The Holy Spirit is all about relationships. He unifies people, creating bonds of peace (Eph 4.3). Before the creation of the world, he eternally moves between the Father and the Son, binding them together in love. He is, as Augustine says, the “mutual love” between the Father and the Son. His ministry within the Trinity before the creation is extended to the creation as he creates relationships within the world itself and between the world and the Father and the Son. The Holy Spirit provides the loving energy that both creates and sustains relationships.

In Romans 8 Paul homes in on the Spirit’s ministry in re-creating all of these proper relationships that were decimated by the sin of Adam. The Spirit moves as “the Spirit of Christ” (Rom 8.9) in order to accomplish the Triune will for the creation’s renewal. The wording–“the Spirit of Christ”–is purposeful and loaded. The ministry of the eternal Son as “the Christ” is the emphasis. There is no doubt that Christ Jesus is the incarnate eternal Son. That was established in Romans 8.3 when it is said that God sent his Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and as a sin (or purification) offering. The eternal Son assumed the role of the Christ in his incarnation.

To give the Spirit the title, “the Spirit of Christ,” is to emphasize the role the Spirit plays in Christ Jesus accomplishing the mission of the Christ. “Christ” is not a surname but a title. He is the King of Israel, the Messiah, the Anointed One. As the Christ his mission was to fulfill the mission of Israel, a mission that involved being the place where the sin of the world was put to death and the vocation of Adam was fulfilled (cf. Rom 5.12-21). In order to fulfill this mission, the Christ would have to take the creation he represented down into death and be raised to new life. This would put the creation back in right relationship to God, something that Paul says in Colossians has been done “by the blood of his cross” (cf. Col 1.15-20). (more…)

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“On an appointed day Herod put on his royal robes, took his seat upon the throne, and delivered an oration to them. And the people were shouting, ‘The voice of a god, and not of a man!’ Immediately an angel of the Lord struck him down, because he did not give God the glory, and he was eaten by worms and breathed his last.” -Acts 12: 21-23

Today, First Baptist Church Dallas is hosting a “Celebrate Freedom Concert” featuring their pastor, Robert Jeffress, and President Trump, who Jeffress recently called “one of the great patriots of our modern era.” Last Sunday, FBC celebrated “Freedom Sunday;” complete with a presentation of colors, soldiers, guns, patriotic hymns, indoor fireworks, the whole shebang.

While most churches this 4^th of July weekend won’t try to bust a bottle rocket from the balcony, many will sing the national anthem, pledge their allegiance to the American flag, and maybe even hear a sermon on 1 Peter 2:9 called “A Royal Nation: Brexit 1776.” Meanwhile, many other church-goers, myself included, will be mortified by such actions.

To be clear, I’m not opposed to mixing religion and government/politics. For one, it’s impossible not to mix the two, just like it’s impossible not to mix religion and music or religion and parenting. Religion, as David Dark has so helpfully pointed out, is ever consuming and all present. It’s the way we live and move and have our being in the world. It can be seen as easily in our credit card statements as in our church attendance.

Not just Christians, everyone brings religion into government, arguing for or against particular policies based on their own core commitments and values—values not shared by the whole of society, mind you. Asking someone to keep religion out of politics is like asking someone to fly by lifting the chair in which they’re sitting off the ground. It sounds swell, but it’s impossible.

Even if it were possible to silo religion in the church, away from the public square, Scripture forbids Christians from taking such an approach. The myth of neutrality is promulgated by secularism, not Scripture. That being the case, if the church isn’t trying to transform the culture, the culture is succeeding in transforming the church.

You see, the Bible isn’t just God’s word to the church, it’s God’s word to the whole world—everyone, everything. So, applying the Bible to every sphere of life (politics, art, family, etc.) isn’t involving the church in those areas, it’s involving Jesus. And it turns out, Jesus doesn’t just claim to be the King of the church, He’s King of the cosmos—which includes every square, even public ones. Nicholas Wolterstorff says it well:

“Since the content of Christian theology goes far beyond church and devotional life to life as a whole, and since its addressees extend far beyond church members to humanity in general, its arena must be civil society.”

I don’t take issue, then, with the church involving herself in national life. To the contrary, I’m quite happy for the church to take her message into the most sacred of State spaces—pray in Congress, display the 10 Commandments at the courthouse. What I oppose is the State taking her message into the most sacred of church spaces. I oppose that which causes a worship service to be marked more by a folksy, sentimental religiosity than a solemn, joyful reverence.

Bringing religion into government is responsible for William Wilberforce’s effort to abolish the slave trade in England and Martin Luther King Jr.’s tireless effort to see all God’s children treated equally irrespective of race in America. Bringing government into the church, on the other hand, brought us the ecclesial malaise and kowtowing which allowed Nazis to exterminate Jews on Saturday and receive the Eucharist on Sunday.

