolving, and truly good way of being Christian, today.

Substack | Story & Table

Some of my work will now take place on Substack, through Story & Table.

Story & Table exists to provide sacred space to safely belong, question, tear down, and rebuild a way of being Christian that actually aligns with the loving way of Jesus.

Through…

• a bi-monthly newsletter that examines biblical and theological stories, and the tables these stories set,

• quarterly classes,

• Q&A,

• and occasional posts…

…we’ll journey together. We’ll gently, but intentionally, work our way out of violent Christianity.

At the same time, we’ll move toward a Christianity brimming with goodness, capable of rousing human flourishing.

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