Christians are called to persuade the nation with the message of the church, not persuade the church with the message of the nation. One can faithfully use the State to advance the Kingdom, but God help the man who uses the Kingdom to advance the State. Setting fireworks off in a sanctuary is dangerous, but not just for the obvious reasons. Sure, it may cause someone to lose an eye, but it may also cause someone to lose sight of the purpose of worship, which is far more serious and far more likely.

So, this Sunday let’s observe the sacraments, hear the word preached, confess our sins, and sing about the grace and power and goodness of the Lord of all nations. Instead of This Land is Your Land, let’s sing This is My Father’s World. Instead of The Battle Hymn of the Republic, let’s sing A Mighty Fortress is our God. In other words, let’s pledge our allegiance solely to Jesus, finding our identity chiefly as heirs of God’s Kingdom. In addition to being what we’re commanded to do, it also produces what our nation actually needs: citizens attuned to the true, good, and beautiful; shaped by love in worship, sent out to seek the welfare of the city by promoting the common good.

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“The way we understand human life depends on what conception we have of the human story. What is the real story of which my life story is a part?” –Leslie Newbigin

Do students really need a worldview education? That’s the question being debated by Rod Dreher/Joshua Gibbs, Gregory Shane Morris, Doug Wilson, and myself. In his newest piece on the subject, Gibbs says his beef isn’t so much with “worldview education” per se as with “worldview analysis;” claiming the latter is too concerned with (1) “ideals” and (2) “processing,” among other things. The piece is commendable and worth your time, but even if you haven’t read it (or followed the debate), hopefully my response below will still be intelligible and helpful.

Are Ideals So Bad?

Gibbs problem with worldview begins with the fact that it’s too ethereal, unlike dogma:

“…the genuine problem I have with taking worldviews so seriously is that they are built on presuppositions, not dogma. Presuppositions exist in the world of ideals, the world of forms, however, dogma is composed and enforced by human beings.”

He illustrates the point thusly, “Men do not love ideas, but they will die for their wives. When I say I am conservative, I really mean that I believe everything Remi Brague and Edmund Burke say about history.”

So, worldview is concerned with “ideals,” while dogma is in the human realm, “composed and enforced by human beings.” Practically, this means, “A man may not claim to be Lutheran if he has not submitted himself to Lutheran authorities who have received his vow of loyalty to Lutheran dogma.” To the Lutheran, Gibbs says, “be more Lutheran!”

While many Lutherans would laud Gibbs’ advice to order the ecclesial over the ethereal, Martin Luther most certainly would not. For Luther, justification by faith alone in Christ alone is an ideal for which he’d die. Dogma merely composed and enforced by human beings be damned, Luther is hungry for more than ecclesial identification—he craves truth. To be sure, Luther is happy to submit to human authority so long as it aligns with God’s authority (found in Scripture), but not a minute longer. To go against conscience is neither safe nor right, after all. Even if, for the sake of argument, worldviews were as abstract as Gibbs claims, if the classroom isn’t the place to discuss such ideas, where is?

More than Processing

Gibbs chief problem with worldview analysis is that it smacks of an “enlightened” (i.e. modern) sensibility. It applies an inappropriate rubric to the medium, “That which is created in a state of wonder cannot be properly received in a spirit of efficiency and reason.” I certainly agree that one needs the right spirit with which to receive a given piece of art. However, I don’t see how the Christian worldview is inherently antithetical to such a spirit of reception. If Gibbs does not want his students interpreting art Christianly, how does he want them interpreting?

Perhaps he’ll say, “one need not analyze at all. Wonder at the art, don’t interpret.” To ask of the students this is to ask of them the impossible. Indeed, only a few paragraphs later, Gibbs says that Rhiana’s music is “about the unconditional pursuit of personal pleasure.” If Gibbs, who is consciously trying to avoid “enlightened” sensibility, can’t listen to a Rhiana song without doing a worldview analysis, how can he expect his students to read a whole book without being sullied by interpretation?

I say sullied ironically, of course. When sensitive to the worldviews at play, our reading and appreciation of art is only enhanced. Culture is religion externalized; to crack open, say, the ever-enchanting Seven Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor without considering Islamic thought is to “kiss your bride through a veil,” as it were. This is as true of non-fiction as of fiction, biography as autobiography, painting as sculpture, dance as theater.

A Move to Story

Many of the issues I have with Gibbs complaints come down to category differences. I don’t think it’s all that helpful to categorize “worldview” as presupposition and “dogma” as supposition. One could implicitly presuppose a dogma, as the church did with the Trinity pre-Nicaea; and a worldview entails explicitly defined doctrines, like creation ex nihilo. Better, in my mind, is thinking of worldview as a narrative through which one makes sense of the world.

Once one thinks of a worldview as a story one comes to see “worldview analysis” as synonymous with “interpretation”—a necessity of our narratival nature. Indeed, there is no event, sentence, or fact too large or too small to escape the need for interpretation. NT Wright gives a wonderful example of how this works:

“What is the meaning of the following comment? ‘It is going to rain.’ On the surface, the statement seems to be quite clear. Yet the meaning and significance of this remark can only be understood when we see the part it plays in a broader narrative. If we are about to go for a picnic that has been planned for some time, then these words would be bad news, with the further implication that perhaps we had better change our plans. If we live in East Africa plagued by drought, where another lengthy dry spell and consequent crop failure appears imminent, the statement would be good news indeed. If I had predicted three days ago that it would rain and you had not believed me, the statement would vindicate my predictive ability as a meteorologist. If we are part of the community of Israel on Mount Carmel listening to the words of Elijah, the statement substantiates the message of Elijah that Yahweh is the true God and that Elijah is his prophet. In each case, the single statement demands to be ‘heard’ within the context of a full implicit plot, a complete implicit narrative.”

If “it is going to rain” can have such varied interpretations, how much more so birth, death, sex, art, love, and pain? I agree with Gibbs, an enlightened theory of man won’t do. But I see such a theory as offering exactly what he offers: a set of dogmas, religious facts, no more—as if the student is a piece of hardware simply waiting on the teacher to download in him the correct software.

Conversely, a worldview education offers more than edicts, it offers what Scripture offers, an epoch. If Scripture is a myth grand enough to make sense of our enchanted cosmos, surely it’s grand enough to make sense of Macbeth. As Gibbs showed, it can certainly make sense of Rhiana.

If I’m right in claiming that (1) everyone interprets narratively and (2) Scripture offers a grand story, then why insist that students not use the Scriptural story (i.e. Christian worldview) to interpret a given object? Further, how does better understanding the story in which an author lives (i.e. his worldview) hamper wonder in the reader? Insisting that a reading of a book without respect to the author’s worldview produces more wonder is like insisting that puns are most amusing when the innuendo isn’t caught. Worldview education isn’t an obstacle to wonder, it’s a vehicle to wonder.

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As Christians, we understand the celebration of Pentecost as the time in which Jesus poured out his Spirit on the church. This, of course, is correct, but Pentecost was one of the three major Feasts on the Jewish calendar that was celebrated since the time of the giving of the Law. Pentecost itself was the Feast that corresponded with the giving of the Law on Mt. Sinai. Exodus 19.1 tells us that the children of Israel arrived at Sinai on the “third new moon after the people had gone out of Egypt” (i.e., the Passover). It was “on that day” that they came to Sinai and began preparations to receive the Law. Considering that Pentecost was fifty days after the Sabbath during the Feast of Unleavened Bread when the firstfruits sheaf was offered (got all that?), the chronology lining up the giving of the Law with Pentecost seems more than plausible. The Feast of Pentecost was, among other things, a commemoration of the giving of the Law at Sinai.

The correlations between the giving of the Law and the giving of the Spirit are quite informative in a number of ways. The giving of the Law and all of the imagery from the record of Scripture should be teased out in all of its glorious detail. However, it is the contrast between the two that is also a concern for the church.

In a shocking move in Romans 6 and 7, Paul speaks of the Law and sin as doing many of the same things. Sin reigns (Rom 6.14). The Law reigns (Rom 7.1). We died to sin (Rom 6.2). We died to the Law (Rom 7.4). We are free from sin (Rom 6.7, 18, 22). We are free from the Law (Rom 7.6). Reading Paul one might think that the Law and the Sin were practically the same thing! Paul is aware of what he is saying and anticipates the question in Romans 7.7: “What shall we say then? Is the Law sin?” In the sentences that follow he makes certain that those who hear this letter don’t equate the Law with sin. Sin uses the Law for nefarious purposes, but “the Law is holy, and the commandment is holy, righteous, and good” (Rom 7.12).

While the Law is holy, it is not adequate to bring about freedom from the dominion of sin and death. What the Law did was not only to reinforce the death in the world created by sin but sanction it as a divine arrangement. The Law exacerbated the death in the world by reinforcing and expanding the division set up by circumcision. This death was the division that the Law reinforced between Israel and the Gentiles. Humanity would continue to be ripped in half. Humanity would continue to live on in death … and it was God’s Law that sanctioned this dominion of sin over mankind. This is at least an aspect of how the Law intensifies sin.

As long as the Law of God is in place, death rules. The Law anticipates life–resurrection from the dead–but the Law cannot give life. The Law, by its nature, can’t reunite the nations into one body because the Law is given to maintain the division.

But it was all a part of the divine scheme of grace. Where the sin abounded, grace did much more abound. God is using death as the means to deal with sin and ultimately bring resurrection. God takes the strongest weapons of the enemy and uses them for his own purposes. The Law that divinely codified death became the place sin would be dealt with so that resurrection and life for the world could come.

This is the contrast between old Pentecost and new Pentecost. Old Pentecost, while glorious, was a ministry of death (2Cor 3.6-7). New Pentecost is more glorious because it is a ministry of life. The Spirit poured out by the resurrected and ascended Christ unites the nations into one glorious body. He has made one body out of the two by abolishing the divisions created by the Law (Eph 2.14-15). While we may all be from different nations, speaking different languages, we are one people of God in Christ Jesus.

The glories of the new Pentecost are proclaimed to the world when the church maintains the “unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Eph 4.2). The principalities and powers of the world are notified of the wisdom of God in this new world order through the church living out this unity (Eph 3.9-10). Pentecost is not merely another tick on the clock of the liturgical calendar. Pentecost is a calling, a calling to strive for the bond of peace in the family of Christ.

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There are many ways to approach the telling of the story of Scripture. Various themes can be traced out from beginning to end that help you understand God and his relationship with his people. One theme that is prominent from the beginning to the end of Scripture is the theme of marriage. The Scriptures begin in a Garden with the Father providing his son a bride. The last chapters of Scripture end in a Garden-City with the bride of the Son coming down out of heaven. Everything in between contributes to the development of this relationship. The whole story of Scripture can be told from the perspective that God’s purpose was to create a bride for his Son whom his Son would glorify through the gift of the Spirit.

This process of glorification for the bride takes a long and difficult road. The bride is not always faithful. Her betrothed must go to great trouble to deliver his bride in order to make her beautiful. One such place we see this is when the bride is in Egypt. God sent her down there to protect her and provide for her under Joseph. But eventually the bride started adopting the old ways of the Egyptians in whoring after her “husbands,” and YHWH gave them over to their oppression under Pharaoh. However, he delivered them. He brought them through the Sea and then to Sinai. At Sinai Israel became YHWH’s wife (cf. Jer 31.32; Ezek 16). YHWH entered a covenant with Israel. Their marriage was “under Law.”

Imagine the consternation of the Jews when Paul comes along and says, “You are no longer under Law.” This is tantamount to saying, “You Jews are no longer married to YHWH.” How can this be? Can YHWH forsake his covenant? Did he walk out on the marriage? If he did, how can he be trusted to be faithful? If he didn’t, then the gospel Paul is preaching is blasphemy.

There is an explanation. Marriage covenants are binding as long as the husband lives. But if the husband dies, then the wife is no longer bound “by the law of the husband” (Rom 7.2-3). The marriage died “through the body of Christ.” That is, when Christ died, the husband died. Yes, that means that Christ Jesus is YHWH who was married to Israel at Sinai. He died so that the bride could be released from this marriage that kept her “under Law.” This “under Law” stage of life wasn’t the complete glorification of the bride. It wasn’t good for the bride to remain in this position. In order to move on to greater glorification, her marriage bound by the Law of Moses had to die. The husband willingly gave his life so that the bride, and therefore the marriage, could move to another state of glory.

And it did. The husband didn’t forsake his bride. The one who died is also the one who is risen again so that Israel might be married to the resurrected Christ Jesus, sharing in his glory. That old marriage was always bound to end in death. Death is all that the old marriage could ultimately produce (Rom 7.5). That was its aim. It was a ministry of death (2Cor 3.7). It was a necessary death, but it was death nevertheless.

God’s intention for marriage was fruitful life. This could only be realized through death and resurrection into a new condition of marriage. Israel is now free to marry the resurrected Christ so that they might bear this fruit unto God. The marriage that Christ has now with his people is the marriage that God the Father intended for his Son all along.

This marriage is a mission, a mission to bear holy fruit. This holy fruit is produced by the Holy Spirit given to us and is evident in our relationships with one another as love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Where these are evident, the marriage is being fruitful.

But our holy fruit is not limited to what we might think of as attitudes toward one another (though the fruit of the Spirit is not limited to attitudes either). The fruit of our bodies whether through reproduction or labor is also included in this holy fruit. Our marriages are under the lordship of Jesus. Whatever comes from our marriages, including children, belong to Jesus. Our children are holy fruit (cf. e.g., 1Cor 7.14). The product of our labor throughout the week is holy fruit. All of it is for the continued glorification of the marriage of Jesus and the church; it is fruit that is produced that will be handed over to the Father so that he might enjoy it in communion with us (cf. 1Cor 15.20-28).

We have been called to cultivate this holy fruit. This is the purpose and promise of our relationship with Christ Jesus. Being united to the resurrected, never-to-die-again Christ, we labor with the confidence that our labor will be fruitful. It is not in vain (1Cor 15.58).

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